Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2022-12-12 09:14 pm
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2022-12-12 09:14 pm
Entry tags:
- canon: haven,
- canon: leverage,
- canon: marvel cinematic universe,
- canon: original,
- canon: the umbrella academy,
- canon: wynonna earp,
- haven: audrey parker,
- haven: duke crocker,
- haven: nathan wuornos,
- leverage: alec hardison,
- leverage: breanna casey,
- leverage: eliot spencer,
- leverage: parker,
- mcu: sam wilson,
- mcu: steve rogers,
- prompts: get your words out,
- ship: audrey/duke/nathan,
- ship: dolls/wynonna,
- tua: allison hargreeves,
- tua: klaus hargreeves,
- wynonna earp: wynonna earp,
- wynonna earp: xavier dolls
get your words out { 2023 } challenge tracking
Directory:
PERSONAL GOALS:Yearly Goals Reading Goals Clear the Queue
OFFICIAL CHALLENGES:1/11-12/23 January Roll the Dice Challenge COMPLETE 1/20/23 January Challenge: Tarot COMPLETE 1/23/23 January Challenge: Story Prompt COMPLETE 2/15/23 Stop, Drop, Write Challenge COMPLETE 2/21/23 February Challenge: It's a Date COMPLETE March-June 2023 GYWO Yahtzee COMPLETE 3/14-20/23 March Catch Up Challegne INCOMPLETE 4/11-12/23 April Small Challenge: Two-Day Challenge INCOMPLETE 5/3-9/23 7 Days, 7 Stories COMPLETE 5/12/23 March Challenge: Playlist Roulette COMPLETE 5/22-6/2/23 Spring Hop 2023 COMPLETE 5/23/23 April Challenge: 5 4 3 2 1 COMPLETE 6/1/23 May Small Challenge: Five Minutes! COMPLETE 6/2/23 May Challenge: Microfiction COMPLETE 6/12/23 Time Management Challenge COMPLETE July 2023 Mid-Year Marathon: July COMPLETE 6/28/23 June Challenge: Every Villain is the Hero COMPLETE 7/12-13/23 July Small Challenge: Roll the Dice COMPLETE August 2023 Mid-Year Marathon: August COMPLETE 8/16-17/23 August Small Challenge: Two-Day Challenge COMPLETE 7/15-9/20/23 Holidays in July COMPLETE 9/25/23 August Challenge: Texts from Last Night COMPLETE 9/26/23 September Small Challenge: Stop Drop Write COMPLETE 9/29/23 September Challenge: Your Secret's Safe With Me COMPLETE 11/13-14/23 November Small Challenge: 8d20 Challenge COMPLETE 12/18/23 October Challenge: Monster Mash COMPLETE 12/21/23 November Challenge: Friendsgiving COMPLETE 12/22/23 Five Minutes Challenge COMPLETE 12/29/23 December Challenge: Fiction or Non-fiction? COMPLETE
YEARLY GOALS
READING GOALS
CLEAR THE QUEUE
NETFLIX
AMAZON PRIME
HBO MAX
HULU
Disney+
1/11-12/23 | january roll the dice challenge | goal: 1,833 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 1,855
1/20/23 | january challenge: tarot | haven | 665 | COMPLETE
Nathan Wuornos wanders in the shadow of his father’s tutelage, trying to find the bar he has to climb in order to have finally a sense of his approval. It’s a heavy weight, being the heir apparent to the beloved Chief, in a town where things get harder as time goes on, not easier. Still, he soaks up all the information he can get, following in Garland’s footsteps, and filing each piece of information away forever.
Because that’s what police work is in a town like Haven—it’s information.
Troubles come and Troubles go, but the connections you make, the people you care for, that doesn’t change. The more you know about them, the more you can help them, and the known lines of Troubled families and the complications. All of it comes together in a Haven that’s safer, a Haven that can take care of the Troubled, rather than shunning them.
Unfortunately, Garland isn’t around to teach him everything, and there’s more than a few things that he stumbles through. More than a few he gets wrong. But in the end, he loves his town, warts and all. He’ll do what he has to do to protect it.
Duke Crocker has always known the underside of Haven.
It’s not just the small town crime, and the benefits of being a port city that prefers it’s secrets, but the divide between the haves and the have nots. The way people will look the other way when its inconvenient for them, but still like to say they care. It’s true when it’s other kids. Not really so much for a Crocker.
But that’s fine by him, or so he tells himself. He makes his own choices, and learns to survive in his own way. It takes time for anger to give way to zen, for bitterness to be replaced with understanding, but that doesn’t make it less hard. To see the way that people who have more twist under the constraints of their expectations, but are unable to free themselves. To see those who are Troubled suffer, but not able to do anything to solve it (at least not yet, not that he knows of).
He hears news of the Troubles returning to Haven, and the promise he made to his father tugs at his chest. He doesn’t want to return to a town that doesn’t want him, but Duke doesn’t want to be his father. And Simon Crocker left a string of broken promises and high expectations in his wake. So he sets the Cape Rouge in port, sets up shop, and waits for whatever it is that Simon thinks he’s looking to teach him.
Then an FBI agent gets blown off his dock, and things get really interesting.
Audrey Parker is an enigma wrapped in a mystery, but she’s somehow the glue that holds both of them together. Duke and Nathan are same poles of a magnet, trying to push away from each other at every possible turn. She manages to be the thing in the middle, the seal that keeps them in the same place and focused on the matter at hand.
Sometimes a little too focused (Nathan). Sometimes unwillingly so (Duke).
When they work together, there’s nothing they can’t accomplish. When they work together, Audrey believes them when they say she won’t have to return to the Barn. It’s a fruitless hope, but it’s comforting to have all the same.
The three of them sit on the dock at the Grey Gull, staring out over the water at the lighthouse, and everything seems possible. Almost simultaneously, she feels a gnawing pit of dread in her stomach, and she hopes against hope that one day, she will get to sit here, with her boys, and Haven will be a less Troubled place.
Until then, they all do their best to stay in the moment and try to make everyone else’s day in Haven better.
1/23/23 | january challenge: story prompts | original | 830 | COMPLETE
Cassidy will remember seeing something in a dream, an apple that’s especially vibrant, or a distinctive dog, and she will find the apple in her kitchen the next morning or spot the dog nosing around her house. It’s disorienting, yes, but not out of step with dreams necessarily. Something lingered in her subconscious, and finding it or seeing it later makes sense. The apple she clearly bought at the market. The dog must belong to the neighbor.
But then things get weird.
She finds things like books that don’t exist or manifesting things she couldn’t possibly own. Van Gogh’s Starry Night appearing in her bedroom and finding out that someone had stolen it from its secure place in the Museum of Modern Art. That morning features more freaking out and an anonymous deposit to her local police station, just sneak out before anyone notices she was there.
At least, she thinks she got out unnoticed.
There’s a few more unexpected dream deposits before a knock sounds at her door, and she opens it to find herself face to face with a woman she doesn’t recognize.
“Hi,” she begins lamely. “Can I help you?”
“Actually, I think you can.” The stranger breezes past her, making her way into the kitchen and plucking a piece of fruit from her fruit bowl.
“Um—excuse me?”
“Oh, sorry, I assumed you would want to invite me in. I figured you wouldn’t want to talk about stealing the Van Gogh out in the hallway where everyone could hear.”
Cassidy immediately closes the front door, and she can feel the blood draining from her face. How did this happen? She was so careful? The woman laughs when she sees the look on her face.
“Don’t take it personally. It’s clear you’re not a master thief. Honestly I’m impressed that you got in and out without any of the cops seeing you.”
“What do you want?”
“I think we might be able to help each other out.” The woman leans forward, her face stretching out into a sly smile. “You have a very unique skill. And I would like to make use of it.”
“And why would I help you?” Cassidy knows she should just tell her that it doesn’t work and have that be the end of the conversation, but she’s so baffled that she can’t get herself there. “I don’t even know your name.”
“You’re right, forgive me. Call me Selena.”
Cassidy lets the silence linger before shaking her head. “You still haven’t told me why I should help you.”
Selena tips her head to the side and glances around the room. “Look at where you’re living. You’re stealing some of the most famous pieces of art, and you’re living in run down shack like this? It’s clear you don’t know how to efficiently make use of your talents.”
Cassidy makes a face. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
Selena blinks, unsure what to make of that statement. “How do you accidentally steal a Van Gogh?”
Cassidy shifts awkwardly, searching for another way around it. She has told no one about this new ability of hers, and it sounds so dumb when you say it out loud, but she knows she can’t just let herself get roped into a criminal enterprise. “I … dreamed it.”
Selena blinks. “What?”
“Sometimes when I dream, an object from my dream will appear in the real world. Apparently if there’s only one of that thing in the world, I … steal it. Unintentionally.”
Selena considers this. “So you dream about something, and when you wake up, that something will be just there, in front of you?”
“Yes. Though I don’t pick what it is, it’s just … random.”
Selena nods slowly, before the confused look on her face stretches into a grin. “This is genius.”
“What?”
“We just have to figure out how to target your abilities. Once we can do that, we can steal whatever we want!”
“Whoa, hold on!” Cassidy holds up a finger. “I returned the painting I accidentally stole. What makes you think that I’m going to help you steal more?”
“Because,” Selena grins. “If you don’t, I’ll tell everyone that you’re the one who stole the Van Gogh. You’ll become a legendary thief, and you’ll also go to jail.”
“You don’t have any proof.”
“Me? No. But that precinct has security cameras. And I’m willing to bet you appear on at least one of them.” Selena’s smile stretches further, and she takes a step closer and holds out a hand. “So. Why don’t we figure out a way to make this work for both of us?”
Cassidy knows she shouldn’t agree. There has to be a way that she can get out of this—she doesn’t want to be a thief. But she doesn’t have any leverage to set her free, so she sighs, before nodding.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Where do you want to start?”
2/15/23 | stop drop write challenge | leverage (keeper's six au) | 973
Most people wouldn’t have pegged him for a Keep. Maybe a Gate, possibly a Lantern, but not what some consider the most boring, the anchor, the one who stays put and doesn’t go out into the Beyond, who doesn’t get to have the adventures, but after all this time, Hardison thinks it makes a little more sense. No matter where they go, he builds them a home. A place where they will be safe, and no matter what, he will always bring them home.
They were one of the first Keeps anchored to Earth, and after Nate and Sophie got married and retire for a while, they branch out to train other Hexes, and start other Keeps. Soon they’re a network of people who can go out into the Beyond and help those who need it, and that’s something that they can be proud of. Until Sophie calls him in the middle of the night, panicking, and Hardison knows that unbalanced feeling that he felt, that sense of dread that’s been building all day, is for a reason.
Nate is dead. And Sophie thinks a boss is responsible.
He lets her sleep as the two remaining members of their Hex show up at the theater. Parker lands on cat-like feet. She’s an expert at being unnoticed, something she excelled at long before she officially became their Ghost, but he knows when his people come home, and can’t help but smile as she laces her fingers over his shoulder and leans in to kiss him on the cheek.
“Hey you,” he murmurs, and she smiles.
“Hey you. How’s she doing?”
“Not great, but can’t really blame her.” He thinks about what he would do if he lost Parker, and he’s sure he would be just as much of a mess as Sophie if not more. Eliot arrives not long after, making his way inside and scanning over the collection of faces. The Shotgun—he hates that name, but it’s an effective shorthand—is tense, not just because their friend is dead, but because there’s one notable member of their crew that’s missing.
“Where’s Sterling?”
“Not coming.” Hardison shakes his head. “He’s too high up in the Concilium now. He can’t afford to be caught doing something this off the books, but he’s going to try and smooth over as much as he can for us.”
Eliot scowls. “So we’re not only down a Lantern, we’re also out a Gate.”
“Not…exactly.”
Both Parker and Hardison look at him expectantly, almost as though they’re not sure what he’s getting at, and he gestures to the nearby alcove.
“C’mon. They don’t have all day.”
“Don’t be a dick about it.” Breanna steps into the room, before giving Parker and Eliot a bit of a wave. “Hi.”
“You remember my sister, Breanna.”
“You’re a Gate now?” Parker seems pleased. “Nice.” She offers the other woman a high-five and Breanna grins, before reaching up to take it. Eliot, however, looks concerned.
“No offense, Breanna, but are you even trained?”
“Yeah. Of course I am. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” It’s a little too much bluster, a little too much bravado, and Eliot immediately sees right through it.
“We’re potentially going after a boss and you want us to take someone who’s just barely completed her training? What’s she going to do against a dragon, Hardison?”
“Hey, punching a dragon in the face is your problem, not hers. All she’s gotta do is get you there and get you back—and that she can do.”
Eliot’s making the face again, the face that says that he doesn’t think Hardison understands, given that he’s never been in the Beyond before and doesn’t know what it’s like. And fair, maybe he hasn’t. But Eliot has to know that Hardison would never risk his family for anything. So eventually he relents and glances back to the sleeping Sophie on the couch.
“Is she going to be up for this?”
“The day Sophie Deveraux can’t be the Voice is the day we should all be very worried. I think our real problem is that we don’t have a Lantern.”
“No recent ones cleared by the Concilium.”
Hardison shakes his head. “We’re going to have to find one. And it’s not going to be easy.”
“Uh, actually, I might know a guy.” Three heads snap to look at Breanna, and she hesitates before continuing. “He’s not … on the books, exactly, but he’s a good guy. Mostly. His name is Harry Wilson.”
“Harry Wilson the lawyer?” Eliot scoffs and Breanna nods.
“Oh good. You’ve heard of him.”
“He’s not exactly a good guy, Breanna.”
“I know, I know, his legal past is questionable, but he’s trying to do better. And that’s how you recognize a Lantern, isn’t it? Knowledge is another form of light?”
Hardison glances over to Parker and she shrugs. “We’ll have to bring him in, let him know what he’s in for. I would argue that this isn’t the time to introduce someone new, but we may not have a choice.”
“We’ll see what Sophie says when she wakes up. Until then, get some rest and check your gear. As soon as we fight a Lantern, we’re doing this. For Nate.”
He knows that he’s sending them all into danger, but they won’t be alone. Whatever it takes, he’s ready and willing to be the anchor that pulls them home again.
2/21/23 | february challenge: it's a date | original | 705 | COMPLETE
His family isn’t wealthy, so getting a new car when he turned sixteen isn’t part of the plan. Instead, he gets a junker that his father has fixed up to run pretty smoothly, and he prays every time he drives it doesn’t fall apart, especially on frosty nights like this. He can feel the stiffness in the car’s movement as cold metal protests being forced to do its job, but as the car warms, so does the movement, and soon he’s moving at a good clip back towards the house.
A drafty wind whips through as he opens the door, making his way inside and slamming it quickly behind him. The house has always struggled with maintaining heat, and he’s not trying to make it worse. “I’m home!” he shouts into the ether of darkness and Julia’s voice echoes back.
“Living room.”
Weaving his way through a house he knows by heart, he ducks into the living room, where the rest of his family is curled up in front of the fireplace, watching the news on TV. Inching closer, he sits in front of the flames and allows it to warm him.
“Cold front came on fast.”
His mother shakes her head. “I can’t believe you went out dressed like that. It’s like no one taught you how to dress.”
“When I left the house, it was fifty.”
“And when you left work, it was twenty. If you had called, I would have brought you over something.”
“It’s fine, Mom. No one ever died from a five-minute drive in the cold.”
His mother rolls her eyes. “Did you eat?”
“Yeah, I had a sub at work.”
“Good. We’re gonna sleep in here tonight?”
“All of us?”
“Gotta conserve the heat.” His father comments from his chair, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the news report. “Better if we all keep it in one place.”
Wes looks back over at his mother, and she shrugs. “We fell a little behind on the heating bill.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Don’t bother,” Julia rolls her eyes. “I already tried.”
“It’s not your job.” His mother crosses her arms in front of her chest. “We are the parents. We will worry about keeping the house together.”
“Yeah, Mom, but we have money.”
“That you earned, so you can spend it on what you want. Besides, you need to save it up for school.”
“Mom—”
“Wesley, I don’t want to hear another word about it. We’re figuring it out. I just need you to listen, that’s all.”
Wes purses his lips and looks over at his sister. Julia shrugs. Because what else are they going to do? Wes, however, isn’t willing to just take no for an answer, and starts crafting a plan.
That night, he gets a glimpse of the heating bills on the counter, and steals one off the top. After he gets paid at work, he cashes his check and heads over to JCPL to pay for the account. And he keeps paying for the account, for as long as it takes for his parents to get back on their feet.
They never say thank you, and his mother pretends it didn’t happen. But that night, after Wes gets home from work, his father rests a heavy hand on his shoulder and gives it a warm squeeze, before turning his attention back to the television.
“Think the Eagles can win it this year?”
“Sure, Dad. They can do anything they decide to put their mind to.”
march-june 2023 | gywo yahtzee | score: 260 (8/8) | COMPLETE
3/14-20/23 | march catch up challenge | goal: 7,000 | INCOMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 5,500
4/12-13/23 | april small challenge: two-day challenge | goal: 2,400 | INCOMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 2,337
5/3-9/23 | 7 days, 7 stories | 7/7 | COMPLETE
WORD COUNT: 8,738
5/12/23 | march challenge: playlist roulette | original | 609 | COMPLETE
She plasters herself against one wall, sliding her suitcase between her legs as though to keep a tight hold on it while she fishes out her phone. One of the first things her mother warned her about in New York is to beware of people looking to rob a new girl who doesn’t know any better. She thinks her mother may be a smidge overreacting—but better to be safe than sorry. She flips open her text messages before scrolling to find Travis’ name and sending a quick one: Just got in. Over by Track One. She hits send and then leans back to take everything in.
Taking a moment to stop and breathe hasn’t really been part of this trip until now. It’s been just a rush to get all of her things together and packed, figure out what she could take with her and what she couldn’t. Then rush to the airport, rush from EWR to the train to take her to Penn Station, and finally she’s here.
She can’t believe she’s finally in New York City.
A familiar mop of brightly colored hair weaves through the crowd and Travis flashes her a smile when he finally comes into view. “You made it!” He rushes over to wrap her in a tight hug, keeping her close. “How was your flight?”
“Long and so stressful,” she sighs as she finally pulls back. “I was so worried I wouldn’t figure out where the train was. Newark is a maze.”
“That it is.” He takes her suitcase with one hand and drapes the opposite arm over her shoulder as he turns to steer her through the station. “Are you hungry? Because it’s gonna be a minute until we get to Brooklyn.”
She shakes her head. “I’m good. I just want to get some fresh air.”
“Bold of you to assume that any New York air is fresh,” he laughs before they find the subway they need and descend once again.
A smattering of trains later, Travis finally gives the signal that they’re going above ground. Despite being exhausted, she climbs the stairs with vigor, until she catches that first breath of evening air. It’s warmer than she thought it would be. All the buildings trap the sun and the heat they generate, as well as the heat generated by the traffic that pushes past them. She takes a deep breath, and Travis is right. The air isn’t fresh, but it’s better than the processed transport air that she’s been breathing for what feels like forever.
Travis catches up next to her, and he smiles. “What do you think? Your first glimpse of one of the boroughs?”
Hayley shakes her head. “It doesn’t feel real yet. Probably won’t until I go into Manhattan. But … man, I’m so excited to be here.” She intends for this to be everything she’s ever dreamed of. And while she knows New York makes a habit of crushing people’s dreams regularly, she’s determined to not let herself be one of them.
Whatever it takes, she’s ready.
5/22-6/2/23 | 2023 spring word hop | 13/13 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 11,439
5/23/23 | april challenge: 5 4 3 2 1 | original | 868 | COMPLETE
Terry hasn’t been in Julian’s office since the beginning of the other man’s career and he has to admit, it is impressive. The wide corner office in the investment building seems like it’s bigger than his apartment. A wide pane of windows that stretches across the back wall giving a dazzling view of the city below. Shelves on the far side display his accolades of achievement that he’s accumulated over the past ten years. His friend definitely has come a long way from his initial cubicle. It’s moments like this that Terry remembers what drew Lily and Julian together.
They are both creatures of ambition. Always have been, always will be.
Terry takes another self-conscious sip of his coffee, letting the bitter taste burst across his tongue as he swallows it down. The smell calms him somewhat, grounding him easily enough so that he can get through this conversation. He knocks lightly on the door frame, and the tapping of computer keys stops as his friend’s eyes rise from the laptop in front of him to meet his own.
Then they narrow.
“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”
Terry sighs, still hovering in the doorway. He doesn’t want to move forward into the comfortable-looking leather chairs in front of Julian’s desk before he’s given permission to. “Can we talk?”
Julian’s desk chair squeaks as he leans back, regarding his best friend, then he nods. “Yeah, fine. Shut the door.”
As Terry closes the door, the elevator music of the office and the smell of printer ink fade away. Instead, it’s replaced with the soft sounds of the cars on the street below. He moves to sink into the softness of the broken-in leather, causing him to sink just below the hard edge of Julian’s massive wooden desk. He realizes a second later that it’s a power play—no matter who sits in the chair, Julian is looking down on them over the hardwood edge. It’s almost like you’re back in the principal’s office as a child and you’re about to get reprimanded. It's more than a little demoralizing. Add to it the heat of the sun coming in through the large window, and it’s almost impossible to do anything but squirm.
Unless, of course, you’re a creature of ambition like Julian is. Then Terry is sure the ego is there to keep you afloat.
“So. What do you want to talk about?”
“Lily.”
Julian’s jaw sets as he rolls the chair back. The wheels crackle against the hard plastic mat, and Terry’s worked enough office jobs to wince at the feel under his feet. They’re part of the reason he doesn’t work in an office anymore. All of this posturing has never been him, and he found another way—one that doesn’t make as much money, but at least he finds it more fulfilling. Julian moves to the front of the desk and leans back against it, looking down at his friend even more blatantly.
“You mean how you sold me out to my wife when I explicitly asked you not to?”
“Yeah.” Terry rubs one hand against his jeans, trying to remove some of the sweat he can feel forming there. “Look, I don’t think that was a very fair thing to ask.”
“You don’t.”
“No. Because you were cheating on her, and while I’ll have your back for most things, she deserved to know.”
“You’ve basically ended my marriage. You get that, right?”
A tiny voice from somewhere inside him tries to shout that he didn’t do that. Julian did that when he slept with another woman behind his wife’s back. But the guilt is too overwhelming, so he doesn’t vocalize that.
“Yeah. I get it.”
“And she’s a lawyer, too. She’s basically going to drag me into court for everything I’m worth in this divorce. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t told her.”
Terry swallows again. “I’m sorry, man. I know. I just—I couldn’t live with that kind of secret.”
“And now you know why I didn’t tell you what was going on.” Julian rolls his eyes as he makes his way back behind the desk. “Mellie left me too. Says something like she didn’t sign up to be a home wrecker or some shit like that.”
“…Sorry.” He doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, but it feels like the thing to do. The sooner they smooth things over, the better. They can go back to being best friends, and Terry doesn’t have to live with this rock in the pit of his stomach.
“I’m sure you are. And I forgive you.” Julian’s magnanimous like that. He settles back into his chair with another squeak and smiles at Terry. “See? Easy enough once you apologize.”
“Sure.” Terry swallows hard. “So we’re good.”
“We’re good. See you this weekend for football?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Terry gets up, finishing the last of his coffee and going to toss it in the trash near the door. Julian’s fingers are already flying across the laptop keys again, ignoring Terry as he retreats. As Terry closes the door behind him, he can’t help but feel like he swallowed something much more bitter than the coffee.
6/1/23 | may small challenge: five minutes! | original | 417 | COMPLETE
Jack turns in place next to his wife, looking at the two different paint chips she’s holding up, both mint green. He squints at both of them for a moment, trying to find any easily discernable differences before frowning.
“Which one is the other one?”
Hayley gives him a look at that, head tipped to the side in a frown. “They’re very different colors.”
“Sweetheart, they look like the same shade of mint green from a distance.”
Hayley sighs, because she knows he’s not doing this to be intentionally difficult—at least, he hopes not, not after five years of dating and two years of marriage. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t a little frustrated at his inability to see what she sees.
“Come look at them.” She gestures him closer, laying one partially over the other. “The one on the left is a little more cool toned.”
Putting them more directly next to each other like that, he sees the very subtle difference. But he holds true on his point. “I appreciate that. But that’s not enough of a difference to matter to me, so whichever one you like best, I’ll go with.”
Hayley nods slowly, her hand wandering down over her stomach. He knows the potential of oncoming motherhood is stressing her out more than she should. She’s always had trouble with decisions—she’s not indecisive to be difficult, and he knows that. Which is why he’s always happy to remind her that choosing the wrong paint color isn’t the end of the world.
“What’s tripping you up?”
“I’m worried with the amount of light in the room, you won’t be able to actually tell what the color is. I don’t want to go darker, though. It just needs to have enough weight to stand up to the sun.”
“Valid.” He takes the chips from her briefly, before going back and getting duplicates of both and then taking her arm. “Let’s go home.”
“But we didn’t pick a paint.”
“The beauty of paint chips is that we don’t have to pick a paint. We can take them home, put them up on the walls and see how they behave with the sun.”
“So we have evidence, not just going on faith.” She flashes him a bright smile before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “This is why I keep you around.”
He laughs, keeping her close as they leave the store. “Gotta earn my keep somehow.”
6/2/23 | may challenge: microfiction | original | 300 | COMPLETE
Colleen already feels her chest constricting with fear. The reason she went into the sciences in the first place is the perceived lack of public speaking. Instead, she’s going to have to stand up in front of … so many people, and tell them why her work is the groundbreaking scientific discovery that it is.
She doesn’t know if she can do that without having a panic attack. She barely avoids having a panic attack as she leaves the department chair’s office. When she sees her roommate, she pounces.
Caulder startles in surprise. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“I need your help.”
“Elaborate.”
“I have to present my paper at a conference in front of at least two hundred well-trained experts in my field.”
“You seem like you’re going to throw up when we play Talking Points in front of ten people.”
“You see my dilemma. Help me.”
“Babe, as gifted and talented as I am, I cannot cure stage fright or anxiety.”
“No, but you could help me practice, maybe? You’re great at public speaking.”
“I can try, but again. Can’t cure anxiety. Go to a professional for that. Are you sure you have to do this?”
“If I don’t, Grant says no one will ever take me seriously. Then funding will dry up and I’ll have nowhere to go from here.”
“We’ll figure this out. How long do you have to prepare?”
“Six months.”
“Oh, then we got this in the bag. First things first, though, making an appointment with your therapist.”
“I don’t have a therapist.”
“First things first. Let’s get you a therapist.” Caulder pulls her into a hug. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
She hopes that he’s right.
6/12/23 | time management challenge | goal: write for 60 minutes | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 947
july 2023 | mid-year marathon: july | goal: 25,479 | COMPLETE
WEEK 2:
WEEK 3:
WEEK 4:
RUNNING COUNT: 26,265
6/28/23 | june challenge: every villain is the hero | original | 1,066 | COMPLETE
It’s such an innocuous question, especially coming from the mouth of a child. Charles is barely seven years-old. Queen Theresa finds herself bowled over by the simple question with enormous implications. She’s not ready for her son to be considering that kind of commitment yet. And more to the point, she doesn’t want him venturing off to find just any old woman to marry.
There are rules to these things, after all.
“You will,” she admits reluctantly, knowing that her son will be king, and naturally, all kings must have a queen. “But she will be a specific type of woman. She must be a real princess.”
“Aren’t all princesses real princesses? That’s why they’re called princesses.”
“Oh, no.” The queen shakes her head. “A real princess is a very specific kind of woman. There will need to be a series of tests performed to ensure that she is of the proper caliber.”
“I see. What types of tests?”
“We’ll discuss this when you’re older, darling.” Theresa smiles. “For now, you have much to learn about being a prince yourself.”
Charles seems to take that as answer enough, and she leans back in her seat, pleased. And then forgets that the entire conversation ever happened.
When Charles turns eighteen, he determines himself ready for a wife, and approaches his mother and father with the resolve of the grown man he is not. “Mother, I believe it is time for me to know the tests I need to perform.”
King Henry looks at his son, clearly confused, before looking over at his wife. “Tests?”
Theresa is also confused, not entirely certain what her son may refer to. Then the memory comes back in sharp relief and she can already feel her heart pounding in worry. “Oh. I see. Charles—”
“I’m eighteen years-old, Mother. It’s time for me to find my princess.”
Henry looks even more confused. “There are tests?”
“Yes, Father. In order to verify that she is a genuine princess. Did you not perform them on Mother before you married her?”
Henry looks at his wife, confusion giving way to amusement, and Theresa looks away. She does not intend to be teased by her husband right now. But the white lie she told her son when he was seven might serve her well here.
“Yes, of course he did.” She regains her composure and straightens, every bit the regal queen she is. “This is a … process, you understand. Before you perform the tests, you must learn to … hone your instincts. That means you find a princess that you believe is a true princess, and then bring them here to be tested. By us.”
Charles frowns as he considers that. Theresa can feel Henry’s eyes boring into her, clear that they will continue this conversation after their son is gone. Eventually, Charles squares his shoulders again and nods. “Then how do I hone these instincts?”
“We will arrange for you to visit the local princesses,” Henry interjects before Theresa can interfere. “You will get to know them and go from there.”
“That is acceptable,” Charles nods. “I will go prepare for the journey.”
As Charles charges off, Henry takes his wife’s hand. “There are tests that must be performed?”
“He was seven when I told him that.” Her husband’s laughter, deep and warm, fills the space before she can continue and she huffs. “I didn’t expect that he would hold on to it.”
“And why not just tell him the truth now? He’s certainly old enough.”
“I thought it was a good way to avoid him sneaking in someone that we don’t approve of.” It seems simple enough, but she can’t say for sure how well that will fare once their son is out in the world. “Covers our bases, don’t you think, if he already believes it?”
Henry squeezes her hand gently before shaking his head. “I will go along with your little scheme. But only if you promise that if he finds someone he truly cares for, you won’t interfere.”
Theresa purses her lips, unsure how to respond to that. Of course, she wants her son to find someone he truly cares for. But there also need to be certain standards in play, and—
“Theresa.”
“Fine!” She huffs. “If he finds someone he truly cares for, I will step aside.”
“Good.” Henry leans in to kiss her softly. “I’m sure he will choose well.”
Theresa can’t say she’s sure of that. But she resolves to try.
Her son doesn’t return with a princess. Instead, the princess finds them. She arrives on a night full of storms, with various bits of leaves and other debris in her hand and her dress soaked to the skin. Theresa immediately wants nothing to do with her, but Charles is immediately smitten.
Well then. Time to test a princess, after all.
She devises a test that the other woman absolutely cannot pass, and Henry calls her out on it. Twenty soft, downy mattresses and twenty more featherbeds on top of it and, underneath it all, a pea. If the princess feels that, then Theresa will have no choice but to let Charles marry her.
But no one could feel a pea that small under all that comfort.
The next morning, the princess descends from her tower of luxury and Theresa paints a thin smile across her face. “Good morning, my dear. How did you sleep?”
“I don’t wish to be rude, Your Majesty, but terribly.”
Theresa’s eyebrows shoot up into her hair, surprised. “How do you mean?”
“I don’t wish to impugn the honor of your servants, but there must have been a rock stuck between the mattresses. I was tossing and turning all night.”
Charles looks delighted. Henry dissolves into a fit of joyous laughter. Theresa’s jaw drops comically. The princess mostly looks confused at their responses. Charles drags her off, telling her how she’s passed the test of being a true princess and now she may be his queen.
Her husband reaches forward, placing a hand gently on Theresa’s shoulder. “Looks like your little machinations worked, my dear. How fortunate is that?”
“How fortunate indeed,” she says dryly, before shaking her head with a sigh. A promise is a promise, and she is a queen of her word.
7/12-13/23 | july small challenge: roll the dice | goal: 2,130 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 3,061
august 2023 | mid-year marathon | goal: 25,479 | COMPLETE
WEEK 2:
WEEK 3:
WEEK 4:
RUNNING COUNT: 28,477
8/16-17/23 | august small challenge: two day challenge | goal: 2,400 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 2,420
7/15-9/20/23 | holidays in july | wynonna earp | 1,065 | COMPLETE
He knows that Purgatory borders both Montana and Canada, areas that aren’t exactly known for their mild winters given how far north they are, but still. He would hope that he could walk out the door without worrying about losing a finger. Sometimes it feels as though the heat of his car is incapable of keeping up. Especially on days like this, when the temperature on his dashboard reads as being below zero.
Below zero.
Absolutely not.
It’s for this reason and this reason only that he still huddles in his car outside of the Earp homestead. The lingering remains of the heat in the cab of his car sustain him before he has to venture out into the cold. It’s really only a few feet from the driveway of the homestead to the front door, where he knows the house is being heated. (Waverly wouldn’t stand for it any other way.) But as the wind whistles across the hood of his car, he shakes his head and burrowing further into his parka.
No. Nope. They can wait. He’s going to stay here where it’s warm.
Unfortunately, as though by some kind of Earp ESP, Wynonna pokes her head out the front door of the house. She's dressed in a flannel Christmas onesie, unlike the Santa-themed and coffee cup-printed ones she wore in the past.
How many of those damn things did she have?
“Quit being such a wuss and get your ass in here, Dolls!”
He grumbles while he’s still out of earshot, before reaching forward and reluctantly turning off the car. At least Michelle Earp wasn’t present this go-round. Her staring daggers at him across the Christmas table doesn’t exactly sell the Christmas spirit.
He pulls the plastic bag full of presents out of the passenger’s seat before breaking into a run across the space between the car and the door. It takes all of thirty seconds, but the wind slices through his coat all the same, leaving him shivering as he darts through the door with a swear.
“Shit.” He shakes his head as Wynonna slams the door closed behind him. “Why is it so cold?”
“Don’t judge us because we have seasons.” She pauses as she considers that. “Sort of.” Immediately, she shakes it off and turns back to him with a grin. “Merry Christmas, Dolls.”
“Merry Christmas, Earp.” He lets her pull him into a brief hug, at least until she tries to make a grab for the presents and he snaps his arm back. “Uh-uh. You don’t get your present until we all are giving presents. I know how it works in this house.”
“Good!” Waverly shouts from the kitchen, and Wynonna pulls back with a pout.
“Buzz kill. There goes your chance to unwrap your present early.” Wynonna waggles her eyebrows suggestively at him, and he laughs.
“I think I’ll survive.” He then tips his head to the side. “How many of those things do you have?”
Wynonna smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
With that, she turns and leads the way back into the living room where the rest of their makeshift family has gathered to celebrate together. Waverly and Nicole are popping in and out of the kitchen where the food is being prepared. Nedley visited children earlier as Santa and is still wearing the outfit. He's stopping for a drink before seeing his daughter and her family. Doc and Jeremy are discussing the merits of Kelly Clarkson’s new Christmas album.
It feels like home. Dolls isn’t sure he’s ever really had anything like it.
As he scans the room, his eyes land on a flash of red and green that almost seems disparate to the regular Christmas décor. He recognizes it and stops, reaching for Wynonna’s arm and pulling her back towards him.
“Is that … a kinara?”
Wynonna blinks before following the line of his eyes. “Yes. Did we do it right? Because if we fucked it up, we can fix it.”
“We” likely means mostly Waverly, and while he doubts Waverly got it wrong, he is more surprised that it exists. “Did you buy a kinara for me?”
“Maybe?” She hesitates. “It doesn’t have to be for you. It could be for Kate. We could totally foist that off on Kate if you don’t—”
Dolls pauses, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. “I’m not mad. Or offended. But explain.”
“I saw it at the store. And we weren’t sure if you celebrated Kwanzaa, but we wanted you to feel represented at family Christmas.”
He nods, a small smile crossing his lips. “You could have asked.”
Wynonna scoffs. “What? Asking a direct question and getting a direct answer?” He knows she’s making fun of herself, but the mocking tone fades to something more serious. “Seriously, did we get it wrong?”
“No. Well, yes, in the sense that I don’t actually celebrate Kwanzaa. But no, the setup looks right.” The holiday means different things to different people, but it’s never really been a mainstay in the Dolls household when he was growing up. Still, the thought does count, and he pulls her closer, sliding an arm around her waist with a smile. “I appreciate the thought, though.”
She smiles back, leaning in to kiss him. “At least I know you practice mistletoe.”
He laughs before nodding. “Mistletoe is definitely part of my holiday festivities.” He wraps an arm around her waist to keep her close until Waverly pokes her head in from the kitchen.
“Okay, everybody! Time to eat!”
The group stands from the living room and makes their way into the dining room. Wynonna pulls back, giving his hand a soft squeeze, and he smiles at her in return, falling into step behind her. Well-intentioned misunderstandings or not, he is happy to be here, with his family.
And if he needs to hole up here until spring because the weather is too damn cold, then he’s sure that Wynonna at least will be accommodating.
9/25/2023 | august challenge: texts from last night | original | 809 | COMPLETE
Gloria can feel her hands curling into fists around her phone and she tries to take a deep breath. Jonathan does this every time, and while she wishes that for once he could just be on time, she wishes even more that he wouldn’t patronize her about it. She's trying to stay calm in front of the restaurant by taking deep breaths, instead of getting frustrated like she usually does. Gloria needs to be on his good side tonight. She needs to make sure he understands the stakes. So she silently wills the frustration to leave her body and hopes that she can summon the honey with which to catch her flies.
She glances at her watch, then that text three more times before Jonathan’s BMW pulls into the restaurant parking lot. He gracefully swerves into the nearest empty spot, before climbing out of the car and making his way closer.
“Gloria,” he says with a beaming smile, adjusting his thousand dollar suit. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
The phrase is a trap that she would normally fall right into, but she doesn’t. She straightens and smile, before shaking her head. “Not at all. Shall we?”
He nods and they make their way into the restaurant, settling in at their table. She’s grateful that the staff likes her—and that she told him that the reservation was for a half hour earlier than it actually was. After he mulls over the wine, browses the menu and orders the same thing he gets every time, she leans forward, folding her fingers in front of her.
“So, Jonathan. I was hoping we could talk business.”
“And here I thought this was a social call,” he teases, leaning back in his chair as his glass of wine arrives. “What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping to get your by-in for a charitable endeavor. We could really raise our profile by doing more for the community in the interest of the common good. It could bring in more business.”
She expects a brush off, and she gets one, but not the one she’s expecting. “I’m not the one you need to sell, Gloria. I’ve been proposing something similar for months.” She blinks, surprised, and he smirks. “What? Didn’t think I had it in me?”
She clamps down on the obvious answer. She believes that people who are constantly late and dismissive in texts are not considerate towards others. But she swallows it and pivots. “I’m just surprised they haven’t already jumped on it. The research shows that it does a lot towards public image.”
“You know Bronstein. He’s very much a pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps type.”
“What do bootstraps have to do with being kind?”
“Nothing,” Jonathan agrees. “But again, unfortunately, I’m not the one you need to convince.”
Gloria drums her fingers against the table as the food arrives, lost in thought. She knows that convincing the board is the next step in getting what she wants. She just needs to figure out the right play. And if Jonathan is already on her side…
“Can I speak frankly?”
Jonathan smirks. “I’ve never known you not to.”
“You can be very frustrating, which makes you hard to take seriously. But you can be charming about it, which makes it a little easier to tolerate.”
He blinks as he processes that information. “So that was both an insult and a complement…at the same time.”
“You said I could speak frankly.”
“That I did. Continue.”
“I know the old man is the holdout. But if I put together a proposal to pitch the other partners, would you back me?”
Jonathan gives her a look. “When have I ever not backed you, Gloria? You would have to be an idiot not to back you.”
She seems taken aback by that statement, but as she thinks about it, she realizes that he’s right. Jonathan rarely says no to her, no matter how frustrating he can be.
Almost as though reading her mind, he leans forward. “How am I frustrating, exactly?”
“You are never on time!” It’s her biggest gripe and the one that explodes from her. “And you send texts like this that sound patronizing.”
She holds up her phone to show him and he frowns. “I thought I was being funny.”
“It’s not funny when it’s constant.”
Jonathan nods slowly, taking that into consideration. “Right. I’ll work on that.”
“Thank you.”
He nods again, then leans forward to dig into his food. “So. Tell me about your proposal. I need to be informed if I’m going to back you.”
Gloria relaxes some before getting ready to dive into her pitch. It’s not the way she expected this evening going, but it’s possible things might have worked out better than she expected.
9/26/23 | september small challenge: stop drop write | tua/mcu | 696 | COMPLETE
Steve looks up at Allison with a pained expression as he winces. Coming to the Umbrella Academy had been one of the few options that looked promising after everything that went down in Germany. Sam fixates on the woman in front of them, while Steve steers the conversation back to the topic. He hadn’t exactly told Sam where they were going—just that they were going to see a friend. “Looks that bad, huh?”
“You both look like you’re having a day.” She smirks. “And I watch the news. C’mon in.”
She steps back and lets them into the massive mansion that is the Umbrella Academy. Sam smacks him on the arm and gives him a look that says they’re going to discuss this later, but recovers once Allison closes the door, he turns to her with a smile.
“Thank you in advance for your help. I’m—”
“Sam. Steve’s told me a lot about you.” She holds out her hand to shake his, before turning back to the rest of the house. “Hey, you assholes better be on your best behavior. We have guests!”
“I love guests.” A sing-song voice came from the stairs above. Klaus Hargreeves swans out from the top of the stairs and makes his way down. “Especially our men in uniform. Hello, Captain.”
“Klaus. This is my friend, Sam Wilson.”
“Charmed, I’m sure. How long are you going to be hiding out here? Until the heat dies down from that whole incident in Germany?”
Steve raises an eyebrow in Klaus’s direction. “Let me guess. You watch the news too?”
“Me? No. Five does, though, and it surprised him you all fucked up almost as badly as we do.” Klaus then turns back to his sister. “I think I’m the only one home though, so you might have to repeat that little command about being on your best behavior.”
Allison shakes her head, before gesturing to the two men in front of her. “Great. But for now—drink?”
“Please,” Sam nods as he follows her through the house to the main open air living room. “Man, I’ve always wondered what it was like in here.”
“Is it standing up to your expectations?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I think I expected it to be weirder.”
Allison smirks before sitting them both on the couch and going to pour them some drinks. “So. How bad is it really?”
Steve takes a deep breath, because he isn’t really sure where to start. “How much did the news cover?”
“They assume it’s about the Sokovia Accord. And how you didn’t want to sign them to protect your friends that are weapons of mass destruction, plus that guy who killed the King of Wakanda—”
“He didn’t—”
“I know.” Allison passes him the tumbler of whiskey. “I think I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t go for that unless you had a reason. So what actually happened?”
“Parts of that are right.” Steve admits. “And parts of it—I knew Bucky didn’t do it. So I had to protect him until I could prove it.”
“Fair enough.”
Steve knew Allison would understand. They’ve talked in the past about the people that you’re tied to and how you would do anything to protect them, even if they were on the wrong side of it. But it’s still something of a relief to hear it actually come out of her mouth.
“Sam and I just need a place to lie low for a little while. Until we figure out our next move.”
“Well, we definitely have more than enough bedrooms. But I will also say that Tony has already called asking if I knew where you were, so I don’t think that’s going to hold up for long.” There’s a dramatic pause as Klaus passes through again, and she reaches out for his arm. “But Klaus might be a better option of knowing where the people go who don’t want to be found.”
A smile widens across the other man’s face, and he nods. “Have either of you ever been to Hotel Obsidian?”
9/29/23 | september challenge: your secret's safe with me | original | 624 | COMPLETE
The tea group goes into titters at the mention, and Cheryl sighs as she leans back in her seat, but keeps the thin smile plastered on her face. Forgive them, for they don’t know what they do, she reminds herself faintly.
“Gosh, can you believe that they just keep trying?” Candice shakes her head. “Over and over, each of their inventions are such duds. How do they have the money to keep going?”
“They must have some kind of wealthy patron who’s funding their designs.” Maribelle shakes her head. “Honestly, it seems like such a waste of money. None of his inventions seem to do anything.”
“After this most recent dud, I don’t expect for it to last much longer. At a certain point, you just have to say enough is enough.” Kelsey glances back at Cheryl and raises an eyebrow. “What do you think, Cheryl? I’m sure you must have an opinion.”
Cheryl takes a sip of her tea and attempts to form an answer. “I don’t really think it’s any of our business. Perhaps his inventions aren’t intended for us.”
Candice snorts. “I don’t think they’re intended for anyone. Nothing he makes ever works.
Cheryl doesn’t really have an argument for that one. Instead, she takes another sip of her tea and deftly changes the subject. She has much more trivial things she would rather discuss than worry about some inventor that they don’t actually care about.
When she returns home, her son Jonathan bursts up from the basement with a bright smile on his face. “Did you see the latest numbers?”
Cheryl blinks in surprise. “Numbers?”
“Sales numbers.” Jonathan takes her by the hand and pulls her down towards the basement. She doesn’t resist. This is her son and he wouldn’t take her somewhere dangerous. But she protests a little.
“Jonathan, darling, we don’t need to rush.”
“Sorry. It’s just … things are exciting!”
Exciting is not necessarily the word she’d use, but she follows him all the same. She wrinkles her nose as she sees the scattered tools and components on the tables in the basement.
“An organized work space might allow for more space to think, darling.”
“I know, I know, I know I need to clean up, but just … look at this.”
He pulls up the screen for the sales numbers for Malcron, Inc., and points to one graph trending upward. “Sales have increased by five percent since the last launch. We’re in an upswing!”
Cheryl nods as she takes a deep breath. “Yes, but … darling. You know they haven’t been performing well.”
“Well, yes, I know that. They’ve been backfiring spectacularly.” He taps at the screen and swipes at a video of the device providing a clunky execution. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not buying them. In fact, most of the people who are buying them are rich influencers who are racing to make videos like this one so they can get paid for it. They’re paying full price for a faulty product.”
Cheryl pauses, taking a deep breath before turning to look at him. “But, darling, wouldn’t you rather … wait? And release something that’s functional?”
“I have something that’s functional,” he replies. “But selling these funds the production of the thing that works without me having to sell it at a heavy markup so the people who really need it can get it. Why do you think I’m not selling my duds under the company name?”
Cheryl smiles. “It’s very kind of you. I just hope you realize that eventually people are going to put two and two together.”
“Yes, well. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
10/13-17/23 | nano prep challenge | goal: 8,335 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 8,787
11/13-14/23 | november small challenge: 8d20 challenge | COMPLETE
TOTAL WORD COUNT: 2,236
12/18/23 | october challenge: monster mash | original | 841 | COMPLETE
“Peg!”
Carolyn pushes through and takes her hand, giving it a soft squeeze as she does. She’s dressed in her best Lois Lane to match her boyfriend’s Superman, giving Peggy some plausible deniability when asked about her choice of costume. Carolyn grabs her hand and pulls her into the press of people jostling through the party. The music echoes anything that Carolyn may say to her, but once they’re on the other side, in one of the oddly quiet alcoves of the frat house.
“You okay?”
“…Not really.”
Carolyn sighs, placing her hands on her shoulders. “Do you want me to back you up? I’ll break up with him for you if you want me to.”
“You can’t break up with him for me.” Peggy takes a deep breath. “I can do it. This is just going to suck.”
“Well, we’re here for you. When it’s over, we’ll get out of here and get some ice cream.” A beat. “Or booze?” Another beat. “Boozy ice cream?”
“Let’s play it by ear. Have you seen him?”
“I think he was headed upstairs.”
“Okay. I’ll text you when it’s over.”
Peggy breaks away, heading for the stairs and weaving through the rooms until she arrives at Brian’s door. It’s sitting open, and she stays just outside the edge of the light, taking a deep breath. She can do this. Kara Danvers would not put up with this crap. Neither should she. She moves to step inside, and Brian looks up from where he’s sprawled on the bed.
“Hey, babe,” he says as he gets up. “You look…cute.”
She glances down. “You like it?”
“I don’t know when you said Supergirl, I guess I was just expecting more of the comics look.” He points to one poster on his wall, where the bare-midriff version of Supergirl in the super tiny skirt has stared down at her every night since she started dating him. “I’m just saying, if you put in the time at the gym, you could totally pull it off.”
“Yeah, that’s not really why I—”
“I’m not trying to criticize you.”
“You say while actively criticizing me.” She stares him down or tries, but he shrugs it off.
“Am I wrong? Like if you start now, just think of what you could do for next year’s costume.”
“Yeah, I probably could, but I’m already spending three days a week in the gym and I—” She takes a breath, before realizing that she’s getting forced off track. Shaking her head, she redirects. “I didn’t pick this costume for you. I’m also not going to stay long, so can we talk?”
“Not staying long?” Brian pops up, suddenly concerned. “I thought we were going to go to the party together.”
“We were. But I changed my mind. About us.”
“What do you mean about us?”
“I mean, that I’ve decided that this relationship isn’t working for me, so I don’t want to be your girlfriend anymore.”
“You’re breaking up with me? Are you actually serious?”
“Yes.”
“After everything I’ve done for you?”
“What, exactly, have you done for me?” She tips her head to the side curiously. “Other than constantly tell me what’s wrong with me? Because that doesn’t exactly make it feel you care about me as a person.”
“Who gives a shit about caring about each other as a person? You think if you don’t do everything I said, another guy is going to still want you?”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I’d rather be with someone who actually likes me instead of someone who just keeps trying to mold me into his comic book fantasy.” She turns to head out the door, having said what she needed to say, before turning around and coming back when she thinks of something else. “And by the way? Supergirl doesn’t exist just for you to jack off to.”
Yes. There. Then she turns and heads out to the porch to block Brian officially from her phone and text Carolyn. Soon, two pairs of footsteps join her on the porch, and Robert, Carolyn’s boyfriend, drapes an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in for a squeeze.
“Were we victorious?”
“We were,” Peggy smiles. “And I’m thinking pancakes.”
“Pancakes sound fantastic,” Carolyn nods. And as she steps off the porch to head off with her friends, she feels like herself for the first time in a long time.
And it feels good.
12/21/23 | november challenge: friendsgiving | original | 804 | COMPLETE
Jeremy is very close to breaking the last one.
“No one told me Henry was coming,” he hisses at his partner, and Luke rolls his eyes as he adjusts the tray of cookies into his hand. “I think if they invited him, they should have consulted me.”
“Did you honestly think that after getting dumped last year right before the holidays that Shana would not show off her hot new boyfriend?” Luke gives him a look at that and Jeremy huffs before squaring his shoulders.
“I mean, yes, that is typical Shana behavior. But I still think that if my ex is getting invited to Thanksgiving, I should be made aware.”
“Okay, first, he was your ex five years ago, and if I didn’t know you better, I might be a little insecure in our relationship here.” Luke says as they hit the stoop, before reaching forward to knock on the door. “Second, just let her have her moment. Henry isn’t that terrible.”
“You don’t know him like I know him.”
“If you’re going to be an asshole, we can go home. I don’t want Callie kicking you out before we even get to dessert.”
Jeremy takes a deep breath and lets his shoulders relax. “No, it’s fine. I can rise above. Watch me rise.”
Luke rolls his eyes but drops the look as soon as the door opens and Callie appears. “Hi,” they say simultaneously. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“I still hate how you two do that,” Callie sighs. “It’s creepy.” She reaches forward to take the cookies before gesturing for them to come inside. “Please tell me you also brought wine?”
“Obviously.” Jeremy holds up the two bottles in his hand. “Is it that bad already?”
“Shana brought her new boyfriend, and if I thought I wanted to stab Henry when you were dating him, it’s twice as bad now.”
Jeremy thrusts one bottle upwards in silent victory and Luke sighs. “God, now you’re going to make him unbearable.”
“Don’t worry. He can come help me out in the kitchen.” Callie gestures for the two of them to follow him. “If he’s there, Henry will probably stay away.”
“Deal,” Luke smirks before peeling off towards the living room where the sounds of football are playing. “I’ll go bond with the boys.”
“Have fun,” Jeremy shouts over his shoulder before following Callie to the kitchen. “So, how have things been going otherwise?”
“Oh, fine,” Callie waves a hand. “Work’s fine, kids are good, husband’s good. Nothing new, really.”
“Nothing new, but not getting burnt out, right? Because Luke and I love those kids. We could absolutely take them for the weekend if you and Rob need a break.”
“That is very sweet of you. If we get that desperate, I will let you know.” Callie sets the cookies down with the other desserts as they arrive in the kitchen and turns to take the wine from him. “That’s not saying anything about your abilities as caretakers, but more our inability to have a free weekend.”
“Noted. Where do you want me?”
“Mashed potatoes. Heather had to cancel, so I’m picking up her slack.”
“Got it.”
As he’s draining the cooked potatoes, footsteps sound on the linoleum followed by an irritating voice. “Just coming in for a glass of wine.” Henry grabs one glass before glancing over his shoulder at Jeremy. “Jeremy.”
“Henry. Lovely to see you again.”
“I would say the same, but I’d be lying.” Henry presses his lips together with a thin smile. “I saw you brought your friend Luke.”
“You mean my partner of three years?”
“Partner. Wow. I didn’t realize you were that close.”
Jeremy sets his jaw because he knows Henry is trying to get his goat, but he’s doing his best to stay calm. At least he knows Callie is there, watching Henry needle him.
“We haven’t spoken in five years, dude. There’s probably a lot about me you didn’t realize.”
“Mmm.” Henry finishes pouring his wine, before turning to head out of the kitchen again. “Have fun slaving away over the stove.”
As the other man walks away, Callie places a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “You did good, kid. I’m proud of you.”
“Think I have it in me to last through all of dinner.”
“I’ve got lots of people between you and Henry, so I fucking hope so.”
12/22/23 | five minutes challenge | original | 365 | COMPLETE
It’s not so much the question, but the slap that follows it that has Marjorie spinning on her stool at the bar, looking for the source of the sound. Maybe it makes her a messy person, but if someone is getting slapped in an establishment this upscale, it’s got to be good.
A woman, dressed in a similar look to the wait staff, has her hand raised in the air. But Marjorie and Ruby, her dining partner, both catch enough of the differences to know that she is not on the staff. Her clothes are too upscale, with enough minor details to distinguish between the two. She is a patron.
And the person who Marjorie assumes she slapped has a rapidly reddening face.
“How dare you. I’ll have your job.”
“My job?” The patron raises an eyebrow, cool as can be. “And what job do you think is that?”
The manager is rushing over, looking harried, and the moment he arrives and sees the stand off, his eyes widen.
“Ms. Reddenfield,” the manager begins, “I’m sure we can work this out.”
“I’m sure we can, Mr. Yen.”
“Oh shit,” Ruby hisses. “That’s Alice Reddenfield.”
“Oh, this is about to get good.” The two women haven’t been sitting there long, but they know a particular table has been harassing the wait staff all night. And now they just put their hands on the wrong person. And that realization is dawning over them as the color drains from their faces.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“The problem is that the men at this table have been putting hands on the staff all evening, and while they may be too professional to say anything about it, I have no such restrictions. Honestly, I thought this was a much higher caliber of an establishment.”
“We are, Ms. Reddenfield. I’ll take care of it. We won’t have this problem again.”
“See that it doesn’t.” The other woman turns to leave, rejoining her dinner date and heading out the door, and Marjorie shakes her head.
“Taking down gross men with class and style. I want to be her when I grow up.”
“Tell me about it.”
12/29/23 | december challenge: fiction or non-fiction? | original | 612 | COMPLETE
Holden kicks his feet up on his desk as he stares down at the two directors in front of him. He’s not used to having his judgement questioned. In fact, he’s used to the yes men tripping over themselves to accommodate his wishes. But apparently, the idea of keeping up with the times and moving their films into the next big thing is getting met with some resistance.
“Are we? And why would we do that? We have already cast most of this slate.”
“Yes, sir.” Barrowman swallows hard, seeming to be the only one to speak. “But we have cast them for silence. Now you want them all to talk, and not only do we have to write dialogue for them to say, but they have to say it and we don’t know how that will land.”
Okay. Barrowman has a point there. Holden drums his fingers against the table as he weighs his options. “So its push out the release date for an entire slate of films or release the current group as planned and plan better for the next slate.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
Holden huffs, then nods. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. But I want them to be some of the best films we’ve ever produced. You want the extra time? Make it count.”
“Yes, sir.”
The two directors stalk out of the room and Holden shakes his head as his phone rings. “Better be damn magnificent films.”
“Where do we even start with writing dialogue?” Barrowman tosses a crumpled piece of paper across the table to his partner, Stratford, leaning back with a sigh. “Maybe we could do some adaptations? Shakespeare or some shit?”
“Shakespeare? You want to give Shakespeare to some actors that the studio currently has?”
“How do you mean?”
Before Stratford can respond, the door to the writer’s room is thrown open and James Rexland, the studio’s current leading man, bursts into the room. Rexland has always been one of the studio heartthrobs, drawing in a lot of female dollars for the studio as a romantic leading man, while still pulling off enough masculine energy to not alienate the male audience. A great mix for silent films where he doesn’t have to speak.
Because when he speaks, that’s the problem. A thick Brooklyn accent falls off his lips as he crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“What’s this about speech lessons? What the fuck is wrong with the way I talk?”
“Nothing, Jim.” Barrowman is quick to respond, holding up his hands placatingly. “Nothing at all. It’s just with Mr. Holden wanting us to explore talking pictures, we want to make sure that you’re more … versatile.”
“Exactly. Versatility ain’t a bad thing,” Stratford chimes in, and Rexland looks doubtful.
“Talking pictures. Really? That’s what they want now?”
“Apparently, it’s becoming the next big thing. Look, Jim, I’m not exactly thrilled with all of this either. It’s a complete shift of the way we work. But we want you here. I want to keep you here. Is a couple of speech lessons so that you can stay employed such a hardship?”
Rexland relaxes some at that. “So everyone has to take these lessons?”
“All the actors, yes.”
“Even Priscilla?”
“Especially Priscilla.”
“Alright.” Rexland relaxes and steps back. “Carry on.”
Barrowman lets him go, and once the door is closed, Stratford leans forward. “Priscilla is one of the most well-spoken actresses we have. Stage-trained and all that.”
Barrowman nods. “Yes. But we tell him whatever he needs to hear.”
Stars and executives. Always have to handle them with kid gloves.