Daily March 12th
Words: 533

The dragons crowded inside the vast caves Mount Pilatus in Switzerland had never seen something so curious. They were used to the endless stream of tourists above them and their efforts to catch a glimpse of the elusive dragons through the cold, grey rock, but this was the first time they had dropped something right into the dragons’ cave.
The strange rectangle was glowing, alight with orange and white and purple. Words flashed across the screen, words the dragons had learned to read so they could see the humans’ signs and avoid their giant buildings and cogwheel railway. They had to keep their mountain safe. They crowded around the phone, all clambering to catch a glimpse of the human technology that had so curiously fallen from the tourist lookout.
Something was written across the top of the glowing rectangle. “Scratch.”
“How peculiar,” said one dragon.
“Simply mystifying,” said the other.
There was an ocean scene on one side, the words “SWC Main Cabin” plastered across it.
“What could this mean?” the first dragon wondered.
“It’s obvious. You guys are just too old. Get out of the way,” a young dragon pushed through the crowd, retrieving the strange device in his claws.
“You mean you know how this works?” the older dragons questioned.
“Of course. What member of Gen Alpha hasn’t been on the internet?”
“The internet? Gen Alpha? What are you talking about?”
“Oh my gosh, you really don’t know anything.”
He began to click at the phone, talons hitting specific spots as words wrote themselves across the screen.
“SWC stands for Scratch Writing Camp,” he explained, showing them the comments page with hundreds of people chatting and replying to his questions.
“There’s a task to complete for a daily amount of points and a task to complete weekly, too.”
“Points? This is a mini competition device?” one of the other dragons asked.
He sighed as though nothing had ever been more obvious, “The campers are separated into different cabins who compete with one another across the month.”
“How did you learn all this so quickly?” another dragon asked, eyes wide as he looked at the phone.
“Here, in the FAQ section.”
“F.A. What?”
“Frequenly asked questions. It explains everything you need to know.”
“So they write? About what?”
“Looks like today they’re writing about mythical creatures,” he said, scrolling through the phone.
“Woah, so like unicorns?”
“Hey! One of them wrote about us!”
“But we’re right here! We’re not mythical, we’re just doing our job and guarding our mountain.”
“Looks like they have a different point of view. Take a look.”
He flipped around the phone, now on a new page of scratch with a purple header and a timestamp above. The story detailed dragons just like them finding a similar glowing rectangle.
“We have to write a story of our own, a story that proves we are real!” one of the other dragons suggested.
“Yes! Let’s do it!” another jumped on board. “Will you set it up for us?”
“Of course, tell me what you want to write.”
“It should begin like this: The dragons crowded inside the vast caves Mount Pilatus in Switzerland had never seen something so curious.”

Sharkie the Selkie (a Selkie, despite her namesake), wandered into the SWC main cabin. She gazed upon the campers, all lined up at different tables—the tables had been desigtnated for each cabin, but everyone got up to move around, talking to their friends, adding points, or sitting in the longue and exchanging prompts. She didn’t know where to sit, cabinless and ultimately, friendless.
She walked up to the first person she saw approaching, wearing a nametag that said Sara. She was the leader of this session’s apocalyptic cabin, and even she wasn’t sitting at her table; she had gotten up from the poetry table and was on her way to join the thriller table.
Sharkie extended a hand. “Hello, my name is Sharkie and I am a selkie.”
She smiled enthusiastically. “Welcome to the main cabin! Do you know what cabin you’re in?”
Sharkie shook her head. “I’m the new mascot!”
Her face lit up. “That’s so cool! You can join Skog and Blahaj upstairs, if you want to meet the other mascots, or you’re welcome to stay down here and hang with us!”
Another camper, this one named Sage bounded up to the two. “Who are you?” she asked excitedly.
Sharkie smiled in a friendly way. “I’m Sharkie, though I’m a selkie. Kind of a weird name… but I’m the new mascot!”
“That’s so exciting!” someone else said, also joining the group. Her nametag said Ayla. “I’m Ayla, and it’s so nice to meet you! What session are you mascoting for?”
Sharkie laughed. “Well, let’s hope for a lot. I’m starting next session, this time, I’m just here to learn the ropes!”
Sharkie watched as Blahaj, an actual shark, decdened from the ladder leading upstairs. Sharks don’t have vocal cords, especially stuffed ones, so he didn’t say anything, but he did smile politely at Sharkie as he went to get himself some food (goldfish).
Another person joined the group, and her nametag said Lynn. “Hello, Sharkie!”
“Hello!” Sharkie replied. “How is everyone enjoying camp?”
Cheers broke out across the room in typical SWC chaos as multiple people lept across tables at each other, vowing to win against the other team. I saw many people of all different cabins, an this wasn’t even the half of it—this was before cabin wars!
When cabin wars did roll around, it would be even more hectic than this, and Sharkie already knew that despite being a new mascot. She talked to a lot of people, though not everyone in camp, before retreating upstairs to learn how to mascot from Blahaj, Skog, and the rest of the group. They taught her a lot, like how to cause chaos and incite violence (/j) among the different SWC cabins, as well as how to relax when the day was over. They explained all the different activities she would represent, and she couldn’t be more excited! Sharkie was the first selkie of SWC, and she couldn’t be happier for it. She would be accompanied by her friends the whole way.

Daily!
Thump.
The ground was rocky. A metallic scent wafted around him. Pebbles bit into his skin, the slightly sharper ones almost drawing blood. They will leave a mark when he gets up. If he ever gets up.
Thump. Thump.
A river flowed nearby, its flow slow and ethereal, yet constant, viscous, like spilled milk. A barely audible trickle whispered into his ears. The air, cold and sharp as it was, started to bite into his spirit. His hand was slightly damp from the nearby mist. It twitched a little.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His mind was a blurry mess, a bell wrangling his head. A fog no lamp or lantern could pierce troubled his cognition. His body ached, practically creaking and groaning at every slight movement.
The air got colder, its sting parched his tongue; fresh but empty. The ground got sharper, iron filling his lungs. The thumping became faster. Rhythmic. He started to feel more and more until he felt. Everything. He could hear it all. A cicada rang out. The river flowed, its trickle resounded. Was it… faster? The air that chilled his veins now pierced the fog that was. Everywhere. All around and inside of him. The ground started to tremble, ever so slightly, Earth kissing his skin. He could feel it, taste it, smell it, hear it.
See it. All at once.
Thump.
The traveller’s consciousness rushed back into them.
With a gasp, the traveler sat up. A milky white, slightly ethereal river flowed, trickling as it hit the small, grey pebbles of the riverbed. White, twinkling stars flowed down the stream, as it reflected the deep blue, almost purplish sky. The traveler turned from the stream to be met by brown, rocky cliffs encircling them. Up ahead, a black gate loomed in the distance, its presence sending chills down the traveler’s spine.
Turning their head back to the river, the traveler mustered as much strength as they could and moved closer to the sparkling river. Upon reaching the riverbank, they attempted to kneel down. The traveller’s body started to shake and fell despite tremendous effort, almost falling straight into the milky stream.
Peering into the river, they were able to see their reflection… and the monkey-like figure looming behind it. With a laugh and a somersault, the figure appeared next to the traveller. Its stature was slightly slouched, and stoic, yet it seemed to emanate an aura of childlike foolishness and mischievousness. It held staff and donned a tight, golden headband, its tail flowing majestically behind it. It looked down and scoffed at the traveller.
“Heh, now what do we have here? You seem to have found yourself on the wrong side of the gate here.”
The traveller, unable to even lift their head, just stared at the reflection. The monkey continued.
“Now, you may have figured this out already, but you seem to be weighed down by some desires and wants, and also a bad case of ‘being alive’, which begs the question.”
It raised its staff at the traveller and donned a serious face.
“How did you get here?”
The traveller was at a loss for words. The traveller just stared back. How could they answer this question if they didn’t… something…
The monkey looked more closely at the traveller, lowered his staff, and gazed at the traveller with curiosity and amusement.
“Not one to talk, huh. Well, that stupid ox wouldn’t send someone as useless as you here, and you seem to have at least some association with Tianhe over here.”
He pointed towards the river with his staff and started again with a wide grin.
“Well, this little stroll is becoming a bit more exciting now! It’s been a while since I’ve defied that geriatric green geezer. So! How can Sun Wukong, the great monkey king of the heavens, help your poor little ‘línghún’ today?”

643 words

March 12 Daily – Folkloric Creature
902 words
Thank you to everyone who volunteered to be in this!


Vi from Cyberpunk is the first to see it. Word is spreading through the main cabin that morning. She was up early, she says, and saw a huge flying creature land on the roof of the nearby Dystopian cabin. She ran back into Cyberpunk and woke everyone up, but by the time they made it outside, it was gone.
Camp is already abuzz because cabin wars are tomorrow. People are talking about whatever it was Vi saw, but it takes a backseat to the cabin wars hype. And anyway, who knows if it was anything; no one else saw it. Maybe it was a large bird or something. An owl. Still, mention a mysterious creature to a camp full of writers, and imaginations are bound to run wild.
Whatever’s up with the creature, things get more intense the night of cabin wars. This time there’s two witnesses: Thea from Lyric and Mango from Magreal.
Thea was on her way to war Magreal when the thing swooped down in front of her. “It’s gotta be nine feet tall at least, with these huge wings. I shot at it—I brought my mango cannon—but the mangoes just bounced off. Then it shot me with this beam of light and there was this horrible smell. It was so bright I couldn’t see anything. When I could see again, it was gone.”
Mango said they heard a commotion and went outside to check. They back up Thea’s description, and add that it had batlike wings, and that the light came out of a horn on its forehead. “I just froze,” Mango says. “I couldn’t move. I just watched as it flew off.”
Soon, the creature is all anyone can talk about. What could it be? A monster? A dragon? An extraterrestrial being? This session’s mascot? Is it friendly? Or is it going to eat us, or steal our souls, or maybe our toes? Theories abound. Personally, I think it sounds a lot like a cryptid I read about, one that allegedly terrorized the town of Van Meter, Iowa, in the early 1900s, before vanishing, never to be seen again. I share this theory with anyone who will listen, but even if I’m right, that still leaves so many questions unanswered; no one ever figured out what the deal was with the Van Meter Visitor, either.
There’s another sighting the next night—Bea from Poetry sees something big out her window, too big to be a bird, flying through camp a bit before dawn. And while no one can agree what this thing is or whether it is friend or foe, we do agree on one thing: whatever it is, we need to find it.
How exactly to do that is another matter. Ly from Cyberpunk suggests making a trap for it, but what trap would work? We’d need bait, and something that can hold this creature. Soon many campers are gathered together, brainstorming. Meanwhile, Summer of Fairy Tales suggests a summoning circle, which she leads several other campers in, but to no avail.
It’s Sage, the Adventure leader, who suggests we search for it, and everyone starts talking about where to look.
“The Van Meter Monster seemed to be living in an abandoned mine,” I say. “Is there anything like that around here?”
“I think there’s a cave in the forest not far from here,” says Lily, a Fairy Tales camper. “We could check there.”
Sage and Chuey, leader of Fairy Tales, start planning the search. With them leading it, several of their respective campers are the first to join in (I recognize Summer and Melody in Adventure and Ayla, Lily, and Chai in Fairy Tales), but soon, word spreads around camp, and just about everyone wants in.
We set off that evening, armed with torches, mango cannons, pens, and notebooks. I bring my camera, hoping to get a picture. We reach the cave around dusk. The first chamber is empty, filled with nothing but stalactites and stalagmites. Then, in the second chamber, there it is. At least ten feet tall, with big leathery wings and a face unlike anything I’ve seen before, and a short, curved horn, like a rhino’s, in the middle of its forehead.
And it’s not alone. In the shadows behind it is another, smaller, creature, just like the first but several feet shorter.
I hear Ayla gasp, “It has a baby!”
People whisper frantically, trying to decide what to do. I fumble for my camera.
It’s Sage who acts first, stepping closer to the creatures.. “Hey there!” she says, a waver in her voice. “Um… nice to meet you? I’m Sage.” She holds out her hand, and takes another step closer.
Then the big one lunges backward. Sage gasps. The creature shrieks and flaps its wings, and out of its forehead comes a blinding light.
We’re all blinking, trying to see, while the two creatures fly over our heads, out of the cave, and off into the night.
It’s been a few days now, and we haven’t seen either creature since. We checked the cave again yesterday, but found no sign of them. Maybe they’ll come back, or maybe they’re gone for good. All we have is a couple pictures I took of them—grainy and blurry and badly lit, hard to make out in the dark of the cave, as well as one that’s just white. That, and a lot of stories.

Half-Canon decides to claim this daily.
Together, they stare into the summoning circle. Its center is glowing an ominous orangey-red color. It emits the sound of distant screams, plus a pulsating whoosh-y noise.
“Whoosh-y? Really? You’re not exactly selling this, Wild,” River comments.
Wild is too busy narrating this very important exposition section to reply to her critical remark. But whatever, yeah, there’s a big ol’ summoning circle, and everyone’s sorta just staring at it. That’s what’s happening right now.
“So, uh. Is something coming out of this thing, or are we supposed to go in?” Eclipse asks.
“Are we the summoners… OR THE SUMMONED?” River clarifies.
“I have demon symbolism!” Parsnip volunteers. “It's me, right? It's totally me. Lemme in the whoosh-y circle.”
“Not so fast,” Chaos intervenes. “This might not be Wild's intent. Let the narrator do their thing.”
“Have NONE of you read the actual mango-forsaken daily?” Rain sighs. “We're missing two things: a folklore creature and a SWC fanfic. We don't fulfill either of those requirements.”
Parsnip glances around. “You sureeeee we don't qualify as folklore creatures?”
River chirps an agreement. “Come on, we're a fictional species in their eyes. Well, except Chervil and Chaos, I guess…”
“Telepathic turtles are real,” Eclipse nods, mock-seriously. “Wake up, sheeple.”
The summoning circle begins to rumble.
“OH NOOOOOOO, YOU WOKE THE SHEEPLE,” River screams, her wings flaring behind her. Then her tail lifts. “Cool, I guess.”
“But what about the SWC fanfic requi–” Rain begins to say. Suddenly, the setting changes! The members of Half-Canon are no longer staring at a summoning circle set atop an unrendered background! Instead, the circle is in the middle of the SWC Main Cabin for March ‘26!
And this is why you shouldn’t criticize the narrator when they're doing exposition.
The summoning circle rumbles again.
“Oh no,” Eclipse says.
This time something else comes out.
First: a shadow.
Then: a pair of glowing eyes.
Then: a creature climbs out of the circle like it just crawled out of an extremely dramatic campfire story. It’s tall, covered in wool, misty around the edges, and looks mildly annoyed about being summoned into a writing camp cabin.
River whispers, “Oh good. A folklore creature.”
The creature—which our protagonists could only assume was the Sheeple—clears its throat.
“I was told there would be fanfiction,” it says.
Silence.
“What?” Silence says. “I'm just here.”
Rain slowly gestures at the group. “…You’re looking at it. Whatever it is we're doing right now, this is the fanfiction.”
The creature blinks.
Then it looks around the cabin. There are other SWCers around, but no one who Wild bothers to call out by name, because they're almost out of time for the daily and can't be bothered to check nicknames and stuff right now.
Then the Sheeple looks at the narrator.
“…Is this one of those meta stories?”
Wild shrugs. “Probably.”
Chaos leans toward the creature. “Quick question. What folklore are you from?”
The creature considers.
“…Honestly, I think I’m public domain.”
“Perfect,” Parsnip says. “Us too!”

Proof for SWC Daily March 12

516 words // 20 mins (ahhhh)

I looked around in the fairy garden. Last night I had heard a sound, some kind of sound. A cackle, laugh, I don’t know, but it was something. There was a break of twigs. I peered around. Flowers were gone, picked, gone forever. Though I may be being dramatic, as I often am. Everything was in havoc, but why? I saw something behind a bush. Something green, blending in with its surroundings. A face popped out. A tall green top hat with an odd, ornate buckle on it stuck out first, then a grinning, mischievous face, and finally an elegant red suit with a fancy bow tie. He was short, with bright red, curly hair. He winked at me with his shining blue eyes, and his chubby cheeks folded into a smile.
“Who are you?” I asked, peeking around the bush. His youthful appearance told me he was young, but why did he steal flowers?
He doffed his hat at me and revealed his hands filled with flowers and leaves from the garden. I was correct, it was he who stole them.
He jumped around, a leprechaun, I presume. He held out to me a handful of fresh clovers, four leaves each, rare, but I was not surprised. He was stealing rare flowers, and he was a lucky one to be able to get into the garden through the gate. Not many could guess the way to get through the lock.
He darted, and I tried chasing after him, but he was nimble, getting in between the narrowest passages and jumping over tall bushes. We sadly didn’t have much security here, mostly magic and fairies, as well as tales and stories passed around by candlelight in fields of ferns.
He turned back toward me and smirked, cute, but not that cute. He was an annoyance, a pest, just causing mischief. But it was lucky to spot a leprechaun. There were tales that he could grant three wishes to anyone who caught him. The garden was draining magic, and we had to find a way to save it soon or, well, who knows what would happen.
He pulled out a bag of gold and sat on it, practically begging me to chase after him, but I knew he would run the second I tried.
I was a fool, I tried to dart after him fast, but he just dashed behind a tree and escaped. Coins were flying everywhere from his open bag.
But his coat tails got stuck on a thorn sticking from one of the roses, and I was around a foot from him. I was so close. Close to, if the legends were true, saving the garden and restoring all its magic. I grabbed him by the collar. He squealed.
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!!” he talked for the first time, a high-pitched, childlike squeak.
“Can you grant wishes?” I asked quickly, before he found a way to escape.
He crossed his arms, “Of course I can, what do you think I am, a squirrel?”
“Then grant me this wish: restore the garden’s magic.”

March 12th Daily- 602 words

Words to use: dreamcatcher | idiotproof | cooldown | skill set | digital camera

“All right, folks, please place your blindfolds over your eyes and follow our guides to make your way to the starting room.”
Keeping his hand in Ace’s, Luka used the other to pull a blindfold down over his eyes. He felt the employees checking if everyone had done as instructed, their footsteps moving up and down the line before returning to the head of the group. He heard footsteps as Ace’s hand pulled away in front of him, and moved his feet to follow suit. The intercom crackled to life above them, cutting through the creepy ambience and the shuffling of footsteps.
“Everyone, welcome to the escape room! Your group of three has three hours to make it through all the puzzle rooms. Our guides are currently bringing you in through the exit so we ask that you try to ignore what your sense of direction is telling you.”
It was clear the path was made to disorient them. He stepped over concrete, carpet, and even synthetic grass, turning sharply from one corridor to another.
“The issued vests you’re wearing right now each have a small timekeeper in the left pocket, and in the other, you have four tokes each so- twelve total.”
Luka went to pat his pockets to confirm this, and felt his hand brush against something warm and rubbery- and oh god, was it wet? He instantly withdrew his hand with an involuntary shudder.
“Collecting clues will consist of a combination of audio, visual, and tactile processes, and gives everyone a chance to make use of their unique skill set. And don’t worry, you won’t be trapped if you can’t get out, these rooms are pretty much idiotproof- If at any point you find yourselves stuck, the ability to exchange a clue for a token is always an offer.”
He felt Ace’s hand tighten around his as deadened footsteps fell behind instead of ahead of him.
“To make the exchange, simply contact us through your walkie talkie, or if it’s out of service, find a digital camera in the room, give us a wave, and we’ll operate the intercom system.”
Luka heard footsteps around him as a pair of gloved hands gently pried his hand from Ace’s, and he barely stopped himself from reaching back forward.
“The exchange has a cooldown time of 15 minutes, so you can’t trade them all in succession.“
The guide took his arm and led him down another passageway, narrower this time, Luka noted as his shoulder touched a concrete wall.
“This exchange is not without consequence, however-”
The hand was pulling him along faster now.
“Each token represents fifteen minutes of your time,”
Luke stumbled as his shoe scuffed against the wall, and the guide slowed for a moment only to pick the pace back up.
“exchange one for a clue and fifteen minutes are deducted from your timekeepers, so consider the consequences before you make the deal.”
The hand on his arm abruptly disappeared and he stumbled forward before coming to a stop.
“One player is in place.”
He tilted his head up towards where the intercom was sounding, listening to a stormy ambience and the tinkling of a chime.
“Two players are now in place.”
He began to worry the shirtsleeve of his sweatshirt.
“All three players are now in place, you may now remove your blindfolds.”
He did as instructed and heard an electric bleep as the timekeeper had no doubt started ticking down.
“Welcome, lost dreamers, to the night’s domain, your task is simple. Find the dreamcatcher, and return to the physical world. Good luck.”
The room went dark.

A/N: Based off one really scary escape room I did in Singapore- Snowy might've been there? This was an original daily so there's not much to say on the topic, although I might just recount what happened there.

I was at the end of the line going in because I was HORRIFIED and uhm- guess what! This company preys on my fears apparently, because everyone had blindfolds on, was holding hands, and being led in single file to the starting point. About halfway there, I AM SEPARATED FROM THE GROUP, AND CHAINED TO A WALL. EXCELLENT. FUN TIMES. I'm on a bit of a ledge, so when I remove my blindfold, I can see everyone else in the next room over. I give them a little wave but stay quiet. After solving the first puzzle, the wall that I'm chained to moves on tracks and puts me in the middle of a spotlight. Some of them didn't know I was there and got a little jumpscared. GOD that escape room was fun. One of my friends kept calling one of the actors ‘sake man’ (and then we robbed his family picture from the storefront). Clear UV paint that was everywhere, at some point we had to run backwards through puzzles we'd already done, but the UV light revealed horrifying splatters that we couldn't see beforehand. It was Terrifying but so much fun. They also had a ton of moving closets- one that was tipped over slowly with a pulley system, a meat freezer that shook, etc. It was based off of rural chinese villages, and they had 京剧 masks as well and it was beautiful. Also 菜刀, 菜刀 is my life. Why do european kitchens not use- what do you even call them- vegetable knives? It's just an all-purpose cleaver. It's awesome.

Link back to my main SWC post

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Noͦ 13
Wordcount: 653/450
Topic: Five words from the past
Points earned: 500+100 for proof
Cabin: Cyberpunk

I chose the 15th century. Out of the list of words, these are the five I picked out:

banquet
bay window
knee deep
inebriate
two pence

Klyde did not want to attend the banquet.

Nobody could say that it wasn't beautiful. The curtains draped along the walls were a deep red, the chandeliers hanging above their heads were lit with candles upon candles, and the wood panels of the floors had been scrubbed till they sparkled. Gowns and doublets filled pavilions and balconies. The actual ballroom floor had spinning couples, fabric swinging to the beats of music.

Yet, these were all reasons Klyde did not want to attend the banquet.

Another reason being the fact that most people read her name on the guest roll and thought she would appear in a doublet, not a dress. Curse whoever gave her mother the inspiration to name her Klyde. What kind of person would put their child through that? She picked up her crimson fan from the table in the centre of the buffet, the noise already starting to give her a headache.

Picking at the threads on her gown, she made her way to the bay window at the far end of the room. She sat down on the edge, gazing down at the gazebo. Pink and purple filled her vision, women blending in with flowers, laughing with their male counterparts. Chimes that hung from the edge of the window sang when the wind blew just right. Far, far ahead, the garden and the estate, Klyde could see the outline of a beach. The waves that were the reason the air smelled faintly of salt. The sand that got stuck in between her toes. The sunsets that inebriated her with a feeling of joy. Refilled her energy and wiped away the horrid thoughts of a horrid man who refused to accompany her to this horrid ball.

That was where Klyde wanted to be.

“You're sitting alone again,” a voice scared her out of her zoned-out state, causing her to whip her hand to the side. The fan clutched in it hit the man in the stomach with a slap that resounded so loudly that a few guests made their way out of her general area.

“I'm so sorry!” She gasped, shooting up in shock while Rakhner sat down in pain. “I didn't realise it was you!”

“Pray tell, who did you think it was that you had to hit them so hard?”

Klyde sat down next to him gingerly, wincing as she realised that the edge of her fan had cracked with the force of the hit. Then again, she was pretty sure she'd gotten this flimsy thing for two pence, so the crack didn't seem to count for anything. “Shaun,” she muttered.

Rakhner sighed, running a soothing hand over his stomach before letting out a sound of disappointment at her sullen behaviour. “He didn't even officially ask for your hand, Kly-”

“But he made it seem like he was going to!” She complained. A pang of guilt entered her system, realising she was subjecting her only friend to a repeat of another ramble he had heard thirty times over. If he was tired of her, he didn't show it; instead, he listened to her quietly. If Klyde were in his position, she would probably be making a face like she was knee-deep in quicksand. She had no idea how he could bear her. “How would you feel if a lady took you to courtyards, cafes, and gardens every day for six months?”

“I'd feel pretty offended, since I should be the one doing that-”

“You know what I mean!” She protested, crossing her arms. Rakhner shook his head, letting out a tut before holding out his hand. “To make up for hitting me like I was a burglar, you're going to come with me to the buffet.”

She took his hand sourly. “Fine. But you'd better hold both the plates before we find a seat.”

“What kind of man would I be if I didn't?”

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Weekly Noͦ 2
Points earned: 2500
Total Word Count: 2860
Cabin: Cyberpunk

Wordcount: 544/200
Topic: Plotting a Short Story

This is based on the daily for the 13th, cause it gave me such a huge brain wave for the cutest story I could write, and it's genuinely giving me cuteness aggression for my brain, like how can I think of something like this?

Basically, this takes place in the 15th-16th century because your girl LOVES a medieval drama. A girl named Klyde is being courted by a boy named Shaun, but at least that's what she thinks. Shaun takes her to different cafes and gardens, he takes her to pretty courtyards with flowers, and gives her gifts and compliments. Klyde, as you can see, doesn't have a usual name for a woman, since her father resented her for being a child of an affair that his wife had. Because of this, a lot of people didn't really like to hang out with her; some people even truly thought she was a boy when seeing her name on a list.

A week before a banquet, Klyde genuinely thinks Shaun is going to ask for her hand, since usually these big gestures are made before the banquets held by the noble family. It turns out that Shaun was only hanging out with her because it gave him and her SISTER more time together, literally breaking her heart. She approaches him, crying, and asks what the heck he was doing, and he just told her that he never asked for her hand. Whenever they hung out, her sister was always with them, and he told her that it was her fault that she assumed this.

Her friend and ONLY friend, Rakhner, was the one who picked her up from the garden where she technically got dumped, and scolded her because he had literally warned her about Shaun. After this, she continuously rants about Shaun to him. Surprisingly, he always listens to her, and he never brushes off her feelings.

But, dear reader, you've probably already guessed, Rakhner has feelings for our dear Klyde. He tries to cheer her up at the banquet because Shaun isn't with her, and he was actually making progress before they spotted Shaun with her sister walking up to them and trying to make some pretty conversation. Klyde obviously gets upset and storms off to the garden, which isn't really a good choice since it starts raining, and it's just the cliche “this day can't get worse.” Rakhner chases after her and tries to convince her that she can do better than him, blah blah blah, he confesses to her and calls her stupid (IT ONLY SOUNDS GOOD WHEN I WRITE IT DOWN I PROMISE YOU JUST TRUST ME PLEASE.) Klyde watches as he walks away angrily and doesn't really know what to do. She tries to meet him for the next month, but he's avoiding her like crazy, and this gives her time to marinate on her feelings and realise that she likes him too. She only catches him when, ding ding ding, you guessed it, it's raining once more. We get a SUPER WHOLESOME CONFESSION SCENE (yes, I know my brain is so beautiful) and it ends with a HAPPILY ever after <3

Guys… I don't think this was a neat 200 words…

Wordcount: 2000
Topic: Writing Your Short Story

If Klyde closed her eyes, she could pretend this would last forever.

Warm sunlight kissed her chin, the grass tickling her face. The rays danced when clouds passed over the sun, forming patterns on her sundress. She could feel the familiar sense of calm enter her mind, something she’d been feeling a lot more of ever since she met the wonderful man lying on her right. On her left, her sister sighed contentedly, stretching out her arms.

“We’ll have to go home soon,” Shaun muttered from beside her, fingers gently brushing against hers where their hands lay. She stopped a smile from blooming on her face. How could she not feel joyous? The next ball was arriving in just two weeks, and she was certain he would ask for her hand.

According to tradition, that would mean they were betrothed. Shaun had already forgotten to do so for the past banquets, but she couldn’t blame him. He was so busy. “Your father must be worried.”

“About her, not me,” Klyde sighed. Both the sisters knew it was true- being the child of an affair was something she was constantly reminded of at home. Heck, her father hated her so much that he forced her mother to name her KLYDE. That should be enough of a sign to show that her parents couldn’t give two mangoes where she was and how long she was out for.

“Don’t say that.” Shaun sat up slowly, stretching out his arms.

“I suppose he’s right,” she shrugged at her sister. “Father did want you home by four.”

“He just wants me home so I can try out dresses for the ball,” Her sister complained, starting their descent from the hill.

Shaun smiled at Anceline, reaching out his hand to Klyde’s auburn hair and brushing off bits of grass. She felt a warm feeling spread through her. “I’ll be seeing you guys next week, don’t worry.”

She bit back an excited grin. Next week, that was before the banquet. Surely, this time, he would have to ask her. He’d hinted at it so many times this month- taking her to the florist and asking what flowers represented her family name had to be the most obvious one.

“Shaun!” Her mother called gleefully as the trio came into sight. “You didn’t have to walk Anceline back home, you’re so sweet.”
“It was nothing,” Shaun laughed, hand finding Klyde’s behind her back. “I hope I can visit next week too?”
“Of course!” Her mother said far too fast. “Anceline will welcome you with open arms-”
“Mom!” Anceline’s cheeks burned red.
Not like it mattered. As long as Shaun loved her, nothing really mattered.

***
Except, of course, the opinion of her best friend.

“Are you sure he’s going to ask for your hand?” Rakhner said with far too much disbelief. Klyde could see him shaking her head through the phone.
“I’m sure he will!” She protested, twirling the telephone string in her fingers. “He asked me what flowers I like-”
“What flowers represent your family.”
“Then he asked me what pastries I like-”
“What pastries you and your sister ate as kids.”
“He also asked me what my favou-”
“No, he didn’t!” Rakhner opposed.
“Why must you be such a killjoy?” She snapped at him.
He scoffed. “He does not deserve you.”
“You’ve only met him one time!”
“Yes, when he crashed our hangout!”
“He didn’t crash it, he just missed me,” Klyde said stiffly.
“Something is off with him,” He warned her. “I just don’t want to be the one to say I told you so.”
“You won’t,” She said stiffly, putting the phone back down on the switch hook abruptly. She felt a bit guilty, but there was no taking it back now. She could hear the doorbell ringing.

Klyde rushed to the door, beaming at the bouquet of orange carnations in his hand. “You came!”
“Of course,” He seemed different today, craning his neck to peer into her living room instead. “Where’s your sister? Isn’t she supposed to be home today?”
“Yes, I am,” Anceline's voice floated down the stairs as she approached, glowing after her bath. Before the sisters could invite him in, their mother beat them to it, rushing over to greet Shaun.

“Oh, there you are!” When her mother caught sight of the bouquet in his hands, she let out a screech, the sound grating on her nerves. “Anceline, come here! Look what Shaun got for you!”
Klyde tried to protest. It’s for me, she tried to say. Instead, she waited for Shaun to say it himself. To correct her mother’s mistake.
But no correction arrived.
“Anceline,” Shaun started, staring at her sister like he was supposed to stare at her. “Would you give me the honor of taking your hand to the banquet?”
Anceline passed an almost unnoticeable glance towards Klyde before an uncontrollable smile spread on her features. “I thought you would never ask!”

What?

“Shaun…?” Klyde spoke up, voice timid. Like she was afraid that she would scare him away.

He was preoccupied with her sister hugging him tightly.

“… Never mind.” Making her way back to her room, fighting back tears, she called up Rakhner sullenly once more. For somebody who had been hung up on, he picked up.

None of them said anything for a few seconds.
“I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Goddam you, Rakhner.”
***
Everything about this banquet grated on Klyde’s nerves.

The couples laughing and dancing, the chandeliers with soft candles that hung on the high ceilings. The bay window that overlooked the pavilion to the sight of even more couples, holding hands and walking through the garden. God, she hated it all. Especially since most of the guests thought she was a male when they’d seen her name on the guest list. She always found herself sitting alone on this stupid bay window of this stupid estate- how many times had she come to a ball here by herself?

At the very edge of the view, she could see the outline of the beach, the waves that caused the air to smell salty and blow against the chimes on the window.
That is where she wanted to be.

“You’re sitting alone again,” A voice snapped her out of her daydream. She jumped, smacking her fan dead centre into whoever snuck up on her, gasping when she turned to see a mop of black hair.

“I’m so sorry!” She stammered out as Rakhner doubled over in a groan. Looking down at her fan, she realised that the corner had chipped with the force she had slapped him with. In fact, a few guests had started to make their way out of their general area. “I thought you were somebody else.”

“Pray tell, who did you think it was that you had to hit them this hard?”
She looked away sullenly, sitting back down. “Shaun.”
Rakhner tutted. “Still?”

“But it’s not fair!” She protested. “How would you feel if a lady abandons you after taking you to the beach and the gardens every week for six months?”
“I’d feel embarrassed since that’s my job-”
“You know what I mean!”
“He’s not worth your time.”
“I know better than anybody else,” she mumbled sadly, playing with the chipped fan.

He stared at her for a few seconds in silence before holding out his hand. “Come on. To make up for hitting me, you have to accompany me to the buffet.”
“Fine,” she begrudgingly agreed, taking his hand. “As long as you hold both the plates before we find a table to sit at.”
“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?

It was only when they had started to eat the food on their plates that Klyde furrowed her eyebrows. “Wait a second. Don’t you have a date?”
“About that,” he smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t really. I was just lying because Shaun was going to ask you.”
“That’s awful.” She scoffed, a small smile making way to her face. “I bought you that box of chocolates because I thought you were going to give it to her.”
“Is it not enough that your best friend enjoyed them?”

It was just her luck that when she was starting to feel better, the current two worst people in her life started to approach their table. Sit down next to her, even.

“Sister!” Ancelina chirped, brushing back a lock of golden hair. She was glowing today, just like last week. “I didn’t know this… man was taking you to the ball!”
“You know his name,” Klyde muttered, eyes immediately looking anywhere other than the man opposite her seat.

“You should eat in big groups at parties like this,” Shaun spoke up, eyes meeting hers for a split second. A second was enough to see the sort of mockery in his eyes.

“Why did you do it?” Klyde burst at him, rising. Rakhner followed in solidarity, staring at Shaun with even more hate than her. “You made it clear you were going to ask for my hand.”
“No, I never did that,” he shrugged. “Whenever we hung out, your sister was always with us too. It’s not my fault you held yourself in such high account and assumed that I wanted you.”

Assumed.

“You are awful,” she snapped, banging her fan down on the table and marching her way outside the mansion.
Just to mock her, the clouds started to pour. Just to prove to her that this day could get worse.

“Klyde, wait!” Rakhner’s voice caused the tears that flowed down her cheeks to flow even faster. “It’s raining, you’ll catch a cold.”
“Leave me alone,” She groaned, hiding her face in her hands. Her makeup must be ruined too- not that she’d spent much time on it, considering she didn’t have a date to go with.

He pried her hands off her face, his pitiful look causing her gut to wrench further. “Klyde…”

“Don’t I deserve love too? Why can I be normal?”
“You do,” he assured her, wiping at a stream of tears. “Normal is boring."

“That’s easy for you to say!” She lashed out at him, slapping his hand away. “You have a number of suitors lining up at your door.”
“That doesn’t mean that I’m normal. I mean, I’m friends with you,” he tried weakly to add some humour.

“That’s what’s strange, isn’t it?” Klyde laughed dryly, stepping back. “Are you sure you’re not just like Shaun?”
“How can you say something like that?” His face twisted.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore!” She argued, feeling the water weigh down on her clothes like the pain weighed down on her lungs. “The one person I thought loved me used me for my sister, so who even does anymore?”

“Me!” He exclaimed, the pity in his face quickly morphing to offense and anger. “I love you, and you’re far too blind to see it! You accuse me of trying to hurt you when I’ve swallowed my feelings for years, like I haven’t stuck by your side since forever!”

That shot her temper dead in the face. She tried to speak, but he cut her off.

“No, since you’re obsessed with some guy who entered your life six months ago, why don’t you go stay with him?” He snapped at her, moving the dripping hair out of his face. “You push your anger on me, and I always take it like a fool. You told me to leave you alone? I’ll listen to you. I always listen to you, and you never even notice.”

Klyde didn’t understand people who said that in some situations, your feet could be stuck to the floor, but she could understand them now. No matter how much her mind wanted her to chase after Rakhner’s slowly disappearing figure, her body refused to move. Refused to move out from underneath the rain, instead staring at the only person that really mattered, leaving.

And she had nobody to blame except herself.

(There is SO MUCH MORE, but the cruel hosts put the limit at 2000 words… You guys won't get to see them reunite </3 I had to cut out so much in the middle too (( )

Wordcount: 316
Topic: Critique
Their Work
Their Critique

When I open my eyes, the world is still.

I love how this starts! It draws me in so well, I definitely want to continue reading.

Maybe no one’s coming back. Maybe there’s no one left to come back. No. That’s stupid. Right? Please let it be stupid.

I write a lot of pieces where the main character goes slowly insane, and I love the genre. Either the character is going insane because of panic, or they already start out demented. This definitely seems like the former!

I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and get my life together

Yes Queen Lock in

Inventory:
- Myself, in working shape
- Jacket, t-shirt, leggings, socks, boots
- Broken phone
I’m going to find some supplies.

One thing I would like to ask is where she is writing this? Or is she thinking this? To me, this seems more like a diary entry, but since this is an apocalypse, where would she find any paper? If this ISN'T a diary entry and more like a thought process, then that's my bad!

My ankle hurts. It’s probably fine, right? A few steps, and I fall back to my knees. It’s not fine. I hope it’s not broken.

Maybe use fall back down to my knees, not fall back to my knees. I usually use that when I'm talking about literally falling backwards, maybe onto your back or so.

It’s getting darker and darker with every second I spend in here. I need to get out. I can’t get out. I’m trapped in a hole, alone in the dark and the cold. No one’s coming to help me, no one’s there, everyone’s gone, and I can’t think straight and I can’t breathe and there’s rocks digging into my knees from when I fell onto them and I need to get up – GET UP! – but I can’t even see, I can’t see, because even if my vision wasn’t blurred by tears the sun has left me too and it’s dark and I. am. all. alone. Panicking in the dark. Calm down, calm down, calm DOWN!

This entire paragraph is so eerie because it's so similar to how I would write it :0 are we twinning?

As I mentioned earlier, I love writing insane characters; it's so fun, and you just get to start rambling like some sort of psycho. I love how you wrote this without any full stops and then suddenly way too many full stops, it perfectly portrays how somebody's mind can spiral when panicking!

I know I should, but I don’t feel like figuring things out tonight. I’ll make plans after I shoot the last flare tomorrow.

I love how she's procrastinating. Often in end-of-the-world stories, the characters are always moving so fast, but they never portray the absolute exhaustion and the feeling of just giving up. It's so real, and I wish it were shown more!

We aren’t alone anymore.

That last line definitely made me smile as if this was real :sob: For a piece that was capped to only 2000 words, I know how hard it is to make something impactful in the less amount of words we can use. This was so interesting to read. Thank you for letting me critique your piece!

– Letter to Cat (03/13/2026) –

Dear Cat,
Hmm, that’s a little weird because like…I mean, hobbies are a part of who someone is? Often? But anyway, that’s all really cool! For digital art, what program do you use? The pfps look great by the way What kind of things do you like to bake? And wow, nine years is a long time…dang.

For history, it’s just a regular class I think? So it’s not THAT bad but I overthink things + am a perfectionist + am not very disciplined or good at staying focused. My project isn’t going great unfortunately. I made a bit of progress but not too much, so yes please, I could definitely use mangoes out of your motivational stash!

I’m sorry about the new downtime. That doesn’t even make much sense, like you said. I admire your dedication of writing the whole letter on a phone! I hope that you feel better soon if you’re sick or that if you have allergies they go away.

A leopard gecko is like…hmm…basically a cute little gecko! They naturally are yellow with black spots, so like a leopard, but I think there are other colors. They’re pretty popular as pets because they’re small and not super hard to take care of! That makes sense about the allergies- hopefully sometime you can get one of those pets if you’d like and it works out well! That dog sounds cute. What’s your favorite dog breed, if you have one?

We’re similar on the favorite colors, ice cream, and weather! I haven’t ever had sushi and it doesn’t seem like something I would enjoy too much, but who knows, I could like it and it’s cool that you do! I actually have only ever found a place selling birthday cake ice cream once, but my family also makes our own ice cream at home, so that’s how I’ve had more of it. That walk sounds really nice, it’s when it feels vaguely like spring. Like I said, my music knowledge is a little pitiful and I don’t know any of those songs or artists, but nice! Maybe I’ll try them. I also don’t know those books, but it’s awesome that you got to meet the author.

I actually meant the song Cryptid by Cavetown, not Elio Mei. But I have listened to a bit of Elio Mei’s music too and it was good! So maybe I’ll listen to more and you, me, and Connor can start a SWC Elio Mei fangroup or something

About the psychology…yes..cough cough. I stalk everyone's leader apps and I think I saw that in one of yours? Anyway, what’s your favorite thing about psychology? How have you learned about it so far— just teaching yourself? I hope you can take those classes, they seem interesting! My electives this year were kind of boring too…I did a programming class that was made with really outdated lessons and that basically taught me what I already knew. I’m also doing an art class where I mainly take photos, which is also a bit old and outdated, but interesting! I’ve always thought it was cool and with the class, I’ve been getting into photography more.

In answer to your question, I’m not really sure what I’d like to do! Honestly just not something that’s not extremely dangerous, extremely dull and repetitive, actively hurting anyone, extremely lonely, or extremely people filled. Hmm. I do want to do something with people, like helping people or studying human history or something, but I’m not sure. And I’m also an introvert so people make me tired. And I might like some sort of hands-on job? My school had me research being an electrician for an assignment and that sounds kind of cool, although also boring. Sociology could be cool, but I don’t really know if that’s its own job or what you even do for it. So yeah, I really haven’t figured it out yet.

Sorry if this letter back was a lot more weird and dull- I feel like I’m not great at talking to people or replying to things. But I had fun with it anyway! Same for me, I can talk about anything, so I guess we’ll just ramble and see where this goes! If you have any questions or topics to bring up, even if they’re completely random, feel free to do so

And random question that I wanted to ask! Do you prefer to go by Cat or Ari, since I know both are listed on your profile? Or is either okay without a preference?

- Coast

“C'mon, Em,” Liz said, voice quiet. “Do you have to be so picky?” it wasn't mocking, just a genuine question.

Emily glanced up from where she was poking at her food. “Sorry,” she mumbled, setting her fork down. “I'm trying! I just…” she trailed off.

There was an uncomfortable beat of guilty silence.

“You know what?” Liz said after a moment, sounding much more cheerful now. “How about we just go out to eat?”

Em perked up a little. “Can we?”

“Uh, yeah?” she grinned, tilting her head to the side. “Course we can. I suggested it after all.”

A smile spread over Em's face. “Do you think we could go to the place with the really good baguettes?”

“Mhm,” she stood, stretching her arms above her head. “Want me to see if Abby could come?”

“Sure,” Em chirped. “I feel like it's been a little since we've all been able to hang out together.” With that, she leaned forward, gathering the dirty dishes together and hurrying into the kitchen before Mom would notice.

Even in the kitchen, she could hear Liz talking to Abby. Though, she was too far away to hear anything more than the static crackling mumble of Abby's replies.

She didn't pay total attention to the conversation, too distracted by hastily washing the dishes in the sink. But she could only assume it went something like this:

“Hey, Abby,” Liz greeted. “So, Em and I wanted to know if you could join us for lunch.”

“… shouldn't you have already had lunch, Liz?” Abby asked. “It's way past when you should have eaten, already.”

“Em finished her homework kinda late, and I'm off from work today. And, uh, you know how Mom's cooking is, half the time.” She chuckled quietly.

“I'd love to,” Abby started and then sighed. “Just, I have to finish this dress for a commission. And I swear that it's nearly unsalvageable, but she's paying good, so…”

“… you can't even take a thirty minute lunch break?” Liz asked, almost sounding pouty.

“I just took for forty five minute break so I wouldn't make this dress completely unsalvageable,” Abby said dryly.

Liz clicked her tongue. “You're no fun,” she told her. “And would it be the end of the world for you to emote every once and while?”

“Would you like me to scream in my frustration over this stupid dress?” she asked, poorly covering the amusement in her voice.

“Not when the phone is next to my ear, no,” Liz said and then sighed. “Fine. We'll miss you. Do you want us to get you anything? We're going to the really good baguette place.”

“I'll just eat the leftovers,” she said. “Since neither of you particularly like leftovers. Thanks, by the way.”

“Alright,” Liz said. “Can do. You're welcome. Bye.” With that, she ended the call and poked her head into the kitchen. “You know what my number one pet peeve is?” she asked.

Em glanced up, curious.

“People who work too hard,” she said flatly.

Em laughed.

swc March 2026
Daily 2026-03-13
Author: @OctopusGhost (lazuli)
Words (just the story): 470
Words (Total): 517
Title: High Life

As Emerald Solstice stepped out of the glossy black coupe and onto the ground, press cameras flashed. Her clothes were beautiful, but not as stunning as her.

She looked the very definition of natural beauty, with nothing noticeable used to glamorize herself. As she carried herself with confidence to the spy expo, no one cared to question why she would be going to the spy expo. Though it sure would be in the newspapers.

The spy expo was for spies to have the time of their life, showcase their talents, and get hired - all without telling their real names. For a lady such as Emerald to arrive - it was strange business… But perhaps she wanted to hire a spy.

What no one assumed - save for one person - was that she herself was a spy. Behind that five-star reputation and famous actor was a long-term spy, accessing the things (and people) only a rich and wealthy person could get their hands on.

Who was that one person, you ask? While he dressed shabbily and acted like a stooge, inside was a brain too intricate and wise to comprehend and a noble soul. For he, too, was a spy. He sneaked around to the back of the building and entered, going to the toilet.

He got out a few minutes later, dressed well, acting with a superior presence, hair combed nicely and pulled back to showcase his handsome face. This was Carl Smith (his name when a potential hirer asked him for it), a renowned spy and assassin. He also was a famous star, but I will not tell you his star name.

He then paid a visit to the Great Hall, where numerous other spies huddled about, discussing the parts of their lives that could be discussed. Never had Carl seen such a huge crowd of people like him. Still, he was here for one reason.

Spotting Emerald laughing with a wealthy British gentleman spy he knew (Brian Bannor), he joined them. “Don't all look now,” he said in a low serious tone. “But just entering is Engleman.”

Engleman Karst was a freestyle artist on the outside, but they knew him to be a cruel assassin and spy who did whatever he wanted - because he knew others would cover up for him. He was more of a maf!@ boss than a spy, but still.

They had knew him once, back when he was a rather good and jolly fellow. But love had changed him, when his best friend eliminated his new wife. Heart broken, he only did what was logically best, not using his heart.

Of course, that was good for spies, but a complete and total absence of emotions was dangerous, and now he was a dangerous man. Everyone avoided him generally. But now, he walked over…

The End
to be continued ?

Year used for the time travel: 1913
Words used for the time travel: coupe, expo, five-star, freestyle, press, stooge, glamorize

⋆ friday, march 13th: time travel daily
1974 // words: alternative music, decade-long, computerphobe, string cheese, guilt-trip, snow crab
i have a massive headache rigth now don't even ask me what the deeper meaning of this is

i knocked on elly’s door, once, twice. no answer. i could hear her alternative music stuff blasting through the door, its rhythm practically shaking the house. finally, i sighed and shoved the door open. “elly. elly! turn this trash off!!” i practically screamed, leaning on the doorframe.
she still doesn’t notice, somehow, humming and busy aggressively brushing out her hair. i grabbed a random rolled up sock on the floor and threw it at her, smirking when she jumps.
“gianna! jeez, at least knock!” she finally shuts her music but it’s still reverberating around in my head.
“i did!” i argued. “shouted your name and everything, too! – not my fault you can’t hear a thing over this trash –”
she threw the sock back at me. “s’not trash!” okay, so she’d obviously missed the first time i’d made that comment, too.
i rolled my eyes. “yeah, whatever. mom wanted me to let you know that we got a deal for a string cheese commercial. filming starts next week.” elly only stares at me like a fish.
“a what?”
“oh, come on, you heard me. string cheese. commercial. do you wanna be on tv or not?”
she groaned. “dude, come on. couldn’t it have been anything cooler?? imagine what my friends are going to say when they see me on the big screen all smiley about string cheese – half of them don’t even know what string cheese is –”
“we’re getting paid. don’t you want that money too? come onnn, we can’t cancel noww, mom’s gonna be so sad because she’s worked so hard to get us a deal, and that poor director’s gonna have to go through the work of finding two other girls who aren’t nearly as pretty…” i smiled brightly, hoping she would be at least a little excited. sure, string cheese was lame. ads were not.
“i get it, i get it! sure, whatever, now get out of my room and stop guilt-tripping me –” i was already down the hall at that point, leaving her door wide open much to her annoyance.

the first day on set goes nothing like anyone expects, to put it lightly. we came in and it’s a huge empty white room, a lousy director’s chair, a bunch of tent-looking camera set ups and maybe three guys all manning random things. my sister and i are dressed all casual in jeans and slightly silly tie dyed shirts.
“welcome!” one of the guys exclaimed. his nametag read: brad. “your job is easy today. just talk about how much you love string cheese while looking at each other and laughing.”
sure, it was easy, but it was also pretty boring. it was surprisingly hard to keep talking about string cheese for so long, this brad guy seemingly never happy with a shot. he keeps walking around between the camera and the blocky computer. finally, he sighed and called to one of his buddies.
“marcus! do you mind handling the computer for me?” to our surprise though, marcus gives a full body shudder at the suggestion. (me? i would’ve loved to handle a computer, since we didn’t have a great one and they were pretty cool).
he gave the most disgusted look i had ever seen on a person. “oh, nah. you know i work props for a reason.”
“…why?”
“well, i mean. computers! look at them! pure evil. what if it explodes? what if it became sentient and started stealing all of our jobs?? aw man, what if it started to take our data…”
elly and i stared blankly. brad just shook his head, smiling at us comfortingly. “aw, ignore him. just a computerphobe, sputtering nonsense. that wouldn’t happen in a million years, don’t worry,” he called to marcus, but he looked doubtful as ever. “timmy? you mind helping?”
timmy didn’t mind. we carry on looking excited about string cheese. “shouldn’t we, like, hold some string cheese or something to drive the point home?” i asked eventually.
brad brightened, nodding fervently. “oh, of course! marcus, bring out the props!”
marcus hauls out a cardboard box, and lifts the top.
there wasn’t any string cheese in the box, or anything even remotely close.
that’s how we ended up with 20 live snow crabs skittering around the studio, elly’s screams loud enough to power a neighborhood. somewhere in the back, marcus is sputtering his oopsies, about how this was meant for another commercial. so no, this wasn’t how i was expecting to kick off a decades-long acting career at all.

daily 13

I have eyes, and yet I am unable to see.

I remember when I woke up, and I couldn’t even recognize my own mother. I blinked—confused, disoriented, but ultimately trying to make out my mother’s face. But no matter how hard I focused, her face wouldn’t appear.

I cried for a long time. My doctor told me—I had developed face blindness after my accident. In simple words, it meant I wasn’t able to recognize faces even if I knew them well.

I remember waking up to greet my mother, being able to tell it’s her by her long silky hair. But when she put her hair up. To me, it looked like she was a completely different person. She looked bioidentical to my teacher, since she always had her hair up.

I couldn’t tell who was my mom and who wasn’t, and the feeling I failed as a daughter overwhelmed me. An intrusive thought that refused to be quiet. A parasite that could never be removed.

I stared blearily, blankly down at my phone. I enjoyed having online friends. If I talked to them, I knew exactly who the message was from. No need to strain my ears to see whose voice it was, or look at their long hair and pray that they hadn’t changed it. Instead, the username would tell me who I was speaking to. No mystery, just familiarity.

As I sent another emoji to my online friend, the yellow face looked at me. It was one of the few faces I could still see.

“I opened commissions since I don’t have a money tree LOL”

“Maybe I should give you money xD”

“Like a friend with benefits kind of situation??”

“…DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS??”

“is it not just a friend that gives you stuff”

“NO!!!”

I laughed and grinned at my online friend’s antics. Every word that came through the screen I knew exactly who it was from. No guessing, confirmation. Knowing who I was talking to without the silent fear I was talking to an imposter was nice.

“what do you look like??”

I frowned, knowing I couldn’t answer. It was funny, being the one who knew the best—being the person they were asking about, and yet not having an answer.

“I don’t know.”

It was an honest answer, but it felt like such a fake one. A sense of guilty overwhelmed me, knowing how cruel the answer I gave them sounded.

“I haven’t seen my face in years.”

Every time I look in the mirror, I can’t even make out my own features. It was torturous. I didn’t know if I had dark eyes anymore. I forgot. I didn’t know if my nose was slim or wide. I didn’t know anything about myself.

“how about you send a pic and I’ll tell you ”

My eyes widened. I knew what stranger danger was, but…

I took a selfie.

“okk you have dark eyes that are almond shaped, slim lips…”

497 words

daily - 3/13/26

allowedly, candied, empiric, icteric, ironhearted - 1600

“the land in the far east is known for it’s candied almonds, dipped in honey, sweet sugar, liquid juice, and such others delicious delicacies,” stated the book, allowedly known to be one of the most reliable books in the world. “many reported the snacks feeling like a bite from a fantasy, with the sweet tart exterior blending well with the salty interior. this combination of flavors results in a tasty bombshell that will please anyone’s taste buds!”

“sounds interesting,” said the girl reading, flipping the pages. she felt her stomach rumbling, as the book continued to describe countless of other treats and dishes known in the far east. but no, she must continue researching. the little girl sighed, and she continued on, her eyes darting across the page.

“empiric evidence suggests that the people in the far east are often unhappy with their empire. further research suggests that revolutions are on the rise to overthrow the government and restore the land back to Arianmal. this led many to speculate that the royal family may fall in the next 50 years. the current king has taken precautions to prevent this, banning all large meetings and whatnot. unfortunately, this led to more uproar upon the family, where they are facing criticism on all sides”

“now that’s curious,” muttered the girl, her mind pondering. “why is this? why are they unhappy with the royal family?” for as far as the girl is concerned, her kingdom, the place where she lives, is perfectly fine, with an abundance of praise for the royal family. although they certainly wasn’t perfect, the girl liked to think that they were as close to a utopia as one can get.

the book, luckily, had an answer to this fated question. “many are displeased with the greed that the rulers have shown, and how they seem to not care about their subjects at all. their unwillingness to contribute to demands from the citizens fuled the flames further. see: further references about this topic on page 138.”

“the people in the east are often described as icteric, with their eyes and skin becoming yellow. this is likely due to their high consumption of alcohol in their diets,” the book continued on. “many tourists reported citizens in the kingdom as ironhearted, likely due to the high oppression they had to face. nonetheless, if you show sympathy to their current situation, they’re cold hearts will melt, leading to a kind and helpful exterior.”

“hmm…do they welcome people from my kingdom?” pondered the girl. after all, where she lived was famous for their strong ruling family, as stated above.

the book, unfortunately, did not have a response. however, it did have a section of the far east’s culture.

454 words

Tilly's Daily #13
1865: BAKED GOODS, AVIATION, DRESS-UP, BRIOLETTE, COURTESY TITLE

The luscious scent of lemon rolls rose into the air the instant Gianna pulled the oven open, and an automatic smile teased the corners of her lips.
“That looks so good!” Piper raced into the production kitchen, and Gianna turned her back to the little girl on instinct to shield the rolls as she pulled them out.
“Uh uh, not today, Piper. You've had three already.”
“I was just looking,” she huffed, grabbing her teddy bear from the wooden bench beside them. “And I had two, not three.”
The entrance bell trilled, sending both sisters' eyes to the frosted window obscuring the front of the bakery.
“Annie?” Their mother's voice called from the office.
“I'll be there,” Gianna yelled back, placing the hot tray of rolls on the bench. “Just taking the lemon rolls out of the oven.”
She tugged off her gloves, turning to Piper. “Don't touch them, they're for the customers.”
Piper stuck her tongue out, and Gianna did the same as she slipped out of the kitchen.
“Good morning!” She took on her customer serving persona as she tightened the straps of her apron, gaze searching for the new arrival. “You're the first customer of the day, congrats…”
The person was bent over the striking case of baked goods, and instantly stood straight at the sound of her voice. The dark green aviator sunglasses masking his eyes jumped out at her first, and she did a double take.
“If you do ever see me again, and I'm wearing these aviation glasses, you'll know what's up.”
Oh no.
Gianna caught her breath. “…Reed?”
“Are you at the counter?” Her mother's voice shook her back to life, and she fumbled for a paper bag.
“Yes,” she called back, but her eyes refused to leave Kylian Reed's face.
He grimaced a smile, pulling down his glasses and touching his cap. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, what can I get for you?” She raised her voice slightly to deter any passerby within earshot.
“Um…” Reed fumbled for a response until Gianna gave the slightest shake of her head. He relaxed, lowering his voice as he leaned closer. “Sorry to spring this on you…”
She bit her lip, fiddling with equipment on the counter. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “When The Allegiance calls, you have to answer.”
The name made her wince, and she glanced back as if someone was over her shoulder. She closed her eyes.
“I can't do it, sorry.”
“Hate to break it to you, but I wasn't giving you a choice.”
Her eyes flicked open, a shadow clouding her gaze. “I was done with this, Reed.”
“So was I. But who can say no to them?”
The paper bag crumpled in her hands as she tried to keep her composure. “What's happening?”
Reed pulled out a leaflet from his pocket and slid it across the counter. Bright colours captured her eyes immediately.
She stifled a groan, snatching the paper and scanning it. Images of opulent rooms, dresses and tuxedos told her everything.
“Really…a gala?”
“We get to dress-up,” Reed failed to hide a smile, and Gianna narrowed her eyes. “It's a masquerade even…that's perfect for covert opps, you have to admit.”
“Why?”
Reed pulled back his sleeve to check his watch. “I'm afraid I can't explain enough right now…they sort of sprang it on me, and gave me an hour to get my partner and come back for briefing. That was forty-five minutes ago.”
“So nobody else was available?”
He pursed his lips. “Meyer, you're the first person I've come to. Traffic held me up, not scouting.”
“Then you have fifteen minutes to get your partner,” she slid the brochure back towards him.
He folded his arms. “It's a fundraising gala being held by these fancy people, the kind you address with courtesy titles…including some esteemed lord. A party is attending that's set on stealing a briolette-cut diamond necklace from one of those attendees.”
“I'm sorry, Reed,” Gianna picked up some tongs and a fresh paper bag. “Would you like anything else with that?”
Silence wove webs of ice between them.
“I need you, Meyer.”
Her jaw clenched. This was supposed to be over. Why now?
The sound of footsteps softened the tension in Reed's face, and he glanced at the case again. Gianna turned to find Piper holding a latte.
“That's for you,” she grinned, placing it carefully on the table. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Reed. “Welcome! What would you like?”
Her sister raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Piper, I'm serving. It's fine.”
Reed smiled back anyway. “Thank you…just a croissant.”
Piper smirked and bounced out of the room at Gianna's inconspicuous scowl. “Hope you enjoy!”
“Thank you, I will,” Reed called after her.
The croissant was bagged in silence, and Reed swiped his card to pay. She handed him the bag, and his other hand dropped on the counter again.
“If you can make it…”
A sparkling crimson mask adorned with gold and shaped for around the eyes stared back at her.
“…Match it with something red, and meet me at our spot.”
She tilted her head. “Where's that, again?”
“Annie- Meyer, it hasn't been that long.”
“Only thirteen months, right?”
Reed's eyes dropped. He sucked in a breath, then held up the bag as he slid on his sunglasses. “Thanks.”
“Have a good day,” she tried to say, but the words stuck in her throat, and she could only watch him go.

918 words
Oh my speedrun-

daily #13! year: 1997! words: emoji, amber alert, blue screen of death (bsod), wingsuit, and vision board
words: 641

our scene begins with a close up on a girl with blond hair and deep brown eyes typing on her phone- FLISS. switch to close up on another girl with dozens of small black braids and emerald green eyes lying on her bed- THORNE. THORNE’s phone, which is lying beside her, beeps. THORNE picks it up and looks at it. pan to phone:

fliss: hey

THORNE lights up and starts typing. we see the steady stream of messages coming from their screens:

thorne: fliss!
fliss: comment ca va?
thorne: sorta stressed
thorne: you?
fliss: i’m great actually D
thorne: lucky
thorne: anything especially cool? or just a good mood?
fliss: i finally finished :000
thorne: what?
fliss: my ‘vision board’
thorne: ah yes
thorne: send me a pic, will you?
fliss: of course of course B)

a picture appears on the screen as well: it is indeed not a vision board, exactly, instead more like a case board. the bulletin board is covered in printouts of newspaper headlines about crime, red thread, and quotes about tax evasion. it’s organized like a vision board, but seems akin to a shrine to crime. it is clear from this that FLISS might not be entirely sane, but THORNE is not surprised. she laughs.

thorne: beautiful :0
fliss: ik right?


suddenly, THORNE’s phone beeps again. she checks it as we switch back to FLISS’s bedroom, and then her phone.

thorne: hang on
thorne: lemme check this

a pause occurs while THORNE checks her phone.

fliss: what was it?
thorne: some sort of alert thingie idk
fliss: ooooooh
fliss: what kind?
thorne: it says ‘golden alert’ or something
thorne: i forgot already
thorne: might’ve been about calling the police department or smthing?
fliss: gasp :0
fliss: was it an amber alert?
thorne: yeah i think that was it
fliss: how do you not know what an amber alert is?
thorne: i don’t pay attention to what comes up on my phone unless its a text or a cat video xD
fliss: weirdo
fliss: anyways though
fliss: go copy paste the message
fliss: or from memory if youre on mobile
thorne: yeah i’m on mobile
thorne: but do i have to?
thorne: it’s just a yellow alert
fliss: amber alert
fliss: and yes
fliss: you have to
thorne: fiiiine
thorne: >:0
thorne: local amber alert: missing child from somewhere city, tx. missing child: lydia palacio, 10-year-old black female. no suspects yet. call somewhere city police department with information. if seen call 911
fliss: perfect
fliss: looking up the details now
thorne: oh no
thorne: i shouldve known
fliss: yes you should have
fliss: yet another thing to add to my vision board
thorne: sigh :eyeroll:
fliss: ‘child by the name of lydia palacio seen walking around with her mother wearing a wingsuit for a holiday they called ‘summerween’ when asked by an anonymous witness. only fifteen minutes later, lydia’s mother, ilona palacio, called 911 with a panic, telling them that her child was gone.’
fliss: :0000
thorne: woah
fliss: it provides a link to lydia’s case file :eyes:
thorne: isn’t that illegal or smthing?
fliss: probably

pan to slightly above FLISS’s screen, where she clicks on the link with her finger and crossed her other fingers in hope that it works. sadly, though, the screen turns to a blank error page after a few seconds.

fliss: ah darn
thorne: what?
fliss: link doesn’t seem to go anywhere
fliss: straight to a bsod ToT
thorne: good
thorne: all of that crime can’t be good for you
fliss: probably not
fliss: i’m still adding it to my vision board tho

pan to fliss’s room, where her mother is heard calling her name.

FLISS’S MOM: fliss! dinner!

fliss: gtg :skull:
fliss: bye
thorne: dang T-T
thorne: stay safe
thorne: bye <3

I don’t have much time for this daily, so this is going to be more of a personal story and/or rambling session than an actual narrative. Hopefully, it still counts for the daily?
Anyhow, those of you who know me have probably heard me say that I feel most at home on the internet. This is due to a number of factors, but long story short, I love this place. Or, not even a place, really, but a network of connections, changeable and ever-shifting. An ecosystem, almost. And all of it possible due to invisible signals, so much more than the physical hardware you look at, type on, hold, carry, touch.
I don’t know much about my ancestors or my heritage. But I do know a bit about the history of the internet, which has made just as big an impact on my identity as any of that other stuff, anyway. Some people wish they had lived in past centuries, maybe in the era of horse-drawn carriages and fancy clothing. I sometimes wish I lived in the future. But I also feel some nostalgia for the time of the early internet, in the decades before I was born.
So that’s why I picked 1983. While the technology didn’t come into existence all at once, the birth of the internet is often attributed to January 1, 1983, since that’s when ARPANET adopted TCP/IP protocols, which is the standard still used today. In simple terms, it allowed all the different networks to be able to communicate with each other.
The term “cell phone” was apparently coined that year, too, although mobile phones had existed since 1973. I don’t own a cell phone myself, so I’ve got less to say about that topic. But it’s the same internet for all of us, no matter what device we’re using. And that’s pretty amazing, when you think about it.
I’m not always the most up-to-date with new technology, but I still get the sense of extreme progress whenever I look into it, even at just the surface level. We’re truly on the bleeding edge of innovation and knowledge. These are exciting times.
Enough about the reason I picked this date, though, I’ve still got more words to use. I had no idea that the K-T boundary wasn’t named until 1983! (If you don’t know, that’s the term for the geologic layer that separates Cretaceous-era rock from Tertiary-era rock. The layer is full of iridium, which arrived on Earth via the dinosaur-killing asteroid.) It seems like, with all my paleontological interest, I should’ve known that, but welp– I learn something new every day!
As those of you who enjoyed yesterday’s daily might be interested to know, “cryptid” was also coined in 1983. Hello, all you folklore creatures!

feather's life changed on a quiet sunny day. the sky was clear and blue, a few wispy clouds floating by as a gentle breeze ruffled his gray fur.

he remembered that day vividly as he slowly walked along the moorland, grass tickling his paws.

it was when he was still a loner, clueless about anything beyond hunting enough to fill his belly and avoiding any clearly marked territory.

on that clear sunny day, he hadn't been trying to trespass, he swore on the stars that he wasn't trying to do that. but he had been chasing a rabbit, blissfully unaware of the border he had just crossed.

he had just pounced on it when–

“hey!” an unfamiliar voice cried. “what do you think you're doing? this is our territory and that's our prey!”

his head jerked up, green eyes wide with surprise and with fright. a young black and white she-cat was standing several fox-lengths away from him, fur bristling and teeth bared.

“i–” he started, backing away from his catch. somewhere in the back of his head, he wanted to fight for it. that was his catch, and that rabbit had given him more of a chase than he was used to.

but he had long since learned that it wasn't worth it to fight over a piece of prey, no matter how filling it would be.

“calm down, fernpaw,” a calmer voice called as a ruddy she-cat approached. “he isn't doing any us harm.”

“but he's trespassing!” she protested. “and he's stealing our prey!”

“yes,” the other she-cat said. “but prey had been plentiful lately, the prey pile hasn't been empt in months. besides, look at him,” she nodded her head in his direction. “he's hungry.”

“but petal–” fernpaw protested again, her tail lashing back and forth.

“this isn't a hunting patrol, either,” petal - or whatever her name might be - cut her off, glaring down at the smaller cat. “you're helping me gather herbs, and that's that.”

feathet shuffled his feet uncomfortably, leaning down to grab his catch and leave while the strangers were too distracted by their squabbling.

and then petal took notice of him, her gaze suddenly much softer. “i'm terribly sorry,” she said, dipping her head. “we didn't mean to scare you.”

“yes we did,” fernpaw muttered, turning her head to the side.

“it's alright,” he answered neutrally. “i'm sorry for stealing your prey. you two can have it, i… i can always find something somewhere else.” he dipped his head as he backed away a few paces.

he didn't want to leave his catch.

he didn't want to fight for it, either.

“no, you're quite alright,” petal said. “you can have it. it's your catch, after all.”

“if you're sure,” he mumbled, leaning down to take a bite of it. though, he didn't break eye contact with her, still too nervous and cautious of these strangers.

“i am.” she smiled, sitting down and wrapping her tail around her paws. “do you mind if we talked?”

he shook his head.

and talked they did.

about a lot.

about her clan (streamclan), about her name (petalbreeze), about her role (a medic). and, strangely enough, about him, and his role. but the weirdest part of it all was the prophecy she talked about.

“there's a prophecy,” she said, as if it was the most casual thing in the world. “and i think i'm looking for you. you're supposed to join our clan. you'll… you'll change everything. starclan says so.”

and… he joined. reluctantly at first. too wary and nervous about everyone due to his moons of being on his own. and then petalbreeze began to teach him about herbs. he learned everything that he could about them, curious to their uses and interested in experimenting with them.

petalbreeze was proud of him, and treated him like he was family. it was perfect. for once in his life, he had everything he ever wanted.

and then the flood hit.

and then he was alone.

so he started to wander again.

it was a clear sunny day, hardly a cloud in the sky. the wind was blowing, making the grass rustle and ruffling his fur as he padded through the moorland.

the grass was tall, it had been since he started to walk this sunrise. it brushed against his shoulders, and the was a long trail of flattened grass that marked the path he had taken.

he didn't know when this grass would end. it seemed to stretch endlessly on. as far as the horizon and as impossible to get to when–

he burst from the grass, stumbling and tripping on something he hadn't seen.

he twisted around, confused and startled. what had he-?

a young calico she-cat jumped to her feet, blue eyes wide with fear and long thick fur sticking straight up. “wh-what do you think you're doing?” she asked. “this is bayclan territory!”

feather's heart twisted at the familiarity of this interaction.

his life always seemed to change on a clear sunny day.

daily 14

Love is a fickle thing.

I remember myself, wrapped in his embrace, his smile capable of lighting up the darkest of days.

I remember his cool eyes, as blue as the deepest of oceans. Azure, ultramarine, none of them were able to describe the blue in his eyes. That color should have been a completely different thing, its own original color.

I remember his black hair, the color of midnight. His hair messy and disheveled whenever he ran his hands through it. When it was under moonlight, it almost looked a shade of dark purple.

His constantly smart-mouthed responses, in which he chuckled at like they were the funniest things in the world. (Maybe they were, to me.) His smile was already bright, so his laugh was even better.

The way his eyes crinkled.

The dimples on his cheeks.

I knew it was something I never wanted to let go.

But of course, nothing lasted forever.

So when his casket lowered, his body buried six feet underground, I stood there solemnly, mourning him. He deserved the world. He deserved a sea of men standing at his grave—a parade in his honor. Instead, a measly amount of people arrived.

He deserved far more than the world had to offer.

I wanted to cry and shout, I wanted to make the whole world mourn him in the same way I was. Why was I the only one affected? Why did time dare to still tick? Why did the days, months, still pass?

As I spent my days mourning his absence and neglected myself as a result—I stared at his picture and vowed to remember every feature. I didn’t want to forget his face.

I knew I’d meet no one like him ever again.

———

He looks the same as him.

The smile of the sun.

The deep blue eyes.

The night black hair.

The sarcastic yet endearing humor.

He’s too much like him.

But he isn’t.

There’s no way I can get attached to him.

After all,

love is a fickle, fickle thing.

340 words