ocular rewritten

Life’s all right in devil town.

Touch is something new to her. The way it burns her skin and sets her nerves alight.

That isn’t what she’s concerned about.

It’s not the loss of the pleasant warmth of the sun. It's not the unexplainable desire to have that hand brush against her palm one more time. They aren't what makes Izzy’s head spin round and round. (It is, but it isn’t the main reason)

It’s the magenta dye at the edge of her fingertips.

She knows what it means. You’d be an idiot if you were blind to the world of colour all around you. Everyone in school was painted in colour. Reds and whites, blues or greens. It’s rarer for Izzy spot a patch of clear skin than someone who looks like an alien.

Unless she looks at herself of course.

Izzy is a blank canvas in a world of paints and curious children.

All the people around her, some of whom have been sprouting marks since the second of their birth. She’s at the age it’s more than friends making their mark on each other. They’ll get removed eventually, wiped off by someone else.

There’s only rumours and web pages to tell her about the art. The stickiness that seemed to coat your heart. The articles say living without it is like being unprotected and deathly ill. They say it’s like dunking yourself into a bucket of paint. It feels weird at first, but soon you get use too the colours.

It doesn’t work like that. She felt the same way when she waded in a bath of yellow ink to try and feign her parents signature.

Yeah, right, no one's gonna catch us now

But now there is magenta dye, on her fingertips.

Izzy still feels empty. She feels emptier, as if the content of her entire being had been poured out onto the ground. They've been left to evaporate in the sun.

The hallway is full with bustling people. Everyone is pushing into her shoulder. It doesn’t give the same warmth. The type that can only be gotten from lying in the sun as you burn. It doesn’t turn her shoulders blue.

There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s been like that for years.

It’s going to continue to be like that.

Yeah.

Izzy is safer, better as a blank canvas.

There’s no one to be used against her.

She is safe. Safer this way.

The girl, she won’t know who she is. She won’t go looking for her.

(That’s a lie. She wants Izzy as much as Izzy wants her.)

The simplest thing to do is keep her hand in her pocket and continue on like normal. No one will call her out on it. The person was a stranger. She’s safe, as safe as she can get until she gets home and grabs the concealer.

Maybe then she can go back to believing it doesn’t exist herself.

Dad has bought a new car now

It hurts in a new way that her dad leaves her skin blank. It’s like snow. It hurts at first, then it goes numb before you go back to the safety of the warmth. It’s a vicious cycle from there.

A perk of being a wallflower. She doesn’t freeze every time she walks through the door.

If her house is constantly snowing, her dad might also be a lake. He’s meant to wash her pain away but it’s frozen. Not even the waves can break off from the part of him that does not care. He’s just carrying the bedload.

Izzy is lucky to not be the mess at the bottom of the river, even if it means walking on the ice. It could be thick or it could be thin enough for her to crack through.

When she was younger, she would fall in the ice more often. Izzy hadn’t known how to tell it apart. Those days she used to be able to delude herself. The reason her marks didn’t show up on her dad was because he was already so bright.

That was a lie of course. Colours painted over each other. Every time she walked through the door he was a new puzzle.

The question stopped being ‘can I just not see my own mark against his mural’ years ago. It became ‘Does he not want me? Do I not want him? Or is this feeling mutual?’

We're fine, no one's gonna catch us now

No one notices.

Of course no one notices. Why does Izzy expect them to notice. They aren’t obligated to notice her being a bit closer to each other. Or the way she stares at every single person’s hand in hopes that they have a new mark there.

She doesn’t know what her colour is.

That makes it harder.

Why is her first concern what colour her only soulmate has of her.

When had they become her soulmate?

Izzy shook her head frantically.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t she doesn’t she doesn’t.

Izzy is curious as too what colour she is.

Yeah, that’s why she looks over to see Nala’s hands. She was the person who Izzy came into contact with the day before. Nala notices her not so subtle attempt to see whether she has a mark. The girl shows her right hand willingly. As if it isn’t shameful at all that one of her soul mates are a frozen canvas that can’t be painted on.

Izzy is red. A dark red, that seems to rival that of blood.

No one else sees it. No one else knows what colour she leaves on the skin other than Nala and her. It seems like something she’s meant to keep a secret even if it’s nearly public information.

They don’t share any words but they don’t need too.

The world moves on around them.

You said something dumb again

Nala knew who Izzy was long before she left her mark on the girl. It was the girls like her who made her pursue the science behind the marks on her skin. The gentle touches and warm hugs of her sister. The slap to her head when she swore like a sailor at the dinner table. Each colour came with a memory of giggles and grins.

That’s why when she saw Izzy, she didn’t really understand. Nala knew how soul marks worked . She knew her family were important so they imprinted on her. The chemistry and biology behind it was lost on her. That didn’t mean the topic was unknown to her.

She asked her parents first.

They tried to talk down to Nala.

She was old enough to understand.

They disagreed.

That was okay.

Nala thinks she’d rather not know. It isn’t something to hear from them.

At twelve, she threw herself into the world of marking. The chemicals that send the warmth and how they react to create the splodges of colour.

With each search, it seems like she opens a new can of worms.

There’s more questions than answers.

She’s down, down down deep the rabbit hole.

So when Izzy glances at the red fingertips, Nala shows them.

The words leave her mouth because it was supposed to be imprinting, your first mark. Izzy’s was nothing like that. So all that work was kind of stupid in that retrospect.

At least it will get into a university.

She's mad, at least that's what they say

Izzy, it turns out, is very amusing. Despite the cold exterior, that’s freezing to touch, she melts at Nala’s warmth. She isn’t being completely melted. Just thawed and chipped away to leave something more than ice.

In some ways, it make the girl a pest.

She arrives late to their study sessions with her phone on a measly ten percent. Izzy quite frankly, could not give a thought over their exams.

Most days, they sit in the library. Nala studies, Izzy reads a fantasy book before complaining she hasn’t got any work done. Nala rolls her eyes and puts the fantasy book away. She promises they’ll do the digestion system revision next week. Izzy complains that life does not need exams.

They go their separate ways.

Izzy doesn’t message her.

She’s left on read.

She confirms it one day in Maths. She can’t be bothered.

Nala can’t bring herself to care. Not when Izzy jumps in puddles when Nala forgot her coat this one time because it’d be funny.

Or when she looks her dead in the eyes one day and declares she does not care about Nala. The paint drips off of her. For the first time since she was born, Nala feels empty. She knows that Izzy’s cells are pushing her away because they have changed their mind. That they just died, there and then.

No one talks to Izzy sometime after that.

After all, who rejects the only soul mark they have?



Mum and daddy aren't in love

Nala sat on a bathroom stall tracing where her skin had been red. The water splashed on her face proved fruitless as tears continued down her cheeks.

Her phones on speaker. Her dad mumbles reassurances down the line. Maybe Izzy needs some space and then the marks will come get. It comes from a good heart. It’s kind intentions but it still makes Nala choke on her own breaths.

It’s like she’s starving. She’s been on a boat, that’s rocking and rocking and rocking with every action she takes. There used to be food but now she’s ran out. Her bodies eating itself from the inside out. Instead of reducing her muscles to ashes, it’s her brain and mind.

Everything is static. It’s buzzing.

The loss of a soul mark is like a part of your soul being ripped out doesn’t pass it. Who decided that was the only way to describe it. Had they lost someone too? Who had been there Izzy.

Nala knows she shouldn’t pass out on the bathroom floor. It’s dirty from the amount of physical education students who came there. It made her nose scrunch up.

Nala also didn’t want to feel the pain anymore.

In the end one choice won out.

If she didn’t hear the cries of the next person to come in, who would know?

That's fine, I'll settle for two birthdays

Nala wakes up in a bed as if nothing ever happened. Her dad is looking down at her as if it’s a miracle she’s still alive.

The fog had faded.

It seemed as if nothing had ever happened.

She feels warm. The same way Izzy made her feel when she tapped her shoulder. It’s because her dad is clinging to her arm, replacing the now gone red.

Nala knows Izzy isn’t going to be in the hospital room. If the girl even wanted to visit her, she’ll have no proof the two have marked each other recently. (You can’t visit people you harm either. The marks must have been traced to her now.)

She gives her best lopsided grin to her parents. A feeble reassurance that everything’s fine now.

They don’t fall for it.

Instead they wrap her up in their arms. They promise that when the doctor gives them the get go, it’s going to be family movie night.

When the doctors do allow Nala to leave, she looks out from the door.

She isn’t surprised to see Izzy absent. That doesn’t mean she’s not hurt.

Devil town is colder in the summertime


———————–
The obligatory authors notes I leave in order to feel funny

What's character development lmao. I only know pain. It came free with my ao3 account. pstpst, im imacream on there

Can you also tell I am currently in my fanfiction phase and found family is my favourite trope? I don't think you can.

Song's devil town v2 by Cavetown. The lyrics are the lines in bold.

woahh, this is awesome!! :00 i love the whole idea, and yess, found family- mm, i'm a sucker for it. :') but seriously, this whole piece is so beautiful; i love it!

Firetender wrote:

woahh, this is awesome!! :00 i love the whole idea, and yess, found family- mm, i'm a sucker for it. :') but seriously, this whole piece is so beautiful; i love it!

Ty ty ty tysm I'm really glad you enjoyed.
found family >>>>

Opening to my Ghost fic :)

Tubbo pressed the capture button on his camera. Nothing happened for a moment, then the device suddenly crackled to life and buzzed as it churned a new picture out. The * thing never printed what was in its lens. In this case, it had failed to capture the translucent wisps of a human soul.

Then again, no one would ever be able to prove it was there, anyone other than Tubbo of course. It was too late now anyways. The spirit was long gone, vanished with the simplicity of a snap. It had poofed into the afterlife, leaving behind faint shreds. The realization you’re never going to finish your business is a cruel one. Tubbo wished he could say his heart ached for the creatures he banished. However, if his hand was forced, the ghost probably deserved it.

Now that the alley had been sufficiently cleansed of one petty grandmother, Tubbo turned to face the other ghost.

Ranboo uncoiled himself from Tubbo’s backpack. His ankles hovered centre metres off the ground, forever reminding himof the time when his feet had been captured in a polaroid. He dusted off his Hawaiian shirt despite his inability as a ghost to interact with the living world, and turned to Tubbo.

“The demon came out then?”

“Not a demon Boo.” Tubbo corrected. He waved the polaroid in the air. Tubbo smirked, quirking an eyebrow as he did so, “But I think the ghost will enjoy vibing in here.” The picture began to dry out, and Ranboo bent down to get a closer look. The film revealed a picture of the alleyway in even worse lighting, if that was possible.

Ranboo jumped in the air, though it rather looked like he only bent his knees. He whooped, throwing his arms in the air, “That’ll teach you! Don’t try haunting some alley again!”

“They can’t hear you, boss man.” Tubbo pointed out. He put the film in his pocket for safe keeping. Nothing good would come from leaving it in the alley for a member of the general public to see.

SWC Writing Contest Entry: Revelling

There is no one by the faerie ring. It's empty except for the wind which brushed Everett's cheeks to welcome him back. It begged him to come and follow it and who is Everett to refuse? It too his hand and tugged him towards the house.

All signs of wards have been blown away. That or they were removed by the owner but considering Everett's last experience with him, he doubted it. The four leaf clover that used to guard the door was gone. The stem dangled out of the dirt. The door opened.

Upstairs, led to the first sign of life Everett had seen the whole night. Deep breaths echoed through the house from where one door was open. He slipped inside, making no noise as he did so.

The sleeping person wasn't the man. In fact, he wasn't an adult to begin with. On the verge of becoming one, yes, but a fully grown adult, no. The kid was far too old that no fae would be willing to swap out their lives of comfort for a bed that hard.

On the bedside table was a note.

“His true name's Tobias Williams. Consider this your debt payed fae.”

Well, Everett hadn't wanted a child. He wanted his mushrooms back. Not a living breathing human being. God, he didn't want to deal with this.

He was not taking a child as repayment for a couple of mushrooms, no matter how tightly his chest had hurt.
The rest of the rooms were empty. No one else was around except for the child, who probably didn't know he's been handed to a faerie on a silver platter.

He had to ask the kid.

There's a stool in his room so Everett pulled it over and waited. At the very least, the ice poisoning his veins left and the wind kept him company. It entered through the window and pressed itself to Everett's side. It looked down at the sleeping boy before trying to wake him up.

The boy, Tobias Williams, pulled his blanket closer.

The wind stopped toying with him eventually but he stayed curled up.

Everett sat there for a total of six hours but it felt more like a blink. One second the boy was dead to the world, the next second, he was awake.

He pushed himself up and stared Everett right in the eye.

“Who are you?” He pushed himself further back and Everett felt a tiny part of his soul leave his body.

“I'll tell you who I am soon. Could I have your name?” The paper tells Everett what the boy is called but no one other than the owner can truly give him their name.

“Toby.”

Toby. The name is featherweight. It holds no power but Everett can't help how he cradled it all the same. It worked it's away around his mind with none of the strings name should bring. It's not the boy's true name. His true name is Tobias Williams but Everett can earn that with time.

“Toby, would you mind telling me why your father isn't home? Do you know where he may have gone?”

Toby shakes his head.

Everett sighed. He headed toward the door. After, he tried to give Toby a head ruffle.

Everett's hand couldn't touch a hair on Toby's head. There was a barrier where it should. Toby's eyes blew wide and he unclenched his palm to reveal the head of a four leaf clover.

Before either of them could react, Toby threw himself out of the window and Everett couldn't reach to catch him in time. He seemed to be fine, not permanently injured.

Everett had larger concerns then the wellbeing of a human child. Toby wasn't his and didn't owe Everett anything.

The man (who did owe Everett) hid in the community hall of the local town when Everett found him. The wind stopped blowing as he walked in. The locals eyed Everett with wariness and scurry to the walls. He hid among them.

He took slow steps to where the man stood, cowering in fear. The terror rolled off of him and it was almost enough. Unfourtunately, Everett didn't want emotions.

Everett loomed over him like the monsters in children's books. “Have you forgotten you owe me something?”

“I gave you Tobias!” The man begged, “Surely that is enough!”

The crowd murmured between themselves. Was Toby loved by the town? Were they appalled the man would give up his son? Or were they simply intrigued by what a Faerie wanted in return for a debt.

“There is something else I want from you.” Everett said. “I want your memories of your family.”

He tilted his head waiting for the man to accept his offer. He trailed a finger down his cheek, sending shivers down the man's spine.

“You just have to accept.” Everett reassured, “Then it's like falling asleep. You'll wake up with no memories of them whatsoever.”

“I, I accept.” The man stuttered. Everett smiled. He tapped the man's forehead and the silvery traces of memories oozed out. The man's eyes fluttered as they leaked out one by one until they stopped and he slumped against the wall.

Everett cupped the memories with gentleness and pocketed them. He would return to the fair folk and share them out. He would trade one of the many for a delicacy that only Everett would have a taste for. There is one or two he kept in jars so on the days that no one's around he can play with it until it is the scene that Everett desires. He might offer one or two as a gift to Niki. However, he can't do any of that in the mortal realm.

Then, just like that, he vanished back into his forest. He headed to his ring of mushrooms for a safe journey home.

Everett hopped over every twig and walked lightly enough that leaves wouldn't crunch underneath his feet. They still crunched as if someone was nearby. His ears perked but no one was in sight.

Toby was in the clearing. He stood over a mushroom, deciding whether or not to pick it. Taking the mushroom home was a risk and could've brought Everett's wrath upon him but it was the only food nearby and there wasn't enough time in the day for him to make the walk up to the town.

Everett picked the mushroom for him. He held it out for Toby to take. When the boy did so, he shoved it in his basket and strained a smile, “I appreciate you giving me this.”

“I wouldn't eat it if I were you. It's poisonous.”

“How so?”

“Well,” Everett said, focusing on the part of him that connected itself to nature. A small mushroom grew by his feet. He handed it over to Toby as well. The boy took it with wariness. His mouth hung open a bit. Stars could've been hung in his eyes if Toby let Everett close enough to dangle them.

This was not the time to do so. That could come in time. He explained, “I believe mushrooms created by the fae count as fae food.”

They both paused for a second. Toby blinked down at the mushrooms then looked up to Everett.

The basket of mushrooms dropped to the floor. The red heads smashed against the ground. Toby stumbled back, throwing his arms up to protect his face. It'd do nothing of course. Everett stared at the caps with clouded eyes.

“Whoops…?” Toby said, staring at the caps as if they had purposefully screwed him over. “I didn't mean to do that.”

Everett bent down to be at the mushrooms level. He traced his fingers around the cracked edges of the mushroom. “You're going to have to fetch me replacements.”

Toby nodded weakly and stepped backwards out of the forest.

As he was leaving, Everett called out the due date.

Three days.

More than enough time.




As it turned out, three days was not enough time. Toby stumbled through the forest. The two pennies in his pocket had not been enough to buy food.

The toadstools had robbed him dirty but Toby was in no place to deny the cheapest price. He'd just gave to cut his losses.
The faerie ring was further than he remembered it being. Each steps dragged as he fell onto his knees. He pulled his coat closer to his small form, shivering.

His vision was blurring. Perhaps the faerie had already cursed him. Perhaps it was his fault for not finding the time nor money to eat.

The faerie appeared by the patch. Toby hadn't realised just how tall the thing was until he saw it in all its greatness. His original guess of 6'5 seemed like a far cry from it's actual height.

“You have them all.” The faerie stated. It inspected the mushrooms carefully before leaving them back in the basket. It looked down to where Toby lay beside them. “Why are you on the floor?”

Toby tried to explain but he was tired. Now that he was on the floor, unconscious seemed to tug at him.

The darkness was a pleasant change from the sunlight in the market. Leaves offered themselves as a makeshift mattress. Not the most comfortable but the idea of climbing off them to get to a proper bed seemed to be too much effort. The freezing wind served as a motivator but the thin walls of his house wouldn't do a much better job.

Someone (who couldn't have been the fae.) picked him up . As if Toby was a child, he was cradled. If he had any more strength, he would have wiggled out and scurried home. No one was around to pick Toby up. He shouldn't have let himself get kidnapped.

His head rolled to look at the person holding him. He got a mouthful of yellow fluff. Weird. No one spent the money on making yellow dye.

A hand pressed Toby's head to tuck into his own chin. It was warm and in his daze, Toby pressed closer into it.The person laughed like wind chimes. They started walking and the steady motion rocked Toby to sleep.



The bed was comfortable. It seemed to be made of feathers. Toby grinned and buried his head in the comfort.

There was a bowl of soup in Toby's face when he woke up. The eyes of a fae bore into his as it tried to feed him the soup.
Toby was fortunate enough to keep his mouth shut before even a drop could slip down his throat. He threw his hand in the air, taking the bowl of soup down with him.

The food spilled all over the Fae. It started down at the mess and murdered, “Why the hell?”

“I'm not eating that.” Toby stated, “Or any of your food.”

The Fae slipped down in the seat beside him. “I'm willing to wait.”

“You don't even have a reason to keep me here. I repaid your debt. Let me go home.”

The Fae frowned, “You wouldn't survive the journey back. You don't have anything to replenish what you lost.”

“Then bring me food from home!” Toby pressed.

“Do you even have food at home?”

Lying to the Fae was rude. Admitting that Toby had been rifling through the cupboards for anything his father left behind would cement his need for faerie food.

His silence, apparently meant the same thing. The Fae tched and got up. “I thought so.”

As it turned got closer to the door, Toby called out, “I won't be bound to you or trapped in the faerie realm will I?”

The Fae smiled. “Only until all the magic is out of your system.”

“Fine.” Toby said. After all, he wouldn't be getting better terms. If worst came to worse, he could throw everything up.

If only he'd seen the magic seeping into his skin while he slept. Not much. But enough.

Statements from the Newslittle murderers:

Statements about the Newslittle murders
(The following transcripts from Casper White, suspected accomplice, and Toby Mcjury, Suspect and attempted murderer.)

(Casper White: Statement Start)

Officer: Please state your name, age and place of residence.
Casper: I am legally required a trusted adult. Please bring in Mrs White.
Officer: You do realise we have evidence piling towards you having helped this murderer Mr White. Please co-operate with us so I can prove your innocence. I need your name, age and place of residence.
Casper: Please bring in Mrs White.

(the Officer sighs. The door opens and closes. Casper is perfectly still in this time. It opens again five minutes later. Mrs White accompanies the Officer into the room. She sits behind Casper. Mrs White is scowling.)

Mrs White: I don't understand why you must bring me in. He hardly needs me to prove his innocence.
Officer: Will you now state your name, age and place of residence.
Casper: My name is Casper White. I'm 17 years old and I live at number 9, Chewsberry Street.
Officer: Mr White. How would you describe your relationship with Mr Mcjury.
Casper: Will this be used against either me or him in court?
Officer: Everything you say in this interview will be used against you in court.
Casper: Then I wish to not answer your question.
Officer: Why? You have something to hide?
Mrs White: Oh just answer the question!
Casper (audio hardly picks it up. He ducks his head): Toby Mcjury and I were romantically involved.
Officer: Louder for the audio mashine.
Casper (much bolder): Toby Mcjury and I were romantically involved.
Mrs White: You were not even friends with that boy! He's a disgrace! I always knew there was something up with him. Now stop being cheeky with this fficer! Tell him the truth!
Casper: Toby Mcjury and I had been dating for five months preceeding prom. Our relationship was secret due to the … nature of it. Alongside the popular opinion of Toby being negative. We kissed on several occasions and frequently slept on the same bed. We were not involved with each other any further than romantically. I was a frequent visitor at his house and he at mine. We both snuck in and out of each others windows. You can ask Toby to confirm this.

(The Officer writes something down. Casper stares at Mrs White from the corner of his eyes. He looks back completely passive. Mrs White is glaring at her son. Her fists are clenched.)

Officer: Mr White. Did you ever notice anything off about Mr Mcjury.
Casper: There were a lot of weird things about Toby. You'll have to be specific.
Officer: Did Toby ever seem to be hiding anything from you? Were you ever afraid of your life around Toby?
Mrs White (shouting): Ask him if he knew about the murders! If that Mcjury kid was the serial killer we're all looking for!
Casper: Maybe near the start, before he knew me well. For example, he hid his favourite food from me, it's chocolate icecream by the way. He also hid his bruises. On several occasions. Toby, as I'm sure your partner will realise, is a horrible liar. To answer your question directly: Once we broke the ice, Toby was incredibly open with me. He never told me anything shocking, that I could not have worked out or that was a cause for my concern.
Officer: He tried to kill you.
Casper: I forgot about that part.
Officer: Casper may I honest with you?
Casper: Are you actually going to be honest with me?
Officer: Casper I believe you may be blinded by love

(The Officer pulls out a journal. Casper's mouth opens before he shuts it again.)

Officer: At first you seem distrustful of Mr Mcjury in your entries. Then you slowly loose this distrust. Has it occured to you that maybe you were being lied too.
Casper: Do you ever wonder if your wife lies to you when she says she was hanging out with her friends?
Officer: No.
(Casper places his chin to rest in his handcuffed hands, he smirks.)
Casper: Then perhaps you should.
Mrs White (annoyed.): Casper! Be polite!
Mrs White (polite): Is that all Officer?
Officer: I have one more question.
Casper: Ask away.
Officer: Your friend, Miss Boyson, has come in to make a statement regarding a notebook you had on how to kill your classmates. She handed us the notebook as proof. Considering that and how Mr Mcjury and you were together for most of the murders, you must realise how this looks on you. Is there anything you'd wish to say.
(Casper leans forward, grabbing the Officer's hand.)
Casper: Could Mrs White grab me a glass of water? I'll happily explain this while she's out of the room.

(The Officer nods eagerly. Casper's face is hidden from the camera's. The door opens as Mrs White walks out.)
(The next events happen within 2 minutes.)

Casper: Did you ever consider Cara was set up by Toby and I?
Officer: What?
Casper: You think the students who killed a quarter of their classmates would be caught in an accident.
Officer: It's happened befo-
Casper: You think Toby was dumb enough to try and kill me in the middle of prom.
Casper: Do you seriously believe I am dumb enough to not know Toby was a killer. Having known him for five months? You've seen the notebook. Do you think I didn't know? Do you think I knew all of that about 180 kids and couldn't figure out a murderer in front of me.
Officer: Your journal-
Casper: Have you considered I set that journal up? Have you considered I'm exactly. Where. I. Want. To. Be?
Officer: You're in handcuffs!

(Casper grins with all his teeth. He walks away from the seat with his handcuffs off. They are now on the Officer.)

Casper: Congratulations Officer. You've got yourself a confession.

(Statement end.)

(Toby Mcjury: Statement Start)
(Some words have been blacked out to honour our police staff and protect Casper White and Toby Mcjury.)

Officer: Why did you hold a knife to Mr White's back?
Toby: He consented to it.
Officer: Pardon?
Toby (fully sincere): I asked Casper: Hey can I hold this knife to your back and Casper went ‘oh yes Toby. I love it when I have a knife at my back. This will work great for my high school career plan!’ so I did.
Officer: Don't be like that with me boy?
Toby: Sorry? Next time I'll tell you all about ███ ████████ ████████ █ ███████ ██████████ ██ ████ ███ ██ ████ ████ ██ █████

(The Officer is silent for a minute.)

Officer: Why don't we start again?
Toby: Are we actually starting again or are you saying that to try and ignore the truth.
Officer: Why did you kill several other students at this school?
Toby: I don't know. You tell me.
Officer: Well. Your nurse has said you stole her medical supplies. You're so angry. I can already see your ████████ ███ ███ █████ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████████ ████ ███ ████ ██ ██ █ ████ ███ ██ ████ ████ ███ ███ ████ ██████ ███████ ████ ███████ ████ █████ ███ █ ████

(Toby scowls, he blinks several times. He is crying)

Toby: ████ ███
Officer: Are you willing to co-operate now or do I need to bring your parents into the room?
Toby: You wouldn't.
Officer: Are you willing to co-operate.
Toby: You wouldn't

(The dialphone rings, The Officer picks it up and places it to his ear.)
Officer: I'll ask him now.
(The Officer hangs up.)

Officer: Wanna talk about Casper?
Toby (growling): What do you want to know about him?
Officer: Well, who was he too you? An aquaintance? A victim? A friend? Your ‘lover.’
Toby: Keep his name out your mouth!
Officer: You know, there are plenty guys like him in jail. If you confess you'll get a whole new ocean opened up to you. You can let the lad live in peace aye?

(Toby grows hysterical. He moves around his handcuffed fists, they clatter wildly. He screams for ten seconds before staring the Officer right in the eyes. His eyes are red and puffy. Toby is obviously distressed. He screams more and sobs. The Officer looks only slightly disturbed.)

Toby: I would never kill him! He was the only good thing left! It's the people like you who gave me no choice! Never compare him to anyone like that ever again. Never ever ever ever ever! I will murder you. I will shove glass right through your heart! You'll wish you kept your trap shut! ██████ █ ████ █ █████ ███ █ █████ You've got your confession! Leave him out of this. Leave him out of this! This is all you ██████ ████████ ███ ████ ███ █████ ███ ███████ ███ █████ ████ ██ ███ ███████ ██ ███ ████ ██ ██████ ██ ███ ██████. Why was it Casper who picked me up and helped me! Let me go! Let me go! I just want to live without █████ ████ Why can't I have that?"

(Toby hangs his head and sobs silently.)
(The screen is cut to black. Toby begins to scream again.)
(The screen turns back on. Toby is still screaming. The Officer leaves the room.)

(Nothing happens for twenty minutes. Toby continues to sit there sobbing.)
(The door unlocks. Casper White walks in. They kneel beside Toby and cups his cheek.)
Casper: Hey hey, we'll get out of here. Let me just get those cuffs off you then we'll be gone okay.
Toby: Please.
(Casper fiddles with a lockpick. Toby's cuffs come undone. Toby stands up and instantly falls into Casper's arms. Casper holds Toby up and they walk towards the window. Casper opens the window. Toby climbs out. Casper slides out after him, shutting the window behind them.)

QUICK A/N
Anything blocked out is blocked out in the novel. None of the boxes are hiding anything scratch inappopriate for the sake of not getting banned. Things like swear words etc… were edited.

02/07/2023: SWC Daily (407 words)

A/N + Triggers
5 words of inspiration: ethereal, allegiance, monochromatic, illusion, pumpernickel
This is a fanfiction for the Villains Trilogy by V.E Schwab. There are VENGEFUL spoilers.
Trigger warnings include: Hallucinating, referenced violence, religious themes. If I have forgotten anything please tell me.

Eli may be going insane in his glass home. (Home: A place one lives in permanently (it isn't wrong)). When there are no unfinished papers on his desk, there's nothing to do. He paces. He prays.

Stell didn't let Eli keep his bible. On his singular shelf he keeps the bible EON has issued him. He doesn't need it. The scriptures are burnt into Eli's head. They haunt him. He needs them to haunt him. Eli doesn't know what he'd do if he lost God after everything.

“Maybe you've finally realised what everyone else has known all along.” Victor says. He's standing by Eli's desk this time. He's looking at the cases, his fingers ghosting over them. Normally, Victor stands by the shelf close enough to reach the bible. Victor always keeps his arms folded but everytime he speaks about vengeance, Eli is afraid he'll destroy the only remanants of his soul. (Soul: The spiritual part of a human. (Then why can Eli feel it's absence?), Immortal)

“There are plenty other Christians out there.” Eli says. He turns to Victor and stands behind him. There is no warmth of another human. There is not even the chill Eli has come to recognise from the extraordinary. There is the room temperature air. If Eli turned around, Victor would vanish into a series of wisps he couldn't catch.

His shoulder hurts when Eli thinks about Victor. So does his abodemn where Victor drove in the knife ten years ago. He can't feel the electricity burning through him like he could when Victor's around him. That's okay. It's one of the few sources of relief to his unholy power. (The pain. That is.)

Victor didn't leave scars. Victor Vale left an impression. It's the only sign that the past decade has happened. The absence of his soul, the grave he cannot visit (they didn't bury him. Eli prays Sydney was not as friendly as Victor wanted him to believe.) And the glass box Eli lives in.

He reaches for the gray clothes that he's issued. Stell comes to see him at midday everyday.

Eli stretches his arms and puts the shirt on. Stell's seen him bloody, heartless and screaming. It isn't about dignity. It's about keeping what little he has left of his religion, it's about hiding Eli's wings. (Wing: a modified forelimb (is his back a forelimb?) Used for flying (They'll carry Eli to heaven if God forgives him.))

Alright, this is my first time critiquing, *deep breath*

Ok, so it was kind of hard for me to tell what the setting was supposed to be like. This may have been because I'm unfamiliar with EON, but perhaps further establishing your setting would be good. It was hard to tell Eli was hallucinating about Victor, but you could tell that it wasn't pleasant.

The descriptions and dialogue in paragraphs 3-5 had emotions connected to them. Character details and events from the past seemed to affect present interactions.

I don't have too many comments on the structure of the story, but overall, the structure was neat, and easy to read and understand.
Something I noticed was the words in the parentheses and it was a nice detail that defined parts of the story in a comedically or articulative way)

The characters seem to have a lot of story and depth behind them, and it made the writing piece really nice! Nice job on it!

Corgi3210 wrote:

Alright, this is my first time critiquing, *deep breath*
snip

Thank you!! It's weird because I had a definitive image for the setting in my mind but I seem to have forgotten to implement it ^^'. The pains of knowing my story so well I forget others do not.

SWC weekly #2 (part 1)

How to write a good short story:

Before we begin, we should establish the answer to the question: what is a short story. This doesn't have a simple answer as it depends on what you're classfying as ‘short’. Some literary organisations would classify a novella as 17,500 words. Others under 7,500. ‘The Fireman’ (now better known as Farenheit 451) was initially a short story of around 25,000. The lack of a definitive answer isn't important for this workshop but it sets a benchmark that you're short story should be at most, half the length of a full novel (50,000 words) although shorter stories can exist.

The second most important question we should establish a question for is: what differentriates a short story from a novel. The answer is simple. It's shorter. So you need to have less to tell your reader.

The idea of having ‘less to tell your reader’ can seem dismissive. It can initially appear to be saying ‘make your characters less complex’ or ‘Dumb down how you present your themes.’ but that isn't really what it's saying. It's a lot more about avoiding having so much to tell your reader that you can't explore it in depth.

A great example of this is the many short stories written by Arthur Conan Doyle about one: Mr Sherlock Holmes. We are only told what the author percieved neccessary to establish why what is happening is happening. For example, the reason Watson gives for the publication of: The Second Stain is that Holmes hated fame (it distrupted his job) and now he's beekeeping (a job where he doesn't need evidence to be handled correctly) it's the best time to publish the more scandalous cases.

This helps develp Holmes more as a character to the readers (what someone does after retirement can say a lot about them!) but gives an in-universe explanation for why we are being told this infomation.

Of course, not all short stories happen to be Sherlock Holmes mystery novels with lots and lots of short stories making a novels worth of collections to talk about a character. Sometimes we want to tell a short and standalone story.

And thus I bring you too: You Should Come With Me Now which is a collection of short stories. One of my personal favourites is the story of a woman who's husband stays permanently in the attack while doing home renovations. This woman works and the story takes place over several days. However John Harrison writes next to nothing about her time at work, her journey. She works yes, but most of the story is set in the house as she tries to get her husband down and eventually comes to live with the truth, her husband lives in the attic. This could theortretically become a novel. There is much Harrison doesn't explore: what is going on the attic? How does this affect the womans relationship outside of the husbands? By ignoring these parts of her life, the story is able to remain short while making the stakes clear in passing (the woman's decaying faith in her husband.)

Both stories I mentioned are examples of the author not telling the reader much but still being able to convey good characters and story despite it all. When they begin to tell too much, the story starts to have a path with side quests and that's more suited for a full length novel :]

When writing a short story, you have a limited amount of words. Use them wisely on the important facts of what develps your characters and story within the needed context.

With the limited amount of words I come to point numero duo.

Use strong adjectives, strong verbs. Use strong language! Make every word pack it's punch

AND STOP THERE BEFORE YOU USE THEM CONSTANTLY!

Whew okay. We all understand the importance of strong language but you're not running out of so many words you're going to die. The first thing we established was that we have a range! Granted, in some instantces your range might be shorter, but please don't be afraid to use “said” or “walked” in your short story.

You have the words. You have the space to explore your story in otherways than strong language such as description and scenary. You can describe the shape of every wacky leaf in your story if you're in a magical forest. You don't need to say: many miraculous leaves in every shape and size! It's your story! Do what you think is important as I said in advice number one.

When I advise you use strong language I'm talking about when you use adverbs here there everywhere. “she said quietly” will do the same, if not less, impact than “she whisphered.” It shortens your story and if you're anything like I was back in the days it can help you turn that 2001 word stort to 2000 words (Now it's eligble and more impactful for the SWC writing competition!)

Without the weaker words, your strong words just become, well words. Don't let them become words. It starts to read more like a descriptive piece by that point, even if you're telling an amazing story.

Of course, as we reach the conclusion, the most important fact to remember is that the meaning of ‘good’ writing changes for everyone. If my advice doesn't make your short stories more condense and more impactful, feel free to discard it!

A Character Study of Sydney Clarke and Her Thematic Relationship With Loyalty
This essay will feature spoilers for Vicious.


Prelude: Establishing the Villains Trilogy for those who have not read it yet.

At the time of writing, the Villains trilogy consists of two published works: Vicious and Vengeful. Book 3: Victorious is set to be released between 2025 and 2028.

The story revolves around Victor Vale and Eli Ever (nee Cardale). During their time at university, they theorised that if a near death experience created enough adrenaline in the body, a permanent chemical change could take place, leading to extraordinary powers. After an attempt to become extraordinary goes wrong, their friendship falls apart. Ten years later, Victor breaks out of jail with plans to use his power over pain to kill Eli. The catch? Eli is immortal and, with the help of Serena Clarke, has become a hero.

Part I: A Basic Introduction to Loyalty and Sydney Clarke

Themes in Vicious are explored by contrast. Eli’s religious motives and themes are contrasted by Victor’s belief in science above all. Eli’s persona of a hero is contrasted by Victor’s acceptance of villainy. The theme of loyalty, however, contrasts Victor’s most important relationships: Eli with his inevitable betrayal and Sydney with her choice of loyalty. The theme is then expanded upon by Eli and Sydney’s personal relationships with loyalty.
While the other themes take precedence in the writing in the book over loyalty (for example: the book mentions Eli hiding a monster several times but never mentions how far any characters would go for each other), loyalty is key to the story of Vicious. The web of past and present loyalties creates the conflict between the protagonist, the antagonist and their respective sidekicks.

Victor’s sidekick, Sydney Clarke, is a twelve year old girl who can raise the dead. She meets Victor after Eli misfires his intended fatal shot, allowing her to escape. Sydney’s relationship with Victor is born from dependency. Victor needs Sydney to survive his battle with Eli and Sydney needs Victor to protect her from Eli. The shared interest in Eli’s death leads to a closer relationship than their motives suggest. At the start of the book, they are compared to a father and daughter.

Victor is not the only person with a familial tie to Sydney. Her sister, Serena, is Eli’s sidekick. The story of Victor and Eli’s betrayal is paralleled by Serena and Sydney’s betrayal.

This essay intends to explore Sydney’s relationships with Serena and Victor to understand how and why she is loyal to people.



Part II: Serena Clarke

Sydney and Serena’s relationship through Vicious is that of an explosion. The two’s relationship was overwhelmingly positive two years prior to Vicious. Sydney’s described as 'A miniature version of her sister'. This is said to be due to Sydney’s adoration for Serena, not just because of genetics. Genetics do not lead to 'uncanny' similarities.

After their shared near death experience, their relationship changes at Serena’s end. Serena’s power has a negative impact on her life and leads to Serena pulling away from Sydney because she perceives Sydney to be broken like she is.

During the time Serena is at university, they keep in touch by phone calls, which isn’t enough for how dependent Sydney is on her sister. 'Sydney would feel lost, alone, until her sister would say “I’m not gone, I’m not gone.” And Sydney would somehow believe her…. it didn’t mean it made her happy.' The idea of belief suggests that Serena is gone from Sydney’s life as Sydney knew her. 'The new Serena' isn’t the older sister Sydney had from before the accident. The concept of being ‘gone’ is more an emotional state rather than a physical one. The companionship and happiness Sydney loved Serena for is absent. Sydney isn’t able to rationalise why it will come back further, but her belief further shows how Sydney wants Serena.

The negative impact this takes on their relationship is shown before Sydney is shot, when 'Sydney didn’t know whether to run, or feel elated.' at the concept of discovering her sister is also extraordinary. The elation symbolises the hope Sydney still has for rekindling their relationship, but the urge to run shows how Sydney no longer feels safe around Serena, which used to be guaranteed. This links back to how she felt lost without Serena there to guide her.

The breaking point comes when Eli, with the help of Serena, shoots Sydney. This moment is pivotal in their relationship. It redefines the blind trust Sydney had and turns it into mistrust. At this point, Serena becomes 'A sister who wanted her dead', an active threat to Sydney’s wellbeing instead of guiding her to safety.

During their confrontation, Sydney struggles to understand how her sister can’t hate her when she wants her dead. ('“Why do you hate me?” / “I don’t.” / “But you want me dead."') This is because Sydney is a child who’s unable to comprehend the loss of the old Serena and the new Serena. The separation in her head helps her cope with the trauma but leads to her being unable to accept that Serena still loves her like she did before, but currently thinks Sydney is better off dead. Sydney as a character relies on believing, but Serena is unable to give Sydney a reason to believe in her. This leads Sydney to believe the easier option, which is that Serena is lying about not hating her, which results in their relationship having no chance of healing.

Sydney comes full circle from her admiration for Serena during the same confrontation where she declares '“I like that we’re finally different … I don’t want to be you.'” It’s the opposite of the first thing established about Sydney’s relationship with Serena. Before she wanted to be Serena from her admiration, she now rejects her appearance. This expresses Sydney’s desire not just to forge her own identity beyond Serena, but also how she doesn’t agree with Serena’s actions.


Part III: Victor Vale

Victor takes the role of protector from Serena (who only had it in name by this point). He’s able to dull her pain and offers her somewhere safe to stay.. 'Sydney not to trust fear and certainly not to trust the absence of it. She hadn’t been afraid of Serena… and look where that got her. Shot' The comparison of her lack of fear of Serena to her lack of fear of Victor demonstrates how Victor is having to prove himself as a protector further than saving her. She does not fear him, but she does not trust him, meaning Victor still has to build a relationship with Sydney.

Victor builds his trust with Sydney by working alongside her. He actively jokes with her, saying Eli’s superpower is 'self-righteousness.' He works based on her comfort and pace ‘as if he were afraid of breaking her’ and naming Dol, 'Dol because it’s a metric of pain' which helps the two share each others interests (Sydney’s in animals and Victor’s in science). By putting them on the same level, Victor and Sydney are able to work well as a team, which inspires loyalty for the other. Their unity as a team highlights the lack of communication Serena has as she becomes more and more reliant on her power of autonomy control. When Victor says, '“ and Eli think they’re a team. But they’re nothing compared to us.”' The audience is able to directly contrast the two sides and realise yes, Sydney and Victor are a stronger team as they’re able to trust each other, unlike Serena and Eli, who are only working together for mutual benefit. Serena and Eli’s relationship is also one they both want to end; the contrast implies Sydney and Victor want to continue their partnership.

The question of morality is asked often within the context of Victor and Sydney’s relationship. It helps develop the characters in a way that makes it clear Sydney does not follow Victor because he is moral. The story pushes from its beginning that Sydney is very aware of Victor’s criminal history and intentions. When she asks, ‘“Are you one of the bad ones?” … she wasn’t sure if the answer mattered really”’ The idea of a ‘bad’ person amongst the ‘bad people’ displays that Sydney is not under the illusion that Victor is a good person, she’s prepared for him to be the worst of the worst. The verb ‘mattered’ tells the reader that she isn’t concerned about this. Victor’s morality is not what Sydney is following Victor for. This is at the beginning of the story, so it’s easy to write Sydney off as easily impressionable, unknowing of the truth about Victor. By the middle of the book, Sydney begins to shed the skin of the innocent child. As the reader, we’re able to understand she knows what Victor is. Once they dig up Barry Lynch’s grave, Sydney lies because 'she knew where was going with this'. Victor is not doing this with good intentions and she’s happy to play along. This furthers the aspect of Victor and Sydney working as a team. Victor trusts Sydney enough to allow her to make the next move and Sydney knows Victor well enough to know they need to kill Barry Lynch again. If anyone asks? Sydney has plausible deniability. The plausible denial is how Sydney and Victor make peace with Sydney’s wavering morals. It’s easier for both of them to say ‘Sydney didn’t know better’ than to admit Sydney knew and went into everything willingly because of her loyalty to Victor.

By the end of the novel, Sydney is viewing Victor similarly to how she viewed Serena. Victor, as stated before, becomes her protector and guide in place of Serena. Subconsciously, 'specifically safe had become Victor.' The intention of the noun ‘safe’ by Serena (who ordered Sydney go somewhere safe) was to be unharmed and uninvolved in the fight about to go down. To Sydney, safe means somewhere she is protected. The feeling of protection is specified to be Victor as a person rather than Victor the saviour (several people would help a twelve year old in need), Victor the criminal (Mitch, Victor's other partner in crime, is also a criminal) or Victor the teammate (Serena went along with Sydney as a child) but all three versions of Victor. It isn’t what Victor can offer her she wants, she wants him as a person. She also mimics Victor by the end of the book. Mitch expresses that ‘' already taking after ’ She takes on Victor’s violent tendencies rather than his physical appearance, but this draws a parallel to the similar appearances shared by Serena and Sydney.


Part IV: Conclusion

Sydney as a character is defined by her loyalty. She follows those who she perceives will protect her and attempts to copy and please them in an attempt to protect herself best. Her loyalty extends as far as her belief in the person does. Her belief is not defined by morality or protection but by honesty. It is because of Serena’s alliance with Eli that drives Sydney away and the alliance poses a threat to Sydney. It forces her to search for a new way to protect herself but also to distrust those around her. Victor is able to earn her loyalty by being honest about his violence but never turning it towards Sydney. This new method of protection turns Sydney from a character hidden from the horrors of the world to one who embraces them throughout the course of Vicious.

Word Count: 1928

Frankenstein's Pearl 1097 words

The shovels hit Cecelia’s shoulder when she stepped over the wildlife that had taken over the graveyard. The outer plots of the Rotemore cemetery hadn’t been visited in years. The names on the graves had worn down over the years. The constant rain hardly made it worth the cost of getting an epitaph.

It was one of the rare dry days. Cecelia reached the same grave she had visited twenty days ago although last time she hadn’t been alone. She pulled the shovel off her shoulders and began dig up the dirt that had blown into the grave. She began to hum ‘stayin’ alive’ under her breath to keep herself entertained. It was lonely work but the monotony was strangely comfortable. Her hands shook from her tremor. Cecelia had forgotten what it was like to not strain her hands to stay still in the short amount of time since the accident. Grave digging was a relaxing task and perhaps in another life, Cecelia would have taken it up as job.

She had reached the six feet mark when the gate creaked open. Cecelia dropped the shovel and fell to the ground. The older parts of the cemetery were closer to the gate than the newer plots. The only reason she had gotten away with her hobbies was because no one cared enough to trim the hedge that had been growing since she was six.

The gate closed but it was only when she heard the heavy footsteps that Cecelia looked up. Nicholas, Nike, Downton came around the corner with the goods Cecelia had been waiting for. Nike had originally offered to come and do the grave digging but he had work.

The body of an unidentified woman hung in his arms. The white gown was clean but tattered at the end. The corset around her waist, hiding her breasts, had been repairable with a needle. Had it not been odd to carry a naked woman into a graveyard, Cecelia would have considered stealing it. She had a pearl sitting just above her neckline, attached by a chain. The woman’s matted brown hair hung an inch above the floor. Her skin had sunken into her skin so far that Cecelia could trace the eye sockets. The woman’s chest was rising and falling gently.

Cecelia asked Nike, “Did anyone see you?”

He shook his head and lowered the woman to the ground, “People saw me get in my car on my way back from work.”

“The woman?”

“I got her out of the trunk at the church car park.” It was a Saturday, which meant Christians didn’t flock to the church. In the middle of the night, the car park would be empty. There was no one to see him or to smell the faint scent of the cadaver. Cecelia hummed in appreciation, it was hard to find someone who’d ruin their car.

“Did she respond in any way?”

“I didn’t try and jostle her too much.”

Cecelia kicked the woman in the side. She moved but it could have been the pressure of the kick pushing her across the dirt. Cecelia knelt down beside the woman and traced up her neck, tugging at her necklace. She pushed her eyelids open. Her eyes were empty as they had been for the twenty days Cecelia had been tinkering with the corpse.

She stood up, dusting the grit off her red coat. Cecelia sighed, “She’s still dead…” The woman’s chest still rose despite the lack of a beating heart, “Dead enough at least.”

“I forgot to get her a new coffin?” Nike asked.

“I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“Do I have to lower her in?”

“I don’t see why not.” Cecelia always used the same excuse when it came to this part of the process. Her arms had lost most of their muscle strength since the accident. The first time they’d come to the graveyard after, she’d dropped the elderly gentleman before her hands were over the fresh grave; the man’s head hit the shovel and cracked into shards.

Nike started to climb into the deep holes and left the dead to rest in as much comfort as they were granted. Dirt clung to his black pants as he knelt down to tuck the woman’s knotted hair beneath her head as a make-shift cushion. He forced his mouth not to recoil in disgust at the feeling of grease that coated his fingers. Her hands were moved to lie over her chest and he closed the woman’s eyes.
From the top of the grave, Nike would assume she was just sleeping. Cecelia gave a small smile as she handed him the second shovel she’d brought with her. Their fingers brushed as he took the shovel. The warmth made him shiver.

They began to pile the dirt back on the woman. Cecelia hummed ‘another one bites the dust’ as she worked. Nike focused all his attention on making sure every pile of dirt was even. Mealworms crawled in the dirt, exploring the new version of their old home. Roots were pulled apart with every shovel. The wildlife surrounding the area of the grave seemingly withering instantaneously. The evenness looked out of place in the cemetery, where harsh winds and weeds disturbed the dead. A wild dead daffodil blew onto the soil. It would decompose and begin the cycle of nature all over again.

As Nike prepared to leave, Cecelia pulled something out of her coat pocket. A pearl that was clean, attached to a rusted chain. “Help me put it on?” she asked, holding it in front of Nike, “My hands are shaking too much.”

“Does this count as grave robbing?” Nike asked as he stood on the opposite side of the grave. He began to walk to Cecelia’s side. Nike had never been able to say no to Cecelia. What was one more gift? One more disturbance with the delicate balance they played with.

Cecelia gave him one of her smiles. It was slightly too small for how upturned it got. “I think our account of grave returning weighs the crime in our favour.”

Nike couldn't help but laugh. He unclipped the chain using a broken link. He brushed her bushy brown ponytail to his left as he closed the necklace around her neck. Cecelia turned to face Nike, with her face neutral again. The pearl looked perfect sitting just below her neckline, as if it had been made for her.

Cecelia's throat bobbed when she felt its cool smooth surface or that's why she told Nike it bobbed.

Non-fi pep talk #1: Making the most of SWC

Hello. o/ I'm Gigi and this is my formal welcome to SWC!

I've done SWC like. 14 times now. It's my most productive time of the month and without this community I wouldn't be here today. Or. I would be here. But not here as in writing this pep talk and still writing.

One of my leaders when I did a camp on team building once told me: This is what you make of it. And I think it's really true for SWC as well. You're writing will only get as good as you work on it and take others advice. The friendships you make here will only be as good as you talk to them.

So this is your early call to make the most of SWC.

Writing is an incredibly solitary task. When you're writing, it's you and your words. So many people don't have the patience for it. So many people don't care for the technicality itty bitty creative overflow that drives us. They also don't understand the daunting task of staring at a blank screen knowing your job is to fill that.

Scratch Writing Camp is so good because we are a community who understand that. We uplift each other, listen to each other and push each other to improve.

Take your first few days, take the entire month, to get to know the people around you. Ask people their thoughts on books they say they like. Read other people's writing and talk about it, what you did, what you loved about their peice. Reccomend your own favourite books. Sob about your characters. Do the interactive dailies! People are so lovely. You will meet people who you will talk to in December and January and February. You will start to see usernames and think: Oh! I'm so glad to see them! And get excited!

Share your writing. The critiqueaire (that's not how it's spelt. Please excuse me) is so good for getting advice on how to be better. Giving other people advice will give you the skills to reflect on your own work. AND you'll be helping others. Share your dailies and your weeklies! Even if you (as TCTWNW) will not earn points because it erodes that fear of sharing your work. Enter the writing competition because even if you get nothing. Who knows you might just win! It's about taking that leap. Take that risk.
Share your writing. SWC is the place to get other your fears of imperfection. Share your writing while you have the support of your fellow writers instead of the harsh eyes of critics.

SWC isn't a once in a life time opportunity. If your busy this month, there will always be next month. But it's here for November. So make the most of this month. Make the most of SWC. Get to know other writers, share your work and break down the solitary of writing.

I promise, the only thing worse than regret is never doing it. You've got to take the leap to find out. Take thateap. Make the most of SWC

Indie Rock News! @IndieRockUPDATES:
Miserabilia’s Held you To Close debuted at #74th in this British week’s charts! It’s the band’s first single to reach the charts since their conception!
(A video is liked. The thumbnail is split into quarters. In the bottom left quarter is Laura Hill lying in a pile of autumn leaves. Her pink hair is spread around her like a halo. Her right hand reaches towards the centre of the grid. There she is holding Ximena Lawal’s hand. Ximena is lying on a thick tree on the top right of the grid. There are no leaves covering her, even though there are branches surrounding her. Her eyes are closed and her posture is relaxed as if she’s asleep. Her left hand falls down naturally for Laura to grab. You can’t see their hands holding because of the blue play button in the centre.)

NEW ALBUM 24/12 @LauraHillsGF
@IndieRockUPDATES seeing a ton of new fans watch the music video and be like ‘why is this so cheery for such a sad song? HONEY it’s because Ximena was so pleased to find a little hole she fit into and didn’t stop smiling the entire time.

Finley >:) @Rockinnnnrollinnnn
@LauraHillsGFdo you have any proof? That sounds TOO GOOD to not see.

NEW ALBUM 24/12 @LauraHillsGF
@Rockinnnnrollinnnn It’s up on the Miserabelia side channel with most of the instrumentals. It’s SO worth the watch.

BEHIND THE SCENES! Filming the music video! (10 minutes and 28 seconds long)
20k views, 5k likes, dislike.
(The camera is shaky. There’s a rotting tree in the corner of the view. “Ximi?” Calls Laura. Laura is not on camera despite how loud the voice is. She moves closer to a falling tree. There are orange leaves on the floor and bark across the floor. It doesn’t crack as Laura walked over it. “Ximena, we can’t film that tree it’s unsafe.” She calls again.
The camera turns to reveal Ximena crouched in a tree. The hole is not big enough for her to fit into. Her legs are sticking out and her head is tucked right into her chest. Laura sighs. “You’re going to ruin your jacket.”
Ximena sticks her head up. She bumps it and lets out a yelp. She massages her head with her hand as she ducks it down again. There are red stains on her hand and thin cuts. “I’m fine!” She yells.
The camera is put on the floor. Laura’s jeans come into view as she hoists Ximena out of the hole. Ximena falls flat on her face and into the mud. She sticks her head up and asks why Laura did such a thing.
Laura ducks down and plucks a dead leaf off of her partner’s head. “Your cuts were going to get infected and I don’t want to pay the medical bill.”
The video ends there, and remains a still. The text: FILMING MUSIC VIDEOS FOR OUR NEW ALBUM in comic sans bursts on the screen to the backing track of their debut single: That sounds like a type of flower, plays in the background.
There is another 8 minutes left of the video.)

Comments:
@CasperWhite1118777 Was Ximena fine in the end
40 replies:
Top Reply
@Backstage Miserbilia @@CasperWhite1118777 thankfully yes.

Word war proofs!
This was taken from my novel Ad Caelum thus, why it makes no sense ^^'.

about how God wouldn’t want him to drink because it meant he wouldn’t always be thinking about him. I normally would have moved but Markus was a good guy to talk to. We spoke about more than God and I think that made a world of a difference you know. So next time I go to the pub and he’s there with Simone we share a drink. I only get a round. He sounded really good when talking about how alchohol made his mind clear. He only needed five rounds at the pub to convince me to give it all the religious shot a chance. Now here I am! Markus was one of those guys who always knew what he wanted. I look over here and I know that he would want us all to be happy and to continue living in God’s footstep. May he rest in peace.” Lukus bowed his head and scurried out back down to the pier besides Simone’s. There were no close friends to comfort him but the family whom ogetn helped with the charity events behind him offered him a shoulder to cry on.
Casper couldn’t put it off anymore. He stood up. The crowd of waiting eyes stared at him and they stared at his piece of paper. Without thinking, Casper threw it away because he didn’t think anything he wrote and rewrote as to not offend anyone would ever be read as natural. The audience gawked. Casper could feel sweat begin to tremble. Kathy looked ready to run up to the stage and drag him off. Casper couldn’t let her do that, for his own sake. It was his final time to say goodbye and he wasns’t going to have it stolen from him.
He knew Toby’s advice would be to picture everybody (censor ) but that advice seemed the opposite of useful so Casper simply imagined just Toby instead.
He took a deep breath as he started, “These past few days without Markus have been hard. I feel the lack of his presence everywhere. I feel it in the kitchen with the gathering plates and I feel it in the way we don’t have nearly as many visitors. My father died to save my life. If he hadn’t been there I probably wouldn’t have had the time to make the phone call and not get seriously injured myself. For that I have to thank him with my entire soul. I’ll live the rest of my life in his memory and I know he’ll be watching me, like a good father, to make sure I live up to the expectations he had for me so I can join him in heaven. I don’t think I will because Markus was a man with high expectations. He always wanted the most money in any charity event and he always wanted me to be the best I was and he always wanted the house to be like a hotel in case my grandmother ever came knocking. I won’t miss all of the ambition and the competitiveness. It will be weird to live without it but I will live with it. But I will miss the man who always did what he believed was right and a man that as I look at the amount of people mourning, I know was a good man. As good as they come.”
The church was silent. He knew he’d made a mistake in mentioning Markus’ flaws.

Word War Proofs #2. 505 Words, 10 minute war with the lovely @koolkatz38 (no prompt)
(Chapter 18 of Ad Caelum)

Chapter 18

Casper wasn’t sure what he was doing outside of the church three days after Markus’ funeral with no way home and no one making sure he was safe. Everytime he met someone’s line of sight, their pupils would turn a vivid white with no pupil and no iris. Casper tried to keep his head down and keep away from looking at anyone on the road. He could still feel the gaze upon him, where the eyes were seeing his soul laid bare and no other part of him.
It a journey home with that feeling plaguing him like a ghost that led him to the church. Despite Toby’s promises that he was out of God’s grasp and that he was fully safe to embrace his inner most desire to rip and tear apart the things people loved most, Casper knew God was waiting to pounce on him with the response for his sins. It would be the most painful karma. The longer Casper allowed to to fester the worse it would be.

He took his rosary out of his school bag, It had started to gather dust from the weeks of being left there. As Casper ran his fingers down it and felt the familiar beads fall in his hands, he felt a sense of calm that had been missing since the devil entered his life. God was with him, watching him and waiting for Casper to join him again. The blotted eyes of the parish stopped and returned to normal, which allowed Casper to return to being a normal Catholic with normal Catholic actions and beliefs and nothing strange about him at all.

Casper took the first steps up the stairs to the church. Toby could not follow him.

“If everything goes well today, I hope we can end our deal without either of us getting what we wanted.” Casper stated. Toby batted his eyelashes and then stared at Casper blankly. Casper continued trying to placate Toby, “If you like being a human I won’t drag your corpse back into the grave kicking and screaming. I’m fine with all the other things we had going on.”

Toby stepped forward so his toes were on the edge of the parameter. He took Casper’s limp arm and kissed his hand. “And you would let all our hard work go to waste?”

“It is only hard work if it’s work for you. If God will take me back and forgive me then I will know I simply fell victim to sin and it was the easiest thing I could do. The hard part will be not giving in again to such simple desires.”

“Is my love such a simple desire?”

Casper hesistated. He knew the answer from the years of mass and ceremonies and preachings in June that Casper lusting for Toby was everything God stood against. Yet Casper couldn’t stifle the flicker of fire inside of him with a tea towel. “I’ll ask our Father.” He turned and returned to walk up the steps.

Daily: 08/03/24 - Inspirational Woman

This isn't the first time today I got asked, whose my woman hero today. Even in the past weeks leading up and helping my alls girls school prepare celebrations, it's been burning on my mind.

My hero is Bisan Owda. If you recognise her name, you will probably already understand why I've chosen her. If you haven't heard of her, in simple terms to keep it scratch friendly, she's a journalist whose risking her life daily right now to document the war on her homeland.

I have so much respect for every journalist right now, but especially for Bisan because she hasn't given up hope. She is still fighting to stay alive. I watched her update today and I heard her anger for the people she's been living with. She offers people their voice and then speaks to us, safe in our homes because she's the one we have formed a parasocial relationship with and she is the one we listen too.

She is angry and she will use that anger because that's what she needs to do. She's a filmmaker, my passion, and she picked up a microphone because she needed to. She didn't choose helplessness and she empowers everyone she interviews by sharing her platform.

I never considered journalism as a passion. Growing up, I've watched the neutral, passive BBC reporting facts as if their words are not power. Bisan makes me realise that words do have power, that everyone deserves a voice by embodying the traits journalism demands, empathy and expression.

Bisan is not the only journalist who is inspiring me. Plestia, Hind and Lama are inspirational women and girls and mothers. Every women is Gaza is stronger than I will ever be and they should have to be. I wish I had the love for life and strength that they do.

Daily 21/03/24: 200 words of poems

The fifth house on fifth street,
is haunted.
It isn't for sale but no one comes,
or goes.
The kid next door, reports
A strange figure who looks at them out the window.
Teeangers break in.
To be met with screams.
Parents tell them ghosts aren't real.
You aren't living in a scary movie.
But the fifth house on fifth street is still haunted.
The fact doesn't change because
Its a human haunting the halls.

-

We are all someone's ghost.
We are all picking up the bedsheets and pretending that makes us invisible.
We are all hiding behind the masks of death.
We are all pretending loss is only found in death.
We are all ignoring the old phone number you never called.
We are all haunting those we've lost.
We are all mourning those in deep graves.
But then a shot doesn't hit the mark
We are all mourning the person it missed.

-

Poems get lost in translation. Not just from chinese whispers. Or the mother to the magpie. Or from the words not rhyming in one's mouth. There lies the question: Do you keep the rhyme or keep the heart, pumping around the words.

A translation lies beyond the lies of publishers, but also in the finger tracing the words. Meanings that were once held dear, lost in translating it to apply it to their lives. Every understanding is different. We cannot ask what it means. Are poems meant to grow mouthes to speak?

weekly '#3

Planning (456 words)
Exposition:
Vigilantes Ghost and Executor are stopped by a girl named Candy, who works corners often enough that Executor gets invited for family dinners every other week or so. She explains to them that some of her friends/co-workers have recently been going missing. This was something Ghost and Executor knew but since they work on a case by case basis and you can never be too sure with a job like theirs if they’ve gone missing or just quit. Candy is able to given them the basics of the information that allows them to finally start investigating, a confirmation that she think it’s a kidnapping but isn’t sure if murder is also one of the motives.

Rising Action:
Ghost starts to follow through the shadows and trail after people he thinks might be at risks, in hoping of catching one instant of a kidnapping and then finding the location (but also if there’s anything that links the victims together.) while Executor attempts to trace down by witness testimonies where the girls were before they went missing and if there’s any evidence at the scene of the crime (such as hair from where it could have been potentially ripped out, something increasingly common since Capillam entered the scene without her eye.)

The Climax:
Using a stray piece of hair, Ghost, Executor and Capillam are able to trace down who the kidnappers are and through Ghost’s limited information, when and where their most likely to strike next. They go as a team to try and take down the villains with the power of trauma and spite, take them down with relative ease and begin to help everyone kidnapped out.

Falling Action:
WHAT DO YOU KNOW! These kind of crimes don’t put all their eggs on one shift, obviously. And there is an unexplained shift change mid way through. Is there another fight scene? Yes because I love fight scenes and you can’t argue with me, I’m the author. But this time they have to also stop a car? MAN IDK???

Resolution:
On a clean up roll, they discover that there were victims they were too late to rescue. Capillam wrecks herself over such information, Ghost promises to try and find out information while Executor starts to rip the place apart to find any leads on what’s happened to them now. They slowly begin to go back to their ordinary life but they all change. Capillam becoming more self-destructive to win fights that could lead to such later horrors. Ghost taking time to properly get a look on every girl he saves face to make sure she wasn’t one of them. Executor gets violent towards anyone who pays for the girls services, even if nothing illegal is actually happening.

Clues and Red Herrings! (359 words)
Candy’s Account: Candy was a good friend of several of the victims and comfortable sharing information with Ghost and Executor. She works in the same sector and can offer information to dispel over possibilities for the other girls appearances such as moving away or quitting their jobs. However, she was deeply afraid of what could happen to her, fitting the basic criteria for the missing girls, and parts of her account such as when she last saw some of the missing girls is unusable due to her making assumptions and not being fully remembering what was happening. Her account features many contradictions. No one else will offer Ghost and Executor an account.
Ghost’s not stalking: Ghost, our brilliant Ghost finds out WHO the criminals are but due to his stalking power only working in the dark and the main operation of the crime taking place in a well let are, with the purpose of serving as a ward against Ghost. SO. Obviously the best thing he can find is a vague sense of their identity. He is also unable to actually prevent the kidnapping of the latest victim in exchange for this info,
The scene of (one of) the crimes: One of the crime scenes, found through Candy’s account of the last known location of one of the victims, helps with evidence. Theres a stray hair, which brings Capillam into the case and with that their able to trace down who the kidnappers are. Alongside this, is confirmation that the kidnapper gets close to the kidnapped while she’s working.
The V’s reaction: V, despite by all means besides actually making sure the victims are actually okay being the boss of the gig these girls run, has been acting incredibly suspiciously. He's been removing the victims from his timetable but hasn’t been throwing a fit. He gets incredibly antsty when he suspects Executor is nearby and following him and has gotten rid of far more paperwork than reasonable. He’s also just generally antsty. However, his money doesn’t seem to be running out? Wonder why that would be. It’s because of his day job Executor. V has a day job Executor. You think his family thinks his job is respectable Executor

Interview (246 words on my end as interrogator) done with xXFierroOrFalafelXx
Hey! Wait! Gem! Gemmmyyyy! I heard about what happened to Fiona and if you have a few minutes before you have to leave for your next shift can you answer a few questions for me? Consider it a little break! I'll pay your boss if I make you run late.

Sure, I mean, the police clearly can barely figure it out, so why not get help from a teenager? better than nothing i suppose

Okay, okay, cool! I actually thought you'd say no but we're here now. I was curious when you last heard from Fiona. I mean, someone else told me that she always offered some of you guys a lift but she lived to far and was never offered. Did she take you home two nights ago? I'm trying to figure out a rough time estimate. Actually, do you know what would be great! When did she last go to work?

two nights ago? no, she offered though, but I declined. I needed that time alone. She gave a few other people rides. Let's see…oh maybe Vicent, Kira, Leslie J…I don't really remember. Wait, wait no. wait yes she did give me a ride but just to the pet shelter. I volinteer there occasionally. It was a short ride, so I guess that's why i didn't remember, but yes, I was in the car with them for just a few minutes

Right. Okay. I saw Kira on my way here but she was working and didn't want to disturb her. I'll need to make sure I ask her then. That probably means Fiona got nabbed after work. So, they must have been targetting her rather than grabbing anyone. Probabably. I mean, it's pretty weird that they'd get her when she drives right to her door rather than some poor guy who wandered down the wrong alley. Do you guys have a groupchat? Like, for the lifts? Was she active on there at all? God, this would
be easier if I could just ask the police what they already know. OR get her phone but nooooooo, that's important evidence.

oh no no sorry, this was after work. vincent kira and leslie j all usually take the bus and they live near each other, but fiona offered to take them home since it was on the way for her. sorry. um but yes we have a group chat. there;s really nothing interesting on it though. you know, it seems so obvious that it's one of them, but everybody is always just like oh that's just a gut feeling. But I mean…I think Vincent was having money troubles and he was about to have a baby."

I gotcha! No worries about the group chat and I'll go check out Vincent now! That's all I need but I'll come back if anything else comes up

The MYSTERY!! (637 words)
Executor watched V from the corner of the street where Roxie used to work. He’d planned to jump the man while he was making sure his employees were all at their stations but it had become evident that he had switched his route up to account for the missing people’s doing his dirty work.
“The most damning piece of evidence.” Ghost said through his ear, “Will be if he turns up to Roxie’s station at all. He shouldn’t know she’s missing yet unless one of the others snitched.”
That was the exact reason why Executor had chosen Roxie’s stop instead of Candy’s. He clicked his tongue and could practically hear Ghost rolling his eyes down the line. “Unlike you, I’m certain that Roxie wasn’t the most persistent of co-workers. They’ll think nothing of her silence.”
The one downside to waiting for V to check on Roxie was that she was always the last person he picked up. Executor checked his watch. V was running late.
Ten minutes of watching cars with busted headlights drive past and Ghost’s constant nattering in his ear about the current criminal he was dealing with, V’s car pulled up. V was a tall man, having several inches over Executor even in the vigilante’s heels. He was lean and perhaps if he had less pride, he’d make a penny doing his own work for once.
“I wasn’t expecting you here.” V said.
Executor walked up. V flinched, hard, stepping back multiple blocks. Executor grinned viciously. “Well, you should have. With Roxie being gone, did you think I wouldn’t notice eventually?”
“W-well, I know that you don’t re-really bump routes with Good Ol’ Rox.”
“Is that why Candy is still there? Because you know she’s on my patrol route, like, right by the start point and that checking in on her is basically part of my day.” Executor scowled, “That’s low and not smart enough.”
V stood incredibly still. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Executor walked until he was right in V’s face. He jabbed a finger at the man’s chest and snarled.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
V took another step back. He was getting awfully close to his car, which would give him the opportunity to jump in the backseat. The driver would be ready for such an order. Executor wouldn’t stand a chance and he’d lose his only possible lead in this case.
“I know what you’re thinking and it’s not that! What do I earn from making my own girls disappear Executor. I’m a team leader. Surely you wouldn’t sell out your own partners?”
“Our working relationship is different, you see, we’re co-workers not boss and employee.”
V grinned. “Well then, what would you know about how I manage my work here? I’m a bit stressed because I’ve lost a large sum of my potential money and I can hardly make the shifts longer before they make use of their threat to unionize.”
“Maybe they should unionize anyways, to stop you trying to make immediate profit at the first sign that certain employee’s weren’t doing as well freelancing as you’d like. There’s just so many desperate people who’d take up your offer here. Who cares about the collateral.”
V sneered. He turned his back on Executor and started to walk away. Executor demanded to know who he thought he was for daring to leave, despite how V could get such a boy stepped on like a bug with a snap of his fingers. “Since you refuse to listen to my answers. I will not listen to your questions. Now, I need to go and check none of my other employee’s have gone missing.” V slipped into the car, slammed the door.
The car drove away. “That could have gone better.” Ghost piped up in Executor’s ear.

24/03/24 - Describe your Hobbit Hole (403 words)

Gigi's hobbit hole has pollen falling inside because she built the quaint place below a mount that was covered by flowers. By her door was a beehive where bees liked to bring the pollen from above. The door handle is also sticky and now amount of cleaning keeps it sheen for a long enough while for it to be worth the constant effort. The honey that dripped onto it gave the doorknob a glazed shiny look, meaning it always looked extremely polished which was a perfectly good trade in Gigi's book.

The hobbit hole featured a small kitchen composed of the bare necessities for cooking not because Gigi didn't enjoy extravagant meals but because the newest tools to make bread give minutes quicker wasn't advertised very well towards her. What was advertised very well to Gigi was books.

Now, you might imagine Hobbits don't keep many books and the ones they do are sure to be relaxing. Perhaps the Hobbit, if they were feeling excited. Gigi read exciting books but not the hobbit, which she'd tried to read seven years before and found boring, but instead read one of the worn through horror classics she'd salvaged over the years. If she kept salvaging texts she might eventually turn back to find one of Harkers original letters about Dracula. But she'd yet to come across one yet.

These books would be read on her cosy chair that faced a rumbling fire. As she'd read the books, the fire would keep her warm, no matter if it was the summers heatwaves or the winters breeze. It's crackles and pops did an amazing job at keeping her aware of her surroundings. If the stories began to become too scary, she could look up, feel the fires warmth radiating on her warm toes and remember that she wasn't in Victor Frankensteins cold, monsterious lab playing God but instead in her cosy little hobbit hole which was brimming with life and she was perfectly content with playing along with whatever the universe had in store for her.

The universe had a long playlist of classical music in store for Gigi, as it always did. The music danced around the room. It was the same vinyl record that she always played and could hum every song too off by heart. Gigi was rather proud of that fact despite how she wasn't a musical hobbit and was never in tune.

Casper White, although better known by the night as the vigilante Ghost, landed on top of the apartment block that sat on the edge of the city. He pushed himself up from the floor and looked at the skyline. As per usual, there was no sight of Casper’s companion.

The night was cold, the concrete roof was cold, the howling wind was cold, and Ghost would be cold until he could jump into the mouth of the city. When he pulled his mask down, his breath looked like smoke, floating towards the starless sky. Something else landed on the roof, the click of heels giving away their arrival; Ghost pulled up his mask to turn to his partner.

The cold wasn’t a problem for Executor. The smaller boy’s costume covered every inch of him besides his eyes and the fingerless gloves.

“How long have you been waiting?” Executor asked. He wandered over to the edge of the building and stood besides Ghost.

“Not long,” Ghost admitted, “But only because you were on time for this meeting.”

Executor smiled, his eyes crinkling, but offered no explanation as to why he was always late.

Beneath them, they could see the sprawling connections of alleyways and the dots of those who knew to take advantage of the darkness. Ghost had to squint to see exactly what was happening below him. Some of the nearby buildings hadn’t been designed with roof access in mind. Ghost hopped between the apartment balconies until he landed on the ground. Executor slid down the fire ladder. They wandered through the outskirts until they reached the city centre.

Street lamps flickered on for brief seconds; the light casted a soft glow that made the pair look like spirits haunting the streets. Girls started to work corners, and Executor took the time to check they were okay. Executor walked with his head high, as if his presence was more than enough to frighten off the walking nightmares. Ghost, who had seven inches on his partner, peered down each corner trying to spot any possible crime.

“Do you think Sam the hot dog guy would make us pay for the patrol snacks if we staged a crime to save him from?” Executor asked.

Ghost clicked his tongue, “We’re meant to stop…“ he trailed off, staring down a pitch-black alleyway.

Executor stopped and turned to ask Ghost what had caught his tongue but quickly also peered down the alleyway. “What’re you looking at?” Executor asked.

“Looks like a mugging but I can’t be certain.” The assailant’s fist smashed the wall besides the victim. Ghost hissed, “The assailant seems to have a strength power. I don’t see any other weapon on them. That or they weren’t expecting a fight, which is highly improbable.”

Executor nodded. He pulled Ghost’s sleeve up. His fingers hovered above Ghost’s wrist. Ghost nodded, and that was all the consent his partner needed. Executor’s fingers were warm as they brushed over his skin. Ghost wanted to grab Executor’s hand and insist he wasn’t feeling his heart flutter as it began to beat strong and consistently. Once Ghost was taking deep breaths, Executor pulled his sleeve jacket down and vanished into the mist of the night.

Ghost walked into the alleyway. The victim, a woman in her mid-twenties, heard his footsteps, turning around to face him with wide eyes. “Help,” She mouthed with exaggerated mouth movements. Ghost nodded.

The assailant hadn’t noticed him, so Ghost took the chance to live up to his name. He pulled out the pocket knife, large enough to hurt but small enough to do no lasting damage if its target got medical help. He aimed for the assailant’s left shoulder.

The sting caused the assailant to randomly swing. The punch was too high. Ghost ducked under it with ease. He sunk into the shadows and let them consume him as he watched. The assailant stumbled forward before looking around for Ghost.

Ghost grinned under his mask. The assailant’s eyes glazed right over him. He rolled back into the light. He aimed a kick for the man’s legs and missed. The assailant reached out. Ghost stepped out of his arm’s length. He gripped his dagger. The best course of action was to try and get the assailant on the floor. Getting his hands tied up would be marginally easier if he didn’t need to worry about getting hit hard enough to leave his head ringing. He had to keep the fight low.

The assailant stepped forward. His arm was outstretched. They were backing out of the alley. Outside of the alley meant fewer spaces for Ghost to use to hide among. He started to head diagonally, each step moving a little to the left.

Shadows made Ghost one of them, blending him into the darkness. He moved to the assailant’s side and adjusted his dagger accordingly. He dived for the assailant’s thighs. Ghost’s head was caught in a large, heavy hand. The hand threw him to the ground.

Ghost’s back scraped against the concrete. The dagger flew out of his hand and clattered on the floor a metre away.

Executor didn’t wait. Ghost’s partner sprinted forward. The assailant turned to face him, the sound of the heels giving him away. Executor didn’t rely on weapons the same way Ghost did because his body was already one. Every punch the assailant threw his way, Executor dodged. Executor took every missed hit to slip closer to the assailant.

Months, perhaps years, of sparring with Executor made it obvious to Ghost what he was doing. He was dancing but every dance was only as good as its dancers. Executor was a professional and the assailant was too, to an untrained eye. Yet, his feet were too heavy while Executor was light on his heels and quicker.

When Executor could feel the assailant’s breath, he slammed his heel onto the man’s foot. Executor wore stilettos. The assailant took his eyes off his opponent for a second but that was all Executor needed. He pressed his fingers to the man’s neck.

The man fumbled. In his increasingly dazed state, he thrashed. The assailant knocked Executor off him. The unrestrained strength slammed Ghost’s partner into the wall. With a sickening crack, Executor’s head bounced off the wall and his hood fell off.

The assailant blinked. He started to collect himself as his heart started to beat around the expected amount of oxygen to his body. Ghost scrambled to collect his dagger and get up. He raised the knife near the back of the man’s neck and guided him against the wall.

Executor pushed himself up. His hair was curly and sat just below his ears. Casper could probably tie it in a ponytail. Executor pulled off his gloves and circled around to the man’s side. He placed his full palm on the assailant’s cheek. Executor’s hands were scarred. The assailant’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell onto the floor. Neither Ghost nor Executor moved to soften his fall.

Executor kicked the limp body away. He looked up at Ghost with narrowed eyes. Ghost tilted his head towards where the near victim had stayed shock still, pressed against the wall. Executor’s eyes softened. He slipped the gloves back on and approached her with his palms in the air. “Do you need help getting to the main street? It’ll be brighter there.”

The victim stared at Executor’s hands before she shook her head. Awakened from her terror, she ran out of the alleyway.
“That could have gone better,” Ghost said, tucking his weapon away.

Executor laughed, his tongue clicking the top of his mouth as he did so. He flipped around to face Ghost, his hair briefly caught in the breeze; his eyes crinkled in pure joy. “Don’t tell me that one measly hit would have kept you down!”

“It didn’t keep me down for long.” Casper teased, letting himself linger on the sight of his partner. Executor tugged his hood back on; Ghost started to walk to the exit of the alley. They started to repeat the pattern.

Daily 28/03/24 continue a fairytale - 524 words

Cinderella's dress was made from silk. There were women hovering around her, helping her lace every bow and smooth the creases in her skirt.

“Oh isn't this exciting!” One of the maids (Cinderella is still getting used to the fact she has maids and doesn't need to even make her own bed anymore, let alone her fiancés or his father's) cries, “It's been so long since we had a new princess!”

Cinderella nods, “I just hope everyone accepts me.”

“Don't be silly! How can anyone not love you Ella!”

Cinderella's stomach ties itself into knots at her name. She stumbled slightly. A different maid this time grabbed her and patted her hips, “Oh this isn't too tight is it?”

Cinderella shook her heads. Her mice had never asked questions such as this. They'd always known when a dress was too loose or too tight.

The last bow was tied and the maids scurried away. They haphazardly packed their bags. Cinderella reached forward to grab a needle and thread (in case they dress needed last minutes adjustments) but had been swatted away. “You're going to ruin the dress!” They exclaimed. “Princess' don't worry about such inane things!”

Cinderella wasn't due down to the church for another hour. She wandered around her room, tracing the mahogany wood and Marvelling at how her fingers didn't leave soot stains anymore. She caught her reflection in the mirror. Her heart pounded and leapt into her mouth. The mirror was covered by a towel.

Someone knocked on her door. Cinderella stopped still. Her face turned to stare at the door. Her mouth hung open but she couldn't find the words to say. “Can I come in.” The Prince Charming asked.

Cinderella nodded before remembering that her prince couldn't see her from the other room. “Yeah.” She whispered.

The door opened a crack, Prince Charming popped his head through. “You look beautiful Cindy.”

Cinderella was so much stronger than she was in that second. Over the years with her step mother, she hadn't cried in front of prying eyes since Her father had died. She cried then.

Prince Charming barged through the door and peppered kissed across her cheek. He lifted her head up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “What's wrong?”

“You're not meant to see your wife before the ceremony. It's bad luck.” Cinderella said in lieu of an answer.

Prince Charming laughed. “Well I think it's bad luck for the light of my life to be upset on whats meant to be the happiest day of her life. Do you want to tell me what's wrong Cindy?”

Prince Charming was the only person who called her Cindy. Cinderella's chest felt as light as a feather, like a puzzle that had finally been completed, when he called her that. It made her want to scream and cry and push him away that he call her something that had hurt her for so long.

Cinderella's shook her head.

“You don't want to tell me?”
“I don't know.” Cinderella said, “I really just don't know.” She repeated again and again as she began to sob like a broken mantra.

29/03/24 - Write a prologue (374 words)

The eighty ninth prince of hell went by many different names over the years. Satan was common to no one's surprise. The bible made sure to emphasise the main point of hell, the suffering, but forgot the to explain how the whole system actually worked.

The eighty ninth prince of hell chewed on the end of their pencil, which was getting rather blunt from a century or two of use. As they began to write up the deal for their newest victim, they wondered exactly what name they should put on the legal contract. Definitely not Satan they decided, far to likely result in the hard work landing in their fathers palms. The eighty ninth prince also wasn't a guarantee since their siblings were getting more desperate to climb up the ranks. They'd be able to defend themselves but the prince had taken a liking to this soul in his research. They were attached, as far as a demon could be, and would be unwilling to part with such a curious character.

They eventually decided that the soul would belong to the demon whom the contracted made a deal with. A nice and simple way to keep the soul in the eighty ninth princes hands forever.

The deal rolled itself up once the final sentence had been written. Now was the easy part, the prince supposed: getting the soul to agree to a deal that would by most means seem outrageous.

The eighty ninth prince of hell hadn't claimed that title for no reason however. Amongst his two thousand siblings, a few were bound to fall into the same trap of humans such as not reading the terms and conditions or being tricked into thinking a contract served their purpose when it only did so in the short term. He had a silver tongue, quite literally, and knew how to use it.

How hard could it be to get a human to agree to sell their soul? The eighty ninth prince of hell evaporated his form into a cloud of mist. They travelled to the surface world and traced along the path that his future victim was taking to his home.

Soon, the eighty ninth prince of hell thought, they'd have Casper White's soul.

30/03/24 - What's the worst superpower your OC can have? -342 words

Laura's greatest fear, three years after watching her parents die, was silence. She laid on her back in bed and listened to world whirl around her. Her younger siblings, Jodie the room over was dreaming of grand palaces and a glass ballroom. The sleepy peace washed over Laura as it hummed and muttered incoherently. The apartment below was filled with screaming. It didn't get muffled by the floor the same way actual screaming did. Nightmare or living nightmare, Laura wondered for the nth time. She got out of bed and padded towards the door. Through the crack in the door, Laura could see Jodie turn around and bury her head deeper into her pillow. She stretched her hand towards the knob of the door. The cold metal shocking her drowsy system.

Laura's hair was ruffled by sleep. Her phone pinged, Ximena warning her that she better not be thinking of going out online. “We have a maths exam tomorrow. I won't help you if I find out you weren't sleeping. Or at least awake studying.” Her hand ungrasped the door.

Laura shot a text back, “My neighbours are fighting again. I think.”

She knows Ximena's response. It would be something along the lines of how Laura should not act wtihout knowledge. These were the kind of mistakes that got them caught, the kind of mistakes that killed them. If she strained her mind, she would hear Ximena loud and clear, able to differentiate her between the crowds of people in the city.

But Laura is tired. She wants to sleep so she can score well enough to keep her scholarship. The sleeping city makes it harder than the waking city to snooze. Straining herself and giving herself a bad headache isn't going to help.

Meditation, Laura mumbles to herself as she climbs back into her bed, lying on her back. Breathe in the for four, hold for eight, out for six. If she can clear her mind, she can trick herself into believing everyone else has too. The neighbours continue screaming below.

Thank you notes: March 2024 SWC

Alright. These thank you notes hopefully won’t be long but I have a lot of people to thank this session so!
Obligitary thank you hosts, co-hosts, (g)hosts and daily team for putting together this session. This session was fabulous and it was definitely in part of your amazing skills in keeping everything organized, on time, creativity and working as a team. Hosts have fun making the result project!

Thank you Soki, Vi (esp Vi for the profile picture!), Nini and Bookie for being brilliant leaders and co’s, This has been the most excited I’ve been to be in a cabin fpr a while and you absolutely lived up to it! Now we’re at the end of the session can I come out of the closet and say my team? ^^’

And thank you to everyone I’ve interacted with this session, in cabin wars, cheering you on (or being cheered on) in the main cabin, doing critiquaires and more. This session was made up just as much by all the little moments with you guys!
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To the individual thanks aka people who made this session special for in particular <3
Thank you to Mousey! I know we spoke frequently before this session but getting to know you well this session has been amazing and you can’t escape from me now! We did horrible jobs motivating each other to edit but I believe you’ve been on top of that anyways (live a soldier you are o7 I could not, and didn’t!) and please stay safe under icicles!

To Sandy, who I didn’t speak too much but who critiqued my writing comp entry for a different writing contest! And then jumped in to give me the critique I needed for the final weekly. Your writing is amazing and keep it up!

To Pheonix who I met this session and is honestly just a blast to talk to. Thank you for jumping in for the third part of the third weekly and giving me updates on your Babel read through. We need to swap book reccs and chat more. I don’t even know how I ran across you but boy am I glad I did.

To Zai who critiqued my writing comp entry for SWC. Here’s to both of us not getting disqualified on the bounds of violence again! (Hopefully) (also I am still very happy to read your entry if you got that extension!)

To Alana and Poppy who I kept seeing adding my dailies and weeklys (and every other point adder I just saw these guys a lot in my messages ^^ Thank YOU! I have a parasocial relationship with you both now! I’m going to see you around future SWC’s and be like: OH MY GOD THEY ADDED MY POINTS THAT TIME.

To FI, who even without being in the session, gets a thanks. You were my rock in many dailies where I was tired and didn’t want to do them, letting me use them in that daily about being in an SWCer’s life and a bunch of other stuff that is between me, FI and God. Also Thank you Fi for your code because I used it to upload all my weeklies and dailies so honestly, couldn’t have done this session without you. Have fun being a panellist officially

To the user on another platform of which I can’t name for the Red Hood Tim Drake playlist. I wrote basically everything to that playlist so. Good on you.