Thriller for the win! ( https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/32103453 https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/32127433 )

My previous SWCs: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/614334/ and https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/614334/

My sister's SWC: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/639158/

Main Cabin Daily 1: “Welcome everyone, new and familiar faces alike, to SWC! Fun fact: November 1st is both the start date of this session and National Author's Day! Today's task is to introduce yourself in the Main Cabin comments and tell us about your favorite author(s). What are their names, what genres do they write in, and what do you love about their books?”
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Words: 175
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Hello! I’m Savebats (you can call me Bats). I’m in the Thriller cabin and if you must know I use exclusively she/her pronouns. I guess it’s most important to know that I HATE when people use they/them for me, so don’t do that lol. Anyway, I really like Pokemon, specifically the manga, so I think that it’s fair to talk about those authors for a moment. The author of Pokemon Adventures is Hidenori Kusaka (with artist Satoshi Yamamoto and previously Mato). The other Pokemon manga I like is Pokemon Diamond and Pearl Adventure, which is both written and illustrated by Shigekatsu Ihara. I like both of these series for their creativity and craftsmanship. (Even if it varies from volume to volume.
Some other authors I like the works of include (but are not limited to), Rick Riorden (Percy Jackson), the Erin Hunters (specifically for Warrior Cats), Neil Gaiman (for his Norse Mythology book) and E.J. Altbacker (for Shark Wars, also apparently he’s the same age as Satoshi Yamamoto, I didn’t know that.)

Main Cabin Daily 3: “Quick! Look directly to your right - what is the first object you see? Congratulations, it's now the main ingredient in your Object Smoothie! Write 300 words persuading your fellow campers that your smoothie is actually delicious for 300 points. An extra 100 points if you share your writing!”
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Words: 376
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My object was a piece of a dusty offwhite wall (actually it was the whole wall, but I can’t put all of that in a blender now can I?). It’s got some scratches and bumps in the paint (for crunchiness of course) and a whiter inside than the outside paint, suggesting a succulent taste. I plan to pair it with some delicious pencil shavings and at least a couple of chair legs, these together will make a meal fit for a king. (The rust on the edges of the chair legs will add some much needed flavoring to the smoothie.)

Hmm? What’s that? You don’t really want to get tetanus from a smoothie? Well too bad! My delicious concoction of nutrients and flavors are sure to make even the most organic customer’s mouth water. (Maybe even enough to make the next yummy smoothie!)

What's that? You weren't aware that the smoothie includes the slopper of the customers who come to my shop? Really? Huh. I would've thought it said that on the menu. Well, either way, I swear that it really is a good smoothie, quite delicious (actually, scratch that, positively delectable), and rather nutritious too! As I said previously, the rusted chair legs pair quite well with chipped paint, creating a flavor blend that has sustained since before the universe began, and is expected to keep tasting amazing when it ends. And plus, if texture is what you're worried about, pencil shavings mix rather well with spit. (Which gives my smoothie its patented creamy flavor.)

Sure, you might need to get a few shots to prevent any number of diseases, but the smoothie is so cheap that you'll have plenty of money left over to do just that! (And if even that is not enough to convince you, there is a buy twenty per person, get two vaccines for free policy! You are required to administer them yourself though, unfortunately.)

So, in short, my object smoothie creates a tasty nutritious blend that two out of thirty health inspectors approved. (Which is more than I can say for next door's nuclear fusion and sulfuric acid hamburger!) Enjoy your stay at the Thriller Cabin's very own cafe, with the best smoothies in all of Scratch Writing Camp.

Main cabin Daily 4: “Google Translate is infamous for its inaccuracy - but today, we're using that to our advantage. Copy and paste a song into Google Translate, and translate it into different languages until the lyrics are completely different. Then write a story based off it! 200 words for 200 points, no evidence required.”
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Song chosen: Zombie by The Cranberries
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Original lyrics:
“Another head hangs lowly
Child is slowly taken
And the violence caused such silence
Who are we mistaken?
But you see, it's not me
It's not my family
In your head, in your head, they are fighting
With their tanks and their bombs
And their bombs and their guns
In your head, in your head, they are crying
In your head, in your head
Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie
What's in your head, in your head?
Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie-ie, oh
Do, do, do, do
Do, do, do, do
Do, do, do, do
Do, do, do, do
Another mother's breaking
Heart is taking over
When the violence causes silence
We must be mistaken
It's the same old theme
Since nineteen-sixteen
In your head, in your head, they're still fighting
With their tanks and their bombs
And their bombs and their guns
In your head, in your head, they are dying
In your head, in your head
Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie
What's in your head, in your head?
Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie-ie
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, eh-eh oh, ya-ya”

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‘New Lyrics’:
Another one is hanging
The boy was taken seriously
And violence created such silence
Who are we doing wrong?
But look, it's not me
They are not my family
In your head, in your head they fight
with their tanks and bombs
With bombs and their weapons
In your head, they cry for you
in the head, in the head
Zombies, zombies, zombies - yes
anything you can think of
Zombie, zombie, zombie - yeah, oh
You see you
You see you
You see you
You see you
Mother said
The heart takes over
A tense moment gave way to silence
Let us not be separated
This is an old thread
Nineteen to sixteen years old
Inside the head, inside the head, still fighting
with their tanks and bombs
With bombs and their weapons
They died on you
in the head, in the head
Zombies, zombies, zombies - yes
anything you can think of
Zombies, zombies, zombies-yeah-yeah
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, u-oh oh, me-me"

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Story (The Crucible fanfiction??? I guess? It’s set in the Salem Witch Trials btw, watch out if that might irk you.): (Words: 568 )

John looked up at the ceiling of his cell, feeling his arms ache from where they were attached to the wall. It dripped with mold and despair, aching from the cracks of lies that spoiled its smoothness. His hair itched around his neck, and his beard, grown long and scraggly from the three months he’d spent here, did not make anything better.

He couldn’t believe that they believed Abigail. That monster (he would be lying to say she was a ‘child’), she was willing to do anything to get what she wanted. (And if the whispered crying in the halls meant anything, the consequences of her actions would finally meet her. She had disappeared into the night, and sure, she was armed with Parris’ money, but he felt an odd itching, telling him that she might be going to a worse fate than she had known here.)

John wasn’t usually a vengeful man (at least, not very vengeful), but it was Abigail’s fault that so many people had been accused of witchcraft, Abigail’s fault that so many death warrants were already signed and piled into the paperwork drawer, Abigail’s fault that he may never see his wife again.

Impulsive, he yanked at the chain that held his arm to the wall. Outside, they were still fighting. They (somehow) didn’t see through her lies, see through all of their lies. It was like they were blind to God’s truth. (Because he surely wasn’t.)

He could always just confess to witchcraft, he glanced down the dark hallway of the jailhouse, from where he could hear voices chanting about the devil taking him away. How long had he been here? Three months surely.

…

When did they say his execution date would be? He let his head fall back against the wall, sliding down slightly and letting his hair rumple into a mess at his neck. It was today, wasn’t it. (Even in his head it wasn’t a question.)

Abigail and her ‘friends,’ all considered innocent girls by the regular townsperson (though John certainly knew better), had wrapped this town around their fingers. Turning judges into zombies and friends into soldiers, constantly fighting in and out of their own heads with whatever weapons and lies they could get their hands on.

But now…

When he was the next one on the chopping block, it was like his anger, spite and fear was finally giving way to a happy silence. A story that was ending. A story that he was really ready to make a point with.

He heard the footsteps of the marshall coming down the hall, likely ready to take him to the gallows. (It was his turn after all.) But he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t upset. He only felt a deep joyful relife, like his refusal to buy into the lies that turned the town to zombies was finally leaving. (Like he was finally free.)

He was ready to spread his wings and join the ones that flew above. Not as a witch, not as a demon, but the final point of some glorious author, finishing off their magnum opus with a question for their readers.

Was it all worth it? Filling your minds with lies and dancing on the sharp edge of death, just because you let your heart control you?

He felt a smile stretch his cracked lips.

Oh yes, what a good question that would be.

Main Cain Daily 5: “A message in a bottle is all I can do,” says Taylor Swift in her starr-striking song. Write a message to go in a bottle - you know, the kind you toss into the ocean waves in the vain hope someone might find it someday - and invent a little backstory to go along with it! (Or, feel free to use mine: Your darling teddy bear has decided to abandon you for a life of piracy and crime, and you’re convincing them to come back </3) 300 words for 200 points, and earn an extra 50 points for sharing your message.”
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Words: 877

The girl walked aimlessly down the beach, feeling the sand kicking up against her legs and burrowing its way into her shoes. Today was one of those days when you didn’t want to do anything but lay down and pass out, but she had forced herself to go on a walk anyway. The beach was empty for all but her, still foggy and cold from the autumn night that had cloaked it just an hour or two before.

She looked out across the ocean, seeing the regular pattern of waves crashing against each other and slinking up onto the beach, making the sand shiver into a dark brown flooring. (Which would probably be nicer to walk in than the dry sand she was currently having to deal with.)

She shook her head and dragged her gaze back forward. She’d already been out here for half an hour at least, it was a smidge too late to change her path now. (Besides, she was just about to turn around and go back home.)

Or at least, she was just about ready to turn back and go home, when her shoe clinked against something in the sand. Now, regularly she wouldn't have touched a random piece of glass that she saw lying somewhere, but by the time she had realized that, the bottle was already in her hand.

She peered into it, maybe expected a crab or two, but was instead greeted by the somewhat crumpled edge of a scroll of paper. She blinked. A letter in a bottle? She popped off the cork with some amount of difficulty, and then reached into the bottle without thinking. The paper felt rough and somewhat damp in her fingers.

She pulled it out and unfurled it.

“Hello world!” It read, crinkling in the girl’s hands as she gasped. (Apparently she hadn’t really been expecting anything but a sheet of old paper.) It wasn’t just paper! It was a real letter in a bottle! How had she been lucky enough to stumble upon this? She focused her eyes and continued to read.

“I don’t know who’s reading this,” It continued, “or even if anyone is, but I have a really cool story to tell!”

She raised her eyebrow, what kind of person would throw something like this into the ocean? She looked over her shoulder, but there was nothing but the ocean waves and the endless march of the beach into the foggy sky.

She turned back to the letter. “So, it all started yesterday, when me and my friend first boarded this boat.” The girl felt herself nodding, as if someone was actually talking to her, “Right before we got on the boat, we were complaining about the possibility of getting seasick, but in the middle of our conversation, I saw something move in the water.”

She leaned a little closer to the letter to read it better.

“At first I thought it was a fish or something, a big fish, but still a fish, but that all changed when I looked a bit closer!” The girl felt herself laughing slightly, had a child written this? It was screaming fourth grade ‘novel’ writing.

“Instead of fins, it had wings! Big dragon wings that made the waves get all giant and bubbly!” The girl began to count exclamation points on her hands, “And it’s tail wasn’t fishlike at all! It had a pronged tip and spikes all along it!”

“There was no way it wasn’t a dragon, I’m telling you.” Here the handwriting took on a slightly more sloppy look, as if the person writing had just hit some waves in the water, “But my friend doesn’t believe me!”

There was a little picture drawn in the margins of the paper, but it was smudged slightly and the girl could only make out a slight shape. (A shape with very defined wings and a rather well drawn tail, but still just a shape.)

“But she’ll see she was wrong when she wakes up and sees me and my dragon sitting on the crowsnest!” The girl raised her eyebrow again, had that bumpiness before been from flying?

There was an odd pause in the middle of the page, as if the person had forgotten to write something there. (Or like there was invisible ink that she could not see.)

“Well, that’s the story,” the paper finished off, the handwriting continuing in that odd bumpy way until the very end, “Hope you enjoyed reading! I’m gonna throw this in the ocean now, bye!”

The girl stared at the paper, utterly confused. She tipped it this way and that, trying to find any more writing to it. Was that it? No location, no name, no date? She glanced over her shoulder again, half expecting to see a dragon soaring above the waves even if she didn’t entirely believe what she had just read.

Of course there was nothing. It was just a silly story someone had made up, or maybe just a prank by the local kids. She shook her head and began to head back the way she came, feet kicking up sand and hands dug into her pockets.

(But somehow, she couldn’t find it in herself to leave the paper behind.)

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(Isolated letter, which is not counted for words, it’s just in case the format I used isn’t allowed.)

Hello world!

I don’t know who’s reading this, or even if anyone is, but I have a really cool story to tell! So, it all started yesterday, when me and my friend first boarded this boat.

Right before we got on the boat, we were complaining about the possibility of getting seasick, but in the middle of our conversation, I saw something move in the water! At first I thought it was a fish or something, a big fish, but still a fish, but that all changed when I looked a bit closer!

Instead of fins, it had wings! Big dragon wings that made the waves get all giant and bubbly! And it’s tail wasn’t fishlike at all! It had a pronged tip and spikes all along it!

There was no way it wasn’t a dragon, I’m telling you. But my friend doesn’t believe me! But she’ll see she was wrong when she wakes up and sees me and my dragon sitting on the crowsnest!


Well, that’s the story. Hope you enjoyed reading! I’m gonna throw this in the ocean now, bye!

Main Cabin Daily 6: “In Victorian times, people sent messages to each other through secret code - aka flower arrangements! The flowers they used signified different things; for example, roses for love and friendship, crocuses for happiness, and marigolds for grief. Today’s daily is all about writing using the Victorian Language of Flowers. Our brilliant Alba has compiled this beautiful list of flowers: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/741579314/. In 400 words, write a piece with 2-5 flowers on the list (and incorporate their meanings into your work) to earn 300 points! Extra 100 points for sharing, and a virtual daisy for stating your favorite flower in the comments for Starr’s enjoyment.”

Notes: This is Hetalia fanfiction lol. Just in case you don’t catch it. (It’s also England x France, which was a request I got literally three months ago and didn’t do until now sorry.)
Written while listening to Maple Leaf Rag and ‘The Ghost of You’ by My Chemical Romance.
The flower ‘meanings’ are in another note at the end of the fic.

Words: 641

Arthur stared up at the ceiling, clutching the bouquet to his chest and exhaling heavily. It was forget-me-nots and everlasting pea, the orangy red and light purple mixing into a beautiful sadness of remembrance and remembrance of love. Around the edges curled ferns, their beautiful leaves smelling of nothing but spring air and hidden love. (Even if it was nearly fall.) He fought the tears as he hugged the plants, taking a deep breath and burying his face into their soft petals.

Outside the marigold was blooming, orange and red petals burning a fiery sadness into the sky as Arthur fought to control himself. Summer was nearly over, and the warmth and love that had previously lit his life was gone, disappeared into the sky like some bird, flying on dark feathers and cold winds.

He had been so beautiful, pure like a Night Convolvulus and shining like an Orchid.

But Arthur had nothing to look forward to, no Snowdrop to shine hope through the cold desolation that covered him, no Sorell to bring him joy. (Why, what could he do when his ‘Sorell’ was long gone? Uprooted by the clutches of the horrible world that surrounded them and thrown out with the afternoon trash. Broken and torn on the streets of some unknown city.)

He felt a scream well up in his throat and had to bite his lip rather hard to contain it. Why him? Why did the war have to take him?

Arthur felt himself crying, tears dripping down his chin and tracing loving lines across his face. (Just like he used to.) Without him, the whole world was empty and bland, a field without its flowers, a forest without its ferns. (Torn away when they no longer had a reason to exist, uprooted with the vicious claws of terror and agony.)

He curled in on himself, shifting onto his side and clutching the flowers to his chest like they were the love he was missing. (As if his shining hair, beautiful eyes or loving smile could ever be replaced by a bunch of petals and shredded leaves.)

Still crying, he felt his eyes drift around their room, decorated with ornate plates and paintings, each showing a different flower or bird. Amaranths that faded into darkness in the upper shadows of the ceiling, their life-giving meaning leaving the room like flocks of doves at a wedding. (A wedding that Arthur would never get to.) He would never walk down that aisle, arm in arm with his lover as bells tolled and birds fluttered.

Not that he ever had been given a chance for that hope.

There were simply too many impossibilities, he and Francis… Well, they weren't the most conventional couple. And besides, even if the world had chosen to accept them, free time was choked by other occupations, other worlds of boredom that were only freed by the loving touch at the end of a day, masked like a rose under the leafy embrace of a fern.

But now…

Now even the idea hurt.

There was no light at the end of the tunnel, no snowdrop poking out of the snow, no happy ending for him and his broken prince, leaving him burning like the fiery flames of a Marigold as he struggled to grapple with the truth. There was no amaranth in the garden, and the forget-me-nots wilted as the memory that they bloomed from began to crumble. Burning with grief and pain.

There was no happy ending.

Not here.

Arthur felt the bouquet slip from his grasp, and watched as it split into separate pieces on the ground below. The Forget-me-nots, the Ferns, the

Everlasting Pea, each meaning something different to his heart and to his memory.

But the beauty of the flowers could not replace what he had lost.

He was long gone now.

End of fic notes on flowers: Forget-me-nots: Love in Absence | Rose: Love | Everlasting Pea: Remembrance | Ferns: Concealed Love | Marigold: Greif | Night Convolvulus: Transient Beauty | Orchid: Rare Beauty | Snowdrop: Hope | Wood Sorrel: Joy | Amaranths: Immortality |

This is so beautiful!

Weekly 1: “Welcome! To start the session off, we’re focusing on epistolary writing We challenge you to pose as a personified version of your cabin and write letters to the other 14 genre cabins. The letter recipients could be the other personified cabins, or perhaps you could address it to a (made-up) friend, making the cabin theme their location. Or you could invent your own premise - be as creative as you like! However, the 14 letters should somehow be related to the 14 other cabins. You should end up with 14 letters, each letter being a minimum of 100 words (total of 1400 words). You must post proof of all parts to gain points.”

Total Words: 3717
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⚙ Fantasy - Mailed to the Skyport
Words: 372

Dear Fantasy Steampunk Sanctuary (or as I like to call you, Freya),

When I arrived in your skyport (fresh out of last year’s stay in Distopian’s castle in the sky), I was blown away by the beauty of your city. Instantly I, Contemporary and Dystopian by birth, and Thriller’s current personification, found your home beautiful. I took a few trips around, checking out some of the work by your current citizens, going creature watching with your wonderful fiery beasts, etc. It was truly a life changing experience, and I am deeply glad that I was able to!

I mean, of course it is now, as I sit in a leaking submarine with my Thriller citizens, I am to reminisce on this. It was so beautiful up in the sky, your wonderful flaming creatures and beautiful winged boats, all covered in the most confusing and intriguing array of clockwork, your home was truly what it meant to be alive.

You all did so well with your skyport, I was close to crying with the hum of magic and the seaport-like culture of the docks. Even with the open ocean spiraling below me, reminding me the whole time of my duty as Thriller, I had never felt so alive. It was like it wasn’t real. A beautiful shock, a beautiful story, an amazing land, floating so beautiful above the clouds.

Of course, I love my own home, I am it, after all, but yours was wonderful as well. (Oh the life of a representation. I drown at the bottom of a pitch black trench and somehow always resurface again.) It was so beautiful, and I will be happy to return at the nearest option.

When I dove back beneath the waves, my headlamp flickering (just as expected, they always do that in this section of the Writing World), I could think of nothing but your city. Its gears and flames and clocks and feathers, humming with an equal mix of magic and invention, would be a lifesaver down here. (Down here in the dark currents of the cold ocean, resistant to all of the Thriller cabin’s innovation, even with the best efforts of our leaders.)

Signed , the ‘nation’ version of the Thriller cabin.

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☾ Dystopian - Mailed to the Realm
Words: 402

Dear Dystopian Realm (or do you still prefer ‘Dystopia?’ I can’t remember.),

As a former citizen of your country, I find that I am still rather interested in your politics. (In fact, it was only last July that we all lived in a castle, rebelling against the rulers with all that we had, oh what a month.) I know that you, the representation of your citizens, moved onto a new realm, when the castle crumbled.

… I’m terribly sorry that it doesn’t seem to be working out quite how you wanted it too, I know that that is basically a law of your being, always projecting a dystopian future onto whatever land you choose to live in. Still though, people always stay with you, year after year they follow you to new lands.

Maybe it’s the odd flicker of magic you always seem to bring to a place, after all, all of us ‘nations’ tend to do that. Maybe it’s the new rules that you set up, each time getting closer and closer to a utopian future, perfect in every way to everyone who sees it. Maybe people want to see you win. (Or maybe they want to see you fail, you do unfortunately seem to be rather good at that.)

I do not wish to go back to Dystopian, but I find myself half wishing I was anywhere but here. The darkness and constant anxiety is thrilling yes, but for me, Contemporary by birth and not much more (even if my nation status has shifted over to Thriller with the turn of my interests), I feel not much more than terror.

Your home is beautiful on the outside, and even if it’s not that way on the inside, it has to be better than where I am, horrifying from all angles, all perspectives making me want to scream and quit this Writing World. Right? Every citizen of mine is amazing, but do they really need me? Do they really need a representation to watch their every move? Disappear for weeks at a time only to ‘spawn back in’ right back where we started?

Please, as neutrals untied in terror, send us your word. Send us your help, but most of all, send us your advice. I helped you before, now help us now, in our darkest hour and in our deepest leagues.

Signed , the immortal writer of Thrilling works.

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》Bizarro Fiction - Mailed to the Ticket Counter
Words: 282

Dear Bizarro-Fiction Cinema (I don’t remember meeting you before, so apologies of the lack of a ‘human’ name),

Welcome to the nationverse! I remember my first day of immortality like it was yesterday… (But then again, in the grand scheme of things, it kind of is. Not for me, but for the real originals.) I would be glad to show you around, given our strange culture and way of life, but I hear that in your very first month of immortal existence something has already gone wrong. (Doesn’t it always go terribly wrong with us, those of the bizarre and thrilling?)

I mean, I’m sure you can handle it, Bizarro Fiction is known for being, well, bizarre, isn't it? I’m sure you can think of something. Characters popping out of a movie screen might be a bit of an odd first impression for you on the life of a representation, but my first impression of actually living with the rest of Thriller is a leaky old submarine, so we’re in the same boat here. (Er, kind of. You’re in a movie theater, I’m in the ocean, really the same thing, right?)

Well, I do wish you luck on your troubles, and do hope that you make it to the end of the month (it’s always hard the first month immortal), but I believe that I have to stop writing now if I ever want to figure out what direction this submarine is going in. (It’s my turn to take a lookout, I really do hope that they replace my headlamp soon, these things simply can’t help breaking after only a minute in the water.)

Signed, , the representation of Thrill and Terror.

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⌘ Horror - Mailed to the Underworld’s Lost and Found Bin
Words: 224

Dear Horror’s Lost Ghost (I believe that’s the title you are going with now?),

I just heard about your situation, and I really do wish I could help. I know how it feels to lose something so important to you, but is catching so many fireflies really the way to go about this? I mean, I’d be just as mad as you, but do you want to do something more healthy? Like, um, watching the thrilling terror of the ocean pass you by? (You like horror, right? … You are horror, what am I saying?!)

Well, it sure has been a while since I last saw you, and I must say that I am quite intrigued by the current state of your ‘cabin.’ (By the way, I was joking earlier, I really must admit that the firefly trick is really cool! Plus, it’s really good that your followers are helping you with that, catching bugs must be hard when you have no physical form.)

…

It now occurs to me that this letter may not even be able to be sent to the underworld.

Um.

Well, I should probably stop writing now, just in case they won’t accept it. I would love to see you again soon, and good luck with the fireflies! (Have you considered a farm?)

Signed, Thriller’s certified underworld expert.

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♪ Script - Mailed to the Actor FanMail-Box
Words: 354

Dear Script (which sister are you playing again?),

I heard that the musical is coming along well. The singing, writing, all that. I’d really love to get an invitation, after all your ‘interesting’ tactics to get it completed. All your previous productions have turned out beautifully, and I’m sure this one will be no exception!

…

Aw heck I can’t hold it back anymore.
Are the rumors true? Did you really send two of your campers into well known musicals? I hear that you sent one to 1776 (particularly in the play) to meet the Schuyler Sisters, and I’ve already seen the tapes of the one you sent to the Phantom of the Opera. (How did you even get those?)

Do you, uh, really think this is going to inspire their creative minds? It seems a bit terrifying to me. (But I can’t admit a slight pull of interest at the thrill that it must make them feel. That’s just me though, I can’t stop that if I tried.)

Well, either way, I’m glad that your other campers are having fun with their actual musical. The writing is going well and for some reason our emergency radio in the submarine is tuned to your singing practice room so I can hear that you all sound great as well! I haven't been able to actually see any of your acting yet (the only places I’ve been in a while are the Steampunk Sanctuary which has no TV, our submarine, and the darkness of the ocean trenches), but I’m terribly excited to see it once it is ready!

Signed, , who requests an invitation to the musical.

(PS, have you heard what’s happening in the Bizarro Fiction cabin? I have a slight itch of worry in the back of my mind that your disruption of the ‘Fictional’ worlds may be part of what is leading to their distress. Just, um, food for thought.)

(PS 2, do you have a way to get those people out of the fiction worlds? I haven’t ever thought of a case of that being possible. Just, ah, more food for thought.)

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❈ Folklore - Sent through the Portal into History
Words: 246

Dear Folklore (Lori?),

Have all your folklore enjoyers been doing well? I hear that some of them are still a bit shaken from the portal method of getting into your camp. Yeah I know it helps them ‘stay’ there, and yeah I know that we as nations need followers to survive, but oh dear. (It’s not the worst though, did you see what Script is doing? … I’m not boycotting the musical though.)

I don’t have much to say to you, I know you prefer history books over friends, but I do really want to see you (and your beautiful home) again soon. So, ah, because I haven't yet gotten any responses back from the other people I’ve sent letters to, here’s a bit of a prompt for you.

What’s your favorite kind of folklore to study? And, equally important, what kind do you think that I would enjoy? (I’m not particularly versed in the subject. Yes, being born into the Contemporary Cottage does get you reading a decent amount of old books, as does living in a castle, even if the setting is Dystopian, but I much prefer the Thrill of a good Thriller. … Probably because that’s me, I’m Thriller.)

Well, I hope you put thought into my questions, and I hope you feel compelled to mail a letter back to me, but for now I must go! I’ve got a headlamp to fix!

Signed, , who is curious about history TOO, dang it.

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♕ Adventure - Mailed to the Castle Gates
Words: 280

Dear Adventurous friend,

I finally heard about your current home! A kingdom? That’s amazing! My only stay in a kingdom was in the midst of a civil war (you know how it is, living around Dystopian and all that) but I did truly enjoy the life of it! Yeah, I know that you’re on an Adventure right now (really when aren’t you), but I hope that you’ll receive this letter once you come back to the castle gates.

And plus, after you’ve come back, maybe I could come over and check out your new place? I’m really getting tired of the endless darkness of the ocean, even if I’ve got time in the submarine from time to time, and a trip to a city seems like just the thing I need to wake me up! (I say that as if I’ve been able to sleep for the past week.)

Besides that, I’ve really missed you! I know it might be a bit weird to think about what you represented previously, but back when I was still living in Contemporary’s cabin on the river (back when ‘Thriller’ was a different person entirely) you won! You, and all your pirate crewmates, were incredible! Everyone seemed to know you were going to win, and I’m sure that your incredible leadership skills were a part of that.

So now I say, even if you are a king or a knight these days, hello Captain! Feel free to send me a message in a bottle any day!

Signed, , who greatly missed the Castle life. (Even if I was in the army hall.)

(PS, do you think I would be a Redblood or a Goldblood?)

-

⌬ Fanfiction - Mailed to the Travel Agency
Words: 250

Dear Fanfiction (Was it Fi? Sorry we have not spoken in ages),

I hear that you’ve authorized the use of yet another world jumping mechanism? (What is it with this world and those nowadays. First Bi-fi, then Script, then maybe Folklore, and now you? Incredible. I wonder how many others I’ll hear about by the end of my letter writing trip.) I’ve heard that you’ve been calling it a time travel machine, but that’s just a fancy name right? It’s clear you’re world jumping, not time jumping. (Or maybe I’m just not well versed in this sort of thing. I mean, the Thriller expedition’s technology is bad enough that that’s totally possible. Even if I wasn’t the one making most of it.)

Second thing, is your, uh, ‘kudos’ symbol from Organics? It’s totally not weird for it to be about organics by the way, I am only curious. (Possibly you used organics to make your world jumping machine? I don’t know how you would do that but maybe you asked Dr. Who or something, I don’t know.)

Well, it’s always a pleasure to hear from you, so feel free to return a letter when you can! I bet the work with your new agency takes up a lot of your time (even if there are three branches of followers to help you), and fanfiction takes up the rest, but if you could spare a moment to send a letter back I would appreciate it!

Signed, , a thrilling fanfiction writer

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✑ Mystery - Mailed to Train Station.
Words: 261

Dear Ms. Tery,

I’m glad that the purchase of your new train seems to be moving along well, and I’m equally glad that it seems to be keeping on the tracks (this time). But more importantly, I hear that there are several mysteries with this train? (And that is the true reason you named it the way you did, not because of who you are? … Though to be fair, mystery is drawn to you so it’s probably a combination of several factors.)

Either way, please try and keep me posted! I may only be able to receive letters from you once a week (it’s when we go up to the surface to drop off our weekly data reports, they are simply too large and important to be sent through our regular ‘daily’ data report methods). I am always interested in mystery, and with you, there always seems to be some kind of interesting ending to them.

Well, I’d really appreciate any kind of letter, not just ones talking about the confusion that you all are going through. (Though don’t get me wrong, I am deeply invested in that already.) Your favorite food, your newest hair color, maybe even like… how much the safety breaks on a train cost. Any of those things could be really interesting! (And apologies if this letter is a bit too short to be asking such lofty questions. I’m aware that it’s quite tiny. Most of my time is spent collecting data and crying on the floor, not writing letters.)

Signed, , the mysterious ocean keeper.

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∅ Science Fiction - Sent (in secret) to the Foundation
Words: 258

Dear Sci Fi (can I call you Sid?),

Um.

Are you sure that letting such monsters into our world is a good idea? I know you’re operating under the lie that this is a ‘simulation,’ but everyone outside of your nation knows that it isn’t. (I say this because Bi Fic already has to deal with accidental monsters, so it's probably not a good idea to let so many more in on purpose, right?)

Well, now that that’s out of the way, I want to update you on what’s happening with me! Yesterday, one of the submarine’s engine’s broke and we all had to go into the water in the DARK to fix it. (Yeah, we still haven't gotten good headlamps, unfortunately.) Don’t ask me why it had to be fixed from the outside, I did not design this submarine, my representative heart latched onto it without any input from me. (I’m sure you know the feeling.)

We’re doing okay now, but it was really scary for a moment there. (For a second I was certain that Thriller would have to drop out of the competition, never to be seen again. …by Thriller I’m not just referring to me, by the way.)

But anyway, I’d love to see you soon! If you show up at the ocean docs under the Skyport on Tuesday, I may be able to meet you! (That’s where we drop our data off lol.)

Signed, , your concerned friend who is really trying their best not to let the ocean pressure get to them.

-

◦ Non Fiction - Mailed with the ingredients for the Naan
Words: 270

Dear Non Fiction (Not Fi),

I heard about your new bread products, and I am sending a letter to find out how to order some for me and the other Thriller fans. We are located under the ocean under Freya’s Skyport, but we do come up once a week to drop off our data, so if we could figure out how to coordinate a dropoff that would probably work out fairly well.

Anyway, this is my order: Four dozen bagels, eight baguettes, and whatever the ‘special’ order is the day you get this. (We don’t want to weigh down the submarine too much, but we are kind of running out of provisions at the moment so we need some food..)

Beyond that, I’m doing pretty well today, and am curious to see how your team is doing. (We got our engine fixed! Woop woop!) Sure, we may be a bit behind in the data collection contest, but you gotta give us a break, our equipment can’t seem to function properly for more than a few minutes and it is seriously slowing us down.

Well, that’s it I guess. Please do try to get us the food on Tuesday, even if it’s a week off from when this was sent, it will be helpful.

Signed, , a ‘starving’ artist

(PS, I’d also like to meet you there to talk about something important, so could you possibly bring the bread over yourself? You can have some coworkers with you if you want, but I really do have something important to talk about, Sid might be there also, if that helps at all.)

-

☀ Poetry - Mailed to the Prize Box
Words: 205

Dear Mr. Poetry,

Hello! It’s been a while since we talked, hasn’t it? Well, if you could head over to the docs under the Skyport (I think it’s like… west of your Island? Not sure, you may want to check that information), you can come meet with me and some other representations. We have something seriously important to talk about.

But anyway, with that out of the way, it’s time to get to the ‘regular friend’ conversations. I hear that you’re having a poetry contest? Very fitting for… uh, you. Being Poetry and all that. But really that is very cool, I’m um, glad you’re enjoying yourselves. (I’ve only written a few poems, even back in Contemporary, but even then I’ve never been very good at them.)

On the other hand, I DO really like poetry (hey, poems can be just as Thrilling as any other sort of literature), so feel free to bring some over when we meet next Tuesday! For now though, I think I have to head back out, you’ll have to wait until our meeting to hear the rest of our conversation. (…not that this is a conversation, really, it’s just me sending you a letter.)

Signed , your biggest fan!

-

♤ Historical Fiction - Pinned to the nearest ‘dead or alive’ sign
Words: 182

Hi “Fi” (I’m aware that’s not your name, I just couldn’t pass up the chance. XD),

Yeah, you’re probably not going to be able to read this, considering you’re currently hopping from train car to train car and trying your best not to be caught by the Scratch Team, but if you do, feel free to drop by the docks on Tuesday the . I don’t know how well that will work out, as you and your bandits are having enough trouble NOT getting caught by Mystery (and trains don’t generally run into the ocean), but if you can, we have something important to do.

Well, if Mystery is coming, then you can probably just come in their train (did you hear that it had the power to fly?) I know that might not be the most ‘historical’ bit of fun you all could have, but I swear it really will be good!

Apologies that this is short, but I know you probably can’t stay here for very long, so just remember the time and date!

Signed, your friend from Thriller.

-

◈ Realistic Fiction - Handed off as a Birthday Gift!
Words: 131

Dear Realistic Fiction (you like to keep it as real as possible right, no nicknames?)

Well, happy birthday!

I hear that your data collection isn't going exactly the best, so we tried to make it better by showing up here now. I know that the middle of the ocean is not the most optimal place to have a birthday party for a person such as yourself, but I’m glad that everyone was able to make it! (Even the people that I forgot to call over in their letters, whoops.)

I’m glad to finally be out of the submarine, and I bet you’re happy to get out of the inn! Sure, this may not be the greatest ending, but I tell you, good luck!

Signed, Trill, Thriller’s only Birthday Party Organizer

hetalia_Mm wrote:

This is so beautiful!

Thank you!

Main Cabin Daily 8: “Flash fiction is the shortest form of prose writing. It’s a flash - a blink - of a story, a universe contained within a few words. Go check out Soki’s fantastic workshop on how to slay flash fiction writing: ( https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/6688387/ ). Afterwards, we challenge you to, in 400 words, write three complete stories. Structure it however you like - the sky’s the limit! Upon completion, 300 points (and an extra 50 for sharing) shall be awarded.”

Total Words: 400

Note: These are Statetalia OCs by the way, don’t get confused about their names.
-

Words (for story 1): 122

Alaska smiled, watching as the plane twirled and spiraled in the grainy video. HE had done that, he had flown that plane, touching the sky on silver wingtips and diving so horrifyingly back to the ground. (Always saving himself at the very last second, the life of a pilot who knew what they were doing.)

He leaned back, letting his head fall against the back of the chair as he clicked the television off. (And the high pitched hum disappeared into darkness, giving way for his memories to come to him. Oh how he wished to fly again. The walls were covered in awards, photos, and messy sketches of new designs. Without the light of the TV though, they only haunted him.

-

Words (for story 2): 140

Hawaii clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, staring at the billboard as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. An engagement ring patterned with stars? She couldn't help but want to buy it. (After all, she WAS planning to ask him to marry her.) But it was so expensive! Her wallet felt fairly light at her side, even without an impulsive buy like this. She shook her head, continuing down the road as she tried to forget the billboard.

But she couldn't.

…

“Hey Alaska?” She called, nervously pushing open the door, “I have to ask you something?”

“Huh?” He called, from somewhere else in the house, “What is it?”

He felt a smile crack on her lips, and even though her wallet was bleeding money, she couldn't help but smile, “Come here!” She called, “You'll see!”

-

Words (for story 3): 138

New York was not exactly known for being the nicest person on the hockey team, even though she was a woman, and women's hockey wasn't known for its violence (at least not compared to men's.) She tried to be nice off the ice, but she would never even wait a second before checking someone, jumping on someone, or casually pushing someone out of her way. (She'd even thrown down her gloves a few times (a staple of hockey fights.))

But with her…

She could hardly pass to her without her stomach erupting into butterflies! Was this woman, Vermont, the cure to her aggression on the ice? Was she going to tame her fighting spirit? She didn't want to hurt people in front of such a wonderful person…

Or, even better, could she corrupt her to be aggressive too?

Random painting analysis from Social Studies class. (You don't get the questions lol. But the paintings are pretty famous so…)
Words: 609


King George is wearing the most fancy outfit he ever could, expensive coloring (I assume), well tailed, thick soft fur and so much of all this he almost looks like a pile of blankets and stockings with a head on top. This tells us that he is a very rich man, possibly one who believes a lot about himself, seeing himself as above others to the point where he must wear this ridiculous amount of amazingly well made clothing. George Washington, on the other hand, is wearing an almost entirely black outfit, with the exception of a bit of white at the neck and cuffs. While still on the fancy side, it is literally nothing compared to King George's outfit, and shows that Washington either doesn't view himself quite the same was the king does, or that he doesn't really have to money to make it seem like he does.

King George is standing in a way that suggests power, calm and peaceful among all this wonderfully expensive things, and looking off to the side as if in thought. These things put together give him a certain aura of power and fear, and his relaxed stance definitely adds to this feeling. Like he could do anything and you wouldn't even get to retort. George Washington, however, stands in a much more casual manor, he holds out an arm as if inviting you into a room or explaining something, and his face is set into a serious frown. He also does not look straight ahead, but unlike the king, he doesn't seem to be actually ignoring you. It give his picture a much more down to earth kind of look, if lacking a lot of the ‘power’ the other one had.

The coloring is mostly red, white and gold, thanks to the background and the king's outfit. There is a lot of natural light but it is not inviting in the slightest, instead being rather blinding and bordering on cold. (While still being warm colors.) The painting of George is still bright, but the coloring is much less gold and a lot more red, though the open space into the air gives a much needed pop of color. Even beyond his entirely black outfit, the shading is rather dark.

The image of the King shows a fancy table, an expensive looking marble column, something on the fancy table, and George's outfit itself. The king lounges around, showing that this fanciness is just his regular life, but in a way that seems somewhat ‘kingley.’ Washington however, stands somewhat awkwardly in a room filled with a fancy table and chair (pulled away like he was just working at the table when the artist burst in), and a pen and paper on the table. There is also a column in the background, but it is obscured by shadows in a way that the king's piece is not. He also seems to be okay with being there, but he really does look quite awkward there. Unlike the King, his background features a window opening into a blue sky, giving a hint of special color and freedom.

The overall composition of the pieces, especially the painting of King George, seem to be slightly religious, but not extremely. Washington's painting seems a bit less religious, but it is still a similar composition. I suppose that could be due to just what was being painted at the time, but it is interesting.

I believe that the artists creating these pictures probably were just painting to get money, but the king seems to have been wanting to look all powerful, while Washington seemed to want a more relatable image.

Main Cabin Daily 9: “Today's daily (inspired by certain celestial beings within SWC) is centered around constellations! Using a constellation of your choice, write a fictional essay on how it came to exist- you can incorporate different aspects of it into your essay, such as the names of the stars, the meaning behind it, and so on. 300 words will earn you 300 points, and earn an extra 100 for sharing your writing!”

Note: I got obsessed with Ice Hockey. Sorry sorry I know it’s dumb but I can’t help it!
Words: 588

The Hockey Stick and Puck constellation (also known as the Hammer and Spark) is made out of ten stars. Nine in the stick and one as the puck. They are arranged in a pattern that is closely reminiscent of a Hockey stick, with one large star that makes the puck. Interestingly, on specific nights (once or twice a year), this final star lines up perfectly with the moon, making the constellation look even more like a hockey game being played in the sky.

I find this constellation beautiful, with its odd shape and creative discovery. I mean, what else is a constellation commonly known as a sport item going to be? There’s no way that sort of thing can’t be interesting as, well, the stars themselves!

The stars (from the toe to the butt end), are commonly referred to as, “Frost,” “Blade,” “Snow,” “Ice,” “Blood,” “Branch,” “Scrape,” “Tape,” and “Glove.” (Of course, they do have scientific names, but those are not quite relevant for this discussion.) The star at the very toe of the stick (the end of the blade) is called, “Frost,” likely because of its frosty blue hue. The stick has no star for the face of the blade, but the star called, “Blade,” serves to end off its heel. Then comes the stick. First are “Snow,” and “Ice,” close together like their namesakes at their time of the year. After them comes “Blood,” named this way from its distinct red coloring. “Branch,” sits in the very center of the shaft, and after it comes “Scrape,” (it’s difficult enough to see that it looks like it was scraped away by some God), “Tape,” and “Glove.”

The Puck (which is actually called that, even in the “Hammer and Spark” interpretation) is by far the brightest and largest star in the constellation. It Is a cool white, and seems to burn your eyes. (Given a lack of clouds in the sky.) It is often said that clouds covering the Puck is bad luck, as without a spark to your work, or a puck in your game, something must have gone wrong.

This constellation was long seen as nothing more than just a couple of bright stars in the sky (much like the random clouds of light made into other constellations.) But it was reportedly designated as a specific constellation after a group of hockey kids looked up at the stars on a cloudy night. (These clouds entirely covered the puck, but left the stick clearly visible.) They made a few jokes about the hockey stick in the sky, but when they looked down to play their game, their puck had disappeared entirely. Obviously they looked for it (finding that no one had brought a spare), but by the time they had given up, the clouds had faded off into the distance. When they looked up again, trying to figure out what time it was, they saw that the hockey stick that they had seen now had a ‘puck’ to play with.

They rushed home to get a puck to play their game, but the coach couldn’t stop thinking about it, and in only a couple of weeks (and several small town newspapers) the name was catching on. It spread and spread, and was largely received well. (Except among a small group of scientists, preferring a “Hammer and Spark,” design because of the humor in naming stars after ice hockey.)

So that’s how, with only ten stars (and occasionally the moon) the sky plays their own game of hockey.

Cabin War Words!

Goodness gracious this is out of context. This is the sixth chapter of my Pokemon Special fanfiction called “Of Heros and Trees.” It is posted under my account (“SavebatsfromScratch”) on a website which has an abbreviation that sounds like “Ayyy Oh Three,”

Words: 1535

Red fought the urge to scream. The darkness that filled the cave was blinding, and with the continuing shaking that caused rocks to shake and smash, he couldn’t help but believe that they were being buried for good. He fumbled to reach in the direction that he knew Yellow was in, and was comforted to feel her doing the same. Her hand was twitching slightly, and Red could feel a telltale clammy shiver of fear, but he couldn’t blame her for it, he knew his own hand was just as bad.

On his head, he felt Pika’s wings spreading, and he had to reach up to grab the little dragon before he flew off like an idiot. (It wasn’t exactly out of the question, it had happened more than once before, but Red really didn’t feel like pushing his luck with this one.) Pika struggled for a moment, but grew still again as he seemed to think better of his original plan. Red was glad for that, but he still felt like he was gonna pass out from fear.

And then, suddenly, as if cued by some invisible force (which, to be fair, everything was invisible in the darkness), the great shaking grew to a crescendo as light burst back into the cave. It burned his eyes, and he found himself blinded as the sound of a dragon’s roar blasted straight through his ears.

Yellow screamed something. Maybe she recognized the roar? (Or maybe, his heart sank as he stumbled backward, still unable to see as he struggled to get away from whatever it was, maybe she had understood what it had said.) Even for someone who didn’t understand dragon, he could tell that it was not exactly planning to be friendly.

As his eyes blurred back into reality and he began to really see the scope of what they were up against, Green’s voice cut clearly through the crashing and roaring of dragons. “Idiots!” She yelled, yanking his arm with one hand and swiping the bag off the ground with the other, “Run! We need to get out of here!”

Red didn’t waste a moment, and he was distantly relieved to realize that Yellow had been startled back into reality as she also broke into a desperate run for freedom. All around the cave (which Red’s eyes still struggled to see), their dragons were roaring, hissing, growling and screaming, it was like the burst of light and the arrival of the unknown monster had made their hearts explode into reflexes and instincts alone.

But it wasn’t distraction enough, because as the three dragon riders attempted to bolt past the dragon (which Red could now see some details on), it dove for them. (And the sight almost made him wish that the flash of light had blocked out his vision forever.)

The dragon was huge, much bigger even than Kitty, with huge claws, a massive sweeping tail, a formidable gray body that bulged with musicals and armored plates, and a terrible spinning drill on its forehead. Yellow screamed, and Red couldn’t help but follow her example as it charged at them, clawed feet beating against the ground like an entire herd of cattle and tooth filled mouth opened wide with hunger.

But none of them stopped (even Pika, who had jumped into the air the moment Red’s hand had left him). And it was a good thing too, because it couldn’t have been an inch behind Green’s ankle that those jaws chose to snap. Thankfully, there was nothing there, but Green screamed anyway.

“Duck!”

Her voice shot through Red’s ears once more, and he didn’t waste a moment doing as he was told. Still running at a breakneck pace, the three trainers ducked, and just in time too, because not even a second later that horrible drip passed close above their heads. It whizzed past, roaring like the dragon it belonged to as an unfortunate bolder crumbled under its touch.

He chanced a glance back at the creature, and was horrified to see that it seemed to be catching up with them. Clearly and unfortunately, the ‘drill to a boulder’ thing didn’t seem to have slowed it down in the slightest.

Its wingless body was made exactly for this purpose.

Red felt his mind go numb with fear as he snapped his head back to where he was going. (He literally could not risk tripping now.) The king had his mother, and THIS was the kind of dragon that he had on his side? How in Arceus’ name were they planning to save her from this?

In a blur, the mouth of the tunnel came into view, and Red felt Kitty’s familiar claws close around his upper arm as they burst out of the cave. He continued running until he was off the ground, arm pulling painfully but numbed by terror as Kitty’s powerful wings lifted them as quickly as possible. (But even with all its efforts, he had to lift his legs into the air to avoid one last swipe of that horrible drill.)

Still screaming, the three trainers ascended, their ‘unused’ dragons swooping after them as quickly as they possibly could. Red felt Pika’s claws latch onto the back of his shirt, but he found himself unable to focus on it. In the air beside him was Green, holding onto the arms of her armored dragon as blasts of water shot out from slots on its back where wings should have gone. (And Yellow was clutched tight in Kitty’s other claw.)

After them came Chu Chu and Jiggly, the latter of whom seemed to be having some serious trouble catching up with the group. But Red couldn’t think straight for long enough to realize how insane it was that they had all gotten out. (And even more so that Green had somehow gotten their bag out with them.) His heart was going at about one million miles per hour, and his eyes still struggled to adjust from whatever that horrible flash of light had been.

All in all, Red didn’t exactly feel like he had made it out in one piece, even though he had.

Even though they all had.

For a few more minutes they flew without words, gasping for air and any semblance of a normal heart rate as the cold night wind bit through their clothes. But, eventually Red’s mind managed to unscramble itself and he looked around.

His arm hurt, and he found his heart dropping slightly to realize that he was hanging by one arm so high above a forest he could hardly tell what was a pine and what wasn’t. He grabbed Kitty’s leg, and the dragon made a muffled grunt. They would land soon.

“Alright,” Green said, having to strain her voice to talk over the water that shot unexplained from her dragon’s back, “THAT is why we thieves can't afford to mess with the king.”

“Thieves?” Yellow asked, indignant despite the clear terror that still lingered in her voice, “Who are you calling thieves?”

“Me,” said Green. Red watched as she relaxed slightly as Jiggly managed to grip onto the spot next to her. “I’m the thief,” she added, somehow managing a fearless smirk as she wiggled their bag in the air, “I’ve got this after all, haven't I?”

“Give that back!” Yelped Yellow, and then, as if suddenly realizing that they were miles above the ground she added, “But not yet! You can keep it until we get to the ground.

Red nodded. His hands were shaking too hard to hold onto Kitty’s leg any longer, and he honestly wasn’t sure what was causing the shaking this time. “Does anyone know what that light was?” He interrupted, going somewhat limp as he spoke, “It really hurt.”

“That was ‘flash,’” said Yellow, super helpfully. (Red noticed her voice wasn’t quite shaking as much anymore, that was a relief.) “I didn’t even know that kind of dragon could use it,”

“Usually they can’t,” Green murmured, and then, when it was clear that Yellow hadn’t heard her, she repeated, “They can’t usually, but the king clearly did something to this one,” The slung Yellow and Red’s bag over their shoulder, and Red couldn’t help but note how easily she had pushed their way into their dynamic, “He likes to experiment on dragons from time to time.”

“How do you know so much about what the king does and does not do?”

She looked away, “That’s none of your business.”

Red titled his head to the side, feeling the rush of descent in his gut as the dragons began to dive for the trees, “Are you sure it’s none of my business?” he asked, suddenly suspicious as he looked the girl up and down. “My mother is missing, you both think it’s the king’s fault she’s gone-” Yellow mumbled something about that not necessarily being what happened, it’s just probably what happened “-and you just randomly showed up! I think I’m quite entitled to whatever information you can give me.”

“Wow, nice monologue,” Green muttered, her voice muffled somewhat by the wind that tore her words away from her, “I bet your language teacher would love that one.”

519 more words to finish up that chapter.

Silence once more gripped them as the group zipped into the trees. Red’s stomach felt like it was in his throat, but Kitty slowed at just the right second, lifting delicately back into the air before touching down. (And finally letting Red and Yellow’s aching arms out of its grasp.) Red collapsed into the mossy ground, feeling Pika’s claws finally unlatched from the back of his shirt as Green and her dragons touched down onto the ground beside him.

It was like the tiredness had only just set in.

Red couldn’t even bring himself to continue his argument with Green, nor could he find it in himself to lift out of the moss. He couldn’t even find it in himself to care that a random clearing was neither protected from the elements or the king.

He was just so tired.

Next to him, Yellow also lay down, letting her blond ponytail drape over the ground like some odd sort of sheet. Beyond her, Green was tending to her dragons, checking them over and whispering words into their ears to make them laugh.

But even through his exhaustion, Red could clearly see that she was thinking about something. Sure, he didn’t quite know what it was, but it left a bad taste in his mouth that this random person (who clearly knew a lot about the king) was just… hanging out with them. (And it bothered him even more that Yellow didn’t seem to find anything weird about it.)

He didn’t trust Green, even when she tossed the bag back over to them, causing a clatter of pans to shock Yellow into action. There were just too many questions.

For one thing, she was a thief, and she was proud about it. Someone who didn’t have some sort of trick up their sleeves wouldn’t tell that sort of thing to strangers. And even though Green’s dress was sleeveless, such a thing was simply impossible to ignore the possibility of.

Plus, why did she seem to know Yellow? ESPECIALLY if she also knew the king. He glanced nervously at Yellow, who was now working on setting up a small fire pit. Could he trust Yellow? They’d barely been out here for two days, and he had already learned more than one new thing about his friend that he would’ve thought would be common decency to tell a friend as close as him. It didn’t sit right with him.

But then again…

None of this sat right with him. His hands shook as he brought them to his face, knowing without a doubt that most of that shaking was from an urge to cry. His mother was gone, and now he was out in the wilderness with a girl that he didn’t trust one bit, and a friend that he was too scared of losing to trust all the way. There was no winning in a situation like this. He couldn’t blame the other people before himself. That just wasn’t a nice thing to do.

Red sighed and pushed himself up onto his elbows, it was time to set up the camp.

This is also horribly out of context, it's the second half of a oneshot I'm writing about Jun and Hareta from Pokemon DPA, except instead of being normal about them, they have wings! The full thing will be on the same “Ayy oh three,” site I mentioned before. :)

Words: 1213

Hareta laughed and swung back and forth on the Drifblim (and Jun had to try fairly hard to not stare at his arms). “Don’t worry about it!” He chirped, “We all make silly mistakes sometimes,” here his face shifted, and Jun could have sworn he saw a smidge of embarrassment pass over it. But the moment quickly passed as he smirked at him, “You just happen to be very good at it.”

Jun gasped in an over exaggerated way, beating his wings twice and soaring towards them, “How dare you!” He said, sarcasm bleeding from his voice, “And right after I save your life too!”

Hareta laughed again, urging the Drifblim to speed up as he called back over his shoulder. “Yeah, like I would’ve died,” he wiggled his wings, which normally sat folded against his back, “I’ve got wings, remember?”

Jun laughed as he caught up with them (despite his best efforts, a Drifblim couldn’t hope to outspeed a Staraiva who’d been flying his whole life.) He knew that Hareta’s wings couldn’t help him with flying any more than his arms could. (That’s just what happened when your mother had passed on her Piplup genes to you.) “Yeah good luck with that,” He chuckled, keeping his wings extended fully as he swooped above Drifblim, but careful not to let them get any closer than they had too.

Hareta looked up at him, and orange eyes met green as a gust of wind seemed to wake a question from the very heart of his being. “Hey,” Jun stuttered, not thinking as the air threatened to rip his words from his mouth, “You wanna go on a date?”

Hareta’s eyes widened, and Jun watched as his face immediately flushed bright red, hands slipping slightly on the hold of the Drifblim’s tendrils. Jun’s face immediately heated up too. (Why had he said that? WHY in Palkia’s name did he think that would be a good idea.) He smacked a hand to his face, beating his wings and lifting a bit away from Hareta.

“Sorry,” he stuttered, looking to the sky above him even as the two sliced through it, “I don’t know why I said that, I just-”

Hareta cut him off, watching as Jun’s wings shook against the air, “No-,” he started, gently urging Drifblim to lift slightly even as his brain threatened to explode on him, “It’s fine I just-,”

“Don’t like me?” Jun guessed, and Hareta could see that he was not looking at him, not one bit. “Uh,” he paused, as if remembering their friendship, “any more than a friend anyway?”

It was a question, and Hareta’s chest seemed to fill with downy fluff as he stared at him. (Assumptions could be wrong, after all. The hard part came in admitting this wrong.) “No, I meant that I-,” he cut himself off, looking down and watching as the world drifted by below them, partially obscured by a low cloud, “I do like you,” he murmured, his voice strangely soft. (Really it was a miracle Jun heard him at all, what with the rushing air that bit through the conversation. But even if it was a miracle, it was a miracle that had come true.)

“You-,” Jun’s voice was suddenly full of shock, “You do?!” He glided dangerously close before seeming to recognize what he had done, “I thought that-,”

Hareta looked back at him, seeing that both of their faces were still bright red, “Didn’t think about it?”

Jun nodded shakily, he really hadn’t thought about it, had he. (The concept of crushing on another guy was still new to him after all, and he had honestly assumed that Hareta didn’t like anyone. Besides, it hadn’t mattered to him until just a few days ago.) “Guess not,” he muttered, feeling his heart beat like it was in the place of his wings. He snapped his head back to Hareta, voice loud again as he spoke, “Not that I really assumed anything, I just-,”

Hareta cut him off again (that was happening a lot in this conversation), “Well,” he said, his face still red as he attempted to get back into the causal swinging he had been doing before, “I take you up on your offer,” He looked at Jun bravely (Jun was the one who had been on a date before, after all), “I’ll go out on a date with you.”

Jun made a strange strangled squeak that made Hareta want to ask if he was okay, but before he got the chance, his friend (date? What was even going on?) folded his wings to his sides and dove towards the ground. Shocked by the sudden rush of feathers shot by him, Hareta froze (and Drifblim looked down at him anxiously. He was clearly unsure of what to do).

But a moment later, the fear was resolved as Jun shot his wings out to the side, powerful muscles just outlined under dark brown feathers as they caught him. Was he celebrating? Running away? Rethinking all of his life’s decisions? Hareta didn’t know. With a touch of one of his wings, Drifblim began to descend towards him.

“Are you okay Jun?” He called down, his feet reaching just a bit above where Jun’s wingtips reached up to at their highest arch (but the distance felt much farther as he continued to glide), “We don’t have to go on a date if you don’t want to-,”

Jun shook his head violently effectively shutting Hareta up, “No,” he said, looking up over his shoulder the best he could without going into a spiral, “I want to, it’s just,-”

“-overwhelming,” Hareta answered, keeping his voice somewhat quiet as he watched Jun’s wings work the air, feathers just barely missing his toes. Jun nodded, and Hareta found himself lifting his gaze to the horizon. The sun was going down and an orange blow bathed them all. (Drifblim included.)

“Yeah,” Jun said, his voice half swept away by the force of the air, “But it’s an okay kind of overwhelming,”

Hareta smiled, but before he could even open his mouth to respond, a sudden shaking began to take Drifblim.) “What-?” He asked no one, too surprised to think to ask Drifblim what was happening out loud, but already reaching out for its feelings.

Those feelings screamed a need to evolve.

“Uh, Jun?” asked Hareta, his voice peaking nervously at the end as Drifblim’s tendrils began to shrink and grow, burning his hands with a sudden heat, “You think you can manage catching me again?”

“Why would I need to catch-?” Jun started, but when he looked up at him, he understood. Drifblim was glowing with a white energy, and by the looks of the steam rising from Hareta’s hands, was also heating up rather incredibly. It was on the verge of evolving.

“Jun?!” came Hareta’s voice, slightly panicked now, “Do you think you can catch me?”

Jun nodded, and with one beat of his wings, he was on the same high as Drifblim, now hovering in one place as its body began to morph. He reached out to Hareta, but couldn’t quite reach. (His wings kept him from getting any closer, even if it was about to evolve, Drifblim was still very serious about it’s personal space.)

Main Cabin Daily 10: “Welcome to the second bidaily of this session! The ever-stunning Starr has granted us with a workshop on humor, which can be found here: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/747563700/ We'll be putting a spin on the iconic daily as we know it- using what you've learned from the humor workshop, write 400 words of a SWC fanfiction in the form of a comedic skit/script! This'll earn you 300 points- remember you have 2 days to complete this daily. We hope you'll have fun with this one!”

Note: If you read my first weekly for this session, you’ll know who these characters are. Also sorry I literally couldn’t think of anything, this is not funny at all. QwQ

Words: 408

Setting: A small shack on top of somewhat moldy docks. They float in the middle of the ocean, with a lit up island just barely visible out of a window. Invisible to the camera is a city that floats above the docks, with gigantic gears and wheels decorating the sides of its shining golden buildings. Boats fly with birds through the sky, propelled by fans, wings, rocket boosters, or some combination of the three, but the only other thing floating in the ocean is a small submarine. It is parked against the docks and has several people working on fixing several cracks in its sides and its engine, which spits black smoke that clouds the window of the shack.

Trill (a small scruffy man with engine oil smudged on his face and hands): So… {he glances nervously at the room in front of him} What did you say we were doing again?

Script (a tall woman wearing an old fashioned dress and sporting a face of half finished makeup): You heard me the first time! {she laughs and Trill stares at her} We’re gonna throw a pie at Real Fi! It is their birthday after all.

Trill {continuing to stare}: So you throw a pie at her? You realize that’s not really funny, don’t you?

Script {waving her hand}: Funny sch-wunny, I think it’ll be hilarious!

Trill: {opens his mouth to speak, but quickly closes it}

Enter through door: Ms. Tery (a black haired woman wearing a short skirt and a mask that covers her eyes)

Ms. Tery {taking in the scene in front of her}: Well well well, what have we here? {she shuts the door behind herself and puts her hands on her hips, showing off the question mark patterns on her skirt} A conspiracy?

Trill {waving his hands in front of his face}: N-no, you’ve got it all wrong!

Ms. Tery: Are you sure? {she laughs, and a smudge of pie filling falls from one of her hands}

Script {eyes widening}: You want to hit Real Fi with pie too?

Ms. Tery: Nope! {she brings her hand up from her side and the camera blurs as a pie flies across the room, launched perfectly into Script’s face}

Trill: {jumping back as the pie filling splatters everywhere} Ah!

Ms. Tery {laughing}: Not Real Fi! {she points at Script, who has pie crust falling down to the floor around her, leaving her face covered in filling} You!

A quick essay on Dresden for German class.
Words (obviously not counting the sources): 663

Dresden was originally known as Drezdzany (which translates to “Forest Dwellers on the Plain,”) and existed as a Slavic village on the Elbe. On the other side of the river is a town that was called, “New Town,” while Drezdzany was called “Old Town,” despite being newer. Moving on from that history though, the Dresden we know today is the capital of the German state Saxony, though is NOT its most populous city. (That honor goes to Leipzig, though Dresden is in second place.)

Compared to all of Germany, it is still not too shabby, being 12th in population out of the entire country and third is the area that was East Germany. (Obviously after Leipzig and Berlin.) The city has seven towns in its urban area (Freital, Pirna, Radebeul, Meissen, Coswig, Radeberg and Heidenau), coming to a total of around 790,000 people, and its metropolitan area has about 1.34 million! Dresden is also not the post populated city on the Elbe (that’s Hamburg), but it is again in second place.

Dresden has had a long and complicated history, full of controversy and culture, that continues to interest many to this day. For example, in ancient times, it was the place where the electors for the Holy Roman Empire sat, as well as the chosen city of the Kings of Saxony. (Who ruled the Kingdom of Saxony back when it was still a kingdom.) It also served as a spot of union with Polish Monarchs and was nicknamed a “Jewel Box,” because of ornamental dance and architecture styles.

However, history isn’t always as kind as beautiful art and dances, and the allied Fire Bombing of Dresden in World War Two (killing 25,000 people, many of whom were civilians and completely destroying the city), is clear proof of that. In 1945, from February 13th to February 15th, British and American bomber pilots bombed this beautiful city, which was immediately controversial. Why? Because Dresden was NOT important as an industrial center or for wartime production, and, as mentioned previously, many many civilians died in the bombings. (The city was very low on the list of war efforts of German cities, but it was still targeted.)

Before the month of the bombings it had not had to deal with many major attacks, but by the 15th of Febuary, the city was little more than smoking ruins. This was done using a tactic of “area” or “saturation” bombing, where all enemy targets (not just weapons and ammunition) are targeted, this, as proven by the death toll, includes civilian portions of cities. As this was before the Atomic Bomb, cities were most easily destroyed using incendiary bombs, which quickly caught cities alight, causing panic and breaking the spirt of the enemy. Though Germany was the first to use this sort of bombing (in it’s attack of Poland in September 1939), the Allied powers used it just as “well” in the bombing of Dresden.

Before this bombing (and in fact the whole war), Dresden was called, “the Florence of the Elbe,” because of it’s amazing architecture and museums, which together made it one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But when the bombings came, razing the city with a total of “950 tons of high-explosive bombs and more than 290 tons of incendiaries,” and later 2,800 more tons, the city was destroyed.

But still, not every story has to have an entirely sad ending. Now, many historical buildings (such as the Zwinger Palace, the Dresden State Opera House and many important churches), have been reconstructed out of the rubble. Of course, the scar of the bombings will never leave, as the rest of the city was constructed with plain modern buildings (no longer a beauty like Florence), the people of Dresden do their best to live on, and Dresden still remains a very important city today. (After the German reunification especially.) With important schools, many tourists, and a rich (if somewhat tainted) history.


Sources:
1. “Dresden.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia, 12 Nov. 2022, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dresden. Accessed 14 Nov. 2022.

2. Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. “Dresden”. Encyclopedia Britannica, 9 Sep. 2022, https://www.britannica.com/place/Dresden-Germany. Accessed 14 November 2022.

3. “Bombing of Dresden.” HISTORY.com, 7 June 2019, www.history.com/topics/ world-war-ii/battle-of-dresden. Accessed 14 Nov. 2022.

Weekly #2: “https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/640977/?page=1#post-6730250”
Total of my words: 986
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Interview with @ButterflyWings22:
Total word for section (that I wrote): 273

Link to me interviewing them: https://scratch.mit.edu/users/ButterflyWings22/#comments-234621421
Words (that I wrote): 56

Savebats: (For SWC interview, if you don't know how to answer this question tell me and I'll ask another.) How did you find Scratch?

ButterflyWings22: hmm {pauses} I found it a while ago, like, when I was 6 maybe? I was really, not good at scratch then {laughs} and I made the weirdest projects. The way I really found it was through my older siblings, who found it through a coding club. So that’s kind of it.

Savebats: A coding club? {interviewer looks interested} That's really cool, were you also active in the coding club?

ButterflyWings22: Not really, it was for older kids, and I was pretty young then. I was interested in joining later, but my family moved. {smiles sadly} it’s okay though, I didn’t mind moving at all. I soon discovered SWC after that in 2021 and after that it’s been cool! {smiles}

Savebats: {Interviewer nods} Do you have a favorite cabin you've ever participated in in Scratch Writing Camp?

ButterflyWings22: Hmm, probably the current cabin I’m in, if that counts {laughs} literally though, the leaders are so nice and supportive. But other than that, I was in Hi-Fi in march this year, and that was fun too. I didn’t get to finish all the dailies and weeklies, but I’ve been working harder and harder and this session I’ve been really nailing it! Real-Fi was my first session cabin and the leaders helped explain a LOT of stuff, so I learned quickly! And now I see SWC as something really fun {smiles}

ButterflyWings22: So yeah, I think my favorite cabin was Hi-Fi in march 2022! {laughs}

Link to them interviewing me: https://scratch.mit.edu/users/ButterflyWings22/#comments-234630735
Words (Only counting my answers of course): 217

ButterflyWings22: Ok! First question, what type(s) of music are you typically into?

Savebats: {nervously laughs} Well, I don't really discriminate between types of music, as I enjoy something like Get Scared as much as I enjoy something like “Brighton Beach,” by William P. Latham but I will say that I generally enjoy heavier faster music more than lighter music. I also don't like Billie Eilish music, for some reason it's the one thing I can think of that I actually DON'T like. {pauses} No offense of course, it's just my preference.

ButterflyWings22: interesting! What are your fav albums at the moment and which songs from them are your fav?

Savebats: {she pauses to think} I'm not sure if I have a FAVORITE album, but some of the ones I like the most are “Everyone's Out to Get Me” by Get Scared, “Infinity on High” by Fall Out Boy, “Fashionably Late” by Falling In Reverse, and “Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge” by My Chemical Romance. {she pauses again} I realize that doesn't really demonstrate that wide of a music taste but it's just because this is the genre I like the most consistently.

ButterflyWings22: Hm your music taste is sounding a lot like my older brothers music taste lol :0 next (last?) question: have you ever heard songs that you knew immediately that you hate? What didn’t you like?

Savebats: Oh wow that's an interesting question! {she nods} I already mentioned Billie Eilish's music, so I probably don't have to elaborate on that, but another one…? {she pauses} Probably “Watermelon Sugar,” by Harry Styles… and the rest of his songs that I've heard. There are definitely others, but I just really don't like that singing style.

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Monologue with @wolfyhjk:

Note: This is just writing whatever comes to mind as a monologue that you might hear in a Shakespeare play. It doesn’t necessarily represent my views. Also this was genuinely written about Pokemon???? Uh, I’ve got some weird interpretations of the lore. XD

Words (that I wrote): 300

“The way that history drags on is certainly interesting, you know? A butterfree in a roaring hurricane, a luvdisc flickering delicately through a tsunami, a joltik hardly aware that a human and a pencil were about to destroy what it had put every ounce of its energy into. That’s what history is. An unending understanding of the earth (but lacking every important detail), a perfect oil painting (that’s just missing that final signature), a huge clock, left ticking by some unknown watchmaker. (Does he still watch it move on? Out of the corner of his eye does he see all that continues ticking? Numbers falling off and adding on, gears breaking but pushing forward, invincible to their disappearing golden hue?)

A history that screams of all by its owners, a history that cheers in only its lowest places. A society that screams yet lives on screams. A society that cries but couldn’t function without the entertainment of tears. An endless tragedy, pushing on without its owner, gilded like a statue, yet rusted like an old car exhaust pipe. But yet time does on, spurred on by nothing but the purple of some only half known monster. (If you all believe in that sort of thing.)

A brightness that never dims, but was never clear enough to see through to start with. A half finished invention that only lives with the help of the carpenter’s wife. (A Pokeball perhaps? Shattered on the floor, the creature inside desperate to get out?)

Still, it is glorious.

Still it is real, and tangible and more than I could ever hope to be real. A shining light in my eyes, burning up my feathers and scales, filling my heart with claws and awe. A beauty that will never fade. The amazing story that is history.

(Next bit is by @wolfyhkk )

History is a fragile thing. If something upsets the waves that carry the past, things change. Time is messed up and unmeasurable, if history is not known. Every day you fight to make history. Every choice can alter your entire past, or your entire future. History is mainly a reflection of past choices, past circumstances, and past decisions. It is vital you understand what happened, or your history may repeat itself. You could make the same mistakes over and over. We need history to survive!

It’s a precious thing, and highly necessary to live. If we mess up history, we have a chance to fix it. We have unlimited opportunities to change the past. And we don’t have to do anything to keep it. History means things can go back to how it was before.Could we replicate the very past? Without history, we would have nowhere to be. We wouldn’t know what point in time we were. Who came before, or who is behind us wouldn’t be known without history. History matters.

Without history, we don’t even know who we are. History can place a burden. Or sometimes it’s as light as a feather. It all depends on what we do with it. Our actions have consequences, and history shows us that."

-

“Spoken” Poem:

NOTE / DISCLAIMER: This poem is about a sexuality crisis that I was having a couple of days ago. I am once again sure I’m aroace, but this is about that because I couldn’t think of anything else lol. Warning for (gorey but not described) intrusive thoughts.

Words (not including the note or title): 215

Let’s Play! (Cuts and Guts.)
Tip, Tip, Tip
The puck hits my skate,
Slipping and sliding under my weight,
Tip, Tip, Tip
It’s stolen from me,
I try to fight so that we-

CRASH!
I hit the wall,
I hope they won’t hurt us all,
CRASH!
My attacker falls at my feet,
I hope HE cannot hear my heartbeat,

Slip, slip, slip
I struggle back to the bench,
I have to fight to repress-
Slip, slip, slip
Purple fills my eye,
I cannot help but cry.

BLEET!
The referee’s whistle wakes me,
A scream that goes, “EEE!”
BLEET!
It happened! When?
…but then again-

I’m okay with watching his pain. (:

Squish, squish, squish
I squeeze my eyes shut,
It’s like a kick to the butt,
Squish, squish, squish
I can’t think!
Blood is nothing to drink!

Eek!
Will my mind shut up?
Guts and cuts- (I can’t set them up!)
Eek!
Not another injury!
I can’t be in front of a jury!

why why why
I can’t control this,
But I still beg them not to miss,
why why why
I don’t want to think THAT,
Skates sticking into that mat-

SLICE!
Still I dream-
-that he will scream.
SLICE!
I shake my thoughts away,
I have to watch the game.

(Now my identity will live to see another day.)

-

“Song” Writing:
Words: 198 (3 minutes and a bit)
Flower picked: Marigold, meaning grief
Song link: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/760265456/
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“Marigold”
Oh sweet little Marigold,
How your life leaves me crying,
Firefly petals
Poke out from the nettles
Do you not think that is bold?
To cry another night?
And wake up somewhere cold,
I find you in my sight.

Flaming autumn floor
Red with leaves,
That fall from the trees
I stubbornly close that door

So why do I want more?
Of your old fire light?
Ancient as the times?
But gone into night?
It’s like the sky above,
Shimmering with grief,
But still you are there,
My sweet marigold

Oh crying lonely trees,
Where are your leaves?
Everlasting tears,
Until the days all freeze,
Do you not think that is bold?
To cover up all,
And sleep through the cold,
It’s like a brick wall.

Why must you die?
And then do I cry?
It’s never fair to see,
What it has done to me

So why do I want more?
Of your old fire light?
Ancient as the times?
But gone into night?
It’s like the sky above,
Shimmering with grief,
But still you are there,
My sweet marigold

Sweet sweet marigold…
Your fire has burnt out.
Covered in the snow…
It turns out the lights

These are answers to questions from Social Studies class, I left the questions in so it would be a bit less confusing (only counted my own words) but I didn't include the thing we were getting our answers from, just saying. Also I'm really sick right now, so if some of these are lacking that's why.

Words: 1248

1. What was the state of Washington, D.C? American finances, national bank?
Washington D.C. was a complete mess, both in administration and physical meanings. For one thing, the government was completely out of money, as the Bank of the United States was left unused and money became scarce. Or, rather, there was too much! As every state and bank was making their own. Beyond this economic/financial mess that was happening, Washington D.C. was also just not finished, the roads weren’t paved and didn’t all go anywhere, and the city’s edges disappeared into swampland. There were shoddy boarding buildings, and unfinished government buildings, there were snakes everywhere and the weather was terrible. To make matters worse, disease was rampant, possibly caused by the rats and pigs that were competing to own the place. Congress Members were also crowded ten to twenty in one house, which some compared to life in a monastery.

2. What are the British doing to the Americans?
The British sent a ship named the Guerriere into American waters near New York City, and overhauled an American Brig. In response to this (to protect American boats), Captain John Rogers on the boat President attacked (with cannon fire) a boat that he thought was the Guerriere. Unfortunately, what he actually saw was the (also Brit) ship Little Belt, and his cannonfire killed nine people and hurt twenty three others. Before this though, there was an unprovoked British attack on the American Chesapeake, killing three and wounding 18. They also supported natives in raids in the ‘new’ Indiana Territory. When this was stopped by America, the Brits were driven out of western territories with their allies.

3. Is American ready for war?
America was not ready for war, not really. War was unnecessary and costly, and it was the type of unnecessary and costly that America had nothing to spare for. But still the warhawks continued to spread war fever, even though America was literally incapable of defeating Britain in all out war. (At least from Chief Justice John Marshall’s perspective, which seems to be rather important.) They had SOME advantages, like the fact that Britain was in the middle of a war against Napoleon, but America was already in North America, the fact that America’s population was much higher than Canada’s (which was the place they wanted to expand into), but the US “navy” was just 16 not very good ships, and an only 7000 man army with not very good commanders wasn’t helping them either. They also didn’t have a national bank, which meant a way to pay men or to pay for supplies..

4. How does the early war go for Americans?
The early war does not go well for Americans, with a failed invasion of Canada and a message from Britain to give up. Hull also surrendered Detroit because he feared the Natives that were allied with Britain (some captured Fort Dearborn, present day Chicago, and massacred all those inside). With this surrender, and their new ownership of Detroit, the British were able to take Lake Erie and also the whole Michigan Territory. The British also took Illinois and Indiana, and the people in the nearby territories (Ohio, Kentucky) took up arms with quite a bit of enthusiasm. But by the end of 1813’s spring, the Brits still controlled Detroit and the Great Lakes. They also took the space above the Niagara River, and General Dearborn New York militiamen refused to cross the border into Canada, forcing General Dearborn to go back to Plattsburg. However, the tiny American navy was doing a bit better than the rest of their military, humiliating Britain off the coasts of Brazil and Virginia and Nova Scotia. However, while this boasted American moral, it didn’t really do anything to fight the war in their favor.

5. Why does Monroe take over the war effort from Madison?
Monoe took over the war effort rather reluctantly, but was faced with much criticism that accepting such a job was only creating a Virginia Dynasty. He probably took over because he was very unhappy with the job that had previously been being done with the war effort.

6. How does Monroe do?
He conducted an examination of the military and made a very complicated plan to reorganize it. He also planned to divide the country into districts for the military and changed the army strength from 35000 to 50000 troops. (Which is quite a bit more.) He also recommended better protecting key coastal cities like NYC, Philadelphia, Charleston, Boston, Newport, and Wilmington (with 17000 men), and pulling 4500 troops in Savannah and Mobile to keep the British from attack from Florida. He also made plans to invade Canada, which was very complicated and ended in controlling Montreal and Quebec, which were Canada’s two big population centers.

7. What happens to the cities of York (Canada) and D.C.?
York (now Toronto) and D.C. were both burned. York was burned by Dearborn and his men who sailed across Lake Ontario and attacked. They lost 320 men, but avenged them by burning public buildings like the governor's mansion and the Assembly houses. They continued their assault by capturing Fort Niagara, Fort Erie, and Buffalo’s Black Rock Navy Yard. (Which freed five American War ships.) D.C. was burned by Canadians/Brits after some Coastal raids in various places on the American coast, and the eventual landing of 4000 British troops only 40 miles southeast of Washington. A lot of other things happened, but eventually Brits began to burn the public buildings of the capitals, and the presses of anti-British newspapers, they spared private property (for the most part, they burned four homes where the people inside kept shooting at them) and a Patent Office. The next day there were heavy winds that shot flames in all directions.

8. How does Madison and his advisors look?
Madison was only a bit over five feet, he was rather weak and sickly (thanks to dealing with many seizures.) He seemed shattered after Fort Washington’s explosion. He and his advisors were rather panicked.

9. How does Monroe look? (performance, leadership)
Monroe was tireless and hardworking, looking like a hero rather than the cowards that Armstrong, Madison, and Winder had been turned into. He acted deliberately, setting up intelligence systems and supply distribution. He spent nearly the entirety of every single day always active as he built up troops around Washington and Baltimore. He did everything to defend the city but haul in logs himself. He also defended the other parts of the country just as well as Washington, helped by the trust Governors had in him.

10. Peace and the aftermath? (comment on 3)

Star Spangled banner - The Star Spangled Banner was written as a poem by Francis Scott Key, an attorney who was aboard a boat near Fort McHenry as it was being attacked all through the night. Shockingly, the American flag survived this bombing, and he wrote his poem. It was originally called “Defence of Fort McHenry”, and was published in newspapers a couple days later. Finally, in 1815 it was renamed to “The Star Spangled Banner” when it was mashed together with the melody and tempo of “To Anacreon in Heaven,” which was a popular drinking song at the time. It wasn’t designated to be the national anthem until 1931. (Song link if you’re interested, it’s actually really good: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydAIdVKv84g )

Federalists - Federalists were antiwar, and were at this point concentrated in New England (Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Vermont, etc.) Representatives from the four states I listed met in Hartford Connecticut and wanted secession unless the Constitution gave the states their state sovereignty back. Federalists at this time were a minority party and honestly barely holding on, but they were strong in their views that the war was not good.

Era of Good Feelings - The era of good feelings was a time in American history when there was really only one political party. It lasted from 1815 to 1825, ending when the Democratic-Repiblican party fractured, leaving America with more than one party again.

Main Cabin Daily 13: “Today's a very important day… homemade bread day (for the US)! (Oh, and also the birthday of one of the daily team members… lasagna :D.) Look at what bread come from your country (or if you don't want to reveal your country, pick a random bread), and make a poem based on that bread. 200 words for 200 points! (p.s. go wish @polarbear_17 and @-peachiistxr- very lasagna birthdays <3)”

Note: I’m like, weirdly ill right now, so if this isn't the most polished thing ever I’m sorry. Also, the terror in my heart when I realised I had to write about a bread from America???? Ooh oh no. Anyway I picked cornbread. (I think that’s American?)

Words: 205

Yellow and gold,
As if you were still old.

Corn and spice,
It’s really very nice.

Not too warm,
So we all swarm.

Into the room,
(to eat the bread I assume.)

What a funny little bread,
The taste gets stuck in my head.

Up from the south,
It will cause watering from the mouth.

My family likes such a thing,
(LIke we like a good old chicken wing.)

In New York,
It’s like salted Vermont pork.

How delicious!
(And not at all viscous.)

Crumbs to fill a mouse,
A hopeful thing inside the house

Is it good?
As good as a nice redwood.

I love trees,
Oh how they sway in the breeze.

The cornfields glow with light,
The farmers work with such might.

All to bring cornbread to our table?
Or otherwise under that label?

Cornbread is sweet like living,
So common on Thanksgiving.

(When is that?)
(Do I have to clean off the doormat?)

What will I bring?
When will the phone ring?

Who knows.
Only cornbread between toes.

How funny,
My nose is runny

Cornbread is a gift.
It causes hearts to lift.

It gives life,
To every uncle's wife.

But how good do I find it?
…It’s not my favorite.