Fic Writing Challenge - Blog Posts

Pike's Place Roll-a-Trope Challenge

I fell hard for these two, in an unexpected way. It wasn't until @burntheedges "Roll-a-Trope Challenge" that I managed to really sink my teeth into this delectable winter treat. Since y'all love them as much as I do, I've completed a slow burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent!

Triggers: profanity, car trouble in snow storm, heartbreak, discussions of pandemic, slightly tipsy Pike, mostly fluffernutter...

Episode One: It's a Wonderful Life Episode Two: The Holiday Episode Three: Elf Episode Four: A Christmas Story Episode Five: Nightmare Before Xmas Episode Six: Love Actually Episode Seven: Die Hard Episode Eight; When Harry Met Sally

Shorts

A Christmas Confection Pedge Tweets WIP Poll Pike's Place PIke's Picture

The windshield wipers were beating at the same flurried pace as your heartbeat as you gripped the steering wheel fixedly. Looking out at the swirling flurries of wind and snow your skin began to take on the same pallid white quality as your eyes darted furiously across the pristine landscape. California Girl, you sulked, huffing heavily in frustration.

WHY had you listened to your therapist? This was the most asinine, ridiculous escapade yet, as you watched the fuel gauge dipping lower and lower. It had been the strangest of four years, shifting from the pandemic, to working from home, to becoming more and more isolated every day. Watching your world get increasingly smaller, and feeling helpless to do anything about it. Pre-pandemic you had already felt isolated, and after four years of relative solitude you had almost become accustomed to the depravation. Almost. So, what had your therapist recommended? A change in scenery. Get out more! Feeling depressed about the holidays? Grab a few sweaters, a bottle of Merlot and take your emotional baggage with you! You scoffed with self-deprecation, wondering if a death by blizzard would be quite as cinematic as it sounded in your romance novels. Snagging a last minute Big Bear Airbnb had been easy this week before Christmas, but finding it was proving a bit more challenging. Good Old Bessie the Hyundai had limped along for years, but the heater had long since sputtered into a quick demise. Not a real problem in California, until now, you reasoned, thankful you had dressed in a head to toe snowsuit from your East Coast college days. Quite honestly, you were surprised it still fit, but you were steadily growing more and more aware that your Girl Scout training from childhood did not prepare you for a snow-pocalypse, regardless of how fashionable you were.

Straining to see any signs of civilization you thought you caught a small flickering beam of light, as you groaned upon hearing the tell-tales signs of impending doom. That metallic clicking sound had only intensified and it was just a matter of time before…BOOM!…a small popping sound backfired into the snowy stillness as gears shifted and ground to a halt, bringing Bessie to her final resting place in the glassy tundra.

Welp. So ends the life of J. A small death, for a small person…you rolled your eyes dramatically. Get a grip woman. You didn’t get 56 Scout Badges in Arts and Crafts to merely lie down on the ground singing “Do You Wanna Build a Snowman”. Live! Live goddamit! You smirked, weighing your options. Cell phone coverage was dotty at best. You could wait for a philanthropic passerby, but it was a week before Christmas, and you hadn’t seen one car on the precarious drive here. Wherever here was.  Watching the steady stream of soft snow cascading onto your windshield you re-assessed that flickering beam of light before you. You MUST be hallucinating, but it seemed like a small cabin with puffs of smoke billowing from a chimney of some kind. It was a fuckin’ Norman Rockwell painting for heaven’s sakes. Or “Misery”. You pulled the snowsuit hood up over your head and took a big breath. Only one way to find out.

After trudging the 100 or so feet from Bessie to Norman Rockwell, you were trying to cast a foreboding figure, though this was proving difficult in a hot pink snowsuit from the 90’s. You confidently held a crowbar and cell phone in either hand, delusional that this would be off putting to a potential serial killer. At least you would look fabulous in the Real Life Crimes Documentary, you rationalized, banging on the door with your crowbar and attempting to seem simultaneously friendly and capable. Your teeth were chattering together with anticipation or cold, as you thought you heard a rustling sound behind the wooden door. You plastered a frozen smile on your face, hopeful the occupant wouldn’t ignore Elle Woods in the woods, as the door flung open violently to reveal...

Happy Holidays, Pike. Marcus grumbled to himself, pouring another glass of red wine and swallowing a coal lump of annoyance. Was this really the best idea? he wondered, settling in for the Christmas Movie Marathon on AMC. If he was trying to get over a heartbreak, he wasn’t sure “It’s a Wonderful Life” and a bottle of red was the way to do that, but in a blizzard there were only so many options. Fresh from his disappointment of the moment he bit his lower lip, watching George Bailey drunkenly meander around snowy Bedford Falls, on the hunt for redemption. He looked over at the sorry state of affairs in the kitchen, as piles of Thai Food containers dotted the landscape, thanks to a week of DoorDash and Instacart. How had he arrived at this pathetic excuse of a Christmas? Hoping to clear his mind of women altogether, he had settled on berating himself for constantly falling in love at the drop of a pin. Okay, he was a romantic, he frowned with irritation. And why not? He was on the Art Squad, he wasn’t Rambo. He wriggled his socked feet, thankful for the fire in the fireplace and nodding at George Bailey’s plight. That’s right, Jimmy Stewart, maybe it’s better to just go it alone. Not everyone has a Donna Reed. You can’t just expect love to show up on your doorstep, it’s better to think realistically and recognize your own limitations. George Bailey dangled precariously over the Bedford Falls Bridge, watching the snow fall into the murky depths. Just a couple more steps and….

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Pike jumped about a foot, as George Bailey paused to notice Clarence the Angel jump into the waters before him. What was that?

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Pike sat up, adrenaline coursing through his slightly intoxicated frame, gripping his chest with surprise. Was someone knocking at the door? Who could possibly be wandering around in a blizzard? He took a quick glance at his somewhat disheveled state, stubbling beard, gray sweatpants and thread bare white t-shirt. No time to clean things up, he scoffed, stumbling to his feet and flinging the door open to find…

Hello gorgeous. A pair of saucer shaped brown eyes blinked back at you, as you stood poised between crow bar and cell phone. “Howdy!” you shouted, quite a bit louder than anticipated watching his face register several emotions simultaneously, gulping in surprise.

Howdy? What the fuck? Were you Annie Oakley? Your eyes quickly took in the situation, eyeing his broad frame, gray sweatpants and patchy beard. This was the cutest serial killer you had ever met, you smirked, shaking the sexy thoughts out of your mind as quickly as they entered. “Sorry to bother you this fine holiday season…”

What the fuck was going on? Had you forgotten how to speak to other humans? You sounded like a character from an old film noir. Willing yourself to act normally you continued, “My car is konked out on the side of the road, and I wondered if I could use your…landline, sir?”. Okay. Stop talking. Stop with the words. You held your breath attempting to appear…like anything other than your awkward self. Apparently you had rendered this hunk of a man temporarily speechless. He was probably mortified at your inability to string together a sentence with two hands and a crowbar, but the silence began to stretch in front of you. A reddish tint bronzed his adorable cheeks as his eyes registered surprise, delight, confusion, irritation? There seemed to be a lot happening in this moment of indecision but speaking wasn’t one of them. You shifted with discomfort, licking your chapped lips and chattering loudly.

“Oh my gawd, yes!” he finally bellowed, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into the warming living room and slamming the door behind you. Flakes of snow were dotting your eyelashes but you thought you caught the broadest of smiles immediately hidden by a facade of a frown. 

“Uh, please, make yourself at home…miss” he countered, running to mute the television and tidy up slightly. You took the moment to gather as much information as you could, gazing at Jimmy Stewart’s flickering countenance. Seemed like you had burst onto a cozy, Christmas Hallmark movie for one. Tipping your snowsuit hood off and shaking like a golden retriever you watched the gray sweatpants dart into the kitchen, as he wiped food containers into the trash bin with a long sweep of his forearm. 

Glancing over at the side table you noticed a badge of some kind and a lanyard that read “Agent Pike: Art Squad”, featuring a smiling, clean shaven version of the business lumberjack you saw before you. He grabbed a suit jacket strewn over the kitchen chair and returned to look at you, wide eyed and confused. Cutting quite the figure in gray sweat pants, fuzzy socks and suit jacket, you plastered your lips together to avoid giggling. Alright, this Crime Documentary was progressing just fine, you found yourself with the helpful detective, not the serial killer, after all. He bit his cheek with embarrassment, taking a final helpless look around the living room. “How can I help you?” his voice cracked comedically.

Oh I can think of a few ways, you scandalously surmised, wondering if your holidays were starting to improve. Maybe this was going to be a Christmas gift neither one of you would soon forget…

Thank you @unknown-till for the cool winter dividers!