SWC Megathread ࿔*:ଳ･ March 2026

sweetcakefamily

09.03 - War with icebunny11
5 mins, prompt: “How long have you been watching me?”

A smile spreads across my lips as I watch the silver soft stone skip across the lake, almost flying like a bird taking flight on the wind. I watch as it stops and plops into the rolling aquamarine waves, and look at the riples in deep thought, watching them dissapate and the lake return to it's still mirror-like form. The sunset sky of pinks, purples and yellows casts a soft glow across the expanse, reflecting in the lake.
I hear a twig snap and snap around to look behind me. A little girl is there, an incredible blush deepening the rich tone of her skin.
“I'm so sorry,” she piped up, and I hid my smile at her high pitched little voice. “I'm so sorry, I was just…”
I shook my head. “That's totally fine. How long have you been watching me, though?”
She fiddles with her hands, looking up as if to think. “I don't really know…I saw when you arrived though.”
I raised my eyebrows. That would've been about 15 minutes ago
“That was so cool what you just did, though,” she continued, and I smiled. “Can you show me how? I';ve always wanted to skip stones. My brother never showed me.”
I nod, and pick up a couple new stones. “Of course.”
She grins, and I see a gap where her front two teeth should've been. She jumps down the little rock she had been standing on and runs towards me, dark hair flying in the wind.
“What's your name?” I ask as I hand her one of the smooth, flat stones.
“Sage.”
I smiled. “I'm Jude. Okay, watch this.”
I skip another stone across the lake, and she claps her hands, giggling gleefully. “You like that?”
She nods.
“So, how I do it, is I hold it like this,” I pick a new stone and show the gentle touch I use to hold it, bouncing it in my hand a little. “And the trick is to flick your wrist as you send it away.”
I make the motion in demonstration,

(Omds, I was switching tenses?? ToT)
346 words

icebunny11

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Word War 5
Wordcount: 391
Person warred: sweetcakefamily
Win/Loss: Win
Prompt used: How long have you been watching me?
Time: 5 minutes
Cabin: Cyberpunk

part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4 ~!

How long have you been watching me?

Is what Christy could no longer even think about saying to the man. She didn't even care how long he was watching her anymore. The cute little notes he sent her were starting to get to her head, making her feel prettier than she usually did. More confident. More happy. More satisfied with who she was. Something she hadn't been able to achieve for so long. So what if that satisfaction came from a stalker? Yes, Christy knew he was a stalker- but she just couldn't admit it to herself. She would never admit it to herself. To her, they were basically like a long-distance couple. They always went through rough patches, like when one party covers their face with a black mask, and the other is not allowed to see them at all, but it's not like it's a crime. One day, Christy will leave a note too to show her love. To show him how much she really did care about the pictures he took of her.

Maybe that day will come faster. Maybe it would come faster if Christy put her mind to it.

Ignoring even the note that was left on her bed, Christy opened her laptop and started to pretend that she was working. This was usually when her boyfriend took pictures of her- over the months, from the same profile, she could see how she had changed- hair growing, hair cut, hair growing back once more. The different outfits she put on were the same outfits she would wear constantly. The different looks on her face as she was working- mid yawn, mid cough, mid smile. That one was always her favourite one.

Click.

Christy fought back a slow, slightly psychotic smile. Aha, she was right. Of course, she was right. There was that faintly audible, barely there camera sound. You couldn't notice it if you weren't really trying to listen for it specifically. She whipped her head outside of the window, spotting the man behind the lens. He had dark hair, but that was all she could see really. He looked tall, maybe five foot ten? He didn't wear glasses, and he dashed away faster than Christy could take a breath.

How absolutely romantic. Now she had details of how he looked.

Opening her laptop for real this time, Christy opened Instagram.

Last edited by icebunny11 (March 9, 2026 19:31:01)

AGJ4

Weekly #1:

Character Sheet:
Name: Dismas, son of Manaen
Occupation: Umm… officially, whatever work he can find. But it isn’t like he makes enough money from that. So, unofficially, he’s a thief. A pretty good one, but he’s careful enough not to do anything big.
Residence: Jerusalem, in the lower city, because he isn’t anybody fancy. Him and his sister, Arabella, live together in a two room house. If you ask them, it’s cozy. If you ask anyone else, it’s way too cramped, and not really fit to live in, but they take what they can get.
Physical characteristics: He’s a brunette, with deep green eyes, very tan. You can tell just from a glance that he’s a bit of a troublemaker.
Strengths: Will fight for what he loves, is very loyal. Is also a very good thief.
Weaknesses: refuses to accept help, tends not to share his feelings/thoughts with anyone, to the great frustration of his sister.
Arabella- His sister. He’s been taking care of her ever since their grandmother got sick. He loves her, but he feels like he needs to protect her, while she wants to help him.
Reina- Dismas and Arabella’s grandmother. She took care of them for many years, but became very sick, so they are now the ones taking care of her.

Moodboard:
For my moonboard, I first have a picture of what I kind of imagine Dismas looking like, though I picture him a bit younger than this, maybe like nineteen or twenty. I put two pictures of what the setting would kind of look like. One is of his home, a simple house with minimal decoration. The other is of the busy market where I imagine him doing some thievery, mostly pickpocketing. The bigger things would take place elsewhere. I have a picture of some old coins, which probably aren’t the ones he would have used, but represent his thievery and just look really good on the moodboard. I have pictures of his sister and grandma, the two most important people in his life, and the most important animal, his dog Motek.

Character Swap:
Ark walked the dimly lit path, trying to concentrate on where she was going, but becoming lost in her thoughts. She was thinking about her brother, Clam, who had gotten into trouble again after one of his friends dared him to go just past the path, right onto the shore. All of the children were warned never to do that, but you wouldn't find a person in Chaero'lo that hadn’t done it sometime in their childhood. That didn’t matter to their parents, though, who told Clam he had to stay home and help out this whole week. He would probably complain the whole time, not being able to imagine spending a whole week without his friends. Ark was suddenly jolted out of her thoughts, as she bumped into… a person? And even more surprisingly, she didn’t recognize them, which meant it was a traveler, not someone who lived in the village.
“Hey there.” He said, his voice much deeper than she expected for someone who appeared to be only a couple years older than her. “Do you know where I could find an inn around here?” he asked, seemingly innocent, but Ark didn’t trust him. The only visitors they got around here were from the neighboring villages, and judging from his clothing and the slightly haughty way he carried himself, he was more likely from one of the larger towns, where people lived a little nicer, and did more than fish for a living. However, people like that never came out to the villages.
There was really nothing for Ark to do besides help him, so she responded. “The Cove is right down that road, to the left, but I don’t know if that will be the kind of thing you’re looking for.” she told him.
“Why wouldn't it be?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Ark debated. To flatter him, or to just tell him the truth and hope that it didn’t end as badly as she thought it would? She decided on the latter. “You don’t exactly look like someone who’s going to appreciate a rat-infested mattress.”
Unexpectedly, he laughed. “You have no idea how good that sounds right now,” he told her. Ark didn’t know what he was talking about, so she just took him to the inn. But on the way there, Kai, an older boy that Ark knew well, stopped them. “Who’s this?” he asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Just a traveler.” the man replied, which made even Ark suspicious, it was such an evasive answer. It seemed to do the same to Kai.
“What’s your name?” he demanded, looking like he was preparing for a fight.
“Caspian.” The man responded, and Kai pinned him to the ground.
“What’re you doing here?” Kai questioned, but Ark stopped him. “Do you know him?” sh asked, confused.
“I know him from the wanted pictures all over the main cities.” Kai spit out. “Probably figured nobody’d recognize him here.”
Ark stalled. Kai was one of the few people Ark knew that had been to the cities. He went up to sell fish occasionally. But if Caspian was really wanted, what had he done? Kai saw the question on her face and answered the unspoken question.
“He’s a murderer,” he said.
Ark felt numb as she watched the men from the town take Caspian away. Her mom sat beside her, trying to comfort her. “That’s why you never talk to strangers.” she told Ark.
For some reason, that sounded wrong. Ark wondered if there was a reason her mom was saying that…

Character Meeting:
Ark smiled and nodded along to whatever her friend was saying. She had been doing this the whole day, her mind on the box she had found at her house. She had found the box last night. It screamed that it was full of secrets, a deep blue box with swirls of gold and silver, held together by a sturdy old clasp. It was beautiful and old, and Ark was just about to open it when her mom had walked back into their cottage, and she had to close it and scurry out of the room. She had been waiting ever since for the moment when she got back from school, and had the house to herself.
She walked into the room, pulsing with excitement. She approached the box, opened the clasp, and eased the lid open… Disappointment crashed through her as she beheld… another box. And this one had a real lock. One that she didn’t have the key to. And she obviously didn’t know how to pick a lock, because she’s only been doing this snooping thing for a couple of months now.
That night, Ark was thinking about the box again. She knew it had to have at least some of the answers to her questions, but she had no way to open it. It seemed to be taunting her, the answers so close and yet unknowable. If only there was a way to open it…
Suddenly, she was asleep. In her dream, the world was a book. It flipped through pages, right up until the part where she was, and she tensed, hoping it would show her how she would open the box. But instead, the book was put down, and another one was opened. One about… a thief?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dismas was running again. This time, it was from an angry shop owner who, for some reason, thought Dismas forgot to pay him. Obviously, Dismas had paid him… it just might have been with his rewarding presence instead of money. He couldn’t help it, really. If there was a choice between him stealing and his sister going hungry without him bringing something to eat, he’d take the beatings for getting caught in a heartbeat. And most of the time he didn’t get caught. But it looked like this time wasn’t going to be one of those. Dismas turned a corner, and hit a dead end. With the angry shopkeeper running at him, he closed his eyes and prepared himself for a beating. But it never came. Instead, there was a feeling like the ground dropping out from beneath him, and when he opened his eyes, he was staring into the face of a very frightened girl.
When Ark woke up, she was expecting it to be a normal day. She certainly wasn’t expecting to wake up with the boy from her dream staring at her. After a second of silence, he started to scream. She couldn’t let that happen, or her parents would know he was here. So she grabbed him and covered his mouth, whispering, “I’m not going to hurt you, but you need to be quiet.”
Once he calmed down, he asked her, “Where am I?”
“Chaero'lo.” she responded. “And no, I don’t know how you got here, but I think I know how you can get back.
She then explained everything about the box and why she couldn’t get in to him, while he sat there trying to process that he was really in another world. When she was done, he paused for a second, then said “Ok.”
She looked at him a little weird, wondering how he could agree to this so easily, but she wasn’t going to complain. “Ok, then.” she said. “You’re going to stay in here for the rest of the day, and when I get back we can open the box.”
He stayed there all day, and she went to school and worried the whole time about what would happen if someone found him. But nothing happened, and he was still there when she got back.
She burst into the house, unable to contain her curiosity any longer. “Dimus, are you ready?” she called, half expecting him not to be there.
“I’m ready.” he called, and she brought the box to him. He took a second to admire the box, then undid the clasp and looked at the box inside. “Do you have a hairpin?” He asked her, and she pulled one out of her bun and gave it to him. He then picked the lock, though it took much longer than she thought it would, and it seemed to be very hard for him. Once she heard the lock click, she snatched it out of his hands and opened it up.
Dismas never got to see what was inside. The second he opened the box, he felt the feeling of the floor coming out again. He barely had time to wave goodbye before he was back on the streets again.

technj2009

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ Critiquitaire for @moosywoosy ⊹₊⟡⋆

writing comp entry

“The dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn’t.
my guilt will not purify me”

Is it fair for a man to be punished for a crime he can’t remember committing? Like all philosophical questions, no objective answer can be found.

Someone may argue: a loss of memory means no need for rehabilitation. After all, if they don’t remember anything, there’s certainly no reason to believe they may do it again.

However, on the opposing side: a loss of memory doesn’t undo the damage. If a man forgets he committed a murder: his victim is still dead. Amnesia won’t bring his victim back from the dead, so it shouldn’t pardon a man for his crimes.

To August Wynd, the undeniable answer…

would be yes.

✏ OMG. this is amazing. you did so much more than just ‘opening up a story’. this whole introduction is so captivating, and has such a sense of mystery to reel in your audience. i love that you started with a question, it serves as a great hook that bridges into your intro! this really leaves the reader in anticipation to find out what happened. no comments on this part, great writing!

—

MEDICAL RECORDS

Name: August Wynd
Date of Birth: 2004-11-13
Gender: Male
Contact Number: XXX-XXXX-XXXX

2026-03-01
Patient got in a car crash, resulting in loss of memory from concussion sustained during the accident. Patient had taken several tests for amnesia, all of which came out positive. The patient has agreed to soon start therapy to help regain any memories possible and adjust to life.

✏ i really like the concept of introducing pieces of evidence! this really helps your reader put together the ‘puzzle’ of information you give them. just a nit-pick correction here, you used ‘positive’ to indicate the amnesia results (i’m a science nerd lol sorry >.<) usually doctors refer to ‘clinical confirmation’, or specific tests that were run to indicate results. so if you want to make it more technically correct, i would adjust the sentence to something like this: “Patient has taken several tests regarding the blackout, amnesia is confirmed via neuro-psychological evaluation.” other than that, love personal documents you are incorporating!

—

“Onto our next report…The Botanist, a serial killer most well-known for leaving a bouquet of flowers at his victim’s bodies, has not killed anyone as of March 1st. This goes against The Botanist’s typical schedule…”

August watched the TV with dreary eyes as he sifted through his belongings. He knew what watching TV was like. Despite that, he felt like he was watching it for the first time.

Nonetheless, August continued to look through his belongings. His psychologist had suggested that he look at items he owns, just to see if those could bring up some memories.

August fidgeted slightly. He was restless after his accident. Did he fidget before his accident?— like an instinct that he retained despite his amnesia? Something that was “proof” he was still the same person?

In other words, even if it felt like his first time doing things when it wasn’t, he’s still the same person if he has the same habits

It felt like it was the first time he was in the home he’s lived in for years, which brought the lingering question up again.

✏ great opening for your character! just one suggestion i have here, your sentence “In other words, even if it felt like his first time doing things when it wasn’t, he’s still the same person if he has the same habits” to me, it seems like this sentence is sort of internal monologue explaining something the reader has already figured out. if you can trust your reader to make the connection, you could cut this sentence, or i highly recommend rewording it to make it a little less redundant. overall though, i really like the mood of this scene that you set up!

—

RECEIPT

DALEY’S BOUQUETS
(XXX) XXX-XXXX
XXX XXXX STREET

Bouquet of Lilies: $28.00
Bouquet of Dahlias: $36.00
Bouquet of Carnations: $15.00
Bouquet of Petunias: $14.00
Bouquet of Hyacinths: $22.00
Bouquet of Chrysanthemums: $18.00
Bouquet of Peonies: $26.00

ACCOUNT # - XXXXXXXXXXX
APPROVED - Purchase

***

TAX 6.35%: $10.09
FINAL TOTAL: $169.09
# OF ITEMS SOLD: 7

—

What’s up with all the flowers?”

August wondered if he had a girlfriend he forgot about—No, if he had a girlfriend she’d be here. Plus, he had no contact on his phone that fit the bill for being a significant other.

Maybe he went to a funeral? But, seven flowers seemed excessive. No one went to seven funerals in such a short span of time.

✏ such outstanding evidence! this is definitely your strongest plot point! it sets up your grand realization so well. in such minimal commentary, you convey the thought process of August so well. i like the rising tensions which leads your reader, the mystery unfolds itself very smoothly!

—

THE BOTANIST HAS CLAIMED THEIR NEWEST VICTIM!

2026-02-07

The Botanist is a serial murderer known for leaving flowers at their crime scenes, who kills one person per day for the first week of each month. Their newest victim, Nathan Nguyen, was found dead with a white peony in Rosemary Park.

The fate of his younger brother, Elijah, who was under his care, remains uncertain, but the most likely outcome is him ending up in foster care.

In February, The Botanist’s victims are Nicolas Penn, Adrianna Smith, Taylor Martinez, Vincent Dacus, Alice Moon, Emily Wu, and Nathan Nguyen marked with lilies, dahlias, carnations, petunias, hyacinths, chrysanthemums, and peonies respectively.

The police claim to be doing all they can, but are being criticized for…
Read more…

✏ another solid news article as a source of information! a few suggestions i have here, when you speak about Elijah, the part of your sentence “…but the most likely outcome is him ending up in foster care.” sounds a bit informal for a news report. you could try something like: “With no other living relatives, Elijah Nguyen remains in the custody of Child Protective Services, pending on a placement hearing.” this would elaborate a little on the direct action in regards to Elijah, and his ‘awaiting’ sentence towards his future. the victims and flowers are great, although i think that collating them into one long sentence is a lot of data for the reader to process at once. you could create a calendar-like list to really emphasize the nature of The Botanist’s crimes. for example:
“Feb. 1 - Nicolas Penn (Lilies)
Feb. 2 - Adrianna Smith (Dahlias)
etc.”
this would also set into the newspaper format well. really good evidence here, it triggers many emotions!

—

August Wynd was a murderer.

He keeled over his bathroom toilet, throwing up. When he finished, he wished he could vomit again, but his stomach was completely empty, leaving him in an unrelievable nausea. His hands looked scarlet red to him.

Oh my god.

I’m crying.

He shouldn’t be crying. He killed them. All of them. Their dreams, hopes, aspirations, gone because of him. How /dare/ he cry for something that was his fault.

Why did I do it?!

Desperately, he searched his memories for a reason—a noble reason or tragic past that excused him—but nothing came. Only his past self knew why he did it.

He found murder wrong—so why didn’t his past self?! Did he even think he was right when he committed murder? Or was he willing to be wrong? If so, why?

The only person who could answer was his past self, but he was gone. August’s questions would be eternally unsolved. Those answers were a secret his past self took to his grave.

But…

His past self wasn’t dead.

He was standing right here.

And he was guilty.

✏ amazing scene of realization! some suggestions i have here, the sentence “His hands looked scarlet red to him.” it is definitely a classic trope, but maybe change it and have August look at his hands and feel nothing. i think the horror is not that they ‘look’ bloody, it’s that they look clean. he looks like a normal student, but he knows he’s a monster. one correction i have is that you switched between third-person (“He shouldn’t be crying.”) and first-person (“Oh my God. I’m crying.) i see that you’re trying to show August’s fractured mind, but it is clearer to stick with one or use italics for internal thoughts to distinguish them from the actual narrative. revision idea:
“ Oh my god.
I’m crying.
He shouldn’t be. He didn’t have the right…” etc.
one last thing i’d say is that the use of ‘past self’ may be a little redundant. you could try using ‘the man/boy who no longer existed,’ or ‘the old August.’ for the sentence “The only person who could answer was his past self, but he was gone. August’s questions would be eternally unsolved. Those answers were a secret his past self took to his grave.” i have a correction suggestion: “The only person who could answer was a man who no longer existed, but he was gone. August’s questions would be eternally unsolved. The answers were secrets never to be found.” as for the closure on this section, it’s great! i really like August’s realization buildup, and ending on the ‘guilty’ note.

—

Elijah Nguyen - @elijahnguyen077
( attachment: cafe.png )
best coffee in town! ^_^ stop by if you’re in the area!

Location: Blooming Flowers Cafe

✏ no notes here, good information!

—

“The week has ended without a single kill from The Botanist…”

Elijah frequented this cafe. August lazily took a sip of black coffee, blearily registering his surroundings. Apologizing was the least August could do for Elijah.

But what could he say?

August stood up, and walked to Elijah’s table. “Mind if I sit here?”

Elijah glanced up, “I don’t mind.” His eyes were puffy—oh god, had he been crying?

Your fault…your fault…

He sat down across from Elijah. “Do you come here often?”

Elijah shrugged, “Pretty much.”

August clenched his jaw, staring at the boy in front of him. He was just a highschooler. And August—he…

He killed Elijah’s brother.

“…Listen.” August stared at Elijah mournfully, prematurely apologizing. “I’m the one who killed your brother.”

Elijah’s face filled with horror. His grip around his drink tightened, August thought the boy might bolt or scream. But, he stayed seated. Elijah stared at August warily, who knew he deserved it.

“I’m so—so sorry.” August told Elijah everything.

Elijah’s eyes were downcast. He took it surprisingly well, only nodding. Perhaps, the naivety of a child was what resulted in such a mild reaction. August was prepared for confrontation, but an uncanny calm felt much worse.

“I see.” Elijah said with unnerving understanding. His shoulders, however, still shook.

“Do you…” August took a pause, unable to force the words out. The physical recoil he felt made it feel like he couldn’t. “…think you’d ever…forgive me?”

Elijah looked up, stirring the ice cubes in his drink. He smiled broadly, innocently.

He paused. “…Nope. Not in a million years.”

August’s quiet hope for forgiveness was quickly extinguished. August expected a ‘no’. But, maybe, he searched for forgiveness. Knowing what answer would come—but still wishing for a different answer, was simply delusion.

“I-I understand—”

“…I will never forgive /that/ you for killing Nathan.” The boy looked August dead in the eyes. “But, you don’t remember doing it.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I don’t have anything to forgive you for.”

August’s mouth twitched. So, this was the innocence of a child. This answer, it was what the boy truly believed. It was worse than a simple ‘no’.

“You can’t be serious!” August shouted. “I’m still the same person! I’m still August Wynd! I still fidget when I’m nervous! Even though I have amnesia, I’m still the same person.”

“I…”

August tensed.

“Am the person who killed your brother.”

He lost his memory, but the damage was still done. Therefore, punishment awaited him.

August stormed out without another word.

✏ this is a great scene! maybe expand into some imagery about the setting of the public cafe. i think that Elijah’s reaction here is a bit bold, if some stranger admitted to your brothers murder i’m not sure i would smile and say ‘Nope.” lol sorry if this is a hot take. i suggest that instead of Elijah “taking it surprisingly well,” have him go numb. this would emphasize the impact of the ‘confession’ and make him seem more emotional. just a few more nit-picks, i think Elijah’s reaction was a little too lenient with August, and the public cafe setting might cause attraction to the conversation.. maybe expand on those? other than that, this is a solid scene!

—

OBITUARY OF NATHAN A. NGUYEN

We are mourning the death of Nathan A. Nguyen, who tragically passed away on February 7th, 2026. He lived for 20 years and unfortunately passed due to falling victim to serial murder.

Nathan was born on February 8th, 2005 in XXXX, XX. He was a student at XXX University where he was pursuing Computer Science. His sudden passing has had a devastating fallout for those who knew him. Nathan was known for his silent, yet thoughtful gestures. While he never spoke much, anyone who had the privilege of knowing him knew him for his ability to carry burdens off of other’s shoulders through his quiet listening that allowed for encouragement without words.

He is survived by his younger brother, Elijah Nguyen, who respectfully asks for privacy during this difficult time.

Nathan’s body has been buried in Saint Anne’s Gravesite, where his memory will live eternally.

✏ great obituary! sums up a little bit about Nathan perfectly!

—

August took in the hustle and bustle of the building. People moved from place to place, voices over radios overlapping. The familiar scent of coffee hung in the air. August closed his eyes—he was here for a reason. All he needed to do was put his foot forward.

He approached the front desk. Where a middle-aged man with a serious look on his face. Well, everyone here looked serious. It was something that came with the job. August cleared his throat to get his attention. As if he was passing through an invisible barrier—August felt this was the point of no return.

Though, August shouldn’t have even considered turning back.

“I’d like to turn myself in.”

After all, he needed to repent.

✏ very surprising indeed! i like the description of the setting, maybe you could add some description of how August is currently feeling? just one correction in the second portion, you wrote “Where a middle-aged man with a serious look on his face. Well, everyone here looked serious.” it seems your thought was cut off? i'd fix it to something like: “He approached the front desk. There, sat a middle-aged man with a serious look on his face– well, everyone here looked serious.” other than that, it's very good : )

—

RECORD OF INTERVIEW

Person interviewed: AUGUST WYND
Date of Birth: 2004-11-13
Place of Interview: SAIKO POLICE STATION
Date of Interview: 2026-03-07

Time commenced: 12:10
Time concluded: 12:41
Duration of Interview: 31 minutes

Interviewing Officers: DC 1412 IAN LILAC
Other Persons Present:

✏ no notes here! i like how you include the record of interview as well. all these pieces of information are very fun to read because the reader gets so much more than just dialogue!

LILAC: This interview is being tape recorded. I am DC 1412 Ian LILAC. I am interviewing August WYND.

LILAC: The date is the 7th of March and the time is 12:10, and the interview is being conducted at Saiko Police Station.

LILAC: WYND, I am legally required to tell you that this conversation is being electronically recorded. Do I have your consent to do so?

WYND: Yes.

LILAC: WYND, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can not afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?

WYND: Yes.

LILAC: With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak?

WYND: Yes.

LILAC: In that case, let’s begin with some background questions.

LILAC: What is your name, birthdate, age, education, and employment history?

WYND: …My name is August WYND. I am 21 years old, born on November 13th, 2004. I graduated from Lakeview High School, and I am studying for a bachelor's degree in psychology. I work as a convenience store worker part-time.

LILAC: Thank you for your answers, Mr. WYND.

LILAC: Now, let me get this straight—you are turning yourself in as The Botanist?

WYND: That is correct.

LILAC: Why turn yourself in?

WYND: Because I killed them.

LILAC: (pause) I see. Why are you turning yourself in now as opposed to sooner?

WYND: I was recently in a car accident which caused me to lose my memories. I came to the realization of who I was. Or rather, what I did. After I realized, I decided to turn myself in.

LILAC: Interesting. How did you realize that you were The Botanist?

WYND: I realized that the date in which The Botanist stopped killing perfectly lined up with the date of my accident. I figured this was a coincidence at first—but more and more details made me realize I was the killer.

LILAC: May I ask what those were?

WYND: I had a receipt for several bouquets of flowers in my wallet—they happened to be the same flowers from the last 7 victims of The Botanist.

LILAC: Right. And you know for sure this receipt is yours?

WYND: Yes. My credit card number is on it.

LILAC: Any idea why you killed them?

WYND: …I have no idea.

LILAC: Is that all?

WYND: (pause) I believe so, yes.

LILAC: Okay. Thank you for your time Mr. WYND.

- END OF RECORDING -

✏ love this interrogation! i do think that Lilac should be more skeptical though. dealing with a high-profile killer, Lilac should be more aware, people could confess to crimes a lot just for attention, so maybe Lilac should be trying to trip August up, or dig around for Holdback Information. i also think he should have a heavier reaction towards August's amnesia ‘excuse’ which is hard to believe. one very last suggestion i have is that maybe the flower bouquet receipt should be a cash purchase. i just think that police would have most likely been able to track August down if there was a credit card number floating around evidence they were trying to collect, idk could just be me lol. you definitely don't have to change that though, because it would change the evidence a little. but overall, this is a great way to end your mystery, i like that you can end on a conclusion while readers still will be able to question things!

note to mildred ~ thank you for letting me critique this! i enjoyed this story so much!! i think you did so well overall, this story has such great potential! i'm also vietnamese, so i thought it was really cool that you incorporated a bit of vietnamese background for the characters! this is such a simple yet very deep story that conveys so many wider themes like the continuity of oneself, moral responsibility, and even penance. keep up the awesome writing!! you're amazing :3
~ from saffron

✎ 3.9.2026 ~ critiquitaire ❀ ~ 1,155 words ౨ৎ
⌗ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀꜰꜰʀᴏɴ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ ⋆˚࿔

-NightGlow-

Weekly 4
word count - 1683 words

Part 1 - 246 words
Full Name: Julia Hammod
Age: 18
Occupation: Highschool dropout, partime at a local cafe called Ira's
Physical characterisitics: brown hair, green eyes, freckled skin with a unique birthmark on her neck
Location: Lives in New York City but always finds herself gravitating towards the beaches
Typical outfits: Really values comfort but in style: jeans, sweatshirts, dresses, it's very mixed

Personality: Outgoing and cares about others, prefers to deal with struggles by herself
Strengths: Very smart and quick-witted, can always tell what someone else is feeling/thinking, beauty is unmatched, pure heart
Weaknesses: Hears these voices in her head (preventing her from following her dreams), was abandoned at a young age, has trouble asking for help

Back Story: Julia was raised by her single dad for the first 12 years of her life. Her mother's side of the family had always been a mystery to her as her dad never mentioned it. Julia's father, Brian, was a rich millionaire who grew to fame with his own start-up. She lived a lavish life in the suburbs, and never once questioned who or where her mom was. One day, Julia comes back home to find her dad brutally murdered in the dining room hall. She didn't know what to do, after all, she was only 12 years old. Grief came in waves and while a nanny at the house did start taking care of her, the haunting image of her father lying on the floor never left her dreams.

Part 2 - 264 words
brown hair, green eyes - images used to provide insight on her personal aesthetic choice. Her physical qualities are something that many praise and admire. Though not a huge part in her life, the influence others have on her is clear and definitely evident. She always thinks twice before doing something with the constant fear of being judged or overlooked

new york city - after going to live with the nanny for a few years, Julia eventually decides to move out and go to the city. Her dad had a penthouse in the area that the two would often visit so she always felt like the bustling city lights was a home away from home. When all feels lost, she seeks shelter in the city; running, before the darkness can consume her

writing, sheet music - although she has trouble expressing her emotions outloud, Julia has always taken solace in the arts: whether it be writing, or composing short ballads, it's the only way she feels truly herself. To deal with the passing of her father Julia finds herself doing these sorts of activities more and more often as they almost act as a “grounding force”, to remind her that she's still worthy of living in this world.

fallen rose - used to symbolize this idea that while seemingly fine on the outside, Julia has bottled up her trauma and it has grown to be this “weight in her chest” as she makes her way through her every day life. She has trouble opening up about things and struggles with ominous voices in her head, questioning her self-worth.

Part 3: 504 words
Rain had been falling over the city for hours.The raindrops slid down the shattered windows, gathered in dark puddles along the streets, immeditately turning the alleyways into rivers of dim golden reflections.

A flickering streetlight illuminated just enough of her to reveal her distinct yet numb features. Black lucious strands of hair fell around her face, with a single silver streak shining in the light as she darted down the alleway. Her eyes glimmered an unnatural shade of purple, moving constantly as she quickly made an effort to scan her surroundings.

The cost was clear, it was finally time to begin. She pulled over the hood on her raincoat and continued down the cobblestone path filled with wells of puddles. The rain didn't bother her and nor did cold. As if habit took over, she tossed a knife high up into the air. It spun, almost enchanted-like, and clattered to the grand. She picked it up abruptly and tossed it up once more. The blade spun across her knuckles and landed perfectly in her hand.

Aside from the the missing bit of her left ring finger interrupting the rhythm of the toss, she had long gotten used to working around its absence. If anything, the inconsistency in the toss was what acted as a sort of fulfillment. Sylvie leaned back the red brick wall and waited patiently. Or at least she tried to. Patience after all, wasn't something that she had been born with. It was something she had to learn, a trait she had to acquire in order to play in the big games.

Footsteps began to echo from the alleway. He was here.
The man was drenched in the rain - he looked as if he had just come running halfway across town to deliver some sort of message. However, to those who looked deeper, they could tell that this man was absolutely scared for his life.

“You're late.” The man jumped, hearing the voice almost as if he was taken aback by the comment. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Instead, through chattered lips he muttered to himself.

“LOUDER I can't here you. Stop testing my patience,” she shouted back in attempt to scare a response out of him. See, leaving in the world alone had made Sylvie realize that nothing is ever handed to you on a silver platter. Knowing this, she worked tirelessly day and night in order to serve her single and true purpose. Though no one ever got close enough to figure out what exactly this purpose was.

“Sylvie! How nice to see you. I was actually just coming to tell you that,”

“Enough- I'm done with your lies Atticus. Tell me what they've done to her, it's certainly the least you can do after everything you've put us through.” She could feel the tears starting to well up in her eyes but she didn't dare to let a single drop fall. The rain provided a good cover, probably for the best.

Part 4: 643 words
Rain had been falling over the city for hours.The raindrops slid down the shattered windows, gathered in dark puddles along the streets, immeditately turning the alleyways into rivers of dim reflections. Outside the window of Ira's Julia noticed the blurred skyline of New York City - falling into a pattern of silver and neon streaks from all of the city lights. Yellow taxis glowed beneath the streetlights as pedestarians rushed to get into the first one they saw in attempt to make it back home in time.

Inside the cafe, however, Julia frantically wiped the top of a table she had already cleaned. The world around her seemed to peaceful, yet she couldn't help but feel empty on the inside. She had been doing that a lot lately though; repeating small tasks, keeping herself busy so that her thoughts wouldn't wander to far. In other words, it was her way to establish some sense of control.

“Seems like you missed a spot”

The voice wasn't real. It wasn't the first time she had heard it either.
Shs sighed to herself softly and leaned against the counter once more, she gripped the sides hard as she squinted her eyes for a brief moment. She had to maintain control. Still, the voice continued…

“You're wasting your life here. You were built for so much more yet you through it all away, and for what”
The sounds circled in her head, brief mumbles. The words still hit hard though, even if nobody was directly saying it to her face.
The crushing weight of these realization would eat at her insides, but not today, no. She was finally learning how to block out these echoes. Mostly.

“Hey Julia,” she looked up only to see Bernice, the store owner. “Are you ok?”

“Yep,” she exclaimed pulling a brief smile on her face. She had gotten good at pretending that everything was alright. After all, growing up in a lonely world had taught her no better.

Bernice studied Julia for a brief moment before stating, “Ok. In that case you can head out for the night. The storm's anyways getting worser by the minute and I want you to have a save drive home.”

“Thanks.”

The cafe doors swung open as Julia pushed the door. The bells jingled behind her and she walked slowly through the glowing streets of New York. The city light reflected on the pavement and though Julia worked relentlessly to block the voices in her head, they kept coming back, stronger than before. Writing was the only way she could say the things she didn’t know how to speak aloud.

She would write about the ocean and new piece she was hoping to compose. But ultimately, the real narrative never changed. Etched on the papers in her notebook she'd often find “when I was 12…”

Twelve years old. The house had been quiet that day and Julia was spending time outside in the lucious patty fields. As she ran in excited, excited to share her adventures with her father, she was left stunned. She walked into the dining room only to see him lying there, motionless.

“Stop,” she whispered. The pain was unbearable and living through that moment each day hurt more than the last. Suddenly, she heard a few rushed footsteps behind her. Out of curiousity she turned around, eager to know what was following her. She soon figured that it wasn't a what, but a who. A lean black figure stoof perched between the entrance of the alleyway. Black hair and a streak of silver. Now those were some pretty distinct features to have. However, her purple eyes stood out in the darkness she was masked in. They flickered amidst the bustling city lights.

“Hello?” Julia began, eerily making her way towards the dark tunnel.

“You should leave,” the girl stated back bluntly.

Last edited by -NightGlow- (March 9, 2026 23:46:34)

minergold48

Weekly 1 - 1706 words - Swap with singing-for-fun

Character Sheet (261 words)
Mariano Clash
Age: 36
Gender: Male (he/him)
Orientation: Gay
Species: Anthropomorphic Cat/Dragon
Appearance: Gray fur, dragon-like snout, cat ears, green eyes, light green underscales and talons, green wings and horns, long furred reptilian tail, glasses
Occupation: None technically, makes money by pulling weeds, babysitting, running errands, etc.
Residency: Arisen, a small town in the middle of a big meadow, a short travel from the nearest big city
Personality: Soft-spoken, gentle, kind, non-judgmental, humble
Strengths: Understanding, great listener, ready to advocate for those he cares about, helpful, keeps his spaces clean
Weaknesses: Tends to isolate when feeling negatively, struggles to advocate for himself, gullible, forgets his limits, low endurance
Likes: His ‘adopted’ children, keeping himself busy, clean spaces, plants, the quiet, his fiancé
Dislikes: Having nothing to do, messy spaces, loud spaces, cities, running, his magic disorder, things that remind him of his fiancé
Backstory: Growing up he was a bit more extroverted and open, but after his best friend and fiancé passed away, he grew distant and more closed off. After a random baby showed up on his doorstep, he forced himself to reconnect with his neighbors and town in order to properly raise her. He wound up taking in a lost child a few years down the line, and after the two left to go on their own adventures, he began spending a lot of time helping everyone to try and make up for being a shut-in. He is currently taking care of another child, helping her to come out of her shell and feel safe and happy.

Moodboard (241 words)

Small Town - Mariano has lived in a small town his whole life; he couldn't see himself living anywhere else.
Heart - Love is the foundation of Mariano's life. His fiancé and his kids are his entire world.
Gardening supplies - One of Mariano's passions is gardening. He liked it as a child, he does it to help his neighbors, and he does it for his kid.
Ball and Chain - Mariano has felt burdened ever since the death of his fiancé. Even after he got out of his rut, he feels like he's hurt his community, and feels a constant need to make it up to them.
Books - Mariano isn't sure if he likes reading, but he did a lot of it after his fiancé passed and still does it when he has nothing else to do.
Graveyard - Mariano's fiancé's life and death has had a major impact on his life, shaping everything from his personality to his actions.
Melting - A representation of how Mariano feels from his disorder, a strange condition that leaves him feeling ‘melty’ and weakened when exposed to large amounts of magical energy. It's made it harder for him to connect with his kid at times, and he often tries to push through the weakness for her.
Parent and Child - Mariano loves his kids. They've helped him so much, from pulling him out of his grieving, bringing him joy and purpose, and simply having his back whenever he needs it.

Character Swap (533 words)

“This one was hurt by a Weaver.”

Esme jolted up from her chair, rushing to the side of the person being carted in. Burns streaked across their face, Esme recognizing them as the same burns she had tended to many times before. They looked identical to normal fire burns, but the Losemkhesh knew better than she did. Rolling the bed to the center of the room, Esme got to work. She rubbed a paste over the burn wounds of the unconscious patient, a paste specifically made with a powder that helps heal wounds caused by Weaver magic. After she covered the burnt skin, which streaked all the way down the patient's arm, she began bandaging them up like she had done for many patients before, whispering to them even though she knew that they were out cold. “You'll be alright,” she said softly. “You're safe with us.” *The Weavers are capable of so much damage*, she thought to herself. *It's a good thing that the Losemkhesh didn't make me one of their soldiers.*

The patient stirred just as she finished, moaning. Their eye opened to look at Esme, who gave them a soft smile. “Don't worry,” she said. “The Weavers won't hurt you here.”

“Weavers..?” they began, before wincing. Esme quickly ran to a table and grabbed a water bottle, bringing it back to the patient as they started trying to sit up. “You've been hurt badly,” she said, having them lay back down, administering the water to them in a way where they could swallow easily without sitting up. “Th…thank you,” they whispered, glancing around the room. “I was…with Lucien…”

Esme tried to hide a grimace. Of course they were with Lucien. He was always being rude to her for no reason, acting like she had betrayed him or something like that. She had hardly just met him! “Yes?” she said gently, giving the patient time to tell their story. “There was… a fire…”

“A Weaver attack,” Esme said confidently, intending to finish their sentence. “No… just a normal…”

The people who had delievered the patient to her burst into the room. “They're awake,” one said, Esme nodding as another began to wheel them out. “We will take them to the recovery ward. Thank you for your service.” Esme smiled, glad to be helpful. “I hope your recovery is swift and painless!” she called to the patient as they were carted away.

She sat back down in her chair, picking up her book, a catalouge of every Weaver-caused affliction and how to best treat them. She thought for a minute about what the patient had said. It had clearly been a Weaver attack- she had been told so- why did they think otherwise? “They must've lost some memory,” she muttered, finding that a bit ironic considering her own situation. She began to flip through the book like she had done many times before, reflecting on her life over the past five years. She just couldn't wait for the Weavers to be gone; then she could finally go outside without fear, leave Bazhaga to somewhere nice and warm, and not have to worry about Lucien antagonizing her on a regular basis.

Character Meeting (671 words)
(note: I'm just going to pretend that an anthro cat-dragon is a totally normal thing here lol)

Mariano moaned softly, beginning to awaken from his unconcious state. He glanced around the room anxiously, calming slightly when he realized he was in some sort of medical room. He tried to move slightly, wincing when a sharp pain arced through his wing. “Take it easy,” Esme said, quickly moving to his side. “You took a pretty bad hit there.” Mariano peered over his shoulder, grimacing at the bandages on his right wing. He couldn't remember what he did to get it in such a bad state. “What happened?” he asked, looking back at Esme. “Where am I?”

“You're on Bazhaga, in the medical clinic,” Esme said, “and you were attacked by a Weaver.”

“A…Weaver?” Mariano racked his mind for the term, but the only thing that came to mind were weird-looking spiders. “Those who are favored by the stars, able to bend starlight,” Esme explained, patient and allowing Mariano to get his bearings. “So…star magic?” She nodded.

“That doesn't make sense though,” Mariano said, slowly sitting up. “I would know if I was attacked by magic- it does weird things to my systems.” He did feel weak, but he had been unconcious and wounded for who knows how long, and he didn't feel the melty feeling that always came alongside the weakness.

Esme wasn't entirely sure what he was on about, but she knew what she had been told when he had been brought to her clinic. “When the Losemkhesh brought you in, they said that your wing had been damaged by a Weaver attack,” she said confidently. “And you should heal quickly, because I'm one of the only people on this island who knows how to take proper care of Weaver wounds.”

“Forgive me,” Mariano said with a soft smile, looking at Esme. “Thank you for helping me.” Esme smiled, knowing that she could trust this creature. “They'll be back to take you to the recovery ward soon, but I'm here if you need anything. Water? Food? A blanket?” She was already moving to get all three. “Oh- it's okay- really-” he began as Esme shoved a water bottle into his talon. “It's my job to take care of you,” she said with a smile.

Mariano chuckled softly, taking a drink. “Thank you.” It reminded him of his kids; one time he had come down with a cold and they were practically tripping over their own feet to help him get better.

After a moment of awkward silence, Mariano spoke up. “You said the Loss…lossem…” “Losemkhesh?” “Yes- the Losemkhesh brought me here. Who are they?”

Esme was surprised that Mariano had seemingly no clue what was going on here, but was more than happy to explain everything to him. “They're who I work for. Our goal is to eliminate all Weavers so we can finally leave this place.”

“All of them? That seems quite harsh,” Mariano said, very glad that he didn't have any magic right about now.

“Yes, them and their Kochav Army.”

Mariano hesitated for a moment. “Why? What did they do to you?”

“They trapped us on this island!” Esme sighed, frustrated. “None of us can leave! It's cold all the time and the oceans are made to lock us here forever!”

Mariano winced a bit, Esme frowning. “Sorry- you really know none of this?”

“No,” he said softly, “but I understand your anger. It doesn't seem like your life has been very pleasant. How long have you been here for?”

“As long as I can remember.” Esme looked aside quietly, wondering if she did have a different home before she lost her memories.

Mariano touched her arm softly, twitching a bit at another pang of wing pain. “I'm sorry. I…” he knew that destroying all the Weavers was wrong, but didn't think that he would be able to convince Esme otherwise. “I hope you're able to get out of this place soon.”

“Thank you,” Esme said softly, having him lay on the bed again as the Losemkesh arrived to take him elsewhere.

Last edited by minergold48 (March 9, 2026 23:46:18)

-WildClan-

PART 1: Character Sheet

Name: Rust
Species: wolf (actually an unspecified fictional canid species, but I’m simplifying here)
Age: on the older side of middle-aged
Gender: male (he/him)
Residence: Sliver Pack (central)
Occupations: prison guard, commander in battle, advisor to the Pack leader
Physical Characteristics: height is slightly taller than average for central Sliver Pack (whose members are already fairly large); body is bulky and muscular; fur is short, coarse, and dark reddish-brown with a lighter underbelly and gray hairs around the muzzle + lower chest areas; ears are tall, sharp, and triangular; snout is blocky; nose is large and angular; tail is short; faint scars can be seen on the neck, chest, back, and extending from the right corner of the mouth, with a large notch in the right ear and a burn mark on the left forelimb in the shape of 2 sides of a triangle
Personality: usually quiet and mostly stoic, but can pivot to loud and aggressive when barking orders or fighting someone; good at keeping secrets; values duty, respect, honesty, and discipline; prefers to intimidate opponents into submission rather than fight them directly (though he certainly has the strength for combat when it comes to that); is acutely aware of the fact that everyone dies and doesn’t see the point in avoiding the subject; when speaking, he can be gruff and caustic; as a mentor/father/authority figure, he is rough and demanding; tries to be patient but can get irritated; doesn’t enjoy socializing just for socializing’s sake; takes his jobs very seriously; deeply loyal to Sliver Pack and to those he respects, but does not openly show affection; recognizes his own strengths and weaknesses; thinks of himself as somewhat broken and unable to change; believes in objective truth and morality, and tends toward black-or-white thinking, yet justifies some actions as a means to an end; in his old age, he has become more tired and is happy when simply at peace, resting
Relationships:
Revery: the former leader of Sliver Pack, under whose rule Rust became experienced in battle and gained most of his scars; Rust watched Revery’s gradual descent into paranoia and power-hungriness; when Revery died of illness, Rust had an opportunity to take the crown but refused it due to having witnessed its corrupting effects
Summit: the current leader of Sliver Pack, under whose rule Rust took on the role of prison guard and was branded with the burn scar; Rust has known Summit since he was a pup and probably understands him better than anyone; he helped Summit achieve his aspirations of becoming leader despite Rust’s own misgivings about the crown; he is deeply loyal to Summit and though he recognizes his flaws all too well, Rust (almost) always follows his orders; he is pained to watch Summit develop some of the same issues that Revery had
Miasma: Rust’s mate; she is also a high-ranking member of Sliver Pack and a competent fighter; she doesn’t mind Rust’s lack of romance; the two have a strong bond of mutual respect and often work together as a team; they occasionally disagree, but Rust trusts her completely
Russet: the only surviving pup of Rust and Miasma; he looks up to his father but feels distanced from him due to Rust’s unemotional nature; Rust was also hard on him during combat training and is somewhat disappointed by Russet’s aversion to conflict
Blood: Summit’s cousin, who Summit wanted Rust to train; as her mentor, Rust taught her combat by pitting her against the prisoners; he was harsh in training but cared more about her than he ever let on; Summit’s orders were to keep Blood isolated from the rest of the Pack but Rust knew she had a secret relationship with Hurricane and never exposed it to Summit
Tumult: one of the prisoners under Rust’s watch; they are enemies, though Tumult hates Rust more than Rust dislikes him; however, they also share many of the same values and recognize some of the same brokenness in each other
Glory: Blood’s son and Russet’s friend, who reminds Rust of a younger, better Summit; Glory persuades Rust to not take him prisoner, distracting Rust long enough for Tumult to escape; Rust is forced to consider Glory an enemy because of this, but also grudgingly respects Glory’s courage and wit
Categories: ISTJ-A, Lawful Neutral

PART 2: Character Moodboard
(images: fire, crown, triangle, bones, teeth, gears, metal, wolf)
Overall, Rust has an orange-ish color palette, both because of his name and because of orange’s association with fire, which is Sliver Pack’s symbol of civilization. Note, however, that the fire in this image is being used to fuel a machine; it is purposeful and contained, but still dangerous if handled improperly. The crown represents Rust’s familiarity with Sliver’s leaders, especially Summit. The triangle is similar to the shape that is burned onto Rust’s left wrist. The bones show Rust’s connection with death—either witnessing it, causing it, or simply being aware that it’s the fate that awaits everyone, himself included. The teeth are representative of Rust’s role in combat and how heavily that identity has affected his life. The gears are there to show that Rust thinks of himself as just a small part of a larger system, meant to fulfill a specific function for the sake of the greater good. The metal supports that symbolism and also underlines that Rust’s personality is often rigid and unyielding. And finally, the wolf represents Rust’s species. The images are structured into an array to emphasize Rust’s firm adherence to the boundaries of his truths, values, and laws.

PART 3: Character Swap

PART 4: Character Meeting

LovegoodLady

weekly 1!

Lenore Key-Avallon
Age: 15
Occupation: Student, budding writer, bookshop cashier
Residence: 23 Meriwether Avenue, Lemon Harbor, Canada
Physical characteristics: Light brown freckled skin, black braid, deep brown eyes
Strengths: Quite thoughtful, smart, good memory, very good at chess, fast thinker, good at ballroom dancing
Weaknesses: Dreamy, anxious, a bit shy, people-pleaser, worrisome, naive (only a touch), hopeless romantic
Other random facts: loves typewriters, poetry, cats, and old-fashioned things, ballroom dances seriously, loves vintage things, often comes out on the beach at night to dance barefoot, loves the feel of sand, reads avidly (especially romance and fantasy), only child, has many mental tactics for calming down that she rushes through whenever she gets worried to sooth herself, although they don’t really help
Close friends and relations:
Lilac Key (mother): called ‘Marmee’ by Lenore after the beloved mother in Little Women, Lilac dotes on her daugher but worries that her mental health is declining, and can often be found offering to hire a therapist for Lenore. Lenore finds Lilac a bit annoying and thinks that her mother doesn’t quite understand her now that she’s become an anxious teenager who seems to break down every five seconds.
Charles Avallon (father): Lenore’s father died when she was twelve in a car accident, and she often thinks about him and wishes he was there to help her through the worst time for her anxiety. Charles was her favorite person, always understanding when she started panicking and never questioning how hard it was for her. He was working on a novel when he died, one Lenore is trying to work up the courage to finish for him.
Juliet (best friend): Lenore’s best friend, Juliet, is fiery and bubbly in every way that Lenore is not. Juliet is full of passion and love and chatter, always willing to tell anyone what she’s thinking. Although they’re complete opposites, Juliet and Lenore fit together perfectly, always knowing what the other needs and making each other laugh whenever they’re together.

Moodboard:

here <3

The blue-black-purple-gold fabric above shows her love for the outdoors and her love for vintage patterns, and the blue hydrangeas are there to show her slightly delicate but blooming personality, with a blue that can be interpreted as either calm or worrisome. The moonrise on the ocean shows her love for the quiet and dark of the night, especially with the ocean below. The typewriter represents her love of old things, writing, and poetry specifically by giving an example of something she loves as a part of those things. The chess board represents both her quick thinking and love of chess as a game, sort of combining the two. The dancers represent the joy she feels when she’s in the ballroom, and the calm that goes over her, as does the beach, showing the calm she has when she’s on the beach. The cat represents her sharp thinking and love of furry things, and the book with the rose represents her love of reading and supports the idea that she’s a hopeless romantic.

WIP!

Last edited by LovegoodLady (March 9, 2026 23:50:54)

CaleMoretti

Startup Four
Paul Ducant
17
Student, part of a startup created by Micah, Joyce, and Liam
Dark/Black curly hair, brown eyes, lighter tan color, average build.
Lives with parents since they won’t let him live with the other three until he’s 18. Pretty independent. He came up with the idea for the AI medical imaging and handles the coding. A supportive friend, good student, and overall pretty chill guy whose interests include gaming with friends, drawing, and learning to cook (he’s still new to it).
Pretty laid back, but also soft spoken around strangers, as well as a lack of coordination. Also prone to oversleeping. Has a hard time interacting with people he doesn’t know/making new friends. Also, not really too close with family. Overall, pretty average guy (maybe a little on the genius side due ot the coding startup thing) who happens to be with semi-extraordinary friends.

Micah, idk what his last name is
18
Student, handles the coding side of the startup with childhood best friend Paul.
Blonde, slightly short hair (think of Luke from Percy Jackson), brown eyes, African American, slightly skinny.
Has his own shared residence with Joyce and Liam due to the semi-successful startup. The four of them are working to expand it and fix any bugs in the code. Micah is pretty skilled at video games and is a joke/prankster whose favorite thing to do is hang out with friends and mess with people. He’s a little sensitive, though he tries to hide it and is also insecure due to a slightly strained relationship with his mother after his father’s untimely death. However, he still loves her deeply and also considers Paul a reason he hasn’t fallen apart yet.

Joyce and Liam
17
Students/startup
Joyce: Brown-ish hair with blue eyes and a light complexion
Liam: Black-ish hair with blue eyes and a slightly darker complexion compared to Joyce.
Two aspiring biology students in their senior year of high school, working with close friends Micah and Paul. They hang out together often and are basically in a relationship, although they haven’t admitted it to each other yet. They both think (erroneously) that Micah and Paul are in a relationship. They are both 17 and were able to get permission from both parents after Micah spoke with them to live in the company house. They still both go to school and have good grades, oftentimes doing many things together, if not with Micah and/or Paul. They share many traits, including a love of nature and each other. Joyce is a little rebellious, while Liam is more conservative/stoic. They are both dependent on each other, and Joyce is sometimes a little too stubborn while Liam is sometimes too indifferent. They have not had any arguments yet.

Micah is a pretty laidback guy and is semi-based on Eddie Munson and Leo Valdez from Stranger Things and Percy Jackson, respectively. He’s pretty disorganised and doesn’t have much of a schedule, but is a great friend (especially with his bestie, Paul, and the other two who are in the startup with him). Later on, he develops amnesia as a side effect of what goes on around the world. He is a bit of a gamer, focused on the coding side of his startup, and is an overall good host and semi-aprental figure to the other three who live in the home.

Waldemar walked through the pier, passing by a few familiar faces. Staring into the open sea with a sigh, he reminisced a bit. Haixia was going to arrive any minute now, along with Frau and another shipmate who would guide him. They were all coming to say their goodbyes. Well, not the dock worker. He was coming along on the SS Titanic. He and Haixia were apparently good friends, so Waldemar was a bit excited to meet him. Looking back towards the docks, the creak of cranes and the hum of engines brought him back a couple of years. The slightly rickety tracks, smoke coming out of the stack, the screech of metal. A small smile started to grow on his face, until both his smile and his thoughts were overtaken by a large explosion. Fiery debris rained across the sky as he looked up: face tearing from how hot it was, his clothes slightly burnt, the once pristine conductor’s uniform now in tatters. And the screams… the screams of terror as many tried their best to run from the ever-growing fireball as it moved closer and closer to him. It was moving ever steadily, and Waldemar, too scared, too guilty to move from the scene, watched in horror as the flames began to envelop him.
“How long are you going to stand there like a dolt?”
Waldemar came to his senses with a start. His vision started to clear again as he found himself back on the sunny dock, surrounded by water. In front of him, a smiling woman stared at him with a semi-curious expression. Next to her, his elderly neighbour looked towards him with a small look of sympathy and understanding in her eyes, while a chipper dockworker stood to Haixa’s left. He was clad in a shipmate’s uniform and looked excited to go on his first voyage, especially with an experienced medical professional.
“I was uh, just taking in the view”
“You know the ocean is the other way. Besides, you see it every day. I can see why you like it so much, though. It’s the second most beautiful view in the world… aside from you.”
Waldemar’s smile grew a bit from Haixia’s teasing.
“Well, mister man of little words, Max and I will be waiting back at the docks for you when you come back within the week. I expect you to bring back some chocolates! I heard Belgium is known for those.”
“Sure thing, I wouldn’t dare to forget. Besides, you seem to have brought a reminder along to remind me of this task.”
Waldemar gestured towards the dockworker, who smiled sheepishly. He greeted Waldemar
rapidly.
“It’s great to meet you, sir, and I mean it. There’s nothing better than going into a new job with an experienced professional such as you.”
Waldemar replied in a stoic manner.
“Don’t mention it, kid, the open seas are great this time of year, especially after 5 years of peace.”
Frau looked towards the two in amusement, and was about to chime in on the conversation when a ship's horn blew in the distance.
The four looked towards the S.S. Titanic, whose majesty was hard to describe. Waldemar’s next journey was sailing towards him.
“Wait, so we’re supposed to do what now?” Micah was extremely perplexed at how they had ended up on the Titanic.
“Well, you see this little device over here sent us back to a time where we are supposed to meet someone who can teach us a bit more about medicine,” Joyce responded with a matter-of-fact expression on her face
“Yeah, but why backwards? Isn’t medical knowledge supposed to, you know, increase in the future?”
Micah still had a perplexed expression on his face. There was absolutely no way that the solution to Paul’s mysterious disease, contracted from some giant ant worm-like monster, was going to be cured by someone who existed almost a century before the apocalypse.
“Maybe there was some super genius who ended up on this ship and died along with his great ideas. Either way, let’s go get him and maybe transport him back to our time in order to get Paul fixed up.” Joyce and Liam had decided to go along with Micah out of worry about how unstable he would be.
Walking along the long hallways of the doomed ship, they came across a man in his 30s with a suit and a stethoscope on. He was chatting with what appeared to be a random shipsmate. Micah perked up a bit and walked towards the duo. Joyce and Liam followed closely behind him.
As the figure came into view a bit more, the trio gasped in recognition.
“Is that?”
‘Yeah, that’s Waldy…”
“What’s he doing here?”
“Wait, does he know about us? I mean, the last time we saw him, he had his ‘cheap and nasty’ device with him, so this could be a version before that?”
Joyce whispered towards Liam jokingly.
“Do you think he’s a doctor?”
“No, but I think the person next to him is.”
“Wha- oh shut up.”
They had to quickly stifle their grins as they came into view of the duo.
“Excuse me, do you happen to be a medical professional?”
The adult looked at Micah with a curious expression, then put on a gentle smile and responded.
“Yes, my name is Waldemar Lutz, and I am this ship’s chief medical professional. Now, who exactly is in need of help?”
Micah responded rapidly.
“It’s uh, a friend of mine, he contracted a disease that we don’t really know what it is.”
“Sure, where is he?”
A small smirk grew on Micah’s face.
“Not where, but when.”
Joyce and Laim caught on a bit too late.
“MICAH WAIT”
Micah suddenly pulled out a small metallic device and stuck it on Waldemar’s chest. The ship’s mate quickly grabbed Waldemar and tried to pull him back, and Waldemar himself started to reel back with an expression of shock on his face. Before he could comment, the device started up, its four little arms spinning around a tiny metal core like a centrifuge, until a blinding flash began to emanate from it. The medic’s chest started to glow as a bright light made its way through him, eventually reaching the shipmate’s arm and spreading through him as well.
With an expression of wonder and curiosity, the duo exploded into a bright light before vanishing from the now-quiet hallway, the tiny device plopping to the ground with a tiny clink.
Joyce and Liam stared at the device, their expressions wide. His jaw still on the floor, Liam turned to face Micah.
“Micah, what did you just do?”
“I’m saving Paul, now let’s hurry up.”
Without further explanation, he started to bend down and pick up the device.
“Did he just… kidnap Waldy from the Titanic?”
“Yes, and I think you mean did WE just kidnap someone from the Titanic?”
“No, no, that was all you. Wait, how do you even know the guy is going to help you? I wouldn’t be too happy if someone dropped me into a ruined version of Earth for seemingly no reason.”
“He seemed understandable enough. Besides we know he likes us later on.”
“Well I mean it feels better to explain the whole time loop thing before y’know… kidnapping him.”
“I wasn’t kidnapping him! More like, borrowing!”

Rey_venclaw

Weekly 1

First Name: Charlotte

Last name: Fischer

Gender: Female

Pronouns: she/her

Nickname: Charlie

Age: 7 years old in 2017 (Born 2010)

Place of Residence: Upstate New York

Occupation: 3rd grade student at an alternative elementary school

Race and Ethnicity: Mixed race, Black African American mother, white British father

Sexuality: Straight

Species: Human

Physical Traits and Characteristics: Slight, just shorter than average height for her age, warm, light brown skin, frizzy brown hair, big golden-brown eyes, round face, full lips.

Personality Traits: High energy, outdoorsy, athletic, creative and artistic, a little bit reckless, very much second born child energy, is almost always either playing an instrument or listening to music, short attention span, impulsive, probably has ADHD combined type but isn’t diagnosed.

Strengths: Creative, out of the box thinking, fine motor skills, athleticism, good memory for things she’s interested in, very sociable, high social emotional intelligence, loves intensely, very positive and optimistic, great artistic and musical skill, has a good sense of her personal style, loyal, perceptive

Weaknesses: Struggles to focus on things that don’t interest her, is almost never able to keep to a schedule, rarely sets long term goals and is always focused on the present moment, easily startled, emotions like fear and anger upset her greatly.

General outlook on life: Slightly nervous but optimistic

Friends and Familial Connections

Mother: Maureen Prentice
Gender: Female
Nickname: None
Age: 38 years old in 2017 (Born 1979)
Place of Residence: Upstate New York
Occupation: Nurse
Race and Ethnicity: Black, African American

Brother: Zachary Fischer
Gender: Male
Nickname: Zach
Age: 15 years old in 2017 (Born 2002)
Place of Residence: Upstate New York
Occupation: 10th grade student at a public high school
Race and Ethnicity: Mixed race, Black African American mother, white British father

Father: Lincoln Fischer
Gender: Male
Nickname: None
Age: Passed away in a car crash in 2017 aged 37 (Born 1980)
Place of Residence: Upstate New York
Occupation: Marketing Manager
Race and Ethnicity: White, British

Maternal Grandmother: Lisa Prentice
Gender: Female
Nickname: None
Age: 64 years old in 2017 (Born 1953)
Place of Residence: New York City
Occupation: Retired Middle and High School Teacher
Race and Ethnicity: Black, African American

Best Friend: Jenna Holt
Gender: Female
Nickname: None
Age: 8 years old in 2017 (Born 2009)
Place of Residence: Upstate New York
Occupation: 3rd grade student at an alternative elementary school
Race and Ethnicity: White, Russian immigrant

Sworn Enemy: Mackenzie Cash
Gender: Male
Nickname: Mack
Age: 8 years old in 2017 (born 2009)
Place of Residence: Upstate New York
Occupation: 3rd grade student at an alternative elementary school
Race and Ethnicity: White, unknown ethnicity

These nine images represent the life of Charlotte “Charlie” Fischer, age 7. The first image represents her school, which is a warm, vibrant, colourful space just like this picture, and is a place Charlie very much feels at home in. The second image is one of stickers that reflect her personality and represent her creativity. Charlie is rarely if ever found without stickers of some kind in her bag waiting to be used, on her face, in her hair, or stuck randomly on schoolwork that didn’t strictly need stickers. She is also often one to gift stickers to her friends. The third image is of handmade sun catchers, also an illustration of Charlie’s creativity but in a different way. These are the sorts of decorations that adorn Charlie’s room, house, and classroom at school. Not all of these are made by Charlie herself but a lot are, and her mom makes a point to keep as many of them as she can. The fourth image represents Charlie’s love for music. Charlie is almost always listening to music or making her own. You can expect her to more likely than not have an instrument in her hands. She knows at least the basics of playing many instruments but by far her favourite is the guitar that she got passed down to her from her dad’s side of the family. It’s one of her only connections to her dad’s side of the family because many of them either died when she was young or don’t talk to her dad and by extension her anymore. The fifth picture is a picrew of Charlie made with the Maddel Picrew! Highlights to notice here are her silly expression, her cherry earrings, the fact that there’s fish on her shirt, and the overall green aesthetic which is Charlie’s favourite colour. The sixth picture is of a butterfly, which is here because butterflies are Charlie’s favourite animal. She draws butterflies on everything, dedicates many of her art projects to butterfly related creations, and can always be reliably expected to chase after any butterflies she sees. Sometimes she even wishes she could be a butterfly for a day or two. The seventh image is of trees and the sky, and this picture has a twofold meaning. The first is simply that these are Charlie’s favourite colours, the bright sky blue and the forest green. The second is a representation of her outdoorsy nature. Especially in the summer when the world is these two favourite colours of hers, Charlie is always outside. She doesn’t really enjoy many traditional sports but is more than happy to go running or hiking or biking if it means getting to experience nature. The eighth image is of a golden retriever puppy because Charlie’s family has one and Charlie loves him so much that she will not hesitate to tell you as soon as you meet her that she has a puppy. His name is Hamlet (named by Charlie’s retired teacher grandmother) and Charlie knows he’s going to be her best friend for a long time. The ninth and final picture simply represents Charlie’s origin as a side character in a Marvel Cinematic Universe fanfiction — But don’t feel trapped by that! Feel free to put her in any world you see fit.

Part 3

“Gwillyn?” I call out. “Are you real?”
I feel weird, I suppose. I can’t really tell. I try to take breaths, to ground myself back into my body, but I feel like I’m being slowly buried deep underground where no light can reach and no person will ever see.
“Gwillyn?” I call out again. Again I get no response.
The shape of a face slowly emerges from the corner of the room. Just a rough outline of features, blooming out of the wallpaper. It grins at me, chuckles, and swims away. In its place it leaves a trail of bright sparkles that blink, flicker, and fade. I try not to pay attention. They’re not real. The best thing to do is ignore them.
The storm outside, that’s real. I can tell because I can feel the damp in the air, seeping in through the walls of the old stone cottage where I’ve made my home. The unreal things, I can never really feel them in the moment. Sure I can remember feeling them, but never in the moment. I can feel the dampness. Therefore the storm is real.
“Gwillyn! Gwillyn? Gwillyn??” My shouts grow frantic. The storm rages outside, thunder I can hear and feel, lightning I can see, lighting up the world beyond my curtains if only I dared to look. I don’t. Of course I don’t. Wouldn’t risk it.
Gwillyn must have gone back to her cabin. She probably told me she was doing that and I forgot again. That’s fine. It happens all the time Gwillyn always comes back. Unlike everyone else and everything else (except mom in a way, and the hospital) Gwillyn always comes back.
I feel the storm. I see the storm. I hear the storm. I smell the storm I am the storm.
No. I am Bronwen. I am five foot ten. I have dark brown hair that comes to my chin. I have bangs. My skin is pale. My legs are long, thin, pale, and scarred. These are not the traits of a storm. They are the traits of a human. They are the traits of a Bronwen They are the traits of a me. Of me. Of the only me.
I am safe. The storm is just water, charge, and sound. It cannot hurt me. This old cottage is stone, it won’t fall. There’s no electricity here anyway, the cottage is from a time before all that. And it’snot like I live here legally. Not like I pay my electricity bills every month. A power outage, even one that leaves the town barren for days, will not impact me. I am calm, I am safe, I am sturdy, I am alone. Well maybe I am not sturdy, but my house is. That’s what I meant. Sometimes it’s hard to separate me from my surroundings. But I try my best.
Right now, or rather, always, I am limited to the extent of my arms and legs. I do not extend past them. Even when I feel like my body is larger than life, like I take up more space in the world than anyone else, I do not, that isn’t true. I have a perfectly normal body that is a perfectly acceptable size.
“Gwillyn?” I try one more time, as if willing my girl to be present will do anything. It doesn’t. I can’t convince myself to move from my bed without her here. That was where she last saw me. Part of my brain says that would be unfair to her if I got up and moved when she wasn’t here. As if she’s a baby and hasn’t developed theory of mind yet. No matter. My brain says it wouldn’t be fair, wouldn’t be kind, and I must always be fair and kind to my girl. So I stay put. I stay put and eventually the storm, the wild nature outside, lulls me back to sleep.
When I awake, Gwillyn is there. Sitting beside me. It would be almost like she never left except that she is wearing her boots which she didn’t have on before, probably she got them because of the storm. She also has on a warm waterproof rain jacket and tucked in the jacket’s inner pocket is a mini field notes notebook she didn’t have with her before. That must be the reason she left in the first place. She didn’t have her research journal with her. The storm has cleared, the night has faded, the rising sun seeps in through the cracks between the old moth bitten curtains I rarely bother to open. In the light of a new day, with Gwillyn by my side, everything feels different. the world feels better, lighter, more real, less out to get me. I feel more grounded, calmer, my soul feels better, inherently, it feels almost as though I am good.
I don’t speak. I can’t, not quite yet. Gwillyn doesn’t push me to. She doesn’t speak either. She sits beside me, quietly, communicating everything she needs to with her body. She looks relaxed, happy, unbothered. She looks a bit lost in thought. Her hands are carefully rubbing up and down my back. She is doing it just the way I like, firm enough but careful to not make the fabric of my dress wrinkle between her skin and mine. She’s not looking right at me, but I know she is definitely aware of me. Aware and paying attention. Her attention doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t make me feel n-ked, exposed, or at risk. Nothing like mom’s gaze or the gaze of any doctors I’ve ever had. instead, her attention makes me feel known, held, treasured, and safe. I take a few deep breaths, calming my body and grounding myself the rest of the way. Gwillyn has my back. Literally — she’s still methodically, rhythmically rubbing up and down. As well as metaphorically — she’s there for me, because, despite, and through everything. I can sleep for a little while longer. It’s okay.

Part 4

“Are you real?” Bronwen asks.
Charlie looks at her for a second, finally putting together. Bronwen reminds her of Jenna. Because Jenna, too, has struggles with derealization. It seems to be part of the deal of being an Avenger almost. Nearly every Avenger has one dissociative disorder or another. Depersonalization and Derealization is Jenna’s. And apparently it’s this Bronwen’s too.
“Yes,” Charlie says. “I’m real.” She reaches out her hand. “Look, you can touch me. Go on.”
Bronwen cautiously reaches out her hand to meet Charlies. She can indeed touch her. Bronwen takes a deep breath. That really did help.
“How did you know?” Bronwen asks.
Charlie offers Bronwen a small smile. “My best friend,” she explains, “Her name is Jenna. She has a dissociative disorder too. Depersonalization Derealization, which is what I’m assuming you have too.”
Bronwen nods. “Yeah, that’s me. The crazy girl who doesn’t always know whether she’s real or not.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Charlie chastises. “A lot of people experience this. It doesn’t say anything about you as a person.” Charlie takes Bronwen’s hand, pulling her towards a nearby stream. “Here,” Charlie says. “You’re still a little bit floaty, a little bit not all there. I can see it in your eyes.”
Bronwen huffs. “You’re not wrong.”
“Okay, so put your hands in the water, It’ll help.”
Bronwen nods, reaches her fingers towards the stream, dips her fingertips just below the water’s surface. Charlie watches as Bronwen’s face relaxes and the last signs of the far away look in her eyes fade away entirely.
Charlie smiles. “See, there you go. That’s better.”
Bronwen nods again.
“Alright,” Charlie says. “Now can we focus on the task at hand? We’ve got to find our way out of these fields, figure out where we are, get back to where we want to be, and hopefully figure out who brought us here and why. What we have in common, you know. By the way, where are you from?”
“Wales,” Bronwen says. “The north. You?”
“New York City,” Charlie says. “That’s nowhere near Wales. There goes that idea.”
“Where even are we right now?” Bronwen asks. “Do we have any context clues? I didn’t notice anything but then again, you saw the state I was in.”
“The area is very flat, nothing but rolling hills as far as elevation change, and neither of us seem all that shocked by the weather so we’re probably somewhere Northern Hemisphere still… It seems to me like a similar time zone to my own, at least. Do you feel out of time, or tired, or anything?”
“I always feel out of time and tired. It’s part of the, you know, serious mental health issues.”
Charlie rolls her eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant. Do you feel like… jet lagged or anything?”
“Yeah, a little,” Bronwen admits. “It feels much earlier than it’s supposed to be.”
“Bingo,” Charlie cheers, “We’re onto something.” We’re probably somewhere in the United States or possibly Canada, rural by the looks of it, but we can’t be too far out from civilization or we would have felt like we lost a lot more time than we have. Agreed?”
Bronwen nods. “Agreed. I think our plan should be we pick a direction and walk that way until we find a road and then we can determine next steps based on the look of the road, yeah?”
“Sounds good,” Charlie says, offering a thumbs up.

Zyzeryko

I watched the carriages roll in, across the nicest road in the village as to not muddy the fabric of their ride or the hem of their gowns with mud. Through the town they took our road to the palace grounds, different people passing through everyday attending the Duchess’s parties.
Everyday, I sat and watched them. Until one day, they stopped coming—a newer road had been built, and they didn’t need to go through the village with the strange child anymore. But that wasn’t really fair, was it? They took and they took, and they used our resources to build a road that was more polished and proper so they didn’t have to go through the town they destroyed along the way. They took the jewels from our mines, the clay from our rivers, and the leaves from our plants to make their homes, their roads, and their medicines. They didn’t give any to us.
I watched as people got sick and died, knowing they could’ve been saved if we had been allowed access to the materials that were rightfully ours.
The idea came to me on a particularly lonely day, the one after my uncle, cheerful and opportunist, passed away from the illnesses wreaking the village. A letter floated down from the skies, blown away from a far away land—at least, far away to me—and spiraled through the winds before landing on the chair he used to sit upon. I thought of it as a sign, and as I picked up the letter and noticed the colorful handwriting of the unnecessary invitation, I knew what I had to do. The task would be a hard one, but for our sake, I would do it.
The first step: find the road. Which was really quite easy since a road is hard is miss—over the grave of the plants and animals that used to live here, was the brick road, painting in a variety of lovely hues using the dyes sourced only in our village.
I waited for a carriage to come. Drawn by four horses each and a carriage man, all I had to do was wait for the perfect moment to strike: and by strike, I of course mean hold my hand out with a carrot. I didnt need to be fancy to get what I needed, because i had the common sense to do it all without the poshness. I jumped on one of the horses, giving it the carrot. The carriage man gave em a strange look, but, clearly fed up with the overall disturbing luxury of it, said nothing.
We got to the palace soon enough, and I dipped behind a line of trees. I had an invitation, yes, but I looked nothing like the people that come through these parts. What I needed was a ballgown and my own carriage, but this wasn’t Cinderella.
I watched, and I waited. Until night fell—then, it was time to move. I snuck into the castle quite easily, all things considered; security was quite lax despite the overwhelm of all the luxury in the world. I snuck around quietly, looking for someone who seemed important to talk to. The party was still going, though it was silently dying out as people filtered through the doors as a snail’s pace, eager to leave behind the night of impleasentries without being impolite.
And finally, I laid eyes on her. The Duchess herself, Mariana Arenteria, last name given with the same name as the nation to showcase her importance. I appeared besides her, in my same village clothes and jewelry, lacking the silk and satin the Arenterians dressed themselves in.
“Hello, little girl,” she said, her face a disaster of faux kindess. “It’s a bit late. Maybe you should go home.”
Maybe I should’ve. But I wouldn’t. I gave her a subtle nod, unsure of if there was a better gesture for someone of her stature. “Duchess Mariana, please hear my message.”
Her lips pursed, but she nodded.
“I come from the village outside the palace walls. Your people have been stealing our lands and our resources to build help only yourselves; so I come bearing a warning. Either share with us, or leave us be.”
She smiled politely. One of those dreadful, fake smiles, plastered in platinum when all you want is genuinity. “Well, of course dear. I’ll see to it.”
I smiled—a real one. “Thank you.”
But when I turned, several of the guards I’d outsmarted earlier had me surrounded. They wouldn’t pick off a small child, would they?
They would. They captured me quickly, threw me in one of those dirty cells. My uncle had always taught me that justice does what is right, and it would help me when I needed it—but I knew it wouldn’t come for me.
I escaped. I wish there was more to say, but there isn’t; I slipped through the bars because they were poorly designed and shoddy, easily allowing a child to slip between them unseen.
And I knew what would cause an uproar. The Duchess didn’t listen to me because she thought of me as less than her, and now came the time to prove her wrong.
Back in the main room, the party significantly quieter, I came up my idea in an instant. The chandelier, suspended by many hanging chairs and connected at one end to the wall.
The chain was as easy to break as the cell to escape, and within an instant it came crashing to the ground, shattering in a collision of light and tiny glass shards flying in every direction.
And then I ran. I left the palace behind, and I went home—I sat on the chair where my uncle used to sit, and I knew I had done something that could never be undone.
But in many ways, it worked. The Duchess retreated out of our land, without any many with which to continue her “renovations” of our materials. I told her our warning, my warning, and she failed to acknowledge it—and I hit her where it hurt.
The sun dawned. And with it, my Dawn: my closest friend, someone who I knew I could trust. Without my uncle, she was all I had left. So I told her the truth.
“Do you think I did the right thing?” I asked.
She sat silent next to me. “I think you did something that cannot be changed.”
I nodded. “But was it wrong?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t right. We can’t fit actions into boxes, only see where they go from here.”
So as the sun climbed higher in the sky, we both acknowledged it: the only way forward was seeing where the path from here led.

Zyzeryko

daily #10

Idea 1: 102 words
Theme: change
For this idea, I think I could go with my first semester in my freshman year of high school. During that time, I experienced a lot of change, from transiontining from homeschool to public school, making new friends and then losing them, and learning how to adapt. My reflection would be on what it felt like to go from having nothing, to having everything, to losing it all and then going on. I’ve spent countless hours thinking of this situation, but at the end of every time, we have to keep going, and that’s what I’d center that memoir on.

Idea 2: 111 words
Theme: moving on
This memoir would focus on losing someone close to me for reasons that are not, and likely will never be explained. I’d go into detail about what it felt like to suddenly be missing an entire piece of yourself, taken from you with the person who left you behind. I’d reflect on what it means to me now, five years later, as I’ve moved on from what happened but still miss our friendship. The person I used to talk to everyday has become a memory, to me at least, and someone who I used to spend hours on skye with every night is someone i think of rarely.

Idea 3: 116 words
Theme: being alone
In this idea, I’d reflect more on how it feels to see people enter and then leave your life, going hand in hand with the message that some people just aren’t meant to be in your life forever. Through the years, the same situation has haeppened so many times: I become friends with someone, we connect deeply, and we’re best friends for so long, and then one day… silence. It’s over in the blink of an eye, and they’ve moved on before I knew our relationship had ended. I want to harrow in on that feeling of being left behind, being alone and lonely, as people find others who are “better” than you.

Idea 4: 112
Theme: peace
This theme ties into the first idea, though this was a longer period; the memoir wouldn’t focus on the entire period, just the parts that stood out from the background. This was the second semester, after everything blew up, and it was about leaving that behind and acknowledging that one bad day isn’t the end of your life. Everyday, for about 100 or so, was marking a new path in rebuilding what I had lost. This memoir wouldn’t be about trying to find the good in the bad, but about acknowledging that bad days don’t stick around forever and bad moments in our lives shouldn’t prevent us from finding peace.

Last edited by Zyzeryko (March 10, 2026 02:04:51)

Zyzeryko

letter to bea, 1114 words!! <3

Hi Bea!!!

I’m so glad you had such a nice time in Nov ‘24, that was a really fun session to me too!! I totally get that feeling, I guess we’ve all had it at some point—in my first session, I was so nervous I was going to mess things up and I was so confused about the activities, but everyone was so nice to me and helped me out!

Aww, thank you!!! It makes me so happy that people enjoyed the cabins I’ve had so much <33 I loved having you in my cabin as well, it was so much fun!

Thank you for the happy early birthday wish!! Im counting down :0 awww those otters sound so cute!!

Oh how funny!! I feel like people either like or dislike interior design very strongly lol. Is there something you prefer to do when it comes to fleshing out characters?

I think its gone pretty well!! I found a basket for my sharks so thats good at least, but i did get a new shark in the mail today so i have to find a spot for it too

Ooooo thats really good!!! We only got one war from alana and two from chocolate, which is funny since normally Alana is the warring queen. I think we sent the least wars out of any cabin, but only chuey of the cabin war stats can confirm that ;D

Oh no!! I hope you felt less tired today or you do soon, I’ve been really tired as well but I’m gonna blame it on taking Benadryl for my cold lol.

Oooooo a free invitation to infinite shark facts :eyes: dont mind if I do. My favorite sharks are epaulete sharks and lemon sharks! Epaulette sharks have a really cool pattern and just look super cute, but lemon sharks have a completely different societal function that all other types of sharks most sharks give birth and then dip, but lemon sharks stay in organized families until they reach maturity! When they do reach maturity, they return to the place of their own nursery to give birth to their pups. Lemon sharks are extremely friendly and not aggressive at all, only having 10 recorded bites, none of which being fatal. Lemon sharks remember humans, and you can pet them—they’ll get attached to their human, remember them when they visit, and get jealous if their human pets other lemon sharks!

That sounds so fun! We’re having a warm winter up here. Very warm. Which I’m actually a bit happy about, even though its not a good sign for summer–usually my birthdays are completely freezing and snowy and we cant go anywhere fun, but hopefully thi syear will be different!

Wow, thats so cool!!! I’ve been taking sewing lessons as well, but if i’m honest, I really don’t like sewing. But sewing a shirt that fits and is cozy sounds like a ton of fun!!

Hmmm I think this week is just my party and my birthday! School semester is drawing to a close too, which is nice.

Ooo good luck on your public speaking event!! I know you’ll do great.

Thank you!! Feel free to do the same to me. I guess here goes: so Silver needs to get them all out of the city, but she realistically can’t do that at this time do to Madelyn and Lyisha getting in the way. I need to figure out a way for the plot to progress outside of Madelyn’s rebellion, which will involve figuring out Silver’s goals as a whole and what she needs to do to save the city.

Thank you!! I hope you reach your goal, too. I’m at about 40k at the moment, and I just have to keep reminding myself slow and steady wins the race. I won’t get there first, but I will get there and thats what matters!

Oooo both your stories sound super cool!! Forgive me if you didnt want ideas, but maybe you could have the book be in a museum or on display somewhere? That way, it would be hard to read, but she could probably do it if she had to, while not many people still have read the book or seen its contents. Feel free to bounce ideas off me as well!

I love your fanfic idea as well!! I can’t write fanfic to save my life and truth be told i dont particularly enjoy it ahkahajsdkaha but you can absolutelty still tell me about it! Ramble as much as you’d like ;D

Oooo my novel, huh? Okay lets see. So Silver, the main character, is a crook of sorts in the city of Ellironico, one of the last three cities on the planet. Ellironico is not exactly a dystopia, but its a sort of uncanny utopia. It works, but only on paper. It functions, but barely. Eleanor (Silver is her crook name) doesnt want to fix the city, she wants to leave it behind. When her book, her most prized possession, is stolen, she has to get it back. Its her ticket out of here.

But on her way to get it back, she joins up with a bunch of other criminals and eventually… she starts to care about them. Begrudgingly. But still. They do get out of the city after the heist to steal back their items goes terribly wrong (she finds the book but every page is blank), and they join a group who live outside the city. When the city comes back for them, they leave the other group dead and kidnap Silver and her group, forcing them into a prison of sorts.

They escape, but the prison goes up in smoke. Lyisha, who is sort of an evil person in the city basically, has burned the entire prison down and killed everyone just to prove that she can find Silver wherever she goes. But the group finds out her plans–pretend she’s one step behind them, when she’s not. After this, they’re invited to join Madelyn’s group, but to be honest, Madelyn sucks. But they dont really have a choice, do they? If they don’t join her, Lyisha gets them. If they do, they’re pretty much giving up. There’s no way out, and that’s what Silver always needs.

Anyway! That was fun to rant about. I’ll give you some more shark facts before I let you on your way: whale sharks give birth to up to 300 pups at a time. A group of sharks is called a shiver. Tiger sharks are the second most aggressive shark. And thats it!!! Have a great day, bye bye!! Looking forward to your next reply <3

Inksavyyy

_- Ink's SWC Writing Log & Intro -_

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_- Intro -_
Hello! My name is @Inksavyyy, but you may call me Ink! This is my first time using the forums, so bear with me, please ❤. This is my first SWC session, and I am still completely lost in what I am supposed to be doing lol. I hope to be able to figure things out and have fun with you all!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
_- Goals -_
Writing Goal: 20,000 words
Finishing my novel this year!
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_- Questions -_
So I do have a couple of questions if anyone is willing to answer them!

1. How do I partake in the Dailes and weeklys? I was confused by the instructions and unable to understand how to or where to reply or post specifically.
2. What is something you wish you had known when you first started SWC?
3.
4.
5.

- Love, Inky ❤

-WildClan-

PART 1: Character Sheet

Name: Rust
Species: wolf (actually an unspecified fictional canid species, but I’m simplifying here)
Age: on the older side of middle-aged
Gender: male (he/him)
Residence: Sliver Pack (central)
Occupations: prison guard, commander in battle, advisor to the Pack leader
Physical Characteristics: height is slightly taller than average for central Sliver Pack (whose members are already fairly large); body is bulky and muscular; fur is short, coarse, and dark reddish-brown with a lighter underbelly and gray hairs around the muzzle + lower chest areas; ears are tall, sharp, and triangular; snout is blocky; nose is large and angular; tail is short; faint scars can be seen on the neck, chest, back, and extending from the right corner of the mouth, with a large notch in the right ear and a burn mark on the left forelimb in the shape of 2 sides of a triangle
Personality: usually quiet and mostly stoic, but can pivot to loud and aggressive when barking orders or fighting someone; good at keeping secrets; values duty, respect, honesty, and discipline; prefers to intimidate opponents into submission rather than fight them directly (though he certainly has the strength for combat when it comes to that); is acutely aware of the fact that everyone dies and doesn’t see the point in avoiding the subject; when speaking, he can be gruff and caustic; as a mentor/father/authority figure, he is rough and demanding; tries to be patient but can get irritated; doesn’t enjoy socializing just for socializing’s sake; takes his jobs very seriously; deeply loyal to Sliver Pack and to those he respects, but does not openly show affection; recognizes his own strengths and weaknesses; thinks of himself as somewhat broken and unable to change; believes in objective truth and morality, and tends toward black-or-white thinking, yet justifies some actions as a means to an end; in his old age, he has become more tired and is happy when simply at peace, resting
Relationships:
Revery: the former leader of Sliver Pack, under whose rule Rust became experienced in battle and gained most of his scars; Rust watched Revery’s gradual descent into paranoia and power-hungriness; when Revery died of illness, Rust had an opportunity to take the crown but refused it due to having witnessed its corrupting effects
Summit: the current leader of Sliver Pack, under whose rule Rust took on the role of prison guard and was branded with the burn scar; Rust has known Summit since he was a pup and probably understands him better than anyone; he helped Summit achieve his aspirations of becoming leader despite Rust’s own misgivings about the crown; he is deeply loyal to Summit and though he recognizes his flaws all too well, Rust (almost) always follows his orders; he is pained to watch Summit develop some of the same issues that Revery had
Miasma: Rust’s mate; she is also a high-ranking member of Sliver Pack and a competent fighter; she doesn’t mind Rust’s lack of romance; the two have a strong bond of mutual respect and often work together as a team; they occasionally disagree, but Rust trusts her completely
Russet: the only surviving pup of Rust and Miasma; he looks up to his father but feels distanced from him due to Rust’s unemotional nature; Rust was also hard on him during combat training and is somewhat disappointed by Russet’s aversion to conflict
Blood: Summit’s cousin, who Summit wanted Rust to train; as her mentor, Rust taught her combat by pitting her against the prisoners; he was harsh in training but cared more about her than he ever let on; Summit’s orders were to keep Blood isolated from the rest of the Pack but Rust knew she had a secret relationship with Hurricane and never exposed it to Summit
Tumult: one of the prisoners under Rust’s watch; they are enemies, though Tumult hates Rust more than Rust dislikes him; however, they also share many of the same values and recognize some of the same brokenness in each other
Glory: Blood’s son and Russet’s friend, who reminds Rust of a younger, better Summit; Glory persuades Rust to not take him prisoner, distracting Rust long enough for Tumult to escape; Rust is forced to consider Glory an enemy because of this, but also grudgingly respects Glory’s courage and wit
Categories: ISTJ-A, Lawful Neutral

PART 2: Character Moodboard
Moodboard here: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/821730366/
Overall, Rust has an orange-ish color palette, both because of his name and because of orange’s association with fire, which is Sliver Pack’s symbol of civilization. Note, however, that the fire in this image is being used to fuel a machine; it is purposeful and contained, but still dangerous if handled improperly. The crown represents Rust’s familiarity with Sliver’s leaders, especially Summit. The triangle is similar to the shape that is burned onto Rust’s left wrist. The bones show Rust’s connection with death—either witnessing it, causing it, or simply being aware that it’s the fate that awaits everyone, himself included. The teeth are representative of Rust’s role in combat and how heavily that identity has affected his life. The gears are there to show that Rust thinks of himself as just a small part of a larger system, meant to fulfill a specific function for the sake of the greater good. The metal supports that symbolism and also underlines that Rust’s personality is often rigid and unyielding. And finally, the wolf represents Rust’s species. The images are structured into an array to emphasize Rust’s firm adherence to the boundaries of his truths, values, and laws.

PART 3: Character Swap

(Swapped with @LovegoodLady, whose character information is here: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/869490/?page=17#post-9030728)

On most afternoons in Lemon Harbor, the bell above the bookshop door rings softly while Lenore Key-Avallon stands behind the counter, carefully sliding books into brown paper bags. She always reads the titles before she wraps them—romances with windswept covers, thick fantasy novels, old poetry collections with yellowing pages. Sometimes she memorizes whole lines by the time the customer has finished paying.
“Lenore?” calls Mrs. Delaney, the shop owner from somewhere in the stacks. “You’re daydreaming again.”
“I’m not,” Lenore answers automatically, though she absolutely is.
She tucks a loose strand of black hair back into her braid and straightens the vintage cardigan she bought at a thrift shop. The shop smells like dust and tea leaves, and she loves it more than almost anywhere else. If she could live among typewriters and old books forever, she thinks she probably would.
After closing, she walks home along the harbor road with a paperback tucked under her arm. Her deep brown eyes move quickly across the page even while she walks; Lenore reads the way some people breathe—constantly and without thinking about it.
Number 23 Meriwether Avenue appears at the end of the street, a narrow house painted blue.
Her mother is already in the kitchen.
“Lenore, sweetheart,” Lilac says—Marmee, as Lenore insists on calling her, after the mother in Little Women. “How was work today?”
“Quiet.”
“Did you remember to eat?”
“Yes.”
“Did you—”
“Marmee,” Lenore sighs gently.
Lilac stops mid-sentence but watches her carefully. That look again—the worried one.
“You know,” her mother says, “we could still find a therapist if you—”
“I’m fine,” Lenore says quickly.
Which is not entirely true.
Later that evening, she sits at the small desk in her room where an old typewriter waits. It doesn’t work properly, but she likes the feel of the keys anyway. Beside it lies a stack of typed manuscript pages.
Her father’s pages.
Charles Avallon had been writing a novel before the accident three years ago. Lenore was twelve then. Sometimes she still expects to hear his footsteps in the hallway.
He was the only person who never seemed confused when she started panicking.
Now she runs through the calming tactics she has invented for herself.
Count your breaths.
Name five objects in the room.
Picture a chess opening—knight to f3, pawn to e5.
She rushes through them all too quickly, the way she always does. They help a little. Not much.
A pebble taps her window.
Lenore looks up.
Juliet stands outside on the lawn, waving enthusiastically.
Juliet never knocks like a normal person.
A minute later they are walking toward the beach together.
“You have been hiding,” Juliet announces dramatically. “Which means we are fixing it.”
“I was working,” Lenore protests.
“You were worrying.”
Lenore can’t really argue with that.
They reach the sand just as the sky darkens into deep blue. The beach is almost empty.
“Come on,” Juliet says, grabbing her hand.
Lenore slips off her shoes. Cool sand presses between her toes, and the ocean wind tugs gently at her braid.
“Music?” Juliet asks.
Lenore hums softly instead.
Then she begins to dance.
Ballroom steps glide easily across the sand—turn, step, sweep—movements she practices seriously every week. For a moment she forgets everything: the anxious thoughts, the unfinished novel upstairs, the constant feeling that she might disappoint someone.
Juliet spins dramatically beside her, laughing.
“You look like someone from a hundred years ago,” Juliet says.
Lenore smiles shyly.
Maybe she does.
A dreamy girl who loves poetry and typewriters and hopeless romances.
A girl who plays chess like a strategist but still believes life might unfold like a story.
Standing barefoot beneath the stars, Lenore thinks that if her father were here, he might say the same thing he always used to say when she was worried.
Stories aren’t finished until someone has the courage to write the ending.
And maybe, just maybe, she will.

PART 4: Character Meeting

Moonlight glistened softly on the rolling waves. It was a little past midnight, and the sand was gradually relinquishing the warmth of the previous day. As Lenore’s bare feet traced patterns across the shoreline, a gentle breeze swirled across her skin.
Unbeknownst to her, that breeze carried her scent to an experienced nose, which twitched and shuddered to life. It emerged from the shadows, followed by the body it was attached to: a large, muscular, quadrupedal shape. Eyes glinted sharply, watching Lenore’s movements. But the creature did not move to attack.
Lenore twirled, graceful as a cat, and it seemed to her that the whole world was spinning along with her—or maybe she *was* the world, turning around and around and around and… She stopped, the hairs on the back of her neck beginning to rise, her heart starting to beat a faster rhythm. “Calm down,” she whispered to herself, though why she felt she had to whisper, she couldn’t quite say. “There’s nothing to be anxious about out here.”
She took a ragged breath, trying to shake off the sudden burst of nerves. A moment passed. Lifting her arms, she tried to return to the easy flow of the dance. Just before she did so, the creature spoke. “You sure about that?”
Lenore’s heart jumped and she stumbled backward, the last of her earlier grace abandoning her. She fell into the sand. It no longer felt warm at all. Even the wind was suddenly very, very cold. Or was that just her own sweat?
The creature approached, its reddish fur looking like dried blood in the low light. It growled. “I don’t know why I was made to come back here. The ocean is no friend of mine.”
Lenore’s mind raced, desperately trying to collect its scattered thoughts. Thankfully, she had always been a fast thinker. “It can be nice sometimes. Calming. Um, with the crash of the waves and no one else around…”
The creature blinked. “Hm. Fair enough.”
Slowly, Lenore sat up, brushing herself off. The creature observed her movements. It seemed tense. She supposed she should question why it was able to talk to her, but then again, this sort of thing happened all the time in her fantasy books. Just because those stories were fictional didn’t mean there weren’t some truths in them. Maybe that included talking… dogs? Wolves? She couldn’t quite tell what this animal was.
Though her heart was still racing, she got the sense that the creature had no intention of hurting her. It was almost as tall as her chest and probably heavier than she was; if it had wanted to pounce on her, it easily could’ve done so by now. “Um. My name is Lenore. Who, uh, who are you?”
“Rust,” it answered, continuing to stare at her.
“And… why *are* you here, Rust?”
“Sliver Pack business,” Rust snorted. “Don’t suppose you would know anything about that?”
“Um… no.”
“Then you probably ought to get outta here. ‘No one else around,’ you said, eh? That’s what I was hoping for, too.”
“Well, I—”
Rust interrupted her with a growl, taking another step towards her. Lenore quickly stood up and backed away.
“Okay, okay,” Lenore conceded. “I’ll go.”
“Good,” Rust responded. His tall, triangular ears tracked her footsteps as she carefully retreated.
Lenore woke up the next morning, hands clutching at her vintage-patterned blankets. Had she just dreamed all that? With the talking animal? Though she felt her anxiety rising at the thought of confronting it again, she couldn’t help but be a little curious.
She slipped out the door and headed back down to the shore. It was early enough that her footprints had not been disturbed. She followed the path, seeing the trails where she had danced across the sand the night before.
And there, at the end of her tracks, she found another set of prints, these ones made by very large paws. She followed these, too. More prints joined them. There was scattered sand, apparently torn up by the crowd. And… was that… traces of blood? What had happened here?

Last edited by -WildClan- (March 10, 2026 06:02:51)

icebunny11

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Noͦ 10
Wordcount: 530/400
Topic: (Bi Daily :0) Memoirs
Points earned: 600
Cabin: Cyberpunk

1. This week, I started going to the gym after begging my mom to let me get a gym pass to enter. My knee has been injured for quite some time now because of a subluxation

So exercise is as important as resting. The feeling of my muscles burning is a kind of horribly nice feeling I get whenever I work out. It hurts so bad, but also it feels so nice that you're pushing yourself to your extent; the burn is really self-fulfilling. It definitely made me feel proud of myself, considering the extensive workout routine I have to get back in shape. I'm not unhealthy, per se, I just don't feel like I'm in my own body these weeks. Whenever I work out, I feel one step closer to feeling as happy as I was about myself, like I was in the past. (145)

2. I started producing music around last yearish, maybe around October? Truth is, I had actually wanted to do so for much longer, but I couldn't pay for Ableton Live. A miracle decided to bestow itself upon me, and when black friday sale came on, for some angelic reason, my mother agreed to pay for me. For my birthday in February, my friends put money together to buy me a whole CONDENSER MIC, and I was so touched I literally almost cried, I swear. The only problem was that they obviously didn't have enough money to buy a sound board, so now I can't really use the mic until I find a proper connectivity device that will fit into my laptop. (121)

3. The novel I'm currently working on is a novel I've been working on for over FOUR YEARS. The first two years, I was just procrastinating, but the last two years, I really did lock in and focus. This year I've already written some more as well, but it's really hard to write, mainly because I made the plot so integrated. It's a four-book series, and each book is told from a different perspective, which all connect into one bow in the fourth one. Because of this, I have to write very carefully and I cannot miss a single detail. I don't know why I did this to myself, but I refused to give up the challenge, and I still move steady long. I will publish this book one day, and nobody can stop me. (135)

4. Oh my god, I'm running out of things to say about myself. Someone, please, help me. I don't usually talk about myself this much :sob: One thing I really want to get into is digital art. I do have a stylus to go with my laptop, but it's not an Apple device, so it doesn't have Procreate, which is the one app I think I would actually be able to make art on. Tell me why, when I opened another art app, I was bombarded with 50 different types of mechanisms? I mainly want to learn digital art because I want to draw my OCs the way I imagine them. Also, it's a pretty sick hobby. Anybody who does physical OR digital art, you have my full respect. (129)

moosywoosy

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{ d a i l y 1 0 : m e m o i r ( p a r t 1 ) }

↳It's a bird… it's a plane… no, it's a bidaily! For the first time in forever, bidailies are making a return to SWC! A bidaily is a daily that spans two days, almost like a mini weekly. There is a general theme and then each day has two parts to it. This bidaily's theme is… memoirs! Get ready to write about an event that took place in your life. It'll be fun, promise! For today, it's time to plan this memoir. Head on over to this workshop https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/695082/?page=4#post-9030731 by Leopard and once you've read it, come on back and come up with 4 different ideas. Each idea should be at least 100 words, for a total of 400 words. You'll earn 600 points for completing this!

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My first idea would be detailing about my crush on my best friend of 4-5 years. My feelings for them are a bit complicated for me. It’s the first time I’ve had a genuine, honest crush on someone. However, I’m in a stalemate in which I don’t want to say anything out of fear of ruining our friendship, which is an experience I’m sure everyone has gone through. However, another layer to my relationship with them is the fact that they’re trans. While I have no issue with it, sometimes I have a difficult time really bridging the gap to mentally see them as a boy. While I use his preferred pronouns, I knew him for a long time before his transition, which I fear makes it so I still subconsciously see him as a girl. I’m bi, so I probably would have loved him anyways if he was a girl, but sometimes I have a hard time understanding my feelings, and I can’t tell if it’s him pre-transition I fell for, or the him now, or both. But I know without a doubt I love him.

One thought I’ve been having as of late that I feel I could write a memoir about is the fact that I feel oddly apathetic to the things happening around me. I sometimes feel like I’m moving through life without a care in the world, but not in a good way. I don’t have a good way to explain it, but the closest explanation I can think of is that I feel like I’m rotting away as I stop caring about doing what I need to do. I’ve grown incredibly lazy regarding my schoolwork and other duties. It feels like I’m doing nothing with my life. It’s a weird feeling of apathy towards my responsibilities.

Another idea would be something relating to my culture and the slight guilt I feel at the fact I’m so disconnected to it. I try my best to stay connected to my Vietnamese heritage and I try my best to learn the language as well, but I feel a large amount of guilt at the fact that I’m so disconnected from my culture and how I can hardly speak the language. I feel almost “whitewashed” in a way, because I hardly know the language and hardly connect with the culture, which makes me feel guilty because I feel, in a way, “too white” to be connected with my family.

One thought that has stuck with me for a while is the fact that as I reflect on my past, I realize that I was really not a good person back then? I was immature, irrational, and slightly rude, which I feel intense regret for. Obviously, I understand that as a kid I’m bound to do stupid things, but reflecting on my past, and whenever I have memories of things I did when I was younger, I can’t help but think, “Dang, I was kind of a bad kid.” I feel a bit of guilt and I feel like writing a memoir detailing my disdain for my past self could be a bit of an interesting concept for a memoir.

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➻ 531 words

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moosywoosy

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{ c r i t i q u e 1 : f o r @ t e c h n j 2 0 0 9 }

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General Thoughts:
The general vibe of all of the poems is great, and I definitely love the way you set the scenes to brew a certain emotion within the viewer. I do feel like it was a little difficult to follow? Alas, something that typically comes in poems is the fact they become difficult to follow. This is mostly due to the fact poems are a writing medium that relies heavily on ‘showing, not telling’ but because of this, it can get difficult to follow due to the lack of a clear cut, linear story. Of course, you shouldn’t have one based on the vibe of the poem, but I’d say some clarity could do you some good. Remember: The purpose of writing is to convey a message, emotion, or story, making the lines blend together nicely means nothing at the end of the day if it’s difficult to follow! Of course, don’t completely disregard the blending of lines, that’s one of your story’s strongest points! But, I feel as if some clarity could do your story some good!
My suggestion for you to do in general is to not be scared to make things obvious sometimes. While ‘show don’t tell’ is always a good piece of advice, it’s okay to make things obvious sometimes. With poems, it can be somewhat difficult to do so, I’d say you should still not directly say something, but your descriptors can be more blunt and direct! I think more direct descriptions can work well when sandwiched between more vague and abstract descriptions!

Imagery:
Overall I really like the imagery! You do a great job at creating imagery in a way that amplifies the emotion as well. Sometimes, the description people write in stories feel a bit contradictory with the mood that’s meant to be built, or there’s so much imagery it takes away from the emotional impact, but you do a nice job at making the imagery have the same feelings that the poem portrays.

Word Choice:
The word choice is where your story really shines! In general, your word choice definitely fits the emotions your story is going for. The word choice also doesn’t feel repetitive, which is really good! One thing I feel could be improved is the fact that in poetry, usually you’ll want to use more precise and specific words makes a poem more strong and vivid. A poem has more limited space than a story does, so every word counts.

Sound/Flow:
Each of the poem’s sound and flow works really well, so no critiques here! Each of them has a different flow, which I thought was really cool! I don’t have any particular critiques for this aspect of your poems, I also enjoy the repetition you used in some of them! There isn’t a place where the flow feels awkward or difficult to read, so you’re good for this aspect!

Concept:
Like I’ve said before, I do feel a bit lost of what the concept exactly is meant to be? Though, I’d say that from the tone of your story—it’s less about a story and more about a feeling, which is what most poems are like. Which, again, I’ll say while I can certainly understand what tone you’re going for, there isn’t a clear meaning: Just emotion. I don’t think this is necessarily a bad idea, the idea of a story about an emotion without a specific meaning is intriguing, but the poem sort of feels like you’re trying to juggle both in a way, if that makes sense? Some parts seem to follow a story in a way, but ultimately don’t end up clear. It’s best to focus on one or the other. Of course, you can have a poem that tells a story that revolves around an emotion, but your writing feels a bit too vague to really be about the story if that makes sense? Vagueness isn’t bad, but you can’t really tell a story if you’re too vague. So I’d say either ditch the story and revolve your poem completely around the emotion you’re portraying, or make the story a bit more clear.

I don’t have many nitpicks for you, I’m not really the best at critique in general, let alone poems lol, but I hope this helps!

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➻ 715 words

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Last edited by moosywoosy (March 11, 2026 14:31:58)

silverlynx-

Bi-Daily P1
780 words

I have very little time to complete this so it will be quite rushed!

I don’t want to do anything too serious - something more lighthearted, as I don’t want to get too deep here!
My first idea is my first time going to the beach! This is very lighthearted - I think I was 3 when I first went to the beach properly - as in swam in the sea. I remember it quite clearly and how in awe I was of how much water there was - to three year old me it seemed huge! I wasn’t phased by it at all and followed my older sister straight into the water and paddled around for a bit! I had been getting swimming lessons since I was a baby, so with some assistance from my parents I could swim around for a little bit! My twin, however, was pretty scared of it, and I think you can see that to this day! Despite getting cold extremely quickly (I literally cannot move sometimes when I go to the beach) I love the sea! My twin really hates the cold water, but if she does get in, says the cold doesn’t bother her? Siblings are strange hehehe

I may be copying someone else for this one, but a memoir about COVID would be really good, I think! I honestly had a brilliant time in covid! I was in Year 2 when it began, so it didn’t have a massive impact on my education! However, me and my sisters did homeschooling with my mum, and it was such a precious time <3 We got to spend loads of time together and we finished the work super quickly as we were able to work at our own pace! We would have muffins and tea while working and it was amazing! I remember it snowed during covid, and we were able to go outside all day and see all of our friends!

Ok, when I said I wanted to do lighthearted memoirs, I’ve now decided I want to do some more serious ones!

This one is going to be about growing up and how your relationships change. I remember when I was little, I used to hang out with the boys all the time and it wasn’t weird - in fact, my best friends were boys! I got invited to their birthday parties, they were invited to mine, and we were all happy little children just making friends <3 And then we grew up. I remember feeling weird hanging around boys, and when I did hang out with them, other people would always be like ‘oh, you have a crush on them.’ I hated the pressure of being friends with a boy and just being automatically expected to like them - I just wanted to have a normal friendship with some boys with no pressure. I made friends with girls who were all lovely, but if that pressure hadn’t been there, then my primary school friendship groups would have looked a lot different. I’m definitely quite girly, but the boys didn’t care about that when we were younger, and there were some boys who didn’t care when we got older, but peer pressure will always exist!!

This next one is about how strongly I feel lonely. I recently went on a school residential and it was the worst experience in my life. It was my first time going away from home without my twin (I have been on residentials, but always with her), and at first I was looking forward to it loads! But our year was split into two and somehow it ended up that ALL of my proper friends ended up in the other group. I had to spend a week with essentially all of the ‘cool’ girls and some really rowdy boys. I remember people’s faces when they realised that they would have to sit with me because there weren’t any tables, how I wasn’t invited to join any games, how my one sort of friend just went off with the ‘cool’ girls and I was all by myself. It was horrible. It made me realise how keenly I feel loneliness. It has become a lot more strong recently, something as small as when my friends all leave the lunch hall and I’m sitting on my own, or when I’m at the edge of the group and they don’t even notice me. Or in class, my one friend is making friends with someone else (which I’m totally fine with as I love this person) but they are now drifting away from me and barely talk to me. Loneliness is the most horrible feeling in the world and I would love to never feel lonely again <3

Oh my gosh I just talked so much about myself! On that happy note, see you in the next half of this bi-daily!

VioAquaCat

\March 10-11 Bidaily : Memoirs

Idea one : 104/100 words
Theme : Trying again
I do taekwondo, and there was one time when I was doing testing and I couldn't break a board. I had three chances, and I had already failed two of them. However, I made it the last time. I barely passed my test, and I vowed to do better on the next test. I trained harder than I ever had, and I got a perfect score the next time I tried. I think this could be a fun memoir to write. It could teach the idea that if you just keep trying even when you're failing, you might succeed and be better than ever.

Idea two : 109/100 words
Theme : Supporting others
I’ve always had a generally pretty life with very little difficulty. I’ve had struggles, but I’ve never had anything too big hanging over me. I haven't had any toxic friends, any financial worries, bullies, etc. But that doesn't mean I don’t know people who have. My friends have experienced things I’ve never had to, like their parents getting divorced, moving, neurodivergence, hard time at school, toxic friends, and more. I’ve had to learn how to support them even though I haven't shared their struggles, and I think I’ve learned a lot there. I think it could be a powerful memoir and maybe a more personal message to the audience

Idea three : 183/100 words
Theme : Persisting
I started writing about four years ago, when I was in fourth or fifth grade. Me and my friends decided to write a book together- and we did! It was around 7,000 words long, though it was about 70 pages because our font was so big. After that, I started to explore writing on my own. I never got very far, until I joined a writing club at the library. We meet every month to share writing and get feedback. My first piece was pretty… basic? It was very unoriginal. However, since then, my writing abilities have grown a lot. I went to a writing con over the summer, and just last february I went to two writing conventions- I even won a first chapter contest. My writing abilities have improved a lot, and it's all because I kept trying. My writing only started getting good this past year, but I’m proud of where I’ve come, and I’m glad I never gave up. That could be an interesting memoir to write, and I think it could have the potential to inspire others.

Idea four : 281/100
Theme : Being brave
All my life I’ve had one big fear: The fear of heights. When I was little, we went on a family road trip. I loved the drive there- it was not too long, we had a lot of snacks, and most importantly, it was flat. On the way back however, my grandpa wanted to take the scenic route! Yay, fun! Except we had to travel through the mountains. It was terrifying. I was like, three, so I was screaming and crying the whole time. Over the years, I've had similar bad experiences on road trips. Oftentimes I’ve offered to just walk the rest of the way rather than have to drive there in the car. I had never been on a plane- I hated the very idea of having to travel in one. However, when my best friend moved across the world a year ago, I decided we would have to visit her at some point. We would have to take a plane though… Since she had moved to India, it was literally across the world. We had to have three flights, and one was twelve hours over the Atlantic ocean. I was scared, very scared, but when the time came I got on the plane and somehow survived the total twenty-one hours. In fact, I almost enjoyed the plane flights. Almost. The point is, over my fourteen years of life I have managed to mostly overcome my fear of heights, and because of that I was able to visit India, and a whole new world of opportunities opened to me. The memoir would be about that journey and how my view of heights changed, and how that benefited me.

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