Clout Farm Style Challenge v.3!
In this challenge, each participant used the same base prompts, including three character names and archetypes, themes, and situational prompts, as well as a playlist of five songs. You can find the playlist here.
Collection will reveal on July 31st. Guess who wrote each story through this google form.
Participants:
cherrycaffi
conkopodwii
diasybe
greyquills
honeyblock
hoorayy
kazqedglitzr
rosycheeked
(Closed, Unmoderated)
Recent works
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Summary
On track for early career burnout, twenty-something Dia O’Casey takes on what she hopes will be her last assignment on the metaphorical bench: training up-and-coming golden boy, Oliver. Oliver is gentle, jumpy, and naïve—everything the superhero business will beat right out of him as soon as he steps foot on the field.
And when it does, Dia decides that saving Oliver will be the last thing she ever does for heroes.
(written for cf's anon style challenge)
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Summary
Oliver rolls his hoodie sleeve up – it’s still too warm to wear them, this time of year, but what else was he gonna do? He watches as the skin swirls beneath the spray of dark hair, freckles shifting, moving in tandem like planets dotted into orbit. It’s been two weeks since he first noticed the birthmark on the back of his hand crawling day-by-day towards the inside of his wrist, but now he can watch it all shifting, and that is probably a bad sign. A really bad sign.
He peers out the windscreen – Jodi is poking around the front patio, knocking on the windowframes – and pulls his lips back to check his gums in the visor’s tiny mirror. Still black at the roof of his mouth, though it doesn’t hurt, necessarily. Something lodged in the back of his throat feels white-hot, and is staying there, no matter how harshly he swallows. Either severe, advanced-stage gum disease is a lot weirder than Oliver was expecting, or –
He fixes his eyes on the swinging door, left open in Jodi’s wake.
You see her, right? he thinks, very stubbornly. You see her. Think about it. Please.
(Two friends try to go on a roadtrip at the end of the world. They don't get very far.)
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Summary
Death-wish missions always happen in trios, but between Jodi and I, we had done it. Just the two of us. Plus the acquaintances along the way, mentors and magical forces, powers and destinies and all that bullshit. In the end it was just us on the steps, waiting for the next big thing to never happen.
Somehow, the street stunk of petrichor’s dirt-rich wistfulness before the rain had even begun.
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Summary
Jodi is just here for gas. That’s it. The two people that run out of the gas station building, one after the other, are none of her concern.
And yet, as they near her, she still finds herself saying, “Need a ride?”
They look at each other in a moment of silent deliberation. The girl nods.
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Summary
There is a sword on their kitchen table.
In Casey’s opinion, it doesn’t look like much from inside the scabbard that it was buried with: a simple leather-wrapped handle with a worn grip, a cross-guard chipped at the edges, and a plain pommel at the grip’s end. Nothing more, nothing less—the pommel doesn’t even have a fancy gem. It’s altogether boring, in her opinion.
If it was ever something to behold, Casey is sure that its time has passed. The look on Ollie’s face as he circles the table, and the muck from the river that still clings to it, seem to show a similar sentiment.
“Whatcha thinkin’, kid?” she asks after a moment. Ollie hums but says nothing. His eyes remain locked on the sword in some unspoken battle, his jaw set so tightly all of a sudden that Casey wonders if he’s ever going to say anything back. She speaks up again when she eyes the way his nails anxiously dig into the palms of his skin. “Kid?”
“I think we should unsheathe it," Ollie says hesitantly.