look at what it did to me


Look what it did to me. You thought it wouldn't make a difference. It did.

You say you can't see what it did to me… but I know you can tell. Even if on the outside I'm smiling inside I'm dying because of what it did to me. Right now my hair is neat and my eyes are dry but my insides have been changed. But I know you can tell that internally my face is disfigured, my clothes are torn, and my heart is mangled.

I was torn apart, my feelings crushed and my heart slashed. They say “sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me,” but I know better. Every word was a sparkling shard of glass designed perfectly for me. It was death by a thousand cuts, but just one would've done the trick. And the whole time I didn't say a single word. I couldn't even make a sound. Everyone says to just ignore it, but it hits different when it's someone you care about. I don't know if it was shock, strength, or fear that finally let me turn away.

I know you've never had to experience this, I know you've never faced rejection in you're whole life. You're perfect. Your shards of glass are designed to go straight through you and never be seen again. Instead of being showered with daggers you're showered with rose petals. While I bathe in my tears you bathe in your unlimited riches, not once thinking of sharing with me. But even so, I smile for you, perform for you, and call you my best friend, and congratulated you. Because that's what a best friend is willing to do.

And when I turned back around, you were there. You were there and for a second my savior had come and everything was going to be okay. And then you laughed. The knife inside of me twisted. He had embarrassed me, made a fool of me, berated me, and left me to rot. But it hurts even more when you realize someone you really, truly, care about… doesn't even care about you. I was there for you through everything, and if it were me I would've immediately come to your aid. But you laughed. I ran out of that room and you said, “She'll be fine. She's just being dramatic.” But I'm not fine. I'm completely and utterly alone and you're the one who's supposed to be there.

Now what do I do? Do I go on with my life pretending it never happened? Of course. But I think about it every day, every hour, every minute, every second. Inside I've been cut apart and there's no one there to pick up the pieces. You know, deep down, at our core, we create what kind of person we want to become. In the end, I'm loyal, and I'll be kind. But you? I don't even know anymore. Inside your sick and twisted mind something told you it was okay to laugh as your friend is torn apart, and it's okay to not defend her. I want to trust that that's not who you've chosen to be. But in the end, I don't get to choose. You do.

I just want you to know what it did to me. I just want you to know that I'm not the same, and I'm not okay. I want you to know that even if I look like I'm laughing, I'm barely passing by. And even though I'm smiling, it did something to me. It made me feel a kind of indescribable hurt that I don't think I'll ever be again. Because of you. And only you can change it. And since I can't make you feel what I felt, I can at least make you look at what it did to me.

Song: Wolf Bite by Owl City (Ultraviolet)
Original Lyric: It’s another bad dream, poison in my bloodstream
Translated Lyric: This is another fear. Poison has entered the blood.

The fear of getting poisoned was always on her mind. Taylor Sanderson was a rather well known politician, who had made multiple enemies in her, so far, rather short career. Tonight, she had a higher than normal chance of getting poisoned, or otherwise assassinated.

Before the event, she’d been informed and had met the secret agents positioned there to be her bodyguards that night, when her regular security may fail. Ever the lax diplomat she was, Taylor didn’t have a security team. She was, after all, just another citizen serving her country by representing the government, and by extension, the will of the people, even if she was a somewhat important diplomat.

“Miss Sanderson, do sit down,” A heavily accented voice said, cutting through Taylor’s thoughts. Taylor turned around to see Zhao Yinxing, the Chinese diplomat, calling her to the table.

“Thank you, Miss Zhao,” Taylor said, taking the offer and sitting down at the table. “It really is a pleasure to meet with you, on behalf of the Atoll City government, and its people.”

“It is not a problem, Miss Sanderson. And please, call me Yinxing.” Zhao Yinxing replied. “I hope that this talk will bring out the best in us. Before we start, would you like some water?”

Taylor nodded. “That would be very kind of you, Yinxing. Please call me Taylor as well. Let us both be on first-name terms, then.”

“Of course,” Yinxing replied, as Taylor watched her Chinese counterpart pour a glass of water for both herself and then Taylor. “It is only fair that we treat each other as equals.”

Taylor sipped her water before replying. “Thank you once again for your hospitality, Yinxing. I also believe we have an agenda to discuss.”

Yinxing smiled. “We do, indeed. Now, our first item to discuss is, of course, trade. We wish to-”

Taylor suddenly couldn’t focus. She felt a bit lightheaded, a bit faint. Nothing more. She could push herself through it. That was until she found herself very quickly struggling to keep her body up.

“Miss Sanderson,” Taylor could hear Yinxing say. “Is everything alright?”

Taylor couldn’t answer. She felt herself getting weaker and weaker each second-

“Greaves! Rainham!” She heard someone, probably one of the agents placed to protect her, call out. Their voice cut through her mind, allowing her to snap back to reality, if only for a second or two. “Sanderson’s been hit.”

“Not hit.” Yinxing said. “Poisoned.”

Ah. So that’s what happened, Taylor thought in what she believed to be her last moments. She should have been more careful and less reckless.

Taylor didn’t expect to wake up, but when she did, she found herself lying on a hospital bed. Zhao Yinxing, the Chinese diplomat was there, clearly worried for her. The three agents sent to protect her - Zhuang, Greaves, and Rainham - were also there, along with a mysterious fourth figure. Evelyn Mornington, Prime Minister of Atoll City, was also there.

“What just happened?” Taylor asked, her memory slightly hazy.

“You were poisoned.”

503 words

Weekly Week 3
2781 words total

Part 1: Trope Pros/Cons
512 words

everything's perfect… or is it? 78 words
okay yes it's the plot of every single dystopian novel because that's just the nature of dystopia, but I love it so much. Personally where this gets tiring is when everything is just trying to copy the hunger games or some other popular book series (has anyone else seen that one video of divergent and the hunger games movies? lol) - anyways, the annoying part is they all become exactly the same and the plot twists are really predictable.

“theres only one bed” 50 words
Like I'll still eat up this book but it's like, we all know what's gonna happen buddy… so like… yeah. Bonus points if it's followed by a nightmare lol. This is also a big thing in movies. But it's kind of over done and overrated for how much it's done.

meet cringe 81 words
look I'm sorry to those who love it but I really don't like the meet cringe romance stereotype. It's just because whenever I read or watch something really cringey the second hand embarrassment is far too much for me. Like I actually can't stand it. If I start a book with meet cringe of course I'll read it to the end anyway so it's worth it, but I can't stand the second hand embarrassment I get from characters being embarrassed ahahaa

enemies to lovers 88 words
enemies to lovers on the other hand… GIVE ME MORE GIVE ME MORE GIVE ME MOREEEE I actually love it so much and eat it up everytime, like those authors could leave me in suspense forever and I would just keep reading forever and progressively get more riled up about it not happening already. I love it and I think it keeps playful banter in the relationship between the two characters so while whatever the actual plot is is going on the character relationship doesn't get too boring.

the chosen one 77 words
I've been doing a lot of romance so here's a different one. Even though it's generic I still like it, because in my opinion you do still have to differentiate your main character. Like if nothing is special about them and they're just as likable or relatable as the next guy, like why should I care about them? I don't know, because our character isn't special. I still absolutely love like sidekick and villain perspectives though too.

damsel in distress 138 words
yea I already did five and I could do like ten more but I wanted to talk about this one. It was very over used, a bit sexist, but honestly it's not bad. I'm perfectly fine with someone being in distress and someone having to save them, and if it happens to be a damsel, so what? I just don't like when they make the damsels like incompetent and unable to do or even try anything to get themselves out of their predicament like *eye roll* but it can be entertaining. I have no problem with stuff where they empower the women, but that's also becoming generic and I'd rather have a damsel in distress than someone trying to check all the boxes of empowering them women and completely avoiding this trope just for the sake of it.

Part 2: Favorite Trope

You already know I've gotta do… enemies to lovers 451 words

Enemies to lovers was present in old Mythology and stuff like Shakespeare, and one famous example of it (that it probably got really popular from) was Pride and Prejudice. Anyways this is going to be a very unserious story just because I have no motivation to write well haha.

402 words
Asher and Sophie are in a fantasy book together. In the fantasy book people have to fight off bad guys. Asher and Sophie are from different “teams” fighting off the bad guys (maybe groups of fighters different kingdoms) and the different teams have different perspectives on political and social issues, but they have to work together to fight off of the bad guys.) Asher can be like one of the leaders of team A, and Sophie is just in the background of team B, but rises up as a leader standing up against team A trying to take over and impose all of their opinions and views. Therefore, Asher and Sophie constantly are fighting with each other. But because of all the fighting, they actually talk the most out of any of the team members. They also have to interact the most out of the team members.They're constantly competing to be the best and along the way learn that they don't hate each other all that much. In some kind of duo challenge or activity, they are paired together to both of their disdain, and they are forced to live with it because there is no other option for some reason. Also, In a very climactic fight with the bad guys, Asher gets really badly injured ad Sophie has to fight a lot of bad guys to get to him and save him. This could also be the other way around. She saves him, then they go back to camp together in silence because it's awkward. Once they realize that they don't really hate each other, they realize that wAiT, they actually like each other quite a lot! (Even though they are of course still very irritated by each other and each other's beliefs, they are more open minded to each other and the beliefs) Then at some point they will have a romantic moment together, and of course they will both live happily ever after in the end with the bad guys defeated but of course still with all the playful banter that comes with being in the enemies to lovers trope. They could at some point have a second falling out or something after they realize they love each other that then tests their love once they've found it. It will be a great (and at the least very entertaining) book because it has the enemies to lovers trope. Yay!

Part 3: Unique Twist 567 words

whoops, harry potter died, turns out he's NOT the chosen one. what ever will we do now?

Whispers echoed throughout the train behind him.
“Is that really him?”
“I think so”
“Does he have the scar?”
“I saw the mark! It's really him!”
“Harry Potter? The boy who lived?”
“Yeah! They say he's the chosen one or something…”
Harry shuffled into a car with the boy he came onto the train with. It was all so new to him. And what were the people whispering about?
“Don't worry about what they're saying,” said Ron. “It's really all rumors, that's all it is. Anyways, I've heard that they have the best chocolate frogs on this train! I can't wait to order all the sweets they have!” Harry smiled.
“Won't that be too much?” he questioned.
“Never! I could eat sweets for days!” the ginger retorted with a grin. You know the rest. They order sweets and sweets, the frogs manage to escape, and the children are entranced by bertie's different jelly beans. Soon enough, they arrive at Hogwarts. The sky was dark, and they got into boats to cross the river towards the school. A child next to him turned to him.
“Are you really Harry Potter?” he asked.
“Yeah, that's me,” Harry replied.
“Is it true that you survived you know who?” The child's eyes widened. Harry's brows furrowed with confusion.
“What do you mean? And who's that?”
“You know… vold- you know who!”
“No, I don't know who. Who are you talking about?” Harry asked.
“Nevermind.” Suddenly, flashes of light started appearing, and suddenly people everywhere were screaming. Hagrid tried to get the situation under control as older students and teachers were pulling out wands and casting spells like crazy.
“Not to worry everyone! Everyone stay calm!” But how could they stay calm when the d3@the@ters were attacking? Something knocked over harry's boat, and someone yelled
“Crucio!” Harry screamed out in pain, and thrashed through the water, unable to swim through the pain. Once they were certain Harry had been knocked out, the d3@the@ters retreated. The boy who lived had died.

Professer Minerva McGonnagall, Albus Dumbledore, and Severus Snape visited the infirmitory where his body lay. He was certainly dead. The boy who lived, the one who was supposed to save them all, had died.
“Well what do we do now?” McGonnagall said, her voice whimpering a slight bit. “It really is a shame, I was looking forward to teaching that child. And he really was the hope of the new generation.”
“You're right, he was Minerva. But I suppose that's not what the universe had in mind.”
“Well, it simply means that the boy isn't the chosen one. Pick another one. Simple.” Snape huffed. “There are plenty of good candidates from slytherin.”
“Severus! It's not that easy, and it doesn't just work like that.”
“Yes, she's right. But at least one thing is easier… we don't have to worry about that horcrux in him,” Dumbledore stated.
“True, I had no idea what we were going to do about that.” Minerva replied. “Well, now we must tell his relatives. Not that they care. Shame that boy had such a short life, mostly stuck in that muggle house. He could've been something great.”
“For now, we must proceed with caution and watch how the wizarding world reacts. We have to treat this matter very delicately, and we must not forget - we have many other great students to teach in the mean time.” Dumbledore finished.

Part Four: 1251 words

okay for part four I am continuing the story of ducky and duckletta from a random daily - for context, here is the og story lol:

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.

Here is the story for the weekly - tropes included: Enemies to lovers (but really just friends), Damsel in distress, The Chosen One

The third great duck race of the year was fast approaching. This duck race, however, was not an individual race, it was a duo challenge. Ducky was already practicing his strategy to win. He just had one problem - he had no partner to compete with! He would hate to sacrifice a third win simply because he didn't have a partner. But Ducky is truly a lonely duck, wanting nothing other than to stay by himself in his stick hut with his pile of mangoes. Ducky, you could certainly say, was quite the introvert. Ducky was determined to win this third race - whoever won all three races in the same year was said to be the chosen one to lead the ducks into glory over the human - a duck fitter than all the rest. It wouldn't be easy though. His competition this race were the duckard twins. Waddle-Duck and Paddle-Duck had been winning this race since they were only two. The twins were always the fastest at the three legged duck race, the final stretch of the challenge. I suppose you need to know how the double duck race works.

The double duck race is the third annual great duck race (the first two of course being the the great duck biathlon and the great duckboating festival) The double duck race has three parts. The first two are done individually, where one partner each completes them. The first was a watercress speed eating challenge. The second, a swimming race across the river. Finally, the three legged duck marathon race, to the giant pile of winner's mangoes at the end.

Duckletta was still cleaning her wounds after the great duckboating festival. But she, too, wanted to participate in the double duck race. The problem was, after her humiliation at being exploded in the duckboating festival, nobody wanted to race with her! They all laughed at her for her failure, and she wanted to prove them wrong. She knew that there was only one possible competitor to team up with left. But she didn't want to have to work with him. Ducky. But of course, she had no other choice. So one day she gathered all her courage, went up to the door of ducky's stick hut, and quacked. Ducky was very confused - nobody ever came to his stick hut. He curiously waddled to the door. Upon seeing duckletta, he was very tempted to slam the door in her face. But he heard her out, since he had exploded her in the last race. The confident Duckletta was suddenly shy.
“Hey, so I think we got off on the wrong foot. But I don't have a partner for the double duck race, and I know you don't either. Do you think we could be partners?” Ducky was reluctant to answer. He didn't want to have to work with duckletta, but he knew she was the only option.
“Sure duckletta, we can work together. Just don't come by my house again. And I'm doing the swimming race, you have to do the watercress eating competition” He shut the door and went to contemplate by his pile of mangoes. The ducking audacity of duckletta to come up to him after burning his house - and asking to work together? But she was right, he had no other choice.

Ducky and Duckletta went on their way, not talking to each other, and not working together. But every day, they both saw the Duckard twins, waddle-duck and paddle-duck practicing their three legged duck race. And every day they got faster. Even though Ducky knew he wouldn't have to worry about most other competitors, like the Ugly Duckling, he was worried about beating the Duckard twins. Ducky finally went to talk to Duckletta. Upon arriving at her stick house, he was satisfied with the fact that it was much smaller than his. He knocked a stick off just to mess with her.
“What do you want?” Duckletta asked.
“Look Duckletta, see the Duckard twins? I'm not going to lie, they're really good. We should really get practicing.” And so practice they did. But of course, they had some struggles working together.
“Alright, it has to be right foot first and then left foot.”
“No, left foot first! Who steps with their right foot first?”
“Uh, literally everyone? I'm the past winner, so you should listen to me.”
“Well I'm a girl, so you should listen to me.” They went on and on, trying to walk and only ending up in a pile on the ground because of their bickering. The Duckard twins looked up and laughed.
“HEY, don't you laugh at us!”
“Yeah, we're totally going to beat you!” It was in that moment that Duckletta and Ducky realized they were a team, and they had to stick together.
“You know what, you're really not too bad.”
“Yeah, you either. And it really doesn't matter if we start on the left or right foot.”
“You're right. You choose.” And the old duck beef was finally left in the past. Ducky and Duckletta were finally able to become coordinated, and dare I say even faster than the Duckard twins.

The day of the great double duck race came. Duckletta was up first with the watercress eating competition. As soon as the starting splash went off, she went to eat her watercress. Halfway in, duckletta started choking! Ducky was horrified. He couldn't lose his teammate now! He quickly rushed over and performed the duckleich manuver on her.
“Wow thank you Ducky, you saved me!” Duckletta cried.
“Keep eating your watercress,” Ducky replied.
“mhm!” She replied with her mouth full of watercress.
Next, Ducky crushed the swimming race. He was the fastest swimmer in the whole duck town, and was able to make up the time they lost from Duckletta choking. They started the final three legged duck race at the same time as the Duckard twins. It was a dramatic race, but Duckletta and Ducky were not about to give up. They worked hard on working together, after all. In the first half of the three legged duck marathon, Waddle-Duck and Paddle-duck were able to pull ahead, but not by much. In a final burst of speed at the very end, Ducky and Duckletta were able to win the great double duck race! They collected their pile of mangoes.

After the race, the Elder Duck (all powerful leader elder duck of the village) came up to Ducky.
“You've done it Ducky,” he said in his old, wise, duck voice. “You've been the first duck to complete all three duck races and win! You must be the chosen duckling.” Ducky's eyes went wide. “I can now lie in peace, knowing that you will be my sucessor.” The ugly duckling cried, because it thought it would be the new leader. It turns out, in the end, the ugly duckling was only a swan. Duckletta later congratulated ducky. She told Ducky she had been working on her jealosy issues with her duck counselor and no longer burned people's huts and mango stashes down when she lost. But she didn't lose - she won with ducky! She was satisfied with her win. She assured Ducky he would be a great Elder Duck one day. And of course, he was. He ensured that there were grapes at all lemonade stands within a twelve mile radius of the duck village. And of course, he had piles and piles of mangoes for life, and they all lived happily ever after.

word count: exactly 400 words

original lyric: all this power, make them scatter / no, nobody gonna touch my soul, gonna match my glow, like, i dare you
(song: zen - jennie)

translated: all that power is driving them mad / no, no one has destroyed my soul, no one has found the light, i dare say

i was a powerless creature, one that nobody would ever dare to associate with. i told myself that i was stronger than i was, when i truly felt weak. you would never guess that i was hiding a part of myself, a detrimental factor, from the eyes of the world. i was laughter used as a disguise. i was glass breaking under the heat of my lack of tranquility. i was powerless, but that did not mean i was any kind of peaceful.

the candle burns on the edge of my nightstand as i turn off the other lights. it’s the last bit of wax i own, the light that nobody has found yet and the light that nobody ever will discover, as far as i’m concerned. i light a match, watching the flame as it flickers, little by little. my eyes are not fazed, though. i know of the possible negative effects and perceptions of me. after all, i stole the last remaining candle and used it for my own personal gain. what’s there to love?

nobody has destroyed my soul. i have survived the apocalypse, and i will survive far worse whenever i am under excruciating, dire circumstances. i place the match on the wick of the candle, increasing the flame by a small amount. this is what will get me through the night. this is what will keep me going, now and forever, no matter how hard things get. even though it is dark, i open the blinds over my window to see the moon illuminating the sky. it has never been this bright before. a full moon is what rests before my eyes.

outside my window, a bird blinks its eyes, almost as if to send a signal to me. it is telling me to keep fighting until i find power. it is telling me that i am not truly as powerless as i have always believed myself to be. the snake in the grass raises a pupil in agreement, staring at the orange flame that i have lit. in the sky, i see a constellation of what appears to be a dragon.

the signs are clear, and i raise my candle in solidarity with the animals. nobody will destroy my soul, and nobody will find my light. i will not be powerless. i will remain tranquil and ever so strong, and i will not falter.

daily: you are reckless in the best sense
403/400 words definitely not my best work ahah

when agnes was younger, she used to climb trees. agnes was extremely fond of the outdoors and would often be found lying in the grass or sitting on a tree branch. now, she sits inside and types on her laptop. she hasn’t a care for the rest of the world.

agnes remembers when she was younger, and she fell off a tree. badly. she had gone to her dad, sobbing, bruised up with a broken leg and shaking at the realisation that what she was doing was probably not safe. agnes had asked her dad, “am i reckless?” to which her dad replied, “you are reckless in the best sense. take risks and don’t be afraid of falling.”

nowadays, agnes is afraid of change. she doesn’t have anyone close enough to turn to to ask for advice. her fingers fly on the keyboard and she gets all of her work done, but she still feels empty on the inside. agnes traces the scar on her arm from the fall, and stares out of the window absentmindedly. it /would/ be nice to go outside and have fun. adulting is hard.

lost in her daydream, agnes remembers when she first realised she was growing up. she was a seven year old and was reading a chapter book, when she blinked suddenly and said aloud: ‘i’m growing up!’ agnes can recollect being excited at that aspect and wanting the change the world. but in reality, agnes realises it’s practically impossible to do something like that and it’s a ton easier to stay at her office job, working 9-5.

on agnes’s walk home from work, a flyer flutters in front of her and lands at her feet. the flyer is advertising teaching and boring stuff yada yada but there /is/ one thing that catches agnes’s eye: ‘teach children to be reckless in the best sense’.

agnes freezes and smiles a little. the flyer floats gently to the ground and agnes stares up, up at the sky, the same sky that she used to stare at when she was younger and she feels her feet firmly planted on the ground, the same ground that steadied her falls. ‘the sky is the limit,’ agnes thinks, ‘and i shouldn’t be afraid of falling.’

agnes continues to hurry down the path, but more with a bounce in her step. she’s a woman with a purpose now, except she doesn’t know why.

daily 419 words

“I just wish you would consider me when you give me orders,” the barista sobbed over the cash register.
“Um…” the man ordering coffee said, slowly backing away.
“IT’S HARD OKAY? IT’S REALLY REALLY REALLY HARD. MY LIFE IS HARD. AND I WISH PEOPLE WOULD JUST, LIKE, HAND ME MONEY AND LEAVE.”
“…Making coffee is hard…?” the man asked, still backing away. “Also, there’s literally no one else in here. I’m the only customer.”
He was starting to suspect he knew the reason why, too.
“Fine,” the barista sniffled. “Fine. I guess I’ll just make your coffee and think about how my life is ruined in silence. I won’t even begin telling you my sad, sad story, which begins with me being orphaned at the age of 27.”
“Oh-” the man said, but the barista kept talking as she fiddled with coffee machines. “I used to have a boyfriend, too, and he was the cutest guy ever, but then he dumped me for a total loser!! He said he couldn’t trust me even though I only took two dollars out of his wallet to pay off a little something. Well, give or take a few hundred. But I meant to give it back, I swear!”
“Hey, that’s great. Um, do you know of any other coffee places around here that I can do? That’s maybe not here?”
“No. Anyways, after that he dumped me, which was totally unfair, and I had to spend all my life savings on chocolate. Look, I eat my feelings, okay?”
“Did it work?”
“The chocolate? No, I was still depressed. Even worse, he slammed the door in my face every time I visited him!! So unfair.”
The barista stopped preparing coffee to sob loudly on the counter again as the man wondered whether he should cut and run, leaving his coffee order behind.
“Um, do you need to check on that machine…?”
“Oh yeah,” the barista said, rescuing the coffee cup. “There.”
“I ordered an iced latte,” the man said gently, peering into the steam of a black coffee.
“Fine, just throw it away. No, don’t. I’ll drink it.” The barista sipped it moodily as she started again, this time paying more attention to what she was doing.
“Uh, thanks,” the man said, paying for his coffee when he finally received it two hours and thirty minutes later. The barista had, in that time, poured out her entire life story, as well as several wrong orders.
“No problem,” she sighed, watching him walk away.

(My playlist gave me “Wait For It” from Hamilton.)

Original
“Theodosia writes me a letter every day”

Translated
“It’s crazy to write every day.”

(This is like, the POV of my hypothetical Future Self?)

I’ve been working on this story for a few decades now, and it’s still far from over. People ask me sometimes whether I’ll ever try anything else, do any other series or projects or what have you, and honestly, I don’t see it coming up.
Its not that I’ve been stuck with this one so long that I’ve forgotten how to do other things. It’s just that I’ve fallen in love with this universe, and one lifetime isn’t enough to explore its every crevice and nuance. Everything I do leads back to it somehow, every effort is done to further my understanding of it. The characters that have become so familiar to my fans across the world now live deep within my identity, and they’re counting on me to give them life.
I’ve also often been asked for advice on fiction writing, and let me tell you, the best tip to keep in mind is that all creative people are crazy, at least a little. To make a great fiction story, you have to suspend your disbelief and truly believe in something that doesn’t really exist. You have to spend your time daydreaming of worlds and people that no one on Earth has ever seen. You have to give into the fiction, because if you don’t treat it as real, how will your readers?
Imagination is a blip of insanity, and art is all about molding that blip in a specific way that benefits the creative process.
If you truly care about a story you’ve invented, you’re already halfway there. It can be difficult to muster the energy required to actually start working on making that fiction a reality, but when you care about it enough, you’ll find a way.
Everyone’s writing process is different, of course, but I like to have a loose schedule. I try to write every day. It can be rough building up the habit, and sometimes, there simply isn’t time, but it’s the best way I’ve found to practice my skills. Even just keeping a journal counts. My journal is where a lot of the brainstorming for my story takes place.
Joining a writing community is another great source of inspiration. When I was a teenager, I had already begun making plans for how I would tell this decades-long story of mine. A lot of my ambitions didnt quite pan out the way I pondered them, but I think the unexpected twists and turns have only made my journey here more exciting than I ever dared to dream of. And I have to credit my first writing community, Scratch Writing Camp, for getting that journey started.
Most of us were kids and teens, organizing the digital camp all on our own on the platform of this coding website called Scratch. There were daily and weekly writing prompts, as well as workshops and competitions. The friendships I built there and the experiences I had were some of the fondest memories of that time in my life.

Daily 21 || 442 words

(Let Me Down Slowly - Alec Benjamin) This night is cold in the kingdom, I can feel you fade away // It was a cold night, and I felt moisture.

The fog was thick, wet, cold, and grim. The humanoid rushed through the forest, completely blind in the darkness, exacerbated by the mist. They felt a hand on their shoulder and let out a yelp, turning to look at the being alongside them.

It was nothing more than a shadow, tilting its head to study the humanoid. “So noisy,” it whispered as they whimpered in panic. “You attract the attention of every creature in this forest…a BEACON to the spirits…”

The humanoid shuddered at the word. “I- I'm sorry,” they muttered, looking up at the shadow, shivering in the cold moistness of the fog. “I'm lost…”

They heard the whispers of others around them, turning and looking in fear as they couldn't see anything. “BEACON,” the shadow whispered sternly. “You have become lost, and you shall not be found.”

In the darkness of the fog, the humanoid dropped to the ground, feeling tears well in their eyes as the mist reached out to merge with them.

“RABHCHÁ. BEACON.”

When Rabhchá woke up, it was still dark, and foggy, but no longer hazy. They looked around, startled to see every tree with ease, in a colorless gray. They looked at their hands, which were gray instead of…whatever color they had before. Now that they thought about it, they couldn't remember what color they were before. They couldn't remember anything.

But they were lost, right? The words still rung out in their head. ‘You have become lost, and you shall not be found.’ They were so lost, and it hurt so bad. They curled up, tears welling in their eyes, but no sound coming out of their… nonexistent mouth.

As they cried in the moist forest, they were surrounded by hazy figures, who looked at them with a mix of fear and sympathy. When they touched the paw of one who reached out to them, they puffed away softly, and Rabhchá knew that the figure was no longer lost, unlike them.

As more figures crowded around the beacon, a new, solid form jumped out from the shadows, slashing a scythe through multiple figures and freeing them from their hazy hovering. She was cloaked, but resembled a rabbit, with a strange-shaped tail and a sad gaze. Behind her stood something that looked like a deer, fearfully staring at Rabhchá with four eyes on their head and another ten, at least, on their tail. Both of them were soundless, and both of them appeared to be in shades of gray.

As the last spirit was slashed away, the two strange figures introduced themselves to the new reaper. Bás, the Death; and Nadóir, the Watcher.

“oh me my, tryna mask that we fine”
became
“oh, look at this mask and you'll see”

i dry the tears from my eyes, but i can't stop the red creeping into them.
five minutes.
five minutes until i have to leave for school and show this face to the world. i breathe in and focus on the rush of fresh air, and i try to block out the words racing through my head, but they keep coming. screams. yells. words i don't want to think about. the feeling of dread and pain in my stomach. i can barely look at my mother when she tells me she loves me and waves goodbye, for fear i'll see her
i leave the house.
it's fine. i'll forget it, like i always do.
and i know i will, but as i walk up and down the hills, i still can't quite banish the pain.
–
i enter the school gates, amazed i don't feel anything.
it's just a normal day.
nothing happened this morning.
and my mind and my heart believe it.
i check my watch, starting down the stairs to class, and it feels somehow wrong that i feel this fine. the mask shouldn't work. i'm supposed to feel bitter, pained, as if the world i knew is slowly being ripped out around me. i sit in my normal chair, all my friends around me, the english teacher pointing at things on the board, and all i can think is how am i so okay?
the lunch bell rings, and we race outside.
they talk about school and popular girls and boys, and i lag behind, as i always do. why talk about things like that, stupid little things that will fade in a week? i want to talk about things that matter.
but the mask won't let me.
we sit down on the grass under the huge tree, the place we always sit, the things we always eat out in front of us. i look at everyone else's food, some hot, looking amazing. i don't think to realise how delicious my own food is. i don't think to realise how lucky i already am. all i'm thinking of is how okay i somehow am.
it's as if nothing happened.
the conversation fades into other things, fun things, meaningless things. they talk about how they'd feel if one of their parents died, if their siblings died, if their parents got divorced-
i'd feel hurt.
i'd feel as if i'd been betrayed.
i wouldn't like my parents- well, not as much, but…
i'd feel uncomfortable.
i don't know how it would feel…
they look at me.
me, silent in the corner.
if only you saw this mask, if only i had the courage to peel it off, you'd see.

WIPPP

march 2025 weekly #3 - writing tropes

Part 1 - 386/250 words

love triangles __ 119/50
love triangles are good, i guess. they get a little boring after the realisation that it is a triangle in my opinion. you’re always going to be rooting for one person, so it kind of takes the focus off the plot whilst you wait for the person to pick.. unless that is the main point of the story lol. the person that doesn’t get chosen always moves on painfully quickly which can create gaps in the story because whyd you want to choose them if they’re not ready to be committed? also, the thing that happened in the kane chronicles. love triangles are fun and exciting and all but youd better not get stuck in your own one! ;D

good vs evil __ 62/50
good vs evil, black and white, all your cliché kind of thing you’d read when you’re young. i think this is a fun, simple idea, but i don’t think it’s developed enough. personally, i /need/ some sort of anti hero or nice villain because i believe in all sorts of shades of grey. this is a really easy trope to follow though!

the chosen one __ 59/50
the chosen one is a really popular, lovely trope for main characters! harry, katniss, thomas, percy, all main characters with the chosen one embedded so subtly! except for harry, they make the chosen one quite obvious lol. i know theres that main character syndrome thing but i think this trope is really awesome, well thought out and fun! <3

friends to lovers __ 65/50
aww, friends to lovers! i love this trope when it’s well written out- if it’s done poorly it becomes too predictable and boring. you need to make sure there’s a grand finale for these! they are quite easy to understand and tend to be shorter because argh no do not give me slow burn, but friends to lovers is a cute comfort trope for me!

orphan hero __ 81/50
orphan hero is a quite common trope i’ve seen! it sort of makes the hero be able to do more interesting things without having to abide to a curfew because, duh, they are reckless main character energy type of kids! if an author includes this then there’s probably going to be fun ahead! i remember trying to write something for the first time and setting it in an orphanage, it!s really straightforward and helpful to start up ideas and stuff lol.

Part 2 - /400 words

friends to lovers;

// aiden___
i'm not exactly sure of the exact time i looked up and thought. wow. ash is kind of cute. i mean, i've thought it from the start, as soon as i saw her on the school bus, but that was.. a bit different. all of this crazy stuff hadn't happened yet. i know im the psycho of the group, but i do really care about them, i do. the reason why i always smile is because apparently smiling makes you happy and well. i do need that. i've had enough of being unhappy, and ash.. she's so sensitive and ugh i don't know. i think i do like her. maybe. a little bit.

ashlyn___
i watch aiden smiling to himself in the corner. i wonder what he's smiling about; there's not much good things in our life right now. it's a little wild, what we're going through. i smile a little, too, because i'm glad to have a friend like aiden, who's always there for me when i need it. we really get each other. that's what makes us such awesome friends. yeah, he's annoying, but i can put up with that, i know he's just messing around.

aiden___
even if i did feel like that, it's likely ashlyn doesnt feel the same. she's just so mysterious and upredictable it would be hard to guess what's going on in her head. //


Part 3 - 502/500 words
Harry stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. Hermione walked up to him. “Harry..? What are you doing?”
Harry jumped backwards. “I..uh.. nothing!”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Harry… why do you not have a scar?”
Harry blushed. “You never had one, I drew one on my forehead so I could be edgy and cool. I’m also a really big David Bowie fan and an AC/DC fan. But then everyone started treating me like royalty. So I stuck with it,”

Hermione’s mouth fell open and her brow furrowed. How could she be friends with someone so fame hungry and deceitful? She opened her mouth to make a remark but Harry cut in.

“Oh yeah.. Lord Voldy is actually my uncle.”
// “what?! you attention freak!” hermione shouted, outraged. “so it was all of this for /nothing/???”
“it wasn't exactly nothing. we became friends!”
“and i risked my life and place at this school countless times!” hermione stood up and rushed to get ron.

“ron, you'll never believe what i just found out!” harry could hear her voice carrying over from afar.
ron looked up from his game of chess. “if this is about harry not having a scar, i already know.”
hermione crinkled her nose. “AND YOU DIDNT TELL ME???”
ron shrugged. “i thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

hermione folded her arms across her chest. ouch. that hurt. ‘so…’ she wondered aloud, ‘who else knows about this? or just you two? what the heck, does dumbledore even know? ginny? neville? all our friends?’

ron looked at his feet, ashamed. hermione began to realise. ‘oh.’
'yeah. they don't know.' ron replied.
hermione slumped onto the floor, disgusted to be surrounded by such jerks. her mind was whirring. this changed so many things.
'ron.. then what about neville's parents?'
rons head flew up. ‘oh yeah.’

hermione could feel that something was wrong. ‘when were you told that the scar was fake?’ hermione asked ron.
'just now, right before you stormed in.' ron replied.
hermione rolled her eyes. ‘so, i wasn’t as clueless and you made out.'
'yeah… sorry about that.' ron scratched the back of his neck.

hermione gasped. ‘that wasn’t harry!''

just then, harry walked in. hermione and ron stiffened, suspicious. ‘it’s me?' said the real harry. ‘i don’t know why you'd think it wasn't me.'
hermione and ron both asked some verification questions and nodded, satisfied.
'but, why did you manipulate us? the harry we know wouldn't do that.'

'oh… that was just a test. i have trust issues, you see.' harry said sheepishly.
'ughhghhghghgh' groaned hermione. ‘now i have trust issues TOO. i can’t take it anymore!' //


Part 2: Favourite Trope(written by Eevee)

You've got your list of tropes? Great! Now we've got to do some digging. Do some research on each of tropes: the origins, the most popular usage, etc. I mean, who knew that ‘you can’t judge a book by its cover' was popularized by a murder mystery? With this newfound knowledge, write at least 400 words incorporating your favorite trope in a story.


Part 4: Implementing Them(written by Mabel)
Woohoo! You've made it to the last part of this weekly! I hope you've had fun learning and writing about tropes, because now you’re going to write a story implementing three tropes. This story should be at least 700 words. Have fun, and good luck!

Outro (written by Amethyst)

Stories have tropes, and while some might think this is a bad thing, it's the core of many books we love. In this weekly you learnt about utilising these tropes to your advantage. So good on ya for completing this weekly!

Before you claim those scrumptious points for your cabin, let's make sure that you have all your parts:
Part 1: Five tropes, 50 words each on their positives and negatives. 250 words total for this part
Part 2: 400 words incorporating your favourite trope into a story
Part 3: Put a unique twist on a novel with a trope and rewrite a 500 word excerpt of it
Part 4: 700 words of a story implementing three tropes

Your weekly should be a minimum of 1850 words for it to count. Submit it by March 23rd at 11:59 pm UTC in the Main Cabin in order to earn 3000 points for your cabin! If you have any questions/concerns, contact a coordinator on one of their profiles, or you need an extension, please go here before the deadline.

Nice job. Now stand up, take a stretch break and feel good about yourself ;D

piece for a critiqueakskdhsjkajdjaire!
i’m mainly looking for feedback on the flow, phrasing, and that sort of stuff : D

where
do we go
when we're dreaming?
the world fades
the room darkens
where
are you
now?

in the darkness,
in the the light,
a shimmering brightness,
blinding yet dim all the same
a twilight veil, a twilight vesper
floating, falling,
suspended by starlight threads
tied to the rising moon

just out of reach,
just beyond the distance,
swirling, shining,
brush your fingertips,
but never come closer,
how do we know it is real?
the darkness brightens,
the world returns

where
do we go
when we're dreaming?
the world is there,
watching you exit,
where
are you
now?

this post is 1096 total

this is me attempting to write five hundred words in five minutes the five headed hydra or something or other I'm just going to write and write stream of consciousness and hope somehow that I keep up a one hundred or above word per minute which is really unlikely - I don't know how people do this challenge! but it's okay I risk it all for cabin wars including my sleep and anyway I don't need to win the challenge in order to get the points, I just have to try and complete it I should have a hundred words by now oh wait way more than a hundred why is this so hard why are thoughts not coming when I need them I need to type them I need thoughts i cant think ah this is so hard I need to write words though maybe I should work on this weekly for the challenge maybe I should try to write a thousand words in like fifteen minutes for no reason at all well yes reason fort he cabin war so that I can write words towards the cabin war what is this nonsense and why am i actually posting it, well im posting it for proof and grammar has just gone out the window along with punctuation but surprisingly my spelling isn't too bad but I still need to type way faster there's no way I'm completing this I need to start writing the c word i forgot when there's becomes there is so that I write more words somehow yes I'm that desperate… dear god i hope nobody actually reads this why did I decide to do this on the mega thread eh its fine who cares anyway they understand the stress of cabin wars and the necessity of points and I should probably sleep tonight I have stuff in the morning BUT theres still cabin wars to be completed and our shield isn't down maybe I should be that one person who goes absolutely crazy this cabin wars idk but this should be fun I was sick the last cabin wars and not on scratch which really sucks but its okay for this one ok ok ok last hundred words (or theoretically in theory a hundred words I don't think i can actually write that many) but hey I've writen a lot why do I keep spelling hundred wrong there I did it right for once this stream of thoughts is really random but then again my stream of thoughts is really random I'm going to fix the spelling after this ugh im running out of time I wonder if I completed the challenge and like passed or not- 451 words

okay I'm back after a quick shower this time I'm doing a one minute challenge to see if I can write 100 words because i couldn't do five hundred in five minutes but maybe this would be more doable? I also just want to see if I can do it because I couldn't do the other one oh wait that's exactly what I just said but anyway it was fun before and it is fun now and I think I'll keep on writing like this until I complete the war. I really want to sleep tonight but it's cabin wars and I want to be helpful because I really wasn't before last time since I was out sick and I want to feel like I'm contributing lol - okay somehow I did it and that was way over a hundred words so maybe I should try the five minute again so we can be done with this war and I maybe will beat it: 163 words

I should be doing things like sleeping because I have things to do tomorrow like orchestra and going to the city to do a bunch of stuff but what am I doing instead? this, which is writing down all my thoughts really really quickly to write as many words as possible towards this cabin war and also seeing if I can write five hundred words in five minutes for fun I guess and also for the twenty five points not that that's a lot but every point helps and therefore every word helps. It's also so we don't get points taken away. gosh I love cabin wars but I'm not what I used to be here and on scratch in general I'm not as active and I'm not as sleep deprived - scratch that, I'm way more sleep deprived but I value sleep much more and therefore I want to go to bed. I also have way more responsibilities and a lot more to worry about so maybe that's why. Dear god i hope no one erads this as I said before this is so bad I"m just writing down thoughts though so it's okay I need to write as many words as possible the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. Maybe the lazy dog should get off it's butt and jump over the brown fox! the brown fox really needs a break from being quick. like me. I always need a break oh my gosh I'm so unproductive sometimes I feel like a failure but at least I'm writing a lot of words I guess yeah if I went on like this for long enough I could solo the cabin war in about forty minutes (yay mental math haha) oh no I'm running out of things to write I low key should write towards my weekly but I'm scared of the last part but I could do the third part I had a decent Idea for that I think oh no a minute and a half left well good news is at least that we def finished the war by now with my writing hooray so not another one for another hour and I can go stalk the other cabins and try to war them I hate and love the cooldown or shild or whatever because it saves us but now we have to fight ot war each other I wonder if I should wait no I'm not going to say that on here but I thought the thought in my head and I wonder. I also have some music to make and oh my gosh I have so much stuff to do and this of all things is so unproductive bot of course I do it for swc my logic is actually so messed up but at least I have written a lot of words hahah almost done now 482 words

Word War #3 w/ @AhmadimuslimFOREVER

Prompt: @PixelDucko: Dear Santa: for Christmas, I'd like a peaceful life for a change.

Santa, please. Just this once, let me have a good Christmas. Let me have a peaceful life. These last few years or so have been filled with endless violence and villains and stuff like that. It’s been really crazy man, I just need a break! Being a superhero is hard. You could technically be considered a superhero, yeah? Something like that? Since yeah, you should let me, one superhero to the other, have a break. I’m sure you want a break, and I am really sorry for asking you this in April, but I really do need a break. I’m writing this right now because I’ll be too busy fighting monsters and villains to ask you later. This is one of the only times I can ask you. Santa, please. I’m giving you so much time to prepare in advance. I just need this break. I desperately need it, I’m tired and I haven’t eaten my favourite food in seven years. Do you know what seven years without crispy chicken tenders does to a person? Yeah, it makes them go crazy. I can’t fight monsters without my crispy chicken tenders. Or maybe my favourite food is ice cream with whipped cream on top? I’ve forgotten my favourite food, so that just proves how tired I am. Please Santa. Just give me a peaceful life this Christmas, even if for a day. Let me curl up by the fireplace and relax, even if you’re giving me coal as a gift. I don’t care what physical gifts I get as long as I get a peaceful life. Seriously, what physical gift could be better than a peaceful life? Anyway, yeah. I do hope you accept my proposition. I’ll fight off any grinches or whatnot that come your way to the North Pole if you accept. Just give me a call man, okay? Just give me a call and I will help you. Trust me. Just grant me this one wish and give me a peaceful life this Christmas because I firmly believe that I need it. Come on man. Please. One superhero to another? Oh wait, I already said that. I’m tired and my hands are tired and OH IS THAT A VILLAIN THROWING ROCKS AT MY WINDOW?

Word Count: 376

dear darling ember the dragon:
i’ve been told to convince you of something. being the easily persuaded person that i am, i’ve decided that i will. so, here goes the question, would you be our friend?
i come from a cool place called the swcity, i think you’d like it. it’s filled with lots of people (not for eating, apologies) and buildings, bearing shiny windows for a dragon like you to look at. there are lamp posts which glow golden in the night. i’m sure you can have those, the city people wouldn’t mind too much right? after all they’re desperate enough to get me to write this letter, despite the fact that i am extremely behind on cabin lore oopsy daisy.
so anyways! crucial piece of information i forgot to mention is that we all happen to be spider people. and um. we really like dragons! in fact we would pay good money to get your signature, but i suppose we’d have to become friends first. friends are more likely to give signatures :)
oh and like finally, this alliance would actually be greatly beneficial to our survival! yes, the factor that determines if we live or not? i think you would feel rather accomplished knowing you’re supporting like 30 something people. not sure if you have a moral compass but any time is a good time to develop one <3 be kind!!! it gets you mangoes
will you be our friend? (yes) (no)
love, veni of illu fi

Okay I finished the third part of the weekly but there are still seven hundred words to write towards this war and I'm the only one online, so I must do it. And you know darn well what I'm about to do next - ramble on about my thoughts for seven hundred words! This should theoretically only take me about ten minutes and then I can be in peace and go to sleeppp! Hopefully we don't get a three hour war in between because I don't think anyone will be on until those three hours are over. Hopefully nobody is awake to give us that war! Although of course knowing swc'ers there will be someone. I'm so bored and it's so late and I desperately need sleep so I need to write this as fast as humanely possible because I'm actually so done with this. On the positive I've written thousands and thousands of words today and I'm so close to hitting my word goal! God bless cabin wars even though this is kvlling me. I must continue to write words for the sake of the cabin I must continue sacrificing my sleep because until I finish this sleep shall not > swc and neither shall life. Although they are the same to me. Currently my sleep is my life. So of course it makes total sense that I'm up late doing this. for swc. this is so stupid of me and so stupid I have to do this. I mean would it really hurt to lose oNe war? Like I'm trying over here but I'm not staying up after this. I'm actually so d3@d inside it's crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room with rats. The rats made me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. And so on but I don't think I would be allowed to do that and it would count as words. I saw someone else writes about cats a lot. (The rats made the cats crazy, too.) and then the cats turn into the sky in their word wars? it makes no sense but neither does this it's perfectly up my alley. Please let this be seven hundred words already even though I know it's not. I finished the third part of the weekly yay look at me being productive. I love how I procrastinate things by being “productive” by doing swc work like I know darn well that's not really productive but I still say it is and act like it is and I'm proud of it and there's nothing wrong with that I have every write to be proud of it and my work and the fact that i dragged myself to do something finally, no matter what it is. Guys I love our cabin theme so much I love wicked like I randomly start singing wicked songs bro i am such a theater kid even though I'm a pretty big introvert and those things don't usually mix like I have such bad anxiety and social anxiety and hate doing stuff by myself in front of other people but for some reason i still do it for theater. Anyway checking the words because I've filled up one full panel of the box and I want to be done even though I'm probably only at like five hundred. Oh yo no way I was actually really accurate but I don't have what I need yet so I must keep writing! Cats. Cats turning into sky. Quick brown foxes jumping over lazy dogs. Dogs turning into sky. Brown foxes turning into sky. Quick turning into sky. Anything and everything in the world and all matter just turns into sky. (Atmosphere, not space vacuum.) There really is a man in the moon and faces in the clouds now. Because everything is sky. yeah okay that made no sense at all but I'm going crazy (Crazy? I was crazy once) trying to write all these words by myself and my left hand is really cramping specifically my pointer finger the most and the bottom part of it so I'm typing with that slightly elevated so there's less pressure on it and it doesn't hurt as much and it's working but really only a tiny bit not that much ugh im so tired please let me sleep it's been like ten minutes ooh maybe i have enough words then Oh yup I do I'm done bye. Sike darn it I was only fourty words off but it's okay that is super quick to write and will take me less than a minute like I'm probably already almost done or already done here. Yay goodnight I can go to bed now that I completed this cabin war no way I'm staying up for another one it's just not happening.

The wind whips Ave’s hair back into her face as she surveys the sky from her perch atop one of the SWCity’s tallest skyscrapers.
“There’s Captain Sinker’s ship,” she yells over the howling wind, to the various spider-people crouching behind her. The huge pirate ship floats through the cloud cover beneath them, casting a shadow over the SWCity. The heroes can just hear muted sea shanties from their position.
One spider-person wrinkles their nose. “They’ve got a terrible singing voice, don’t they?”
Ave grimaces, agreeing. “Not their strong suit, it seems.”
She peers over the skyscrapers edge, leaning out over the emptiness. She spreads her arms and the spider-silk of her wings ripples, catching the breeze. She can barely make out any actual words from the ship below.
She sighs. She’ll have to do this the hard way.
Slipping a voice-recording device into her pocket, she unwinds a coil of spider silk, tying it tightly to the railing at the edge of the roof. She breathes out, slowly. The clouds swim and shift below her dangling feet.
Then, in a burst of movement, she jumps. She feels herself suspended in mid-air, freefalling through the cloud cover, stomach plummeting and plummeting as rows of windows flash by. She flicks her wings open and her fall halts — she glides through the wind, silent.
She descends a little further once she’s directly above Sinker’s ship. Careful not to become visible to the pirates below her, she lies in wait. Their song dies down, and she hears muffled mutters coming from the crew. She wills them to talk louder — her side needs all the information they can get, if they’re going to beat the dreaded Captain Sinker at his own game.
“The other battleships are in position,” she hears a voice declare. “Remember, we need as many valuables as our ships can carry.”

Word War 1 ( I ofc have to make it greek ) ( MYth, im going to win )
Alia earnestly opened her eyes to the doves that surrounded her bed. " Aphrodite has to be annoying again? She groans, tumbling out of bed to wear school attire. Boring white blouse,check. Even more boring than Posideons Bahamas Shirt? Check. Unused Tie? Check again. She was atleast thankful the school had archery. Her father Eros had given her a set of arrows for fun. Now they were her pride and joy as she went out, strutting like it was a modeling agency to her new school.


Chapter 2 , Earnest Ages, Williams

Now He stood looking at the girl infront of him, Who looked death droppingly gorgeus. Her blonde dandilon hair made her look like Aphrodite, And her tall graceful figure smiled back, he felt a flutter of excitement. He was too luck

Cabin war challenge completed :
( challenge was : Cabin Wars! Write 4500 words as a cabin in the next 7 hours, or else lose 700 points. Use three song titles in your writing! Every cabin member who does this can claim 25 points for their cabin! This applies for up to six campers (resulting in 150 points earned maximum.) love, action <3 by @BookHuggers2022)
Chapter One: The Clock is Ticking
The clock was ticking. Every second that passed brought Asha closer to a truly catastrophic fate: losing 700 points in the annual Mount Olympus Mythology Challenge. If she didn’t make it to the finish line in the next seven hours, she’d be demoted to mortal status—a fate worse than anything the gods could dream up.

Asha tightened her grip on her enchanted sword, trying to block out the sound of Hermes’ laughter echoing across the battlefield.

“Time’s running out, darling,” the messenger god called from a cloud, lounging as if he had all the time in the world. “You’d better hold on tight!”

Asha exhaled sharply, adjusting her golden laurel wreath. “Oh, don’t start with me, Hermes. I’ve had enough of your nonsense for one day.”

“You’re the one who signed up for this,” he reminded her, his voice dripping with amusement. “But no worries! You’ve still got seven hours. Just don’t lose your grip now, love.”

Asha was about to fire back when a booming roar rumbled across the battlefield, shaking the ground beneath her feet.

She froze. That was not a good sound.

Out from the dense olive trees of the sacred grove stomped a hydra—a monstrous, many-headed beast, its dark scales glinting like polished obsidian. Each of its heads swivelled around wildly, as if searching for something to destroy. Or someone.

Asha grimaced. “Oh, fantastic. I’m on a timer, and this is what I have to deal with?”

One of the hydra’s heads turned towards her, its slit-pupil eyes glowing with amusement. “Do you really think you can defeat me?” it hissed, its voice somehow both menacing and cheekily smug. “You’re just a mortal with a sword. You’ll have to ‘go your own way’ if you want to survive this.”

Asha frowned. “What was that? Are you… singing Fleetwood Mac?”

The hydra’s head tilted. “What? Go Your Own Way—it’s a classic! I’ve got a greatest hits playlist, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Asha blinked. “You know, for a creature of myth, you’ve got some interesting taste in music.”

Before the hydra could respond, Asha sprang into action.

Her sword flashed through the air, slicing cleanly through one of the beast’s snapping heads. But before she could even take a breath, two more heads sprouted in its place.

She gritted her teeth. “Oh, come on!”

The hydra grinned, its three remaining heads now harmonising in a raucous rendition of the Rolling Stones.

“You can't always get what you want… but if you try sometime, you just might find…”

Asha ducked as one of its heads lunged at her, narrowly dodging the deadly set of fangs aimed at her throat.

“Honestly,” she muttered, slashing at another head, “I don’t even know what’s worse anymore—the hydra or this weird concert it’s putting on.”

Chapter Two: The Hydra’s Playlist
Asha had faced many challenges in the Mount Olympus Mythology Challenge, but a hydra with a classic rock obsession was a new one.

She swung her sword, slicing through another one of its writhing, scaly necks. The severed head hit the ground with a sickening thud—only for two more to burst from the wound like demonic jack-in-the-boxes.

“Brilliant,” she muttered under her breath, dodging a lashing tail. “I’m fighting a monster and a jukebox at the same time.”

The hydra cackled, one of its heads tilting in amusement. “That’s the magic of show business, love.”

Asha barely had time to react before another head lunged at her, teeth snapping just inches from her face. She ducked, rolling away as the hydra’s tail slammed into the ground where she’d been standing a second ago.

Hermes, still lounging on his ridiculous little cloud, let out a low whistle. “Oof. That was close.”

Asha shot him a glare. “Maybe instead of commentating, you could actually help?”

Hermes stretched, looking entirely too comfortable. “Oh, no, no, no. Rules, Asha. I’m just here to observe.” He grinned. “And enjoy the show.”

Asha gritted her teeth. “Typical.”

The hydra snapped its jaws again, forcing her to leap backwards. As if the many-headed death machine wasn’t annoying enough, it started humming another tune.

“Don't stop believin’… Hold on to that fee—”

“No.” Asha lunged, slashing through another head with a clean, controlled strike. “Absolutely not. I will not die to a hydra that’s singing Journey!”

The hydra giggled, which was deeply unsettling coming from a massive multi-headed beast. “Aw, come on. It’s a classic!”

Asha groaned. She needed to think. Fast. The more she cut off the hydra’s heads, the more it regenerated. This was basic Hydra Fighting 101—she’d heard the story a thousand times. Cut off one head, two grow back. That was just standard monster nonsense.

But what was the trick?

Her mind raced as she dodged another lunge, the hydra’s breath hot and rancid against her cheek.

“Think, think, think,” she muttered. “What did Hercules do?”

Hermes perked up. “Oh, now you want a history lesson?”

Asha didn’t dignify that with a response. She racked her brain, running through every myth she’d ever read.

Fire.

Hercules had used fire to cauterise the wounds, stopping the heads from growing back. That was the key.

Her eyes darted around the battlefield. No fire in sight. But there was something she could use.

She rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding another crushing tail strike, then sprinted toward the edge of the battlefield where the sacred grove’s trees stood tall and ancient. She sliced off a branch, the dry wood snapping easily under her enchanted blade.

Now all she needed was a spark.

Hermes raised an eyebrow as she ran past him. “Er—darling, not to question your methods, but… are you planning to poke the hydra to death with that?”

Asha ignored him. She pulled a flint stone from her belt pouch—thank the gods she’d packed survival gear—and struck it against the blade.

Spark.

The dry branch caught fire instantly, flames flickering to life in her hands.

The hydra hesitated.

Asha grinned. “Oh? Not so chatty now, are you?”

The beast hissed, heads snapping back in alarm. “Oh, this is just unfair.”

“You know what else is unfair?” Asha charged, swinging her sword—and this time, when she sliced through a head, she pressed the burning branch to the wound.

The flames seared the fresh cut. No new heads.

Asha’s grin widened. “I win.”

The hydra screeched, writhing as she systematically burned each of its wounds, stopping the regeneration for good.

It thrashed violently, roaring in frustration. One final head remained.

The creature panted, glaring at her. “You’re ruining my setlist.”

Asha raised her sword. “Good.”

With one last, powerful strike, she ended it.

The hydra’s body collapsed with a final, dramatic thud, the battlefield suddenly silent. No music. No snarky commentary.

Just Asha, standing victorious, her sword still glowing with heat.

A slow, sarcastic clap echoed through the clearing.

Hermes.

“Well done, Asha!” he announced, grinning. “You did it! I thought for a moment there you might actually lose your cool, but you handled it like a champ.”

Asha wiped sweat off her brow, still catching her breath. “And my points?”

Hermes flashed his signature cheeky grin. “Oh, don’t worry, love. You’ve earned them back. 700 points for you.”

Asha exhaled sharply, finally allowing herself a moment of relief.

She’d done it.

No mortal status for her today.

Hermes floated lazily beside her. “I must say, though. That hydra had impeccable taste in music. You should really—”

Asha held up a hand. “If you even think about sending me another musical monster, I am reporting you to the Greek Ministry of Mythical Beasts.”

Hermes gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “You wouldn’t!”

Asha sheathed her sword, fixing him with a deadpan stare.

He grinned. “Alright, alright. No more singing monsters.”

He paused.

“Unless…”

Asha groaned. “Hermes!”

The god laughed, his form already shimmering as he prepared to disappear in a blink.

Asha shook her head, watching him go.

One challenge down.

Only six more hours to go.

And knowing the gods? Things were only going to get weirder.

Chapter Three: The Sirens’ Greatest Hits
With the hydra now nothing but a smoking pile of defeated monster, Asha allowed herself exactly ten seconds to breathe.

Then she checked the clock.

Six hours and thirty-four minutes remaining.

She sighed. “Right. No time to waste.”

The battlefield had transformed back into the Olympus Challenge arena, the hydra’s remains vanishing into thin air as if they’d never been there at all. The gods had a habit of resetting things just to mess with the contestants, but Asha was used to it by now.

She turned, expecting Hermes to give her her next challenge—

But the god was gone.

“Hermes?” she called, scanning the empty expanse of marble columns and golden clouds. No sign of him. “Oh, fantastic. He vanishes the second I need answers.”

A soft humming filled the air.

Asha tensed.

The last time she’d heard random humming, she’d ended up fighting a hydra with a questionable playlist. This did not bode well.

The humming grew louder, shifting into a soft, melodic tune.

Asha frowned. The song sounded familiar.

Then—

“Sweet dreams are made of this… Who am I to disagree?”

Asha froze.

“…No. No, absolutely not.”

She turned just in time to see them.

A group of three figures emerged from behind the pillars, their silhouettes elegant and eerie, draped in flowing silver robes.

Sirens.

Of course it was sirens.

The lead one, a tall woman with feathered wings and a smirk that screamed trouble, cocked her head. “Oh? Not a fan of Eurythmics?”

Asha narrowed her eyes. “I knew the gods wouldn’t let me go a full hour without something ridiculous happening.”

The siren grinned. “Oh, sweetheart. You haven’t even heard ridiculous yet.”

Then, all three of them burst into perfect, synchronised harmony:

“Never gonna give you up… Never gonna let you down…”

Asha’s jaw dropped.

“Oh my gods. I’m getting Rickrolled by sirens.”

The sirens cackled as they circled her, their shimmering wings glowing under the arena lights.

“You see, love,” the lead siren purred, “we’ve decided that traditional siren songs are a bit… outdated.”

“We could lure sailors to their doom with haunting, mythical melodies,” another chimed in. “Or, we could build a killer playlist.”

The third siren twirled, hands outstretched dramatically. “And you, my dear, are about to experience the full setlist.”

Asha groaned. “Oh, for the love of Zeus.”

The lead siren’s eyes gleamed. “Shall we continue?”

They harmonised again, their voices echoing across the arena.

“Dancing queen… Young and sweet, only seventeen…”

Asha clapped her hands over her ears. “NO. You do not get to fight me with ABBA!”

The sirens laughed, twirling through the air like musical menaces.

“Oh, but we do, darling,” the leader crooned. “And the only way to shut us up?”

She winked.

“You gotta out-sing us.”

Asha’s stomach dropped.

“…What.”

The second siren smirked. “Oh, come on, warrior girl. You can swing a sword, but can you carry a tune?”

Asha stared in horror.

The gods had thrown monsters, traps, and impossible quests at her. But this? This was worse.

She would rather fight ten musical hydras than be forced into a sing-off.

The lead siren twirled a feather between her fingers, looking far too amused. “What’s the matter? Stage fright?”

Asha gritted her teeth. Oh, it was on.

She cracked her knuckles. If the gods wanted a concert, she’d give them one.

She took a deep breath—

And then belted out the loudest, most aggressively off-key version of “Bohemian Rhapsody” the sirens had ever heard.

The sirens shrieked.

One of them clutched her ears, looking absolutely offended. “OH GODS, SHE’S BUTCHERING IT!”

The lead siren stumbled backward, wings twitching violently. “STOP. STOP IMMEDIATELY.”

Asha took a triumphant step forward, still singing at full volume.

“MAMAAAAA! JUST KILLED A MANNNN!”

“NOOOO!”

The sirens collapsed, rolling on the floor as if in physical pain.

One of them sobbed dramatically. “She’s ruining QUEEN! I CAN’T TAKE IT!”

Asha smirked. Victory.

She strode forward, still bellowing, until the sirens were reduced to a pile of defeated, wailing songbirds.

The lead siren looked up weakly, her voice hoarse. “You… you win. Please. Just stop.”

Asha crossed her arms. “Admit it.”

“Fine,” the siren groaned. “You have defeated us… through the power of terrible vocals.”

Asha grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

The sirens vanished in a shimmer of golden dust, leaving the arena blessedly silent.

For the first time in what felt like hours, Asha let herself breathe.

Then—

A slow clap echoed across the battlefield.

Asha groaned. “Oh, not again.”

Hermes materialised out of thin air, grinning like he’d just watched the greatest entertainment of his immortal life.

“Oh, Asha, darling,” he said, wiping away a fake tear. “That was truly beautiful.”

Asha shot him a look of pure exhaustion. “Shut. Up.”

Hermes laughed, spinning lazily in the air. “But really—700 more points!”

Asha’s eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

Hermes nodded. “For effort. And also for managing to survive a musical assault.”

Asha sagged in relief. That brought her total back up—still in the game.

Hermes leaned in, wiggling his eyebrows. “So… shall we move on to the next challenge?”

Asha sighed, adjusting her laurel wreath. “If it involves another music-based death match, I swear to the gods, Hermes—”

The god held up his hands innocently. “No promises, love.”

Asha groaned.

Only six more hours to go.

And if things kept going at this rate?

She was never listening to music again.

Chapter Four: The Minotaur’s Mega Mix
Asha had faced many ridiculous things in the past hour.

A hydra with a greatest hits playlist? Done.
A trio of sirens who tried to Rickroll her to death? Handled.

At this point, she was ready for anything.

Or so she thought.

Because the second she stepped into the next arena, she heard the unmistakable thump-thump-thump of a bass-heavy beat.

Asha froze.

“…No. No, they wouldn’t.”

And then, from the centre of the arena, a deep, booming voice growled:

“ARE YOU READY TO DROP THE BEAT?”

Asha blinked. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

The ground trembled. The walls vibrated. And out of the shadows, in a haze of golden spotlights and swirling mist, stepped—

A Minotaur.

Wearing sunglasses.

And giant golden headphones.

Asha just stood there, staring in absolute disbelief.

The Minotaur spread his arms wide, his massive muscles glowing under the flashing arena lights. “WHAT’S UP, OLYMPUS? IT’S YA BOY—”

He pointed dramatically at the sky.

“DJ MINOS.”

Asha slow-blinked. “Excuse me—what.”

The Minotaur grinned, revealing a row of very white, very perfect teeth.

“Oh, you heard me, love,” he rumbled. “This ain’t just a battle.” He flipped his sunglasses onto his forehead, revealing piercing red eyes. “This is a BATTLE OF THE BEATS.”

Asha opened her mouth. Closed it.

Then pinched the bridge of her nose.

“…Of course it is.”

DJ Minos spun around, revealing a full DJ booth behind him, complete with golden turntables and a massive set of glowing speakers.

Hermes appeared on his cloud, already laughing. “Ohhh, this is going to be good.”

Asha shot him a warning glare. “Hermes, if I ever get out of this alive, I am filing an official complaint with Zeus.”

Hermes wiped a fake tear. “Oh, Asha, darling. You act like this isn’t the best day of your life.”

Asha groaned.

The Minotaur cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, warrior girl. Here’s the deal.”

A golden mic appeared in his hand.

“You beat me in a DJ battle, you win.”

He tossed the mic, and it landed at Asha’s feet.

Asha stared at it like it was a cursed object.

“…You expect me to DJ?”

DJ Minos grinned. “That, or you get absolutely annihilated by my sick beats.”

Behind him, the speakers blared to life, blasting an earth-shaking remix of “Eye of the Tiger”.

Asha winced. “Oh, this is ridiculous.”

DJ Minos cracked his knuckles again. “Oh, love. This is just the beginning.”

Then he slammed his hand onto the turntable—

And the battle began.

The arena exploded with sound.

Lights flashed. Bass shook the ground. The clouds above Olympus parted, as if the gods themselves were watching in awe.

DJ Minos spun the tracks effortlessly, transitioning from epic orchestral remixes to thunderous EDM drops. The arena shook with every beat, the sheer force of the music enough to send Asha skidding backwards.

Asha grabbed the mic, heart racing. She needed a counterattack.

She stared at the turntables in front of her.

Okay. Think, Asha.

She didn’t know anything about DJing.

But she did know one thing.

If the gods wanted a show?

She was going to give them one.

She slammed her hand onto the controls—

And Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” blasted at full volume.

The arena went silent.

DJ Minos froze.

Hermes gasped.

“…No,” DJ Minos whispered. “You wouldn’t.”

Asha grinned. “Oh, I would.”

And then she dropped the beat.

The Olympian sound system echoed across the battlefield. The gods leaned in.

And for the second time that day—

Asha Rickrolled a monster.

DJ Minos staggered backwards, clutching his chest like he’d just been physically struck.

“No,” he gasped. “Not the Rickroll.”

Asha spun the turntable, seamlessly transitioning into—

“I want it that way” by the Backstreet Boys.

DJ Minos fell to one knee. “She’s… too powerful.”

Asha leaned into the mic, eyes glinting with victory.

“You lose.”

The Minotaur let out a final, dramatic wail, then vanished in a burst of golden dust.

Silence fell.

Asha panted, hands still on the controls.

And then—

A roar of laughter erupted from Hermes.

“Oh, Asha, love, that was iconic.”

Asha turned slowly, still catching her breath. “Did I… win?”

Hermes grinned. “Oh, absolutely. 700 more points.”

Asha sagged in relief.

Hermes floated closer, smirking. “But the clock’s still ticking, darling. Five hours left.”

Asha exhaled. “Great. Who’s next? A Cyclops who only speaks in Taylor Swift lyrics?”

Hermes perked up. “Oh, that’s a great idea.”

Asha paled. “No. Hermes, no.”

Hermes snapped his fingers.

The world shifted.

Asha barely had time to react before she found herself standing in a new arena—this one lined with glowing torches and echoing with soft, eerie humming.

A shadow moved in the distance.

Then—

A deep, gravelly voice whispered:

“It’s me… Hi… I’m the problem, it’s me…”

Asha screamed.

Chapter Five: The Swiftocalypse
Asha had fought many terrifying things today.

But a Cyclops who exclusively spoke in Taylor Swift lyrics?

That might be the worst yet.

She took a deep, steadying breath as the eerie humming continued, echoing through the arena.

Then, from the shadows, a giant, hulking figure stepped forward.

A single, glowing eye gleamed in the torchlight.

He was massive—easily twice Asha’s height—with tough, grey skin and an expression of deep emotional turmoil, like a creature who had spent too much time making sad playlists.

Asha braced herself, tightening her grip on her sword. “Alright, big guy. What’s your deal?”

The Cyclops let out a deep sigh, clutching his chest dramatically.

Then, in a voice thick with emotion, he whispered:

“You were Romeo, you were throwin’ pebbles—”

Asha stared.

“…Oh, no.”

The Cyclops stomped forward, shaking the arena.

“And my daddy said stay away from Juliet!”

Asha took a step back, waving her sword frantically. “NOPE. We are not doing this.”

But the Cyclops was already in full performance mode.

He pressed one massive hand to his chest, staring up at the sky as if reliving a tragic love story.

“It’s a love story, baby, just say yes—”

Asha threw up her hands. “HERMES, I SWEAR TO ZEUS—”

A familiar snicker echoed overhead.

“Oh, love,” Hermes called from his floating perch, looking far too amused, “this might be my favourite one yet.”

Asha turned back to the giant musical menace, now twirling in slow motion as if performing on an ancient Olympian version of “The Voice.”

Asha groaned. “Okay, you giant sadboy—enough!”

The Cyclops froze.

His massive eye narrowed.

“Did you just call me… a sadboy?” he rumbled.

Asha crossed her arms. “Yeah. What of it?”

The Cyclops trembled.

Then—

“You call me up again just to break me like a promise—”

Asha’s eye twitched.

“Oh, for the love of Apollo,” she muttered.

This was getting out of hand.

Fast.

She had two options:

Fight a giant, emotional Swiftie in armed combat.
Beat him at his own game.
And honestly?

If she had to hear one more verse of You Belong With Me, she was going to lose it.

So instead—

She dropped her sword.

The Cyclops blinked.

Asha took a deep breath—

And then she launched into a full-blown, heart-wrenching performance of ”Shake It Off.“

The Cyclops gasped.

The gods leaned in.

And Hermes?

Hermes HOWLED with laughter.

Asha kept going, throwing in dramatic dance moves, flipping her hair, and channeling every ounce of theatrical energy she had left.

The Cyclops staggered back, hands clutching his head.

“No,” he moaned. “NO, I CAN’T RESIST—”

Asha hit the chorus with full force.

”Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play—“

The Cyclops wailed.

He dropped to one knee, tears streaming down his face. “IT’S SO CATCHY!”

”And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate—“

The Cyclops exploded.

Literally.

A blast of golden light erupted, and when the dust settled—

The arena was silent.

Asha panted, wiping sweat off her brow. “Did I just—”

Hermes floated down, slow-clapping.

“Oh, darling,” he grinned, “you absolutely did.”

Asha sagged. “Please tell me I won.”

Hermes beamed. “700 points. Flawless victory.”

Asha nearly collapsed. “Finally.”

She checked the clock.

Four hours left.

One more challenge.

She turned to Hermes. “Okay. Who’s next?”

Hermes hesitated.

For the first time, he actually looked—

Nervous.

Asha frowned. “What?”

The arena dimmed.

The clouds swirled.

And from the shadows, a new figure stepped forward.

Asha’s breath hitched.

This wasn’t another musical joke.

This was—

Hermes whispered one word.

“…Hades.”

Asha’s stomach dropped.

The god of the Underworld stepped into the light, smirking.

His midnight-black robes billowed around him, his pale eyes glinting with something dangerous.

“Hello, Asha,” he murmured.

Asha swallowed.

“…Oh, this can’t be good.”

—TO BE CONTINUED.



1500 words DONE BY ASHA IN MYTHOLOGY - 6:25
3500 words DONE by Asha in myth -7:47
~4500 words DONE by Asha in myth -8:39
WAR COMPLETED


Cabin war !!!! Challenge : Write 4000 words as a cabin in the next 9 hours or lose 900 points. Extra challenge: Write 200 words in an archaic or old-fashioned style! Every cabin member who does this can claim 25 points for their cabin. This applies for up to six campers (resulting in 150 points max)
( goal 1000 words )
Here it is , I used as much old English as I could and I based it somewhat off little women or Anne of green gables! :
In the heart of Derbyshire, nestled amongst the rolling hills and quiet pastures, there stood Clarendon Hall—a grand old house that had weathered many seasons, and many a curious thought, over the years. It was here that Mistress Evelina Clarendon had spent her days, and though she was of the finest birth, with a life set upon the comforts of her family’s estate, Evelina was far from the sort of young lady who would sit idly by and wait for the world to come to her.

She was a young woman of keen mind, with a curious spark that set her apart from others of her age. While her father, Sir Reginald Clarendon, was a man of steady habits and quiet dignity, Evelina longed for something beyond the well-mannered world of well-kept gardens and carefully arranged tea parties. There were moments, of course, when she enjoyed the peace of a good book or a long walk through the estate’s grounds, but those moments were always too brief. Evelina wanted more—a bit of excitement, perhaps, and a touch of harmless trouble to spice up her otherwise sensible life.

One morning, as the first light of day crept over the horizon, Evelina sat at her desk, staring at the pile of correspondence that had come for her father. A letter from the family solicitor, one from the local vicar, and—oh, another note from Lady Bingley, who had yet again invited her to tea. Evelina had never been very fond of Lady Bingley’s dull conversations about the weather and the proper placement of one’s teacup. In fact, Lady Bingley’s entire life seemed to revolve around the proper placing of things. It was, to Evelina’s mind, the most terribly boring business.

“Oh, what I wouldn’t give for something exciting to happen around here!” she muttered under her breath, tapping her pencil against the desk.

It was at that very moment, when the silence of the room seemed almost too much to bear, that she heard a strange sound—like the softest of knocks, as though someone were gently rapping on the door.

”Come in," she called, half-expecting a servant or one of the housemaids to appear. But when the door opened, it was not the maid, nor any other usual visitor who entered. Instead, a young man stood there—disheveled, with a bright red face and a rather mischievous grin.

“Ah! Aha!” he exclaimed, as though arriving at a great revelation. “Mistress Evelina Clarendon, I presume!”

Evelina blinked, taken aback. “And you are—?”

“Francis Barrow, at your service,” the young man replied, bowing rather too deeply, as though it were all a bit of a joke. “I was sent by your father to fetch you, if you please.”

“Fetch me?” Evelina raised an eyebrow, setting her pencil down. “What for? Surely my father is not in need of another one of my ‘conversations on propriety,’ as he calls them?”

“No, no, not quite,” said Francis, who seemed far more delighted by the situation than was entirely proper. “You see, your father is rather—well, tied up with a rather troublesome matter at the estate’s south pasture. The sheep, you know. They’ve taken it into their heads to wander a bit too far this morning. So, I was sent to fetch you to—”

“To do what?” Evelina interrupted, now thoroughly intrigued. “To chase sheep around the field?”

“Why, yes,” Francis said, with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “But with a touch of adventure, I daresay. You see, the sheep—oh, they are not keen to be found. They’ve taken themselves off to the farthest corner of the estate, and I’m afraid we shall have to make quite a little expedition of it. Would you care to join me?”

Evelina’s first instinct was to laugh, for the idea of chasing after sheep seemed the height of absurdity. But at the same time, it stirred something within her—a feeling she hadn’t had in far too long. It wasn’t the kind of thing one could do every day, and it certainly wasn’t the sort of task her father would ever assign to a young lady of her standing. But that was precisely why it had so much appeal.

“I shall,” she said, standing up and grabbing her bonnet. “I’ll fetch my shawl.”

And with that, the two of them set off, leaving the house behind and walking briskly toward the southern pastures.

As they walked, Evelina found herself in a most unusual mood. The day was fresh, and the air felt sharp with possibility. The world seemed full of little details she hadn’t noticed before—the way the sun danced across the fields, the scent of freshly turned earth, and even the chatter of the birds high in the trees. She had never given much thought to these things, being often caught up in her own thoughts, but now, with Francis at her side and the excitement of the sheep-chase ahead, everything seemed brighter.

By the time they reached the pasture, it was clear that the task ahead would be no small feat. The sheep, in their usual way, had scattered in every direction. Some had wandered toward the farthest edge of the field, while others had taken refuge in a thicket of brambles. Evelina, feeling rather bold, suggested they begin with the stubborn ones by the brambles.

“I say,” she called to Francis, who had already begun to jog in the direction of the scattered flock, “if we can manage to gather them into one place, I do believe we might find our own victory today.”

Francis smiled, clearly impressed by her resolve. “You’re a quick learner, Mistress Clarendon,” he said, his voice filled with amusement. “I had no idea you were so—bold.”

It was then that they began their merry pursuit. For all the talk of propriety and what was suitable for a young lady of her station, Evelina was full of energy and determination. With Francis by her side, they darted between the sheep, coaxing them here and there, laughing as they scrambled through the pasture.

By the time the task was completed, with the sheep safely back in their pen, Evelina’s cheeks were flushed with the exhilaration of the chase. She had never felt so alive, so full of purpose. And though her shawl was a bit askew, and her hair had come loose in the wind, she was, in that moment, completely content.

“Well,” she said, smiling brightly at Francis, “I daresay that was a bit of an adventure.”

Francis grinned. “It was more than a bit. It was a triumph, Mistress Clarendon. A triumph indeed.”

As they made their way back to Clarendon Hall, Evelina felt a small sense of satisfaction settle within her. The day had been far more interesting than she had ever expected, and perhaps, just perhaps, there was something to be said for a bit of excitement now and then. The thought made her laugh quietly to herself.

Perhaps, she mused, the next time she felt that urge for adventure, she needn’t wait for someone to bring it to her.
~1000 words completed by Asha in mythology

It’s time to ramble desperately because I am having to solo a 4,500-word war in one hour. Yup, that’s right. I am going to attempt what feels impossible. To do this, I plan on simply writing nonstop because I am running out of time! WHy do I write like I’m runnin out of time? Because, like I said, this war is due in one hour! I did say that already, didn’t I? Sorry, I am rather incoherent right now, I have been writing my braincells out for the sheer joy of Cabin Wars. And maybe the competitiveness, too.
But you know what? I’m not actually all that stressed out by the idea of being faced with this monstrous task. It’s weird, but I feel confident I can do this. It’d be nice if my cabinmates were here to help, but I’m a co-leader. I should be able to ahndle this. It’s part of the job description, right? Well, maybe not really. Maybe even co-leaders are supposed to rest sometimes. But, let’s be honest, I’ve done that enough already. I haven’t been nearly as active in cabin palnning or word adding as I should be. This is my karma, and it’s something I can do. I guess I havent really been a very good co-leader. I should have been more active and talked with my fellow leaders more. Maybe that’s part of the reason we’re so behind now. I am beginning to doubt whether I was cut out for this sort of leadership thing. I’m still optimistic though, and I still ahve time to turn it around. I think that after Cabin Wars are over and I am sufficiently rested, I will go to the Bi-Fi planning thread and actually show my face. Or, not my face, but my… profile picture? The Bi-Fi pfp that I did make, by the way, and that did turn out pretty nice, if I do say so myself? Okay, so maybe I did do one thign right. Although, even that pfp project came out late.
Maybe being late is just one of my many, many “things.” The word “things” is so beautifully vague, isn’t it? In this case, I mean like one of my personality traits or behavioral quirks or branding actions that characterize me in general. I am always saying I have “things.” I don’t know how serious I really am about that. I also don’t seem to be too consistent about it, at least, not on purpose. I think it’s most likely just a silly bit I do with myself more than anything.
But then, I guess having “things” is one of my “things,” then? Gasp, how mysterious and ridiculous. It’s fun, though. And as long as I’m having a good time, does it really matter? It’s not like anyone else actually cares about my little antics all that much. I can talk to my brain or this Google Doc howveer I want to.
Actually, should I post this to Scratch forums when I’m done with this? Just to show off that I did, in fact, write all these words within one singular hour? I mean, technically it’s not timestamped from the time I started writing, so there’s no way to be totally sure I didn’t write this ahead of time, but I feel like it’s pretty obvious from how rushed this is that I’m probably not lying about that. Also, if I was lying, I wouldn’t really be briniging it up right now, would I?
Let’s see, how many words am I at so far– 594?? Woah, and it’s only 2:14 am. 2:14 am in my timezone, that is; in UTC, I think it’s like 9:14 am. Well, 9:15 am now because the clock just ticked forward as I wrote that. At this rate, I can still make half of 4,500 words, though, so as long as I halve this war, I should be good. I just have to keep going for the next 45 minutes. Now 44. Okay.
What else can I talk about to spam a bunch more words onto this page? My fingers are getting tired. I think I am tapping my keyboard too hard when I type. I tried to learn how to type properly in, like, middle school, and I hated it. I’m actually rather fast with my weird, incorrect typing style, but yeah, it does get tiring faster than “proper” typing. I don’t know if I can keep this up much longer.
No, no, self, got to stay focused. You can do this. Absolutely. Your whole cabin is counting on you. Do something right and put in the effort for once! You last-minute speedun all the time. You do that more often than regular on-time work. You ought to be good at this.
And I am good at this. I’ll be done in time with words to spare at the rate I’m going. 823 words so far. I only need to get to half of 4,500, which is, what, 2,250? Yeah, I think I did that math in my head right. It’s not that hard. Even I can do that, and I am infamously bad at mental calculation, despite the fact that on paper, I can do calculus. Or, I could do calculus last year, anyway. I have probably forgotten msot of it by now.
I kind of still rememebr how to do basic derivatives and integrals, though. It wasn’t as difficult as I used to think. All the other stuff about special cases and complicated things, though, are something I’ll have to relearn someday. I genuinely do find it interesting, but I don’t think i was ready for it in my junior year of high school.
Maybe in college, I’ll do better. I’m looking forward to college, actually. I am going to a community college, which is definitely the right decision for poor old indecisive me who can’t pick a single career path. Is it really such a problem to have a multitude of interests, though? Right now, I’m leaning toward biology, but technology and digital art still majorly hold my attention.
I think it’s all the fault of my characters. I’ve got a universe built around those topics, or relying on those topics. A huge plot point is bioengineering and technology engineering. And art, of course, is the medium I need to tell these stories. To that end, if I want to a webcomic, technology knowledge will be necessary to get my website running anyway. I’d like to do it myself if possible, rather than having to rely on someone else or a website-hosting company. But I don’t know the first thing about running a website, so I might have to start simple anyway.
Genetics is definitely my favorite area of interest. The only problem is that I do not entirely know what careers involve genetics outside of stuff in the medical industry, and I don’t really want to work in the medical industry. Well, maybe lab stuff would be okay. I don’t particularly want to work with patients, though.
At the same time, the research industry isn’t the greatest, either. You’re always relying on grants and having to fill out more paperwork than actually working with your science. Not really my idea of a good time, you know?
I hate paperwork. All these scholarship applications bore me. I know I should be jumping at these opportunities, but I can’t just bring myself to be enthusiastic about it. It’s not even hard. It just feels too adult-y.
I guess I am legally an adult now. But hey, I celebrated my birthday by playing with dinosaurs. Is that what an adult looks like? I mean, in the paraphrased words of the xkcd quote that I used as my senior quote for the yearbook, now that I am an adult, I get to decide what that means.
But as lovely and freeing as that sentiment is, it doesn’t change the fact that I am hopelessly averse to anything that resembles official stuff. When I’m doing fake taxes in my personal finance class, it’s not an obligation, just an assignment. I’m supposed to do it, of course, but the only motication is my grade and all that entails. In real life, you get actually punished for it in a way that is more severe than getting a bad grade. And that adds a level of disgust to the activity that turns me away from it. Logically, if the punishment is more severe, fear should motivate me to be more enthusiastic about it, but for soem reason, it doens’t work like that. Instead, it’s a weightier obligation that makes me miserable just to imagine.
I think there’s a deeper underlying problem where it simply takes way too much to move me. I don’t feel extrememe emotion very often, whether it’s joy, sorrow, fear, or whatever. I have this highly stable neutral state instead, as if held in a balance at all times. It takes something pretty big to shift the balance enough to make me genunely feel something. That’s why I speedrun, isn’t it? The thrill of the deadline looming is one of the few reliable ways to move me.
I guess I can be a little self-destructive at times. But that’s only because I’m so hard to destroy. It’s another challenge that I want to throw myself at. When I’m not faced with a deadline, I don’t get things done. This extends to all areas of my life, from talking to friends to doing my homework to being a SWC co-leader. If not given the impetus of a deadline, I have no motivation to get going. WHen there is a deadline, I’ll wait until I am on thin ice, then work for all I’m worth. A prime example being right now.
I spent the first few hours of Cabin Wars playing Niche, I’ll be honest. I love that game. Hadn’t played it in a while. Now that I’m on school break, I decided this would be a good time. Even thought here are so many other things I should be doing.
I can’t believe it’s already the 22nd of March. The end of the month looms. It was Friday yesterday, and I thought it was Wednesday. Time eludes me when I’m not on a schedule, even though I hate schedules that are too rigid. Sometimes the things that are most frustrating to me are the things that are necessary for productivity. Still, can’t there be a better balance between flexibility and deadlines?
1763 words. I am almost there. I still have 20 minutes, and I am going stronger than I had expected, if I am being totally straight with you. “You” being this document, I guess. See, that’s the other nice thing about taunting deadlines, though. It forces you to push your limits and realize that you have more power than you thought you did. “You” not being this document in this case, as this document isn’t sentient. To my knowledge, anyway.
If I type enough words here, myabe the Google Doc will become sentient. Wouldn’t that be fun? I know it doesn’t work like that, of course, but it would be so silly. A Google Doc that becomes, like, an AI or something just because some writer put way too much lore into it.
The AI revolution is soexciting. I don’t mean the sci-fi uprising of the machines or whatever, just the advancement in artificial intelligence overall. ChatGPT is amazing. A decade ago, it would have been unheard of. It really is an exciting time to be alive. I look to the future with mostly anticipation. Technology is going to be so cool.
If we don’t all destroy the planet first, of course. Climate change worries me. Other than that, though, I don’t dread the future all that much. I know a lot of people worry about where the world is headed, but honestly, it doesn’t cross my mind very often. I don’t even worry about my own personal future all that much. I know I griped on and on about all my little flaws earlier, but it’s not actually that big of a deal. Whatever I decide to do, I’ll be fine. I can overcome whatever challenges are thrown at me. I love challenges.
Speaking of challenges, I have 15 minutes left for this one. I sort of have to get up and stretch because it is getting rather uncomfortbale to sit still and type for literally a full hour straight, and not even pauisng to think. Just continuous, semi-desperate typing.
Let’s see, I will check the work count- 2,112, not bad! I said I had to 2,250 if I wanted to win this war at half of the set amount of 4,500. That means I am so very close to being done.
I have my playlist blaring next to me. Okay, maybe not blaring, as that would be too distracting. But here in the dead of night, it feels loud. I don’t usually play music out loud; I always have earbuds. Music is typically a private thing for me. I don’t like other humans listening in. My cat is fine. I just having it playing the Dump Space playlist, though, so it’s not even that indicative of my mood.
I used this playlist to generate the song lyric for the Google Translate prompt from yesterday’s daily, and it landed on “Wait For It” from Hamilton. I hadn’t lsitened to any Hamilton songs for a while, and I was glad it did. Especially since “why do you write like you’re running out of time” is the theme of the day, yeah?
I love Cabin Wars. I can’t believe I’m going to solo this war, albeit at half, but still. I’ve just got to wrap up this little bit of ending, and-
Oh. I’ve already hit my word goal of 2,250. Nice. Gonna go post this now, because, hey why not? Preserve my ramblings somewhere!

Weekly #3:

Do you have a favourite trope? Well, in this weekly, we’ll be exploring the vastness of writing cliches and themes that are common throughout many popular stories. Get started by going over to https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/695082/?page=3#post-8454119

Author's Notes:
▸ also rather rushed and not my best work but i think it ended up mostly fine!



▸ Part One:

1. The Chosen One

Pros:
▸ Opens a door for strong emotions – how does the Chosen One feel about their predestined role? Are they horrified and wish to return to a normal life, or are they thrilled to go on a marvelous adventure?

Cons:
▸ Used a lot in fiction to the point it could be considered overused
▸ Often seen as “lazy” due to its use of prophecies instead of the main character choosing their own path


2. Enemies to Lovers

Pros:
▸ Opens a door for lots of banter and angst
▸ Enjoyable to read, in my opinion
▸ Allows characters to reflect and grow and see other point of views
▸ Usually involves overcoming prejudice or learning to forgive others

Cons:
▸ Feels forced if executed poorly
▸ Occasionally unrealistic and predictable
▸ “Enemies” is usually an exaggerated title


3. Secret Identity

Pros:
▸ Entertaining to see the protagonist switch between different identities
▸ Occasionally unpredictable due to the suspense
▸ Gives the character a lot of conflict in handling relationships, work, etc.
▸ The character usually goes on a journey to find out their true identity

Cons:
▸ Occasionally predictable because someone usually finds out about the secret identity
▸ Occasionally frustrating due to the other characters not seeing the obvious clues
▸ There’s more but I don’t know how to put it into words


4. The Mentor

Pros:
▸ Allows the protagonist to learn and grow
▸ Gives the protagonist someone to rely on and possibly be humbled by
▸ Provides exposition in a way that usually doesn’t feel like info-dumping

Cons:
▸ Usually hard to add plot twists and turns to this trope
▸ The mentor tends to be injured fatally at the end, which is predictable


5. Unreliable Narrator

Pros:
▸ Forces the reader to do detective-like work in order to infer what’s truly going on
▸ Enjoyable to read, in my opinion
▸ Expands on the narrator’s character and point of view

Cons:
▸ The narrator is, well, unreliable, leading to confusion and uncertainty
▸ May lead the reader to interpret what’s going on from a biased point of view



▸ Part Two:

Peeles stared at the hosts. “What do you MEAN that I’m the chosen one?”

A host patted his head. “Oh Peeles, it means that you’re the chosen one! Haven’t you ever read a novel? You’re destined to save this camp from Gurtle, who is eating up all the links.”

Peeles frowned. “But I’ve barely been mentioned after November! How do you expect anyone to take my side? How do you expect me to save this camp?”

A camper stepped forward. “I shall take your side!” She put her hands on her hips. “Look, I love Gurtle, but I’ve really been concerned by his obsession with links lately. We mustn’t let him eat our entire camp into destruction!”

A leader leaped onto the stage and grabbed the microphone. “I agree too! Everyone, let’s get a cheer for Saturn Peeles, the planet! It’s time to take back our links from Gurtle!”

All the campers, leaders and hosts alike burst into applause. The sound echoed throughout the trees. They clapped for Peeles, who stood there awkwardly, rubbing his arm. But he felt the crown on his head and remembered how he had been Scratch Writing Camp’s mascot for one amazing session. He couldn’t let everyone down now, not when his community was so precious!

Peeles took a deep breath. “Thank you, everyone. I’ll try my best!” He struck a cool pose. Everyone burst into even louder applause.

Everyone… but one.



“Okay, so how exactly do I save this camp from Gurtle?” Peeles asked, fiddling with his rings.

“Well… good question.” A host tapped her chin. “I guess you just go out there and do heroic stuff? You’re pretty cool, so you’ll find a way. Trust the prophecy.”

Trust the prophecy… Peeles wasn’t exactly sure how to do that, but he would try if it was for the sake of his beloved camp. Peeles has seen basically the entire SWCverse, since he’s been floating in space and all. Yet his favourite part about every day was coming down to Earth and seeing all the smiling faces of each camper, leader and honorary from Scratch Writing Camp. This mission meant a lot to him. Hopefully he could prove that.

“Okay,” Peeles said with a nod. “I’ll try.” He grabbed his bag, filled to the brim with adventuring supplies (notably mangoes and potatoes). “See you later?”

The host grinned and waved. “I’ll see you later! Save our camp for us! You can do it!”

A few words of encouragement, yet they meant so much to Peeles. He smiled as he left the tent and started his journey towards the stars, towards the forest, towards the land of rotten mangoes, wherever. It didn’t matter where he had to go as long as he would be able to see everyone’s smiling faces again and until the end of Scratch Writing Camp.

Though, that end would not be today.



▸ Part Three:

Author's Notes:
▸ i was researching and forgot that i had to write about a trope from my part one list, but i had already written the piece. so i quickly went and wrote a part one-esuqe version of my trope which i hope is okay?? btw the twist is “fish out of water but the fish had been in the water before” which basically means that a character is in an unfamiliar place, but the place isn't actually new
▸ i haven't read the lightning thief in so long so the characters are probably really out of character, sorry asdfghjkl

6. Fish Out of Water

Pros:
▸ Relatable to most readers since being in an unfamiliar place is a nearly universal experience
▸ Allows easy exposition
▸ The reader can learn about and be immersed this new world at the same time as the character, which may allow the reader to empathise with the character more

Cons:
▸ Exposition can occasionally feel forced and like an information dump

Okay, this place was crazy. So much was going on and Percy couldn’t put his head around it. He knew that he was bad at logic but wow, this was a new level. He was pretty much a, what do you call it? A fish out of water. He was snatched from his aquarium and forced to breathe on land, which was pretty uncool of whoever did that, if you asked him.

“Percy?” a girl asked, her voice quiet. Her eyes were a beautifully strong grey, but they seemed to soften at the sight of him. Wow, weird.

“How do you know my name?” Percy asked, rubbing his eyes. He was really tired. His head ached so bad, but he couldn’t tell if it was because of his new surroundings or because of some physical injury he may have gone through. Honestly, he couldn’t remember much, but he knew that he was not lying down on a hammock and staring at strawberry fields the last time he was awake.

The girl gasped, which wasn’t exactly a satisfactory answer to his question. The girl then sighed and rubbed her hands through her blonde hair. She turned to a really old man that Percy hadn’t noticed before and started blabbering about something that Percy couldn’t understand. He did make out keywords though, like “memory” and “lost” and “trouble” and definitely normal stuff like that.

The man frowned. “This isn’t good,” he said, and Percy finally woke up enough to hear his words properly.

“What are we gonna do?” the girl asked, her voice desperate. “I can’t just leave him like this!”

“You don’t have to, Annabeth.” Okay, so the girl’s name was Annabeth. “We’re going to find a way to fix it, though it may take a while.”

Annabeth furrowed her eyebrows. She started shaking before taking a deep breath and turning back to Percy. “So… do you recognise anything around here? At all?” she inquired, gesturing towards the bustling fields in the distance.

Percy was having a bad feeling about all this. Y’know, just a hunch. It’s not like this past conversation has been leading to some terrible revelation that he has yet to realise. Percy shook his head and said, “Sorry, but nah. Am I supposed to recognise anything? I have the memory of a goldfish.” Ah, there it was again, his fish out of the water metaphor. Wow, his English teacher would be proud. When did he become so poetic?

Annabeth shut her eyes. She rushed away, leaving Percy’s question unanswered. Uh, rude?

The man sighed. Percy observed him further and nearly jumped out of his hammock when he realised that was not a man. Well, it was. But it was a sort of half-man half-horse thing. What did they call them again? Centaurs? Ah, that was the word. Maybe he wasn’t entirely a goldfish.

“Percy,” the centaur started. “It appears you have lost all your memory of Camp Half-Blood.”

Oh, maybe he was entirely a goldfish. Camp Half-what?

“Sorry,” Percy blurted feebly. “Didn’t try to forget. Trust me, I would not have decided to forget this place even if I hated it, ‘cause there’s so much going on and my head hurts trying to understand it.”

The centaur sighed again. He seemed to be a guy who sighed a lot. Did he ever smile?

“I guess I must explain to you everything that has happened,” the centaur said.

Oh, okay. Hopefully this wouldn’t take two hours, because he did not have the attention span to listen to a long ramble right now. He barely even had the attention span to stay awake. A nap sounded kinda good.

“So your name is Percy…”

Here we go?



▸ Part Four:

Peeles was still the chosen one, according to that prophecy. It’s time to set out on his epic quest to save the camp from Gurtle, who was chomping up all the links! Oh no! He wouldn’t let that happen to Scratch Writing Camp.

Peeles found himself in a tavern, for some reason. What’s up with quests starting in taverns? He didn’t mind, though, since this tavern was really nice. The walls were made of stone and the vibes were overall great. A wonderful start to a journey, if you asked him.

“Hey, planet,” a goat said as he approached Peeles. Oh okay, there was a talking goat now. Actually, why should he be surprised? He was a talking, sentient planet. A talking goat was probably more realistic than that. Anyway, what was the goat saying again? Oh, right. “Are you on a journey to save Scratch Writing Camp from Gurtle’s large appetite for links?”

Peeles blinked. “Yeah. How did you know?”

“I’m magic,” the goat said with a grin. Any other person saying that may intend it as a joke, but honestly, Peeles didn’t doubt that this talking goat had some magic inside of him. “Anyway, I can help you.”

Peeles lit up. Literally. His rings started glowing, for some reason, which scientifically probably shouldn’t be possible. But then again, he was a talking sentient planet. Who was talking to a talking goat.

“How?” Peeles asked, eager to learn about any way to save his camp.

“I’ll teach you all my ways if you give me a mango.”

“Oh, okay,” Peeles said. He had like a hundred mangoes that conveniently fit into his small bag, anyway, so why not share some? Peeles grabbed a mango from his back and handed one to the goat. “By the way, I’m Peeles. What’s your name?”

“I’m Smarlls. Been in Scratch Writing Camp long before you were, and I still keep in touch with some of those folks, which is why I know about the Gurtle situation.”

“How did I never learn about you if you’re so popular?” The question accidentally came off as rude. Peeles just wanted to learn, not to make enemies!

It seemed like Smarlls didn’t mind, though. He smiled. “I prefer to keep a low profile nowadays. I’ve had my own share of adventures across the seas, and I think it’s time to pass on those adventures to future generations of this camp. Which includes you,” he said, pointing at Peeles.

Huh, so this talking goat has been on adventures! That’s really cool. Maybe he could be his mentor, or something. Mentors are common in fiction, right? Maybe? Hopefully? Peeles probably needed someone to teach him about what to do. Sure, he wanted to believe that he would find it all out eventually, but he would need a starting point. A mentor, especially one that had been in Peeles’ shoes before, would be a pretty good starting point.

Smarlls took a bite out of his mango. “Mhm, this is really good. The SWCers really have good taste, yeah?” That was rather off-topic, but it didn’t matter. Mangoes were great.

Peeles nodded immediately. “Yeah. They’ve been growing lots of mango trees every day! I’ve seen them and they’re really beautiful trees.”

This is some nice small talk, Peeles thought. But that’s enough filler for one day, so let’s get back on track with the plot. There’s probably still going to be filler, but hopefully it will be funny filler? Maybe I should try being funny so that this story is more enjoyable to read. Actually, Smarlls seems like a pretty funny guy, so maybe that’s good enough. Oh look, I’m rambling in my thoughts. I don’t think the author intended for this to happen. Hey, when did I start breaking the fourth wall?

“Anyway, I told you I’d give you help. So here’s an info dump about what I’ve learnt of Gurtle so far,” Smarlls started. “He’s a turtle with a tulip-like flower growing out of his back. He has an innocent face and usually wears a pirate hat. Don’t let his cute appearance fool you, though, since he’s very mischievous. He loves eating up links, and nobody is able to use them anymore! But you’ve probably figured that out already.”

Peeles nodded as Smarlls talked, trying to absorb every bit of information, even if it was information that he already knew. He’d need to remember everything if he wanted to succeed on this quest.

“Here’s one thing that Gurtle has in common with almost all of Scratch Writing Camp… he loves mangoes.” Smarlls pointed to Peeles’ bag. “And I’m pretty sure you have a lot of those.”

Peeles’ eyes lit up. He started to connect the dots. “So if I hide all the links and replace them with mangoes, Gurtle won’t eat our links anymore? And we’ll all be okay?”

“Quick learner! Yep, that’s exactly right. It’s good you packed so many mangoes.” Smarlls nodded in approval.

“Yes!” Peeles exclaimed. “I’m glad that was a good idea. I can’t wait to share these tasty mangoes with Gurtle. The SWCers are really good at planting!”

Smarlls smiled. He handed Peeles a hat. “Take this as an adventuring gift. I’ll meet you again sometime on your journey, but for now, the author is going to finish this weekly off.” Hey, when did every character start breaking the fourth wall? “See you soon, Peeles!”

Peeles didn’t think much about the fourth wall breaks. He was too busy being happy about having a new mentor and the solution to saving the camp. “Thank you, Smarlls!” he said before skipping out of the tavern and onto the next step of his journey.



▸ Part One: 331 Words
▸ Part Two: 480 Words
▸ Part Three: 681 Words
▸ Part Four: 947 Words
▸ Total: 2,439 Words