This is the first time I'm doing a SWC during the school year, so let's see how that goes! My goal is also rather high this time, but I'll manage.

Link to the last SWC I was in: https://scratch-mit-edu.ezproxy.canberra.edu.au/discuss/topic/614660/
Link to my sister's current SWC: https://scratch-mit-edu.ezproxy.canberra.edu.au/discuss/topic/639162/

—
I'm in poetry this time around, so the currency is ★s.

Last year's point counting system was good but I'm going back to my roots because it was sort of hard to record, in fact, I'll have both. The points for each day will look like this:

Day #: #★ for reason (# words in total, #★ in total)

(Each reason for the ★s will be counted separately and then total!)

—
And just for archive purposes, here's my previous signature because I'm gonna change it:
-Starthorn / Star || (she/her)

ALSO: SWC July 2022 Fairy-tales for the win!!

Day 1: 1★ for the daily, 5★ for the poem (321 words in total, 6★ in total)

Main Cabin Daily, to introduce yourself 1★:
c! version
c!Starthorn stumbles into the main cabin, dragging a scraped-up bassoon case behind her. She slams down a folder stuffed full of paperwork on the desk.

“Over the last two years-” she takes a second to catch her breath before continuing. “I've struggled to keep a spaceship going as we hurtled through the stars, finally got to my goal planet and set up a house, joined the countries of Fairytales right before they broke into civil war,” she is waving her hands around above her head, as if to convey how big of a deal this all is, “-and changed alliances in said war at least four times!”

(Here she indicates the now faded marks on the back of her hand. They are blurred and show the remains of several different emblems).

She pauses to think for a moment, long elf-like ears twitching as if unsure. Her breath is coming slightly easier now, and the pause gives you time to notice her flyaway hair and poorly sewn hat. You wonder, distantly, how late she was to sign up for this month's events.

Finally, a mischievous smile breaks out on her face and your attention is drawn back to her words, “So, where do I go to get to Poetry?”

cc! version
Sooo…. yeah! I'm Starthorn (or Star), I've been in Scratch Writing Camp two times before, both in July, and I'm happy to join again this year! I do a lot of the dailies that involve introducing myself by writing mini fics about my persona. I love writing, but also enjoy various other sorts of art, including playing the flute and bassoon. I'm hoping for a good month!

(209 + 67 words.)

Cabin Challenge, to ask to be added to the competition. 5★
Hi! I would like to be added to the competition, I've never been in a cabin that did this sort of thing before, and I'm fascinated by the concept. I'm really excited for this month, and hope to make it through this competition successfully.

(45 words.)

Day 2: (363 words in total, 0★ in total.)

You Hurt Me, And Now I Can't Retort Late Wh!tober Thing - Franticshipping, Pokespe, Sapphire, Lost Voice
Sapphire couldn't explain why her words suddenly stopped coming. She couldn't describe what made it so her voice stopped.

It wasn't just her anger at Ruby, it wasn't just the inability to find what to say. It was almost supernatural- like much of her life these days.

She was made at Ruby for sure, but she wanted to speak. She wanted to ask him why had had done it. And yet, no words would leave her aching lips.

So she curled up, squeezing her eyes shut where she lay. She felt cold, out here. She stars shone above her, but the air was stagnant. (She wished Ruby was here, and yet there was no way to ask for him.)

Sapphire whined to herself, rolling onto her other side. How could the night be so beautiful when she felt so bad? How could it be calm without him there with her?

She wanted to hug him, wanted to hear him apologize for what he had done, because she trusted that he would- someday. Ruby was a good person, things had just… changed.

He was somewhere out there right now, probably training (although it was dark).

Maybe, the thought rose her heart into her throat, eyes opening to stare up into the endless expanse above. Maybe he was looking up at these same stars, right then. Maybe if she could will it hard enough, he could think of her in the stars.

Love was a beautiful thing, but even the sparkling stars were swallowed up in darkness when her eyes blurred.

Rose tinned glasses, but he looked so good in pink.

She rolled onto her back and let out a deep breath. It caught in her throat when it left her lungs, just enough to stand out in her conscious body-awareness. Sapphire wasn't often the type to cry over little things, but it was hard not to when every little thing was reminding her of her sudden ability to vocally convey her thoughts.

Above, the moon reflected her like some twisted mirror. It was a sliver in the sky, covered half by the darkness of a missing sun. In its own way, it was melancholy.

(363 words.)

Day 3: 1★ for the daily (1336 words in total, 1★ in total.)

Main Cabin Daily, the first object you see is an ingredient in a smoothie. Convince everyone it tastes good. 1★:

c!Starthorn stumbles into HQ, late once again (for she slept through the month's second daily). “I've brought a smoothie for today's luncheon,” she tells the cabin leaders at the front desk, once again out of breath. It is notable that her bassoon case is nowhere to be seen.

Another camper has evidently also brought in a smoothie, because they look up in confusion from where they have been standing a few feet away.

“You brought one too?”

“I did!” c!Starthorn responds, seeming quite happy with this shared idea and holding out the cup for them to take a peak at, “What's the flavor of yours?”

They come forward to check out the drink, eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion at the sight. They pear closer, voice dwindling as they spoke, but still trying their best to answer her question. “I- it's a strawberry banana one, it was what I had near me, so it's what I decided to make…” finally, they bite their lip and look up. The question bursts from them, as if they can't hold it back any longer. “What even- what is yours?”

c!Starthorn peers down at the cup in her hands, an odd look coming over her and absorbing some of the excitement in her eyes. The cup is wooden, and filled with what looks like soggy fabric scraps and little pieces of wood. She speaks slowly, “It said to make a dish out of the first thing you saw, and I was taking a little break from practicing,”

“Practicing?” the second camper asks, tilting their head in slight confusion.

“Bassoon,” c!Starthorn quickly adds, “So I looked back to my instrument and saw the reeds,”

The second camper's eyes widen in confusion and shock, "That's your reeds??“

”Yeah,“ c!Starthorn pokes at the top of the ‘drink’ with one finger, it doesn't move like a liquid. There seems to be some sort of water combined with the stuff, along with the blended wood and fabric scraps. ”And my seat strap and cleaning swap; it needed more flavor,“

The other camper has backed away a step by now, looking a bit grossed out as all this information solidifies itself in their mind. They open their mouth to speak, but sigh and close it again. A response seems to be hard to come up with as they try to continue with polite conversation.

c!Starthorn speaks before they can, looking up hopefully. ”What do you think of it?“

”I- it's interesting, for sure,“ they try to smile, but it doesn't quite go past the sickly looking twinge to their eyes, to make up for the lack of enthusiasm they hurry to offer another response to focus on. ”Maybe Muzzy from Gondoland would like it?“

c!Starthorn shakes her head, ”No- I swear it's good, do you wanna try some?“

She shoves the beverage forward and they take a stumbling step away. ”It's alright!“ they yelp, raising their hands by the sides of their head, ”I don't need any!“

c!Starthorn seems to droop, ”But… the little wood chips get stuck in your teeth! It's almost just like a toothpick,“

”I'm good,“ the other camper breathes, grimacing.

”It tastes like mold, isn't that great?“ c!Starthorn near-begs.

”Nope!" they back away more, and thus the conversation continues.

(552 words.)

German Homework, slideshow, VfB Stuttgart. This was for a project about soccer, which for some reason is an entire unit in my German class. : | (Can you tell I have no interest in it? Like, I know it's crazy popular in Germany but it's sandwiched between the politics and WW1+WW2 units ToT)

Much of the land of Baden-Württemberg came from the former country/state of Württemberg.
For a long time, in the Middle Ages particularly, it was part of Swabia. After some time of this, it started on a period where it would go through many changes very quickly.
In 1803 it became a electorate
Three years later, 1806, it became a kingdom
From 1819 to 1918 it was a constitutional monarchy
In 1918, it became an independent republic
One year later it joined the Weimar Republic, 1919.
It was part of the Third Reich from 1934 to 1945
Then, it finally faded into Baden-Württemberg in 1952

Stuttgart is the capital of the German state Baden-Württemberg.
They are located in the central-northern part of the state, which is itself in the south-west of Germany.
Like most people in Germany under generalization, the people of Stuttgart enjoy soccer. Therefore, they have an official team.

Soccer, known as football by most of the world, is a sport where two teams are pitted against each other. They are not allowed to use their hands.
There are many rules to soccer, and many positions for players to be, but the general idea is as simple as trying to score a ball in the opposite goal without using their hands, the main focus on kicking it.
It is the most popular sport in the world.

It is thought that Soccer as a direct sport was first directly started in England around 1863, though many earlier games resembled it somewhat (in ancient China, Rome, perhaps Mesopotamia, etc). Not too long after this direct start, it was popularized in Germany by two school teachers (in 1874).
But, when it was spread particularly in America, some of the rules began to be altered. Then, rugby and American football split off from the sport we know today as soccer, in the USA.

Professional soccer teams in Germany are supported by fans, for fans. Germany in general has great interest in the sport and many children join their own teams when they are young. Though most of the kids (and adults) who play the sport are male, women enjoy it too.
There are 18 professional teams in total, VfB Stuttgart being one of them.
The big German soccer league is called the Bundesliga, but there are two of them. The upper and lower leagues. Then, there are many below that.

VfB Stuttgart represents the city of Stuttgart and therefore the state of Baden-Württemberg in the Bundesliga. Their home stadium is Mercedes-Benz Arena, pictured on the side. It features a fabric roof, which makes it very recognizable.
So far in this year’s Bundesliga they have had two wins. They have won the national championship five times before.

Before it was used for soccer, it also hosted other sports events. (Including in 1986 when the hammer throw world record was set, at the European Athletics Championships.) It was repurposed for soccer and renamed properly in 2008 and 2009.
It has had several names over the years:
Adolf-Hitler-Kampfbahn, 1933
Century Stadium, 1945
Neckarstadion, 1949
Gottlieb-Daimler-Stadion, 1993
Mercedes-Benz Arena, 2008

Verein für Bewegungsspiele Stuttgart is the full name of VfB Stuttgart’s club, but it is commonly referred to as the latter for obvious reasons. It is also nicknamed Die Roten (The Reds) and Die Schwaben (The Swabians).
The club was formed in April of 1912, merged between Stuttgarter FV and Kronen-Club Cannstatt. Both of these clubs were made up of students who belonged to the middle class. (They had also both gone through many changes in their own history.)
It is currently in the first division of the Bundesliga.

Their main colors are red, black, yellow, and white.
Their home uniforms are white with a stripe across the chest displaying the name of one of their sponsors, Mercedes, and its logo. (And above this the team’s logo.) Away uniforms are red and black, and thirds are black.
The logo has changed many times since the team’s creation. The most recent iteration consists of a yellow star above the club’s emblem/coat of arms, holding artistic lettering of the letters “VfB” (created by Hermann Stammler) and the number 1893. It also has a small yellow section with three black lines with spikes on the top. It has been altered many times.

As listed on Bundesliga.com, there are 28 people currently working on VfB Stuttgart.
Florian Müller, Fabian Bredlow, Florian Schock, Nicolas Glaus, Waldemar Anton, Josha Vagnoman, Konstantinos Mavropanos, Pascal Stenzel, Hiroki Ito, Dan-Ael Zagadou, Borna Sosa, Antonis Aidonis, Wataru Endo, Tanguy Coulibaly, Enzo Millot, Atakan Karazor, Chris Führich, Lilian Egloff, Nikolas Nartey, Naouirou Ahamada, Laurin Ulrich, Serhou Guirassy, Tiago Tomás, Juan Jose Perea, Silas Katompa Mvumpa, Luca Pfeiffer, Alou Kuol, and Thomas Kastanaras

(784 words.)

Day 4: 1★ for the daily (2677 words in total, 1★ in total.)

Main Cabin Daily, 1★:
Original song chosen: Armee Der Tristen by Rammstein (Lyrics available on Google)
Translated first to: Hawaiian
Hawaiian translated version translated to: Scottish Gaelic
Scottish Gaelic translated version translated to: Russian
Russian translated version translated to: English

Final Version:
Are you sad like me?
Tears are flowing
join us
We want to mourn together
come with me, come with me
Why are you still away?
Join our team
If we get depressed
Nothing, nothing you can get
Hand in hand, not the other
Hand in hand, don't look back
Let's close our ranks
Walk with luck
Come with me, cross the line
Come with me step by step
Come on, build up
Come with me step by step
Sad, sad, sad
Will we suffer together?
Sad and melancholic
Difficult, diabolical
Patterns on withered roses
Endless side
meet, meet
Anyone Can
AT
Hand in hand, not the other
Hand in hand, don't look back
Let's close our ranks
Walk with luck
Come with me, cross the line
Come with me step by step
Come on, build up
Come with me step by step

Piece: She's A Mess Light Chloenette, Miraculous Ladybug, late Wh!tober entry. Breaking point, reluctant caretaker.

Ladybug passed by the mayor's hotel during her patrol, but didn't think much of it. There was nothing suspicious going on here, so she quickly continued on. She didn't even notice the light in the window of the room she knew to be Chloe's, and it wasn't for another three minutes or so that she was reminded of it.

She heard a hard landing about twenty feet behind her on the roof she had been walking and quiet nearly jumped out of her skin. Before she could turn around, the sound of racing feet caught in her ears, and she bristled instantly, now spinning around to face what she thought at first had to be some sort of attacker. She flung her yo-yo up in a shield to block what she anticipated to be a projectile or punch.

Instead, she came face to face with Queen Bee.

“Ladybug!” her coworker cried, barley skidding to a halt before she was to have ran into the red-suited superhero. Ladybug just managed to get her yo-yo out of the way before Chloe slid right in front of where it had been spinning, quiet nearly catching the woman's nose in it even with the almost instant reaction time.

Ladybug took a step back as Queen Bee tried to reach for her shoulders, still a bit suspicious, and maybe even annoyed that she had been followed. “Why are you here?” she asked, almost too harshly.

Chloe didn't seem to notice, immediately jumping into an explanation. The only problem was that her words were fast and didn't make any sense, jumbled as they were by uncertainty and the run-on paragraph they had been placed it.

“Chloe!” Ladybug raised her voice in an almost shout to get in a word edgewise as Chloe continued on, and slammed her hands on the girl's shoulders with force, cutting her off in the middle of her rambling sentence. “Slow down!”

She tried to give Queen Bee the benefit of the doubt now. They were both out of college, and only occasionally saw each other in their civilian lives, not that Chloe would know that they ever met outside of superhero form. Chloe had moved past her bullying phase just a bit before college, maybe a last minute attempt to be remembered in any sort of positive connotation. Marinette had already forgiven her for that anyway, mostly.

On the superhero side of things, Chloe had given up the Miraculous when she betrayed them long ago, and it was thought that it would be a permanent change. The Bee Miraculous had gone to Zoe, who held it for about five years. Ladybug had thought that was permanently too, until Zoe came to her one night and begged to no longer hold the Miraculous. Something about stresses from her life, something about the heightening of political worries. Ladybug tried to give the comb back several times after the wasp relinquished it, but each time Zoe refused.

Eventually, Ladybug had given up. The only problem at the time was that they were still fighting Hawkmoth, and they simply couldn't train a new team member in times like that. Then, she made a very rash decision: she returned the Bee Miraculous to its original holder. Shockingly, it worked out. Queen Bee had fought alongside the group against Hawkmoth in their final battle, her Venom was used instrumentally in the battle to stop the akumas which had been getting in their way. It was that day that they had taken Hawkmoth down, and that day that they retrieved the Moth Miraculous. Even if Mayura got away that day, it had been a win in some way.

Ladybug ripped herself out of the thoughts just in time for Chloe to take a deep breath in, shoulders raising as she tried to slow herself. Her hair bounced in the wind, superhero form enhancing its curls, and she let the breath out again. It was shaky as she tried to control her emotions. “I know,” her hands squeezed each other, the shiny black material over them catching the light of a streetlamp below, “Sorry, Ladybug, I just saw you out here and had to-”

Ladybug cut in again, “I'm on duty tonight, I didn't need any help,”

She almost felt bad for how much Chloe seemed to wilt at the bite in her voice, but she was a bit cross. Ladybug was trying to focus and this was a distraction from that very important focus. This was a full-time job, after all, not that it really paid all that well.

“But it's not to patrol-”

“Then why'd you interrupt me?” Ladybug sighed.

Chloe bit her lip as she tried to find words for an explanation, hands gripping hard on the edge of her suit's updated skirt. Ladybug almost wanted to just turn around and continue on her way, but some strange feeling in the depth of her chest made her stay. Finally, Chloe spoke. “I needed to talk to you,” she was staring down at her boots.

Ladybug's stomach flipped, suddenly terrified that they might lose their Bee holder for technically the third time, and bit back the urge to cut in with this question before Chloe continued.

“It's…” the woman's voice dwindled to barley over a whisper, “…my civilian life, politics and things,”

At that, Ladybug's heart flipped. “Are you giving up your Miraculous?” she asked, unable to keep it anymore.

Queen Bee looked up at her, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “What? Why would I do that?”

“I-” Ladybug's voice stuttered to a halt, her turn to feel confusion. She wasn't? “You're not?”

“No, I'm just… stressed about stuff,” Chloe's voice turned weak at the end of the sentence, eyes leaving Ladybug's face again.

Ladybug didn't quite know what to say to that. Why was Chloe talking to her about this? Why not Adrien, or her butler? Of all people, why would she be the first choice?

They were both silent, waiting for the other to speak. The wind was warm that night, brushing comfortably against the back of Ladybug's head. It was a clear contrast to the strange tension between the two superheros, warm even with the uncertainty that filled it. At last, Ladybug couldn't take it anymore, and shoved her words out before they were really prepared.

“Why me?”

Chloe looked a little hurt, clearly interpreting this as some sort of insult, though still more confused than anything. Ladybug saw this and rushed to correct the mistake. “No-” she exclaimed, “No, I mean, why are you talking to me about it? Don't you have other people?”

Queen Bee's eyes lifted a bit, confidence lighting for a moment in them as she opened her mouth to answer. Then, her eyebrows furrowed again, the confidence melting away once more. “I'm… not sure,” she almost phrased it as a question with the odd tone placed upon the sentence.

Ladybug wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.

“Maybe seeing you out my window just,” Queen Bee took a long breath to gather her thoughts, clearly running off of improvisation, “just reminded me that I could talk to you?”

Looking around, Ladybug saw that the streets below seemed relatively still. There was no obvious violence going on, maybe she could spend a little time on this. She still didn't want to stay here a long time, exactly, but maybe just a little of it could be set aside to deal with this conversation. Patrol couldn't wait for a long time, but maybe she could put it off a bit. “Well,” she finally looked back to Queen Bee, who was staring down at her boots with an off look of doom in her eyes. “What did you need to talk about? We can talk as we patrol,”

“I can patrol with you?” Queen Bee blinked.

“If you want to talk to me, yes, because I have to get this done,” Ladybug pointed out, the faint remains of proper annoyance only just evident in her voice.

She started off in the direction she had been initially going, and Queen Bee hurried to follow her.

(1352 words.)


English Homework, The Crucible, power dynamics, pyramid.
This piece was in my notebook which I had to turn in today because it's almost the last day of the quarter. All I know is the amount of words and cannot provide proof until I get my notebook back. It had ten paragraphs, each about a character and how powerful they were.
(1325 words.)

Day 5: 1★ for the daily, 5★ for the poem (1118 words in total, 6★ in total.)

Main Cabin Daily, toss a letter in a bottle into the ocean- with a little backstory 1★:
Note: Characters and ideas from a weekly from the last SWC I was in. https://scratch-mit-edu.ezproxy.canberra.edu.au/discuss/topic/614660/?page=2#post-6476546

I don't have much time, the letter read.

All I can hope is that this message reaches the right hands.

Emma gripped the bottle hard, eyes blown wide as it shook in her grasp. She knew this handwriting. It was that of Tom, the brother she had been desperately trying to keep in contact with for almost four years, ever since he was sent away when he turned sixteen. In all that time, they had both sent many messages back and forth, but only a few made it through. The king and queen's shared magicians had been directed to crack down on unauthorized communication, and the last five of the king's sorcerers had been sent out as well.

Forced to by their society, Emma had eventually relented her struggles and given up to live with a group of the other girls in the village who had come of age. Annie, Mary, and the others from her childhood now shared this living space. Her mother was still living in the old group house, with her housemates, and it had been time for Emma to grow up.

But now, as she clutched the message in shaking hands, the force of it almost threatening to tear the damp paper, she felt anything but grown up.

Suddenly, she was back in her and her brother's shared room, all that time ago. The pit of emptiness was filled with nerves once more, filling that cavity inside her that her brother's leaving had dug. She remembered begging him not to go away, and remembered equally when he used a gentle sleeping spell on her. It was to make it hurt less, she knew. She remembered waking up from a forced sleep, with him nowhere to be seen. Now, this letter was bringing back all those emotions.

If you are reading this, I've escaped from the watch of the sorcerer who has been tracking my messages, but I've been forced to move further off the grid.

Emma's eyes raced over the words, re-reading the sentence. The last message she had received, four months back, had mentioned a sorcerer, and how he kept intercepting all of her brother's attempts to go back to the town. Had they been fighting for this long? She checked the date again.

Yes, it had been written less than a week ago.

I've attached a potion, made with what little End Spire Brew I have left, her brother continued in his messy, scrawling handwriting. If you have what you need, you must use the potion to find me. It will only work once.

She looked down at the little vial, clutched in her hand along with the edge of the parchment.

It was smaller than her pinky finger, capped simply by melting the glass together above it. It was the sort she would have to crush in order to use, but the glass was strong enough to withstand her grip.

Turning back to the letter, Emma read on.

Do not tell anyone where you are going, because I am sure the magicians have begun to search our town by now. We can't risk you being followed.

He was right. She looked around her nervously, but there was no one around. She had come to the underground pool, the source of all of the village's clean water when it wasn't snowing, because she couldn't sleep. But, to her surprise, there had been a little bottle resting among the grasses by the water's edge. It glowed with a faint purple light- her brother's magic color. She hadn't seen that color in months had seen it, and had hurried to open the bottle.

Now, the bottle lay on the mossy ground near her bare feet, empty with only a faint dusting of its old glow.

She would have to hide it somewhere very well, because when people were up and around in the daytime again, it being found would not be good.

Use the potion to help you find your way. It must be crushed on an object you can bring with you, and it will direct you for at least a few weeks. her brother's letter concluded on the topic of the potion.

That made sense. End Spire Brew could be made on specific nights and completed at specific times in order to create a ‘shelf-life’ for a particular potion. She had learned about it in her final year of schooling, and assumed he had as well. He must have combined it with some sort of tracking potion, which often were extremely complicated to make.

A smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

It was so like him.

(779 words.)

Challenge Entry, make a very short story with alphabetical sentences. 5★
Note: I have 27 sentences, actually. But the final one starts with a ‘.’ technically, so I felt okay with putting it in. (After all, those go after words and letters!)

Arenas were strange places, Monith had always thought this. Blood was spilled in them, violence and guts thrown around like confetti, and yet the people watching enjoyed the display. (Could there be something wrong with people like that? Definitely.)

Every time she met someone of that opinion, she was cautious. Friends, family, whoever if might be, none of that mattered. Gorey things seemed to flash in front of them then, like the blood was on their hands for enjoying it.

However hard she tried, the constant, largely unwanted judgement of her mind to others didn't stop.

It didn't really make her feel bad, just because her opinions on the horrible places were strong, but it left an odd itch in her gut.

—

January came around, after months of the arena being open, and her thoughts hadn't changed (neither had the arenas). Kills left and right, worrying injuries happening every day, torn fabric strewn about- the works. Last ‘game’, a man who used to live down her street was called down.

Mandy, that had been his name. Now, he was nothing more than a point in the other team's overall score. Of course she was upset with the places, when they acted like this!

People were dying, after all!

Questions were asked, by some others, but they were dismissed just as quickly as hers had always been. Randy, Mandy's older brother, had been one to ask what the necessity of the places were, which Monith respected him immensely for..

Still, nothing changed as the pressure increased.

There simply wasn't enough of it. Uno (that was their king) and all those under him supported the fights and the arenas- who were people like Randy or Monith to protest against them?

Very few people supported their arguments against the arenas, insisting that it was taking away their right of expression or entertainment- or something. With opinions such as that, Monith's distaste for those interested in the game grew day by day.

“Xavier died for the spirit!” Yelled the mother of a boy who had recently been called into the games, too caught up in the entertainment to really hear what she was saying, in an argument with Randy. “Z-” that was the name of his team, “-lost of a fighter, but his spirit is still alive in the game!”

…they had a long way to go before people began to listen.

(399 words.)

Day 6: 1★ for the daily (2005 words in total, 1★ in total.)

Main Cabin Daily, write a peice and incorporate flower language using this guide 1★:
Note: This is set in the same universe as the daily from yesterday. It is using another character that I had in that, unrelated to the pair you've already met. If you want context (which you probably do) please read the post I linked in that one as well!

There was a dark, dirty part of magic, and it was love potions.

The things were scary- there was no better way to describe that. Weaker ones would add a little urge in the back of the victim's mind, wondering if they could give dating a shot. Those weren't so dangerous, and they were the majority of what was on the market. The real problem was the strong ones. Those were outright savage.

Luckily, they weren't very prevalent in this country, because the king and queen had worked together to enforce a ban on the things. (This rarely happened, as the queen ruled in the day and the king at night- and so separately too. But this topic had been seen as pressing enough for them to get together.)

Since that decree had been passed, there were less and less incidents with love potions and similar spells. However, when such incidents did occur, they were much worse than they had been in the past. It wasn't just because people weren't getting them from sources that knew how to make them, it was because people were more bold when they did strike, because in their twisted minds they worried that a weaker option might fail.

Pan, as a royal magician, had been torn away from their hobbies and competitions in the workplace to focus on this issue. They were partly glad that it was being taken care of, but it was also scary because the black market often targeted those who tried to stop it. Sometimes with a strong dose of the banned variety, because it would stop attempts to thwart the business. The best thing they could do to protect themself was to use a counter-potion.

They had always been better at potions than spells, so it wasn't too difficult. However, getting the ingredients was always tough- and there were a lot of ingredients.

The way love potions and their counter potions worked was finicky. They had to be person specific, and this was done with flowers. Much like the old ‘flower language’ which had been developed years and years ago. (It was actually made based on the magical use of flowers, so it looped around in explanation.)

For a strong counter potion, Pan had to get access to a significant amount of amaranth, to represent the immortality of the magic. Luckily, they already grew the plant in their home, using it as a food source when it could be harvested. It was also generally a very important ingredient in most magical things. (Notably, End Spire Brew was made using a little bit of the plant in it.)

They needed a lot of it, though, and were forced to swindle a bit out of some of their magician coworkers, when they saw each other again at the next meeting. They were some of the few who were left after the king and queen cracked down on the societal separation of men and women- also connected to the recent solid ban on love potions. Pan wasn't quite sure how they felt about all of that, but kept it to themself.

With the amaranth collected, they were able to start the first phase of the potion. It included a variety of magical ingredients, including the soft, meaty bit of a Westfallen Dragon's nose, and non magical ingredients, like cow's milk and lemon juice. It had the capability to upset one's stomach once the citrus and dairy mixed, but the lemon was what set it apart from a love potion in the early steps.

Adding some marigold to the boiling pot of bitter smelling liquid, in order to show the internal conflict and grief that they felt over having to do this, a puff of orange smoke bloomed out of the top of it. They leaned away, waiting for it to dissipate as they continued to stir. This part was very important, to get the amaranth and marigold mixed together. The two ingredients had to co-exist in harmony, in order for the emotion to mix into the long-lasting aspect of the magic.

This would brew for a few hours, and then Pan would come back to add zinnia and asphodel. In the flower language, the two represented thinking about friends who were gone and the sender's regrets following the receiver to the grave, respectively. They were very important flowers in a counter-potion, particularly for an effective counter-potion that Pan could use.

The zinna would help distract their mind from any romantic, intrusive thoughts if that happened to suffer any love potion as an attempt to take them out. It's magical use stuck around for a long time when it was mixed in right, though they had to be careful. Zinna wasn't poisonous on its own, but the asphodel was harmful on its own. In the magical case, if the two were mixed together they had to be done in very exact amounts so there was no reaction when they came into contact with the pigeon blood.

It was done in very small increments, with intense stirring afterwards.

A half an ounce of zinna along with a half an ounce of asphodel, the same amount of each because Pan had learned that a vain, competitive, urge to come out on top was helpful for counter-potions in their case. (That was what the asphodel was in for.)

After they were sure these ingredients were mixed in with the right ratio of each and the right ratio of the starting mixture, it was supposed to simmer for two days. The last thing to be added had to be at exactly the right time after the stirring had stopped, since this potion was so temperamental.

In their case, that was at two thirty five in the morning, which almost made them wish they had started the potion at a different time.

This ingredient was foxglove- highly poisonous if ingested normally. It had to be prepared very specifically, and crushed into a powder after being dried, which could then be sprinkled on the brew. If done right, the potion would change from its resting brown to an electric green the exact opposite of the hot pink love potions tended to rest with. If done wrong, the color would not change.

Pan supposed they had to wait and see what would happen!

(1053 words.)

English Homework, sideshow, nineteen twenties, flappers/speakeasies/prohibition:

- The 18th amendment banned intoxicating beverages (History)
- Alcohol consumption was turned underground as prohibition began (History)
- In ‘speakeasies’ alcohol was sold to both men and women (Mob Museum)
- Police officers sometimes were paid to ‘turn a blind eye’ to such bars (Mob Museum)


Prohibition began on the seventeenth of january, nineteen twenty. Though this completed the hard work of many activists, not everyone was happy.

People still wanted to drink, and once alcoholic beverages were banned and many respected bars were closed, this wish did not stop. So, instead of going to places like the ones they were used to going to, they turned to other options. Some people bought from bootleggers, and others from licenced sellers for ‘medical’ reasons, or clergymen for ‘religious’ purposes.

Another option was to go to speakeasies, which were essentially unlicenced bars where you needed to know a password in order to get in. They could be anything from dirty back rooms to fancy clubs with bands and dancing.

Speakeasies were supposed to be a secret, but they were not always very well kept. Often, owners of these bars would play police officers to turn the other way and not get them in trouble. Speakeasies were easily exploited by organized crime groups, such as Chicago Outfit.

Bootleggers often supplied these bars. Some of the alcohol sold was even less safe than it was before, due to lack of regulation, or simply low-quality and watered down to be able to sell in bigger quantities.

Another difference between the bars from before prohibition and these speakeasies is that speakeasies did not separate men and women. This not only led to the first introduction of the word ‘dating’ as we now recognize it, but also a subculture of flappers.
(Mob Museum) (History)

- Many Americans were moving into the cities. (History)
- Prohibition drove drinking culture underground and lead to the creation of shared bars for men and women. (Mob Museum)
- Flappers emerged with the combination of these two happenings. (History)
- Flappers were defined based off their clothing and actions. (ushistory)
- Shorter dresses
- Short hair
- Usage of makeup
- Dancing, smoking, drinking

Emerging during the Roaring Twenties, flappers were women who went against certain norms and were defined mostly based on what they wore and did.

Generally, flappers had short, bobbed hair and wore skirts that went to their knees. Some women choose to bind their chests in order to create a more boyish look. Makeup was used more prevalent than it may have been before (though women had worn it in the past). They drank and smoked alongside their male counterparts in speakeasies and often danced along with jazz bands. A very popular dance was the Charleston, and there are many photos of women doing this dance.

This group came from the changing environment of the United States, as many people moved to cities. Women joined the workforce, although many were still only doing ‘feminized’ jobs that paid less than others. They also engaged in the growing consumer culture of the time as they gained more ability to buy with their own money.

For many privileged women, there was a lot more freedom than there had been previously, though the worry of one's reputation was still prevalent.

But after the Roaring Twenties ended, many of the things flappers represented reverted to what they had been in small ways. Skirts lengthened again, hair as well, and a more traditional role was uptaken once more by some women.

Though the Great Depression made the prevalent consumer culture of the United States slip away for a little while, it eventually returned. With it came back the same ideas that flappers had grown from, including smaller families, birth control, women in the workforce, and so forth.
(History) (ushistory)

(637 words)

Perseus Perseus Perseus lyrics practice, greek mythology
Son of thunder
Son of man
Sacrificed to the ocean
deep deep blue

Those Seriphus cliffs always got in my way
The king up above drowned out what I say
Little mortal Gorgon is what he requests
Little mortal boy thrown out with the rest

Her sisters weren't too hard to dispatch
But I started having second guesses in that match
Took one tooth and another eye
Because turning to stone? I'm not that guy

And I leave, wondering if this is right
The wings on my sandals take me through the night
Flying and flying with no rest
Mentally not feeling really quiet the best

(What had the Graiae ever done to me?
…but the king of Seriphus said I was a hero to be)

And now it is upon me, the cave where she rests
Just like all the other pests

The shield in my hand will block her gaze…

(Those who have failed are nothing, right?
Those who have failed are this world's blight.)

And there in the dark corner she sleeps!
Among all the stone that she keeps!

Little mortal alone
Little mortal- no throne…
We aren't so different her and me
And we are nothing to be!

But an assignment says what I shall do!
An assignment leads to what is true!! //getting frantic//

A quick blade through the throat and she is dead
And- I don't feel quite safe yet
An empty plug in my chest
A ringing in my ears though I feel deaf

Was this what I was meant to be?
A hero- no, a killer! I've hurt more than three! //getting more frantic//

I can't look her in the eyes
I can't rip past my disguise
Because she was never the monster!!! //yelled//

//silence for a bit filled by soft music//

Little mortal Gorgon never tried to harm
Little mortal boy was really the pest //whispered//

(315 words.)

Day 7: 1★ for the daily (589 words in total, 1★ in total.)

Main Cabin Daily, three word stories 1★ (https://scratch-mit-edu.ezproxy.canberra.edu.au/studios/32140121/comments/#comments-202229748)
a frozen sun

(3 words.)

English homework, 1920's, consumerism, cars, social things.

- Arguably one of the best examples of America’s earlier ‘consumer culture’.

- Radio, Movies, home appliances, ready-to-wear clothing, and automobiles were all important products of this time. (History)

- With extra money, people could splurge and enjoy these luxuries. (History)

- Many people also moved into cities during this time, which spurred on the work in factories in order to produce many of these products. (History)



In the 1920’s consumerism flourished as more products were readily available to a more average demographic, produced faster and cheaper than they had been in the past. Though many people still could not afford the luxuries that were beginning to be an option, the prosperity of the time came to represent the Jazz Age in some ways. This is where we really begin to see America’s consumer culture taking affect.

People had extra money, so many brought radios for entertainment or went to see Hollywood movies- with stars like Charlie Chaplin. Home appliances were also gaining popularity- as was already-made clothing that one could simply buy. But arguably the most important of all these products were automobiles. Though not everyone could afford them, they became extremely important as jobs began to be built around both the making and selling of these machines.
(History)

—

- Women’s rights (History)
- The right to vote
- More equality to men in various ways

- African American rights (History)
- First predominantly black labor union
- Fighting for equality and against racist practices

- Unfortunately many people joined the /// during this time because they did not like the visibility of black American culture. (History)

- Other social tensions included arguments around Prohibition and a Red Scare. (History)


But the rise of consumerism wasn’t the only thing occurring during this time for an average person.

In terms of social freedoms, a rise in popularity of women joining the workforce meant that for many Americans, women’s rights were advanced. More importantly than just social ideas, the 19th amendment was eventually passed, which gave all white women who were of voting age the right to vote. This was a very big achievement for the time.

There was much fighting for civil rights in the nineteen twenties- not only for women’s rights but also for African Americans. In fact, the first predominantly black labor union was founded by A. Phillip Randolph in nineteen twenty five. It was called the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters and was meant to draw attention to discrimination in the workplace.

Shown through the rising popularity of jazz and blues music, along with dances like the Charleston, black American culture became more visible in this era. However, some other things were not looking as good. Because of this increasing visibility, some white Americans were upset. This led to many people joining the ///, not only in the South but in the North as well.

There were also other social tensions in this time, including Prohibition. Prohibition was was an extremely controversial topic of debate and opinion in this time, and lead to strain and also a rise in organized crime. There was also a Red Scare occurring, which lead people to be harsh and judgemental towards immigrants.

(History)

—

Here are some examples of this topic.

These two photos- *gesture to the top two small photos*- are both images of different speakeasies in New York City. The photo below those is two flappers and their dates having a smoke. The photo on the right is an example of some flapper fashion.

(586 words.)

Day 8: 1★ for the daily, 5★ for the weekly, 5★ for the poem (2588 words in total, 11★ in total.)

Main Cabin Daily, 400 words of flash fiction 1★
The oboist and the bassoonist shared only a few things in common.

They were both talented, traditionally trained musicians. They also both played double reed instruments, which meant a lot more than it might have seemed to people outside of that loop.

Other than that, they were complete opposites.

One played in the bass clef, the other in treble. The bassoonist wore a long black skirt to the concert, and the oboist black dress pants. The bassoonist was loud and cheerful and the oboist was quiet and moody. But at the end of each practice, at the end of each concert, they ran into each other despite all these differences. Emptying their reed-cups down the drain, instruments laid gently back in their cases.

At first, they didn't greet each other, or say goodbye when they left.

But slowly, they began to say more than empty phrases. (The rests in their music slowly coming to an end.)

“Hello,” the oboist said, one day, quieter than even his instrument.

The bassoonist blinked in surprise, shocked to hear words leave him. They were strangers after all, what sort of conversation could spring from this? But she didn't laugh, didn't let an odd insult slip out. Strangely enough, she felt herself smiling.

And soon, the bars of rest ended, and their phrases began. Mingling together, until it was a duet. From strangers who shared not much in common to friends, their pieces finally lined up as they listened- even across the band.

At long last, it was no longer a solo. No longer a sad, sad song.

Because they had each other, and that was all they needed.

(274 words.)

Daily Competition, haiku about favorite genre
Adventure is my
Favorite, dearest, hidden
love- for it is good

And it is thrilling
exciting, in its own way
and a timeless thing

Be it fighting in
war, or sweet ode to death, it
holds what can't be said

And for that it is
more beautiful than other words
and better than this

Poetry can't say
what adventure has and will
poetry isn't that

For all these reasons
it is at the top, written
with much more than this.

(80 words.)

Main Cabin Weekly, 100 word letters to each of the cabins 5★

I know so much goes wrong in Dystopian, but I am writing to you anyway.

At the top once more, I fear.

Well, congrats! Your citizens are probably some of the hardest working, bravest, most crazy (in a good way, I promise) people in this competition. Every single time the games are upon us, things are going wrong in your country. (No wonder it was named after this, a very good choice by the committee all those years ago.)

And yet, even with all these bad happenings, you somehow manage to fight it out and get on top.

How do you do it, I wonder.

This letter is addressed to the Steampunk Sanctuary, located in the country Fantasy,

Wow! I didn't see very much of your country as I was passing by, but I did catch a glimpse of this town which everyone has been talking about- and I have to say, it does live up to its reputation! (In all the good ways, of course.) In the past, I've only seen bits and pieces of other parts of the country, so I was very surprised to hear that your Steampunk sector was getting in on the action at last.

Well. I love your fashion, first of all. Corsets and gears- am I right? Second of all, I love your style.

Keep working hard, Fantasy! I hope your represent your country well.

Mystery,

So much has happened since I last heard news from your country. It seems that every event where I am required to see the local happenings of all these countries, you have a new problem! It is to be anticipated, I know, but it is still rather shocking. I mean, really, things change so fast!

It is very entertaining to know that the sector which is engaging in these games is related to the train system, you love to see transportation getting in on these sorts of things. (I know this well, since my first intro to these games was all the way back when Sci-Fi was transporting passengers to this planet.)

Anyway, I hope you can get everything sorted out, good luck detectives!

Dear Horror,

I am shivering with an uncontrollable nature as I write this, but I hope it makes it to your ghostly hands anyway.

Horror has always been a fascinating country to me, and I was very excited to see what had happened since I last checked in near your borders. Needless to say, I was not disappointed! Every time I see a new change in your laws or in your popular culture, the first thing I think is that you never do less than one hundred and ten percent- and usually more than that!

Despite your often nerve-wracking existences, the people of your country and your amazing volunteers keep it up, never backing down. Never change, horror. Now, I'm going to go watch nice, calm cartoons to calm down. Much love from Poetry!

To the writers and actors of this fascinating country, Script,

I've seen the advertisements for what you are doing! A nation-wide play, what an interesting and partly terrifying idea! I am not much of an actor myself, so I am astounded by the sheer talent that each and every one of your volunteers has shown so far. All of you are beyond worthy of awards for not only your acting, but also your actions in general.

I am amazed by how hard you are working and how creative this country always is. I had the privilege to interact with some former citizens, and they too think that this year's experiment is even better than those of the past.

With innovation like that, I think you can make it to the top!

Dear people and beings of Folklore,

I am trusting the postage service to get this message to you, because I was not brave enough to attempt a path through the forest. All those winding roads, all those twisting paths and the darkness that consumes you… let's just say I don't understand your choice of settlement.

Nonetheless, I understand your urge to go within- I too got that strange sense of urgency when I walked close enough to your borders. (That really is an astounding thing, isn't it?) I heard the village in there is something to behold, but again, I was too scared to go within a few feet of the forest's edge.

But I am sure, though I am scared of your land, with your perseverance in the terms of living space, that you can succeed. Good luck out there!

Dear victims of the Thriller accident,

I heard what happened. Many divers, all having the same malfunction.

All I can do is pray that you keep breathing down there, as you continue to work so tirelessly. I know this message may not reach you, because even the most weighted bottle may be swept up by the current and you can not see it well in the dark down there, but I have written this in the best glowing ink I kept around since my time in Sci-Fi.

My friend is with you, and I hope that you all get out safe- not just for her, but for all of you. (And on top of that, not just to be safe, but to perhaps procure your number one spot! I'm sure it's possible, if you can swim up that far…)

If this is found by Real-Fi,

Hello from Poetry! I see both of our venues look much nicer on the inside than they do out. At least, they seem nicer on the inside once you get to know everyone. (I suppose Poetry's problem is more the venue and less getting locked inside an old building with the intention of keeping you there, but hey! At least a little bit is similar.)

I know your security is strange and at times a little odd to get through, but I know the people staying inside this inn will appreciate some gifts. Would you accept a few books from Poetry? We think that your guests will appreciate some reading before they sleep, might as well stick together, even if we are considered neutral.

To those who it may concern,

Bizarro Fiction, I understand that the recent events have been upsetting to some, what with the takeover and all, but hey- at least it's expected! Countries around here tend to follow the ideas of what they were named for, purposefully or not. Plus, these Overlords are still letting you compete in this month's games, right? At least you can still fight your way out that way.

Like a bad movie full of protagonist supported logic, your cabin can come to the top in the way you do best: bizarrely. And there's nothing wrong with that!

If this reaches the reality of Sci-Fi,

I hope you know that Sci-Fi has never been a solidly safe country. Before I was part of Poetry's competition, I was in the kingdoms and Civil War of Fairy Tales, but before that is what matters. My first affiliation was with another Sci-Fi state sponsored expedition.

At the very least, you can say that your, our, country has continued to do what it does best.

This is different from what they have tried previously, but I am not surprised. Your superior technology will bring you near the top, it always does. The stars, you are already a part of. Dig deeper, maybe you'll even come back to Earth.

Dear Adventure, in all of your knightly decorations…

I have heard of the war in the country, as it represents what I know well from my past in the kingdoms of Fairy Tales not too long ago. I do hope that you all can work as a group or separately, however it plays out, to regain what was once yours.

Many a soldier may fall behind, but together you have what it takes to take over yours- and what lies beyond it.

I salute you, Redbloods, Goldbloods, and commoners alike. You will make it, if you keep it together. Close ranks, and think with not just your mind, but also your instincts. If Fairy Tales could survive a Civil War, you can certainly survive a fight for your own.

Fanfiction, I love you so.

A time travel related country? How fascinating! I have no fear that this note will not reach you, with your expansive mail and sorting system. Though I have only spent a little while in your country, I am amazed by how well-oiled it is. (I mean, even the break-room is twice the size of Poetry's meeting room.)

Not unlike a writer, it churns quickly and works hard. Your agency has surely helped many in the past, present, and future, and will chug its way to the top of these games. I can't wait to hear where you go next, before the universe shifts once more.

Historical Fiction has always been a love of mine, as a country and as a genre, and I hope this letter reaches you in the past- wherever you are hiding.

If I can reach you, it is truly a testament to this technology, and of your resilience. Because if you can keep going through this robbery, through this nationwide hunt, I think you can keep going to the top. If you can find what I send from the future, you are beyond even that. More than the best, I would hazard to say, because it is not just anyone who can pull off what you attempt.

Good luck with your money!

A rating of this new breadhouse! Almost a letter, when it is so filled with love.

I am amazed by this shop's exterior, as well as the interior! Certainly a lot of work must have gone into its building and the community it holds within, as even the cooks inside are smiling as they work. Surely that is a sign of a good place, no?

The bread itself is excellent as well, all the sorts which are displayed I have found quite delightful! I hope to see this shop continue to better itself in the coming events, and am quite excited to see what they may be able to do!

Dear Poetry…

I love our concept, do you not? Whether we rhyme or dine together, we do it not apart, and that is what truely matters. Who cares if we're last, right? At least we are holding true to ourselves.

I think we can fight, I think we can make it! Like a leaf in the winds outside of our competition, we can float to the ground gently, a last place but delicate the whole while, or we can choose to be lifted by our situation. Why not fly high, while we still can? Why not shoot for the stars, just so we'll land on the moon?

(1816 words.)

History Homework, APUSH

Federalism is when a government is controlled by several ‘levels’ of government where each controls different things. Delegated powers are abilities that are allowed specifically by the constitution to states. Reserved powers are abilities allowed by the constitution to the federal government. Concurrent powers are shared between both the federal and state governments, also granted by the constitution.

Hamilton’s “Redemption and Assumption” plan included two major things. One, the government would ‘redempt’ debts by paying back with federal bonds, and two, wanted the government to essentially keep around this permanent debt. People would be paid in government money (which the government didn’t actually have), and though he tried to minimize the debt in various ways, it wasn’t a very successful idea. It was a controversial plan and made people who had paid their debts angry, because it meant that they had paid for nothing.

Hamilton’s vision of America contrasted with Jefferson in some very dramatic ways. Hamilton wanted an authoritarian government, almost a monarchy, with a lot of trade (the trade is partly a shared idea, though they went about it differently.) Jefferson wanted a government that was based on the ideas of the enlightenment, and didn't like social divisions, he wanted a society of independent farmer families that would trade. Hamilton was also a fan of very strong judges while Jefferson was more of a fan of democracy.

Marbury v. Madison (1803) was a case with the Marshall Court. Marshall, the man who was running this court as the Chief Justice, wrote that Marbury should have been allowed to do what he was doing but that the Court wasn’t strong enough to say it was allowed. This was when Judicial Review was first introduced. Judicial Review is the ability of the courts to say that actions of the legislative and executive branches were unconstitutional.

The Marshall Court is so important because it introduced early ideas in its court cases. In one case, they defined banks, particularly the national bank, as constitutional and said that states were not allowed to tax them. In another case, Gibbons v. Ogden (1824), the court decided that states were not supposed to regulate trade between them- that too was a job of the federal government. I personally do not think that Supreme Court justices should be appointed for life. In fact, I like Germany’s decision (though it too might even be a little long). They go with new judges every twelve years, which is at least better than life in my opinion.

(418 words.)

Day 9: 1★ for the daily, 5★ for the poem (1506 words in total, 6★ in total.)

Main Cabin Daily, 400 word flash fiction, three together. I miss-read it yesterday. 1★

The boy had a sword, and an urge to fight, but he didn't want to hurt anybody.

His sister was his favorite person in the whole world, nice and kind and full of love. They were very close, and appreciated each other for what they were. She deserved all the good things in the world.

If anything happened to her… well. He didn't know what he'd do.

One night, he heard a noise in the darkness of his room and bolted awake. He was scared of many things, and he needed to protect himself. He slashed the sword, and there was a single cry before whatever it was fell to the ground.

He turned on the light and-

…didn't know what to do with himself.

Stella was a cat. She was very hungry today.

First, she checked the food bowl. There was no food held in it, at least, not that she noticed. Next, she went sniffing about the floor. Sometimes there were little pieces of food on there, but today there was none. She whined.

She jumped onto the counter and began pawing at the cabinets where she knew the food to be stored, though it was in a bag that her little thumbless paws could open. She meowed and meowed, crying for help from her owner.

Not too long after, her owner came rushing into the room. “You have food in your bowl!” she exclaimed, exasperated.

Yes, thought Stella, but not enough.

“Ich liebe dich, Ludwig,” der Mann sagt, seine Gesicht glücklich und hell, aber nicht so nett.

Ludwig ist gross und diese Mann ist nicht so gross, aber die Dynamik ist entgegengesetzt. Jetzt, nach Ludwig hat deise Worten gehört, er ist klein. (Der andere Mann macht er klein.)

“Ich liebe dich auch,” Ludwig sagt- aber es ist eine luge. Er leibt er nicht.

Der Mann ist böse.

(125 + 121 + 66 words.)

Me misunderstanding what the daily was.

They had been dating for two years, these skaters, but they were starting to slip away from each other.

Maybe the shared feeling of just being on the ice wasn't enough anymore, because she didn't like the way he skated.

She wanted him to try hockey. He was athletic enough for it and with some practice could really be something special. He wanted her to quit hockey, because she kept getting into fights and getting hurt (the only girl in a boy's league). It created a sense of separation, although they had been together happily for a while now.

She wouldn't quit hockey, just like he wouldn't quit figure skating. She wasn't asking him to do that, just give it a try. He understood that she couldn't leave her sport, but the wish was still there. It worried him so to see her injured. He also understood that she just wanted him to try hockey, but he had never skated on that type of skate before.

But one day, as these arguments got worse and worse by the week, she dropped down a helmet in his lap. He was settling down to read a book, just having finished his workout.

“What's this?” he was confused.

She pointed her thumb towards him, then to the door, not saying anything. Instead of providing any sort of explanation, she turned around and started for the exit. He stood up, clutching the helmet in confusion and setting the book down. It was a hockey helmet, he wasn't dumb, but why was she giving it to him?

So he had no choice but to follow her to their car, stumbling into the passenger's seat as she took the driver's.

In a moment, they were at the rink.

Now he understood.

He turned to his girlfriend, eyebrows furrowed. “You're taking me to skate?”

“Yeah, on new ones,” she was rummaging around in the backseat.

He watched as she pulled out two hockey skates; sharpened, laced, and exactly his size. “We're going skating,” she said, “And you'll like it, I promise,”

To his surprise, it wasn't that bad. He still didn't want to play in a game, because he didn't want to lose any teeth like his girlfriend, but it wasn't horrible. The next day, he took her figure skating. Her biggest complaint was the toepicks.

And like that, the ice melted back from their relationship.

The test was this block, and she honestly hadn't studied.

“I can't do it,”Amy told her friend, Ron, an edge of panic in her voice, even as she kept it mostly even.

“Yes you can,” her friend sighed, “I didn't study either. We'll be fine, though, Adam said it wasn't too difficult when we passed in the hall, remember?”

Adam was the third person in their little trio, and he took this class the block before them.

“Adam's in all honors classes,” Amy reminded Ron, who just rolled his eyes.

“We'll be fine,” he said.

Only around ten seconds later, the teacher walked into the room. In her arms were eighteen packets, one for each student. Amy's jaw dropped, turning to Ron in terror. Their tests were entire packets?

And sure enough, as the things were passed out and the class quieted, Amy saw it was true. They were twenty pages long, at least forty questions. How had Adam said this wasn't a hard test? She scanned the questions, they all looked confusing to her. Heck, she was certain she hadn't seen some of these topics before. How was this fair.

But she had to get it done no matter how badly she would do on it, so she got to work.

Strangely, the class around her started turning the packets in. What?

She was the last one working, and it seemed like the whole class was staring at her. Had it really been that easy? What was she misunderstanding?

When she finally finished the last question, she got to her feet, eyes downcast as she committed to the walk of shame over to the teacher's desk. Extending her arm, she offered the teacher her packet.

But, strangely enough, the teacher shook her head, sighing. Had she gone overtime?

“Read the first page, Amy,” the teacher directed her.

Confused, Amy did and was met with a sinking sensation in her gut. This is a test of your ability to read directions, the test read, please turn in without completing the work.

Shame blossomed on her face in the form of a blush as her classmates laughed behind her.

No wonder Adam said it was easy, she just had the reading comprehension of a steel-toed boot.

(400 + 380 words)

History classwork, compare and contrast the portraits of King George III and George Washington.

King George III is dressed in extremely lavish clothes, layers upon layers of it as well. With the bright coloring, complicated nature, and sheer amount of these fabrics he is showing his high social status. George Washington, on the other hand, has a dark black coat and pants. His clothing is certainly not representative of a low class, but it is nowhere on the same level as King George's. They are both dressed nicely, but King George perhaps overly so while Washington's is closer to the average land owning white man of his time.

King George III is displayed standing with a hand on his hip, hand resting on the table. His is posing in a way that makes him appear relaxed and in control. George Washington is reaching out his hand towards the viewer, almost as if offering something. Both men have relatively blank expressions on their faces, but Washington is standing closer to the front of the photo, King George's leaving more room for a lavish background- though Washington's painting certainly still fits that it. I feel as though these details are up to interpretation, but something about how Washington is holding out his hand feels as though the artist meant for the viewer to see it as an offer, while King George is more closed off.

Red is a major color in both paintings, though the focus on King George's is his bright clothing. In his case, I believe that the red background was chosen to make him stand out more, while Washington's may have been based on the King George painting. In both cases, the color is not a natural part of the scenery, but rather man-made.

Both people have a pillar with a red curtain in the background, as well as some sort of table holding objects relative to them. The difference with these tables, though, is that King George's displays his crown (a symbol of his ruling) but George Washington's displays an inkwell, a quill, and paper. The pillar and George Washington's is also Tuscan while King George's is more complicated. (Perhaps Ionic?) In any case, these decisions made for the backgrounds offer a little window into how these two rulers presented themselves, George Washington slightly more modestly and down to Earth.

Most paintings of kings have religious references, but for some reason I can't see any in either of these paintings.

They are displaying their rules in either an accessible or inaccessible way, describing the personalities, almost.

(414 words.)

Day 10: 1★ for the daily (304 words in total, 1★ in total.)

Main Cabin Daily, make up a constellation and describe it 1★
Note: This is the same book idea/worldbuilding I've done for a few other dailies in this month! Scroll up a bit and you'll probably find them.

There was a constellation over the capital city, or at least there seemed to be.

In actuality, the ‘stars’ floating up in the great expanse of cosmic horror that was the sky were not stars at all. Instead, they were fragments past rulers' crowns, cast high into the sky when the monarchs passed away.

It was called the Royal DawnDusk Constellation, because certain parts of it were only visible at certain points of the planet's rotation about their sun. Unlike real constellations, it stood fixed in place throughout the whole of the twenty four hour clock, an array of shapes and numbers and markings, made of fragmented pieces. Only during dawn and dusk did the whole thing come together, enchanted by the royal Sorcerers and Sorceresses to stand out then, an unnatural electric blue against the dark haze that came with those times.

In the night, only the fragments of past kings were visible, representing the time of their rule. In the day, only the past queens'.

But in those rare, shared moments of men and women in this separated society, both halves were visible. It was only when they were together that it showed a full picture, but as the monarchs had stated many times in their official rulings and restrictive laws, the two halves were beautiful on their own. And, if it was truly beautiful in the shared times, why did it distract so much from the natural beauty of the sky? Why did it get in the way of normal actions such as flight when such blinding points of focus attracted attention?

And in that way, it represented their society.

It was a full picture when both halves were present, but calm and security only came when they were separated. At least, that's what the monarchy had to say about it.

(304 words.)

Day 11: 1★ for the daily, 5★ for challenge, 5★ for helping in cabin wars. (3039 words in total, 11★ in total.)

Main Cabin Daily, write a letter to future you 1★

I wonder if in the future I'll look back on what I've done today and laugh.

After all, I did copy and paste nearly nine hundred fifty seven pages of a pokemon fancomic into a google document, just so I could read it during class (when I'm all done with my work, of course). I hope I'll laugh, rather than roll my eyes and flush with shameful annoyance at my younger self. (I tend to be harsh on the past, after all.)

And then, when I read this letter in the future, are you still playing bassoon? Flute?

What has happened since I wrote this?

Will I still be struggling not to give into horrible thoughts about exercise? I wonder if my views in general will have changed. Change is a good thing, even if I hate to experience it, so I welcome such things. I better still be interested in pokemon though, or I'm rioting.

Because, man, what will I ever do without Blue Oak?

Besides pokemon, Neo and Jet were really cute today, and they're getting old. I know, by the time this letter is old enough to be read again, they'll be long gone. Six years old is life expectancy for them.

But I can't think about that. Not right now.

So, to change topic and in case you were wondering about the date, I just recently got obsessed with the National Hockey League last week, so if you needed a date for the start of that interest… I got it! (Unless you, I, don't like hockey anymore? Currently I can't imagine that, but I suppose it's possible. After all, I didn't care about it for a long time before this, not to this level at least.)

It's funny how interests are never gone, just dormant.

Wonder how many times I've re-obsessed with Magic Tree House since I wrote this letter. Can you tell me? Somehow, from a future that this current ‘me’ will have change before we reach it?

Cosmic horror. Existential.

I don't like time capsules.

(314 words.)

Cabin challenge, story 250 words, no repeating verbs 5★
Blue did not like to think. Such things made his head run wild, and he didn't enjoy that. It ended up being distracting to have such crazy things in his head, and it hurt whenever they got bad.

But he got forced to do these things, because when he was little it had been ingrained into him- much like a scar.

No messing up. No getting in the way. Every movement careful and calculated. If his feet slipped, if his thoughts strayed, he would get injured.

And injuries sucked, especially when little, tiny him got hit.

It stung.

Chuck yelled at him then, too.

He could not afford mistakes, he just couldn't.

A single stumble over the wires on the floor or a pokemon's attack- over. In trouble. Ready to be screamed at, because he anticipated it. After all the time he spent getting chewed out, kind words were what were surprising.

At least it built him up to be strong.

At least it meant he wasn't a complete failure. Right?

Well, that ended up being a lie, because he didn't win the league. In fact, he lost it quite spectacularly. And Chuck saw it too, on his television or in the newspaper- something like that.

Blue hated the sensation of terror that filled him when Chuck walked nearby. The twisting in his stomach didn't feel great, either. (Why did he get so scared? What had he to fear?)

Maybe it happened to be all in the past to Chuck, but Blue didn't share that opinion.

(256 words.)

Weekly, https://scratch-mit-edu.ezproxy.canberra.edu.au/discuss/topic/640977/?page=1#post-6730250

Transcript.

st = @Starthorn
sb = @savebats
fsw = @fluffysheepwool

st - So I'm interviewing you first, right?
sb - jet piggy! *laughing*
st - So true, um.

st - Alright, I'll just start easy. What's your favorite pokemon character? Or, pokespe character, I guess.
sb - Uhmmmm. Uhhhh, Gold maybe? But Yellow's close.
/pause/
sb - Maybe.
sb - I also love trainer Black and-
fsw - Blue!
sb - don't talk for me, but yeah. I love Blue.
sb - Oh and Red! I love trainer Red!
/pause as I am typing/
sb - *laughs* this interview is going great!

st - What's your favorite pokemon on Red's team?
sb - On Red's team? Like as a character? Or just-
st - Yeah.
sb - Okay. Um, I really like Aro, but also, um,
sb - Gyarados, I really like Gyarados.
/pause/
sb - I really like Gyarados. Gyarados.

st - Which baby pokemon is your least favorite?
sb - Ughh, I don't know!!!
fsw - All of them.
sb - I don't know!! I don't remember them all!!!
/pause/
sb - Oh, the one before Chimecho.
sb - Clink clink? Or whatever? I don't like it. It's ugly.

st - I think I just need one more, so-
sb - Wait. To get words, I'm supposed to be interviewing you.
/pause/
st - Wahhhh
sb - Or, maybe? Put both, put both.
st - Okay, now you get to interview me.
sb - Jet.

st - what is your first question?
sb - Um. Oh. Wow. What is… what is your favorite color?
st - oh jeez.
fsw - *laughs* Really?
/pause because I'm furiously typing/
sb - Are you going to answer?
fsw - Yeah. . ! Answer! ! I have to know what your favorite color is!!
st - Um.
fsw - *whispering* Green?
st - Green.

st - Next?
sb - Uh, what'd you say I need to be able to respond to you.
st - I said Green.
sb - Okay um-
st - wait!
/pause/
sb - Okay, so green's your favorite color? Why is it your favorite color?
st - I like green because it can look both really gross and really pretty. Like… like garbage.
st - Almost like my favorite pokemon.

sb - Oh wow. What's your pokemon, person that was not at all prompting me to ask this question.
st - *giggles* I lied actually.
st - I was talking about Muk, but I hate Muk.
sb - I knew you were talking about something dumb.
st - My actual favorite pokemon is Machoke.
sb - Oh that's funny.
/pause/
sb - Why is that your favorite pokemon? Is it just because it's a little guy?
st - He is just a little guy.

(410 words.)

Cabin wars write 2000 words as a cabin
Electric Suit Pokespe/Pokemon Special, Late Wh!tober entry, Red, Surge, manhandling.

Red plunged through the floor, a scream torn from his lungs. He reached up with frantic speed, Blue screaming after him, lunging forward, but they were both too slow.

Red tumbled through the air as their hands missed each other, the floor snapping closed above him. He only fell a few seconds, absorbed in the upside-down feeling and the whistling of air past him. It was still pitch dark when he slammed into the ground below, yelping out in pain and almost bouncing.
The lights snapped on, but he was too disoriented to quite look around yet.

After a moment, he moaned and slowly got to his feet, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his tailbone where he had landed. Pika hopped back onto his shoulder, brring nervously. Red agreed, there was something deeply unsettling about this room.

“What the…” he looked up to where he had fallen from. There was a second trapdoor up there, just now closing. He had fallen through two entire floors.
That explained the painful landing, at least.

Then, he nervously looked around to the walls. There were odd wires covering the white blank that was the paint cover, and for some reason it put a fear in his gut that dug painfully in his stomach. “Are we on the first floor?” he breathed, Pika whining as a response.

There was one door out, and he definitely hadn’t seen that. “No- I don’t think I’ve been here before,” it left his mouth as a nervous mumble.

So focused on the wall in front of him, he began to walk backwards, but apparently miss-judged the size of the room.

“Yah!!” he cried out, as a shock of electricity shot through him the moment his back made contact with the wall, causing him to jump away, “What’s with this wall?” He whipped around to look at it, and was met with the wires, now sparking with the same energy his nervous Pikachu was giving off.

“They’re-” he gasped, “They’re electrified?” Pika whined again, digging his hands into Red’s shoulders out of nerves.

Even beside the electricity of the walls, Red suddenly felt the hair on his arms raise, whole body on high alert. Oddly enough, this feeling was familiar. It felt like he had felt this exact same shock somewhere else, not just a similar buzz from electricity- it was different from Pika somehow.

A zapping sound filled the air, and he whirled around just in time to see several Voltorbs and Electrode dropping out of seemingly nowhere. He screamed, Pika squeaking in terror as well.

He dodged out of the way of a couple of them, as they tried to shock him. “Ow!” he cried, nearly tripping over his own feet as an electric shock tried to reset his brain.

“Th-that’s it!” he yelled to his Pikachu, “The smuggler from Viridian City- the bad guy who was a Gym Leader?” Pika nodded in frantic agreement, “He used electric pokemon!”

The door on the opposite side of the room slid open, and someone walked through it.

“To be precise,” a low voice with a heavy Unovan accent smirked, accompanying the figure as the door snapped closed behind him, “…it was me!”

The Electrodes and Voltorbs were now out of the way enough for Red to focus on the giant of a man standing before him. He must have been at least two feet taller than red, with bulging biceps and strong legs ended with metal-toed boots. His blond hair was messily growing out of a buzz-cut, now spiking up with the amount of electricity in the room. He had a belt-like piece wrapped about him, almost representing a row of bullets, but with small Electrodes and Voltorbs instead.

Considering that this was the man Red was going to be fighting, his physique was formidable. Somehow even more threatening than that last time Red had fought him.

“-Lieutenant Surge!” the man was saying, “One third of the command triad of Team Rocket!” Red shivered as Surge stalked towards him, the man’s grinning expression souring as he continued. “You certainly managed to complicate things for me last time we met,”

Red could scarcely think, too busy trying to work out what level the hulking Electrabuz standing beside Surge was. Pikachu couldn’t take that thing, and probably not the rest of his team either. Not even Snorlax. A Gym Leader on Team Rocket’s side? He had been certain that Surge was just a bad person, not part of this organization on top of it all.

“This time-” Surge yanked out a gun, connected to the belt of electric pokemon about his shoulders. “-I won’t give you a break!” With a gleeful cry of ‘bye bye!’ Surge fired off the first blast.

Red didn’t have time to move before the first Electrode collided with his chest, howling in pain as electricity shot through his brain, the point of contact so dangerously close to his heart.

His scream of pain and fear was chopped as he collided with the wall, flung against it with a force strong enough to make his ears ring. Two Magnemite grabbed his arms, their electrified grips sending sizzling shots of pain down his wrists.

He could barely hear as Surge cracked a joke, voice gleeful and high above Red’s guttural shrieks and the zapping noises filling the space.

“You might find this even more shocking,” Surge cackled, excitement in his voice as if this were a casual, fun battle. “The electricity in this room will double, even triple, the power of my pokemon! It’ll be an electrifying battle!” Again he laughed, as though this was the time to be cracking jokes.

Red couldn’t think as the electric pokemon finally gave him a break, crumpling to his knees as the scent of burning hair rose from where the Magnemite had shocked him.

“W-hy?” he finally got his voice back, shakily looking up at Surge from where he had collapsed, vision flickering against the bright room. “Why would a gym leader be allies with Team Rocket?”

Surge smirked, but did not direct any of his pokemon to attack again, not quite yet.

“Hm, a Gym Leader?” he scratched his chin, as if thinking about it, “Yes, there was a time I did something like that…”

Red gasped as the Magnemite yanked him back to his feet, Surge taking a couple steps closer as he continued to speak. “I took the role of Leader quite seriously, with dignity, rules, training,” he laughed scornfully, “ever proper pokemon battles- but what did it gain me?” He clenched his hand into a fist (which had to be at least half the size of Red’s head), and rolled his shoulders back, the bones cracking in a series of almost painful sounding pops.

Red tried to cringe away, but he was held in place by his arms, and the electrified wall behind him buzzed warningly.

“It was all a pretense of power,” Surge laughed, booming voice back in full as he flung his arms out, “Only real power lets me take whatever I want!”

He gestured to the band of Electrodes and Voltorbs slung about his torso, Red’s eyes following his sweeping hand movements. “Electrodes are quick but lack strength,” Red’s eyes fell upon the device attached to the end of the band, which he had shot a pokemon out of mere moments before. Surge continued, “This launcher heightens their power- and increases their speed!”

Surge’s hand went to his hip, other arm swinging the weapon up and onto his shoulder, coming to nestle up next to the pokemon stationed there. “These Magneton can use Sonic Boom to protect me, unlike your wormy Pikachu,”

Red near-growled in anger. No one got to insult his pokemon. But Surge evidently had not heard, and only continued on his little monologue. “…it’s all thanks to Team Rocket’s technology!” he was boasting.

Red didn’t care to listen to the rest, only peering over his shoulder at Pika, who was gripping onto his back. Ready? He tried to ask with his eyes. Pika nodded.

“Now!” Red screamed, catching Surge off-guard as the Pikachu fired an attack in his direction, the powerful electric shock leaving its own refreshment of the burning scent in the air. “So much for Team Rocket!” Red whooped as the flash of light enveloped Surge, a horrible howl of pain leaving the Executive.

But he had spoken too soon.

The moment the electricity dropped, so did Surge’s imagined pain act. “Nyaah,” he teased, “Just kidding!”

A rock fell hard through Red’s stomach. The attack hadn’t worked. It hadn’t done anything.

“Did you really think,” Surge laughed, “That I’d enter an electric trap without putting on my insulated suit?” He cracked his knuckles, gleeful expression hinting a bit more cruelty as he crossed his arms. “You’re on my turf, boy. You should expect the unexpected,”

The Magnemite holding Red began their electric currents again, and Red had to withstand the urge to try and jerk out of their grasp. It would only hurt more that way, he had to think his way out of here, right?

“Everything in this building is designed to augment our power!” Surge’s grin turned cruel, eyes softening in the worst possible way. “By now, your little friend has it even worse, I’d bet…”

Red’s stomach flipped at the mention of Blue, but he didn’t have any time to dwell on it as Surge screamed out another order: “Fire!”

The Electrodes and Voltorbs exploded towards Red, and with the pokemon holding onto his arms he had no way to dodge.

If the single Electrode has been bad, this was that times thirteen. Red howled, thoughts barely coherent as all of his nerves seemed to light on fire. The sound of the electric attacks, on its own, was loud enough to be distracting (but not distracting enough to take him away from the agony coursing over him.

He didn’t understand.

He had a Pikachu, an electric type, but its attacks got weaker as a battle went on. These pokemon were not letting up- and they had been attacking at full power since the start. How weren’t they slowing down?

As if hearing his thoughts, Surge’s thundering voice split the room as he cackled. “Do you want to know why their attacks aren’t running out? And my armor?”

Red screamed as the Magnemite on his left shot a Thunder Shock down that side of his body, Surge just laughed over him. “Why they’re infinite sources of power? Do you really wanna know?”

There wasn’t any way Red could have responded, brain barely keeping together enough to keep up with the overstimulation that was the pain shooting through him, but Surge took his howls of pain as a ‘yes’.

“Then take that knowledge to your grave!” he laughed, overbearing and horrible. Red’s eyes spun into focus on the door opening across the room from him, a figure in shadow standing in it. With the electricity coursing through him, it was hard to even focus on the thing, let alone make out what it was.

But Surge answered the question for him, pride filling his horrid voice. “The source of all this power is the legendary Pokemon Zapados!”

The pokemon holding Red dropped their attacks again, and he fell to his knees (the remnants of the pain of seconds before sparking in his joints and in his chest). Vision flickering until they finally caught onto the shape of the huge creature, Red’s eyelids fluttered.

It… it couldn’t be.

But Surge didn’t let him adjust, only jumping into the next monologue. “We captured it at the abandoned power plant, and the legends proved to be true!”
Surge grinned, as if Red had any idea where that was, or could remember what these supposed legends were in his artificially scrambled state of mind.

“Thanks to Zapados, my pokemon and I will be eternally powerful!” Surge cried, arm swinging up to direct his Electrabuzz, which Red had all but forgotten about.

Red didn’t even have time to struggle in the electric grip on his arms as the massive, overpowered pokemon dove towards him. Surge’s cackling voice didn't quite get swallowed up by the whooshing of fate racing at Red, if anything, it enhanced the terror.

“Now ask me if I want to go back to being a gym leader!”

(2059 words.)

Day 12: 1★ for the daily, 5★ for helping in cabin wars, 5★ for the weekly. (3035 words in total, 11★ in total.)

Weekly. Part one is in the entry above this! https://scratch-mit-edu.ezproxy.canberra.edu.au/discuss/topic/640977/?page=1#post-6730250

Part two monologues shared with someone? I was having a hard time figuring this one out tbh. I did it with @savebats, hers is in her forums topic, which is linked at the top of this page.

Hello and welcome to Pokespe With Starthorn, a new series where I get to talk about whatever I want!

I think one of the things that I could talk about for hours is Pokemon Special, also lovingly known as Pokespe by the English fandom and PKSP by the Japanese fandom. If you're not really in the ‘loop’ of pokemon related content, you might have heard it referred to as the Pokemon manga, because it is arguably the most well-known of all the Pokemon mangas. (Yes, there are many.)

What I meant by saying I could talk about it for hours is that I could discuss the characters and plots and all those wonderful things, but I am just now realizing that you probably need some context on this bigger picture. (Which is, to say, this series externally.)

The first pokemon content that was available to the public was, as expected, the pokemon games. First Green, then Red and Blue, and then Yellow (for the Gen 1 games). Not too long after the release of Red and Blue, since it had gained a stunning amount of popularity that the creators had not anticipated, an anime started to be developed. Not too far off from this, people began working on their own Pokemon mangas.

The anime came out before any of these mangas, and has since skyrocketed in popularity the world over.

Pokespe was not actually the first of the developing Pokemon mangas to be released- it was in fact second. Still, it was released the same year as the anime (though a few months later).

It did not gain the same type of traction as the anime, especially as the latter was exported to America at the same time as the games so they would feed off of each other (and the manga was sort of left to flounder, because it was not as official as the other two major parts of this franchise.)

However out of all of these branches of Pokemon, the manga is my favorite. Find out why on the next episode!

Part three 3 minute spoken poem. Sobs.

What changes the day from the night?
What's really the difference between dark and bright?
Because if I can't see you,
and you can't see me,
What's really the difference between bite and knife?

Too bad the sun sets when the moon is high,
Since they don't meet, yet neither is shy.
Without the sparkle of morning dew…
and oh, how they really flew.
Since they don't meet, spun around and around into two-time.

I go left at the bend, to avoid the sunrise,
but it catches me before I've gotten too wise.

And the stars are gone before I can speak,
but the clouds stay up there- not often unique.

I cannot say goodbye to what I saw in the dark,
and to every new corner of this strange park.
It is a different place
with light in this space,
and to every new corner I worry what might lurk.

Odd how the night causes less fear than this day.
Now almost wishing that its darkness could not be swayed,
I go back into the woods,
but the day still misunderstood-
Now almost wishing that the day wasn't this ‘nice’.

The world turns on it's silly little axle,
not caring what is actual.

Nothing is the same as before,
but we must treat it like a promise was sworn.

A promise not to complain about change,
though things are always (always) so strange.
The sun provides brightness,
the moon provides rightness-
though things are never (never) the same.

People complain at the start of a new dusk,
say the world is left with only a husk
of what it was,
just because
they say the world is so wrong- but:

I am not a slave to this mortal Earth,
and my soul flies about its whole girth.

But I can't reach the sun, and I can't reach the moon,
(I wonder if that means my time is coming soon.)

The sun is a star, it should disappear with the blue,
and the moon rotates us, why shouldn't it care who
we are?

It cannot name feelings, not even speak,
but it should know these things instead of sneak
through our trust.

I blame the moon,
not because it is light,
but because the sun chases it like some attached balloon,
so it should not leave our sky for the bright,
and it should not leave before it is right.

Part four, song-writing based on a flower!
Yarrow

//spoken// Find me a cure for love,
//spoken// though I could rename this ‘Rhododendron’…

//background music kicks in//


I'm scratching up your walls,
racing though your halls,
and you don't answer me,
you don't answer me.

honey, what do you want? //vocal fly on end//

I thought that this was insanity,
I thought that you saw through me,
But it turns out
you leave me
//yelled// alone!

//almost hysterical// I need a cure for this, sweetie,
but I'm not leaving ‘till I’m bleeding!!!


So find me a
Cure
For
Love,

So find me a
Fear,
My
Dove…

So find me a-
//yelled// place to dump your guts! Out!

//instrumental//


I'm pounding on these stalls,
heart racing when you call,
but even then it's not to be,
even then it's not to be.

honey, what do I want? //terrified, questioning//

I thought that this was insanity,
I thought that you saw through me,
But it turns out
I'm scaring you
//yelled// alone!

//almost hysterical// I need a cure for this, sweetie,
but I'm not leaving ‘till I’m bleeding!!!


So find me a
Cure
For
Love,

So find me a
Fear,
My
Dove…

So find me a-
//coughs, music lightens//


Follow me to the ends of the Earth,
because I've been insane since birth-

I need a counterweight,
but you just leave me to wait,

come on,
its logical!

come on,
it's sociological…

//music building//


So find me a
Cure
For
Love,

So find me a
Fear,
My
Dove

So find me a
last living hope
of anyone

A last living hope
of being done.

And find me a
Cure
For
Love,

And I'll return with a
Sorrow,
My
Dove.

It's a
last living hope
of anyone.

A last living hope
for everyone-

//spoken// Alone.

(344 + 400 + 304 words.)

Episode two of Pokespe With Starthorn, literally just for fun:

Last time, we discussed the creation of this series very briefly, just to give anyone who doesn't have that background a little bit of context. This time, I'm going to be talking about the art, because that fits relatively well into the topic even though it might not seem like it since they're usually so separate.

The way they lead into each other is that there have been two artists for this series, and I wanted to talk about the first one before the second. (Chronological order, am I right?)

The artist's name is Mato, she drew for the Red Blue Green arch, the Yellow arch, and the first two books of Gold Silver Crystal. Her artstyle is very different from the style of the second artist, Satoshi Yamamoto, but they managed to blend them together pretty well through the remaining books of Crystal so that it doesn't stand out too much.

Anyway, since this little series of mine is about opinions, I'm about to give some of mine! Please note that I'm not going to be insulting either of the artists' styles, they're both amazing at what they do, I just have personal preferences when it comes to style sometimes. I'm sure you do too, whether you realize or not.

So for starters, I really like the way she draws all of the main characters in this series. The style is so different from the later books that it's hard to wrap my mind around how these characters still look relatively the same between the two artists. (I suppose this is a compliment for both of them, then! And deserved, it really is.)

Compared to the later books, Blue looks better in the first seven in my opinion. I just like the way she draws his hair and it's proportions, while in Mr. Yamamoto's style it can sometimes feel a bit oddly placed (I have the same exact problem when I try to draw him, it's an awkward design in general). I also prefer the way Green is drawn, though that is mostly because I just like her outfit in the first series more than her Fire Red Leaf Green (or Emerald) design, it just looks really nice on her.

Red and Yellow are about equal though, which I suppose is all that's really needed since they are the Protagonist characters. Kudos to both of these artists though because, honestly, Red is a pain to try and draw! Something about his design is just difficult. They both did really well with him, especially making him look like the same character growing up.

But I think, in general, I prefer how Mr. Yamamoto draws Gold and Silver compared to how Mato did, even though it's not exactly fair since Mr. Yamamoto had so much time to develop how he drew the characters. This opinion is definitely aided by my next opinion though, you'll see.

Now, it's hard to say what style is my favorite since I love Mato's so much and there's certain iderations of Mr. Yamamoto's that look really nice, so I just have to separate them to say what's my favorite art style in pokespe.

So I have two favorite styles in this series then, since it's hard to compare the two artists.

They are the style in books two and three for Mato and the Heart Gold Soul Silver series for Mr. Yamamoto. (See? That's why I like how he draws Gold and Silver so much, especially Gold.)

I'll get into this in the next episode, but my favorite character is Gold, and this might be aided by how well he's drawn in Heart Gold Soul Silver, along with his relatively consistent writing compared to, say, Green. Though the character designs in Heart Gold Soul Silver are not my favorites, I know the artist had no control of them, and I think that he was able to draw the characters very well even around these different designs.

His style tends to fluctuate. Sometimes I really, really like it, and sometimes there's bits and pieces that slightly get on my nerves, especially in how he draws Sapphire in Omega Ruby Alpha Sapphire, though she looks wonderful in the other two archs she is in. (Similar to my own art, actually!) Maybe the reason why I like the HGSS art so much is because it's pretty much just positives. He even managed to make Crystal's remake outfit work out, and that is truly commendable!

Let's hope that this was at all followable and I'll see you next time on Pokespe With Starthorn, the series where I get to talk about whatever I want!

(774 words.)

Daily, help in cabin wars 5★ + 1★
Electric Suit Pokespe/Pokemon Special, Late Wh!tober entry, Red, Surge, manhandling. Continued from yesterday.

Red’s mind must have blacked out as the Electrabuzz collided with him, eyes whiteing out as the blinding flash tore through him and ripped his mind to shreds. He couldn’t feel anything but his nerve endings burning to bits with the power of the attack. On his back, Pika screamed too.

If the attack was hurting the electric type this badly, Red didn’t even want to know how much it was damaging him, though his thoughts couldn’t come together to form that thought with his own cries of agony ringing in his ears.

Suddenly, he was dropped again, the Magnemite on his right letting go first. He crumpled to the floor, head spinning as the Electrabuzz relented its attack. His head drooped, trying to catch his breath. He couldn’t be beat down, not like this. He still had to get back to Blue.

But then Surge grabbed the front of his shirt, lifting him high above the ground by that alone. Red grabbed at his wrist out of instinct as he swung wildly in the Executive’s grasp, his shirt attempting to choke him as Surge grabbed it.

Bad choice.

The electricity coursing over Surge went straight into Red’s hands, tearing another pathetic scream from him as Surge laughed.

“No matter how much voltage I blast- only you can feel it!”

Red’s hands were almost cemented onto Surge’s arm, like he had just touched a hot door knob with fire on the other side. They wouldn’t let go.

His eyes were blown wide with the force of the volts, but as they lessened, just a little, his eyes slipped closed again. He grunted in pain, hands slipping on Surge’s wrist as the agony was lessened.

Surge chuckled, low and dark. “Then try a jolt of this!” Surge’s voice rose to a crazed laugh, but before Red could even prepare, the man yanked his arm back, dragging Red with it, and threw him.

Like he weighed nothing.

Red and Pika sailed across the room, as Surge laughed.

They slammed into the electrified wall, and once again the zapping burn ran up and down Red’s arms and back. Pika fell to the ground just as Red did, landing a few feet away.

Red tried to get his thoughts together as the panic of seeing his pokemon land so still took over the pain of seconds before. “Pikachu!” he cried, already reaching back for another pokeball before Surge got the urge to hold him still again.

His muscles burned as he moved, electrified beyond anything he had previously felt. But he had to do something.

“I-Ivysaur!” he flung the pokeball out in a panic, trying to think of a plan.

“It’s hopeless!” Surge laughed, flinging his arm in a point, directing the Zapdos now perching on his right shoulder to attack. “Thunder shock!”

The attack was even stronger than the Electrabuzz’s, and Ivysaur went flying back in Red’s direction. He cried out in disbelief as the pokemon fell to the ground, burnt leaves floating down around him. The flower on his back was all but destroyed.

“Looks like Autumn's come early for Ivysaur this year!” Surge cackled, but Red wasn’t listening.

“Fight back!” Red screamed, furious and terrified, kneeling at his hurt pokemon’s side.

The fired leaves just burned up when they came near Zapdos. “It’s hopeless,” Surge teased, “I’m telling you!”

Red’s stomach flipped as Surge grinned cruelly at him.

“I suppose a stubborn boy like you needs a more decisive blow,” Surge crossed his arms, tilting his head as if assessing Red’s damaged state. Red swallowed, following Surge’s arm with his eyes as the man reached down to turn a crank that he somehow hadn’t even noticed before. (Too focused on agony, he supposed.)

“Zapdos, maximum power!” Surge said, and took a threatening step towards Red and Ivy.

Red’s mind raced.

There were wires attached to the crank, and they were attached to Zapdos. Ivy could cut those wires.

There was no better option. As Surge raises his hand to direct the attack, Red grabbed Ivy with his arms to steady the creature. “Just what we’ve been waiting for!” he cried, “Attack!”

Razor Leaf was shot from the pokemon’s vines, Surge and Zapdos both starting in surprise as the attack whistled towards them. Ivy’s aim was right on target and the leaves cut through the wires as well as slicing around Surge’s body.

“The cords are cut!” Red cried with an air of victory, “Now all of Zapdos’ energy will go straight into your body!”

“Will it now?” Surge smirked, but Red could see the disappearing hint of fear on his face from when the attack was flung at him.

It was gone soon though, as Surge laughed reaching up to pat the Zapdos resting on his shoulder. “You’re a fool, Red!” he shook his head, “As long as I’m wearing my electric proof suit, I can’t be electrocuted!”

Though Surge looked like he was not wearing long sleeves, Red had felt his arms when he had been picked up. It was true, there was a clear film covering the man’s arms, fingers, and neck. But he had already begun the plan to get rid of that obstacle.

A tear opened up in Surge’s coat. Then his pants, up and around his tights, and his shirt. Surge gasped in disbelieving horror.

Then, an electric explosion of lighting and heat burst forth from the now uncontrolled Zapdos. Surge screamed, loud and terrible, and the machine attached to the two exploded. Red was glad he hadn’t been struck with that.

Then, the attack was over, and Surge collapsed to the ground, smoke rising from his skin.

Red swallowed down his nerves of being so close to the move, slowly getting to his feet. “Ivy’s Razor Leaf wasn’t just cutting the cords,” he breathed, almost revolted by the completely still lump that was Surge on the floor. Even though the man had hurt him, seeing him completely collapse was terrifying.

Ivy made a brring noise at his feet and Red was torn from his thoughts.

“Just what I was thinking,” Red scratched the back of his head, seeing how Ivy was nodding towards Surge. He wanted to get the badge.

So Red knelt down at Surge’s side, hesitantly turning his body over to reach into the man’s shirt pocket. Red’s hands found the cool of metal, and he pulled them out of the pocket. Surge was still out. Zapdos wasn’t attacking.

“Found it!” Red’s arm shook as he looked the badge over, “The Thunder Badge!”

Then, on a whim, Red reached down, pulling Surge’s gloves off. They were the only part of Surge’s electric proof suit that hadn’t been torn. “Guess I’ll take these too,” he breathed, looking down at Surge’s burnt body.

A spring of disgust coiled in Red’s stomach.

There was nothing more powerful than the bond between a trainer and his pokemon. The Zapdos not attacking after Surge collapsed was proof that there was no bond between them. The power was artificial, in that way.

Pika crawled up Red’s leg and onto his shoulder as Red continued to stare at the collapsed man. Despite his disgust, he almost felt sorry.

“Come on,” he said slowly, forcing his feet to turn towards the stairs. “Let’s go.”

(1213 words.)

Day 13: (413 words in total, 0★ in total.)

Working Out Team Rocket - Pokemon World Building Part One (Pokespe, Pokeani, Pokemon Go, etc)

Team Rocket

Executive Branch:
Giovanni (PKMN).
Trainer Class: Gym Leader, Boss
—
Ariana (PKMN)
Trainer Class: Interim Executive

Proton (PKMN)
Trainer Class: Interim Executive

Petrel (PKMN)
Trainer Class: Interim Executive

Archer (PKMN)
Trainer Class: Interim Executive
—
Sird (PKSP)
Trainer Class: Executive

Carr (PKSP)
Trainer Class: Executive

Orm (PKSP)
Trainer Class: Executive
—
Surge (PKSP)
Trainer Class: Gym Leader, Executive, Lieutenant
Unit: Team Rocket Triad, Surge

Sabrina (PKSP)
Trainer Class: Gym Leader, Executive
Unit: Team Rocket Triad, Sabrina

Koga (PKSP)
Trainer Class: Johto Elite Four, Gym Leader, Executive
Unit: Team Rocket Triad, Koga
—
Cliff (Go!)
Trainer Class: Leader
Unit: Go!

Arlo (Go!)
Trainer Class: Leader
Unit: Go!

Sierra (Go!)
Trainer Class: Leader
Unit: Go!
—
Ken (PKSP)
Trainer Class: Admin
Unit: Elite Triad, Surge

Al (PKSP)
Trainer Class: Admin
Unit: Elite Triad, Sabrina

Harry (PKSP)
Trainer Class: Admin
Unit: Elite Triad, Koga
—
Matori (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Admin, Assistant
Unit: Matori Matrix
—
Gozu (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Elite Officer
Unit: Matori Matrix
—
Tyson (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Elite Officer
—
Carla/Sham (PKMN/PKSP)
Trainer Class: Elite Officer

Carl/Keane (PKMN/PKSP)
Trainer Class: Elite Officer
—
Domino (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Elite Officer
—
Vicious (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Elite Officer
—
Grey (Golden Boys)
Trainer Class: Officer
—
Viper (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Sergeant

Grunts:
Attila (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: High Ranking Grunt

Hun (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: High Ranking Grunt
—
Annie (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Spy

Oakley (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Spy
—
Wendy (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Grunt, Resources
—
Grill (PointCrow's Team Rocket AU Playthrough)
Trainer Class: Grunt

Ronnie (PointCrow's Team Rocket AU Playthrough)
Trainer Class: Grunt
—
Jubei (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Grunt
—
Kaede (How I Became A Pokemon Card)
Trainer Class: Grunt
—
Cassidy (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Mission Grunt

Butch (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Mission Grunt
—
Jessie (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Low-Ranking Mission Grunt, Coordinator, Performer

James (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Low-Ranking Mission Grunt
—
Mondo (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Low-Ranking Mission Grunt
—
Christopher (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Recruit


Ex-members:
Madame Boss (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Ex-Boss
—
Miyamoto (Pokeani)
Trainer Class: Ex- Officer
—
Blaine (PKSP)
Trainer Class: Gym Leader, Researcher

Research Branch:
Gideon
Trainer Class: Head Scientist
—
Namba
Trainer Class: Doctor
—
Zager
Trainer Class: Doctor
—
Sebastian
Trainer Class: Professor
—
Professor Fuji
Trainer Class: Professor
—
Beau
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Connor
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Ed
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Jerry
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Jose
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Joshua
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Parker
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Rodney
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Taylor
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Travis
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Jed/Gregg
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Mitch
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Ross
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Marc/Garrett
Trainer Class: Researcher
—
Rich/Trenton
Trainer Class: Researcher

(413 words.)

Day 14: 1★ for the daily, 5★ for challenge. (1325 words in total, 6★ in total.)

Main Cabin Daily humor workshop https://scratch-mit-edu.ezproxy.canberra.edu.au/projects/747563700/ 1★

c!Starthorn, leaning against a wall with an intense look of exhaustion on her face: Sometimes I feel like I'm falling behind.

c!savebats, looking up from where she is sitting on the floor, confused: With what?

There is a short pause.

c!Starthorn, dramatically sliding down the wall until she is sitting: With everything!

c!savebats: Have you met your goal yet?

c!Starthorn: My what?

c!savebats goes back to reading her pokemon special fanfiction, which has been printed out into booklet format

c!savebats: Your word goal.

c!Starthorn only stares at her.

c!savebats, looking up again with an air of confusion: Your… word goal.

c!Starthorn: I'm not following?

c!savebats, almost worried: The goal you set for how much you wanted to write during this event? You met it in the last two games we engaged in.

A horrible look of realization comes across c!Starthorn's face.

c!Starthorn: Oh no.

c!savebats: …you're behind, aren't you?

c!Starthorn, laughing nervously and vaulting back up into a standing position: Uh, maybe? Her fingers fly over the communication band on her wrist and bring up a holographic record of her progress thus far. c!savebats stands as well and begins to come over. Let me see…

c!Starthorn's eyes widen, the blue draining from her face.

c!savebats: You're behind.

c!Starthorn: I'm behind.

She shows the screen to c!savebats, who's eyes flick over it, almost disinterested.

c!savebats: I don't know, it looks fine to me.

c!Starthorn: Fine?! She points to a graph in the bottom corner Does that look fine?

c!savebats: Quit being hysterical, you're not that far behind…

c!Starthorn, only slightly calming down: Yeah, okay. How far behind are you for your goal?

c!savebats glances at her.

There is a short pause.

c!Starthorn: Well?

Another short pause.

c!savebats, trying to change the topic: Wwwell, you're doing better than Fluffy…

c!Starthorn, eyes widening, reaches out and grabs c!savebats' shoulders: How far behind are you??

c!savebats, trying to remove c!Starthorn's hands as she avoids eye contact: That- that doesn't matter. Right? Just how well you're doing!

c!Starthorn, gaining a tiny shred of confidence at this answer: So, you're further behind than me?

There is a long, awkward pause.

Suddenly, c!fluffysheepwool bangs the door open.

c!fluffysheepwool, with an incredible joy: Bats! I was looking all over for you!

c!savebats, seemingly glad to be pulled away from the previous topic: Oh, that's- um, cool, why?

c!fluffysheepwool (unaware of the worried, pale look of c!Starthorn): I was going to ask you how you beat your goal in the first two days! You know, for tips!

And, like a woman in an old movie, c!Starthorn faints right on the spot.

(484 words.)

Challenge with @NightRipple telephone game writing peice. (https://scratch-mit-edu.ezproxy.canberra.edu.au/studios/32137059/comments/#comments-203082256) 5★

It was early in the morning, at least for Zoe.

Not only that, but she had German class the first block of the first day of school, and she wasn't ready. She hadn't really practiced the language and she was not ready for the class.

A feeling of deepening regret was burning through the bottom of her stomach as she clutched the straps of her backpack, eyes trained hard on her shoes against the bus floor. She was sitting sandwiched between a boy who was eating a bowl of cereal and a girl loudly laughing with her friends about their summer work not being completed.

The rest of the bus was completely packed too.

Sighing, Zoe put her head down on the backpack in arms.

Back to school, back to this.

(131 words.)

Porcelain, German classwork.

Porcelain was not first invented in Germany, but instead in China around during the Tang dynasty- so around 1404 to 1115 years ago. However, this was a very early form of the material and art form and does not represent Chinese porcelain the way the modern world now recognizes it, as it was improved upon and changed for many years. The form of Chinese porcelain that most people recognize today was created during the Yuan dynasty.

This first form is known as hard paste porcelain, also known as true porcelain, because of the way it is made, mixing petuntse (which is a type of rock), with kaolin (which is a type of white clay). When these two are heated together the petuntse turns into a sort of glass-like substance and the kaolin helps it keep its shape.

Porcelain was considered very valuable for a long time, and still debatably is. However, one of the only ways to get it was through trade, because not every nation or culture had the ability to make it.

In medieval times, European potters tried to create the same type of porcelain that they could receive through trade, and this is where Europe comes into the conversation.

Soft paste porcelain was first created in Italy, but was not mass produced for quite some time.

The difference between soft paste and hard paste porcelain is in how it is made, as well as how hard it is, how breakable it is, and so on. Soft paste porcelain, also known as artificial porcelain, is made with glass (finely ground into a powder) and clay. It also fires at about 450 °F less than hard paste porcelain. Generally the two can be told apart through how the material itself acts, because after it is fired superficial and true look almost indistinguishable, if at all.

Superficial porcelain can be scratched or cut- it is much softer than true porcelain. However, hard paste porcelain chips very easily because it is quite brittle. Also, if dirt or something of that matter gets on unglazed, superficial porcelain it is very, very hard to remove- whereas true porcelain can be cleaned very easily before being glazed.

In Germany and all throughout Europe, however, soft paste porcelain was not preferred. People still wanted the true version, and kept working on creating it. This is where Germany steps onto the stage, instead of generally Europe.

Johann Friedrich Böttger was a German alchemist who, according to legend, is said to have been tasked with making gold and accidentally created a new type of porcelain instead. It is also possible that he was tasked with creating porcelain and succeeded. Whatever the case, he is the person who is most credited with finding the secret to hard paste porcelain in Europe.

This form of hard paste porcelain is referred to as Meissen porcelain (or Dresden porcelain), after the town it was created in.

To this day, this town’s culture has retained porcelain creation and painting. They make figures, bowls, plates, elaborate pitchers, teapots, and so forth. Almost anything you can think of relating to dishware, they make it.

The process has not changed much since Meissen porcelain was first invented. The materials are first mixed together until they are at the right consistency to be sculpted. This sculpting, an art form and a craft, is done by hand with various tools and generally a potter’s wheel (if the object needs to be symmetrical). After the dish or sculpture is complete, it is fired. Once it is taken out of the kiln and cooled, it can be painted and glazed. These two things are also done by hand.

Meissen porcelain quickly grew in popularity as it began to be produced faster, and Europe had a new source for this valuable object.

Soon, other countries began to work on their own forms of porcelain and production, but Meissen porcelain was still popular throughout much of Europe.


Fun Fact: Bone china, which is another form of porcelain, is preferred in the United States and Great Britain, while hard paste or Meissen specifically is preferred in much of the rest of Europe.

Another Fun Fact: Porcelain has been referred to as white gold because of how valuable it was and still is.

(710 words.)

Day 15: 1★ for the daily. (1257 words in total, 1★ in total.)

Main Cabin Daily, self care day!! 1★

I didn't have to, but I decided to write about this daily, because that's what I did last Scratch Writing Camp when I was in the Fairytales cabin. (We had a lot of events and that sort of thing that you could get credit for, like taking a walk or drinking water, but it always felt wrong to receive the currency without proof other than my honest word, so I would write about it!)

So, it's not really what the daily wanted me to do I don't think, but today I took a good break for a couple of hours just to draw and design maps of the Kanto region from pokemon, which I've wanted to do for a really long time now but haven't really had any time to do so. It was really fun, I looked up all the anime and manga exclusive locations and researched them so that I could place them on the map alongside the canon games locations!

I think one of my favorites out of all these locations was Neon Town, and it really has been for a while, simply because I think it's a very cool setting which I wish was used more than once!

I particularly like it because it's situated in Grampa Canyon, a location which I have decided makes sense to be the setting of my favorite chapter of pokemon special- Yellow's training chapter. (Yes, I mostly like it because feelingshipping, what about it?)

Anyway, yeah! That was super fun, I'm going to try to find time to finish these maps later, maybe over break, because I'm really starting to know my way around this region in more than just Fire Red. It's really nice to be able to do that with a place that isn't real, something about escape, maybe.

Yep!

Self care in the form of pokemon map making. Hoora.

(312 words.)

Blue Oak emotional whump, unnamed for now! Speverse Raticate angst. I had to do it eventually. I'm going to rework this, wrote it in health class on a time limit so it's messy.

If his body could talk, it would scream.

Chuck's training was beyond difficult. It was the type of thing that made Blue wish he wasn't there, was dead, just so he wouldn't feel it any longer. But quitting was not an option, Oak's weren't failures. Oak's didn't care what obstacles got in their way, they just made it through to the other side- always the victor.

Daisy was Contest Champion for a reason, Professor Oak was an ex-League Champion and the top Professor of the Kanto region for a reason. His grandmother, who he had never spoken to, was at least an ace trainer and a finalist in the League, probably more than that.

What did Blue have?

He had his name, sure, but that was all it was. He hadn't even filled it out yet- no achievements under his belt like his sister or his grandfather, or even his grandfather's distant cousin. They were all successful, but according to Chuck, Blue would never fill the huge expectations that being in this family granted him at birth.

A grandson of Professor Oak that couldn't fight off a Graveler on his own.

That was what Chuck saw him as. A mess. A grandson of Professor Oak that couldn't even train a Raticate well enough for it to survive a Rock Throw.

Blue's small, bandaged hands tightened around the newly empty pokeball, eyes staring through the dark only to catch a faint hint of the red.

He still couldn't believe it.

Back to one pokemon, the partner he had caught on the way to the Johto region killed. Chuck said it was because he had treated the creature too softly. That its death was his fault.

He had no other option to believe, so Blue blamed himself too.

(297 words.)

Unfinished Originalshipping peice. Currently unnamed. Pokespe/Pokemon Special, character dynamics, exploration of characters.

Most of the time these days, Blue and Red were on good terms- sometimes friends, sometimes closer to a romantic type of deal. But these positive terms were relatively new, at least as the norm of their rivalry.

At the very start, the hate between them was real. Very real.

They became rivals incidentally and immediately, and from that point on their dynamic was cemented. Even if they were allied, they were enemies. (It wasn't until the Team Rocket takedown at Silph Co. that they started to be on better terms- realizing they actually did care and all that.)

But before that mutual realization, it was bad.

Socially acceptable bad, because they were rivals and their society tended to be light on violence between such pairs, but still toxic. Abusive even, if you wanted to see it as a relationship. (Which it was the start of.)

They went out of their way to hurt each other, sabotage and emotional attacks, insults filled with vile, bitter hate. Anything they could muster up, because hate wasn't an exaggeration at first.

It was weird, looking back on that time now, but it wasn't like it had completely disappeared.

After big arguments, sometimes, it went back to that. It didn't erase all they had built over the years, but it bubbled up through the cracks and covered this ground layer (almost like it was the underlying emotion after all). Red would poke fun at things Blue was self-conscious of, Blue would talk about Red behind his back. Both of these things out of character for their usual demeanors, but not out of the question when the rival part of their rivalry resurfaced.

It was part of them, just like it was part of most rival dynamics, even though theirs was hidden so well (and yet not gone).

(303 words.)

Various close estimations of English classwork, these were on paper so I didn't get to properly count them. I'm undershooting these estimations on purpose!

The Great Gatsby Chapter 1 Notes, somewhere around 132 words.

The Great Gatsby Green Light writing, something like 213 words.

(132 + 213 words.)

Day 16: 1★ for the daily. (1035 words in total, 1★ in total.)

Main cabin daily, use colors symbolically in at least 200 words 1★
Note: Still using those characters I introduced earlier this SWC!

The empty, overbearing sky was blue, but it was actually a dark maroon- it was the distant DawnDusk constellation that made it that way. The school's mud-brick walls were brown, but they were actually an off-silver. Tom's mother's eyes were brown, but they actually weren't.

He could never decide what color they were.

Maybe her eyes were maroon, like the sky. But sometimes, when she smiled, they were that same off-silver as the school. Other times, simply representing the blank of something not bearing any direct feeling.

She was hurting, but she was hiding it.

And his sister, Emma, was a beautiful purple-grey, it seemed to shine around her like the glow around stars. She was safety, she was love. Even though she was a few years younger than him, she knew more about the world than others her age. Because of that, he was close with her and they shared many things.

From their room to their sense of humor to their fashion sense, to the point that was allowed, Tom and Emma were alike.

Whenever his mother saw them laugh together, the off-silver came into her eyes, but it went away fast.

He was growing up, and they all knew what that would mean, they just didn't want to think about it. It was nice to imagine a reality where he could stay with them, not leave Emma alone.

But that was a fake reality, and the future was dark maroon too.

(244 words.)

Spe-verse Raticate angst, continued from yesterday. tw// past animal death.

He had caught the creature on his way to the west, working on some techniques for a capture. After all, he had the dex to fill out eventually.

Blue was proud, purposefully took up a lot of space, braggy. Bratty. At least, before Chuck. (He wasn't sure who he was anymore.)

But even before things started being forced out of him through hard training, personality warping, he was never mean- at least not to pokemon. So honestly, he had started to get attached to this Raticate, he liked having it, and it seemed to like him too.

But then, in the first battle Chuck was allowing him to use his pokemon in, disaster struck.

The Rock Throw came in too fast, Blue's Raticate didn't have time to dodge. In that moment, time stopped.

Terror.

And when the clock started up again, when the dust cleared from the arena, it was already too late. The animal was gone, dead on contact.

It wasn't like Blue had never seen a pokemon die; he wasn't a naive child. He had grown up sharing a building with a pokemon research center that, while never cruel, did not lack the occasional incident between battling creatures. Blue sometimes helped his sister in the pokemon center, too, and they couldn't always save everyone.

Hell, he had an overleveled carnivorous starter of his own. Charmander had killed opponents before, that wasn't new. All in all, he'd seen plenty of animal deaths…

But none of them had hurt quite like this.

It didn't help that Chuck just sighed, like it was a minor roadblock, and used it as an excuse for a lecture about needing to improve oneself before they could learn to battle. As Blue stared at the crushed body of his second pokemon, in a state of shock, Chuck only decided that this event could serve into their usual training. It seemed that Blue was still too personally weak to train his own pokemon to be strong.

Blue could have sworn it felt planned, an ugly twisting in his throat refusing tears and scrambling for an explanation, but Chuck wasn't wrong. The Raticate clearly hadn't been trained to the best of its possible ability. The creature and Blue should have been prepared for this battle, but they hadn't been.

Blue swore that he would never be light in training again, and apparently Chuck did too, because training only go harder from that day on.

(408 words.)

Venonshipping :eyes:

Okay, so I'm not going to post this here because it has darker themes and I don't think it's really appropriate for Scratch, but I wrote a pokemon special fanfiction because I really like venomshipping, apparently, and I can find exactly seven fanarts. TuT

(104 words.)

History classwork, about Letters of an American Farmer

There was a conflict between the states around trade, people were struggling because of this. Many veterans had not been paid after the war and were not happy about it, but the government couldn't do anything about it because they had been built too weak.

According to Crevecoeur, an American is a person who has a mixed heritage from many places and many walks of life- but who ignores these traditions and moves on into a higher standing. He thinks that Americans should love their country and support it, and in return they will be supported. He says that women and children are also hard workers, not just the men, and that they share some jobs (not equal standing, but that they share some work).

I think the intended audience is a British person around this time who has never been to America. These letters were written early in American history, so the conflict between these two countries (dragging in others, like Germany, France, and Spain) leads me to believe this.

I think that Crevecoeur would agree with American Exceptionalism. Several times throughout the passage above he has noted how different he thinks Americans are, pointing out their culturally mixed past and advanced future. He also specifically points out how there are not other countries in the world, to his knowledge, which had people with so much different European blood in their family line. To agree with the part of American Exceptionalism about being destined to play an important role in world history, Crevecoeur also says that an American must work, they have inherited science and math and reading, and they will improve it. So yes, he does agree.

(279 words.)

Day 17: 1★ for the daily. (2135 words in total, 1★ in total.)

Main cabin daily, bread day!!! Choose a bread from your country and write a poem about it. I choose San Francisco Sourdough.

Sourdough Bread.

To the taste it is
sour
the dough itself
something old now something new

that's all it seems at first

but when it is looked at
closely
one can see how masterful
it is

yeast is
alive

and it creates something to be eaten

not only this bread
but what is made from the bread

soup bowls- chowder
filled with another food
for one to enjoy

it can be sliced finely
or made into knödel
(with an American twist)

what was once old
is now new

and from this new
new
it can be made into another
new

almost
a life cycle,
though it never dies

it gets closer and closer
to its name

and become new and new after new

sour, dough

with a too-close name to the truth
it holds a greater strength than what
it seems

no laws apply to it
like this poem
about it

no rules hold it back
(other than the length of cooking)

it is essential
it is useful
it is more than what it seems

a bread around chowder
a sour twinge to bread balls
a flavor not quite like flour

sour and dough-
dough and sour

it will become.

(200 words.)

Health Class classwork, Type II Diabetes project.

Around ninety three percent of Americans with diabetes have type two diabetes, most of them over 45 years old. Type two diabetes is common in adults but has become more prevalent in children and teens in recent years, largely because of childhood obesity. Causes of diabetes in anyone, not depending on age, include obesity or being overweight, genetics (if a family member has type two diabetes, you are more likely to have it), your liver having too much glucose, and not being active enough. There are also other potential causes, and usually it is not only one cause at once.

It is a long-term condition that limits the body’s ability to process glucose properly and results in an excess of sugar in the bloodstream which does not reach the cells. This can cause issues in the body, some of which manifest in symptoms such as blurry vision, feeling overly thirsty and/or hungry, numbness in hands and feet, yeast infections which return over and over again, and so forth.

These symptoms can develop over several years and are not always noticeable at first, but they can progress and lead to heart disease and liver disease, as well as a loss of vision. Type two diabetes can be diagnosed with a blood test.

Though there is no cure, treatment is often achieved through losing weight and maintaining a healthy diet. It is recommended that one loses about seven percent of their body weight and maintains this, which can help even out a person’s blood sugar levels to a recommended amount. Eating in a healthy way, often with more vegetables and fruits and less processed food and especially with portion control, is also helpful. Adding exercise on top of this will help with weight loss.

People with diabetes can also take insulin or medication, some of it injectable and some of it oral, if weight loss and healthy eating are not helping enough in the regulation of their blood sugar.

(327 words.)

History Homework. War of 1812.

Washington D.C. was not doing well, both in physical appearance and economically. The roads were dirt and mud and even the state buildings were not grand like those in Europe- referred to even as ‘brick piles’ by a visiting English official. Most of the buildings in Washington D.C. were still made out of wood rather than brick or another more permanent building material, and it in general was not looking so much like a capital. The national bank does not exist and American finances are also not looking up because of this, since they are hard to properly control. Inflation and currency troubles began to rise. Along with this, the government depended on congress for money and therefore did not have reserves in case of a crisis.

Like many other powerful countries at the time, Britain did not like to consider America as its own country, let alone one that really deserved to be listened to. Because of this perspective, they were not respecting the American’s wishes in overseas trade. They ignored the rules the American government tried to set up and went more on what they wanted to do- again, because they didn’t really respect the United States as its own country. They also captured American boats during this time and refused to cooperate with the American government on any compromises.

No. America was not ready for war. While they did have some advantages over the British because much of Britain's energy was sapped by war in Europe and Americans were planning to fight on their own soil, they lacked far more than what they had. They did not have the same military strength in general as the British and their navy was also significantly smaller and weaker, using mostly boats that had been repurposed from non-military related jobs (so they weren’t as technologically advanced/didn’t have as many guns). They weren’t exactly ready to carry out plans either, as would become apparent very quickly.

Early war does not go very well for the Americans. Though they had a rather solid plan to start with, consisting of three major sections attacking and advancing through different areas, this plan fell apart when one segment was sent a message from the British that threatened an attack from both the British force and the Natives who they allied with. Hearing this, they fell back so as to not risk a massacre. This meant that they lost massive territory. Because of this first loss of area, the three parts of the plan could not function well. Both of the other forces fell back, one after taking some significant hits from the British forces, and did not succeed in gaining any land. However, it is notable that America's navy was actually doing quite well- successfully seizing several British ships that were more technologically advanced than they.

Monroe takes over the war effort for Madison when the previous man quits due to generally not being able to take the job, although he is reluctant to do this. (Agreeing with his reluctance, some people at the time were very angry at his return to the position he had previously held, saying that it was obviously a plan of Madisons to get who he wanted in office. A ‘dynasty’.)

After coming back to his position, Monroe sets up (or proposes) several very complicated plans for all sorts of different possible outcomes and actions, and begins an effort for radical change to the way their military was working at the time and how effective it had to be. His many plans address what he must have thought the military direction was lacking, and focus on strengthening what they have as well as a new sort of system- almost a rewrite of what they already had. Altogether a lot of hard work.

Both of these cities suffered major attacks and were burned. Many people were killed in the York fire but only one life was lost in the burning of Washington D.C., though buildings were heavily damaged in both places and fear was obviously spread- especially since Washington D.C. was the capital.

Madison was damaged in war and does not look physically impressive. He is short and rather sick, due to suffering from various medical problems. Both him and many of his advisors were generally like this, both nervous in a way. Madison became almost a coward over the course of the war.

Monroe looks far healthier than Madison, physically. Along with this, his leadership was very impressive during the war. He was viewed as a hero for his impressive leadership and the general success of his ideas. He was active in what he was needed for and against the indecisive, almost always having a direct plan, and was viewed highly by people of all walks of life due to this.

The Star Spangled Banner was not initially meant to be a song, exactly, let alone the national anthem. Instead, it was written as a poem about the attacks on a fort during the War of 1812 by Francis Scott Key. It didn’t initially have a tune, since it was written as a poem instead of a song, but people combined it with a slightly changed version of a popular drinking song during the time. Even then, it did not immediately go from poem to national anthem, it took a few years for this to be officially done, but the song did gain popularity quickly.

Opinion (not part of my answer): I’m not sure why they chose this tune- I mean, it’s really pretty, but also has all sorts of stretch for range. It sounds so good, but also it’s hard to sing!! Why!!

The result of the war was odd. There wasn’t all that much gained or lost, although my people did lose their lives on both sides of the war. Although the United States technically won, one could argue that the war did not necessarily need to happen, since the result did not bring huge change in any way. (In fact, peace was almost established between the Americans and the British only four days after war was officially declared by the United States, and this peace obviously came too late. Still, it’s almost like the conflict could have been resolved peacefully, though this had been attempted not very successfully a few times and may have led to more conflict.) In general, though America won, the war did not necessarily need to happen since not all that much changed.

The Era of Good Feelings was the time where there was only one political party- named fittingly after the lack of argument over parties. Since there had been pretty much only two parties for a while, the Federalists and the Democratic-Republicans, there had been discourse similar to what we see today. However, when the Federalists as a party crumbled there was only left the Democratic-Republicans. Eventually, though, the Era of Good Feelings came to an end when the Democratic-Republicans slip and dropped the ‘Republican’ from their name.

(1167 words.)

Some English work in my notebook again. I want to log these things correctly but she keeps taking my notebook to grade it. ( The first part was a daily check-in with how well we are understanding our current book (The Great Gatsby) so far and the other part was some notes as I was reading chapter two.

(329 + 112 words.)

Day 18: (2352 words in total, 0★ in total.)

Loosing A Friend, Don't Push The Others Away Semi-final draft of the Spe-verse Raticate angst I have been writing for a few days now. Probably the last one I'll post here. Machop appreciation. (Did you know that Machop is my favorite pokemon?)

If his body could talk, it would scream.

There were bruises up and down his torso, dotted by scrapes and scratches that dug deep into his skin, a burning around the edges from where the scabs were scratching off. His head hurt, still torn up from psychic moves, the still-present nausea of Confusion bringing up something dirty between the patches of his memory that weren't matching up. He had worked hard today, and all the days passed, but he didn't feel satisfied.

His master wasn't satisfied either.

Chuck's training was beyond difficult. It was the type of thing that made Blue wish he wasn't there, was dead, just so he wouldn't feel it any longer. The bruises and cuts were proof of the difficulty and an explanation for the wishes, but quitting was not an option, no matter how much he wanted it. People of the Oak lineage weren't failures. They didn't care what obstacles got in their way, they just made it through to the other side- always the victor.

Daisy was Contest Champion for a reason, Professor Oak was an ex-League Champion and the top Professor of the Kanto region for a reason. His grandmother, who he had never met, let alone spoken to, was at least an ace trainer and a finalist in the League, probably more successful than that (he hazarded to say at least ex-Elite Four).

And sitting next to all those successes, what did Blue have?

He had his name, but a name was all it was. He hadn't grown into it yet- no achievements under his belt like his sister or his grandparents, or even his grandfather's distant cousin. They were all successful, but according to Chuck, Blue would never fill the huge expectations that being in this family granted him at birth.

A grandson of Professor Oak that couldn't fight off a Graveler on his own?

That was what Chuck saw him as. A weak, confused mess. A grandson of Professor Oak that couldn't even train a Raticate well enough for it to survive a Rock Throw.

Blue's small, bandaged hands tightened around the empty pokeball, eyes staring through the dark only to catch a faint hint of the red. It had been a few weeks, but it still felt newly empty. A scar that hadn't healed yet.

He still couldn't believe it.

Back to one pokemon, only him and Charmander. The partner he had caught on the way to the Johto region was killed now, and he would never get it back. Chuck said it was because he had treated the creature too softly. That its death was his fault.

He had no other option to believe, so Blue was starting to blame himself too.

He had caught the Raticate on his way to the west, working on some techniques for capturing pokemon and the moderation of Charmander's fire moves. After all, he had the dex to fill out eventually, he had to figure out how to catch things.

Blue was overly proud, purposefully took up a lot of space, braggy. Bratty, even, with all those connotations. At least he was, before Chuck. Now, he wasn't quite sure who he was. But even before things started being forced out of him through this hard training, personality warping the way he now felt it, he was never mean- at least not to pokemon.

Honestly, he had started to get attached to this Raticate, he liked having it, and it seemed to like him too.

But then, in the first battle Chuck was allowing him to use his pokemon in, disaster struck.

The Rock Throw came in far too fast, Blue's Raticate didn't have time to dodge. At that moment, with the rocks raining down from a cruel Heaven, time stopped completely.

Terror.

And by the time the clock's second hand jumped back into motion, when the dust cleared from the arena, it was already too late. The animal was gone, dead the instant of contact with the overpowered move.

It wasn't like Blue had never seen a pokemon die; he wasn't exactly naive, even when he was young. After all, these things were exposed to him at a young age. He had grown up sharing a building with a pokemon research center that, while never cruel, did not fully lack the occasional incident between battling creatures. Blue sometimes helped his sister in the pokemon center, too, and they couldn't always save everyone- not even with the technology of their time.

Hell, he had picked the only carnivorous starter out of the three offered, and then proceeded to overlevel him on their way to Johto. Charmander had killed opponents before, a couple Oddishes in one hit, that wasn't new to Blue either.

With all that added up, he'd seen plenty of animal deaths, perhaps more than he should have for his age, but none of them had hurt quite like this.

It didn't help that Chuck just sighed when the result of the battle was obvious, like this tragedy was only a minor roadblock, and used it as an excuse for a lecture about needing to improve oneself before they could learn to battle. He just kept talking as Blue felt all the blood drain from his body, coming together in his hands, uncomfortably warm as he squeezed them tight. And as Blue stared at the crushed body of this second partner pokemon, in a state of shock, Chuck only decided that this event could serve as a good segway into their usual training. It seemed that Blue was still too personally weak to train his own pokemon to be strong, and that was all this proved.

Didn't prove something dangerous about the way Chuck fought. Only that Blue was too weak, that this was an easily avoidable mistake in what should have been a safe and fair battle. That Tyrogue was far-overleveled, it wasn't right.

Blue could have sworn it felt planned, an ugly twisting in his throat refusing tears and scrambling for an explanation, but Chuck wasn't wrong. His Raticate, now a mash of broken fur and bone crushed between stones two times its size, clearly hadn't been trained to the best of its possible ability. With a sight like that, it was easy to say that there had been little to no training done. The creature and Blue should have been prepared for this battle, and though they had tried, none of it showed in the outcome.

There was no point in being skilled if you weren't the best of the best.

Blue swore that he would never be light in training again (he could not lose another partner), and apparently Chuck did too, because his training only got harder from that day on.

Sparing with fighting types wasn't new, but the fact that Blue only went up to a Machoke's chest felt a little unfair. It felt especially unfair when he kept getting caught in the stomach by kicks and flung into walls, because how was he supposed to win there, exactly? It was a fighting type. He was four and a half feet tall.

The silver lining of all this, was that Chuck's wife took pity on him. She had always been the nicer out of the two by a long shot, and though she didn't always have words to express what she felt and what she meant, her actions made up for it.

She always made them both lunch for the break in their training, though Blue had refused it the first few days after he had arrived. (He had learned to appreciate it, now, and no longer turned her skillfully crafted meals down.)

Not only that, but she had given him a new pokemon.

Blue's eyes shifted from the empty pokeball in his hand over to his bag, sitting sadly by the side of his sleeping bag.

He set down the empty one, gently on the ground with a soft hand so it would not roll away, and reached for the bag. He had a few healing items in here, along with his pokedex and pokeballs (seeing Charmander outside of feeding time made him too sad these past couple of weeks, and Chuck said he wasn't supposed to show weakness around his pokemon).

The bag unzipped easily, and the space was filled with a light glow from Charmander's pokeball, hesitantly, Blue pulled it out. The creature inside was asleep, looking so calm and so serene that Blue's stomach did its little twist thing again.

No. He didn't want to cry.

So he set the pokeball down next to him, next to it's empty second half. He tried not to look at the pair, too afraid of the burning near the back of his throat, and reached back into his bag. Soon, his hands found the third filled pokeball, and pulled it out to join the others, but he didn't set it down, hesitating instead.

This was the pokemon Chuck's wife had given him, but he hadn't really looked at it before. He had accepted the gift because she insisted, but it had hurt so soon after losing his second pokemon and he hadn't even taken it out of the ball yet.

Now, in the dim light radiating off of his Charmander's pokeball, the creature didn't look so saddening.

In fact, it was almost… comforting.

Blue scratched the back of his head, eyes trained on the sleeping creature in its dark enclosure, trying to decide what his thoughts were averaging about it. Maybe it was just his half-asleep mind, but it looked sad in there.

Suddenly he felt bad.

Without really thinking, Blue clicked the opening mechanism on the object and a flash of red filled the air around him. In less than a second, the Machop was sitting on the hard ground in front of him, disoriented. Just like all Johto Machop line pokemon, it was taller than those he was used to back in his grandfather's lab, still, it was shorter than he was where it sat confused.

They stared at each other, and Blue could swear that there was a hint of fear in both of their held breaths when their eyes met.

The Machop and the trainer waited in a tense, raw silence. This was apparently one of the pokemon Chuck had caught but never trained, remaining at a low level despite the time it had already spent in captivity. Never good enough for the greatness that the gym leader wanted for it.

The dex-holder's stomach twisted. They weren't all that different.

In the dim, warm glow from his other pokemon's sleeping form (forgetting about the sadness from before, if only for a moment), Blue reached out one tentative, bandaged hand. The Machop stared at him with wide, almost docile eyes, pulling back a little with an air of uncertainty. Blue faltered.

It was scared of him, or at least unsure about what to feel.

“Sorry,” Blue felt himself breathe, shame and embarrassment bubbling up inside his bruised chest. “Just…” he stopped, words flashing through his mind. Hurting? Afraid? Not over things?

“…lonely.”

It left his mouth before he could stop it.

The Machop tilted its head to one side, almost curiously. Why would a human be lonely among humans? It seemed to be asking, with the soft question filling all the emotions behind its gentle eyes.

Blue swallowed.

He shouldn't have been lonely. Chuck was doing what was best for him, as a trainer, even if it hurt. Chuck's wife was kind and did all she could to take a neutral side in arguments, calming down conflicts before they got out of hand. The various gym-trainers who Blue had met weren't ever mean or rude, and Chuck had even instructed them to be harsher in their direction when they critiqued Blue's skills a few weeks back. Chuck's main rival, Walker, seemed to understand Blue in a way no other trainer really had before- they had similar wants in terms of style.

But he was never really around, and the hurt showed up more than the improvement in the training.

There wasn't really a way to put the emotion into words, so he just shook his head.

“Nevermind, it doesn't matter,”

But the Machop shook its head in return, making a sort of clicking, warbling sound that Blue couldn't understand ‘word for word’. Still, it seemed comforting. A I'll listen, kind of feeling off of the sound, and Blue's heart squeezed tightly.

“Sorry for leaving you in the pokeball,” he whispered, closing his eyes. It hadn't been right.

The Machop responded with an almost-hum, scooting a bit closer to Blue, and reached out. It's little, fleshy hand tapped Blue's shoulder the same way it had seen Chuck's wife comfort him.

Blue opened his eyes, staring at the little creature in the warm glow of his fire-type. Emotions welled up inside him- it reminded him of Raticate.

Before he knew it, Blue was trying to wave the pokemon away as tears rolled down his face, babbling incoherently about how the Machop had to go back in its pokeball because it shouldn't seem him like that. But the Machop refused, reaching up and patting Blue's shoulder again.

Blue kept crying, the Machop kept comforting him.

He shouldn't have left it in its pokeball for so long, but this was exactly what he had been afraid of. It was reminding him of Raticate. The sight of it was bringing him back to the sight of his departed friend, and it burned inside.

But the burn felt more healing than before, with this pokemon there with him. More healing than bottling it up around Chuck, certainly more healing than crying by himself in an empty, cold room. Even though he had pushed this pokemon away, it didn't hate him. How could he ever hate it?

Raticate would have liked a new friend.

Blue could never replace the friend he had lost, but finding another was not wrong, and he eventually had to realize that such an idea was good.

Machop joined his team.

(2352 words.)

Day 19: 1★ for the daily (437 words in total, 1★ in total.)

Main cabin daily, generate a prompt from this project: https://scratch-mit-edu.ezproxy.canberra.edu.au/projects/756858370/ 1★
Prompt: Chain rule of calculus that represents frustration.

His pencil was shaking as he put it to the page, beads of sweat rolling down his face like some adventure movie character, eyes wide with focus after the hours he had spent on this.

In front of him, dancing on the page in the way only math symbols could at one in the morning, he stared at the formula.

God, he didn't remember what to do.

He scratched the back of his neck, hand pulling away wet from the sweat in found there, and tried to think back. What had his teacher said last time he was in class? She had spoken about this- that had been the lesson, and she had given them this packet to work on over their break, just so the math would stay in their heads.

Only problem was, he hadn't done it at the beginning of break, or the middle. Not even the end.

Technically, today was the day it was due, and he had about five or six hours to get it done and sleep, since he hadn't even started the packet in class when she had given them all time.

There it sat in front of him, on this first page as a reference.

It wasn't even the work, but it was hurting his head to try to look at. What did those symbols mean, again?

It had been so long since he had to actually think (about four days, in actuality), that his head was hurting from the effort alone. (How and why did people become math teachers again? Or mathematicians? Or really anything that had to do with math? Which was most things, of course.)

He groaned and crushed the tip of his pencil against the worksheet.

If that, perfect, sharp tip represented his altogether alright grades, he was screwed.

But he had to throw himself into it, because otherwise he'd never get started.

There were no good notes, since he hadn't written down enough from the previous math class, but his brain would have scrambled together actually alright information as well, so what difference did it make?

He wrote and wrote, trying to get his answers to match those at the end of the packet, but nothing was adding up. Or subtracting up. Or dividing up, or- yeah. Never mind, he had to stay focused.

Plus, along with having no idea what he was doing, he had to keep flipping back and forth between the problems he was on and the actual equation, written so lovingly on the first page.

After seeing it so much, the chain rule began to represent what he was feeling.

(437 words.)