GHM DRABBLE CHALLENGE
HOW TO PLAY?
Every Monday at 12 PM PST, I will post a prompt. You have until the following Monday at noon PST to write and reply with a 100-200 word fic, i.e. a 'drabble', inspired by the prompt. (For an extra challenge, try to hit exactly 100 words!)
You can reply with the full text of the drabble, or link out to another site like Ao3, Tumblr, etc.
Any rating is permitted; please warn for NSFW and content where appropriate.
WHAT ELSE?
You may post more than one response to a single week's prompt! :)
Anon is enabled if you want to write anonymously / you don't feel like making a DW account.
If you're inspired to continue your drabbles, you're welcome to connect multiple challenge responses to each other, or expand on your fics outside of the challenge.
week one:
ESCAPE
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heinouscrimesunit2022-01-07 12:27 am
EXAMPLE
Rating: T
Notes: n/a
Link: Fake link to Ao3
You can use the below template if you like. Otherwise, feel free to add whatever commentary/description you see fit -- what I primarily care about is warning properly for NSFW/content if needed. Pretend that I pasted exactly 100 words of lorem ipsum here or something too lmao. That's about it!
no subject
Rating: G, no warnings
Notes: doing this early as a DOUBLE example
Word Count: 100
---
"Don't you think this was too easy?" Osato tears open all of his packets of cream and sugar, dumping the contents unceremoniously into his in-flight cup. Plastic crinkles between his fingers as he fishes a wooden stick from his pack of utensils. "Like, we left Japan... What now?"
A low, rumbling wave of turbulence rolls through the plane. Unstirred coffee sloshes onto Osato's meal tray ("Shit."), but Tsuki's silent in the cramped seat beside him. At last, with a snore, his head lolls onto Osato's shoulder.
Smiling, Osato runs a hand through Tsuki's hair.
"I'll just ask again in Beijing."
no subject
(Anonymous) 2022-01-10 06:14 am (UTC)(link)Rating: G
Notes: Words: 100
"Klark, stop."
Juvenile stands in front of her final Death Drive, the last gift to this world that didn't deserve it.
"I can't destroy it," She says, and there's suddenly a gulf of misunderstanding between them. All they worked for- the years of being on the run, the sacrifices they made- undone by sentimental woe.
"But in the CIA's hands--"
"I'll guard it. Just go."
She brandishes her spear, all light and polymer, and Klark doesn't need to be told twice. The only sound of his escape is the drone of powerlines and his own shallow breathing, feet shambling forward.
no subject
(Anonymous) 2022-01-10 07:28 am (UTC)(link)Rating: T, alcohol mention and language
Notes: n/a
Word count: 100
It’s in the stagnant air below Destroy Stadium where Charlotte shotguns another icy can of awful beer, foam spattering from her chin about the astroturf. It isn’t even finished when she hurls it to the ground with some ferocity, reclining back into the musty sofa with a leer at her next victim waiting at the conveyor belt.
Every damn day, always the same. All these fucking idiots dying on camera. How long until it was her turn? Until her father’s?
Bad Girl reaches with a shaky gloved hand for her beloved weapon, and stands to her unsteady feet once more.
no subject
(Anonymous) 2022-01-10 09:30 pm (UTC)(link)Rating: T, for sexual content and geopolitics
Notes: Before killer7, in nebulous spacetime
Word Count: 100
"Master! Master! We have a problem!
A very dire situation!
The countries are at a stalemate. A Mexican standoff! It's gridlock! They hand you the detonator with a flourish, a grin!"
A shift in the cord, the straps around Iwazaru's chest buckling under weight of exhalation.
"The Smiles are waiting. Ticking! They wait around corners, in closets, in the open set, for Master's embrace!"
Eyes joyfully shut. Mouth closed by a blood-red gag perfectly molded to Harman's specifications. Suspended in the way they love, they live. No hope for reprieve, a cycle that never ends.
"In the name of Harman..."
no subject
(Anonymous) 2022-01-12 01:31 am (UTC)(link)Rating: G
Notes: Contains spoilers for The Silver Case and Case 4.5 Face.
Word Count: 100
Sakura looks out the grimy window of the empty subway car, the impenetrable darkness staring back at her blankly.
She sneaks a glance at the sole passenger directly across the aisle: her silent companion into an invisible 24th Ward. He too watches the tenebrous scenery, both gun and hands resting on his lap, unmoving. Sakura wonders what he’s thinking. She can’t see his face.
Sakura’s gaze returns to the window, her reflection showing purple under-eye bruises and sweaty hair. The train rushes on endlessly. Sakura closes her eyes, imagining everything she knew of her old life sliding into the darkness.
no subject
(Anonymous) 2022-01-13 08:15 am (UTC)(link)Rating: P, for pining (G... it’s G)
Word Count: 100
I'll leave tomorrow, Birkin's said for weeks now-- and in the meantime, a chipped ashtray sits on the second floor railing, overlooking the parking lot. He never really leaves for long. Like Travis, he's an old dog, long set in his ways.
So perhaps it’s his own habits that keep him leaning in his doorway, watching the smoke bloom from Birkin's lips. The man’s cigars are stinking, heady, but they bring back Texas, too: Travis summons the rest up on cue, the air through the trees, the fresh odor of wet earth.
Birkin exhales through his nostrils without looking back.
no subject
Rating: PG-13, mentions of death/violence
Notes: Second one contains spoilers for the end of Tokio's chapters
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36395467/chapters/90741601
Word Count: 100 for both
---
Akira is so used to sleeping surrounded by the sounds of other people. From the tightly packed beds of the shelters, to the barracks the Republique unit shared, the van they sometimes occupied together during field training. His entire life has been a series of intrusions, of sharing the space around him with other bodies. Now, he stands before a furnished, private unit built for one. He steps inside, closes the door behind him, and the air is fresh, still and quiet, like the dark forest he just crawled through hours previous. He has not torn free of the undergrowth.
---
The shot made Tokio feel like someone just grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him through every layer of numbness that had been collecting over him since he started freelancing. The unrecognizable part of him that had stood there and goaded, waiting for a man with a gun to shoot him through the head, was left behind in the rail yard along with the dead body. He tore down the highway in a blind shock, as if the bullet had killed his sense of self preservation. Only when he thought of Red did he shift gears, and head home.
no subject
Rating: T for nasty language
Notes: actually a lot of spoilers for the 70s planet of the apes movies
Word Count: 100
“--from the Planet of the Apes?”
“Nah, I've only seen the first one. Damn, that's fucked. They dodge a nuke with time travel only to be shot in the past?”
Bishop's eyes glittered. “It gets worse! Their son secretly survives and turns out to be the monkey who starts the whole revolution.”
“So there's a loop created. Shit.” Travis rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Guess those movies're more complicated than I thought.”
Slapping his hands on the counter in finality, Bishop grabbed his keys. “Alright, marathon time. I'll lock up, come right over.”
Travis flashed a thumbs up. “Hell yeah.”
no subject
(Anonymous) 2022-01-15 05:48 am (UTC)(link)Rating: G
Notes: FUCK WORK, LET'S FREESTYLE
Word Count: 114
Her hair has gotten too long. She thinks of taking the office scissors, going in the break room, and cutting off everything below thick black elastic.
Sumio looks her way.
"Harakiri?"
"Not tonight." She responds, tapping her metal pen against the desk. "Morikawa's got me on a case."
Sumio shrugged his shoulders. "Next time, then." Dispassionately, he leaves the room, and Chizuru feels her acute irritation suddenly skyrocket. As the door closes behind him, Hachisuka grabs her bag and coat, rushing to catch the younger detective before he absconded via the sole elevator.
"Fuck it," She said, ignoring his raised eyebrows as the elevator slid open. "Need an early out from his bullshit anyway."
no subject
(Anonymous) 2022-01-15 08:40 am (UTC)(link)Rating: T for language and gay on gay violence
Notes: Before NMH1, in an underground fight club
Word Count: 170
"I'm awake already, goddammit." Pining for the closest she had been to restful sleep in weeks, Jeane got to her feet. The silence had been brief, but welcomed. A new, dull throb in her forehead lessened and the closest they had to referees backed off as she focused on her opponent, the blonde with a matching bruise where she headbutted her earlier.
"Aw, had a good nap? Thought you woulda been out longer."
"I wish. But then I couldn't return the favor, right?" Not that she was mad. She actually found it funny (and pretty impressive) that the newcomer in all pastels was her closest match in pure physical strength. Maybe if she was lucky, she'd be put in a coma for a few hours. "Some deep purple to compliment your outfit. I hear it's in style."
"I kinda prefer pink." The other woman smirked, tapping her wrapped fists together as the gong rang, resuming their match. "I think I'd like to see ya fucking covered in it though."
no subject
(Anonymous) 2022-01-16 04:56 am (UTC)(link)Rating: T, alcohol and teen drinking
Word Count: 100
The only sounds were the faint radio, the gentle splashing of the stream, and the beating of dragonflies' wings as they darted overhead.
No school, no "work", no making excuses for her father's absence for months on end until he appeared finally with rent in hand. Summer vacation meant that as long as Charlie could sneak sips of her father's beer between batting practice and summer classes, she would be fine.
That was later. Now, she would enjoy dozing with him on the hood of his car in the shade, wondering what she could say to make him stay home.
no subject
Rating: T
Notes: just made it!! C= C= C= C= C=┌(;・ω・)┘
Word count: 200
Online involves no small talk. When it's nothing but business, that's when I succeed. Drop off the details, download the files, hit the escape key to close the window. Job done.
It's like meatspace works under completely different laws of physics, you know? At the Lawson on the corner with the weird-ass clerk, I feel like I'm fighting gravity on Jupiter. You know: hi, how are you, good thanks, that'll be 580 yen, thanks, have a nice day, god forbid some geezer try to chat with this "nice young lady."
But it's a fact of life until the net gets in everything and a little remote-controlled drone will bring croquette sandwiches and iced tea to my door. I swear, dude, it's coming! Sometimes, even after I hand over the scoop, I keep your window open, until you say bye or whatever, or it says you've left. Like watching a friend until they get on right train, even though they know what they're doing. You're not a kid. You're pretty smart, actually, even if you still need me. Maybe, finger poised over the escape key, I'm being superstitious. But compared to my typical bullshit it feels like you're onto something big.