Oops I accidentally made this post. Anyway, I'm having such a hard time actually locking in ( I'm so sorry

Day 19: 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) (401 words in total, 5ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 36273 words, 117ꄗ)

Main Cabin Daily:
The title of the story is often what attracts the reader's attention and gives them an idea of what the book may be about. However, you won't be writing your own title today! Instead, post a title in the comments, and then claim another person's title. Then, write a 200 word (or longer!) story using the title. Doing so will earn you 200 points, and an additional 100 if you share proof.

“seaglass and sunshine” from @surfdudewave (https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/50665171/comments/#comments-299034484)
Unrequited Perpollo, Apollo POV, PJO/HOO/ToA, rambling, set in ToA (when Apollo's at Percy's house as Lester), ficlet

Percy Jackson had very green eyes. They were just like his father's, which meant they were unnatural.

Apollo had always bad a particular itch for the unnatural. He supposed that was because, from his perspective, such things were normal… just not for typical mortals. Even though he loved humans far more than he was supposed to (and yet so much like the other gods at other times), there was always something particularly drawing about a proper demigod.

Gods were fickle. They were essentially all-powerful (or at least that's what they wanted others to believe), but they got angry quickly. They took offense to too many things, and they were certainly too volatile to stay with a regular mortal for long. For many gods, that sort of distance wasn't a problem in the slightest. It was good to remember that /they/ were different, that /they/ were all-powerful, that /they/ were better.

Unfortunately, Apollo had always been a bit of a sap when it came to mortals. Perhaps that was why the Jackson boy's eyes intrigued him so much. When it came to love, the gods needed someone who could withstand their energy and not crumple under the weight of the world that came with godhood. They needed something that could /conduct/ them- their pure energy. Demigods were far more stable when it came to the gods than their regular human counterparts, although they did tend to die somehow even faster.

In any case, there was something about the half-god glint in a powerful demigod's eyes that was particularly drawing to someone like Apollo.

In some odd way, it was like he could see /himself/ reflected in those eyes. To a human, such a statement sounded inappropriate and out of place. To a god, it made perfect sense. Apollo was a part of the universe- a living creature of the very fabric of human life. His power was in everything, but not everything reflected him so well- refracted that light with such /ease./

Percy's eyes were like sea glass. Green and deep and warm all at the same time. They looked like light reflecting off sea plants, sunlight filtering through deep water. They were beautiful. They were everything that Poseidon was not.

But right now he was Lester, and he decided not to mention it.


My titles (https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/50665171/comments/#comments-299035633)
I Stand At The Bus Stop and Wait To Hear The Screeching
Flight Feathers Are Used In Quills

(383+18 words)

Day 20: 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) (609 words in total, 5ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 36882 words, 122ꄗ)

Main Cabin Daily:
As the saying goes, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade, and when the Elements of Literature Spinner gives you four random elements of literature, mix them all together in a new unique story. Today we’ll be revisiting the Elements of Literature Spinner to inject some randomness into our lemonade— I mean, stories. For 250 points (and an additional 50 for sharing), write 350 words incorporating your fresh picked elements into a delicious new blend. Get squeezing here: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1047415761 !

The ones I spun for: caregiver || dystopian || long forgotten place || flashback (WOW that slaps) https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1047415761/#comments-483026768

I based it on Alone by Megan E. Freeman : )

The Living Room At Dad's

I lay on the floor in the living room
George lays beside me
his chin on his paws.

I wait for something to happen even though I know
nothing will.

I try to remember back when I lived here
with dad
and Jennifer
and Elliot
and James.

It feels like so much time has passed.
So much time /has/ passed.

I used to lie on the couch and play games
with dad
and Jennifer
and Elliot
and James.

Now I lie on the floor in the living room
and George lays beside me
with his chin on his paws.

—-

Outside In The Spring

When the flowers bloom
it feels like my heart has bloomed with them.
Although it's been weeks since it started
spring still looks new and alive to me.

But it's not a normal spring either.
None of the neighborhood kids play outside
and no dogs run down the sidewalk.

Except for George.

George runs alongside my bike and barks at squirrels
as if everything is normal.

I feel like I'm in a long-forgotten place
covered in vines and weeds and wild animals.

It's like the jungle:
no one is brave enough to stay.

Except for me.

I wish I knew what the “imminent threat” was.

Whatever it is,
it doesn't seem like it's coming.
Not in the springtime.

—-

Thinking Of Ice Cream

When I was little
and mom and dad lived together,
we went to get ice-cream together.

None of the ice cream is left
it's been too long for that.
None of the chocolate sauce smells right
it's been too long for that, too.

But the cones are probably just fine.
I don't think those could ever go bad.

I want to make ice-cream for George.
He'd probably like ice-cream.
At least I think so.

But there's no milk left
and I don't know how to tame any cows.

—-

George Musings

I am thinking of myself
as George's mom
and sister
and friend.

He is thinking of
me as his caretaker
and what we're having for dinner.

I wish I didn't keep putting him in danger
but the tornado wasn't my fault
and the thugs weren't either.
(Ishouldhavetalkedtothem
Ishouldhavetalkedtothem
Ishouldhavetalkedtothem)

George is my dog.
He is loyal and sweet and warm
and the only company I have.

Except for the mice.
The mice are here too.

—-

Hungry For Gardening

I keep thinking that I should start gardening
for fresh vegetables and fruits
and fresh nuts and things
everything that grows out of the ground
I'll even eat dandelions
and mushrooms if I know what they are
and bad-smelling vegetables
like beets and asparagus
because I'm hungry and
I'm tired of canned
vegetables and fruits and nuts and things
that don't even taste like food.

I did always like brussel sprouts.

—-

Short One

Mom picked me up from school
when I was younger.

Now I wish I had her car
to pick myself up from home.

—-

Memory Again

I've been worrying about fire since mom's house burned down
with all of her pictures and dresses and papers
and all of my memories.

Dad's house is made out of stone and brick
but it's also made out of big timbers and wood.
I keep hoping lightning doesn't strike
and burn down what's left of my past.

I'm stuck here and
they're stuck there.

And now I don't even have her house.

It's like being torn apart again and again
as if the first time wasn't enough.

And now all I have is dad's
and the library
and George.

And he's not even my memory.

George is from the past too
but he's not from mine.

(609 words) (5ꄗ)

Day 21: 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) (2530 words in total, 5ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 39412 words, 127ꄗ)

Main Cabin Daily:
Tis the time for another SWClassic - the flower daily! Flowers are beautiful, but hiding beneath their petals is an underling message. Today, write 300 words incorporating at least three different flowers and their hidden meanings into your writing! Doing so will earn you 250 points, plus an extra 50 if you share it with us! Check out Alba's wonderful project for a collection of flowers and their significance: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/741579314/

Flowers I chose: rhododendron (danger) foxglove (treachery) fuschia (anxiety) daisy (innocence)

Foxglove - Pokemon Special/Pokespe, ficlet, Blue and Koga, weird colleague stuff, mild Venom, angst

Blue had always thought the name of Koga's city was rather fitting, but no one else seemed to understand just how accurate it was.

His city was Fuchsia. It was a beautiful word, or it could have been in another life. It was both a color and a flower. The noxious, venomous shade that Koga cloaked himself in, the anxiety of entering the city. Blue thought it an apt name.

It had probably been long enough that he was supposed to feel childish for still being scared. After all, Koga wasn't a danger to him anymore. They were both Gym Leaders and Blue outranked him plenty. Unless Koga decided to pull out some unknown weapon of Team Rocket (which he swore he wasn't involved with anymore)- and even then- Blue could sweep him any day of the week. His fear was leftover from his childhood, from that old battle.

But he didn't feel childish for being scared (even though it was leftover terror, it still felt fresh). The wounds were still flesh. The scars. The fact that he couldn't smell anymore. All of those things and more.

Fuchsia was appropriately named. If not for the man that directed it, then for how it made Blue feel to think about the past.

Koga was supposed to protect his city. He was supposed to protect his people; he was supposed to protect young trainers. It didn't seem like he cared very much about what he was supposed to do, although Blue didn't spend time with him to know if he had changed. (He doubted someone like that could ever change.)

Koga's clothing was fuchsia. It bled into the air around him, strong like the smell that had ended all others. It caught around Blue's heart. It clogged his throat.

Koga was danger. He was betrayal, he was treachery. He was a loss of innocence- the violence of battle and of blood mixed with viscus poison on a linoleum floor. He was exactly what Blue should have been taught to avoid (and yet had not been).

Somehow it made sense that Blue's sister had been named Daisy. She was innocence itself even though she knew plenty about the world. She was pure white petals and a glowing golden heart. She was the pure green of the world around her; of the stalk that she grew on.

All Blue had was the shifting colors of rhododendron. Blooming like spilt blood through torn fabric. Danger growing into of his very pores. Burrowing inside him, never leaving. He had foxglove, the poison of treachery and the terror that Koga brought with him. He hadn't wanted these things. He hadn't asked for them.

But that was what he was: an echo of the pain of the past (it imprinted on his very soul).

And Koga was fuchsia. He never had shown that he was dangerous until it was too late, and now he was anxiety itself. (Now all that was left to see was the fear that he had inflicted.)

(503 words) (5ꄗ)

Whumpmas In July 6: Prompt: “something's wrong”
A to Z Mysteries because I read eleven of the books in two sittings, Josh, aged up a tiny bit, fear, not really revealing what's wrong but something IS wrong

The hair on the back of Josh's neck stood up. He, Dink, and Ruth Rose had always found themselves in situations that they probably shouldn't have been in. That was sort of the nature of their hangout sessions (their work), no matter what they did everything seemed to end up a little too dangerous for what they should have been doing.

They had been chased by bank robbers, cornered by money launderers, and nearly attacked by plenty of dogs and dangerous individuals. They had frozen in the cold of winter when they shouldn't have been outside, gotten stuck in creepy buildings and other locations, and gotten lost a number of times. In general, their parents probably should have been watching them better.

But it had been a long time since third grade.

Back then, they had all felt invincible. Or at least Dink had, Josh had always had his reservations. Still, they were innocent then. The dangers that they were getting themselves too close to didn't seem real, at least not completely. Violent crime was something for the TV, not for their sleepy little town.

Then again, there had been more than one kidnapping.

At any rate, they hadn't noticed things like that when they were younger. Now, still keeping up with their shared gig, the dangerous aspects of the job seemed a little realer. (Josh was pretty sure that had something to do with their brains developing a bit more. Not that you could tell by some of the assumptions they made, or some of their insane suggestions in cases that were a little harder to crack. Or maybe that guesswork was their genius.)

Anyway, he had known from the second they stepped in the basement that something was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.

It might have been something in the air or a smell that he could just barely pick up, but something didn't seem right. Josh knew right then and there that they had to get out.

“Dink,” he hissed. “We gotta go.”

Perhaps as was to be expected, his friend looked at him in confusion. Dink never had been one to give up without finding what they were looking for, and certainly the heightened fear in Josh’s voice was off-putting. (His strained voice had been startling even to Josh’s own ears.)

“What? We just got here!”

Although Dink was a marvelous detective, he had never really played it on the safe side. None of them had, but something about the way Dink saw the world made him seem to think that things were a lot safer than they were. They had all been like that when they were in third grade but Josh at least felt like he had grown up a little bit.

It wasn't even that Dink was unprofessional or not paying attention to the things around him, or that he was too innocent for the gig- it was that he was too hyper focused on the task at hand. Constantly. Honestly, his focus never ended. When he was given a job, he stuck with it until it was done. (They all stuck with things, but something about the way Dink went about it was even more obsessive than how Josh or Ruth Rose did.)

They each had their own styles. Ruth Rose was deceptively smart, thinking of things behind the scenes while Josh and Dink tried to puzzle things out in conversation. Even though her voice was loud, where the real magic happened was in her constantly racing thoughts. Out of the three of them, she was always the one who noticed the intricate details. Josh, on the other hand, had always gotten distracted by the little things. It was a good thing to see little aspects of a situation, but it also meant that he was constantly on edge; that he was constantly blaming everyone (even if they weren’t actually a suspect). At the very least, though, this over-cautious nature made it a little bit easier to pick out when something was so wrong in the air.

The trio had been at this for long enough that these details about them were well established. They were all dedicated, just in different ways. After such a long time of working together (as they were now almost out of high school), they knew when to listen to Ruth Rose’s silence and when to follow Dink’s obsessive interests and when to listen to Josh’s nerves. There were times when each of these quirks got in their way, but they were practically professionals at this point and it was easier to sense when one of them was leaning in the right direction.

Right then, in the darkness of the damp basement, Josh was beyond certain that the safe route was leaning on his side- the cautious side; the side that kept them alive when things flipped upside down.

But even before Josh could say anything else or try to explain why he felt like they needed to leave (he felt more like he was going to turn around and run out of the basement screaming then actually explain himself), Ruth Rose suddenly stiffened. (It seemed he wouldn’t even need to explain himself.)

Her outfit was solid black today, perfect for blending in in the dark. Even now in the dim basement, all Josh could really see was the gray of her skin in the shadows.

“Guys, what's that?” Her voice was hesitant, and uncharacteristically quiet. Maybe that was what got Dink to look around nervously as well- it really was unnerving when she wasn't as loud as she usually was.

The trio went dead silent.

Josh’s hackles seem to go up. Something wasn't right. Something big.

“We gotta go,” Josh took a step back towards the stairs. He still didn't know what had set them off, and Ruth rose didn't seem to know either. Whether or not Dink was feeling it in the air now or not Josh didn't know, but he looked nervous now as well.

If not the odd silence in the air, maybe they were being tipped off by something in the darkness- something they couldn't see. Josh didn't like it one bit.

Josh and Ruth Rose turned and started to hurry up the stairs. As they came closer to the light, Josh saw that the panic in her eyes was similar to the one he felt pounding in his chest. Whatever was wrong with the basement, he didn't want to find out when all he had on hand was a sketchbook and a notepad. Ruth Rose didn't seem like she would fare much better with her camera.

Halfway up the stairs, Josh realized that Dink wasn't following them. Ruth Rose seemed to realize the same thing. They looked at each other for only a millisecond (their faces contorting with fear), and then Josh turned around.

Time seemed to slow.

Dink was still at the bottom of the staircase, one hand on the railing as he stared into the darkness of the basement. Rose and rows of shelves lined the walls, repeating into the darkness in odd patterns that could hide anything behind them. Dust floated in the air catching on the light from Ruth Rose's flashlight. Josh didn't know what Dink was staring at, he didn't even know if Dink was sure.

He didn't want to know.

Dink had gone still, like he was focusing on something hard. His shoulders were tense under his shirt, blonde hair looking ghostly in the flashlight beam. Josh hated the fact that he was so still.

His voice was more forceful as he grabbed Dink’s shoulder.

“Dink,” his voice was a gasp more than anything, “We have to go!”

Thankfully, Dink followed him up the stairs.

Josh thought he saw something shiver out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't stick around to find out. Ruth Rose's gasp didn't help either, especially not when he saw how pale her face had gone. She whipped the camera up, and snapped a photo. The blinding light almost made him trip, but he didn't fall.

It didn't matter, he didn't look back.

Ruth Rose turned as they got to her and sprinted up the rest of the staircase, dragging the boys with her. Her black hair bounced as she ran. Josh still didn't look back.

The trio fell onto the landing and Dink slammed the door shut behind them, barricading it with his back as if he was scared they had been followed. (Although Josh was sure they hadn't been.)

Still, Josh scrambled away from the door, staring at Ruth Rose. Her eyes were wide as dollar coins and as icy blue as a frozen lake. Even so, her pupils were still huge as if she was still in darkness (or as if she was terrified). Her face was even more pale than normal, knuckles white around the flashlight and camera. On top of it all, her nose was quivering. She only did that when something had really freaked her out.

“What was it?” Josh could hardly breathe. He hated not knowing, but he was happy to have left. If they were reacting like this, he didn't want to know what would have happened if he hadn't felt that something was off.

Dink’s back was to the door, eyes just as wide as Ruth Rose’s as he turned to stare at Josh. It was then that Josh realized he was the only one who hadn't looked back.

“What was it?” he asked again, feeling queasy. His legs were still shaking, mind screaming at him to get up and run away. But they were staying here, and he couldn't leave them. Besides, he didn't want to go out into the main room and have to talk to the people still waiting outside. Not when he didn't know what was happening anyway.

(And he really didn't want to know what was happening. Still, he had a sinking suspicion and that was worse than not knowing at all.)

Ruth Rose stared at him, her face positively haunted. She seemed to struggle to speak for a moment, opening her mouth with little sound coming out except the clicking of her throat as she sucked in a nervous breath.

It was almost as if someone had put a pause button on them, stopping everything in its tracks. The only thing that still moved was Josh's racing heart.

A moment later, the illusion was broken and Ruth Rose managed to speak. “I think we found what we were looking for,” her voice shook as she stared at him.

Josh felt sick all over again. He hadn't really wanted to find what they were looking for.

Oh well, such was the life of three underpaid teenage detectives. They always had run into things that were far too grown up for them, and now that they were in high school it was only getting worse. Perhaps someday in the future they would be grown up enough to actually be the right people for the job (in more ways than just their uncanny ability to puzzle things out, in any case). For now, though, Josh was left with that same old sick feeling in his stomach.

“We need to get this photo to Officer Fallon,” Ruth Rose stared at Josh and held out the camera for him to take. “Dink, call the office. I'll stay here, just hurry back okay?”

Dink looked winded but he nodded and pulled out his phone. Out of the trio, he was the only one who had a handheld phone. He was also the one who tended to keep things safe, so that was usually a good route. However, if the last few minutes were anything to go off of it didn't seem like he had a very good self-preservation instinct.

In any case, he dialed the number on his phone and waited for it to ring.

Josh didn't want to leave the two of them there (or run out into the night alone), but he knew better than to argue with Ruth Rose. Without saying another word, he turned around in one quick motion and ran.

(2027 words)

(503+2027)

Day 22: 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) (593 words in total, 5ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 40005 words, 132ꄗ)

Main Cabin Daily:
I missed copying it again but it was essentially a poem about mangos

Mangos
Orange like flame and sweet like sugar
But I don't like the texture at all
Since the feeling is too much like
Hair.

Why
Would someone eat this fruit
Instead of something better
That doesn't feel like eating hair and
Fur.

Pawpaws
Are yellow like flame and sweet like sugar
And I don't mind the texture at all
Since the feeling is soft and sweet and
Good.

Why
Wouldn't someone eat this fruit
That is native and ancient
And doesn't feel like eating hair and
Fur.

Mangos
Are good enough on their own
But they're not the treat that so many say
Because they taste exactly
Like sugar
And feel exactly
Like hair.

Pawpaws
Are good enough for me
Because they don't feel bad to eat and
Because they taste exactly
Like sugar
And not at all
Like hair.

However
Some people get sick to their stomach
With horrible cramps and things
Because pawpaws are sort of an
Allergen.

But in my opinion,
That just means they aren't the chosen ones.
(A third of the population simply can't eat
What's good.)

Because in my opinion,
Mangos don't taste good at all.
(And the flies who pollinate pawpaws are
Actually correct.)

(202 words) (5ꄗ)

Image Descriptions for pokemon memes:

A textpost meme about TeaShipping. It depicts a __ that is edited to be posted by Bill, talking about Daisy Oak, which reads: “If my wife died she would not have to worry about me moving on because I would die minutes upon receiving the news”
A __ by @makjako which reads: “If my wife died she would not have to worry about me moving on because I would die minutes upon receiving the news”
Official art of Bill from the Fire Red Leaf Green arch of Pokemon Special. He is wearing a white dress shirt and slacks, his hands on his hips as he smiles confidently and goodnaturedly.
A panel of Daisy Oak from Pokemon Special. She is smiling pleasantly as she holds up a communication device in one hand.

A textpost meme about Moon, Sun, and Lillie from pokespe that uses an edited ___ post. First, Sun asks: “thoughts on polyamory?” to which Moon responds, “thanks for asking! First of all, I think love is weakness by another name and you should be killing everyone with your demon blade.” After this, Lillie leaves tags which read: “maybe the true power is in learning to be weak”. To these tags, Moon responds, “the reading comprehension on this site is awful. the true power is in the demon blade. that’s how it kills everyone.”
A ___ post by user toskarin. First, Anonymous asks: “thoughts on polyamory?” to which user toskarin responds, “thanks for asking! First of all, I think love is weakness by another name and you should be killing everyone with your demon blade.” After this, someone leaves tags which read: “maybe the true power is in learning to be weak”. To these tags, user toskarin responds, “the reading comprehension on this site is awful. the true power is in the demon blade. that’s how it kills everyone.”
A panel of Lillie from the Sun and Moon arch of Pokemon Special. She is sitting on a bed with a book on her lap, smiling softly. Her eyes look distant.
A panel of Moon from the Sun and Moon arch of Pokemon Special. She looks surprised as she fidgets with one of her two braids.
A panel of Sun from the Sun and Moon arch of Pokemon Special. He is smiling happily and excitedly as he throws his arms out to the sides.

(391 words)

(202+391)

Day 22: 10ꄗ (weekly) 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) (4127 words in total, 15ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 44132 words, 147ꄗ)

Weekly:
Welcome to the third weekly of this session! This week, we’ll be learning about creating our own weeklies :0
Get started here: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/695082/?page=4#post-8636701

Part 1: Finding A Topic (written by Kat)
All weeklies start out as simple topics that they will be based on! To start off this weekly, choose a topic that interests you- it can be about anything, from a weekly about plot twists to non-fiction. Write 200 words describing your idea to complete the first part of this weekly!

Historical fiction is a very interesting genre. It can refer to a wide variety of locations and time periods. Because humans have lived in every part of what we know as history, almost any historical fiction story is at least partially conceivable. Still, not all historical fiction is made equal.

Depending on what corners were cut in the research process or the planning stages, as well as on how much detail was put into a story in the first place, different examples of this genre will be more or less realistic or “historically accurate”. Many novels make it a point to be clear with their audiences and note when certain creative liberates were taken or that the story has anachronistic aspects. At the same time, other authors strive to be as historically accurate to a certain time period as humanly possible.

But, as fun as it is to research a certain time period and present a plausible story in that place, historical fiction is still fiction. While we strive to be accurate, we must also remember that we are not writing fact and we will necessary stretch the truth to make our tales work. It is of my opinion that long as we do not claim our fiction to be truth historical refence or completely “historically accurate”, a little bit of anachronism or minor inaccuracies will not break a story.

While we don't want to perpetuate stereotypes of a time period, the simple fact is that our perspective on history is always changing and what we know as fact now may not be considered true in the future and potentially was not in the past, either.

Part 2: Splitting The Topic Into Parts (written by Eevee)
Now that you’ve got your weekly topic, it’s time to break your topic down into 4 parts! Come up with different word based activities, whether it be brainstorming, researching and utilizing concepts, or putting a twist to things! These will usually build off of each other in one way or another, and will incorporate everything together in the final part. Your four weekly parts should be at least 150 words total.

(Note that I put different word counts per section than the official weekly of today, but it should still amount to 800 words!)

Part 1: Focusing On A Time And Place
Chose a location and time period that you are interested in. Is it in the 1960s? The 1860s? Or just the 60s? Are you in Rome or London or New York City? Whatever the case, find something about a specific location in a certain time that interests you. Without doing research, write at least 100 words about this initial setting and what questions you have about it.

Part 2: Research
Now that you have picked a potential setting for your historical fiction, do some research! You can look at Youtube videos, read books, and even look through published historical journals if they are accessible for you. Whatever you do, though, make sure that the sources you are looking through are reputable. If the resources you find conflict on very important information, suspend your disbelief for things like Youtube videos that do not cite their sources (for example) and always remember that not all historians agree on every issue!

As for what to research, think of what information would be good to know if you were writing a story set this year. The same general questions can be asked about any time period!

What general details about the setting would you need? What is the global context of your time period? How would an average person spend their day in the year and location you chose? Were there any major events that could be referenced, such as natural disasters or major sports games?

After you've looked at general details, think about narrowing your research. Perhaps a certain train station is interesting to you and you would like to have your short story set in it. Perhaps you are interested in the Neolithic pottery of the Yangshao culture and would like to make your short story about the importance of decoration. Whatever you choose, remember that you do not need to be 100% accurate as long as you are not claiming to be.

Write 200 words about what you found in your research (remember to cite your sources, with a link if applicable and the title and author of each piece).

Part 3: Planning and Character Making
Now that you have researched your setting and hopefully managed to narrow it down, plan your story. Create at least one realistic character for your chosen time period and location. They should fit in to their setting but still be interesting. If you want, you could even look up people from your time period to base your character on!

Once you have your character, come up with an idea for a short story that is realistic but not necessarily 100% accurate. Have fun with it! Write at least 100 words of this planning.

Part 4: Writing
Now that you have chosen your setting, researched it, and planned your story, it's time to get writing! Use what you have learned in the last three steps to write a short story of at least 400 words.

Part 3: Writing A Workshop (written by Chuey)
You've got your topic, you've split it up, and now you're done, right? Haha, nope! We're still missing an important part: a workshop. Workshops guide writers through what may be a new aspect of writing for them (such as a certain form of poetry, or even how to write a workshop), and provide a nice refresher to those who are already familiar with the technique. First, head over to Lora’s workshop on workshop writing here (https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/695082/?page=4#post-8636695), then create your own in at least 350 words. Good luck with your workshop!

Writing Different Time Periods Respectfully

—Introduction
Well hello there, it seems you've come across this fake-weekly and it's fake-workshop! I'm glad to have you here, and I hope you stick around to learn a bit more have research!

—Body
The first thing that a young writer needs to remember when writing historical fiction is that they are likely not an expert in the time period or location they are interested in. The second thing they need to remember is that, as long as they are respectful and openminded (especially being willing to change their perspective), a lack of expertise doesn't need to be a huge deal or the end of the road for a project.

When writing different time periods, it is easy to imagine that we are very separate from the people of the past, but this is not the case. Although the world has changed, people are still people- even with different ideals and perceptions of the world. In that way, do not over-think your characters. Although they should not necessarily have modern perceptions of the world, they are still representative of people who had mindsets not so different from our own.

When writing historical time periods, remember these things:
- If you are not an expert in an area or time period, don't pretend to be! There's no shame in having minor anachronisms or taking some creative liberties as long as you acknowledge that fact. (However, do note that having large anachronisms will take some readers out of the story.)
- When in doubt, research! Whether you have a question about something general or something as specific as boarding times for trains in London on a certain day, you can look it up. Be sure that you are accessing reputable sources when you do so (look for websites that cite their sources, and if using Wikipedia look at the bottom of the page for citations and utilize those as well/instead!) If you have access to a library or academic research papers, even better!
-On that note, remember that history is changing all the time. Professionals and academics are constantly disagreeing on what way to view the past, and new discovers are made every day! Remember that ancient people traveled a lot more than we give them credit for and that many civilizations of the past interacted extensively while they are given little to no credit for it in the modern day. (Think: the trade routes of the Americas pre-European colonization.)
- Still, if a large amount of historians agree on a certain topic, lean to the fact that they might be right. (With obscure things such as Neolithic pottery, many interpretations are valid. Just be sure to be respectful and not pretend to be an expert when you are not one.)
- Modern sensibilities may not be historically accurate in every case, but there are still ways to make characters who blend well in their settings who are, at the same time, not offensive to modern audiences. (It's all in the phrasing. For example, instead of having a American character from the 1760s say that they support gay rights, you could have them say that they aren't bothered by what people do in their free time or that they think everyone has an equal opportunity to do and say what they wish since everyone has God given rights to be free. Same thing, different words.)

—Conclusion
Writing about different time periods can be very fun, as it transports the author and the reader to another time period entirely. As long as you remain openminded and research, being sure not to rely on stereotypes or any other preconceptions you may have had about a time or place, historical fiction will be a fascinating and enjoyable ride for everyone!

Part 4: Swapping Weeklies With Someone (written by Kiara)
Amazing work on creating your own weeklies, writers! Now, time to see what some of your fellow SWCers have dreamt up– go to this studio (https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/33315491/comments) and trade weeklies with somebody. Make sure that you write 200 words per part of their weekly, which should amount to 800 words total to complete this part. Good luck and happy writing <3
I did @KittyQween9000's weekly: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/828439/?page=37#post-8645282

Part 1: What about what makes a good title? Is it how it conveys the message of the book, chapter, or poem? Is it how it makes you feel when you first read it ? Think about any story or book you’ve read and what the title was, and then how exactly that title fits into the story. Then write 200 words about how that title fits the story.

A good title is made by many things, and much of these things are up to individual preference. Some people prefer short and concise titles and some people prefer long titles that are entertaining and describe a large amount of the story. Titles can be good if they're funny, if they are intriguing, and if they hint at something important in the story. (For fanfiction, stories might even be titled with lyrics or a reference to something in pop culture that is related to the story. In the case of unofficial stories like fanfiction, titles still need to be eye-catching, but they don't necessarily need to be as ‘perfect’ as book titles.)

All titles need to be eye-catching as they can serve as a hook into the story for readers who don't know anything about it. They can be intriguing and raise questions about the story so that a reader is interested, or they can be funny.

Think about these titles:
Magic Tree House
A Series Of Unfortunate Events
That Time I Got Reincarnated As A Slime
My Status As The Assassin Obviously Outweighs That Of The Hero's

Each of these titles provide a view into the story that catches the reader's attention, to varying degrees of amusement.

Part 2: So you have thought about how exactly a title fits into the story of your choosing. Now, you are going to be writing about how you should correctly create a title. You will be writing 200 words on exactly how to create a title - correctly. For example: you want your title to be easy for people to remember as a tip in what you are writing for Part 2.

If I was choosing to write a fanfiction (which is the only thing I post online in case I want to publish my actual writing in my name at some point), my immediate thought is to jump to a song lyric. These are classic for fanfiction (especially when using parentheses in them).

See? That last sentence could almost be a fic title, despite not being a song lyric!

Anyway, back to the topic. One of the fanfictions I'm working on is about Trials Of Apollo, specifically about punishing Apollo in an extra way after the happenings of the series. (I don't want to spoil too much about the fanfiction or the series that I drew it from, but that much you do need to know for context.)

Something I do with a lot of my fanfictions is that I chose a title from a School House Rock song. This is double good because I get to chose song lyrics like many other fanfictions, while the titles remain original. I have a Google Document with a few lyrics from every single School House Rock song that make good titles, and whenever I need one I go searching through the document to find what I need.

Part 3: And after completing Part 1 and 2 you know what makes a title fit into a story and how to correctly write a title now, you will be writing a minimum of 200 words into a short story and titling it to fit the plot of your story. You can title your story before, after or during your writing process.

Title: On The Rat Side of North America

There are many rats in the world. They're pretty much everywhere at this point, with their long tails and round ears and little shiny eyes. They are on almost every continent, thriving around the world in almost every city and town and ecosystem you could imagine (as long as they fit them).

But nothing is better for them than the Rat Side Of North America.

With such a name, that is to be expected, is it not? Once something is named after a certain species, it would make plenty of sense that that certain species really would thrive there.

Oh, what's that? You haven't heard of the Rate Side Of North America?

Well, most people haven't. At least most people other than my family, because I say it all the time for no explainable reason. If you are not in my family, you likely have not heard this- but trust me, it is a very important phrase and a very important location. After all, the rats love it, and we love them! (Except when we don't. And we often don't. Because they don't seem to like us very much- at least not without the food we give them.)

But I live here, and so do the rats. Isn't that lovely?

Part 4: And now, the end of this weekly - write a 300 word story that you can only add the title after. This is harder to do in my opinion since you have this story and have to make sure that your story actually fits it.

The Mareep was as fluffy as it was soft. Wait. Those were the same things, weren't they?

In any case, putting one's hands in it's wool felt great as long as one had gloves on. (Because if one wasn't wearing gloves, the shock was rather unpleasant. Well, for most people anyway. Sometimes people didn't mind, but Yellow wasn't actually used to getting shocked by electric types because Chu Chu was actually well behaved and she didn't have Pika anymore.)

She really did like Mareep though. They were soft and sweet and they liked bumping their little noses on her as she walked up to them, letting out their soft little noises. “Reep!” they cried, “Ma-aaa-aa! Maaaa-aaa-aa-reep!”

She really was fond of those noises, especially when they sounded so happy. (And why shouldn't they feel happy? They got food from her, not to mention the fact that she let out waves of healing energy as she walked from Mareep to Mareep. All creatures liked healing energy almost as much as they liked food. She was exactly the same as them in that way.)

Yellow smiled as she continued to run her hands through the Mareep's wool. The only reason it was so shocking in recent days was because it's wool needed to be sheared, and she would come around to that one of these days. It didn't seem to mind the warmth, though, not in the shade of the Viridian Forest.

She found her smile widening. She could sit like this forever, she really could.

Title: Mareep, Fluffy and Soft

(276+520+627+(208+204+218+259) words) (10 )

Main Cabin Daily:
I’m sure all of us have at least heard of them before…whether it be in passing or if you partake in their lessons yourself…Of course, I’m talking about that green owl Duolingo! If you take those language lessons, complete it now, choose one of the sentences and comment it in the main cabin! After that, claim another comment, (whether it be your own or someone else’s!) to write a story of at least 300 words for that prompt! This daily is 250 points with an extra 100 for sharing proof!

My sentences:
From a few German Duolingo lessons today: “we read ten newspapers every morning” “Comics from Japan are better than movies from France.” “I hope to lie on the beach soon” “his aunt and his uncle don't like to travel” “the house is big, but there are no toilets!” https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/50665171/comments/#comments-299309576

https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/50665171/comments/#comments-299304116 @Squidy-IceCream put a bunch of funny ones: ‘i do not know because i am also a tourist’ ‘the trip to the city did not take long’ ‘that book cost 195 euros’ ‘i have been taking the subway since i was 7 years old’ ‘he died 4 centuries ago’ ‘drink this quickly’ ‘i was surprised he did not work there’ ‘dont look at his hair’ and "the day before yesterday we learned what had happened in our bedroom' I'm using this one of @Squidy-IceCream's sentences: he died 4 centuries ago

Story with the above sentence:
Hetalia, HWS, c!China (Wang Yao), a bit of angst, ficlet, immortality things. cw: derealization
China supposed that he was the same person as he had been five thousand years ago, but only by technicality.

Were you really the same man if so much had changed around you? If your mind was the only time capsule left of your past? Were you really the same man if the world you had born into wasn't just gone, but forgotten? When the museums showed artwork from outposts you had once visited and couldn't decide what they meant?

He liked to think that he had died four thousand years ago.

Humans liked to think that the world changed around them, that they were relics of the past. The problem was that, to him, human lives were short. When he noted that the world he used to know was gone, it was with the acknowledgement that no one alive knew what he remembered- there was no one left. When humans thought back to the 1960s or the 1980s or the 2000s or even earlier, there were many alive who still remembered with them.

But no one remembered the early days. No one knew them.

So he supposed that he had died four thousand years ago.

As much as he loved the modern world with it's computers and too-fast technology and with it's medicine and modern sensibilities, and as much as he had spent as much time in the modern day as anyone else alive, he felt somehow out of place. What he remembered was long gone.

What he knew was a jumbled mix of morals and the top science from the course of human history. What he knew was an endless list of conflicting ideals. What he knew was the last five thousand years of his history. What he knew was that he would never be able to catch up with the world.

Nothing he did would ever change the fact that nothing was ever true, and nothing ever would be.

History was a long line of lies and half-truths. The modern world was a moment in time, one that believed just as all others before it that it was the one time when things had been right. He knew that the future would raise it's nose at them too.

He knew that he would still be there.

Sometimes it didn't bother him, all this strange business with change and time. Sometimes he was just happy to have made it to digital media and cat-eared internet personalities. Sometimes he was amused by the continuing conflicts between people who knew they didn't have any time left.

But on occasion, these old thoughts cropped up. At times, it felt that those thoughts were what was left over from the man who had died when he had become a god.

Not that he was a proper god, but what else was he supposed to call himself? He was immortal. He represented the second largest national population on earth. He had been born before the time of what traditional historians considered “civilization”. People believed in him, if not out of worship than out of nationalism (and wasn't that really the same thing in the end?) or because they strived to continue their cultural traditions.

There wasn't any other name for it.

He had died four thousand years ago, back when the world was new and he was still human. (Or as human as he could be.) Now, what he did was haunt a world he wasn't supposed to be in. He seemed to belong as well as anyone else- well adjusted, adaptable.

But those thoughts in the back of his mind knew better than such wishful thinking. Whatever he was- god or ghost or person- he knew that he wasn't supposed to be alive. He was an oversight, something time had forgotten.

And still, he could haunt the world to his heart's content because it was his spirit that refused to break. All he could do was go to meetings and keep his mouth shut.

He wondered what historians would say of this time in the next thousand years. He supposed he could ask them when they finally met.

(686 words) (5 ) *words are only from the story part of the daily!

Word War With @LilyHorse:
Their call: Tragicomedy | 60-70 wpm | 4-7 minutes (you can choose :]) | no prompt | I'd rather not share
Then: Or… if anyone's interested in doing a 30 minute war I would be interested as well. The shorter one is also ok if you see this and don't feel like writing for a long time. (https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1194557054/#comments-482736115)

My response: Horror || 70-75 ish wpm when I'm rushing || The 30 minute war sounds really interesting! || no prompt || I'll share proof but idrc if you don't If that's okay?

Also (Part Of) Whumpmas In July Day 7 Prompt: tears
Superman 2025, Superman whump, emotional whump

Clark coughed up blood as his back hit the growths from the rift once more. His mind was spinning just like the world around him, eyes burning like they had gotten acid poured in them. (He guessed that acid would have been better for him than those lazzers.)

They continued to scrabble, fists flying and the ground pounding as they rocketed back and forth. He could hardly processes the speed of the fight- it wasn't often that there was an opponent who was this closely matched, but how could there have been?

He still couldn't believe it. If what Lex had said in that taunting voice of his was true, he had been cloned to create this new “Ultra Man”. This Hammer. This weapon.

Somehow, the billionaire had taken his DNA from where it was scattered all over past battlefields and grown it into another man. Sprouted from his blood, this was a man who- if Clark's desperate attempt at conversation proved anything- didn't seem to care if he lived or died as long as he defeated his target.

But he was a person just like Clark, wasn't he? Clark didn't want to believe he was beyond saving, but he couldn't get a word in edgewise (not when he was fighting for his life with so much else on the line). It was hard to wrap his mind around. How could a person, a real flesh and blood man, behave …like this? What had Lex /done/ to him?

Clark wanted to reason with him somehow, get through this man's exterior, but he couldn't even open his mouth to speak. His lungs still felt like they were being torn apart, throat raw from the last fight up in the sky. He could hardly see, black spots in his vision from where the lazzers had burned him.

To make things worse, they were still tumbling- falling and flying and managing to hit every single wall as they went.

The rift loomed below them, then above them, then on all sides. He found himself crying out as his back hit another wall and then he was getting punched again. Then they were spinning once more, falling in open air even though both of them could fly.

His mind had moved on from logic. His heart was racing in his chest as pain bloomed from everywhere, the sun too far anyway now. He needed to /get out of here-!/

Clark screamed. His clone kept flighting.

Their battle was too even- it was far too close. He needed to be through with this, he needed to save the people who had called for help; he needed to stop this rift and save the world. Unfortunately, Clark knew that not even he could do those things while getting thrown into walls and crushed into rubble.

There wasn't a hint of humanity in his clone's eyes. Whatever Lex had done to him, he had stripped him of his ability to think for himself. Maybe if they had more time…

But they didn't have more time.

His mind was spinning, and soon it took too much energy to think. All he could do was fight back- try to protect himself.

The world tore itself up around him and he knew that he was running out of time to help the people who had called for him. Usually, that thought would have driven panic even deeper into his veins, but at the moment he was already all the way in high drive.

He didn't want to die.

It wasn't a thought he often had. He was Superman for crying out loud, those sorts of thoughts weren't usually necessary (not to mention the fact that he would usually willingly put himself in danger). But it was true: he was scared.

Plus, if he died here, it wouldn't help anyone. Lex would win. War would continue. The rift would just keep growing.

Superman felt a cry rip through his body. He was going to get out of here, even if agony rippled through his every muscle, even if his eyes still felt like they were baking out of his skull.

But then he was thinking too much again, and that was enough distraction for his clone to get the upper hand again. Suddenly, they flipped around in the air and shot downwards. For a moment, Clark's heart dropped- thinking that they were flying straight for the black hole. Then they slammed into another metallic growth.

He was getting punched, each blow shocking white through his vision and the hot feeling of blood into his mouth. Everything tasted even more metallic than it looked. His arms were refusing to work.

Even with the darkness in the center of his vision (only now slowly going away), he could see the face of the man still pummeling him. They looked just like each other. Maybe in another life they could have been friends, but whatever Luthor had done had been too much.

Clark didn't have time to fix this, too.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something falling towards them. It was a longshot, but it was the best shot he had.

With all the strength he had, howling in fury for all of the damage that had been done to this city he loved and for all the pain across the world, Superman ripped the clone off of him. He flung his arm out to the side, and his aim was just right.

The falling slab of metal smacked right into the attacker he had managed to tear off of him, ripping him out of Clark's grip and sending him straight down.

Clark thought he heard him scream.

He couldn't bear to look. There was no getting back from that, was there? They had both been loosing energy, he couldn't possibly rocket out of the black hole now.

Maybe it was absurd, but he felt a lump in his throat even as his head continued to pound and blood continued to fill his mouth. Even if Lex had created him, that Weapon had been another person.

As much as Clark hated the regime Lex and his people supported (and, oh, he /hated/ them all), something in him said that the attacker hadn't had another choice. As much as he couldn't in his right mind forgive that cruelty, he didn't like to see anyone die.

He closed his eyes.

Everything hurt.

His eyes burned, and not just from the lazzer. Somehow, inexplicably, he found that tears were burning them. He wasn't crying, not really, but in the moment of silence that was his enemy's death, his eyes ached with unfallen tears just like the rest of his body.

He hadn't wanted to kill anyone. Not even one of Lex's monsters.

(1129 words) (3ꄗ)

((276+520+627+(208+204+218+259))+686+1129)

Day 24: 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) (1280 words in total, 5ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 45412 words, 152ꄗ)

Main Cabin Daily:
Mythology has always played an important role in societies around the world, explaining how our world came about or where a society's customs originate from. Today, you're going to be retelling a myth, but with your own twist! Your own myth of at least 400 words can earn you 350 points for your cabin, and you can claim another 150 points if you share proof.

In the beginning, there was nothing.

And then there was Arceus.

It was a perfect world: nothing at all but a perfect being. Surrounded only in the darkness of endless space, a glowing light that was the first soul. Such a space was exactly what the world was meant to be. The consciousness of the one who mattered (the spirit of the world as it was, of life in It's own way because that was all that existed), and that was all.

Well.

That was all except for that annoying other thing: some other form of light.

It was a pink consciousness, a blaringly bright color in the darkness. Hot pink. (How there were words to describe it, no one knew. If Arceus was gold and white, then this other /thing/ was pink. That was all they knew. That was all they had to know.)

Arceus was perfectly fine with staying in that darkness forever. It was the world and It was all that mattered.

Except for that pesky other thing. That thing that called itself Mew.

Really, how rude was it that there would be two creation gods at once? And they hadn't even created anything yet. All they had was each other, flitting through the endless darkness that was nothing. Mew moved too much. Arceus didn't want to wake up.

Somehow, Arceus knew that if It opened It's eyes, It would create the world and if It created the world, Mew would bring life it to. Arceus wasn't a big fan of that idea. Already, the chaos of simply one other being was too much to deal with (bringing anyone else into this nothingness just be annoying and /impossible/ to deal with, and yet It felt It's consciousness splitting into different forms).

It had always been like this, though. Forever and never. Arceus and Mew.

Time did not exist yet, it was just the two of them. There were no years, no millennia. But Mew was bored. Mew didn't like having nothing to do forever and fornever.

Those split consciousness were in statis. Somehow, Arceus knew that Mew was needed to create life.

It was Life itself, in the end. If Arceus was Everything, then Mew was somehow still the only thing that mattered: The Spirit.

There were no other beings, and still Arceus knew that it didn't like the spirit of living things. There was no life, and yet here It was, stuck with Life Itself.

(409 words) (5ꄗ)

Editing The Superman whump from above:
This is from the Clark Kent whump I wrote above.

Okay, I'm not actually going to post my edits because they're honestly just random sentences strewn throughout the stuff that I put down above and I don't wanna copy the same writing again. It's basically just phrasing editing and such.

(871 words)

(409+871)

Day 25: 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) (374 words in total, 5ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 45786 words, 157ꄗ)

Main Cabin Daily:
Have you ever imagined yourself as the protagonist of your favourite book? Daydreamed of what it would be like immersed in your favourite fantasy story, or living in a historical fiction setting? Wondered what you might do if you had the chance to interact with some of your favourite characters? Well, imagine no more! For this daily, write yourself as the main character of your favourite book in 250 or more words, to claim 200 points for your cabin, with an additional 50 for showing proof.

c!Star blinked in confusion.

The world around her did not look normal, that much was for certain. She had been stuck in the burning skyscraper for weeks now so the bright blue sky was already a cause for concern. If that wasn't enough, the bright green trees were also much weirder than normal. She was used to dark gray and purple, with a little blue splashed in sometimes. It had been that way for two years now.

For a week, the only bright colors she'd seen was orange, yellow, and red. All of that was from fire. But now there was no fire and no smoke. The only warmth she felt was the pleasant sun from above.

Star sat up and realized she was sitting on grass. If things hadn't already been weird, they were now.

She looked around at the lush greenery, trying to catch her bearings. It was then that she realized that the animals she was seeing weren't exactly normal looking. She blinked. Something about this situation wasn't computing in her brain. How could she be in a nice green field like this, with a beautiful blue sky above her? How could she be in this place… with the strange animals she was now seeing?

It just wasn't possible!

But apparently it was. Star rubbed her eyes. Her lungs still felt smokey, her eyes still burning. Maybe she hadn't actually seen what she thought she had. Maybe those things were a figment of her imagination!

But when she opened her eyes again, they were still there: four Beedrills hovering in the air in front of her. Yikes. To make things worse, when she looked down at her coat she saw that there were eight gym badges pinned to it.

c!Star squeezed her eyes shut.

/Please don't be real, please don't be real, please don't be real…/

She thought it until the air seemed to shift around her. Suddenly it felt thick again, and way too hot. She opened her eyes, and she was in the Skyscraper again.

Somehow, she had teleported. Maybe this would be a big deal in the future, but for now all she could do was lie back down and wait for Cabin Wars to start.

(374 words) (5ꄗ)

Day 26: 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) (12782 words in total, 5ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 58568 words, 162ꄗ)

Main Cabin Daily/Cabin Wars:
Do you hear the excited cries for words and betrayal? Have you checked up on your cabin’s mango stockpiles? That’s right, the time has come again for cabin wars, our most beloved day of chaos! Remember to take care of yourself—take breaks to drink water, sleep, and go outside, and always prioritize real life over SWC <3 Pencils (and keyboards) ready? Let the wars begin!
https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1201631212

Team Ken's Studio btw: https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/50729827

@chocolate_camps: Cabin Wars! Write 4000 words as a cabin in the next 9 hours or lose 900 points. Love from Bi-Fi <3 sent 00:00 UTC July 26th (https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/37083474/comments/#comments-299525780) Word counting thread: https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/37083474/comments/#comments-299527989

CHALLENGE! 1 i think? : According to Ken, his job is “beach.” That sounds like a pretty fun way to spend your time, right? For this challenge, write 150 words of a “day in the life” of a character with a strange or unique job. How would they travel to work? What would they do all day? Have fun writing, Ken! https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/50729827/comments/#comments-299532913

Gym Badges (Capitalized)
Pokemon Special/Pokemon Anime, Brock, Gym Leader stuff, world building.

Brock was back to being a Gym Leader. He liked his other jobs, sure, but in the end he was a battler.

Those hard years where he was in charge of his siblings were over and he had to admit that now, without all of that stress leaning on him, being a Gym Leader wasn't so bad. He could train his pokemon all the time (although he couldn't battle at full strength in a regular battle for fear of harming a younger, less experienced trainer's pokemon), he got to meet lots of people and socialize with them. He even got good seats in any League competition automatically!

There were some less positive things, but most of those were things that Brock was accustomed to and could deal with. For example, as a Gym Leader, one had to be completely dedicated to their city. All over the world, those who had been given these prestigious positions were the defenders of the people who had been entrusted to them.

Even folks like Koga and Surge, who were monsters more than men in Brock's humble opinion, weren't above protecting those who they represented. (Koga, although still part of Team Rocket, helped fund the zoo and protected animal programs around Fushia city. Surge, a pokemon smuggler and all-around difficult man to deal with, had advanced jobs in his city and worked with the coast guard to help trainers who were lost at sea. The list went on in that manner.)

Brock was fine with protecting Pewter. He loved his people and they loved him. Plus, they had already been through so much together- what was another battle if they needed his help? He certainly didn't mind defending them if something came up.

There was one problem though.

Kanto Gym Leaders were expected to make their own Badges. No, not badges, /Badges./ Capitalized.

Brock wouldn't mind it so much if it was the uncapitalized word. Honestly, that would probably be so much easier for everyone involved (well, if ‘everyone involved’ only included him).

The making of the Badges was something that lots of other regions had let go of long ago. The faraway region of Paldea, for example, clearly did not care if the trainers who beat the Gym Leaders received useless pieces of metal for their prizes. They badges were mass-produced with only simple designs on them, not that Brock thought that was a bad idea necessarily. It would certainly make /his/ life a whole lot easier if he could give out mass-produced prizes to the trainers who came through his gym!

Kanto was one of the regions that had stuck to this annoyingly time-consuming ancient practice- probably because they were the ones who invented it.

It felt like he spent hours every single day working on Badges in the months leading up to League season. Obviously that wasn't true (he spent hours every day cooking, obviously), but it was so painstaking for him that time seemed to stretch on forever anyway. It wasn't like Brock wasn't creative or couldn't work with his hands, either. He was great with small details on cakes or sandwiches or anything of the sort. He wasn't even bad when it came to cutting gems (a skill that came up surprisingly often as a rock specialist). For some reason, these Badges were just horrible to work with.

Brock supposed that he had such a hard time working on them because of how specific the work had to be. There were many types of magical rocks and stones scattered throughout the world (Z-Crystals, Mega-Stones, Evolution Stones, Everstones, you name it), and the badges were no different. As a rock specialist he obviously knew what he was doing in theory, but in practice it was so much tougher.

A successful Gym Leader needed to collect stones with very specific properties in order to make a Badge. Each Gym had its own traditional stone, usually scavenged from the surrounding area. Each of these traditional stones had different magical properties that they could spread to surrounding trainers and pokemon, some of them stronger than others. Some stones were rumored to help pokemon learn certain moves while others strengthened a trainer's Aura and thus their ability to command high-level pokemon. (Ash had explained that second one to him at some point, but honestly Brock still didn't really understand how it worked.)

And that was probably the problem, wasn't it? As much as Brock knew about the natural world (and it was a /lot),/ he never really had understood magic.

For Sabrina, one of his fellow Gym Leaders, these things were easy. She was a Psychic. She didn't even /have/ to gather stones for her Badges! She could just share her own energy with any old material she wanted in order to get the same effect as the traditional Badges of Saffron City. Brock thought that was a totally unfair advantage, to be honest.

Still, he didn't have a choice but to keep making them. As long as he remained stationed in Pewter, this was a part of his job that wasn't going to go away. Some people hired experts to make their Badges from them, getting around the ‘Gym Leaders must make their own Badges’ rule by saying they were supervising or some equally unlikely excuse. (Ahem. Surge. Ahem. Misty.) But Brock didn't really hire people for tasks like that- mostly because he didn't have the spare change to do so.)

Anyway, today was one of the days he was dedicating to making these Badges. He had gone out into the mountains a few weeks back and brought back plenty of the precious material needed and now it was lying all around his work room like a curse.

Maybe it was strange for a rock specialist not to like working with stones, but honestly the process stressed him out. Because he was woefully lacking in magical knowledge, it was hard to know if he had messed up the power of the stone until the latest stages of crafting each Badges. For years, he had far too many half-completed badges that he had to throw out. These days, he used the duds as prizes for trainers who had already beaten his gym and were only coming around again for fun. (Less waste, but still stressful.)

Brock sat down at his work desk with a heavy sigh. Another day of being a Gym Leader, another day of being forced to create magical items for trainers who didn't even seem to notice their magical powers. Arceus, if only life could be as simple as the battle days where he got to beat six trainers in a row, get paid, and go out to dinner with a pretty woman he met around the town before turning in for the night. But no. Things couldn't be like that all the time.

So there he sat, hands poised over the stones as if they were going to start floating in the air around him. He had gotten better over the years and sometimes it felt like chiseling rocks had become second nature for him. Still, he messed up enough even now that he had to remain careful as he went.

As he got to work, gently picking up his tools, Brock yet again wished that he could be more like some of the other high-level trainers he knew. This would just be so much easier if he could sense the Auras of things around him or simply let some of his own energy bleed into a cheap metal ring in the guise of a Badge. (Ahem. Sabrina.)

Also, just like every year, he wished that he had chosen a slightly simpler design. It wasn't like the Boulder Badge was particularly infuriating to carve (it was a pretty traditional gem carving shape anyhow), but wouldn't it have been so much easier if he could just break each stone into unique rocky pieces of roughly the same size? He was the Rock Type! Wouldn't that be in theme enough to pass? They had ways to tell if a Badge was genuine or a fake anyway (another reason Kanto stayed with this old tradition even though mass-produced badges would be so much easier), so the fact that they would all look different wouldn't even matter.

Still, Brock knew something like that would never be allowed. It wouldn't look good on him, Pewter City, or the League if his Badges were ‘lazy’. He was sure to be reprimanded if he pulled something like that, and arguing against the Chairman wasn't really a fight that was worth fighting (even if he did really think he had ground to stand on with the whole ‘rock theme’ argument). Honestly, Brock didn't like breaking the rules.

Since he wasn't fond of stepping out of line, he didn't have another choice but to grit his teeth and start chipping away. With a heavy heart, Brock got to crafting.

About thirty minutes into his work, Brock yet again remembered that his supposed hatred of these Badges really was him making a mountain out of a molehill. Although the work was stressful and slow going, he also loved working with rocks. In full conscious, Brock could not say that he hated making Badges. It was monotonous, slow, and difficult, but it wasn't like he was horribly bored. He still thought it would be much easier if they could turn to the mass-produced designs of regions like Galar and Paldea, but as long as he wasn't behind on making Badges it wasn't the worst thing in the world.

Although he couldn't let his mind wander too much as he worked, the slow-going pace of carving stone let him think about things. As he worked, he could let his mind enter a stage of almost-meditation. (So long as he ignored the fact that at least one of the few Badges he worked on in that session was likely to turn up useless as a prize to first-time challengers, it was almost peaceful. Of course if he remembered that fact, though, he suddenly felt horribly stressed out and sick.)

Honestly, Brock thought his own love-hate relationship with the things was amusing. Or he would have if he wasn't stuck in the middle of all of it with no way out.

He had asked other Gym Leaders about their thoughts on the subject. Erika had admitted that some of her Badges were probably not even invested with as much magic as they were supposed to but she still gave them out as long as they turned out professional looking (which was honestly fair, because the Celadon stones were generally weak to begin with- it was their plants that had the real power). Misty hired people to make hers and although they always turned out really nice- being made from stones from Cerulean Cave would do that to a Badge- she didn't have very much to do with them. Blaine liked spending his time sifting through Volcanic stones, and his Badges were a ‘fun treat to work on’. Blue was in the process of switching to full-time Champion so he didn't work on Badges anymore. Brock didn't tend to talk to the others very much.

It seemed that the tradition really was only kept alive because it was, well, tradition.

Brock had even had some young challengers who, after receiving their Badges, had thrown them on the ground or tried to scratch them for some reason or another (mostly because they wanted one that wasn't ‘gray and ugly’). Brock had needed to explain, over and over again, that the Badges were important stones that had magical properties. Most of those trainers had looked very sorry after learning such things, but honestly he was surprised that they hadn't known in the first place.

Was this really something that only Gym Leaders cared about anymore?? If so, /why on earth were they still putting so much effort into them?/

He didn't mean to sound angry, really.

But a pretty girl from the Pokemon Center had agreed to go on a date with him if he proved to her that he could make five Badges in one day, and really what choice did he have then? That's right. None at all.

(Some Work On My Apollo Fic)
ToA/Trials of Apollo, wip fanfic, Apollo angst

The rest of the day went almost too smoothly for Apollo’s tastes. They let themselves rest and recoup while profusely apologizing to Sally and Paul for the vacation cut short, although the two mortals insisted just as strongly that this quest was more important and they didn’t mind coming back when needed. (Apollo could agree that the quest was probably more important in the scheme of things, but he hadn’t wanted to drag anyone else into this whole mess in the first place.)

Rachel didn’t bring up her troubles with Delphi again and though Apollo was glad to now know for a fact what was worrying her, the fact that she didn’t mention it (along with the fact that she was so good at hiding her issues) was somehow just as worrying. She looked scared, but she was so good at concealing the deeper parts of her expressions that it was almost difficult to tell. For someone out of the loop, Apollo supposed that she looked almost normal.

It was hard to think that if things didn’t pick up, she might lose her mind completely.

Apollo pushed that thought away. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, not after everything else. Not after they had really become friends at last. Not after they had both already lost so much.

They were in this together, but she was powerless against that Oracle. If he lost his control, it would be over. That old saying kept playing in his head: three strikes and you’re out.

She had already started to lose it when Delphi was reaching out to her in the Titan War (even if she hadn’t really known what was going on at the time). She had been better for a while, but then her connection with Delphi had been disrupted in the Giant War and during his Trials. Would this breaking of connection be the last straw? He certainly hoped not.

Apollo felt almost back like when he had been Lester. Everything was weighing on him as it always had been, but now he was too weak to deal with all of it at once.

Something in the back of his mind snapped bitterly at the rest of his thoughts. This wouldn’t be nearly as hard if your father let the others help, it said. It was right, and somehow that made it even worse.

At least the day of rest meant that he got to spend more time with his son, though. He tried to teach Cassius how to play trumpet (much to the chagrin of the Jackson’s neighbors, he assumed, when the trumpet was to Cassius’ lips). He helped Sally and Paul clean some stuff out of the refrigerator and checked all of their medical supplies as a courtesy and thank-you for letting four extra scraggily questers stay in their apartment while Cassius followed him like a duckling. All in all, it wasn’t a half-bad way to spend the day.

Especially not when he knew that Meg was coming soon. Although her arrival would mean they would have to start out again, he also wanted to see her and Cassius clearly did too.

@BookHuggers2022: Cabin Wars! Write 4500 words as a cabin in the next 7 hours, or else lose 700 points. Love apocalypicnic (https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/37083474/comments/#comments-299537077)
Our word counting thread: https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/37083474/comments/#comments-299537637

(Some Work On My Apollo Fic)
ToA/Trials of Apollo, wip fanfic, Apollo angst

Meg came just after noon, a scrappy backpack slung over one shoulder and knees covered in dirt. She had shown up on Percy’s access to the fire escape, where the mini garden was growing. Apparently she had teleported using plants again (a supposed ‘power’ that Apollo was still pretty sure was just Demeter deciding to step in even when Zeus forbade it- not that he was going to complain), using the herbs and flowers as an anchor point.

As soon as Meg stumbled out into the hall, Cassius squeaked with delight and threw himself into her arms. She had gotten taller since the last time Apollo had visited her in person, which he assumed was a growth spurt, but her adopted brother still wasn’t that much shorter than her. She had always been an awkward hugger (not exactly big on physical contact), but she squeezed Cassius back anyway.

“Meg!” Cassius sounded so happy to see her again that Apollo felt a momentary pain in his chest. He was so glad that they were close. Cassius had always needed family and Meg had filled in when Apollo hadn’t.

When Meg finally extracted herself from Cassius’ arms and took him by the hand instead, she locked eyes with Apollo. Setting her jaw, Meg looked almost like she was trying not to cry again. Either that or she was doing everything in her power to not hit him. Which was probably more likely. Either way, it was clear that she had been worrying about him at least almost as much as she had been about her brother.

Finally, she decided on an awkward side hug that made his heart hurt even more than if she hadn’t hugged him at all. She pulled away far too quickly (he had to bite his tongue to stop from complaining- he knew she had her boundaries just like he had his touch starvation) and scowled up at him with an anger that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I told you that oath was stupid,” she glared at him.

He groaned, “I know, Meg. So did Kayla.”

She didn’t say anything else on the topic after that. He felt a little bad about making her feel bad, but he honestly didn’t think he could deal with any more self hatred at the moment- not with the rest of the quest looming once more.

At least Sally quickly changed the subject by coming forward and reaching out a hand for Meg to shake (which she gladly took). “It’s good to see you again dear,” Sally smiled warmly at her, “How are you doing?”

Meg politely didn’t mention the whole situation they were in and just nodded her head curtly. “Okay,” she said, and even added an extra polite, “I’m okay.”

Sally’s smile was motherly and warm. Apollo thought Meg probably appreciated that about her and that was what got her to be so nice around her. He certainly appreciated that warmth, anyway.

Unfortunately, their nice meeting had to be cut short when Nico coughed. Everyone turned to him and he didn’t even falter, only staring straight at Apollo and nodding a curt nod of his own. “We should get going soon,” he said.

Even more unfortunately, he was right. Even if Styx hadn’t given them an explicit time limit, Delphi sure had. Without a specific date, even, all they knew was that they had to hurry.

Apollo didn’t want to leave. Not when Meg had just gotten there, not when all he really wanted was to spend a bit more time with this son he had just learned to love. Still, he knew that they didn’t have a choice. The quest was looming like a dark shadow over him, a reminder that they had only done a part of what was to come and that if they didn’t get going soon, Rachel might be incapacitated… permanently. If those things weren’t enough to motivate him, the sudden memory of his father’s lack of support was.

He honestly didn’t know why it was bothering him so much today. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had talked to his children’s families, and the fact that even that one (singular, mind you) action felt like more than Zeus had done for him in centuries. It wasn’t even like the classic Olympian excuses could work when it came to immortal family members, either. Apollo wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. At least not if he had any say in it.

But that wasn’t the topic he was supposed to be thinking about. He glanced around the room (when had he spaced out anyway?)

Rachel was talking to Percy, and Apollo suddenly realized that they must have been talking about Delphi when they were walking to the alley the day before. Maybe he should have felt bad that she had gone to Percy before she had come to him, but he didn’t. Whatever the reason, he was sure it was logical.

Next to them, Paul seemed to be getting Nico to take some chocolate bars. Although Nico was refusing them, Apollo personally considered it to be a nice thought. Paul was holding Estelle in his arms as she cooed happily. The sight made him smile.

Then, Sally was talking to Meg and Cassius. As the world faded back in, Apollo started to hear their conversation once more.

“I’ll bring him home,” Meg nodded.

“To the Aeithales?” Sally phrased it as a question, as if saying how? It seemed she was speaking in short sentences to match with Meg, which wasn’t a bad communication strategy.

Meg nodded again, “I just will.”

Judging by the look on her face, Apollo was pretty sure she knew that she was technically going against Zeus’ rules of non-interference by getting help from her mom with teleportation. So long as neither of them mentioned it, though, Apollo supposed it was no-harm no-foul.

Sally didn’t exactly look relieved, but she seemed to catch that there was something in between the lines and didn’t press more on the topic.

At last, Apollo stepped forwards. Rachel and Nico looked almost ready to leave (although now Percy had joined with Paul in trying to give them chocolate, which seemed to fluster Nico a great deal), and he knew they would have to go soon.

“Meg,” he looked down at her, suddenly completely aware that this was the first time he had stood before her- in person- in this true physical form. Sure he had gone to her in similar bodies, but usually his hair was shorter and his skin was straight tan with no sunsports. In fact, he often went to her with blue eyes (which he notably did not have).

Now he was just him. Not Lester, not another disguise.

It felt uncomfortably vulnerable.

She stared up at him and her black eyes were so intense that almost forgot what he was going to say.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “For… taking care of him.”

Before she could say anything (he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t know what to say and would prefer if he didn’t let her flounder for words), he knelt down in front of his son. Again, he was suddenly aware of his physical form. But now, rather than a vague sense of vulnerability, he studied Cassius’ face as well.

The boy was paler than him and didn’t have many freckles, his hair was lighter and his eyes were blue-ish. But, even though his face was still a little rounder with baby fat, their facial structure was virtually the same. What was that if not family resemblance?

Even before he could offer a hug, Cassius wrapped his arms around him and squeezed. Apollo’s heart fluttered in his chest. They had really only known each other for a day, although their paths had crossed many times during Apollo’s Trials and his visits to Meg. Still, it felt good. He put all he had into that hug.

At last, Cassius stopped squeezing and Apollo allowed their arms to untangle. He sat there for a moment, still studying his son’s face with what he hoped was a reassuring look on his face and not one of dread (for the rest of the quest and for leaving him behind once more).

And then he realized that he was a god and that at least some of the other people in the room were probably waiting for him to say something.

“Good luck,” he managed at last, forcing a confident-ish smile that he hoped wasn’t bleeding too much with the sorrow of leaving, “I… wish I could stay.”

Cassius nodded. Maybe he was thinking the same thing. I want to see you again.

(Some Work On My Apollo Fic)
ToA/Trials of Apollo, wip fanfic, Apollo angst

After Percy’s family through the door, Sally hugged each of the mortal questers in turn (skipping Apollo and Cassius probably because she could see that Cassius wasn’t comfortable with strangers) and Paul ruffled Percy’s hair with the hand that wasn’t resting gently on Estelle’s back. Apollo had to say that he was happy to see them, even as Cassius half-hid behind his leg.

“I’m sorry we let ourselves into your apartment, Mrs. Jackson,” Rachel bowed her head respectfully, as if she was embarrassed. (Which she may well have been.) She looked so normal now after their secret discussion about Delphi that morning that Apollo a little surprised, although in more of a worried way than an excited way.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sally shook her head, “You needed somewhere to go and you came here, there’s no harm in that.”

Apollo honestly thought Percy was going to grumble something about them always coming to his family’s apartment (because it was true), but he didn’t. That was surprising too, but now in a good way. Maybe their discussion the previous night had something to do with it, or maybe not.

Sally fused over Nico for a minute (which seemed to embarrass him a great deal and amuse Percy even more) before turning to Apollo at last. Her eyes softened and he felt his knees go a bit weak- feeling how she could read his exhaustion so well. It was almost like he was still a sixteen year old mortal to her which, while a bit humiliating, also made the Youth domain aspects of him feel mighty validated.

She reached out with one hand, almost as if she was going to brush his hair out of his face, but hesitated and drew it back. He felt a little sad that she didn’t finish the gesture.

Instead of doing so, Sally nodded to him before smiling softly at Cassius. He squeezed Apollo’s hand tighter, but didn’t seem scared so much as nervous.

“Thank you for calling us,” she said to Percy. With that, the tension in the air (the question of how they were supposed to interact with Apollo) was gone once more and the air seemed to unfreeze.

“I’ll put Estelle down to rest,” Paul said, glancing at Apollo with a look of mild amazement on his face. It wasn’t the first time they had met but Apollo supposed he had been rather indisposed as Lester the last time around. Some mortals were still impressed by the gods, it seemed.

As he bustled out of the entryway to set his daughter down, Sally hugged her son again before frowning at him. “I thought you said no more quests,” she said with her hands on her hips.

“Look-” Percy started to defend himself.

“It really wasn’t his fault this time, Mrs. Jackson,” Nico hurriedly cut Percy off as if he was going to say something incriminating by trying to excuse himself. He glanced pointedly at Apollo. Everyone followed his gaze.

It took a bit too long for him to make sense of that as everyone stared at him. After he realized what Nico meant by his pointed stare, Apollo felt compelled to mention that that shifting of blame was mighty unfair (even if it was at least partially true).

*note that the word count for this section also counts some random sentences of editing that I didn't feel like taking the time to copy paste. They were all throughout the fic, so I just used the total word count and basic subtraction to count them lol

@ziqing11: Cabin Wars! Write 3500 words as a cabin in the next 8 hours or lose 800 points. (https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/37083474/comments/#comments-299547116)
Word counting thread: https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/37083474/comments/#comments-299548191

(Sigh. MORE of my Apollo fic)
ToA/Trials of Apollo, wip fanfic, Apollo angst

“Look,” Apollo tried to ignore the fact that his face was probably tinted gold with embarrassment, “We can look in the Record, alright?”

By the looks on both of their faces, it seemed like neither of them knew what he was talking about. He stared at Nico, who honestly spent so much time in Cabin 7 that it would have been impossible for him not to see the Record at least once. Apollo stared at him incredulously. “Nico, it’s the book with everyone’s names. You must have seen it before.”

That seemed to jog his memory.

“Oh,” Nico blinked. Then his happy surprise turned into annoyed confusion, “You brought that and didn’t let us know?”

Apollo opened his mouth to mention that he had been a little preoccupied and distracted, but Rachel cut him off.

“Wait, what is it?” she asked. Even if she was his priestess, she didn’t tend to spend much time in Cabin 7.

“It’s a record of all of my children,” Apollo had the sense to look a little sheepish for not even mentioning it once.

She blinked at him and then sighed. “It would have been nice to know you had that.”

They stared at him for a moment longer before he realized he was supposed to be taking it out. Hurriedly, he opened his bag and started sifting through it.

Nico sighed. “You know, you’re oddly spacey for a god.”

Apollo chose to ignore that and pulled the book out. The three of them sat down on a little bench, with him sitting in the middle, and poured over the book curiously. It was just as beautiful as he remembered and just as heavy. As much life was in it, he knew there was a lot of death too.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Rachel sounded almost concerned as she stuttered into speaking, seeming to sense his hesitation. She was right, though, and he opened the book.

(That's right, even more of my Apollo fic)
ToA/Trials of Apollo, wip fanfic, Apollo angst

The trio went through the relevant section of the book together, with Rachel skipping hurriedly over the pages that only talked about dead kids when Apollo got clammy and started freezing up. There were a lot of them, that was for sure.

After they had gone through all of the pages with writing on them, they counted a total of thirty six people who had to be rescued. Apollo could feel Nico’s judgemental stare on the side of his head even with his eyes closed.

“…How are we going to get that many?” Rachel said at last, saying what they were surely all thinking after a stumped silence. With her troubles with Delphi now putting her sanity on the line, they didn’t have the luxury for this to go on forever.

“It can’t all be like last time,” Nico shook his head, “that’s not how quests work.”

Apollo would hazard to agree with him, having given plenty of his own quests in his time. There would be different challenges, and maybe the rescues themselves wouldn’t be the same all the way through. The pace usually picked up, didn’t it?

“I still don’t like the ‘forever’ in the prophecy,” Rachel was frowning at the blank page the Record was still open to, “Who you seek now forever sprawl, not exactly comforting, is it?”

“Nope,” Nico shook his head. Maybe he was thinking about Will.

Apollo wanted to be optimistic, and though it was hard to think of a way to spin that line in a positive light, he thought back to the rest of the prophecy. “But use their powers to recall,” he quoted. “It was Cassius’ power that got us out, wasn’t it? And he was in stasis. Maybe…”

“Maybe the ‘forever’ just means the stasis?” Rachel perked up as she cut him off. He felt a small smile quirk onto his lips. That was exactly what he had been thinking.

Nico seemed deep in thought as he slowly nodded, “That could make sense. If their souls are suspended like that, they could conceivably stay that way forever.”

Shivering, Apollo tried to take that as good news. Maybe their time limit wasn’t as dire as it felt- at least not very everyone he cared about. Still, he didn’t like the idea of the children he had left alive being stuck in stasis for eternity.

“That’s good news at least,” Rachel did seem a little relieved, “But, seriously, how are we going to rescue all of them before…?”

She didn’t finish her sentence, but Apollo had the feeling that both he and Nico knew what she was talking about. “We will,” he said firmly.

Nico gently took the book from him and started flipping back through the pages, “It doesn’t look like you have too many kids abroad, right? Maybe we just need to go cross-country, pick up who we can, and then take a few flights for everyone else,”

“Well, do we really know where everyone will be?” Rachel hesitated, “I mean, Cassius wasn’t where he was born or anything.”

“We don’t know yet,” Apollo shook his head, “Maybe we’ll get the hang of it soon?”

He really hoped so.

Changing the subject, Nico looked between the two of them. “And see truth unfurled,” he quoted the next line of the prophecy, “What’s up with that?”

Again, no one had any explanation. At least the next line made sense. Even if Nico was right in saying that there weren’t going to be too many people abroad, they would still need to head to other continents to pick up some of the kids. Race around our world encapsulated that perfectly.

The next line, however, was still a mystery. Whatever his “fall” was going to be, Apollo was not excited to find out.

Still they turned back to other topics than the prophecy itself.

“It can’t be that we have to get everyone individually,” Rachel shook her head. “That would take way too long, wouldn’t it?”

Nico nodded. Apollo hoped it wasn’t just wishful thinking that was making them all agree with her.

“Maybe I’ll have some of my godly powers back by then,” after trailing off he decided to leave it at that, not wanting to voice something in case it wouldn’t come true. Maybe I’ll be able to split my form again, he hoped internally. Being able to do more than one thing at once would definitely save time, although Nico and Rachel didn’t look convinced in his prospects. Still, it didn’t seem like an impossible event. (Plus, he needed to get his power back to keep Rachel safe even if he didn’t need to for the quest.)

“Well,” Rachel said at last, “I think we have a better idea of what we’re doing now. Do you guys think so?”

They both nodded dully. The weight of what was ahead was back on his shoulders again, but she was right. It was good to get their bearings every now and again.

“So what are we doing next?” She looked at Apollo for instructions (he would have taken that as a compliment if he honestly had any better idea of what was going on than either of them).

Even with his self-doubt, he tried to think. They were trying to go for Austin next (there were several others who might be in New York City, but since they were heading for Harlem anyway they might as well try to rescue the son who lived there first). He had talked to Austin’s mother early that morning and he was sure that she would be around somewhere. She had promised him that she would help if she could, and maybe it would be a good idea to make good on that promise (it would be good for all of them).

“We should find Latricia,” he said at last, standing up from the bench almost robotically, “Come on, if she’s at home I know where to find her."

Without so much as a question as to who Latricia was (perhaps they could tell by context clues), Nico and Rachel got up and followed him.

Textpost Meme Image Descriptions:
These are from my pokespe meme thing that I do with my sister

A a by user @mrjohndarby which reads: “restarant. Waiter: Your coffee. Me: Could I have a little spoon please? Waiter: Certainly. *delicately embraces me from behind* Me: lovely.”

A a by user @ManningKrull which reads: “I remember one time we were in my friend Dave’s car and listening to Slayer and my friend Eric said you know what, these guys aren’t tough or scary, and I’m gonna tell you why, it’s because they’re singing a song, and Dave got really mad”

A a post by user torple which reads: “au where i get my self together”

A ___ post by user miyoriia. They have a cute profile picture of Fluttershy from My Little Pony. The first post reads “play toys ?” and then “come play toys” and then “the prince of darkness commands you”

A screenshotted text message conversation posted by ___ user gxkv. First, someone named Salem says “I’m turning evil”. To this the presumed OP responds “how”, which Salem responds to in two messages with “I just am. Stay out of women’s business.”

A text message conversation between a husband and a wife. The husband says “I am on wifi. The office has wife.” The wife says “NO” to which the husband says “*wifi. Lol”, correcting his typo. The wife adds “I AM WIFE”

A text message conversation. One side of text boxes is in green and the other is in white. The green side asks “How much do you love me?” the white side responds with “Well, look at the stars and count them. That’s how much I love you.” To this, the green side says “But it’s morning.” White side responds with “Exactly.”

A ___ post by user normal-horoscopes. It says: “Me: “MAN YOU're bad AT THIS” 7 foot tall fairy creature I trapped in a salt circle and forced to play smash bros: ___in ancient welsh"

A conversation in a ___ comment section. First, A user who’s @ is partially cut off says “How did take photo how”. @mlovely1971 responds “How did take photo how”. This post get 191 likes compared to the first 63 likes. @afisheater says “the ratio though ??” Then, the original poster posts a low-quality reaction image of a sad looking, three dimensional emoji looking down awkwardly with it’s gloved hands at its sides.

Two messages from a text messaging system. They read “Are you still gay” and “I’m bored”

A ___by user @KylePlantEmoji which reads “Why is Gorgeous the only thing you can be Drop-Dead. I wanna be drop-dead silly. Let my enemies crumble before me, overcome by the depths of my whimsy.”

An image of a possum sitting in front of a bowl of food with wiggly, bright colored text in multiple different fonts over it. The text reads “being ___ ill is a full time job and i’m employee of the month”

A __ by user ___ which reads: “My favourite kid I ever taught when I was a swim teacher was this little 4-year-old Italian boy. One time he sneezed and nobody said anything so he just went “what? No bless yous for Giacomo?””

A meme. It shows a photo of a family or group of friends with eleven people sitting around a table. There is food all over the table like a nice dinner. The text over the image says “why are you dressed like that”. The next photo is a screenshot of a character in a videogame with spiked plate armor. The text there says “like what”

*I could not provide proof of most of these descriptions because a lot of them weren't nice. I left the okay ones to show what the rest of them were.

An old SWC classic for me: rating all of the water in my house!!!!!
You can really tell I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel now.

Okay, I am once again standing here and begging you to listen as I list all of the water sources in my house and rate them on a scale of bad to good. Although I have been doing better with drinking enough water in recent years, I am honestly still dehydrated most of the time (as I type this my throat is activiely hurting). That is to say that I think it is once again time for me to pull out this classic for my sake and for yours.

Firstly, I shall go with the atypical but probably still (maybe) potable sources of water. (This is anything that is not out of a faucet.) This category can also be bisected into ‘safe to drink’ and ‘not really safe to drink’. Note that I am not counting shower water because I would never try to drink that on purpose.

On the not really safe to drink side, we have the two garden hoses. Look man, it's been a while since I've tried either and honestly I don't want to now. (However, when I filled my bassoon reed cup with hose water the other day the flavor was weirdly nostoligic.) Just based on vibes, I have to say that the one on the side of the house with the compost is porbably more bad than the other, which is still bad.

On the safe to drink side, we have bottled water, water in the fridge for some reason, and water out of the fridge's tap thing (not technically a faucet). I like bottled water, even if it tastes like chemicals (as that is better than some other water that makes me sick to my stomach for no reason at all). I'd rate that stuff good. Water in the fridge for some reason gets an okay because it's usually from one of the Bad Faucets in the house. Water from the fridge's tap thing gets a bad from me because those things kinda scare me and I honestly haven't got a proper explination (except for the fact that it is constnatly saying the water filter is expired).

Now for the taps.

For the downstairs bathroom, it gets an okay. It's not the worst and it's not the best, although the flavor is fine. Really most of the problem comes from the fact that the faucet is really weirdly shaped so it's low-key painful to drink out of (yes I bring by head down to the faucet like it's some sort of middle-school water fountain instead of filling my hands. Goodness knows where they've been).

For the kitchen sink water, I have to say that it's an okay as well, although with a slightly worse flavor. This is the water I drink the most even though I frankly don't like it. (Mostly because I know that a lot of that dislike is because I have had to have too much medicine over this skin by now and the bad memories are starting to stick to the water even as it runs away through the dirty dishes.)

For the half-way upstairs bathroom outside of me and my sister's room I personally think the water is really nostogic. I think I'm going to give it a good even though the flavor is not particuarly good and sometimes there's things floating in it, but it's also the faucet that I drink out of if I wake up bleary-eyed and dying of thirst in the middle of the night (and we all know 3 AM water slaps. It's actually the only time I like to drink water at all.)

For the half-way upstairs bathroom in my parents room, I don't really like it. I'm not in there ever anyway, and I might as well just say bad because I don't think I would ever go out of my way to drink it.

As for the bathroom upstairs, I don't think I've ever drank out of it and I don't think I ever will but the cat sure seems to like it.

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I didn't do anything for this war because I needed to go to bed

@ziqing11: Cabin Wars! Write 3500 words as a cabin in the next 8 hours or lose 800 points.
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Whumpmas In July Day 8 Prompt: frozen
Pokemon Special, Green (f), pre-series whump, Mask of Ice angst

The moment she was conscious enough to feel the blast of the cold air on her skin, Green wished she had worn a warmer dress and then felt stupid for wishing such a thing because it wasn't like she had known this was going to happen. As far as she was concerned, things like this happened to other people, usually slightly older kids.

Birds snatched young trainers all the time, but she was too young to be a trainer! Her parents had been watching her, she was supposed to be safe with them.

The cold air continued to bite her exposed arms. (Of course her dress was both short and sleeveless, how helpful for freezing temperatures.) She was so cold that her skin was starting to hurt, her fingers feeling numb already even though she couldn't possibly have been out that long (she was pretty sure she fainted when the bird started diving with her in it's claws- the dropping sensation in her stomach too much to override).

Besides, it was summer, wasn't it? How could it have gotten so gold so quickly?

Green looked around cautiously. What she saw didn't make any sense. There were pillars of ice on all sides, carved majestically and beautifully. She hadn't assumed the bird who had taken her was an ice type even with how cold it's talons were, and how could it have made such intricate carvings with only it's beak?

When she looked beyond the pillars, things got even weirder. The walls of the room (and she realized now that it really was a room with a roof and normal walls like any other building) were also made out of thick sheets of ice. This stuff wasn't as clear as the pillars, but it was shockingly blue. There were almost decorative lines of white across each surface, looking like purposeful designs just as much as they looked like the wild of nature.

Despite the beauty of these strange surroundings, Green felt her heart in her throat. Where on earth had that bird taken her? Surely she couldn't have still been in Pallet Town, there wasn't anything like this in a place like that. Was she even still in Kanto?

She tried to think back, looking around as she did so. They had flown for a long time, ripping through the air at a speed that she could have sworn had torn some of her hair out of her scalp. Unfortunately, she had been too busy screaming, panicking, and trying to fight her way out to try and keep proper track of time. They could have flown for hours or only a few minutes, and either way it felt like they could have left the continent with the speed they were moving at. (Maybe some of that was in her head, but just thinking about the flight had her heart pounding something painful again- as if it had ever stopped.)

It had come out of the sky, a shadow over her that came so fast she didn't even notice it before the talons had circled around her waist.

As if on cue, Green felt a jabbing pain in her side. When she looked down, she realized that the bird's talons had torn her dress in a few places and left scratches on her sides. That would explain why her sides felt cold as well as her arms and legs. Luckily, though, she wasn't bleeding too much.

Green remembered, very vaguely, a lesson they had had at school a few weeks back. When it was cold, blood moved slower. She couldn't decide if that was good or bad here.

She shivered, and now the numbness in her fingers was starting to hurt somehow. Not knowing what else to do, Green curled in on herself and squeezed her hands closed in her lap. There didn't seem to be any doors she could get out of from here, but the ice was sort of hard to make sense of. For all she knew, all of the walls could have ben made entirely of perfectly closed sliding doors. Really it was either that or they were completely solid.

In any case, she didn't have a way out. (And in the cold, she wasn't sure if she wanted to move.)

What if the bird found her while she was sneaking around? What if it decided to eat her? Surely that was the plan, anyway. Why else would a massive pokemon like that take a little kid? She was probably the perfect size to feed to it's chicks.

Also, it hadn't looked like an ice type. Even with those thick feathers, she didn't suppose that it would have felt comfortable in a place like this. Still, maybe it wanted to eat her frozen.

That thought terrified her so much that she jumped to her feet. Immediately regretting it, because the cold air could get to her so much easier when she wasn't curled up, Green backed up quickly. She didn't know what she was running from- she didn't think she /could/ run- but she needed to.

“Help!” she screamed, “Help me! Is someone out there?”

Her back hit one of the pillars and she stayed there even though it was so cold that her exposed shoulders felt like they were burning against it, heaving panicked breaths as she strained her ears for a response. But no, there was nothing. The only thing she heard was her own racing heartbeat and her own gasps in the freezing cold air. She tried to make herself stop breathing so heavily as she once again slid to the ground, trying to curl in on herself once more.

Maybe the bird wanted to freeze her to death and eat her like that. If it lived in a place like this, surely it wouldn't feel happy about eating something so warm as a normal living creature.

Breathing hurt. The air was so cold, so frigid, that she felt almost like she would shatter with every breath. Still, she could not stop them from coming. It felt like the longer she stayed here, the more and more she felt her panic and dread growing.

She still couldn't make sense of it, why that thing would have brought her here. If it wanted to eat her, why had it taken her so far away from her home? If it was going to bring her to it's nest, why did it look like the nest had been made by humans?

Green couldn't figure it out and she wasn't sure she wanted to. The more and more she thought about it, the more scared she felt. The bird had been awful. She wanted her mom and dad.

Her throat felt thick like she was going to cry. /No,/ she told herself, /I can't cry. It'll freeze on my face./

She didn't actually know if her tears would freeze, but she wasn't eager to find out. It seemed like if her tears froze on her cheeks, everything would get so much worse. (But still she wanted to cry- /needed/ to cry. There wasn't anything else to do. She was probably going to get eaten and she would never see her mom and dad again.)

Green squeezed her knees to her chest, hands in her lap still, and curled over so her forehead was on them. She found herself rocking, slowly at first and then faster and faster. Maybe she was making it up, but the subtle movement seemed to bring some feeling back into her body, even with the impossibly cold air still pressing down on her from every side.

She was thinking that maybe she could warm up enough to stay alive without freezing to death when she suddenly heard the horrible noise of ice scrapeing against ice. It was so loud in the silence of her prision that she screamed as she unfurled into a defensive position, facing the sound.

As it turned out, some of the walls did contain hidden doors. There were light on the other side, though, and in the semi-darkness of the freezing ice prision she had to blink to make out what was out there. The moment her brain did make sense of it, though, she wished it hadn't.

It was the bird again.

Green screamed, backing up as fast as she could. “Stay back!” she cried, “Go away!”

But the bird didn't seem to care. It took a few steps forward, sharp talons clacking against the ice. This was the first look she had gotten at the thing, and the very sight of it made her feel like her bones were turning to jelly.

In another circumstance, it might have been beautiful. It had clean, sleek plumage of warm colors- all brilliant reds and golds with a few flecks of warm green and white. It didn't look at all like it belonged in this place, not that that mattered to her at the moment.

What mattered was staying out of it's jaws.

As it continued to clack forward, she cried out again involentarily and grappled for something to throw. The floor and walls were all ice- impossible to break into chunks when they were frozen this deeply- and there were no rocks or flowerpots or even sticks. She took of her shoe, holding it above her head as she called out again.

“I'll hit you!” she tried to sound confident, like she was holding a pokeball or something like that (did birds even care about confidence?), “I'm trying to be a pokemon trainer!”

It didn't seem to care about her warning, an unimpressed expression on it's face. Still, it came to a halt.

She put her foot down on the ground gingerly. It was so cold that her bare foot stung. Still, she held her shoe over her head. In case it did nothing or made the bird even angrier, she didn't want to throw up. For now, it seemed they were at a standstill.

And then something moved behind the bird, slowly coming out of the doorway while she was distracted with the larger threat in the room. He heart jumped into her throat. This shape was smaller and shorter, was it one of the bird's chicks come to eat her at last?

But when the shape came into her vision, she realized that it wasn't a bird at all. No, it was a man in a wheelchair.

He looked familiar somehow, but she couldn't place his face (and yet she felt somehow that she knew his face from one of the old photos in Professor Oak's lab). He was small and frail, with solid white hair and a sort of vacant expression- save for his eyes.

His eyes were as bright as the bird's, beady and dark and dangerous.

Green took another step backwards, her mind fighting with itself. Her mom and dad had always said to be causious of strangers, but they had also always said to find someone to help her if she ever got lost. How were those two things supposed to work together?

But really, something about this man's expression wasn't right. It made her nervous. Had he been the one to build this place? Was the bird his?

Before she could think of a question to ask or even make a mad dash for the door (which she knew was a bad idea but the bird could move so fast she was sure it could get her before she even made it two steps over the threshhold), the man held his arms out to his sides. The way he extended them, they looked almost like wings.

“Welcome, child,” he said, “I am glad to have you in my household at last.”

Whatever he meant by that, Green didn't think it sounded good. She took another step back.

“If you'll come with me you can warm up a little,” the man offered, gesturing to the door behind him. “Maybe a face mask would help?”

Green weighed her options. He wasn't really giving her a choice, was he? She could either stay here and freeze to death or go with him and maybe warm up (and maybe have something terrible happen). If he was working with the bird, was he going to eat her too?

He gestured behind him again, “It's warmer out there, dear. You'll freeze to death in here.”

Judging by the numb ache in her hands and feet, Green guessed that he was right.

She stared at the bird. The very sight of it made fear roll in her stomach. Looking at the strange man wasn't much better, even though he looked grandfather-like in an odd way. (It was just his eyes that broke the picture. They looked like the eyes of a hunting animal.)

But she was freezing.

Green decided that if something happened, she would rather risk it with feeling back in her fingers and toes and while freezing to death here. She dropped her hand to her side.

“Good,” the man sounded far too pleased, “Ho-Oh will walk behind you, we wouldn't want you running off.”

With that, he turned around and started wheeling out of the room. With the beady look in the bird- Ho-Oh's- eyes, she didn't have a choice but to follow

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Whumpmas In July 9 Prompt: Hunting
Alone (novel), Maddie, attempting to hunt and getting caught up in her feelings, less so whump than just inspired by the prompt, poetry

Waiting
The wind is cool
flitting through the air
like my heart behind my ribs.

I stand in the woods outside of dad's house.
My hands around my only weapon and
my neighbor's dog at my side.

These thoughts aren't getting me anywhere.

The sky is open
stuffed with graying clouds
like the hair on George's chin.

I stand at the edge of a clearing.
My feet rest on long-rotted leaves and
I am hidden behind the trees.

These thoughts are just a distraction from my task.

The day is cool
with open skies empty except for graying clouds
like the shelves at home and the expired food.

I am waiting for something.
I am /always/ waiting for something and
my dog is waiting too.

Watching
There were many books in the library about hunting.
I have read them all.

I am tired of canned food and George needs to run.
We have done it all.

The garden flooded, the stores are running out.
I biked to the city.

I am watching a nature documentary
Birds flit through the trees.

I am a hidden observer, George at my heels.
There's one last thing to try.

But for now I am watching.
My gun at my side.

The Shot
When the rabbit darts out of the trees
I almost don't see it.
But I hear it.

George is well trained and he stays
beside me.
Always beside me.

He doesn't move.

I straighten my arm.

I remember the kick of the shot.

The rabbit is still.

I pull the trigger.

Immortal Maiden
I chase after the wounded creature
with panic in my chest.
Is this all in my head?
Have I dreamed up my perfect shot?

I didn't want to kill something
with a heart and a mind.
Is this how ancient people felt?
When they were starving just like I?

I feel like I'm crying
with a grin on my face.
Is it a grimace?
Should I wish it was?

I don't know how to process meat
without a guide to teach me how.
Will the books in the library be enough?
Have I wasted a life?

I chase after the rabbit
as it slows down and fumbles.
Should I let George get to it?
Will he ruin the meat?

I can't stop him
as he runs forward and catches it.
I can't stop him from biting down
and killing what I could not.

I watch the rabbit die
as disgust rolls in my heart.
But I am proud
like I won some kind of trophy.

I feel like a Hunter.
I feel sick with what I've done.

I feel like a Maiden.
Maybe because I am one.

I feel immortal.
Like a goddess has taken a life.

I am lady Artemis.
I should have brought a knife.

Hatchet
George eats the rabbit.
I felt too sick to deal with it myself.

There's a book a remember
from my childhood.

It was green. There were leaves.
It was brown. There was an axe.
No, a hatchet.

The boy in that book knew what to do.
He took down animals far bigger than this.
He fished and farmed and hunted.

I can do no more than rob supermarkets.

If I was Brian I would have died out here.
I guess it's good I have the stores and the canned food.
He would have been living like a king.
I am only living like a person.

This will be a book someday
if I ever get out.

It will be orange. There will the the sunset.
I will be bright. As if I have hope.
No, I do.

The girl in my book doesn't want to kill.
The high of being a Hunter is gone now.
The high of being Artemis never existed.

I can do no more than wish I hadn't killed.

George seems to enjoy his meal.
I am no better than the men and that kitten.

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(Even more of my ToA fic </3)
It never ends y'all

Even after all these years, he still knew the way perfectly. He had memorized this door, every part of the building. But now was not the time for reminiscing. They needed to get down to business.

He knocked on Latricia’s door. Rachel and Nico waited behind him, looking appropriately awkward

Only a moment later, the door opened. Latricia was just as beautiful in person as he remembered, but her dark eyes looked worried. She didn’t even question Nico (who was avoiding eye contact) and Rachel (who waved to her awkwardly), but simply set her jaw and smiled lightly. Being the mother of a demigod, she was probably used to having strange magical teenagers appear on her doorstep. Maybe it was weirder for them to meet her, given that she was one of their shared questmate’s past flames, than it was for her to meet them.

“Come in,” she waved them inside.

Once the door was shut behind them, she gave them each a once over before stretching out her hand for Rachel and Nico to shake. “I’m Mrs. Lake, I assume you both know Austin?”

Both of them nodded.

“I’m Apollo’s Pythia,” Rachel introduced herself as she shook hands with Latricia, “My name is Rachel, it’s nice to meet you.”

Latricia raised her eyebrows at Apollo, “Pythia?”

For some reason, the expression on her face made him blush. “She’s my high priestess, the spirit of Delphi lives in her.”

Rachel nodded humbly, “Sometimes I sprout prophecies, but not so much recently.”

Latrica shrugged like that made sense as much as anything else she had heard recently. She looked emotionally exhausted. Even after all these years, Apollo could still read her expressions perfectly.

“I’m Nico, son of Hades,” Nico shook her hand, “I’m Will’s… uh, friend.”

Latrica raised an eyebrow at him, “I heard you were his boyfriend?”

Nico looked rather relieved, “Um. Yeah, I am.”

After the introductions, she turned to Apollo and put her hands on her hips. “So what’s the plan? Do you know where we need to go?”

“We?” Nico blinked in surprise, then he glanced over at Apollo before looking back to Latricia, “Wait, are you coming with us?”

Latricia nodded, crossing her arms in what looked like an attempt at confidence. Just from the tenseness in her shoulders, Apollo could tell she was nervous but determined. “Apollo called me this morning and explained the situation. I’d like to help rescue my son.”

Clasping his hands behind his back so he didn’t accidentally try to put his arms around her shoulders (he wasn’t exactly sure if that was appropriate anymore), Apollo tilted his head to Latricia. “Thank you,” he said earnestly, “I’m sure Austin will be happy to see you.”

No one mentioned how sure he sounded about the rescue. After their success with Cassius, everyone wanted to believe that they would be able to bring Austin back with little trouble.

She managed to smile, “Well, I’ll get you all something to drink. Apollo, do you still like Sun Cruiser?”

He cracked a smile of his own as he started after her to the kitchen, Nico and Rachel following him like ducklings. “I’m still the sun, aren’t I?”
—-
Rachel eyed his drink suspiciously, “That says it's just ice tea.”

He took a sip, “So? I’m a god, I can’t get all caffeinated on one can,”

“I just thought you’d be more for… fruity tasting drinks.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looked down at the can in confusion, roughly 90% sure that it said razzberry right there on it. Rachel only sipped her water, a playful smile on her face. Either she couldn’t read or she was poking fun at him just to poke fun. He decided kindly not to remind her that the woman they were currently sitting with was one of his son’s mothers.

Latricia smiled, a little easier this time. Her own cup of coffee sat warming in her hands.

“Thanks for coming by,” she looked at each of them intently, “I’m glad I can help.”

Apollo thanked her again and then set his drink down on the table. He was trying to get back in a serious mood so they could figure out what to do next, but it was easy to forget everything that was happening when he was around her. She had always had that sort of effect on him, and it was even more pronounced when he didn’t have his godly memory up to full speed.

Unsurprisingly, it was Nico who broke the happy mood at last. He had declined taking a drink so now his hands were clasped on the table in front of him, shoulders up as if in a defensive stance. “We’re looking for his soul,” Nico’s gaze was so intense it was hard to make eye contact with him. “What we need is to find where it is. Do you have any idea of locations that might be counted as the start of his life, or, er, a major event in his life?”

Latricia blinked, “Like, the hospital?”

Apollo shook his head but Rachel shrugged, taking over for Nico this time. “Maybe,” she said. “We’re trying to- oh, how’d you say it, Nico?”

Nico shook his head, “I… don’t remember.”

Apollo sighed and looked at Latricia apologetically, “We don’t really know how it works, but he’s in stasis so we need to counteract the ‘death’ with some of his life.”

Hearing that, Nico nodded. “Yes, the fragments of his soul will be somewhere that had a great deal of power in the formation of his life. The other boy we rescued was in an alleyway where something traumatic happened in his early youth.”

Latrica’s eyebrows lowered, “How early?”

None of them wanted to say they didn’t know.

Sensing that none of them were going to add anything else, she thought about it for a moment. “Okay,” she said at last, “There’s a few places I know of. We can check the hospital here, although that might not be what you’re looking for. After that, we could look at the… bridge.”

Apollo knew exactly what she was talking about. He swallowed dryly, “It could be somewhere else foundational. Maybe not traumatic…?”

She thought about it, “Well, there’s lots of other places. I can bring you all to them. Eventually we’ll get to the right place.”

They all nodded.

The discussion went on. Nico tried to explain how the spirit thing worked, although Apollo got the distinct idea that he didn't fully understand it either. Rachel vaguely referenced the prophecy, but only mentioned the good things that they had tried to determine about it earlier that day. Apollo tried to brainstorm with Latricia about other places that could have been important. They decided that if it was something foundational it might have to do with music and if it was something traumatic it was probably the Williamsburg Bridge.

Once everyone was done with their drinks (or rather after everyone had hurriedly finished their drinks because they were getting antsy from the discussion), Latrica grabbed a baseball hat and led them back out of the apartment.

No one wanted to go underground (the sun was hot today, beating down with exceptional power, but the darkness was scarier). Apollo recognized these rays as well: Sol, the Norse goddess of the sun. Although he didn’t spend much time with her, he remembered that she was one tough lady.

He smiled and sent a quick thank you up to the heavens, sure to avoid looking towards the Empire State Building as he did so.

As they took the bus to the hospital, the four discussed how Cassius’ rescue had gone. They surmised that there needed to be at least one person on the outside. Because of her lack of experience with quests (and because a fully mortal soul would draw a lot less attention from monsters while standing outside for an unknown amount of time), Latricia was chosen as the anchor.

Rachel told her all about keeping them in the sun, maybe leaned casually on something in case there were people around. Latricia raised her eyebrows at Apollo.

“I thought you were the sun?”

“Technically, it’s actually Sol today. She’s pretty tough.”

He really hoped that none of the mortals on the bus were listening too hard to their conversation.

When they were dropped near the hospital, Rachel closed her eyes to focus. The four of them walked around for a while as the sun continued across the afternoon sky, trying to sense something familiar enough to clue in that Austin was nearby, but it was for naught.

Deciding to walk back to catch a few more potential spots, their four’s conversation started to fizzle out into nothing. Nothing seemed to be amiss anywhere and it was hard not to feel a little discouraged. Somehow it seemed like sunset was coming soon- which would mean that they couldn’t continue for the night if they didn’t catch the right place soon enough.

At last, while walking past Marcus Garvey Park, Rachel stopped in her tracks.

Her eyes were as wide as saucers, red hair blowing in the soft wind. In the late afternoon sun, she looked like she was glowing (the glow in her hair almost looking like a lightbulb over her head).

“You got something?” Latricia looked equally relived and apprehensive.

Rachel took a moment to respond. Apollo realized that she was listening to something- or rather trying to hear something that she had just barely caught. “Maybe,” she said, and then abruptly turned into the park and started walking.

With no choice but to follow, Nico, Apollo, and Latricia hurried after her.

Rachel walked through the park as if she had been there a thousand times before. Given that she lived in New York it was very possible that she had been there a few times, but she seemed to know exactly where she was going (although her expression still looked confused).

“I heard something,” she explained, “It sounded like one of my visions.”

Nico hurried up a few steps until he was walking right next to her. “Like what in one of your visions?”

“Music,” Rachel said.

That was way too vague to make any sense, and he yet again remembered (much to his chagrin) that Rachel still hadn’t described her visions to him.

He was going to open his mouth to ask for clarification when he suddenly realized where they were going. At about the same time, Latricia’s eyes widened.

“The Amphitheater!” she gasped, “Of course!”

Nico looked even more confused. “What amphitheater?”

“The Richard Rodgers Amphitheater,” Apollo said hurriedly, feeling a smile replace the confused look on his face, “Live music close to home. Of course he would be here!”

He started to jog, and a moment later he was running full tilt through the trees towards the outdoor Amphitheater with his golden hair flying behind him and his sandals barely touching the ground as he seemed to fly over it. It was just like a hunt in the old days but with an even better prize, and he found himself laughing in glee.

Some swc fic
The frozen arch :)

After a week of fire, c!Star wasn't sure if she was supposed to be happy or upset about the freezing cold. Honestly, she had done with enough extreme temperatures and this wasn't much better than the heat.

Yes she had always been more comfortable in cold weather (that was what growing up on a spaceship would do to a person), but honestly she wasn't a big fan of freezing to death either.

She shivered in her thin dress. It was the same one she had worn back in Gothic, and even the clammy weather in that old school had been better than this. Her ears were flat against her head, arms crossed over her chest to conserve heat as she followed the others up the stairs.

They were trying to escape, but honestly it felt like they weren't getting any closer to getting out. So many people had given up already, there were really only a few others who had managed to participate in Cabin Wars (and honestly she wasn't sure if the others had made it out of the fire zone). She hoped that they wouldn't have to fight some sort of big monster at the top of all of this, they definetly didn't have the firepower to do that where they stood at the moment.

She kept shivering. This would have been so much eaiser if her outfit had sleeves. Or a back.

There were burns all over her, only mild luckily, but they stung horribly in the bitter cold. Sure it had felt good for a moment, but now everything ached.

She should have just stayed out in the rain. Maybe it wasn't fun to stand in a downpour, especially with lightning, but she probably could have found another building to hide in. She had heard some of the others were nice this year. Aparently there was even a Barbie Dream House, although acordding to the list online it didn't look like she would have been let in there.

Oh what she would have given for a nice warm coat and some gloves.

But now, all she had was her wits and her determination. If that wasn't enough, they she would find something else to help her out too. What else could there be?

…A coat?

((2042+527)+(1455+587)+(324+1020+1032+673)+(0)+(2228)+(657)+(1857+380)) (5ꄗ)

Day 27: 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) 12ꄗ (meeting my word goal yesterday) (1518 words in total, 17ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 60086 words, 179ꄗ)

Main Cabin Daily:
Hello and welcome back from Cabin Wars! I hope you had an amazing time, and more than that, I hope you slept… Why? Because of today’s daily! Today, you need to choose a random picture, and write a piece about it. But wait, there's a twist! Follow this formula to find out how much you need to write; 1200 - (hours slept x 100) words, the least amount of words you can write being 100. You can get 300 points for this daily, with an additional 50 points for proof. Happy writing gremlins!

I think I slept for six hours because I went to bed at 5ish and then woke up at noon???? So that means I only need to write 500 words yippie! Most I've slept in a while so this is good timing

The world is still like after a rain. The sun is setting somewhere on the other side of this image or else the sky is a darkening gray-blue for nothing.

There seems to be a shadow cast on these trees, the orange light of the setting sun only showing on a few leaves of the hickory tree. The maple tree is brighter, with leaves so small it must be sick. There is an oak tree too, placed off to the side in deeper shadow. The branches are low on this one, almost hiding the fallen log from years ago that leads straight into the fire pit.

There is no fire there, the orange glow only comes from the sun. (And, truth be told, it is not very strong. Surely a fire would glow brighter, but the trees above the pit are blackened by past smoke.)

The brightest pot of color is in the center of the image, far iff in the distance of the picture. It's a tree, or at least I think it is. The leaves are blueish and lighter than the rest of the trees around it- certainly than the dark black of the wet trunks which frame it. Somehow it has remained bright there behind the foliage of the tree line.

Is there a gap which lets the sun in even as it sets? Is that how it shines so brightly? I can't be sure.

A birdhouse stands close to the front, old with moss on it. Surely no self respecting bird would ever choose to land there, let alone take it as a home.

Then again, I'm not actually a bird so I can't be certain.

The world outside is wet. It is balanced by the tall standing men and women, these towering trees on the property line, and the burnt orange of the pine needles blanketing the far edge of the yard. These, I'm sure, are what really balance the light of the sun still reflecting off of those higher hickory leaves (and the bit of sun that is still shining on that old bat house that has never known an inhabitant).

It's all green, except for where the brown of the needles and the orange of the sun and the brown of those invasive flowers closer to the front shine out. The blue of that central tree reflects the gray of those stalks that stand in the lady ferns- the stems of lilies long fallen.

Summer is well on it's way, I think.

The green is still here, but soon the orange of the pine needles on the ground will spread upwards through the boughs of these giants. Fall will come, the balance of nature will shift.

The orange of the sun in those leaves is like a promise of the coming seasons. It is a warm color, but it will bring the bite of the air and the chill of night.

It cannot touch me here, here in this eternal summer twilight. The chill will never reach me, it cannot touch my home.

(508 words) (5ꄗ)

More of my ToA fic </3
Latricia x Apollo, just another clip of a random chapter of my Apollo longfic

The four stood outside of the Amphitheater, preparing for what was going to happen. There were some other people milling around, but no one paid them any mind. He had already taken the time to bless both Nico and Rachel (as well as himself) just in case Austin’s purgatory was something like Cassius’ and their senses would get shot.

“I brought Austin here when he was younger,” Latricia was explaining to Nico (who was checking through his bag to make sure he had everything he needed), “There’s performances all the time.”

Rachel was still standing straight, eyes wide like she was still listening for what she’d heard. “We need to get closer,” her eyes were trained on the half-circle of steps facing the stage, “I hear it up there…”

Turning his eyes to where she was looking, Apollo gazed up at the steps. In a lot of ways, this amphitheater was just like those he remembered from the Roman Empire. Just like with Greenwich Village back in the day, Apollo had spent his fair share of time in crowds at this place- even playing in a few orchestras. Unseen, unnoticed, and yet the star of the show.

The steps leaned down to the stage like a suspenseful gasp of breath, waiting for something to happen. It was that old movement, that old sense of life. It was something like home.

He was glad that Austin appeared to be here.

“You know how to pull us out?” he spoke at last, eyes still tracing over the steps. Sol was still shining through the trees, the rays burning life back into his soul. She was healing to him, she was their saving grace. They would need to hide from her to get this done.

Latricia sniffed, “I’ll make sure you’re in the sun. I’m just not sure how…”

He turned to her at last, finally noticing the fear in her eyes. He felt his own gaze soften, taking a step towards her and taking her hands softly (she could have pulled them away if she wanted, but she didn’t). “Hey, we’ll get him back, right?”

A smile smile flitted across her lips, “You better.”

He felt himself smile too.

They stood there, hands linked together like old times. He could almost imagine that they were back in Ohio and she was teaching that musical theory class, that he was just a student in the second row taking notes in between glances at the mesmerizing way she wrote obscure musical notation. He could almost feel himself leaning forward, closer, closer, closer-

Nico coughed.

“Well,” the son of Hades said a bit too loudly (as if seeing his boyfriend’s dad hold hands a woman who wasn’t his boyfriend’s mom was awkward or something), “We better get going if we want to get out before sundown.”

Rachel waved them forward impatiently, but he could see that she had a teasing smile on her face. “Come on guys, I see people going in. Maybe we can buy tickets if there’s a show!”

As it turned out, you didn’t need to buy tickets if you were the god of music.

Or if you were a regular mortal, the Delphic Oracle, or Big Three demigod. Apparently they had lucked out, because the show was free. They still didn’t know what was being put on (and Apollo doubted they were going to have the time to appreciate it), but the four clambered into the upper rows all the same.

People were still filing in, but the upper rows remained mostly empty. Rachel’s eyes were almost glassy now.

“He’s here if he’s anywhere,” she breathed, “I can hear it- just like my visions,”

“Okay,” Nico kept his voice down even though no one was paying them very much attention, “We can sit on these steps then, lean back like we’re asleep?”

Rachel nodded. She looked scared and Apollo couldn’t blame her. All she had to base her expectations on were their stories and that surely didn’t make things any better.

Apollo locked eyes with Latricia, “Stay sharp, okay?”

“I will,” her jaw was set, determined, “Promise you’ll come back with Austin?”

“I promise,” he held her gaze and didn’t even care when shot him a withering stare. If he failed here, what was the real problem with another broken promise? He didn’t have much left to lose anyway.

A presenter was speaking now, introducing the orchestra. He wished he could stay to watch, but anticipation was growing in his chest. Whatever happened next, they were going to

The three of them moved to sit down in the shadows. Rachel was right. Familiar exhaustion started to cloud his mind as the conductor walked onto the stage. The audience clapped. The conductor raised his arms to cue the orchestra. He felt Nico go limp next to him as the horns began to play. Rachel’s head fell back against the upper seat as a clarinet solo began.

He wasn’t fighting it this time, his eyes started to close as he lay back.

But then Latricia did something unexpected: she leaned down, caught his jaw in her gentle hand, and kissed him.

He hadn’t been anticipating it and though the warm surprise of it still wasn’t enough to shock him out of the darkness, he still had the time to reach up and put his hand on hers before the world disappeared into a warm, satisfied haze.

(903+106 words) *The “+” words are from minor edits in previous clips I've already posted.

(509+(903+106))

Day 28: 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) (146 words in total, 5ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 60232 words, 184ꄗ)

Main Cabin Daily:
A new bookstore opens across your street, you read the sign stretched across its doors: ”SWC Bestselling Bookstore.“ Welcome to a classic daily, the bestselling bookstore! Grab a story concept you’re writing or one you have an idea for and post a blurb about it on the main cabin comments. Your blurb should be between 100 and 200 words (but no more than 200!) to earn 100 points.

Apollo had assumed that everything would go back to normal after his Trials as Lester Papadopoulos were over. He was sorely mistaken.

As it turned out, breaking a solemn oath on the River Styx more times than he could count wouldn't just be punished by what had already happened when he was still mortal. Who could have guessed? Clearly not Lester.

So, when Apollo heard screams and panicked prayers coming from Camp Half Blood, it was only natural that his heart would already start to sink. There weren't many things that he cared about as much has his own children, and it seemed Styx was aware of that weakness just as well as he was.

After seeing the Cabin in ruins, Apollo realizes he has no choice but to go on a quest to find the remnants of his children's souls or risk losing them forever.

https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/50665171/comments/#comments-299740115

(146 words) (5ꄗ)

Day 29: 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) (2756 words in total, 5ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 62988 words, 189ꄗ)

Main Cabin Daily:
I missed copying it today because I was having horrible computer issues, but it was to write 500 words of a WIP. Therefore, everything I wrote today counts towards this daily : )
(5ꄗ)

Small edits to my Apollo fic (literally adding a few words I forgot to type)
(7 words)

Planning the next chapter of my Apollo fic

They all wake up on the ground and are surprised to see that they’re in a place with real forms and light. Judging by the soft music coming from somewhere in the distance, it seems even that Apollo’s blessings weren’t necessary- although no one should mention that lest they jinx it. The space is COMPLETELY different than Cassius’ darkness. Theorize that it was that dark because his important life moments were so dark and unsure- blocked out. Austin, by contrast, is downright happy.

They get their bearings and look around them. Rachel takes his hand. They realize it’s just like the amphitheater but bigger- “a child’s conception of the world”. The steps seem to go on forever, leading down into a blinding light. The music is coming from there.

Having nowhere else to go, the trio decide to head down the stairs. Although it’s beautiful, there’s something wrong- something that’s hard to place until they realize that it is completely and utterly empty. Have Rachel compare how unnerving an empty public space is to the final battle of the Titan War. Have Apollo think of the old ruins over in Italy that used to be bustling with action. This feels like this.

The music seems to be the only thing alive. It’s beautiful, a soft haunting sort of sound. It feels almost like it could lull them to sleep.

It’s so beautiful that they really are lulled into a false sense of security, although not to sleep. As they come down towards the stage (which is a glowing beacon of light), they sense another presence (Nico catches it before anyone else).

It’s an oncoming silence, the questionable future that comes with being mortal. The concept of growing up. Maybe the sun is setting and Sol can’t reach them anymore. They are making their way to the stage, hurrying now, when everything starts to shrink. The music is discordant when everything presses down, Apollo can hardly stand to listen to it.

They feel like they’re getting crushed on all sides, the oncoming presence just getting closer and closer. Apollo feels like when he was Lester all over again- small, the world endlessly huge and yet crushing down around him. Everything familiar, but never the same.

The trio crash through the bright light and onto the stage. Once their eyes adjust, they see that this in itself is a new sort of place. The presence is still looming, but it can’t seem to touch them in this light. But it’s not really a light, exactly. It is a warm embrace, a beautiful melody. It’s something like home. It’s always like that with music.

They spot Austin and realize he’s already awake. He’s where the music is coming from- playing a violin, which isn’t his instrument. Unfortunately, he’s a bit scattered and exhausted, not sure what’s going on. They shake him out of it and fill him in. They tell him about the prophecy and how his power will bring him out.

He shakes his head and says that it’s all he can to keep the darkness at bay- he can’t put any more energy into the violin. He just doesn’t play strings. He tells them that ever since he woke up, it was the best he could do to use this instrument (the only thing that he found) in order to defend himself- keep the world large. (A human degree of separation.) He’s dead tired, he won’t be able to work on a violin.

And then Apollo remembers he has a trumpet. Austin’s like “yeah, I can work with that”

Apollo takes out his lyre to help. Rachel decides to take the violin (even though she can’t really play). Nico won’t put his swords down, but they don’t have anything for him anyway.

With the trumpet (reference that Austin is SO much better at it than Cassius), they prepare to leave the light again. They climb the steps, not sure where they’re going except for away. Everything is crushing again, but Austin plays.

Music is abstract, they are too. Somehow, it will be their way out. Describe the feeling as something like ‘flying over sheet music, rippling the pages wherever you go. Dancing through melodies that haven’t been dreamed up yet. Traveling back to the time of long-forgotten notation and adlibbing a solo in the meantime. They become the language of sound, they become their own escape.’ And they escape the darkness. ‘the sound must have reached Latricia through the piece the orchestra is playing on the outside, she knew when to pull them into the light.’

And then they wake up back in concert just as the finale ends. The sun is almost gone, the crowd starts applauding. No one notices their little group in the back. No one notices Latricia crying and embracing her son. No one notices Apollo kissing the top of his head.

No one notices Rachel getting so dizzy she nearly falls over. And when they file out to go home, no one notices the monster watching them from the shadows.

Mention at some point the fact that he feels a little stronger now that two of them are back (almost like they hold part of his own strength, hm…)

(873 words) *I was hesitant to count this but most of it is basically prose anyway so I decided it should be allowed

Now some actual writing of my Apollo fic:

Apollo had been expecting to wake up falling. His expectation was wrong.

Before he even opened his eyes, Apollo noticed that he didn't feel like he was falling. In fact, he seemed to be on solid ground. Given their experience with the last space of this sort, that was a bit surprising.

It was still disorienting, that was for sure, but he wasn't falling through the air like last time. Given his track history with falling out of the sky, he counted any unexpected lack of crash a positive. His head was still spinning, but he opened his eyes.

Call him repetitive, but actually seeing where he had ended up was even more unexpected than the fact that he hadn't crashed landed. The space was completely different from Cassius’ darkness. If the place they had found Cassius had been dark, cold, and intensely unnerving because his memories were obscured by the tragedy of his life, maybe this place was part of a happy memory.

Austin's realm (he still wasn't sure what to call these places), looked downright carefree. It was bright out, and there was a cool breeze rustling through the warm air. It was colorful but not blindingly so, and there was soft music playing from somewhere in the distance.

Rachel and Nico were beside him, sitting where they had been in the regular world. Both of them looked equally as amazed as he felt. They were still taking things in, and he assumed their heads were spinning just like his was, but everything else seemed fine. The cynic in him said that it seemed too fine, but he ignored that.

“I thought you guys said it would be dark,” Rachel said in amazement.

“It was,” Niko sounded just about as stumped as Apollo felt as he assured her of their story’s validity, “This is completely different from last time.”

Apollo noticed then that neither of them seemed like they couldn't hear. Judging by the way they were looking around in amazement rather than fear, it seemed like they could both see just fine as well. He could have attributed that to his blessings from before, but that didn't feel right. Maybe this just wasn't as hostile a location as last time.

Rachel looked at him in confusion, “So… what are we supposed to do now?”

He found himself shrugging. The best they could do was try to get their bearings and figure out what sort of place they were in, but it was so calm and nice here (with that distant music still playing), that he almost felt like just sitting for a moment and catching his breath. There had been so much stress in the last few days, that he felt comfortable here. It was light and colorful, it reminded him of Olympus.

“Why is everything so big here?” Nico sounded confused. For a moment Apollo wasn't sure what he meant, then he looked down at the bench they were sitting on.

Huh. If it wasn't Olympus (and he knew for a fact it wasn't), why was the seating area they were currently sitting in much larger than anything an average person would need?

In fact, when he looked around, the intricate fencing behind them was also really tall. Nico was right, it was almost like they had shrunk and landed in a larger version of the amphitheater they had just been seated in.

It was perfect. But the fact that it was perfect worried him.

Rachel reached out and took his hand. He let her take it.

Nico stood up from the bench, holding the hilt of his sword as if he might have to draw it at any moment. “You guys can hear that music too, right?”

Apollo nodded.

He still couldn't wrap his head around this. It felt as real as the world they had just been in, there were solid forms and light. Nico was right, there was music playing. He couldn't quite place it, it sounded like a mix of many classical pieces. It was so calm, so safe seeming, that for a moment he thought that maybe they hadn't even needed his blessings. He quickly dashed that thought, because it felt like the easiest way to jinx them.

“It's just like the amphitheater,” Rachel said, “just… bigger.”

“Grander?” he offered.

It was beautiful. They were still in the upper rows, but the steps leading down seemed almost to go on forever, leading into a blinding light below. The music must have been coming from there.

He wasn't sure exactly what it reminded him of. Maybe Olympus, back in the old days. Maybe the first time he'd been there. Maybe the first time he'd sat on his new throne and thought that all the evil was gone from the world because he had killed Python. It was like being a godling again, a child's conception of the world.

“Is this the music you were hearing?” he looked at Rachel in amazement.

She nodded nervously like that might be a bad sign. He decided to look at it from a more positive lens.

“Well then we should go to it!” He got to his feet too, making sure that all of his belongings were still intact. They all were.

Rachel got to her feet as well, letting go of his hand as she adjusted her backpack strap awkwardly. “You want to go down the stairs?”

“It's not like we have anywhere else to go,” Nico observed.

She rolled her eyes, “I can see that, Nico.”

The trio started down the stairs, and the world seemed wide and beautiful. The stairs just kept going. Although they got closer to the light, it seemed astoundingly far away. Still, it wasn't anything like with Cassius. That had been an endless expanse of darkness. They seem to have real form and shape, it was just a wide area.

Although it truly was beautiful, it felt like there was something wrong. Now that his head had completely stopped spinning, the empty calmness of it all felt way too good to be true. Just like last time, it was completely and utterly empty except for them. There was nowhere else that Austin could be except for in the light at the bottom of the steps, where the performers went. But they couldn't even see into the light, and the repetitive silence of walking in the soft breeze and the gentle tune made Apollo’s hackles start to rise.

“It's like Manhattan in the Titan War,” Nico was still looking around, the perplexed and apprehensive expression on his face perfectly encapsulating the feeling.

Rachel bit her lip, clearly thinking back to that battle as well. “It's like the calm before the storm, when everyone fell asleep.”

Apollo hadn't been in Manhattan during the Titan War. He had been busy fighting Typhon, and it really was busy. Still, he obviously knew what happened. Given that they were going towards a son who had been in that battle, the comparison made him nervous.

But he hadn't been in Manhattan when everyone fell asleep. What this felt like to him was the old ruins in Italy and Greece that he distinctly remembered being full of life. It felt like he was in the wrong time period, like he had gotten an invitation to a party and gotten his centuries mixed up. There was no one here, but it felt like there were supposed to be.

The music was the only thing that was alive. It was beautiful, a soft and haunting sort of sound. It was calm but alive, and despite that it felt like it could lull them to sleep.

They kept walking because they had nowhere else to go, bags and weapons and musical instruments clanking on their backs. He couldn't help but feel like something was going to happen, but it was so peaceful that he felt himself being lulled into some sort of secure calm. Regardless of whether or not he knew to distrust places that seemed too good to be true, it was nice.

Nico was awkwardly looking around, constantly shifting his weight as he walked with his shoulders hunched up as if he was expecting something to pounce on them. Rachel walked beside him, her hands balled into fists. It was all so surreal that Apollo had a hard time even believing that they were in the right place.

Still, he felt himself walking faster and faster. The music was getting stronger the closer they got to the stage. It seemed even more familiar now, like he knew the musician who was playing. Besides that, he was about to see Austin again. His beautiful son.

Without meaning to, he started to jog. Rachel and Nico kept up with him, and soon they were nearing the stage.

He had been feeling calm up until that moment. Suddenly, it felt real again. They were really going to get Austin! His heart raced in his chest, it all felt way too easy.

Once they were closer to the stage, the trio slowed a bit. The light had gotten a little clearer when it was close up. That wasn't to say that they could see through it, but that it was suddenly obvious to all of them that it wasn't just light but a wall of sorts. They couldn't see past it but they could see a form.

“Looks like an egg sack,” Rachel wrinkled her nose.

Nico looked at her in confusion, “A what?”

“Guys,” Apollo cut into their discussion a little more impatiently than he meant to, “let's figure out how to get into it before we figure out what it looks like.”

“Not sure that's the best strategy,” Nico grumbled, but Apollo ignored him.

There were a few last steps to get down until they were standing in front of the stage. He started forward again, anxious to get inside so that they could wake up Austin and figure out how to get out. As his feet touched the flat ground in front of the stairs, Apollo realized that Nico and Rachel weren't at his sides.

He turned around to see Nico just two steps up from him, his expression suddenly one of terror.

“Do you guys feel that?” he asked.

For a moment, Apollo didn't. And then he wished he hadn't.

The word presence wasn't right. It was an oncoming silence, the unknowable future that came with being mortal.

It was the concept of growing up, in a strange sort of way.

It occurred to him as his heart sank to his toes, that maybe the sun was starting to set and Sol couldn't reach them anymore.

He was still frozen when Rachel suddenly came forward and grabbed his hand.

“Let's go!” she yanked on his arm and started dragging him towards the stage.

Nico was quickly snapped out of his trance as well, and soon he was scrambling forward with them as well.

Apollo had the urge to notch an arrow, but how was he supposed to fight that feeling? It wasn't physical, but it felt like a threat. Nico was already two steps ahead of him, his sword in his hand. Demigods and their weapons; they didn't go down without a fight.

(1876 words)

(7+873+1876)

Day 30: 10ꄗ (weekly) 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) (5959 words in total, 15ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 68947 words, 204ꄗ)

Weekly:
Writing An Outline
Hi Barbie! We don't have anything big planned for the fourth weekly. Just a giant project with all the SWC-ers, and favorite memories from past SWC sessions, and a few, fun, girlhood Barbie songs. You should stop by! And with that, the Polar Barbies (Bears) proudly present to you the final weekly of the 25th session of SWC: MemorieSWC (25th Session Version). It’s time to write the night away! Have fun, Barbie! https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1193055569/ (https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/695082/?page=4#post-8653526)

Whether you’re a pantser or a planner, throw aside your pants and get out your plan(t)s! We’re going to plan an outline for your story, to make sure all your ducks are in a row before you actually start writing! Make sure your outline is specific yet flexible, as your plans may change during writing. Don’t include every detail but rather outline what you want to be in your story and, as you write, you can make the plot and characters more in-depth! There are 4 main ways you can outline: plot-based, theme-based, scene-by-scene, and Freytag’s Pyramid.

Now that you know how to make an outline, it’s your turn! Feel free to use the methods given, try something completely different, or maybe a bit of both- have fun with it! Plan for your story to be at least 1300 words long.

Make sure you write 300 words of an outline!

Concept: “Frank and Apollo cuteness” (from my planning document a bit ago). Set slightly after ToA, I guess?
- Frank sort of just sitting around in New Rome. It's a break day so he doesn't have any real work to do (which is strange for him because as a Praetor he usually has a lot of work to do even on ‘days off’). He thinks back to his first few months at camp, before he was claimed. It's hard to imagine how it wasn't even that long ago.
- Frank lying awake and being completely unable to sleep. He's tossing and turning, thinking about the gods. (What he thinks about his father, what he thinks about the others. In the silence of the night, as much as he respects his father and as much as he's thankful to have his blessing, he still wanted someone else.)
- He thinks about how Jason's step mother Juno was more like his godly parent than Jupiter. He thinks about how he wants something like that, with someone who does parenting a little better than they do war. (Or at least about the same as how they do war.)
- Next day, still a break (Hazel is doing much of the work at the moment) and he's still mulling over it all. He appreciates his father, respects him, but he doesn't love him. He's sure Mars wouldn't be offended by that, either. Mars doesn't feel like family, not in the traditional sense. (But then he has no family left at all, and he doesn't want that.) He's jealous of his Greek friends, whose parents are just a little closer.
- Frank finds himself wandering through all the new temples to Apollo's, right where it's always been. He thinks back to all the times he used to pray here, begging Apollo to claim him. It feels weird now, even though he was the only one who never questioned Apollo when he was Lester.
- When Frank goes to the temple, he feels strongly compelled to walk inside instead of just praying outside like he's supposed to. It feels weird but right.
- When he walks in, he's surprised to see Apollo there. (“You were thinking about me so loud that I had to stop by.”) They talk in the temple because the gods don't look in other people's temples most of the time because they're self-centered.
- They talk about godly parents/the gods/family
- Make sure to mention hwo Frank thinks Apollo never felt human- he felt like a person. (“Is there a differnce?” “It's like squares and rectangles, I think” “*laughs* okay”)
- Come to the conclusion that if Juno could be Jason's godly parent, why can't Apollo sponsor Frank? That isn't unheard of. They used to pick heroes all the time back in the old days, even other people's kids.
- Apollo walks with Frank back to the city and they meet with Hazel, who double-takes at very tall blond guy and is like “Apollo????”. Anyway Frank realizes that maybe he does have family after all.

Exposition
Hi, Barbie!!!!
Exposition is absolutely essential to complex stories - after all, wouldn’t the Barbie Movie get pretty confusing if we didn’t understand the basics first?
For the first part of your complete narrative, write 300 words of exposition introducing the characters, the world, and anything else the reader has to know before diving into your conflict.
Have fun, Barbie!!

New Rome was usually a nice place to be.

It was a beautiful, with old-style buildings and a thriving community even after they had been through so much. The surrounding area of Camp Jupiter was lush and green, almost no matter the weather. It was his home. Besides, he always seemed to have something to do- and that was good.

Though the required military service wasn't the most fun thing in the world, it did mean that the Camp and the city it contained were were well defended and safe from the dangers that threatened demigods outside of their borders.

Well, allegedly safe anyway.

In Frank's experience, Camp Jupiter seemed to get decimated every few months, and that decimation certainly wasn't from within- they didn't use that punishment anymore. He had only been at the camp for a few years himself, and still he had gone through two separate wars with them. You would have thought they were due for a break soon.

In fact, he actually was on break. Maybe that was why he was thinking about these things.

Usually he was so busy with his role as Praetor that he didn't have time to really think about anything else, but Hazel had allowed him to take some time off to relax. After the excitement with the Trivumerent (read: lots of being dying including him), she thought that he needed a rest. He hazzarded to agree.

But even though it was nice to rest, Frank really didn't like being left alone with his thoughts.

The Triumverent had been defeated in New York with the help of the Greek demigods, Python had been killed and Delphi freed (not that Camp Juptiter cared so much about that oracle), and Apollo had been returned to his godly standing. Everything was supposed to be back to normal, but it wasn't. Not with all these thoughts running around inside his head.

Fate Awaits You…
Now that we have our outline and exposition, it’s time to actually create your story! Unlike the original project, you don’t get to choose what story elements happen in your story… they’re chosen for you by random! Ris and Rockie decided to be a bit evil this session :cartwheels: When you’re ready, go to the next slide and see what fate awaits you… have fun and may the odds ever be in your favor!

Okay, so I had to reroll. The first roll I got was Kevin, Cabin Wars, Gurtle, Toes, and Soul Stealing. I rerolled not because I wanted to but out of necessity, since Kevin and Toes conflict with each other. :' )

The second roll was: Cabin Wars, Forums Being Down, Gurtle, Soul Stealing, and Strike Chaos. For this section I'm just going to explain what I'll do with each, not actually write the sections!

—-Symbolism - Cabin Wars
What do mangoes, arson, and motivation cupcakes have in common? They’re all items utilized during Cabin Wars, of course! But maybe they mean more to us than meets the eye. Perhaps mangoes actually represent our human desire for connection and juicy goodness or arson acts as a metaphor for our internal chaos… you get the point.
This ingredient has added a meaningful and recurring symbol to your story.
One symbol that will likely come up several times is archery as that is their biggest connection point. I may also bring up laurels, because they serve a purpose in Triumphs when one is back from war (which relates to Frank's real father, Mars), but they're also a symbol of Apollo.

I think the temple represents safety, in a way. Every temple is supposed to, but in this case it's a specific sort of safety- that feeling you get when you're around the family you trust. (Even when it seems strange. Even when you're hiding from something else.)

Also I'll likely bring up yellow flowers that look like the ones on Delos that Frank never got to really see.

—-New Conflict - Forums Being Down
Alrighty… time to upload my weekly… I have two minutes until it’s due! AHHH if only I didn’t procrastinate… whatever! I can do this! Come on… come on… okay aaaaand submitting… now! Wait. What. No. This can’t be happening! This has to upload- please, come on… NOOOO FORUMS… THEY’RE- DOWN!!!!!
This ingredient has added a sudden new conflict to your story!
New conflict: struggle between identities, especially in Apollo's case (Roman and Greek forms). It also relates to Frank with his connection to Mars but also his dedication to Apollo. (Bring up Apollo's decedents, some of the Roman emperors, who were dedicated to other gods as well?)

—-Foreshadowing - Gurtle
Quick- finish this project before I eat the link >: ) This is your only warning… Hi! I’m Gurtle the Turtle and I love to eat links for breakfast, lunch, snack, dinner, and dessert. So hurry up and finish this weekly… I’ll be back soon…
This ingredient has added some foreshadowing to your story!
The sunlight looks bright that day, but gentle. Almost like it's smiling down at him. (Almost like he's already watching, which of course he is but Frank doesn't really process that fact.) Anyway, it points to the fact that Apollo will be in the temple when he goes.

—-Diary Selection - Soul Stealing
Dear Diary,
Hi! I have some sad news to report. Today, my soul was ripped away from me by a SWCer! It was very chaotic, and I don’t really like not having a soul. Maybe I can get it back. Anyways, bye, Diary! I’ll talk to you later!
This ingredient has caused a section in letter/diary format to appear in your story!
I suppose when Frank's tossing and turning he can think about some old diary entry he wrote when he first got to camp, how it talked to Apollo as if he already knew he was his son (even though he isn't his son at all). It can sort of be formatted like a diary entry, but broken up because Frank is thinking about it rather than actually writing it in the story. Maybe I can bring up more than one as well, but just having one is a good place to start.

—-Breaking The 4th Wall - Strike Chaos
Hi there, reader! Just so you know, I’m the words that are being read right now on your screen. I’ve decided that I should go on strike, just like the daily team and the campers at SWC have! They’re my biggest inspiration, and so I’m going on strike to demand more mangoes for being such a great bunch of words in your weekly. Bye, reader!
This ingredient has caused your story to break the 4th wall!
Given that Apollo is a god, I think he could break the 4th wall at one point! Probably somewhere in conversation when they're talking about the wars or whatever. Maybe he can reference the books?

Time to Write!
Now that you have all of your ingredients, add in your story elements and start writing- but make sure to follow your outline as best you can. Your story should be at least 1300 words long- that’s about 260 words per ingredient!

Come on, Barbie, let’s go party write!

It was annoying, but Frank couldn't stop thinking about his first few months at camp. After his grandmother I'd finally explained to him what he was, and all the secrets that came with his identity, he had spent his fair share of time wondering who his godly parent was. He thought that his mom was perfect, surely any of the gods would have been able to fall in love with her. She was strong, she was smart.

When he looked at himself, he used to think that he couldn't possibly be related to any of the gods. He didn't look like them- too awkward, too bumbling. Not Roman. Still, he had gotten his hopes up.

Out of all of the Roman gods, he had always liked Apollo. Frank had loved archery for years, it was his passion and his escape. Surely if any of the gods was his father, it would be the god of archery.

He had always been in awe of Apollo, even more so when he learned that he was real. It wouldn't make sense that anyone else was his father, not when archery was the one thing he had. Therefore, he had assumed that his guess was correct.

Even now, he still remembered long hours of praying in the dark of the night when he couldn't sleep. He used to pray over and over, begging Apollo to claim him- to show the world that Frank Zhang was really a Roman demigod. His mom was dead, his grandmother with miles and miles away. All he had then was the father who was supposedly watching over him.

But Apollo wasn't his father and maybe it had been silly to get his hopes up all along.

Now everything was different. His father Mars had claimed him and even blessed him. He had been through two wars. He was one of the Seven (now down to six once more). He was Praetor of Rome.

It was hard to imagine that all that uncertainty hadn't been that long ago.

He stirred the soup in his bowl, sighing with his chin resting on his palm. He was eating lunch in one of New Rome's restaurants, he wasn't really hungry but he had thought that eating would get his mind off everything. Usually he would talk to Hazel, but she was off somewhere doing leader things, and most of his other friends were dead.

Camp Jupiter had recovered from the battle (that had been months ago, of course they got through it), but he wasn't sure that he had.

After all these years, he had finally met Apollo a few months ago. They had seen each other before, back on Delos when Hazel and Leo were with him, but Frank hadn't gotten to talk to Apollo. It had felt mighty unfair at the time, he still felt like it was unfair even if Leo had needed to be the one to convince the god to hand over the flower. (Frank knew it was silly, but he still thought he might have been able to. They weren't family, but maybe…)

No. He didn't dare think about it. Mars was his father and always would be.

—-

He lay in bed that night, unable to sleep. He got in a rut like this sometimes, his thoughts always coming back to the same things with nothing to break him out of it. Usually he focused on his work, but Hazel said he needed a break and she was right. Unfortunately, he seemed to have the worst schedule of thoughts he couldn't escape ever. It wasn't so much of a break as a trap- his mind unable to turn to other topics.

The moon shone through the window. People were snoring gently around, leaving him the only one awake. Usually he went to sleep quickly. Usually he didn't have trouble closing his eyes.

Tonight, though, he couldn't stop staring up at the ceiling.

Although he didn't often journal, it was a habit that he tried to pick up every now and again. It felt like every few months he remembered that he wanted to try journaling and got really into it for a week, before he inevitably forgot about the interest again and stopped writing. He had been thinking so much with so much time on his hands that he had tried journaling.

It had been an attempt to get the thoughts out of his head so that he could shake himself clean of the shame that came with feeling dedicated to another god than his father. Unfortunately, his haphazard journaling schedule meant that he was still using the same book he had been when he first got to Camp Jupiter. As a result, when he opened the book to flip to a new page and write down all the thoughts spiraling in his head, he ended up opening to an old entry from before he knew who Mars was supposed to be to him.

I don't understand what I'm doing wrong.

That was how he had started the entry. It was a bold opener, but he remembered the headspace he had been in back then and knew that it was exactly right for how he felt when he wrote those words.

I love archery, I'm not good at anything else. I can't think of anyone else but you, okay?

It sounded pathetic now. Knowing the truth, he was embarrassed. What had Apollo really thought of him? Had his assurances a few months ago just been kindness, or was it the Truth? (Frank didn't know how he was supposed to feel. Maybe Apollo didn't either.)

I feel kind of left out. Pretty much everyone else knows their godly parent, why can't I?

Those statements sounded pathetic too, almost like a whining child. He thought he had been better than that, but maybe he hadn't. Maybe he was allowed to act childish when he was still young.

I just don't want to feel different anymore.

Well, he could still resonate with that feeling. Some things never changed, maybe especially when your father was the god of War.

He couldn't think that out loud, but his father didn't tend to watch him much so maybe he hadn't heard the insult.

There was more to the diary entry, but he had closed the book before reading more. (Without even adding his new entry. It was already there in the book anyway.) How was it that he always found himself in a cycle of these wishes? Even now that he knew his parentage, even now that he had met Apollo?

Apollo had said that he wouldn't mind if Frank was his child. Too bad even all powerful beings couldn't change what had already come to pass.

These days, Frank tried to push down thoughts like this. He respected his father, he was thankful for him. Without his blessing and oversight, Frank probably would have been dead already. Still, it didn't feel right. His mother had died in war, how could he dedicate himself to that?

In the silence of the night, he felt himself wishing that he could have been claimed by someone else. A child all over again, he prayed without meaning to.

Frank thought back to the friends he had lost. Jason had died before the battle at Camp Jupiter even started. Frank missed him. He missed all of the friends he had lost- Don, Dakota. He even missed the friends who lived across the country.

Sure he had Hazel, but as much as he loved her he missed the others too.

He missed his mom. He missed his grandma.

Jason hadn't remembered his mother. He hadn't known he had a sister. Even his father, the king of the gods himself, wasn't much like a father to him. Sometimes Frank felt like that too. He might have had friends, even a girlfriend now, but he didn't have parents.

Mars was his sponsor. Mars gave him his blessing. Mars let him lead troops into battle.

Mars didn't act like his dad.

Jupiter hadn't been a proper father to Jason either, but that was because he had handed him over to Juno. If anything, Juno was more like Jason's mom than Jupiter was his dad.

It was stupid, but that was what Frank wanted. As much as he appreciated Mars, he didn't think he could ever love him. Maybe he could have someone else?

He wanted a godly parent who could do the parent part a little better and leave behind the god part for a bit, who might be able to do something other than war. Maybe someone who respected archers. Maybe someone who he had met in person.

But that was an almost blasphemous to think about, let alone to wish for.

—-

Frank didn't sleep very much that night. In the morning, he was blurry eyed and exhausted when everyone had to get out of bed. At least they were in a bit of a break season, so training went relatively quickly. Still, when he went to teach his archery class as he usually did those same old thoughts came back.

He still remembered when Apollo and Meg had come to Camp Jupiter a few months before. No one else had taken the god seriously, they didn't think he looked like himself. He hadn't looked like himself, but Frank didn't think that made him anything less than he was. People had questioned him, gotten too comfortable with his mortality.

Frank had been scared of that mortality. He hadn't wanted to lose the god that he still harbored, no matter who his godly parent was.

Frank hadn't gotten to see how Apollo had killed Commodus. He had heard it was terrifying. He didn't know if he wanted to know what had happened or if he just wanted to admire that power that he had thought was his own blood. He hadn't gotten to see Apollo teach the archery class either, but some of the others said it had been impressive even though Romans weren't big on arrows.

It was hard to imagine being the archery god in a culture that didn't really do too much archery. Of course, the real ancient Romans had appreciated Apollo for other things too. To some he was the sun, to some he was the concept of civilization itself, and to others still he was music and dance (which was also seen as profoundly unimpressive and even inappropriate at times). Frank was tired of just war. He wanted those things, he wanted what he had assumed was his.

What he had been stuck thinking the previous night was true. As much as he truly respected his father and his father's strength, he didn't know if they loved each other. They certainly weren't a normal father and son, though no demigods and their parents were. Mars led him and gave him the strength to fight, he did not raise him.

Neither had Apollo, but maybe Frank wouldn't mind being watched over by the protector of youth. Even if he was Praetor he was still young enough, wasn't he?

Frank didn't think that his father would be offended by the admission that he didn't really love him. Mars would probably think it was a good thing. Ares protected his daughters from those who threatened to harm them, Mars sent his sons to war.

They weren't family in the traditional sense, not even for demigods. (Or at least not for Roman demigods.) Sometimes Frank found that he was jealous of the Greeks. The gods tended to stick a little more in their Greek forms, they were closer with those children. They were a little more sociable like that, a little less untouchable.

But Apollo hadn't felt untouchable. He had been solid and real, warm to the touch. He had emotions, he had cried.

Frank respected that somehow more than he respected his stoic father.

After training ended for the day, Frank found himself walking. He found himself walking a lot recently. Of course they needed to drill marching all the time and things like that, but now he was just walking to do something different. It was almost like he was trying to run away from something, or run towards something better.

Anyway, it was hard to ignore the new temples and shrines that had been placed across the hills. Jason had done a wonderful job with his designs, it was too bad that he wasn't alive to see them and now that they had come to fruition.

But it wasn't just the new temples but he found himself looking at. No, there was a certain level of a certain magnetic sort of attraction he felt to the older buildings. Maybe he was nostalgic for how the hills had looked a few years ago, although he was glad to see the new shrines. Maybe he liked that the buildings were far older than him, that they represented a civilization so much older than themselves as well. Maybe he was still thinking about his parentage.

“Argh,” he tried to shake himself out of it. He had gotten his wish- he had been claimed. It was foolish to want anything else and completely disrespectful as well.

Still he couldn't get rid of that feeling.

He had seen Mars a few times. He wasn't the worst godly parent, that was for sure. He had been relatively cordial in their interactions, not to mention how much help he'd been in the battles where he gave Frank his direct blessing. Again, Frank was thankful for those things. Not that he'd ever voice it aloud (or even think it in a completed thought), but he was glad he didn't have someone like Jupiter. Still, he was jealous of those other archers he had so briefly met from the other camp.

It wasn't fair. The world wasn't fair, but as much as he knew that it didn't help get rid of the feeling.

He wandered through the temples and shrines, taking winding paths as the day went on around him. The sun was warm and gentle, nothing like the burning heat of most California afternoons. It felt like a caress, a smile down upon him.

Frank realized about halfway up a familiar hill that it would be easier if he didn't acknowledge where he was going at all. Maybe if he ignored it, it wouldn't be sacrilege or a betrayal.

Even if he was ignoring it, he walked up the steps all the same. Even if he refused to acknowledge it, he found himself in the same courtyard as usual. It was similar to Artemis's, just sunnier. There were yellow flowers on the hill, though they weren't the same as the flowers that grew on Delos (or around Cabin Seven in Camp Half-Blood, as if the Romans needed a reminder that they were on their own).

He washed his hands in the basin because he had always liked to be respectful. He tried to cleanse his mind. After that, he crossed over the line.

Entering the sacred space felt like a breath of fresh air.

The tension melted out of his shoulders. The headache that had been growing took itself down a notch. He sighed out loud.

This was all he wanted- this safe feeling. The sun on his shoulders, warming him from the outside instead of from within. It was exhilarating like the way war made his blood pump, but it didn't feel dangerous. It was like archery- an art as much as it was a way to kill people (and he only felt the safe side).

He came to the center of location, fully intending to stop there to pray. Demigods tended to go into temples when they prayed, but that wasn't technically the correct practice. If he wasn't related to Apollo, would it be disrespectful to enter the temple? Sure he was Praetor, but was that enough to go in for such a selfish reason?

Still, he kept walking forward.

It wasn't just the selfish want for something he couldn't have, but something else that was drawing him towards the temple. Maybe it was the sun on the back of his neck or the calm feeling after crossing over the line. Whatever it was, he felt compelled to pray inside the temple instead of where he was supposed to.

It felt odd, but it also felt right.

As he walked up the stairs, part of his brain was still trying to pull him back. You're a son of Mars, it said. You're supposed to stand strong and direct others into battle, not fire arrows or play instruments or interpret prophecies. You're not a priest, pray outside like any other non-relative.

He went inside anyway.

—-

Apollo had been expecting Frank to drop by sometime soon. The poor boy had spent the last few days mulling over half baked prayers that were just complete enough for Apollo to hear them. He had been paying more attention to mortals recently, but he probably would have caught Frank's inner turmoil even if he hadn't just been on his Trials.

When the son of Mars walked into the temple, looking ashamed and sheepish and all manner of things they made Apollo feel bad for him, he hopped down from where he had been sitting on the edge of his own statue’s chair.

“Hello Frank!” He stepped forward, smiling.

Apparently Frank really hadn't expected anyone else to be inside. From the look on his face, he was just about to bolt out of the temple once more.

“Uh,” Frank's eyes were wide, “Hi? Lord Apollo, I didn't think you'd be, I mean, I didn't mean to-”

“You're not doing anything wrong,” Apollo assured him, putting a hand on Frank’s shoulder and smiling once more, “I came to see you.”

“You…you did?” Frank squeaked.

“Sure,” he shrugged, trying to look casual, “You've been thinking so loud that it would have been impolite not to drop by,”

Frank looked like he was going to pass out.

“Oh,” Frank’s voice was small, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt and not looking anything like the untouchable Praetor of Rome that he tried to be for the camp. “I was just going to pray, I didn't mean to disturb you.”

Apollo tilted his head to the side, “You didn't disturb me at all. I just thought you might have wanted to talk in person, and I'm always open to talk to you.”

The demigod shifted his weight awkwardly. “Are you sure? I'm not even…” he trailed off, “Well, anyway I don't want to start anything.”

He felt himself smile a bit, “You don't have to worry about saying something wrong, it's not like I'm going to smite you.”

Frank was quiet for a moment, then he grimaced. “I was more worried about… my dad,” he seemed to be having a hard time meeting Apollo's eye contact. It was sweet how much he still idolized him, even after he had seen him at his lowest.

“Gods don't tend to look in each other's temples,” Apollo shrugged, “Besides, your father doesn't mind.”

Frank didn't seem to know what to say to that.

Apollo turned and walked back towards the statue. As expected, Frank followed him. Apollo was at a regular human height now, just about Frank's height actually, and the statue towered above both of them.

“Did you.. mean it?” Frank asked, and Apollo could tell by the strain and his voice that he was still fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, “when you said you would have claimed me if you could?”

“I still mean it,” Apollo shrugged, adjusting one of the metal braziers that had been slightly off balance, “You're a good kid.”

Frank’s silence sounded slightly stumped, almost like he couldn't really believe it.

Turning away from the metal pan, Apollo locked eyes with him. “I’m serious Frank, I don't know how Mars ended up with you. You're just about everything we want in a kid,”

The poor boy almost looked like he wanted to try to refute the claim. It was either that or he was going to tear up. Apollo wouldn't have judged him for either- though he would have corrected any sort of self-doubt.

“Oh.” Was all Frank finally said, in a small voice like he hadn't realized how much he needed to hear that from him.

“Sometimes I wish my father was closer too, but it's not his style,” Apollo sighed. He didn't need to get into that, but maybe it would be nice for Frank to know that he understood.

Frank hesitated before he spoke. “Greek or Roman?”

“Both, but it doesn't matter,” Apollo shook his head, “I can't change the king of the gods.”

The son of Mars dropped his eyes to the floor, looking upset once more.

“Juno took Jason in,” he said at last, “maybe you could do that? With her?”

Apollo smiled, “I'm here for you, Frank. Don't worry about me,”

His eyes were wide, “Oh, um. Sorry,”

He couldn't help it, he felt himself laugh a small, good-natured laugh. Frank looked embarrassed but he wasn't laughing at him. “You're too apologetic,” Apollo smiled at him sadly, “You don't have anything to apologize for.”

And he meant it. It was true, the books that Zeus had made him write weren't lying there. It had pained him not to be able to climb Frank as his own son. He didn't have many Roman children, but he would have loved to take Frank in if he could. Honestly the only thing that hurt more was watching Mars not claim him even though he knew he was his father.

A boy like that, a near perfect archer and a powerful demigod in his own right? Apollo didn't think he had to prove himself, he was perfect the way he was.

“Look,” Apollo reached out an arm and took Frank's hand, “Gods’ used to take all sorts of heroes under their wing. Athena wasn't Odysseus's mother- she sponsored him, right?”

Frank nodded uncertainly.

Apollo squeezed his hand. “I might not be your father, but I can watch you. I distinctly remember you actually taking me seriously last time we saw each other,”

Frank looked embarrassed, “I just felt like the right thing to do.”

“Well I appreciate it,” Apollo laughed, “I can tell you that your father was more in the habit of betting on when I was going to die than actually calling me by my name,”

Frank looked even more embarrassed.

“Although Hermes was betting too,” Apollo added after thinking about it for a moment, “A lot of them were. Anyway, I did appreciate you being nicer than that,”

He laughed and Frank cracked a bit of a grin.

Apollo let go of his hand and put his hands on his hips, tilting his head with a smile. “We can talk more, if you’d like. I'm good at advising Romans,”

“I thought we lost the Trojan War,” Frank mumbled awkwardly.

Apollo waved his hand, “Eh, that was a long time ago.”

This time, Frank laughed.

Conclusion
Just when you think the war is over… you get to write more! Finally, finish your story with 117 words.

Their conversation went smoother after that. Frank still clammed up a bit when the topic of family came up, but Apollo thought that was fine. They went for some shooting practice, and the arrows flying in sync felt like almost enough to ignore that Mars was in the picture. Apollo didn't hate Mars, but he did hate the fact that he left Frank to feel so alone. (He had been hating that about a lot of the gods recently.)

Just for a little fun, Frank showed Apollo how he shifted into animal forms. It was different from how Apollo did it, and neither of them could figure out how to use the other strategy. They laughed. It felt nice.

Even if he couldn't be Frank's father in the traditional sense, he could at least show him that he was appreciated.

At the end of the day, Apollo's heart felt full. Frank seemed happier, his heart not so heavy and his eyes not so dim. He had been left alone in the world when his grandmother died, he just wanted family.

Apollo could get behind that.

Maybe he couldn't have claimed him back in the day, but he still gave him a hug when the sun started to set and they needed to part ways. Frank was a good kid, he would be there for him as long as he needed.

Editing
Woah- is that a finished story I see? Well done, Barbie!

But wait! We aren’t done yet! (groans and eyerolls from all SWC-ers follow) I know, I know. But think of just how much your story could improve by editing a few things! Plus, do you want to earn even more points for your cabin? Head on over to the Critiquitaire to have your piece critiqued and critique a fellow SWC-er’s! There’s no need to worry- most of them don’t bite. Make sure to apply the changes your peer has suggested! It’s a long process but you’re almost there, Barbie!

I critiqued (https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1196005993/#comments-484977361) @savebats' here: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/828518/?page=3#post-8657019

Oh my goodness, this was so adorable! I love Jadeshipping so much that I ended up reading the entire fanfiction rather than just part of is. I think it's really cute how Green constantly thinks good things about Yellow, and I like the difference and disconnect between Green's past/her general life and Yellow's warmth. They're so cute.

I also think it's cool how the entire fic is sort of written as a stream of consciousness, I think that's a really interesting stylistic decision.

Also, I like how much detail you put into the locations and the world (specifically the descriptions of Yellow's house- the outside and the smell of rot, nice details!). It's really nice and it really put me into the story. The sort of ‘flashbacks’ to things that happened in the past also really help to flesh out the location and the world, especially the references to Team Rocket and the League every now and again. Really, those things make it feel very well-rounded.

Honestly, I have so many positive things to say about this, I love them so much. The way you describe them (both physically and mentally) is really cool, I like how real Green feels and how solid Yellow does. Also, their friend group feels real! All the little details like Yellow's photos, Green's past banter with Ash, and the Blue x White joke are really nice! As a huge Dex-Holder fan, that's exactly what I look for in a story like this.

Green feels so observant but also so in denial in so many parts of this, it's very in character. I rarely see things from her perspective, but this feels so realistic to how she acts in the base material!

Also, the way you worked in the “diary” twist was really clever.

I suppose in terms of actual critique; there were a bunch of times where your quotation marks were accidentally backwards (the writing program we use sometimes does that for some reason I think?) There are so points where dialogue is a tad awkward, but I think that's just the style so it's not something I'd change. Other than that, I adore Jadeshipping and I really liked this. Honestly I don't have anything else to say!


P.S: Totally unrelated from all of that, but “round little rodent belly” “kissing her little yellow forehead” “her dear pet rodent” awwwwww, I love rodents so much, You can really tell that you used to have guinea pigs lol, that's exactly how they feel.

(508+317+340+3851+230+419 words) (10ꄗ)

Daily:
Looking up at the night sky, don’t you just wonder what else is out there? Aren’t you certain we can’t be alone in the universe? But imagine life beyond our planet isn’t the little green aliens so often featuring in our sci-fis, but the lights that twinkle above our heads themselves. Today, put yourself in the shoes of an alive celestial body—a moon, star, planet, asteroid, etc, who lives and thinks—and write 200 words about their life for 150 points (and another 100 for sharing).

c!Star wasn't super big on floating through space. She lived here, but she liked to be anchored to things. Sometimes she thought of herself as a celestial body, and asteroid falling through the night sky. When she came down to the planets below on trips or to collect stars to power the ship, she suppose she would be indistinguishable from those things. A burning light in the sky, breaking through the atmosphere.

She didn't mind being an asteroid. She didn't mind being a falling star. That was her name after all, maybe she should live up to it.

It was one of those nights where she decided not to use the teleporter. She had written enough and done enough so it was time to collect stars to power the ship. All she had to do was drop down in the main cabin with all the others below and trade in her points for a little bit more. With the stars they could keep rocketing through the night sky. She would remain the light up there, the thing that people put wishes on without knowing what it truly was.

Yes, it was one of those nights.

c!Star opened her eyes.

The first thing she thought was that it was strange that she was dreaming about the past again. She wasn't in the sky, she wasn't a shooting star like she used to be. She was stuck in a skyscraper, she was writing again. There were no stars to collect, no atmosphere to break through. That was just what it was like to be on solid ground.

They were going to get out of here soon, weren't they. She wouldn't mind the freedom. Maybe she could go back to the sky where she belonged.

(294 words) (5ꄗ)

((508+317+340+3851+230+419)+294)

Day 31: 3ꄗ (in-cabin activity) 5ꄗ (main cabin daily) 3ꄗ (critiquitaire) (1406 words in total, 11ꄗ in total)
(total for the whole month: 70353 words, 215ꄗ)

Critique of @imaginary-dagger's weekly piece:
Their call: Bi-fi // part one https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/828439/?page=44#post-8657099 part two https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/828439/?page=44#post-8657101 part three https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/828439/?page=44#post-8657116 part four https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/828439/?page=44#post-8657129 // p1: 1,127 p2: 2,504 (shhh I know that’s slightly above but I made a mistake while splitting this up and it’s for the weekly :’)) p3: 1828 p4: 653 // gay vampire commits crimes and falls in love or whatever also people have powers. Warnings: blood, murder, death, stabbing, drowning, vampires // i don’t need anything in depth (be nice to me) just give me your general thoughts and stuff (we don’t have time for details I fear :’)) this is for the weekly!! (https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1196005993/#comments-484990379

First of all, amazing job! Your weekly was super long and I can tell you put a ton of work into it. : ) The story was also really interesting and I liked the characters!

The fact that it was told from the perspective of the characters (and especially that it was through their narration) made this for a super interesting read. Your chapter titles are also really good, so in general your weekly was stylistically entertaining!

For some edits, in the first part the first bit of dialogue (“Woah, since when did we get a giant mirror there,”) should probably end with a question mark! Quotations are super annoying to format so I totally get it ha ha. (After this edit I didn't get super specific with the grammar editing because I got caught up in the story and stopped being picky lol, but since it was right at the start I thought I should make a note of it)

In general the dialogue can feel a bit stunted at times, which I think could be helped by adding just a little bit more description in between some of the quotations. A little more description may also have the extra benefit of making who is talking more obvious, which wasn't a super big problem but is always nice to clarify. : ) Honestly though? Most of the dialogue fits the general style pretty well.

Oooh, and I just thought of this! When I write I tend to write from a 3rd person perspective so I don't get the chance to do this, but since you write from a 1st person perspective with multiple characters, you might be able to use location descriptions and stuff to show how the characters differ in personality! That would be really cool ngl

As a result of the story being a sort of stream of the several characters' consciousness, I think that the super short sentences actually do fit the style. However, a little bit more variation would make your writing even more dynamic! Consider adding a few longer sentences here and there to create some depth- you could even join a few sentences with a semicolon if they fit together well!

In general though, this was really awesome! The story was super entertaining and your humor was amazing. I loved how they all interacted, it was a lot of fun to read!


P.S: These two lines (“Eventually, we arrive at a mansion that basically looks as if ours wanted to look like it was probably haunted. Which is wild, considering ours is literally haunted.”) made me laugh out loud! The way you work jokes like that into your writing is really good : )

(412 words) (3ꄗ) *The quotes from the original piece are not included in my word count!

Main Cabin Daily:
We’ve made it to the end of SWC’s twenty-fifth session, and it’ll definitely be one to remember. Thank you all so much for your participation, enthusiasm, and hijinks this July—we couldn’t have made this camp happen without all of you. While the doors of the dreamhouse might be closing for now, we hope that the connections you’ve made here will last. For today’s daily, think back to your friends this session, old and new, and show them your appreciation by writing thank you notes.

General SWC Thank You: https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/50665171/comments/#comments-299975209

Hi Barbie!!! It seems that just like that, we have come to the end of another amazing session! There were so many new faces AND so many veterans this time around, it was so nice to see everyone! This month went so well, everyone put in so much work- both the regular swcers and the leaders.

Honestly I have so many good things to say. I loved the theme, and the weeklies were so well made! Even though I've never watched the Barbie movie I really felt like Barbie <3 (Or rather Ken, I suppose, given that I'm in Horror). In any case, I loved being a part of SWC again and I'm so thankful to everyone who worked so hard to put it together.

To the hosts, co-leaders, and leaders, you put in so much work for this month to come together and for that I am truly grateful. It was lovely. If I come back for another month after this one, I will look forward to saying hi to old friends once more. <3 Amazing job as always, you all always do wonderfull work.

General Horror Thank You: https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/37083474/comments/#comments-299975362

I suppose I can put my thank you note directly into the cabin, can't I? Anyway, I have a lot to say about this session so I might as well get started!

Firstly, amazing job everyone! Thank you so much for such a good month, especially to Pepper, Nini, Kat, and Vi <3 You all were so awesome! It's because of y'all that this worked so well! The theme was awesome, I loved all the sections of the storyline (although I didn't participate nearly as much as I wanted to in it </3) and everything was really well put together! The activities were super fun and although not a ton of people participated, they ended up working out well regardless : )

To the other active non-leaders (such as myself), I think we did a really good job! Even though we're not gonna win any awards any time soon, we won every single Cabin War that was thrown our way! >: D Given that very few people were active during some hours of those (because in the end we are human and need to sleep lol) I think we did so well! We're all very experienced speed-writers, it turns out!

I think we as a cabin worked together really well, and that is certainly apparent when looking at our Cabin Wars days. : ) I see several other people have also highlighted Cabin Wars as their favorite part of this SWC for the question of the day, and I totally see why! We crushed it! >: D

But even outside of Cabin Wars, this was so fun. I've never been in a horror cabin before (gothic is similar, I suppose, but obviously not exactly the same x D) and this one was awesome! Perfect blend of scary storyline and appropriate for scratch- that sounds like a very tough balance to make and y'all did it just fine!

I'll miss you guys, thank you for such an awesome Scratch Writing Camp! <3 If I come back for another session (which I hope I will), I hope to see y'all again : )

Oh and special shoutout to my sister @savebats!!!! Never been in a cabin with you before, this was interesting lol

Thank You To @pepper-and-a-pencil: https://scratch.mit.edu/users/pepper-and-a-pencil/#comments-385148914

Oops! I dropped my thank you note in your comment section! (Exactly where it's supposed to go. : D) Anyway, no more goofing off, thank you for such an awesome session! The horror cabin was super fun to be in and I absolutely adored the storyline, although I didn't participate as much as I wanted to :' ). You clearly put in so much effort to keep horror afloat and you did such a good job!

I'm sure everyone in our cabin loved having you as one of our co-leaders, thanks so much for a great month! Let me just say, if we don't see each other in future scratch writing camps, it was super fun being in the same cabin as you! Thanks again, bye bye for now <3

Thank You To @metanoiaaa: https://scratch.mit.edu/users/metanoiaaa/#comments-385147978

I'm going to leave my thank you note right here in the comment section. : ) So,,,,, here we go! Thank you for such an awesome session, you put in so much effort as one of the co-leaders and as a result horror was super fun to be a part of! You were really fun to interact with, though I'm not exactly a social person in swc lol, and I had a great time! : D

Honestly, all of y'all put in so much work- horror wouldn't have been the same without you! : D Thanks for being such an awesome cabin leader.

Thank You To @starunicorn_5: https://scratch.mit.edu/users/starunicorn_5/#comments-385146823

Hi Kat! I have a thank you note for you! I'm gonna type it right into this comment section, the messages might take a moment to pop up lol : D

Okay, first of all you were such an awesome word counter. Thank you for putting up with my constant updates in our word counting studio, you did an amazing job with that lol. Other than that, I'm really glad you were a horror co-leader this time because you're really cool! : D Thanks for being such an awesome leader, you guys really made the month worth it. It was awesome!
about a minute ago Reply

Maybe we'll see each other in a future swc again! : D If not, I want to say that you were really cool. Bye for now and thanks again for being such an awesome horror leader : )

Thank You To @violent-measures: https://scratch.mit.edu/users/violent-measures/#comments-385147792

Also, I'm going to put my thank you note here! : D You were an awesome horror cabin leader, I'm not the most chatty person in the world but you seemed really cool to talk to! Also I didn't get a matching pfp because I don't have the file for my current one anymore so I don't switch it out, but they all looked really nice! Your art is super pretty : )

Thank you so much for all your hard work this session, I know I had a great time! Horror was awesome

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In-Cabin Activity (escape room):
https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1195716473

Comment to @violent-measures: For the horror escape room, are you the co-leader that was mentioned as “11 time swcer obsesses over star wars, the x-files, and ninjago, and has a twin”? https://scratch.mit.edu/users/violent-measures/#comments-385145466

That's the only one I could figure out ToT

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Unrelated note, here are the critiques of my last weekly!
@savebats': https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/828518/?page=3#post-8657019
@imaginary-dagger's: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/828439/?page=45#post-8657245

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And that's the end of it! Loved this one, bye for now <3