Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2024-12-11 09:43 pm
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2024-12-11 09:43 pm
Entry tags:
- canon: leverage,
- canon: october daye series,
- canon: original,
- canon: supernatural,
- canon: white collar,
- canon: wynonna earp,
- leverage: sophie devereaux,
- october daye: dianda lorden,
- october daye: patrick lorden,
- october daye: simon torquill,
- prompts: get your words out,
- ship: dean/wynonna,
- ship: dianda/patrick/simon,
- supernatural: dean winchester,
- white collar: neal caffrey,
- wynonna earp: wynonna earp
get your words out { 2025 } challenge tracking
Directory:
OFFICIAL CHALLENGES:
1/13/25 WIP Challenge COMPLETE 2/13-14/25 February Small Challenge: Roll the Dice COMPLETE 2025 GYWO Yahtzee IN PROGRESS
1/13/25 | wip challenge | original | 1,190 | COMPLETE
+ the rest of the scene
2/13-14/25 | february small challenge: roll the dice | goal: 1,064 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 3,388
2025 | gywo yahtzee | goal: 5/8 | IN PROGRESS
4/21-4/27 | 7 days, 7 stories | running count: 7/7 | COMPLETE
WORD COUNT: 2,700
5/21-22/25 | may small challenge: roll the dice | goal: 1,398 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 2,107
july 2025 | mid-year marathon | goal: 16,986 | INCOMPLETE
WEEK 2:
WEEK 3:
WEEK 4:
RUNNING COUNT: 8,541
7/23/25 | january challenge: tarot prompts | october daye series | 1,448 | COMPLETE
Simon and August arrive in the Undersea to an impressive scrutiny. Not unexpectedly on Simon’s part, impressive amounts of scrutiny have been part and parcel of his life for the past century or more. August is still adjusting to people in a lot of ways, and she takes it less well, being more accustomed to blending into her mother’s scenery.
Scrutiny does not give way to confrontation, however, and they’re quickly escorted to rooms fitting a ducal consort, at least by Undersea standards. August moves to look out one window to the sea around them and takes it all in with a level of amazement that he can’t help but smile at.
“I think you’ll like it here. Things are much more straightforward than the Divided Courts on the surface.”
August glances back at him with a small nod before straightening her shoulders. “We need to talk.”
Simon raises an eyebrow. “Do we?”
“I know why you gave me your way home. Because I’m your daughter and you love me—”
“No, it wasn’t.” August blinks, and he pauses before continuing. “Of course, that was part of it. I would sacrifice anything necessary to ensure your happiness, but your happiness was not my main concern at the moment. It was your sister’s.”
There’s a brief flicker of complicated emotions that crosses August’s face at the mention of October, and he supposes that’s fair. He also is certain her mother had plenty of choice things to say in the time that they were sequestered together.
“Your mother had taken her beloved and the beloved of her sister, trapped them in cages and would not return them without her first returning you. If I didn’t take it, October would ultimately take it upon herself, and we would be much worse off, wouldn’t we?”
“Would we?”
“Oh, your aunt would have been terribly unhappy if she had to delay the return of her children until October brought her father home. Never mind all the good October has done in the meantime. The world could not be put on hold waiting for you to pay your debt, so if I could make a small sacrifice in order to ensure that things were kept on their course, I would do so. I knew October would save me. She’s quite good at righting Faerie’s wrongs—especially mine.”
August pauses before looking out the window again, and in those complicated feelings, he also sees something almost akin to longing. “Do you think she may ever actually see me as a sister?”
“October, it turns out, can forgive a great many sins, if you give her enough time.” Simon places a hand on her shoulder gently as he leaves her to her contemplations. “Just give her time.”
“He turned Toby into a fish. He turned Dean into a tree!”
Of the two, Dianda could tell which is the larger offense to her youngest son. Peter’s flukes flicker in the pool's water as he sits across from his mother, and she can tell he is not pleased with the news that Dianda and Patrick returned with.
“I know. And we’re not happy with that.”
“But you still married him.”
Dianda takes a deep breath, trying to find the few shreds of patience she possesses, most of which she channeled into dealing with her children. Peter doesn’t have the centuries of history with Simon. He doesn’t realize how much Dianda and Patrick owe him.
“Yes, we did.”
Peter grits his teeth, his expression so much like hers that it’s clear whose child he is, but she also sees pieces of Patrick in him too. A blend of both of them, and pieces she knows may disappear if Patrick is ever to truly inherit. There’s no need for that decision just yet, but she knows Patrick may ask it of Toby one day, if he decides the Duchy is what he really wants.
“I just want to understand why,” he eventually says, and she nods.
“If it weren’t for Simon Torquill, you wouldn’t exist. Neither would Dean.” It’s said so bluntly that Peter can’t help but look confused. “Your father’s Firstborn objected to our courtship, and she absolutely would not have allowed a marriage. But Simon intervened on your father’s behalf, and it cost him … so much. Him turning Toby into a fish happened before I knew her and his turning Dean into a tree is something he and Dean will have to work out in their own time, but for what he gave us, we owe him at least the opportunity to get free of the Firstborn in his life. And if that means marrying him to keep him in the Undersea, then that’s what we’ll do.”
She leaves out the fact that Simon has always had a part of Patrick’s heart that she could never touch. She leaves out that this marriage has always had three people in it; this is simply the first time it’s been legally declared. That she loves Simon too, maybe not in the same way that Patrick does, but she feels it’s only fair to help him find that frivolous, charming man she met all those years ago.
Peter still doesn’t seem happy. “I will not call him Dad.”
“Fair enough, he’s not your father.”
“And I’m not going to forgive him for what he did to Dean.”
“Also fair.”
Peter takes a deep breath. “But I will be nice to him. For Dad’s sake.”
Dianda smiles, and she nods. “That’s all we ask of you. And don’t be mean to August, either. None of this is her fault.”
“Does this make her my sister?” There’s a pause as he does more lineage math, and his face brightens. “Does this make Toby my sister?”
Dianda laughs. “You’ll have to ask her that the next time you see her. As for August, that’s up to her and you. She probably has a lot to learn about the Undersea. She could use a guide.” Never mind that she likely has a lot to unlearn from what Amandine taught her.
Peter nods. “I can do that.”
“Good.” She hopes, for now, that it’s enough.
Even as the days pass, even knowing they’re married, Patrick often can’t believe that Simon is here. His Simon, not the monster their First turned him into. It’s still taking some time to peel back the layers, but when he comes to Simon’s rooms that night, mostly to see how he and August are settling in, he finds Simon mostly moved in—not that he had much to move—and staring out the window into the water, more contemplative than calculating.
“Is everything to your liking?”
Simon blinks before turning to face him with a wry smile. “I feel like I have said more words than your entire Duchy has heard in months in the brief time I’ve been here. Helmi and the others are very … laconic?”
Patrick laughs before moving closer. “I’m sure part of it is also their being not so sure what to make of you.”
“Maybe.” Simon takes him in, and Patrick can tell he’s having some of the same thoughts. That he can’t believe he’s truly here and that the nightmare is over in a lot of ways. “I’m not even sure what to make of myself most of the time.”
Patrick sits on the couch next to him, reaching for his hand and pulling him closer. “You have time to figure that out. There is no rush.” As much as he wants to explore all the things they had denied themselves for so long, they have all the time in the world.
Simon looks down at their joined hands, musing, before inching closer so they are pressed side to side. “There is a lot that’s happened that we haven’t shared with each other.”
Patrick nods. “On both sides, I’m sure.”
“You may not like some of mine. I don’t wish for you to see me differently.”
Patrick tips his head to the side before nodding. “I know who our Firstborn is, Simon. I know how she likes to use people. If there’s anything you want to unburden, I can bear it. We’ll get through it together.”
Simon nods as well before shifting to lean comfortably against him. Patrick takes his weight easily, running a hand through Simon’s hair as he keeps him close. “Can we start with you telling me more about the Duchy? What’s expected of us as consorts?”
Patrick nods and holds him close. “I can do that.”
Courtly manners for now. For a first step, it’s a step in the right direction.
august 2025 | mid-year marathon | goal: 16,986 | IN PROGRESS
WEEK 2:
WEEK 3:
WEEK 4:
RUNNING COUNT: 14,782
7/28/25 | february challenge: bob the plot monster | original | 603 | COMPLETE
“Just one?” Rodney squints up at the spirit in front of him, trying to clamp down on his eagerness. Now isn’t the time to jump in too soon. Now is the time to negotiate. “Isn’t it usually three?”
“Three is an exaggeration made for a compelling narrative framework.” The genie shifts so that she’s stretching out horizontally, magicking herself a lounge out of thin air. “Need to give the person a chance to learn the error of their ways, all that jazz. Technically I don’t have to grant you any wishes but people get uppity if you don’t give them at least one.”
Rodney frowns, leaning back and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “If you don’t have to grant wishes than why are you trapped in the lamp?”
“Who said anything about being trapped? I’ve put centuries into getting that thing to my liking.”
Rodney’s brow furrows. “So you’re not cursed to be in the lamp and give people witches?”
“Nope.”
“And you don’t have to give people wishes at all?”
“Not even a little one.”
“But you’re offering me one why?”
“Mostly? So that you’ll go away.” She shifts as she turns to face him, propping up her chin in her hand. “In my experience, people who think they’re due something don’t like to take no for an answer when you send them away empty handed.”
“So one wish so that I go away and never bother you again.”
“Precisely.”
A wish is a wish. Rodney isn’t about to complain. “And this isn’t some kind of monkey paw wish? I’m not going to have to be super specific about my language to make sure I actually get what I want?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”
“Right, stupid question. Of course I have to be specific.”
“You are a step up on most of the people who come here.”
That feels like a compliment. It’s not said like one, but he’ll take it that way. He begins to pace away from her, rolling through the potential options on the table and then holds up a finger with a grin. “I wish that I always have enough money in my bank account to pay my costs of living, in perpetuity.”
She blinks at him, trying to figure out where he’s going with this. “What, not just going to ask for a billion dollars?”
“No, billionaires suck. I just want to be able to live a comfortable life, and if I move into a nicer place or whatever, I always want to be able to afford it.”
The genie pauses curiously, before pushing up into a sitting position. “You know what, that’s not a bad one. I’ll give credit where credit’s due.”
He grins, pleased with his ability to out think the system. “So, that’s it? You’ll grant my wish?”
She nods, “Three, two, one …” She snaps her fingers, and everything goes black.
As Rodney disappears from view, Malina rolls her shoulders before shaking her head. “I guess we appreciate someone who keeps it ethical.”
The lamp next to her rattles, and her partner emerges, looking over at her with a sleepy yawn. “Get another live one?”
“Yep. This one was pretty smart though. Gotta give credit where credit is due.”
Amira nods, before pulling her closer. “Well, thank you for taking this one. I promise I will manage the next one.”
“Good,” she sighs before taking her hand. “C’mon. Let’s go back to bed. After that one, I’m in need of a nap.”
7/29/25 | march challenge: it's a date | original | 859 | COMPLETE
His new life as a vampire, contrary to his expectations, does not require him to only be out and about at night, but he appreciates the stillness of it, long after everyone has gone to bed. There’s a quietness to a city at night that he appreciated even when he was human, and Philadelphia is no different—at least not the part of Philadelphia he’s currently in. It’s far from the hustle and bustle of the bars and clubs, little suburban townhomes that are close enough together to still give the appearance of a city, but are just lingering on the edge of the suburbs. More families than single folks or couples.
Not Wes’ people, exactly, but he has a delivery to make.
He glances down at his watch to check the time, ensuring that he’s going to have enough time to do what he needs to do and leave before anyone realizes he was there. Wes and his sister haven’t seen each other in person in several years, close to a decade—around the time when Wes stopped physically aging. He hasn’t told Lizzie that he’s a vampire. He doesn’t really want to. It’s a world that she doesn’t deserve to get pulled into, and he keeps his distance most of the time, anyway. Weekly phone calls maintain their relationship just fine.
But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like to surprise her—or his nieces and nephew—occasionally.
He tiptoes up the steps of the porch, avoiding the one that squeaks, and pulls out his spare key to let himself inside. He’d been invited in years ago, which allows him to come and go as he pleases. Quietly, he makes his way to the Christmas tree, glittering in the darkness, and gently slides the backpack from his shoulder as he crouches down to place the presents he bought them—each said to be from Santa, even the one for his sister.
He knows she knows who it is, but the kids deserve to have a little magic.
Soon, the presents are set, and he gathers his bag to slip back out the door again, just as the sun is rising. He locks the door behind him, and heads back out into the streets, knowing that the still-falling snow will cover the footprints behind him.
“Santa?” Lizzie’s voice echoes through the phone when she calls him later to wish him a Merry Christmas. “You’re such an asshole.”
He grins, even though she can’t see it, leaning against his kitchen wall as he talks to her on the landline. “What can I say? I like a bit of whimsy at Christmas.”
“You could have just come over.” The admonishment is half-hearted, because she knows he won’t. “See them open them up themselves.”
“I think we both know that’s not a good idea,” he replies.
“Who says? I host Christmas now, which means I get to invite whoever I want. Mom and Dad don’t get a say.”
There’s a part of his heart that aches for what she’s offering, but he still knows he can’t go. “I don’t want to ruin dinner, Liz. You know that even if they don’t get a say, they’ll still make how unhappy they are known.”
“Yeah, I know.” She huffs, and he hears her footsteps on the hardwood floors, moving further away from her children. “So am I just going to never see you in person again? For the rest of our lives?”
He knows the answer is yes, but part of him doesn’t want to stop hoping that someday, maybe, it might swing the other way. Maybe things will be easier and he’ll be able to explain in a way that isn’t impossible to believe. So he falls into a silence that stretches too long, and she sighs.
“Promise me something, Wes.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me you’ll never stop calling. You’ll keep letting me know if you’re okay. You keep letting me know if you need someone to come speak for you medically, or if you’re dying, or if there’s going to be a funeral I need to attend.” It pains him to know that there won’t be. Technically, he’s already dead, and she’s already missed it. “And promise me that if I go first, you will get on a plane or get in a car, and you will be there for mine.”
He lets the silence linger a little longer, but in the end, he nods. “I promise, Liz. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”
There’s a pause of desperation before: “If I know the end’s coming, and I want to see you one last time, will you come then too?”
This promise feels harder to make, but he makes it all the same. “I will. I’ll come.”
“Okay. Good.” The sound of one of the children’s voices echoes from behind her, and she sighs. “I gotta go. I gotta get started on making dinner. But I love you, big brother. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Lizzie. Love you too.”
7/30/25 | may challenge: the language of flowers | leverage/white collar | 714 | COMPLETE
Sophie sees through it because she did the exact same thing. Grifter knows grifter.
The problem with this particular grifter, is last she heard, he was supposed to be dead.
The trip to Paris had been intended to clear her mind after the loss of her husband. Spend some time around the art she loved and hopefully find some kind of peace again. It hasn’t been going well. They were supposed to have more time before he made her a widow. But she still keeps wandering, hoping she will find the spark somewhere in the mix.
Instead, she stumbles across a man she’s fairly certain is Neal Caffrey, studying paintings at the Louvre.
“You know, most people come here from the Mona Lisa,” she says as she steps up next to him. “And given that I’ve known you to be drawn in by a pretty face or two, I’m surprised I can’t say the same for you.”
His mouth quirks up in a small smile. “I find she’s a girl that leaves you wanting in the end. Especially considering she’s only so famous because someone stole her.”
She clucks her tongue quietly. “Taking a woman’s success and attributing it to only a man. What would modern feminism say about that?”
He laughs, before turning to face her more. “Hello, Sophie.”
“Neal. It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has.” He extends an arm to her to see if she’ll walk with him, and she takes it, falling into step as they move through the gallery. “In fact, it’s been so long, I heard you were dead.”
“Is that rumor still floating around?” Neal sighs. “I would have thought that Mozzie would have gotten it out to all the important people by now. I know for sure he talked to Tara.”
She waves a hand. “I’ve been out of the loop. I think Tara might have assumed that I heard from someone else and didn’t want to bother me with it. Things have been … hard, lately.”
He lifts one hand, resting it over hers as he gives it a gentle squeeze. “I heard about Nate. I’m so sorry.”
She shrugs. “We never have the time we hope to. As much as I wish we did.”
Neal nods, turning his eyes back to the art briefly. “What brings you to Paris?”
“The shopping, mostly. Trying to restart my life. Make me feel like myself again. But instead, all I’ve found is it’s me trying to construct a version of Sophie Devereaux that can live without the man who had been the center of her world for the past decade and a half.”
“It’s not easy,” Neal admits. “It usually helps when you have people to reset your compass.”
Sophie knows who he’s referring to. Parker, Hardison and Eliot have been making the rounds, making sure that she’s not going to completely fall apart. But she doesn’t want to be treated like she’s fragile, even if she is. She just wants to be herself again.
“Enough about me. What are you doing in Paris?”
“Well.” A slow smirk crosses his face as he stops her in front of one of the paintings. A Raphael, if she remembers correctly. “Since you asked, I could use an extra hand on this project I’m working on.”
She raises an eyebrow, before glancing back to the painting. “When is it due?”
“Aiming for the end of the week, give or take. Most everything is in place, I just need a second face to seal the deal and I hadn’t been sure who to ask.”
A high security gamble with a very high value piece and only a few days to prepare? She’s not sure what it is about the challenge, but it set a thrill down her spine, and she turns to him with a smile.
“Why, Mr. Caffrey. I thought you’d never ask.”
8/1 & 4/25 | june challenge: gywo iron chef | prompt: fireworks | COMPLETE
8/4-10/25 | small challenge: catch up! | goal: 4,600 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 6,217
8/5/25 | holidays in july | supernatural/wynonna earp | 1,780 | COMPLETE
“Okay, kiddo.”
Dean turns Mary to face him, studying the little girl’s coat to make sure she’s ready to go out in the South Dakota winter. He zips up the front of her coat before nodding. “Let’s go over the checklist. Mittens?”
“Check!” She holds up her hands to show the red mittens that match her coat.
“Hat?”
“Check!”
“Earmuffs?”
Her hands come up to cover her ears briefly, and she frowns. “Aunt Jody! I forgot my earmuffs.”
“I gotcha.” Jody comes in from the kitchen and holds out the tiny earmuffs to hand to her. Mary grasps them and plops them over her ears and looks up at her dad with a grin.
“Check!”
“Alright, I think we’re ready to rock and roll.” Dean straightens to his full height before giving Jody a hug. “We’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
“Drive safe. They say there’s supposed to be a storm coming in.”
Dean nods. “If we get snowed in or stuck, I’ll call.”
“Good.” Jody then crouches down so that she’s eye level with Mary. “You be good, alright?”
Mary nods before leaning in closer to Jody. “If I’m not sleeping at my house, will Santa still find me?”
Jody smiles before nodding. “I think he’s pretty sharp. And if he doesn’t figure it out, your presents will just be here for when you get back, okay?”
“Okay.” She turns and then holds her hand up to her father. “Okay, Daddy. I’m ready to go.”
“Then let’s blow this popsicle stand.” Dean takes her hand and they make their way out to the Impala, where it and Sam have been waiting.
“Hi, Uncle Sammy! Are you coming to Mommy’s house too?”
“You bet,” Sam smiles as Dean gets Mary loaded into her car seat.
“Good,” she grins, and soon Dean is sliding into the driver’s seat and they head out onto the open highway. Mary is quiet at first, eyes watching the open expanse as it flies past her, but eventually the music playing from the front seat isn’t enough to keep her from peppering her uncle with questions.
“Uncle Sammy, do you know my Aunt Waverly? And my Grandma?”
“I do. They’re both very excited to meet you.”
“Are they nice?”
“Your Aunt Waverly is very nice.” Sam can say that quickly and without reserve. Waverly is probably the nicest person either of them has ever met. When it comes to Michelle, he hesitates. “Your grandma is a little more complicated, but I think she’ll be very nice to you.”
Mary considers that carefully before frowning. “Aunt Jody says that if you’re not nice to everyone, you’re not really nice.”
Sam frowns. “I mean … that’s kind of true. But your grandma is tough, like your mom. So while she may not always say the nice thing, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you very much.”
“Okay.” Mary seems to contemplate that very carefully. “Do you think they’ll like me?”
Sam and Dean glance at each other briefly, then back at Mary. As much as she’s trying to keep a brave face in place, they both can see that there’s a genuine worry there. These people they’re going to meet are family, but she’s never met them. Dean swallows before providing an obvious scoff. “Obviously. Because you’re awesome.”
Mary’s apprehension relaxes some, but he can still see a little knot of worry there. He reaches for the knob on the radio before turning back to her.
“Hey, kiddo. We still got a bit of a ride left. Want to pick the music?”
She brightens even further at that before nodding, and things seem lighter.
The last time Waverly saw Mary, she was only a few hours old. Waverly had just carried her across the line of the Ghost River Triangle to ensure there was no revenant involvement for either of them. She placed the tiny, sleeping baby in Dean’s arms and made him promise to keep her safe before she was loaded into a car seat and he sped off in the Impala for points unknown.
She can’t help but feel a little nervous about finally getting to meet her for the first time. About looking her in the eye and seeing the person she’s become. The overcast clouds are gathering and block out the setting sun, and she waits by the window, almost as though her careful watch will ensure that they get here safely.
“Hey, babe,” Nicole moves to settle on the seat behind her. “Want some tea?”
Waverly startles, blinking some at the question before nodding. “Yes. Sorry. I was just—”
“Falling down an endless worry cycle?” Nicole raises an eyebrow as she passes her the cup. Waverly protests, but Nicole shakes her head. “Don’t bother. I know your faces.”
Waverly sighs before leaning back in her seat, letting her cup warm her hands. “I’m just … excited. But also worried. Do you think I got enough presents?”
Nicole glances over at the tower of brightly wrapped gifts sitting under their tree, and she laughs. “No, baby. I think you’ve got more than enough.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t articulate the actual worry. The I hope she likes me of it all, but before she can change the subject to something else, there’s a familiar rumble as the Impala pulls up in front of the homestead. “They’re here!” She shouts back into the house, and she jumps to her feet, fixing her clothes as though she’s trying to impress someone important.
Maybe she is.
Wynonna jogs down the stairs and moves to the door, a wide smile crossing her face as she moves out onto the porch. Dean unloads Mary from the car, and she greets Wynonna with a bright “Mommy!” before dashing to where Wynonna can stoop and scoop her up.
Waverly listens intently to the two of them as they talk, and greetings move on to Sam and Dean as well, palms sweating. She goes to dry them on her pants, and Nicole reaches over and takes her hand.
Eventually, the four of them all make it inside. Mary sets down on the ground between them. Her eyes roam over the scene before her, before landing on the tree and the pile of presents. “Whoa. Are those all for me?”
“Most of them, yeah,” Waverly speaks up. “I might have gone a little overboard.” Speaking draws the little girl’s eyes to her, and she gives her a small wave before she’s crouching down so that she’s more on the little girl’s level. “Hi, Mary. I’m your Auntie Waverly. And this—” She gestures over to the woman next to her. “—is your Auntie Nicole. We’re really excited to meet you.”
Mary retreats some, moving back so that she’s resting against her father’s legs, even if not outright hiding behind them. “Uncle Sammy says you’re really nice.” The statement is almost an accusation, as though she’s expecting him to contradict it.
“I try to be.”
Mary nods. “Sometimes being nice is hard when people are jerks.”
Waverly laughs. “Very true. But I still try, because you never know when someone is having a bad day.”
Mary takes that in before glancing over at her mom. “And Mommy says you’re an angel, but not like Uncle Cas.”
“Also true. But I’m only half-angel. My dad was an angel, but my mom was human, like you.”
Mary frowns before glancing up at her mom. “Does that mean you’re an angel too?”
Wynonna shakes her head. “Auntie Waverly and I don’t have the same dad. But she’s still my favorite sister. And Auntie Nicole is my best friend. So you’re really safe here, okay?”
Mary takes that in seriously before nodding her head firmly, as though she’s decided. “Okay.” She then moves closer so that she’s standing right in front of Waverly, and Waverly takes in all the little details of her.
“I haven’t seen you since you were a baby,” Waverly admits sheepishly, before reaching up and pushing back one of the blond curls that popped out from under her hat. “You look just like Momma.”
“My grandma?” Mary asks, and Waverly nods. “Is she here too?”
“Not yet,” Waverly says. “But she called and said that she would be here by dinner. She’s already on her way.”
“Okay.” Mary nods before looking around. “So what will we do until she gets here?”
Waverly glances up at her sister, who nods, and Waverly grins in return. “Well. We have a bit of a surprise for you …”
Michelle looks over the scene as she emerges from the kitchen after washing all the dishes. Her daughters and her granddaughter, dressed in their matching onesies, are curled up on the couch in front of the fire as animatronic bells tinkle from the garland across the mantelpiece. Sam and Nicole’s voices drift in from the Impala, where they’re loading all of Mary’s presents into the car for the drive back to Sioux Falls. And Dean lingers in the opposite doorway, watching over them all with a glass of whiskey in his hand.
Michelle nods before moving over to join him. She’s still not one hundred percent sure she trusts him, this man who out of nowhere became her daughter’s soulmate. But it’s become clear at this point that he loves her daughter. That he will do anything for her. And more importantly, he loves his daughter. And speaking as someone who raised three daughters, that combination can be a hard one to find.
“Looks like they wore themselves out,” Michelle comments, and Dean glances over at her before nodding.
“Yeah. It’s been a big day.”
Michelle nods again before placing a hand on his arm gently and nodding. “Thank you. For bringing her here to meet us. I know you’ve been working really hard to keep her safe, but … thank you.”
Dean glances over at Michelle and nods in agreement. “I can give you Jody’s number, if you like. So you can come visit.”
Michelle considers that option carefully before nodding her agreement. She can’t promise that she’ll use the number, but having it, knowing that there’s an option and lots of things she can teach her, could be worth doing. Maybe it’ll stop her from meandering.
“I would like that very much. Thank you.”
She prepares to retreat from the room so she herself can get ready for bed, and Dean calls back over his shoulder. “Hey, Michelle.” As she turns to face him, he nods. “Merry Christmas.”
She offers him a small smile in return before nodding. “Merry Christmas, Dean. Take good care of our girls.”
“Always.”
8/18/25 | august challenge: 8d20 challenge | IN PROGRESS
RUNNING COUNT: 0
8/20/25 | january small challenge: stop | everyone lives | 1,038 | COMPLETE
The only problem his former therapist is not equipped for the things he’s dealing with now in the slightest.
He feels like he’s backed into a corner, like he doesn’t have an outlet, a healthy way to deal with all these things he’s feeling, and he knows that isn’t going to end well. He knows himself.
Or at least he used to. Now he’s not so sure. Now he has a ton of new memories to deal with and can’t help but wonder if he could have been different if he had been allowed to process everything at the same time. He knows he needs help, regardless of whether or not that’s true. Rudy isn’t going to have any resources, and he sure as shit doesn’t want to ask Dean about it. He’s fairly certain the man has never considered actual therapy a day in his life.
There is someone else he can ask though. He closes his eyes, before fishing out his phone and texting his stepfather.
Do you have Elena’s number?
To Rudy’s credit, the first thing Ben receives is the contact info. The second is: You could have asked Dean.
He would have asked why.
He then saves the contact to his phone and calls before he can second guess it. He doesn’t really think ahead, which is why he’s surprised when a sleepy voice is who responds.
“Dr. Gilbert.”
“Elena, hi. It’s Ben.” Then he glances at his watch. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t realize the time. I don’t even know what time zone you’re in—”
“No, no, it’s fine. I was on call anyway.” She sounds a little more awake, and there’s some rustling in the background. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine, I just, uh.” The sentence drops off and he finds himself stumbling over the purpose again. Sometimes best to just spit it out. “Do you know any therapists who deal with supernatural stuff?”
“Oh.” Elena’s voice softens, before nodding. “Yeah, I do. Are you looking to talk to someone?”
“Yeah.” Ben rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s not an immediate emergency. I’m not a danger to myself and others but … I think I could probably use it, with everything.”
“Yeah, of course.” He wonders idly if this is Elena’s doctor voice. Calm and soothing, layered with understanding. He bets she has good beside manner.
There’s a torrent of lines that Dean has probably used on her that comes with that thought, and he squashes them down because that is not a line of thought he needs. Eyes on the prize, Braedan.
“I appreciate it. If there’s one in Michigan that would be best, but I figure this is probably a limited specialty so telehealth works fine.”
“Got it. Let me reach out to my friend, Emma Tig. She might not be the best fit, but she’ll be better able to answer your questions and help you get in touch with the right person. Can I give her your number?”
“Yeah, thank you.” Ben drums his fingers against his leg. “And could you not tell Dean? I’m not ashamed, just …” Dean is stewing in enough guilt, Ben doesn’t want to deal with the added questions. Wants this to be as separate from Dean as possible unless he has to be there.
“Yeah, of course. Let’s call this a consult.” There’s a bit of wry amusement in her tone. “Cover it under doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“Cool.” He pauses. “I know he’s doing his best, but…”
“That’s not what therapy’s for. Sometimes you just need to feel your feelings without worrying about the other person’s reactions.” Elena pauses. “I know you don’t really know me that well, but I do get how the world can mess you up from a human perspective. Especially when it just comes out of nowhere at you.”
“Dean said—” His voice drops off when he realizes that she may not want to talk about her exes with her boyfriend’s kid.
“Dean said?” she prompts and he sighs.
“He said you used to date vampires.”
Elena laughs, and his shoulders relax some. “Well, my supernatural experience is a lot more layered than that, but that is kind of what started it all.”
“How do you … how do you still keep playing at normal? How do you not see danger in every person who comes in the door?”
Elena’s quiet, and he tries not to interrupt, just let her think through her response. “I don’t know if I can answer that for you fully. I’ve never had to deal with demons the way that you or Dean have. I have had people I thought loved me become other people, and I’ve had people reveal that they’re not in my life because of me and more because of what I am. It doesn’t get easier the more complicated it gets, but … if I started distrusting everyone who comes into my life, I wouldn’t have very many people left. I wouldn’t have Dean. So, I don’t know. In the end, I just have to keep trying. And add all of this new information I have into my new normal. I don’t know if it’ll be the same process for you, but you need to figure that out in your own time. I can’t tell you how.”
Ben nods. “I appreciate that.” And it gives him something to think about, at least. “And thank you, for the referral.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
“Okay.” Elena pauses. “Also, this is all on your own timeline, Ben. I know Dean can be a … presence. But don’t let him rush you, either. Sometimes he can use the reminder that you have time.”
Ben nods. “Night, Elena.” And as he hangs up, he feels that some of that weight is breathing a little easier.
2025 | year end marathon | goal: 15,000/month | COMPLETE
DECEMBER:
RUNNING COUNT: 30,086
11/1-2/25 | two-day challenge | goal: 4,000 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 4,181
11/3-7/25 | minimum word count challenge | goal: 546/day | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 9,873
11/11-12/25 | roll the dice challenge | goal: 3,033 | COMPLETE
RUNNING COUNT: 3,980
december 2025 | spoopy word crawl | COMPLETE
12/13/25 | april small challenge: wip challenge | COMPLETE
12/21/25 | june small challenge: stop, drop, write | everyone lives | 621 | COMPLETE
It’s been about a week since the Ben bomb dropped and Sam has seen more of Elena now that his brother isn’t around. He’s not complaining—he likes Elena—but it’s still a little weird when she’s seeking him out.
“Sure,” he nods as he turns to face her more. “What’s up?”
“Do you guys do Christmas?”
Sam can’t help but wince. “We try, sometimes? When Mary wants to. But … not really, no. We haven’t exactly had a lot of good ones.”
“Fair.” Elena nods slowly. “So I shouldn’t get Dean a gift?”
That makes him pause. Not because it’s a terrible idea but more because his brother doesn’t really get a lot of gifts. He and Sam have their own rituals and will get things for each other occasionally, but other people? Not really. And Elena seems like the kind of person who would get him one with thought and care.
She continues to look back at him expectantly until he finally says: “I wouldn’t expect one back? But … if you want to get him a gift, I think you should.”
A smile stretches across her face, and she nods. “Okay, cool.” She walks away, and Sam thinks of something else.
“And Elena?”
“Yep.”
“He may not have told you, but his birthday is January twenty-fourth.”
Elena seems to catch why he’s saying that, reading between the lines of his awkward attempts for his brother to get some recognition, after all the time he spent building up Sam over the years. She nods again.
“Noted. I’ll remember.”
“Good.”
A few hours later, Elena reappears, looking as though she’s been doing some digging. This time Sam is in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee, and she will go to fetch herself a mug. “So, Dean’s car.”
“Tread carefully.”
She laughs. “The cassette deck.”
“Do not get him an adapter for his phone; he will not use it.”
“Got it,” Elena nods, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Sam can practically see her moving through the gift tree list in her mind of what she wants to get him, before her head tips up again. “So the cassette tapes. Those wear out, right? Are there any he hasn’t replaced yet?”
Sam’s eyes narrow some. “Can you replace them?”
“Oh, the one upside of hanging out with some people who are centuries old is that you get very, very good at eBay. If it’s out there, I will find it.”
“Do you want to? Isn’t this kind of enabling him?”
“It’s a gift,” Elena points out. “And Dean liking cassette tapes for his car doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“Point.” Sam nods. “I can make you a list, yeah.”
“Great. Thank you.” She finishes fixing her coffee to her liking, before flashing him a smile and disappearing back into her room again. Mary comes in, glancing over her shoulder as she watches Elena go before raising an eyebrow back at her son.
“What’s she up to?”
“I’m not sure.” Sam glances back to her. “But she’s planning Christmas gifts.”
Mary smirks at her son. “Worried she’s going to make you look bad?”
He laughs, before shaking his head. “No.” Then he shrugs. “I just think she’s really good for Dean.”
“I think so too.” Mary gives his arm a squeeze. “Does this mean we’re doing gifts this year?”
“Only if you want to.”
“Well, maybe I do.” Mary flashes him a smirk before taking her own cup of coffee out of the room. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
12/22/25 | april challenge: microfiction dice | 22 | COMPLETE
12/23/25 | august challenge: r/amitheasshole | supernatural | 161 | COMPLETE
I (M-Eternal) am trying to finish my latest project and my characters—let’s call them Sam (M38) and Dean (M42)—are being incredibly difficult. I have a very clear vision for how I want the story to go, but my characters are just not cooperating. I have tried to convince them, repeatedly, that my vision is what’s best for the story that we’re telling, but they seem to think it’s crap.
Which one, what do they know? One of them barely has a high school diploma, and the other was pre-law, not in the arts. Two, they’re my characters. They’re supposed to do what I say. Who doesn’t love a compelling brother versus brother storyline?
Now, they’re trying to kill me using my grandson (M3), and I just think they’re overreacting and need to go back to playing their roles. They seem to think they’re reacting appropriately.
So tell me—AITA?
12/26/25 | march small challenge: five minute challenge | supernatural | 389 | COMPLETE
Dean can’t help but feel like this is a trick question. Sam’s judgmental face is not helping his hangover in the slightest, and as he buries his face back in his pillow again, he groans. “I think you already know the answer to that one, Sammy.”
Sam huffs. Yeah, Dean definitely fucked up somewhere along the way last night, he just needs to figure out how. But if Sam isn’t going to tell him, Dean isn’t going to grope around for it, and is going to focus on seeing if he can get the pounding in his head to subside again. “Seriously?” Sam sighs. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”
“You asked me what I remember, I told you that I don’t remember much. Unless you tell me what I’m not remembering, I can’t really say much else, now can I?”
Sam grits his teeth before moving to perch on the edge of the bed. “You go out, you get plastered, you start flirting with the bartender—”
“Oh, definitely do remember her. She was hot.”
“She had a boyfriend, and he didn’t take too kindly to you hitting on his girl.”
Something about this is finally starting to ring a bell. “He punched me, didn’t he?” That must be why the hangover is worse than usual.
“Yeah, and you punched him back and that got the whole bar going and somehow you managed to evade getting arrested. You really don’t remember any of this?”
“Not really. Probably the head trauma.” Dean blinks one eye open at his brother before raising an eyebrow. “What? We didn’t get arrested. It’s all good.”
“No, it’s not, because her boyfriend didn’t get arrested either, and now he’s snooping around the motel looking for you.”
“Shit. Way to bury the lede, Sammy.” Dean wrestles himself into a sitting position and reaches for his pants. “How long do you think we have?”
“Five minutes, maybe?”
“Does he know we were together?” Sam shakes his head and Dean nods. “Good. You grab the gear and get out of here, I’ll sneak out the bathroom window. I’ll meet you up the block.”
“I hate you sometimes, you know that?”
Dean flashes his brother a smile as he disappears into the bathroom. “You’d be bored without me and you know it.”
12/26/25 | july small challenge: catch up challenge | original | 434 | COMPLETE
Asheron hates this question more than he hates most others, but he tries to swallow it down when it comes to his mother. He knows that she’s trying to help him, even if her soft, soothing voice feels patronizing.
“I don’t know,” he replies. “It’s all muddled. And shouldn’t I not say it? In case it might come true?”
“You’re not the Oracle yet. The full weight of that power won’t pass to you until I die.” She gives his shoulder a small squeeze as she moves behind him. “Now, we have some flexibility. You have some room to refine your visions and allow you to see beyond the symbols.”
The boy relaxes some, closing his eyes as he tries to draw back the flavors of the visions to the surface. “Kira. Or at least I think it’s Kira. She’s all grown up and dancing with a redheaded woman in the middle of a ball.”
“Really?” She paces around him slowly. “Move out from Kira and her partner. Is there anything else that you notice? Anything interesting?”
“There’s this … crown.” He frowns as he tries to make out more of the details. “The metal is green and almost … warped. Like it’s been under water.”
His mother’s eyes widen and she moves to face him more. “Are you sure?”
He nods. “It’s not jeweled or anything but it’s on display. It seems important.”
“Can you tell where they are?”
“Some kind of library, I think? But I’ve never seen it before.”
She nods, before squeezing his shoulder again. “That’s good. You’re remembering more details. Here.” She moves back to her work table and holds a notebook out to him. “When you have a vision, practice writing down as many details as you can. The more you can take in, the more accurate you can be when you make your predictions.”
“And accuracy is important.”
“Yes. Because once you’ve announced it, declared it as a vision, it can’t be taken back.” Her hands find his shoulders and she gives them a gentle squeeze. “Your strongest gift, Asheron, is your discretion. Your discernment. And you must protect that, no matter what.”
Asheron nods his agreement. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“Good.” She sighs before pulling back with a nod. “I think that’s enough for today. Why don’t you go find your sister, and see what she’s up to?”
Asheron nods, clutching the notebook to his chest as he leaves the room. He knows there’s one vision he can’t share with his mother, not yet. Not until he’s sure what it means. But he can write it down, and for now that will have to be enough.
12/26/25 | december small challenge: five minute challenge | original | 343 | COMPLETE
Richard can see the tension appear in the woman’s shoulders at the question, and he can’t help but feel he’s on to something. Gilda’s stiffness can only indicate that she knows she’s says something wrong. She wants to course correct before things go too far, but it already is too late. Richard’s already heard it—he just wants her to confirm.
Gilda closes her eyes, before letting her head drop. “I said that I saw them from the bedroom window.”
“And in your initial statement, you said that you were in the ballroom all evening. How could you have seen them from the bedroom window if you were in the ballroom.”
She turns to face him, arms crossing in front of her chest. “Monica and I slipped away to the bedroom for a moment alone. No one knows, and no one noticed we were gone, so we said we were in the ballroom to avoid any scrutiny.”
Richard exhales slowly, before making his way closer. Gilda’s affair isn’t really his concern. What matters is what she saw. “So what did you see from the window, Gilda?”
“Harriet, in the garden with a man. I couldn’t tell which man from where I was, but it hardly seemed concerning.”
“She was killed in the garden, Gilda.”
“What? No. They found her by the pool.”
“She was planted there.” He takes a step closer, gripping her by the arms to hold her gaze. “Is there anything you can remember about the man you saw.”
Gilda’s eyes go distant for a moment as she tries to focus on the memory. “Tall, taller than her which isn’t saying much as Harriet was a small to begin with. White man, but … dark hair, I think? Slicked back from his face.”
“Did you see his face?”
She shakes her head. “His back was to me the whole time.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Dark suit, I think. That’s all I remember.”
“It will have to do.” Richard steps away, moving towards the door. “Thank you, Gilda.”
12/27/25 | october challenge: pick a trope | original | 1,958 | COMPLETE
Personal project.
12/28/25 | november challenge: who's coming to dinner? | original | 521 | COMPLETE
“Everyone is here, aren’t they?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think there’s anyone missing.”
She pauses, before setting her glass down. “I’ll go see what they want.”
Her heels click against the marble floor and when she arrives at the door, she takes a quick glance out the side windows to see who it is. The person seemed fairly nondescript—mousy brown hair, nothing distinct about the face—but one thing she’s fairly certain of is that they are a total stranger.
She hesitates, unsure what to do, before the stranger catches sight of her in the window and gives a wave.
“Hi there. I’m here for dinner.”
No, you most certainly are not, is what she wants to say.
No, all of our guests are here, would also have been an acceptable answer.
Instead, what she finds herself doing is moving to the door to open it, and stare more intently at the man on the other side. As soon as he meets her eyes, it’s as though everything else fades away and the only thing that matters is the words he says to her.
“My name is Ryan,” he says quietly. “And I’m here for dinner.”
“Yes, of course.” She steps to the side, letting him in the house, and closing it carefully behind him. “Right this way. We’re all in the dining room.”
Her voice sounds robotic, even to her own ears, but she still can’t bring herself to stop. As they reach the dining room, Jessica flashes them all a smile that doesn’t feel natural on her face. “This is Ryan. He’s also here for dinner. Can’t believe we almost started without him.”
Charles’ brow furrows, glancing between this strange man and his wife, but Ryan turns his intense gaze on Charles and soon his face melts away to a similar expression to the one Jessica is wearing. “Yes of course. How could we have forgotten. Let me go grab another chair.”
Their guests don’t seem to think much of it, and dinner carries on as planned, moving through each of the courses into dessert. After a nightcap, the rest of the guests begin to make their way out of the house but Ryan lingers, waiting for the couple to be alone. Jessica can feel her heart beginning to pound in her chest as she worries about the worst case scenarios of what comes next. Will he kill them both now? Will he make them do things?
Instead, he gets to his feet and looks to them both. “You were both marvelous hosts. I promise I won’t darken your doorstep again.”
Both of them stand frozen in place as he goes and makes his way to the door. The door closes behind him, and suddenly it’s like Jessica can breathe again. She stumbles forward, bracing herself on the back of the chair and looks to her husband.
“What the hell was that?”
12/30/25 | september challenge: back to school | original | 358 | COMPLETE
Charlotte slumps into the lunchroom at the high school. She was considering just spending the period staring into the void, but the words escape her before she can take them back. Joshua looks back at her, dead behind the eyes in a way that resonates, and nods.
“Constantly.” He then squints at her. “You teach English. Why are you depressed?”
Charlotte shrugs. “Reading comprehension seems to be getting worse, not better and every time we come across someone who makes a bad choice, they’re called ‘problematic’ and they don’t seem to want to understand that sometimes people need to make poor choices, otherwise you won’t have a story.”
He snorts. “Haven’t they ever heard of a character arc?”
“Apparently not.” She rubs her eyes. “I don’t have to ask, but if you’d like to vent, by all means.”
He shakes his head. “You’re supposed to teach history so that people don’t repeat the same mistakes, but how can you really be effective when you look out at the rest of the world and it seems to be constantly on fire.”
“Fair point.”
“And the kids don’t even care. They’re so zoned out from everything that is happening around them all the time that trying to teach them about dead people is just not landing. And I can’t really say I blame them.”
She nods again, realizing that once you look past the demoralization there’s true depression there, because he has a fair point. Who does want to teach social studies in this current political climate?
“It’s Friday,” she posits. “You doing anything tonight?”
He glances up at her, before raising an eyebrow as he shakes his head. “Not currently, why?”
“Want to go to Lou’s and have many, many drinks?” She smirks. “Not going to fix the state of the world, or our students, but for a little while we might feel better?”
He snorts as he gets up to gather his stuff. “You know what? That sounds like a great plan.”
Charlotte’s smirk shifts to a grin, before nodding. “See you at Lou’s around four?”
“See you there.”
12/31/25 | december challenge: we could be heroes | original | 518 | COMPLETE
Jake stands in front of Cheryl, looking at all of the protective gear in hand, and then to his son, who is sitting in the middle of the room in his play pen, looking up at him with a big happy baby smile. His eyes then go back to the protective gear and frowns. “Prepared for what exactly?”
She holds up her hands in a prayer gesture in front of her face. “This is our third child.”
“I can count.”
“Our first child, at eighteen months, developed super strength and nearly broke your arm.”
Jake shakes his head. “I wouldn’t say nearly—”
“You were in the ER for six hours.”
“Fine, okay, yes, it was very painful.”
“Then our second child developed cryokinesis at eighteen months and turned our swimming pool into an ice skating rink with her brother inside.”
“Okay.”
“Our third child is turning eighteen months old next Tuesday. I think we should just be prepared for whatever superpowers are going to come out of that tiny little body.”
Jake sighs, glancing back to his son again before nodding. “You may have a point. But how can we be prepared if we have no idea what his powers are going to be.”
“Hence the wide range of safety gear.” Cheryl smiles as she holds up the flame retardant material. “We can probably set this up in his room, just in case he spontaneously bursts into flames.”
“We already have one elemental kinetic in the family, you usually don’t get two.”
“Better to be safe than sorry.” She gathers up some more of the gear, before looking back at him. “Are you going to help or not?”
Jake sighs, before nodding and going to gather some of the gear. As he scoops it up, his nose twitches with the smell of—“Do you smell something burning?”
They both turn, and where once was a baby in a playpen is now a fireball in a rapidly melting playpen. “No!” Chery shrieks, before running into the kitchen to find the fire extinguisher. When she returns, submerging the playpen in fire-retardant phone, she’s met with a cheery giggle from the child within.
Once the fire is extinguished, Jake reaches in and pulls the little boy out of the playpen. “Oh, buddy. When Mommy mentioned setting things on fire, that wasn’t a suggestion.”
Cheryl slumps, frustrated. “He’s not even eighteen months yet.”
“I know,” Jake grins. “He’s a prodigy.”
“This is your fault,” she pouts. “These are your stupid genes.”
“I know,” he looks over at her sympathetically. “Given that I’m already fireproof, why don’t I handle the playpen, and take all of our superpowered children somewhere where they can safely get all their energy out for a little while. You can take a break, relax, and we can decide how we want to proceed when we get home.” It’s not a perfect solution, but he’s learned with his wife that it’s good to give her time to process.
“Fine.” She sighs. “Do you think that flame retardant playpens exist?”
“I’ll google it.”