♖ 3rd Weekly
__ words in total

Part #1
473 words

1. The Wise Old Mentor
There's lots of ways to spin this trope. You could play it straight and have the mentor guide the protagonist through their journey, or have them die or secretly be evil/hiding something the entire time. Having a mentor is also at times essential to helping the protagonist learn from their mistakes, and prevents the story from feeling isolated by giving the protagonist a mentor to represent the big world around them and the experiences they might have in it. Both the normal and subverted wise mentor tropes have been practically done to death.

2. The Love Triangle
Introduces a lot of character-based tension that helps establish each characters' priorities and personalities easily, is a relatable source of conflict for its usual target audience, and really fun if done right because who doesn't love a good love story? However, characters in a love triangle tend to get their actual personalities and emotional intelligence shafted overtime in favour of the love story, and it can be really frustrating to read about all the miscommunication and out of character decisions that could be solved with a few conversations here and there.

3. The Dark Side
A good source of worldbuilding and external character motivation, the ‘dark side’ trope also gives us a way to explore large scale conflicts that can be the structure and driving force behind plotlines and character arcs. This is a really classic trope that I personally love, especially when it's tied in with the individual character arcs. Unfortunately it can also come across as extremely black and white in terms of morality, and sometimes represents uncomfortable/offensive real world issues depending on how the dark side is portrayed.

4. The Dead Love Interest
An age old trope that I think is really interesting, mostly because of how many ways it can go for the living lover based on how the dead one died, when they died, and the state of their relationship when they died. There's a lot of good examples of this trope that people love to this day, and it's a very interesting dive into how one deals with grief. Unfortunately, sometimes the dead lovers are written as just that - love interests doomed to die, without their own personalities. This makes their death feel unnecessary and cheap.

5. The Damsel in Distress
A very simple, very classic trope that dates back to a very long time ago, and was probably viewed more favourably at the height of medieval romantic fiction, I think? It's still done, but the traditional damsel in distress trope does come off as somewhat misogynistic nowadays, especially when said damsel is used as nothing other than a goal, someone to be rescued. But I will say that with the right twists, trope subversions when it's needed, and some good characterisation, it's never boring to see a character fight to rescue their loved one (or even a stranger, out of the goodness of their heart!).

Part #2
539 words

Trope: mistaken identity/twin swap

Janet Jolenne rushed through the halls, balancing a half-ton of textbooks in her arms and peeking through every door she comes across. Every so often she would stop to pass off a book and exchange a few harried words before taking off once more, blabbering into a phone nestled between her neck and shoulder.

“Look, I'll talk to Coach about it tomorrow, just- oh, Lex!” she called, skidding to a halt. Leaning against a locker was Lex, a taller girl with a blue backpack and a bandage wrapped around one knee. “Where have you been? Okay, I'm sorry about last week's mixup but I swear I'll come to Girl's Night tonight.”

Lex shifted away from her, seeming mildly perplexed. “I'm not… uh, okay….”

“It's just… everyone expects me to know everything, and there's always another errand, and- nevermind, I shouldn't be bothering you with this.” Janet laughed nervously. She fingered the straps of her bag and stared at her feet. She sighed. “Sorry. But anyway, here's the new math assignment, it's due Monday next week at 8:00 A.M on the dot, did you steal your brother's bag? Whatever, I'll let you know if Mrs. Baker assigns us anything else, and uh… see you!”

Janet dropped the textbook in Lex's outstretched arms, hollered another goodbye, and was already on her way before Lex could blink.

.

Ace watched as the girl with the large glasses and rambling voice flew down the stairs, already immersed in another conversation. He blinked the tiredness away from his eyes. What had just happened?

There was either something very wrong with the girl's eyes, or something slightly wrong about her perception of his sister Lex, neither of which solved his current problem - he could either run after her to tell her she'd got the wrong twin, or he could pass it on to Lex when he got home.

Peeling himself off his locker, Ace let out a large yawn. The latter it was, then. He just hoped the girl would realise soon enough, to save herself the embarrassment.

.

Spoiler alert - she didn't.

Over time, their interactions only became more frequent, especially as Lex got herself an after school job and Ace became the twin who spent more time at school. The girl would drop off assignments, reminders, timetables, and novels she'd borrowed from Lex without a single clue she was talking to the wrong person.

He learned her name - Janet - and learned that she liked her books sorted by colour, that she thought hot cocoa tasted better with a hint of ginger, and that she owned a calico she rescued from the school.
And every day Ace dreaded the thought of telling her more and more.

Until one early morning beside the football court, waiting for the teacher and their classmates, Janet turned to him with the most mortified expression on her face.
“You're… you're not Lex, are you?”

“…No.” He cringed.

Janet buried her face in her hands. “How long?” she asked.

Ace hesitated. It was now or never, and she didn't seem to be taking too bad so far. She hadn't screamed and run away, at least.
“A few months. Since uh, since you gave me that math book.”

“That was last semester!”

Part #3
22 words :sigh:

King Arthur, but Arthur is not ‘The Chosen One’/doesn't pull the sword from the stone

Arthur heaved, but the sword would not budge - it remained stubbornly in its anvil, still as the rock it was cast in.

Concerning Garett Fairchild,
who braved many a danger
that not a person ever knew,
and whose story I would tell you
for it is one I would pass down to my daughter,
and my daughter's daughter
Thus wrote Amy Fairchild, who made this book.
And many months she spent,
tracing Garett's path
through meadow and mountain,
through road and river,
until she considered in her mind
that she may return to her family and rest,
for had she not witnessed
who Garett had become
and perhaps always had been.
For she now pleads your aide-memoire
that you all correct her telling
of this tale she witnessed many a year ago
and that she now will relate
of the little-told life
of Garett Fairchild.

Garett Fairchild was resting in his homestead
close to the border between lands
where the Scots and English met.
And he did so according to custom
with his feet clothed in socks,
and a simple white tunic of polyester
a pyle cushioned his head
with a large woollen cloth draped over him
so that he should doze peacefully
(as he often did
and as normal folk are wont to do).

Now I should like to describe the room to you-

“Ames?”
Amy Fairchild jolted, sending the mug on her table flying. It had been drained nearly empty, but a trickle of coffee still dribbled out onto the mattress where it landed.

Amelia sniffed, looking down at the hand that clasped hers. It was knotted with scars she had never known about and dotted with freckles that hers lacked. The palms were callused from hard work she’d never seen him do.

“Were you ever my brother?” she asked, drawing her gaze up to meet Gareth’s eyes.

He looked away, and she almost let go. Of course not. She didn’t know him, not really.

Something in her heart began to ache. She rubbed furiously at her rapidly watering eyes, breaking into sobs.
Then, someone rubbed the tears off her face.

“What?” she blinked her eyes clear.

Gareth was kneeling in front of her, wiping her tears the way he always had, back when she hadn’t known anything.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pulling her into a hug. She buried her face in his jacket. “I might not be the brother you thought I was but- I should have done- should have been better. I’m so sorry I left you like that.”

“It was so scary,” Amelia sniffled. “Everyone thought you’d died!”

“I know, I know. You were so strong, Ames. I’m so proud of you.” He hugged her tighter.

Amelia pulled away then, still half crying and half fighting away the sleep that threatened to take her. She staggered as Gareth stood, the exhaustion of trailing two teenagers and a grown man through the Scottish wild hit her ten year old body like a truck.

“Gar…” she said, reaching for his hand.

He smiled sadly and took it. “Let’s get you to bed, little knight.”

The night was young, and Coda sat at the Sperke’s shop counter playing cards with Aleph while Esila tinkered absent mindedly beside them. Outside, the smoky skies cried.

“Oh, big mistake,” Aleph smirked. “Unfortunately for you, I’ve got…”

“…Two of spades,” Coda groaned, shoulders slumping as Aleph flashed his cards. “I swear, it’s like your brain works on another wavelength.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re just predictable.”

“Am not!”

“Are too. Have you seen yourself play?”

“Am not. Essie, tell him I’m not predictable.”

Esila glanced up, setting down her screwdriver. She stood up, took off her gloves, and made a show of wiping non-existent dust off her apron before opening her smug mouth and-

“He’s the most… wait.” Tap. She stilled, eyes darting towards the front door. “Do you two hear that?”

“I only hear rain,” Aleph shrugged nervously. “What is it?”

Coda shivered as the hairs on his back began to stand on end. Tap, tap. “Someone’s at the door.”

“Stay right here.” Esila crept past the counter and to the door, screwdriver held in front of her. She pressed a button with a single blue nail, and its end sparked with some kind of laser. Coda pressed himself closer to the counter. Aleph stood halfway out his chair. The rain thundered on beyond their walls.
Esila placed one hand on the handle, counted to three, and pulled.

A sopping wet government super soldier draped in a soaked-through coat with nothing but a single briefcase and a pair of cracked glasses stared back at them.

“I-I didn't know where else to go,” Niccolo said, shivering violently.
Esila sneered and slammed the door shut.

Coda flinched. “Why would you do that?” he cried.

“Because it's him! Don't you remember what he's done to us?”

“He kind of did try to… ‘decommission’ you,” Aleph muttered, glancing up as if he expected another series of knocks, or even bangs.

Esila gestured wildly. “Exactly! He's probably just here to turn us in to Webb again!”

“I can hear you, you know!” Niccolo yelled from behind the front door, followed by the sound of him kicking the door. “Ow.” Esila rolled her eyes and marched back to the counter, shaking with so much rage (and perhaps a hint of fear) her screwdriver threatened to snap in two.

“Go away!” she hollered. Then to Coda, “Did I mention he's a jerk?”

“But he's… I really do think he needs our help this time.” Coda hesitated. “Please? Look at him, Ess- is he really in any shape to try and pull something? He doesn't even have his tech with him.”

Esila paused. She thought back to Niccolo, standing outside sheltered by only a thin coat. He had had a strange gauntness in his cheeks, his eyes hollow and shadowed by thick eyebags behind his rain-covered glasses, his posture completely and utterly defeated. She thought back further to the Niccolo she had known a lifetime ago, and wondered if that had been what he looked like, after the scientists had reclaimed him as their consolation prize.

“Fine,” she said, dragging herself back to the present. “But one step, one foot out of line and he goes right back out where he belongs.”

A collection of the Sperke family's memories, told through each one's eyes.

-

The first memory is tinged red like ruby blood, like its owner's bushy hair.

The smell of smoke and burning chemicals. A building dancing with fire in the distant hills behind them. A single dirt path that the little girl tread with bare feet and a hand grasping hers like a lifeline. An older boy with round glasses and curly hair, looking back at the ashes of their old life. He slowed to a stop, but the little girl wouldn't wait. She yearned to look forwards, to find out what was over the crest of the next hill. The world was wide and just for her-

So she tugged the nice scientist's hand and pulled them all forward.

-

The second memory is blue like the midnight sky, like the deepest depths of loneliness.

The boy with curly hair is a little more tired, a little more worn.

♖ 4th Weekly
__ words in total

Save Code: -

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♖ 4th Weekly
5,298 words in total

1. Write about a bizarre or unexpected scenario happening to your character. And make it 200 words, aye?
245 words

Lax sat in their word count group's studio, strumming a few melodies on their lyre. Keeping the favour of Apollo wasn't the easiest, and they'd found it useful to practice their music for a few minutes every day. You never knew when a test was coming. After all, the sun god was notoriously spontaneous for someone who could see the future.
Their attention was broken by a cat-like creature descending gracefully from the clouds.

“Greetings, Lax of Mythology.” the cat-thing purred, curling around a ray of pure sunlight. Lax stared in awe - could it really be…? “I am Thor, this year's chosen Mascot of SWC. I have come with a mission of the utmost importance.”

Lax ogled.

Thor coughed. He pulled out a small bundle and set it in front of them. “Anyway, I'm planning a reunion with all the other Mascots, but I can't get to them alone. I need you to help me deliver their invitations- this bag has a dimensional cabin traveller, a dimension key, and everything you'll need.”

“T-Thor? Oh, wow, I-I can't believe it's really you.” Lax rambled. “I'd be honoured to, but oh, do you really think I could? I'm just a camper from Mount Olympus, I know nothing of this sort of technology!”

Thor nudged them with his paw. Lax was never going to wash this chiton again.
“You'll be fine. Now go, young Mythian!”

“G-got it!”
And with a twist of their cross-dimensional device, Lax was gone.

2. Write 150 words incorporating meaningful music/songs/lyrics into your story!
429 words

Opening their eyes, Lax found themself landing on a stage in a warm pub surrounded by cheering campers. Eyes wide, they looked around for a way to escape the spotlight shining on them and found none.

“Oh, what's that?” someone shouted, pointing. “I ain't ever seen a guitar like that! Play it, will ya?”

Lax floundered for a moment. What could they possibly be talking about? Then, their eyes landed on their lyre and realisation hit them like Helios's cart racing across the sky.

“Sing!” called a voice from the back, and the pub fell quiet. “Sing, and I'll accept your invitation!”

Lax gasped. Their white feathers were sleek and fluffy, though dusted with flecks of country brown. A hand knitted hat and scarf was perched on their head and wrapped around their downy neck. It was the one and only… Maestro Maroon! Sensing no way out of this, Lax reached down and began strumming a song they'd first heard at the amphitheatre.

“Everyone's born as clean as a whistle…”
They swayed, closing their eyes and allowing the song to wash over them. It brought them back to the old days of Mount Olympus, in November of ‘20…

“As fresh as a daisy, and not a bit crazy…”
Not yet aware of mangoes, arson, or the general chaos in the world of SWC. Wandering through the session like a lost little lamb.

“Staying that way’s a hard row for hoing,”
The day they discovered their first mango stash amidst the highest peaks of the mountain, guided by nothing but an SWCer's thirst for the fruits.

“As rough as a briar, like walking through fire.”
Emerging from cabin destruction like a new man, Laxy remembered the feelings of flames dancing off their skin, birthing a new them. A new, fully fledged camper.

“This world it's dark, this world it's scary,”
Fighting through writer's block and more - the anxiousness of a sudden series of exams, the rampant panic of Scratch lags, the great and terrible studio update that changed everything.

“I've taken some hits, so no wonder I'm weary-”
Coming out of it all a different, better person. Embracing the world as it was, not as what it had been.

“That's why… I love you… You're as pure as the driven snow…”

And the room erupted into applause. Cheeks flaming, hardly able to believe what they'd just done, Lax turned to Maestro Maroon with their heart beating in their ears and a smile splitting their face in two.

“Bravo, bravo!” the Maestro clapped. They nodded in approval. “Congratulations- you've convinced me.”

3. Write about your character learning something unexpected. And make sure it's 100 words, that will do quite nicely!
137 words

Bidding the Baroness a swift goodbye with a bouquet of hand-picked flowers, Lax had only just plopped down in their train car when a stray newspaper clipping fluttered out of their pocket and onto the floor.

SWC Hosts 2025th Thriller Games, read the title. Cold, icy dread began to pool in their stomach.
24 tributes to face off against each other - who will emerge alive and victorious?

Lax tossed the scrap of paper away. No doubt the Baroness had slipped it in their pocket. But…the Thriller Districts were among Olympus' closest allies. Surely they hadn't been keeping such a big secret from them this whole time?
Shaking their head, they checked their list for the next mascot to invite - as ominous as the Baroness had been when receiving her invitation, there were more pressing matters at hand.

4. Write about your character receiving messages from an unknown person. 150 words would be great!
319 words

Making their way through Gurtle's barren, link-less land, Lax finds the barest remnants of links in scattered about the route to the Great Turtle. The link magic is tied to scraps of mismatched paper, torn from their homes and filled with a desperate, running scrawl.

Whoever is reading this, the first one Lax braves themself to pick up reads. The Thriller Games have started.

Riddled with fear, Lax tentatively takes a few steps forward. Ahead of them is a rocky outcropping forming the vague shape of a spider, and within the formation they see two things: the vast and terrible magic of Gurtle himself, and many shreds of half-eaten links pierced through by the sharp rocks.

Taking a deep breath, they move to investigate the closest link.
SAVE US, it says simply.
The second one proves to be far more informative.

It's the first day and people are already dying to death mangoes. I mean, who would have thought? The writer scoffs.

Lax holds back a laugh and continues to the next one, and the next, and the next-

They're bringing in tributes from enemy cabins!

The food here sucks. The other tributes suck. This whole thing sucks.

Save us.
-until they're right in front of Gurtle.

“I see you've already collected your messages,” Gurtle booms appraisingly. Lax shivers in the face of such a powerful Mascot, but only just manages to hand over the invitation. Gurtle eyes it critically. “I will go - but only if there are fresh links to eat.”

Lax heaves a massive sigh of relief. Their chiton is dripping with sweat, and the longer they spend in this realm the denser the air seems to become.

“Thank you, thank you, oh great Gurtle!” They bow profusely. “There will be all the links you'll ever want at the reunion. Thank you! I-I'll be going now!”

And with a twist of their dimension traveller, they were gone.

5. Write 150 words where an everyday object gains magical properties!
378 words

This time, they found themself in the courtyard of a large, grandiose building with sweeping staircases, artfully chiselled walls and gleaming windows stained with bright colours. Mouth agape, Lax turned to see the most stunning view laid out behind them, a vast, winding river threading a silver ribbon through the landscape. Strangely shaped boats pulled into and out of the delicate looking dock, unlike any boat Lax had seen before.

“Hello?” called a gentle voice. They jumped. “Are you new here?”

The owner of the voice was a girl, with large, bookish eyes behind her round glasses. Her clothes were striped orange and blue, as brightly coloured as the rest of this world seemed to be.

Lax coughed. “Oh, no- I'm just looking for a Missus Pandora Pink… do you know where she is?”

“The Shiztress? She's over there near the podium.” the girl smiled kindly. “I'm Lyra, by the way.”

“Thanks, Lyra! I never seem to end up exactly where the Mascots are.” They nodded gratefully. She was right - at the far end of the courtyard was a goose with lovely pink flowers in hee feathers who could be none other than Pandora Pink. They hurried towards her with Lyra on their heels.

“I know a spell that can help with that!” Lyra exclaimed, skidding to a halt. She drew out a long, thin stick decorated with pearls and pointed it at their sandals, murmuring a few words. For a second, Lax felt weightless, untethered by gravity but for a small pull in Miss Pink's direction. Their sandals burned a ruby red before fading to their normal worn leather.

“There,” she said. “I know I've only got a training wand, but from now on you'll be able to find the other Mascots, wherever they are! Just click your heels three times and it should take you right to them.”

Lax gasped. “Thank you so much! You're an amazing magician.”

“O-oh, it's nothing,” laughed Lyra, suddenly nervous. Her cheeks flushes pink with praise. “Anyway, I've got to go. Late for my history class. Good luck with your quest!”

Lax waved goodbye as she split off towards a staircase, then turned in Pandora Pink's direction with a newfound determination.

“Miss Pink!” they called. “I've got an invitation for you!”

6. Write 150 words where a character experiments with new or unfamiliar technology.
555 words

Coughing and stumbling out of their dimensional rip, Lax's first thought within the bustling neon metropolis they'd been dropped into was that the air was thicker with smoke than any other place they'd been to so far, and certainly more than at Mount Olympus. Their second thought was that they'd landed on someone, and now they'd definitely be thrown in jail for the murder of an innocent camper.

“Ow…” came a voice from underneath them. Lax scrambled away in alarm. The camper was alive? They sighed in relief.

“I'm so sorry!” Lax gasped, offering a hand to pull the girl up. She was tall - taller than their own measly five feet - and had long brown hair under a newsboy cap. Not from around here, then. “Are you okay?”

“I think so…” she said shakily. “Are you?”

Lax nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, this place is just so… bright. And distracting.”

“Tell me about it. I've never seen buildings this high.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I'm Luna, from Journalism. I take it you're from Mythology? What are you doing all the way out here?”

“Lax. I'm supposed to deliver an invitation to the Mascot here, Jim Fla… something?”

Luna snapped her fingers, eyes shining. “The dragon! Yep, I heard he's all the way at the top of that tower over there-” she pointed at the building that was more of a space scraper than a sky scraper. “But lucky for you, I'm also here to give him all the latest newspapers. We can go together!”

That seemed like a solid idea. Lax nodded, about to bring up their newly magical shoes before abruptly being taken by the hand and led to some sort of metal capsule, Luna rambling about this place's technology all the while.

“So this thing's supposed to take you anywhere you want in the city, as long as it's got another one of these. Just turn that dial over there and press the big red button, and off we go! Why don't you try?”

Somewhat dumbfounded, Lax reached out to a wall absolutely covered in dials of all different colours. They turned a deep blue one lit up by a neon outline, pressed the button, and- BANG! With a flash of white light, the doors to the capsule opened to reveal… an underwater cavern?

“Whoops, wrong dial. Sorry, I should've told you which one it was.” Luna cringed. “Here, I'll do it this time.”

Another loud bang, and the doors slid open once again, this time to a grand cyberpunk throne room with none other than Jim Flabsdz, guardian of the skies.

“Come on!” said Luna, pulling the bewildered Mythian along to the Mascot's feet. She elbowed Lax, who startled into a wobbly bow. “Hello, sir Jimmy Flabsdz. Here's your daily newspaper, and here's this invitation from-”

“-from Thor!” Lax perked up, shaking the spots from their eyes and the ringing from their ears. “To a reunion with all the other Mascots. Will you be able to come, sir?”

“I supppse so.” The dragon rumbled, curling around a dark steel model of the SWC universe that whirred and spun with neon lights. “Send my thanks to Thor for the invitation.”

“Of course!” said Lax, getting to their feet while Luna diligently handed her newspapers to one of the robot assistants. “Thank you, Jim Flabsdz!”

7. Skog would like you to write about a character overestimating their abilities for 200 words.
265 words

“Well, that's more like it.” muttered Lax, gazing up at the stone-walled structure towering over them. It had no visible doors, sure, but thus would still be a much simpler in and out than their other trips. No musical showdowns or teleporting devices needed. Cracking a smirk and their knuckles, Lax ran at the tower, hands out to grasp the edges of the stone bricks-

And promptly slid right off, scrabbling uselessly at them. Groaning, Lax flipped over. They hoped no one had seen that. Grasping one of the trailing strings of ivy creeping up the tower, they attempted to pull themself up, only to fall after a few small steps.

“Okay, not that then.” Lax rolled their eyes. “You think you can stop me just like that, tower?”

The tower did not reply. Mostly because the tower wasn't alive and therefore couldn't talk.
Grunting, Lax took a running jump at a nearby tree; if they caught the branches just right, they'd be able to fling themself up to the window and vault in. It didn't work. Praying to Apollo for help didn't work either, so finally they were forced to turn to their magic sandals.

They clicked their heels three times, and sure enough they poofed into the sunny room at the top of the tower, where paintings lined the walls and a Mascot lay curled up in a nook.
Right, Skog.

Reaching into their messenger bag, Lax slipped out Skog's invitation and lay it gently near the Mascot's pillow. Then, they twisted their traveller as quietly as they could. The room faded away.

8. Blahaj needs you to write 100 words where something a character believed was great/perfect turned out to be flawed/bad.
443 words

Arriving in Perfaith City, Lax was met with billboards plastered across every perfectly symmetrical building, neon signs lighting up perfectly polished streets, and perfectly stable people milling about doing their daily business. The only thing that wasn't sanitised to a fault was the dingy alley they'd appeared in and the half-open manhole at one end of it. Taking one look at the not-chaotic, not-campers around them, Lax slipped into the manhole, closed it tight, and clicked their heels three times.

The room they appeared in was clean, but held the musty smell of an underground location that they had to shake their head to rid. Along the walls, metal shelving units. Above, a single LED lightbulb. In the centre of the room, Blahaj. It was a welcome relief from the uncanny perfection above.

“Are you Thor's little messenger?” asked Blahaj. Lax nodded. “I have been expecting you. Show me the invitation.”

Lax darted forward, laying the invitation in front of Blahaj's fins. Then, just as they made to excuse themself, the Mascot shoved a folded letter into their hands.

“For you.” They said. “I hope you can help them.”

“What…?” Making their exit, Lax opens the letter. Their heart stops, skips a beat. It's covered top to bottom in writing, identical to the shredded links in Gurtle's domain. Fingers trembling, they start reading.

If you're reading this, the Thriller Games have started and I've been reaped, it began. I just hope this makes it to someone in time, before my games are over and I'm some bloody splat on the floor of the Cornucopia.

Thriller isn't what you think it is- the Thriller Capitol is just the golden goose hiding a rotten egg, or whatever the saying is. Every year they host the Games, stealing two tributes from each cabin, right under the hosts' noses. All tributes fight to the death in an arena, and the last one standing is proclaimed victor and owner of a lifetime supply of mangoes.

Our cabin has been host to the Games for years, and not a single person has noticed. Our leaders do what they can in the Rebellion, but it's not enough. We need someone on the outside. We need you.

Think of all the words wasted, all the mangoes going to the Capitol instead of the campers. Help us.

May the odds ever be in your favour,
Maddie.

The letter fluttered to the floor, slipping from shaking hands that are red where their nails have pressed into the soft flesh. Lax took one short breath, then a second. They blinked back their tears.

“I'm coming.” they said, and wrenched their dimension dial to Thriller.

9. Write about your character completely changing their appearance (yeah write 200 words ty)
388 words

The traveller sparked and screamed with static. The world around them seemed to shudder, then collapse inward on itself in periodic flashes of light. At last, Lax opened their eyes. Only to see misty mountains stretching out on all sides, and trees with leaves tousled by the wind, instead of the concrete landscape or woody evergreen forests of Thriller.

Glancing down at their traveller, Lax bit back a scream. In their panic they had overturned the dial, bringing it to Adventure.

Maybe Mazasa could help, Lax thought, clicking their heels furiously until it brought them to said polar bear, who looked up with a kind expression.

“Sorry, no time to talk,” said Lax, practically throwing the Invitation at Mazasa. “Got to get to Thriller before it's too late- stop the Games- save the mangoes, I mean campers-”

“Then I suppose you're just going to walk in, is that it?” said Mazasa, raising one perfectly soft and snow white brow ridge. The polar bear made no move to take the invitation. “You will stick out like a sore thumb. That is not the way of arsonists.”

They groaned, forcibly placing the invitation in Mazasa's paws. “Well, that's the only plan I've got, so-”

“Take this.” said the Mascot, throwing them a stack of clothes from the edge of the bear's den. Lax snatched them just as they were about to fall over the cliff edge. “You will blend in. Quickly, before it's too late.”

Dropping their things, Lax obeyed. The sooner this was over with, the sooner they could get going. The first thing to come on was the battered trousers, then a simple undyed tunic and a badly burnt jacket. Their magic sandals stayed on, but they laced up a pair of rough work boots over them. Hopefully the magic would still work.

Now, with their hair pressed down so it was flat and their chiton and lyre abandoned on the ground, they looked nothing like a Myth camper. Lax reserved a few moments to mourn their garments - that lyre had been with them for many sessions, and the chiton had been one of their nicer ones.

Then, it was time for them to stumble through rushed thank yous to Mazasa, before picking up their messenger bag and turning their traveller dial to the Thriller dimension once more.

10. Write 200 words where your character is put in a dangerous scenario!
809 words

The traveller seemed to take forever to work. The flash and crackle-pop of a dimension jump took years, and when Lax finally landed in Thriller all they could think about was how much time they'd wasted. Already, the air was full of smoke and fire, licking along a riverbed. Screams yelled in a synchronised cacophony of sound, and a harpoon whizzed past their ear just as a hand wrapped around their wrist and wrenched them down.

“What do you think you're doing?” hissed a girl with brown hair and a tense scowl. She pressed the two of them against the base of a tree; poisonous mangoes flew past, landing in the ground where Lax had been just a second before. The girl turned to them, mouth open for another reprimand, before she paused and squinted.

“You're not a tribute.” She scrambled away, pointing a spear at their neck. “Who are you? Who sent you? What are you doing here?”

“I'm from- wait.” They stared at the name printed in industrial paint on her blocky jacket. “It's you, you're Maddie! You're the one who's been writing those letters!”

Maddie's eyes widened, and she dropped her spear. “They made it out?” she gasped. She stood up, beckoning. “Come on, we've got a lot to talk about.”

.

Maddie's hideout was a small, damp cave only reachable through a treacherous cliffside path. It was barely enough for her and her companions, and with Lax inside the four barely had room to breathe as they recounted their story. Maddie's companions introduced themselves as Pepper and Lily respectively, both of them tributes reaped from Fan-fiction.

“So she did manage to pass them on!” said Maddie, passing Pepper a stone to sharpen their spears. “We had a friend on the outside, Skylar - we gave her our letters before we entered the arena, but we didn't know if anyone would find them. Maybe you saw her at the pub? Blue nails, blue sandals, long hair?”

Lax hummed. Maybe they had, maybe they hadn't. All they knew for sure was that the Games needed to end, and they needed to end now.

“Maybe.” they said. “Either way, here's the plan - I've got these magic shoes that take you to wherever the Mascots are. We find Lieutenant Lilac, we rescue him, and together we storm your Capitol and finish this for once and for all. Sound good?”

Pepper frowned. “What if one of us is cornered?”

“Then the others help them out however they can. You're all fighters, I'm sure you can do this.”

“Alright then,” said Maddie, handing out the newly sharpened spears. Each one had a wicked point that gleamed in the rapidly receding sunlight. She looked up and met Lax's eyes. “On the count of three?”

They nodded. “One… two…”

“Three.”

.

Everything after that felt like a blur. With three clicks of their heels the four were in a solid white room in front of the Lieutenant Lilac's cage, surrounded by the smoking ends of guns.

Then, Lily had moved with all the grace and exaggeration of a true performer, lodging a spear in one guard and tossing him around the room to quickly take out the others. Lax had the backup - while they filled in and struck where Lily could not, heart pounding like war drums in their ears, Maddie and Pepper unlocked the cage, releasing the Lieutenant, who burst out with all the righteous rage and power of five thousand arsonists on cabin wars.

They continued through the Capitol, taking down building after building along the way, picking up allies in the form of previous victors, sympathetic campers, and even gHosts.

Lax had never felt this alive.

Within the twirling of spears and the sharp smell of stolen gunsmoke, they felt the sun shine down on them and thanked Apollo for his luck and foresight throughout the battle, and Ares and Athena for their blessings in war.
In the end, the President's manor was a pile of flaming mangoes, and the last thing in store for them was the Games' arena itself.

“Are you ready?” someone yelled in a bout of victory-fuelled excitement. Either Maddie or Lily - they couldn't quite tell through all this smoke.

Speaking of smoke, horror began to down on them when they realised how utterly incapable they were at making anything out in the grey haze. Everywhere they looked they only saw more smoke, and as light-headedness began to creep over them, Lax found themselves thrown to the floor and facing the barrel of a Peacekeeper's gun.

They tried to wipe the blood from their face, to rid their mouth of its metallic tinge, but they could barely even move.

The Peacekeeper laid their finger on the trigger. Lax stared back, breath coming out in gasps.
They pressed the trigger.

With one last desperate push, Lax activated their dimension traveller.

11. Peeles' task is to… write your character getting out of their comfort zone, and please write 200 words for it!
401 words

Was this what being deleted from existence felt like? Lax felt more than thought that this must be what it felt like to be wiped away like an unwanted draft. Glitches spasmed throughout their body like electric shocks, robbing them of a few seconds of life each time. Bile rose dangerously in their mouth.

Anything they tried to grip seemed to move a centimetre or two to its left. In fact, reality itself seemed to avoid touching them.

Their eyes were closed, as was usual for their normally short dimension hops, but if they were open Lax imagined the world around them would be falling apart.

“Whoa there,” said a voice, somewhere near their left ear. “You look like you're having trouble.”

Lax bit back a retch, instead let out a gasp as a particularly large glitch seemed to ripple through them. The voice was vaguely familiar, but in their mind addled state they could barely recognise it.

“Okay, okay, hold on.” the voice said, and suddenly there were arms hoisting them up, pulling them into an upright position. Lax thrashed violently in his grip. “I know you must be in lots of pain right now, but I just need you to do one thing.”

They grunted, and that single sound sent tremors through the air. They wanted to listen, to do something, but everything was so much…

“If you open your eyes I can help you fix your traveller. I’d do it myself, but that Mascot attuned it to your touch only.”

Opening their eyes… they could, but they’d never done that before. It felt forbidden, almost sacrilegious to look at the space between dimensions. What if it was horrifying beyond comprehension? Worse, what if it were nothing at all, and they’d completely dreamt up the voice of their rescuer?

“I know you can hear me, Lax. Just for a bit, then we’ll go around setting fire to the Main Cabin and handing out illegal mangoes. Can you do it?”

Lax mumbled something under their breath. The sounds in the In-Between were so loud, it all pierced straight through to their ears. They couldn’t… could they?

“Come on…”

They opened their eyes. “…M-Mousey?”

Mouse crowed with laughter, relieved and red-faced behind his teal mask. “I knew I hadn’t lost you there! Now, here’s how to fix your little mishap. Good thing you’re with the fastest spider this side of SWC…”

12. Marc Mangoson says… write about your character struggling to let something go for 200 words, okay?
271 words

“Thriller,” was the first thing out of Lax’s mouth the moment their traveller had stopped sparking and the nausea had faded from their system. The In-Between space was strangely beautiful, with wild colours they’d never known existed and a playful, almost spectral energy within it. They almost couldn’t believe they’d been closing their eyes to it this whole time.

But other things took priority in the moment, and they’d just left behind Maddie, the Lieutenant, and the others to destroy the arena alone.

“The others,“ Lax muttered, gripping their traveller tightly. “The Arena, we were just going to ruin it.”

“They’ll be okay,” Mousey reassured, kicking their feet as they floated a little closer. “I already told everyone else, they’re on their way.”

“I have to go back. What if they need me?”

Lax stared at their messenger bag, overcome with the sudden urge to turn the dial and go back to Thriller, no matter how likely they were to get hurt there. The thought that they’d come all this way for nothing, that one wrong move would end in the Lieutenant’s cold feathered body bleeding out on the floor, or worse that the Games would resume the next session, was too much.
But Mouse persisted.

“The hosts have been contacted and the other leaders are on their way with backup. It’s okay now, you’ve done enough.”

And that was what did it. Heaving a deep breath that reached into the farthest depths of their soul, Lax nodded.

“Okay,” they said, exhaling slowly. Mouse grinned the most chaotic grin in all of SWC. “Now how do we get out of here?”

13. Write about your character working together with others in order to achieve a hard goal in 150 words.
658 words

“Just turn the traveller dial as usual,” Mouse shrugged. “You’re delivering those invitations, right? Where are you headed next?”

“To…” Lax checked their list, then balked at the countdown written atop it in special glittery mango scented ink. “How long was I out in here?”

The last time they’d checked the reunion had been in four days, plenty of tine to deliver the last of their thirteen letters. Now the reunion was in exactly one day, and Thor had tasked them with delivering before the sun set the night before. Glancing at their borrowed watch, Lax tensed even further - it was half an hour to sunset, and they had four mascots to go.

“Oh, a couple days. Why, when’s the reunion anyway?” asked Mouse, floating into a vaguely relaxed position, arms behind their head.

“Tomorrow, but I need to get these to Action, Bizarro, Illu-Fi, and Myth in… twenty-eight minutes and thirty-five seconds.”

Mouse winced. “Okay, so each of us takes two and we meet back up at your cabin in twenty-five minutes. I’ll get Illu-Fi and Action, you take Bizarro and Myth.”

Mousey really was a lifesaver, Lax sighed in relief, reaching into their bag to hand over the invitations for Peeles and Captain Celadon. With their help, the two of them would hopefully be back in time, before Lax could get mauled by a cranky cat Mascot. Twisting their dials in unison, the two teleported off to deliver their respective letters. It was a good thing they had their…

“Where are my shoes?” They cried.

Their feet were utterly bare. Vaguely, Lax recalled the Peacekeeper diving for them as they made their escape, abandoning their gun and gripping their feet instead. They groaned.

Luckily, Marc Mangoson wasn’t quite so hard to find, and much easier to pass the invitation over to, no tests or trials involved. Though they did spend some time being introduced to the rest of the Mangoson family, who had all missed interacting with campers dearly. They were a quirky bunch, the Mangosons, and Lax hated to say goodbye, but they only had so much time left.
Smarlls was another story; as one of the older Mascots, Lax was treated to a mango-filled dinner out with Grandpa Smarlls, along with stories about the good old days.

Then, exactly three minutes before sunset, Mouse reappeared in front of them with a crackle and a burst of suspiciously arson flavoured smoke. Their mask was pushed up, revealing their dirty blonde hair and gold rimmed glasses. Lax wondered how that worked, wearing glasses under a full faced mask.

“Done and done! Sorry for the wait, I might have left a few extra gifts in back in Action,” they said, dusting gunpowder off his hands.

“Thanks, Mousey,” Lax replied, grinning. “See you next session!”

Waving goodbye, they turned away to face the swirling smoke slowly taking the form of Thor.
“I see you’ve delivered all the invitations,” said Thor, stretching with a rumbling purr.

Lax nodded eagerly. “Just like you asked, sir! Sorry for the delay, but I hope I did well enough. There was some, uh, other stuff going on.”

“In that case,” said Thor, licking his paw. He gave Lax a gentle nudge that left them reeling in awe. “I give you my most heartfelt gratitude for your efforts. May our paths cross again in the next session.”

And from there the Mascot left, ascending on a pillar of heavenly mangoes and cute cat pictures. In his wake, a small leather pouch shimmered into existence. Its strings were woven gold in the shape of laurels, and a Mythology insignia shone just below it. Lax turned it around gingerly in their hands. It was, undoubtedly, a point bag, and quite a hefty one at that.
Pulling the pouch open, they withdrew a small piece of paper stamped with a cat’s paw.

Thank you, it read. As a gift, you may have 4000 points for Mythology.

Previous Dailies Daily
556 words

sleeping habits are as rigid and structured as the rest of his life - controlled to the second by the scientists. As he grows older the scientists are replaced with Webb officers, and the meticulous schedules are replaced with… deadlines, and imprisonment is traded for the illusion of freedom. He sleeps to maximise physical rest just as he works to maximise productivity. For Niccolo, there is no mental aspect to it, and there is no chance to recover in any way aside from physically. He does not have a bed to fall asleep in before he hits the sheets, and he doubts he ever will.

As the biggest health nut on the block, it’s no surprise that Coda always makes sure to get his full eight hours of sleep. Dealing with not one, not two, but two and one former mad genius will help you fall asleep through a literal snowstorm. There are certain exceptions to this rule: for one, sleepovers. For two, quality time with his father, said former mad genius. Regardless, Coda always finds himself making up those lost hours at some other point in the day (usually during class). It’s become second nature to plop himself in his seat next to Aleph’s and simply pass out.

Aleph, on the other hand, is a borderline insomniac who stops at nothing to get answers, whether that means conducting late night (to the point of early morning) experiments or camping out in the Sperkes’ workshop for days on holidays to finish just one more project, please Mom, I promise I’ll sleep tomorrow. Game nights with Coda are the equivalent of an early night in for him, and to be frank? The guest bed at the Sperkes’ is as much his bed as the one in his own home. For better or worse, Aleph is very much the type of person to make the most out of the day - even when it’s no longer even daytime.

Compared to Aleph’s complete allergy to getting some sleep, Esila is… less overzealous with her tinkering. The remnants of her time with the scientists are still ingrained in her just the way they wanted it to be, so sleeping for her is an act of rebellion against a past where she had no control over anything whatsoever. She sleeps as much as she wants to and no less, which means late mornings asleep and occasionally also late nights awake. There is so much more in life when you’re the one living it, which she intends to make the most of. Essentially, Esila’s sleep patterns tend to be sporadic and often unrpedictable, but when necessary for health she understands the need for a few extra or a few less hours of sleep.

Meanwhile in the early days, Bayard spent many a sleepless night waiting, planning their escape, moving all the little pieces he needed in place for them to leave the compound behind. And even after their little family left, he often found himself lying awake keeping an ear and an eye out for trouble, for any sign they might need to move. Fortunately, a stable situation and help from the Arks has helped him relax significantly from the man he was before, and now the nighttime terrors areostly borne of paranoia, not reality. Nobody would take his children away.