#if you're itching to drabble in some projects!

[gomzdrawfr]

For your information:

GhostGaz Week: July 14th to July 19th [twt | tumblr]

NikPrice Week: July 21st to July 27th [twt | tumblr]

PriceSoap Week: (prompt unreleased yet) September 12th to September 18th [blusky]

Price Appreciation Week: (Currently under prompt submission period) June 1 to June 22, Prompt voting June 25 to July 12, Prompt reveal July 17 [blusky]

Unconfirmed:

PriceGhost Week Round 2 (est November)

NikGhost Week (est December or next year)

Nik Appreciation Week (est mid August)

[grudgecollector]

Noise Machine | Nam-gyu x Reader

Headcanons and a small drabble

Summary: Nam gyu dating someone who listens to heavier music

A/N: HERE'S A PLAYLIST I MADE TO SET THE SCENE

I am back to haunt this fandom with my presence, sorry for being a little inactive, I got really invested in my sims household with the boys and then got really into monster hunter. But I got an itch and I needed to finish this.

Now this is purely based on the 'heavier' music I listen to, and the music I think I could successfully get him into (as seen in playlist linked above).

Alright so I've been listening to this kind of music since I was very young, so this is absolutely me projecting. BUT what is reader insert fanfiction if it's not projecting, let's be so real.

I listen to all kinds of genres regarding heavier genres so the playlist itself is a little all over the place, but who cares.

A lot of this playlist ended up being grunge music but fuck it we ball.

-

Now this is also just heavily self indulgent and kind of sorting through the mess that was my past relationship and reminding myself that not everyone is a piece of shit.

SO please bare with me this is probably not something people really care about much but that's okay. Find you a man that respects you and your music taste <3

ִ ࣪𖤐 It may be kind of surprising, but at first he wanted to hate it… he couldn’t understand what would be so appealing about this kind of music. Because on his own personal ventures he could never really find anything he liked.

ִ ࣪𖤐 Any exposure he's had to it in the past, it's always been loud, annoying, and just incomprehensible. Turn that shit off and put on some good music please.

ִ ࣪𖤐 The best chance you have to get him into this kind of music is when he’s stoned as fuck. You guys just smoked a joint, and you decided to start with baby steps. Maybe starting with some mellow songs.

ִ ࣪𖤐 Music always sounds better when you're high anyway, so something with a little bit more emotion in it will be a good step.

You can literally FEEL the music when you're high, like it takes over your whole body and brain, it's insane, so I feel like it you slap some headphones on this bitch he'll be enraptured.

ִ ࣪𖤐 Grunge music would probably end up being his favorite. Alice In Chains, Soundgarden, The Smashing Pumpkins. If you play some of the particularly beautiful songs they have in their discography he's sucked in.

Especially with AIC, and the heavier topics Layne Staley sings about, touching on his struggles with drug use in such a beautifully captivating way, it hits a little too close to home sometimes. Jar of Flies and Dirt would be his favorite albums.

ִ ࣪𖤐 He would put up with metal for lack of a better word. He wouldn't hate it, but he wouldn't particularly like most of it, he's very picky. A lot of it just sounds like noise to him. Which is understandable.

But he has a particularly big soft spot for the band Dark Mirror Ov Tragedy, a South Korean metal band with absolutely breathtaking music. Sporting a beautiful blend of classical instrumentals and metal, I feel like this was a band he found when he was a teenager, and has loved ever since.

࣪𖤐 But if you find that sweet spot if metal music that he likes, he'll be locked in. And start to understand a little bit more why people enjoy it so much.

ᕁ᙮ᕁᕽᕽᕁ᙮᙮ᕁᕽᕽᕁ᙮ᕁ

It was a beautiful summer morning, the sun peaking just enough above the skyscrapers in the distance. 

A cool breeze blowing into the car through the open windows. An occasional honk in the steadily moving traffic sounding over the loud music that flowed from the speakers. 

Surely it would make any nearby grandmother or extremely religious parent clutch their pearls at the sound of heavy drumming and overly enthusiastic electric guitar. The lyrics sometimes sport more gruesome tones, before the song would switch to something a little softer, a blend of queued songs throwing each other off. 

You looked at the weather for today with a satisfied smile, the highest temperature wouldn’t reach far past the seventies, making it nice enough to finally shed the winter layering. You were thankful that spring was finally coming, even though you liked winter, you were beginning to grow tired of the nipping cold. 

Nam-gyu tapped his fingers on the steering wheel along to the song, glancing over at you for a second. 

“Can you put on that one song you showed me the other day?” He asked after a song ended. 

You couldn’t help but smile a little. Never had you been with someone so open to expanding their music taste as Nam-gyu was. Usually it was you who had to just put up with whatever your exes had decided to put on, as a way to avoid hearing their complaints or jabs at how ‘stupid’ some of the songs you would put on sounded. But maybe this was what it felt like being with someone who respects you. 

The song started off with a loud melodic guitar, an Alice in Chains song that you’ve loved for years now, once embarrassed to show people in fear that they would mock it like your ex had. But when you showed Nam-gyu the band it was almost an instant love. The way their songs seemed to resonate with him on a deeper level was something you should have expected, especially when it came to his past struggles with drug abuse. 

It always fills your heart with so much joy to be able to share your love of music with others, and for Nam-gyu to enjoy it as much as he has healed you in more ways than you could have ever imagined. 

[cilil]

🌿 for ask game. thank you!

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

Now I may be both a good and bad person to ask about that because I've been inspired and writing almost every day for 2 1/2 years straight now and, while there certainly were unproductive episodes in terms of output or low motivation or stress and anxiety keeping me away from writing itself, I always had inspiration in my head at least; I suppose you could say I've been somewhat "blessed" with keeping this up without putting in real conscious effort. I don't think there's a secret recipe either, but I'll try to give some helpful (?) ideas :)

So a good chunk of this is sadly, or at least I suspect it might be so, dependent on how prone to hyperfixation and how attached to an individual thing you are on a personal level. Speaking for myself, I'm the kind of person who always has their "one main thing" and sticks with it for several years at least (I was tenacious enough to spend 5 years doing my own thing in a dead fandom) and slowly digs deeper and deeper as time goes on. Others may change interests more frequently, be in several fandoms at once or experience greater fluctuations with high and low creativity. That leads us to my first point: Know who you are and work with that, don't try to be anyone else.

The second thing I think is important is to find a good balance between trying to be reliable and finish your stuff and give yourself some space to do whatever you feel like and fuck around. You may have heard creativity being compared to a river before and it's true: Too much human interference - for example straightening a river - can impact the environment around it negatively, and too much scheduling and deadlines and forcing yourself to be creative will impact your creativity negatively. Make sure you have the space to at least occasionally do what comes to mind. You should be working on project A, but you're feeling project B? Work on B for a while. The muses are moody.

Another thing that may seem a little contradictory at first, but I think is helpful: Keep at it. If you do whatever is your creative thing regularly, it's less of a "big deal" and threshold to cross every time, it becomes natural and a comforting part of your routine. For writers, drabble challenges and prompt events are examples for good tools to ensure you write at least semi-regularly. But again, please don't feel like you have to force yourself to create every single day, especially if you're someone who experiences periods of little to no creative energy. That's fine. Let yourself recharge. We're all different (in general what works for me doesn't have to work for everyone else).

Now if you do find yourself in a bit of a creative slump or lose passion for a project you used to enjoy a lot, here are some things you can try:

Take a break and do something else. Scratch a different itch. Have fun!

Put yourself in the right mood/mindset by looking for media that evokes the feelings/vibes needed for your project (note that this will work better for people who are highly sensitive or otherwise react/connect to media on an emotional level more strongly). Examples: A playlist, a specific song you associate with your work, a movie/book/game/etc that inspired you, artwork of a character

Talk about it with someone else. Be excited together. Ask for advice if needed. Or just talk through whatever block you have; you may not even consciously realize it, but just to have someone listening will help with explaining the situation to both them and yourself and clearing it up

Write a project list (I recommend either a spreadsheet or a handwritten one). Sometimes the crux with a project is simply all the disorganized noise around it and you begin to feel anxious which causes writer's block and/or kills your creativity. Writing a list can clear that up, make you feel more calm and collected and show you a clear way forward. Note: This applies to other situations in life too. Try it and I promise things will become easier to handle

That's all I can think of right now. Again I can't promise any of this is "the secret sauce, but maybe some of it can help someone :)

[andypantsx3]

Hello,

I wanted to ask how to keep yourself motivated to write these long series?

Hello my love!!

The answer is that I don't always!! I cannot advocate enough for the importance of taking a break from something you're getting burnt out on. I see a lot of people beating themselves up for not being able to power through things and just finish them up, but in my experience that only hurts your creative process and leads to you disliking the work!! And the most important thing about writing fic is not finishing it, it's enjoying it, because it's a hobby!

For example, I accidentally took nearly a year-long hiatus from incendiary because I find it tough to write and review due to the seriousness of some of the undertones!! And I think doing so was absolutely the right call, because I was able to keep writing by working through and completing other, easier projects like fingerprints and Deceiving the Duke, which let me build my confidence back up to return to incendiary recently!!

I think it can also help to write little drabbles or one-shots in between chapters of a longer fic, to help scratch the itch for diversity! Which leads me to another point:

You want to spend time identifying what is the appropriate length of a fic for you at this point in time. I have aspirations of writing like 160K word fics like @/ofmermaidstories, but I find that I get antsy as I get close to the 25K mark and start wanting to work on something else.

So instead, I've slowly been building up the average length of my fics over time (like, cover shot was 16K, savvy was 17K and conspire was only 13K(!!) compared to my most recently-completed fics Deceiving the Duke at 30K and fingerprints at 38K). But this is only because I started from the bottom and learned to close out fics on a smaller scale first; it makes it easier to gradually work your way up to writing a longer fic if you're doing it by adding maybe only one chapter or 1K extra at a time!!

The last point I will make is making sure you're planning your fic in the way that is most helpful to your process. For me, I can't continue to write if I don't have a full roadmap ahead of me, and don't know which points I should be hitting chapter-to-chapter. So I have to make sure I plan my fics out in advance to the appropriate level of detail in order to ensure I'm equipped to keep going. On the other side of things, some people think that planning a fic out too much is akin to already writing it, and they lose interest in completing it, as they already sort of feel it's concluded!! So I would think about what level of planning will help you stay motivated, and make sure you're sticking with that!!

Anyway I hope this helps!!!! Sending you my absolute best vibes and cheering for your success!!

[quirkless-accident]

To the Rescue

another giw drabble bbyyyyy

-----------------

Aizawa looked between himself, Nezu, Midnight, Mic, and the newcomer who had just appeared before them twenty minutes ago.

He was a big guy. Huge, even, and covered in fur. He had horns, and his arm was made of nothing but ice and bone. His eyes were full of a desperate sorrow that Aizawa related to all to well some days.

"Please," Frostbite said. "Please, you have to save him. You're the only ones who have listened."

"Who are we saving?" Mic asked. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against Nezu's desk, but Aizawa knew from experience that he was ready to pounce. Every muscle was tense, coiled and ready to strike if he needed to. Unsurprising, considering Frostbite had just appeared in front of them.

"The boy king," he said. "His name is Danny. He's being held against his will in a place where no ghost can go."

"Ghosts?" Midnight asked, stepping forward. Her hand was resting on her whip, just in case. "You're saying that's what we're dealing with?"

"That's who you're rescuing," Frostbite clarified. "He was taken from his home by-I don't know their proper name, I'm afraid. I believe he called them the guys dressed in white?"

"The Guys in White," Nezu offered. "Also known as the Ghost Investigation Ward. They're a subset of the government that deal with the supernatural."

"How do you know all that?" Aizawa asked him. There was a dangerous glint in Nezu's eyes, and his smile was much more toothy than usual.

"The Ghost Investigation Ward were not always involved in the supernatural," he tells them. There are a lot of implications that none of them want to think about. It's no secret Nezu had been experimented on by humans until he managed to escape and pass a law saying experimentation on quirked animals was illegal. But for that same Ward to evolve into something else? It wasn't looking too pretty.

"We will help," Nezu declared after a tense moment of silence. "After all, that's what heroes do. Now, do you have a location?"

-----------

Danny groaned as he woke up. His everything hurt and the collar keeping him from using his powers was itching like a motherfucker. Not like he could do much about it though. He was restrained to the wall starfish-style while he actively tried not to bleed out from the botched stitches that were keeping his insides, well, inside.

How long has he been here? Was anybody going to come for him? He's pretty sure his parents had tried to stop them from taking him, but that could have also been a hallucination caused by whatever the fuck they pumped into his system in those early days.

He can't expect any help from the ghosts, either, and that's his own fault. He told them never to get near the Guys in White, for their own safety. He had practically begged them to run the other way if they ever came onto their radar. And he was their king. They had to listen to him. He had very little hope that anyone would come.

Was this...Was this his life now? Has his destiny gone from the Savior of the Infinite Realms to a mere science project? Was he still going to be able to save people?

Was he...Was he going to die here?

he quickly shook his head free of the thought. No, he couldn't go there. That was spiraling territory, and if he was going to get out of here, then he needed to keep a clear head.

He just prayed it was soon.

-------------

Aizawa has never been a big fan of raids. Too many moving parts can make cause a whole plan to fall apart, and it doesn't properly factor in all the things that can go wrong.

That being said, this raid was going pretty smoothly.

All of the Guys in White-and wow, he will never doubt such a nickname again-all had low level quirks. There were a few security guards who looked like they could have been trouble, but they had been caught by surprise and taken care of swiftly.

Their tactics were strength in numbers, but against the powerhouses that were himself, Mic, Midnight, and a few heroes who helped during the Yakuza raid, they were no match.

Midnight and Fatgum find a lab, and in the center is a table stained with a bright, glowing green. Aizawa and Mic go through the hallway, taking down every door that's locked. Most of them are empty, with the exception of a few storage closets and one door at the end of the hall.

Aizawa had been more than a little fed up with the nicknames Frostbite had been throwing around. He had said the boy king, and in Aizawa's mind, that had translated to young adult. He hadn't been expecting an actual boy.

He was a scrawny kid with glowing white hair that was stained green. There was a muzzle secured over his face and a collar that blinked methodically at them. He was shirtless, and it showed off his battle scars and the autopsy scar that was held together with flimsy stitches. (Aizawa didn't want to know the implication of that, either.)

He had been in the middle of pulling on the restraints when they busted in. He looked at them, wide-eyed and relieved. He struggled harder, as if to say let me go! Please!

Between the two of them, Aizawa and Mic made quick work of the restraints. Mic held the boy's face gently as he worked the muzzle off of the kid's face. There were faint lines across the bridge of his nose and the tops of his cheeks from where it had dug in. From the looks of it, they were probably going to scar.

"Thanks," he said. His voice was rough like sandpaper, and had a slight echo to it.

"Don't mention it, kid," Aizawa said gently. "Can you walk?"

It was a dumb question. The kid was barely standing, using the wall to help him balance. He gently let go, and took a step forward before falling. Aizawa caught him, and softly apologized when he accidentally pulled at the boy's haphazard stitches.

"Carry?" Danny asked. Aizawa nodded and wasted no time in scooping the kid up bridal style. He was much to light for a boy his age.

As Mic told the others they found the boy, Aizawa tried his best not to jostle Danny. The kid would occasionally wince, but it's pretty obvious what he's been through. There was most certainly going to be a lot of therapy in his future.

The halls were mostly empty, save for a few police officers here and there. Danny didn't seem to bothered by them, but that could also be from the fact that he was fading in and out of consciousness as they moved through the stark white hallways.

"Sleep?" Danny mumbled into Aizawa's chest. The kid was trying so hard to keep his eyes open. It would have been adorable under any other circumstance.

"Yeah, kid," he said. "You can go to sleep. I'll be there when you wake up."

"Thanks, 'Raser."

Before Aizawa could ask him how he knew who he was, he was out like a light.

[fidget-scribbles]

The $#!% you mean 'unscripted?'

Rating: T Word Count: 496

In answer to the question 'What would motivate Hermione to have anything to do with reality TV?'

To: hjg@OccamyAlliance.org From: development@bsmcstudios.com Subject: re:your pitch Congrats Hermoine! Your proposal is moving to active development, pending structural revisions. Meet with Draco Malfoy, Director of Unscripted Programming, to discuss. Details attached

Structural revisions? Unscripted programming?

Her pitch was flawless. Moreover, it was very much scripted. Hermione had written the script herself.

Certainly, it had flexibility befitting a documentary; one had to allow for vagaries of the field. But Hermione knew the Occamys; her script eloquently and compellingly elucidated their precarious situation.

She Googled. It got worse.

"Unscripted Programming" was industry-speak for Reality TV.

Draco Malfoy was the "brain" —if one could call it that— behind 21 DrunkStreet, Glam Grannies, and innumerable interchangeably degrading 'dating' shows. He was also a multi-millionaire banking heir and gossip blog darling: the absolute dregs of modern entertainment culture.

He was supposed to produce a thought-provoking feature on the Occamy's impending extinction?

The attachment announced lunch tomorrow —presumptuous— at a restaurant Hermione definitely could not afford.

Clearly, there had been a mistake. Probably several.

In her highest heels and tightest skirt, Hermione tottered across the spacious patio, following a model/hostess to a shady table where a bleach-blond man in a white suit and Ray-Bans lounged, a caricature of affected indolence.

"Babe, let's do another marg? And one for my friend." He finally acknowledged Hermione. "You like margaritas, right? They're outrageous here."

She itched to correct him, but a margarita did sound refreshing.

"Mr. Malfoy…"

"Draco, please." His smile hit with unexpected, dazzling force. Teeth too white and too square. Jaw too chiseled. People like this were grown in labs.

She shook it off. "What sort of revisions did you have in mind?"

"Yeah, no, I can roll with direct." He tossed her a folder. "BSMC isn't fielding traditional documentaries, but your pitch caught my eye. Total downer, obviously, but something about it… Anyway, I've envisioned a more approachable treatment."

"Approachable?"

"We'll follow a dozen earnest, attractive kids as they drink, flirt, and do environmental restoration work on the Occamy habitat outside Cabo."

Hermione stared. Somehow worse than she imagined.

"You'll run the project, off-camera. Though…" He tilted his head, appraising. "On could work, actually."

"That isn't remotely—"

"It'll connect with younger viewers, the whole woke thing, and the older, more affluent demo."

"If you read my proposal—"

"I did. Moving stuff. I want to give Occamys a platform so entertaining viewers forget how depressing they are."

"I'm trying to get people to take this issue seriously, Malfoy."

"No, Granger, you're trying to make them feel bad about it. Miserable strategy. Tanks ratings and donations."

"It's not about—"

"Of course not." He winked. "Check out page 17, though. Budget estimates."

Hermione knew ledgers, but this was just industry gibberish and nonsensical sums. She raised an eyebrow.

"Thematic Development Concession, under Content Services. That's the donation we'll make to fund this project."

"Oh."

Her margarita arrived. She drank as if it might contain answers.

"Oh."

"So, what do you say, Granger? Wanna make some television?"

~More LDWS Drabbles on Ao3~

[myersmikey]

When the Snow Melts (Michael Myers x Reader)

Original post date: February 12th, 2022

Summary: A short sequel that takes place after my other fic First Snowfall. (You don't have to read that though to read this.) The reader and Michael and say they love each other for the first time and it's emotional.

Warnings: None. Some sadness, but mostly fluff. You break Michael Myers. He just *Windows closing down sound.*

A/N: Thanks to @babygurl97 for the suggestion for this! It's a pretty short drabble. I meant for it to be only tooth rotting fluff. But it got Sad and Painful for a moment. I hurt my own feelings. I'm sorry lol. It doesn't end sad though, I promise! I wrote this too because I had an itching to write and my other projects are taking longer than I wanted. I also am running off of 3 hours of sleep, so I hope this is good. It may also not be proofread the best. And just like the prequel, this is for any version of Michael.

Word count: 868

It had been a few weeks since you and Michael had played around in the snow. There hasn't been any good snowfalls since that day, unfortunately. It's mostly just been sporadic snow that didn't stick much and even rain a couple times. The snow outside had started melting; your snowman was now a vague blob. But you were okay with just staying inside with Michael. Cuddling up to him under a blanket while you watched a movie was your favorite thing to do.

You glanced away from the pile of snow that used to be your snowman and back down at the dishes in the sink. There was a little more to clean than usual since you had just finished some baking not long ago. You smiled softly to yourself hoping Michael would like it. He did have a huge sweet tooth. You wiped your forehead on the back of your arm and started scrubbing the remnants of chocolate batter from your mixing bowl.

The backdoor opened and then closed. He was finally home. Rapid footsteps approached the kitchen and you knew he smelled the treat waiting for him. You glanced over your shoulder to see him staring at the chocolate cake sitting on the counter, freshly decorated with icing. He looked over at you and blinked a few times. You smiled at him.

"I made it for you." You reassured him.

Michael glanced back down at the cake and right back up at you before tilting his head to the side.

He signed "What's the occasion?"

"Does there need to be one?" You giggled a bit. You turned back around and started scrubbing at the dishes again. "It's because I love you."

Michael got quiet - even more quiet than he normally is. It took you a moment to process that you had said that last part out loud. The bowl fell from your hands down into the sink and you turned to look at him with wide eyes. His eyes matched your own. You were terrified you might of freaked him out. You had been together long enough to be comfortable with each other. Comfortable enough with some physical contact. But it hadn't been a large amount of time yet and neither of you had said those three words to each other. You dried your hands off on a towel and turned the rest of the way around to fully face him.

"I'm sorry..." you muttered. "I'm sorry if that was too soon and if I crossed a boundary I shouldn't have."

He's still as a statue, eyes wider than a deer in headlights. You look down at your feet and shift uncomfortably. Finally snapping out of it, Michael closes the several feet distance between the two of you. You're afraid to look up at him because you can't handle the thought of him being upset with you. You feel a finger poke the top of your head and then once more when you wouldn't look up right away.

When you finally look up at him, your eyes don't meet for long before he pulls you into a tight hug. To say you're surprised would be an understatement. But you wrap your arms around him and return the hug. You swear your mind is playing tricks on you when you hear a small sniffle. Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion and concern.

"Michael?" You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

It takes him another minute but he slowly pulls back, releasing you from the hug. He refuses to meet your gaze but you can still see his eyes behind the mask filled with tears. This was a first for you, you'd never seen him cry. It was a sight that gnawed at your heart.

He reached up his hands to sign something. He's trembling and hesitant it seems, but he continues. "No one has told me that since I was a child. Not since before..." he didn't finish that sentence but you knew what he was referring to.

Your heart shattered at that and now your vision was becoming clouded by tears. "Oh, Michael..." you whispered. You grabbed ahold of his hands in yours and held them. "I guess I'll just have to make sure you know how much you're loved everyday for the rest of our lives then, won't I?"

He finally turned and looked at you. He remained silent for a bit. He didn't say it to you, but on the inside Michael was wondering what he ever did to deserve someone as kind and loving as you. He knew he was extremely lucky to have you in his life and silently vowed to never let anyone or anything ever harm you.

"How about a piece of cake, yeah?" You asked him with a smile.

Releasing his hands, you made your way to the cabinet to retrieve a plate for him. You knew that if you didn't cut him a slice, he would just take the whole thing and eat it with a fork in one sitting.

Michael grabbed your wrist before you got too far and you turned to him again. Your heart swelled with happiness and love when he signed "I love you, too."

[recurring-polynya]

Hello! I have forgotten my tumblr login, but I am shai from AO3 and I just want to say that the Abhorsen books are very dear to my heart and I am THRILLED at idly wandering tumblr and seeing you're writing a Bleach AU set in that world. (Are the Kuchikis the Abhorsens? Is there a Mogget equivalent and is it Yoruichi? Is Karakura in Ancelstierre? I can't map the two settings together at alllll in my head on first glance but I'm super curious how you will!)

First of all, I am beyond excited that anyone actually cares about this project. I was going to try to explain it, but honestly, it’s not that long and, uh, maybe I should just post it. So, here’s the shorty version, where I cut it off at the Dramatic Drabble Point. I have more, but it starts to meander into an actual plot, where the plot is just the final confrontation at the end of Sabriel. I honestly just wanted to write Renji as part of the Crossing Guard Scouts?? I might expand this (how much? as much as I feel like?) after I re-read Sabriel. My husband has been reading the books to my son, and I catch snatches of it and it’s got me In the Mood, but I found myself forgetting way too much. 

Dear everyone else: I refuse to explain any of this. The Abhorsen books are the shit, just go read them. If you love Rukia as a character, you will love Sabriel. The two of them, along with Susan Sto Helit and Death of the Endless are the fictional pragmatic death girls of my heart, if I *ever* write an actual book, it will almost surely be about a pragmatic death girl.

Anyway, here it is, The Worst Charter Mage in Ancelstierre.

“All that stuff Colonel Zaraki said… about a soldier’s intuition an’ stuff… that was just made up, right? To scare us? Us, uh, new guys, I mean, you never get scared, right Renji?” 

Captain Abarai Renji of the Northern Perimeter Reconnaissance Unit, or the Crossing Point Scouts, as they were often known, stared out into the foggy dusk. His skin itched. His ears strained to hear the unearthly whistling of the wind flutes, which as far as he knew, none of the other scouts could hear. He could usually hear them, but not tonight. “Stop cleaning that damn firearm Yuki,” he grumbled without turning around. “Check your sword fittings instead.”

Lance Corporal Yuki Rikichi, having been stationed on the Perimeter for all of two months, very slowly started reassembling his pistol. “I’m not great with swords,” he admitted.

“Wind’s from the north,” Renji grunted. “Guns ain’t much good.”

“That’s just stories, though, right?”

“Nope,” Renji replied, squinting at a dark shape winging through the sky. It looked a bit like the airplanes he had seen when we went South for officer training, but it was too small, too silent, and besides, shit like that didn’t work past the Wall. He groped for his spyglass. “You think you can do that protection charm I been teaching you?”

“Yeah, I’ve practiced and practiced!” Rikichi bubbled eagerly.

Renji frowned, trying to focus the spyglass. If tonight was going to go as badly as his skin was crawling, that protection charm was going to do about as much good against the Dead as Rikichi hurling his useless gun at them. “Fuck,” he muttered. “That’s a someone.” 

“A what?” Rikichi echoed. 

“We got visitors,” Renji repeated, standing and checking the sword strapped his hip. “You go tell the Colonel, I’ll give ‘em the ol’ Crossing Scout welcome.”

“I can’t leave you alone!” Rikichi yelped. “Look, I’ll just radio him.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Renji shrugged, making his way down the stone staircase of the watchtower, knowing that piece of Ancelstierran junk would give nothing but static until the wind changed.

As Renji watched the strange craft circle down toward the ground, he tried to pull together the Charter Marks for a Major Blessing. It wasn’t a hard spell, and it would protect him from the Lesser Dead, maybe even a weak Free Magic Creature. As usual, the marks weren’t behaving, and he finally gave up. He didn’t know why he had such a hard time casting spells. None of the books he read ever described Charter Marks as elusive or mischievous. Was it like this for all Charter Mages? Maybe if he ever met another one, he could ask them. He was going to have to rely on his sword arm instead. Fortunately, his sword arm was pretty fucking reliable. 

The craft had settled in the tall grass, and two figures were getting out. It looked remarkably like an airplane, except that it appeared to be made of paper, painted in cheerful blue and silver. It was powered by Charter Magic, Renji had heard the pilot whistling Charter Marks as they brought the thing to the ground. Pretty nifty trick, to be honest. Must be from deep in the Old Kingdom, where they still taught the old magic. Renji himself had been born just a few miles from the Wall, lived in that shitty border town until he was sixteen. He’d come south thinking he never wanted to see a Charter Stone again, but somehow, he’d never made it much further south than the Perimeter, not for long anyway. It was fine. He was useful here. 

Renji gripped his sword with one hand. They looked and felt like people, but Free Magic Creatures could be tricksy. “Halt!” he shouted. “Who goes there? This is not a legal crossing point! What is your name? What is your business?”

The taller of the two figures, clad in a red and gold helmet and a red cloak, leaned down and said something to the much smaller figure, the pilot, who was dressed in blue and silver. The pilot elbowed the other in the ribs and then announced in a voice that rang with authority, “I am the Abhorsen and if you don’t help me, this gate is going to fall before dawn!”

Renji drew his sword. “I’ve met the Abhorsen!” he shouted. “You sure don’t look like that tall, pretty bastard to me!”

The pilot, who had been slowly approaching him, froze in her tracks. “That… was my brother-in-law,” she bit off. “How did you know him? He never came this far south.” She was silent for a moment before adding tentatively, “Also, he wasn’t the Abhorsen, although sometimes he let people believe he was.”

Renji’s fingers twitched on his sword grip. No. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. The voice was different, huskier, more mature, but then, it had been twelve years, she wasn’t a girl anymore. Not that she’d grown much. “I am simply returning her to her family,” that pale, flash prat had said, as he pulled her up onto the horse behind him, and rode away with the one person who gave Renji’s life any meaning or purpose. “Not one step further,” he shouted, since he didn’t think he could keep his voice steady any other way. “I don’t care if you’re the bloody Queen of the Old Kingdom herself!”

Something was happening with the taller of two visitors. Dark red energy, nearly black was crackling around his fists, the ozone smell of Free Magic permeating the air. Renji tried again to pull a Mark from the Charter, and this time one came easily, and he felt an invisible barrier thrum into place before him. It was no diamond of protection, but it should be enough to fend of some upstart teen.

“Cool it, you moron!” the pilot yelled at the youth. “The Scouts are good people, they just get hung up on procedure. Also… I… might know this guy.” She reached up and hooked a finger over the scarf wrapped over her face and pulled it down, tucking it under her chin. “Abarai Renji? ‘Zat you?”

“Rukia…” Renji murmured just as there was a clatter of boots on bitumen behind him. 

“WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE?” a familiar voice bellowed. “Abarai, you got your sword out and there ain’t no blood on it, what’s going on?”

“Says she’s the Abhorsen, sir,” Renji reported, adjusting his sword stance but not relaxing. “Don’t look like the Abhorsen I remember.”

Colonel Zaraki strode through the company of men who had accompanied him, towering, helmetless, his hawklike nose catching the setting sun. He surveyed the young woman standing before.

“The wall is going to be attacked, tonight!” she shouted. “A massive army of the Dead, led by a necromancer who is himself one of the Greater Undead!  Are you the commanding officer of this garrison?”

“Abhorsen came through here in ‘87,” Zaraki grunted. “Clever woman. After the fuckers down south stopped letting us move the gate every few months, all the deaths at the crossing point would build up, cause spontaneous risings. She carved us those wind flutes to keep the Dead down.” He surveyed the woman, dressed in a blue and silver tabard over silver chain. Her dark, short-cropped hair, the stunning indigo eyes Renji would never, ever forget. “Looked a lot like you. Your mother?”

“Sister,” Rukia corrected. It was Rukia, Renji was sure of it now. Of course she hadn’t been taken away to be a noble, she’d been taken away to be the fucking Abhorsen. Of course she had.

“If you’re the Abhorsen now, that means–”

“She went into Death four days ago. She’s holding out, but she’s been there too long, she can’t come back. At the full of the moon, the wind flutes will fail.”

“That the new Abhorsen-in-Waiting, then?”

Rukia’s eyes darted to the youth at her side and back again. “Maybe. This is Kurosaki. He is what he is.”

“Yo,” Kurosaki waved, seemingly unconcerned by any of this.

Zaraki jerked his chin at Renji. “Stand down, Captain. You been on the Wall too long to be this twitchy.”

“Don’t trust people who ‘are what they are’,” Renji replied. “Sounds to me like something a Free Magic Construct would say.” He sheathed his sword, but didn’t release the Charter Mark.

“He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a Free Magic Construct,” Rukia rolled her eyes.

“I’m standin’ right here, y’know!” Kurosaki protested.

“What do you need, Abhorsen?” Zaraki asked.

Renji glanced at him, surprised. He’d served under the man for over a decade, and he’d never seen him act this respectfully to anyone, including his own COs.

“I need every Charter Mage you’ve got,” Rukia barked. “Aizen has hidden his body in Ancelstierre, a few miles from here. We need to destroy it, but it’s going to take a ton of power to destroy something that powerful.”

Zaraki scratched his ass thoughtfully. “You may not realize, ma’am, but we don’t get a whole lot of Charter Mages this far south. My boys, though, have got swords like you’ve never seen. Zaraki’s Company can cut through anything, living, Dead, or in-between.”

“That’s very nice,” Rukia bit off, “because they are going to have an awful lot of things to stab in just a few hours. But I need Charter Mages. I don’t care if there aren’t many. Please. Give me what you have.”

Zaraki took a deep, resigned breath through his nose. “Well. You heard the lady, Abarai. Take that fucking apprentice the boys down south sent you, too. You managed to teach him anything yet?”

“Not… much…” Renji admitted, stunned.

“What, what?” Kurosaki exploded. “You’ve only got a single Charter Mage?”

“He’s terrible, also,” Zaraki added. “Worst Charter Mage I’ve ever seen, aside from the apprentice. Good with a sword, though, one of the best in the company to be honest.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sir,” Renji grouched. Suddenly, he realized that Rukia was looking at him, and he felt like he was eleven years old again, meeting her for the first time, being judged by those eyes and, inexplicably, being found worthy. “I’ll go. At your service. Abhorsen.”

[purrincesscatitude]

if you're still taking drabble prompts, 43 w/ pynch! (“I feel like I can’t breathe.”) tbh i just have a respiratory thing that won't go away b/c college and it is m i se r a ble and i want to read the fav disaster couple with it

Hello friend! So, I have limited experience with respiratory issues, apart from experiencing anxiety/panic attacks and watching my fiance have asthma attacks. I went the route of the former since I’m more familiar with it, BUT if this doesn’t scratch your itch, send me another message and I’ll write ya somethin’ else! 

Prompted from this list. I’ll write things if you ask! 

####################

It wasn’t the first panic attack Adam ever had, but it was definitely the worst.

He was sitting in the BMW at the Sheetz on the fringe of Henrietta. Ronan really wanted boneless buffalo wings, but didn’t want them from a credible food establishment because “it’s not worth it unless you completely fuck up your insides.” Adam was hungry–was, to be fair, always hungry–and Ronan said that if he drove him there, he’d buy him a chipwich. It was a decent bargain. He agreed.

Adam returned to Henrietta for some school breaks; not all, because gas prices and internships and midterms that fell after fall break and RA duties kept him bound to New Jersey for the summers and the shorter breaks. But it was winter break, and he had three weeks, and enough money to pay for gas, and Boyd had agreed to give him a few shifts, and it had been too long since he and Ronan had been able to sleep besides each other long enough to get used to it again, and apparently Opal had reached a record-breaking 22-day-long temper tantrum because Adam hadn’t been back since the end of summer.

There were homes–The Barns, Cabeswater, even Fox Way to an extent–and then there was his hometown. The place that had raised him. Streets he used to bike down, pay phones he’d used, grocery stores where his mom’s debit card had been declined, bars he knew were his father’s favorites. Home was comfortable and safe. His hometown, on the other hand, set his teeth on edge.

Ronan knew going into town made Adam uncomfortable (although apparently not uncomfortable enough to stop working at Boyd’s, which was “fucking stupid” in Ronan’s opinion). He avoided it as best he could: went to the grocery store in the next town over when Adam was home, took the back roads or the highway and never the route through downtown, and never forced Adam to go with him when he had to go into Henrietta proper.

He had offered Adam a deal for the chipwich, yes, but Adam knew Ronan would get it for him no matter his answer. He also knew that an over-processed and overpriced ice cream sandwich wasn’t worth the sore jaw and racing heart Henrietta caused. But he’d been pouring over notes for a year-long project for the past three days, and his mind was desperate for a change of scenery. And when you need Sheetz, you need Sheetz.

Going inside at the risk of seeing someone he knew, or that knew of him, wasn’t worth even the multi-million winning lottery ticket the convenience store claimed to sell. So he sat in the parking lot, taking full advantage of the rare opportunity to control the stereo and enjoying the beamer’s heated seats, waiting while Ronan got food.

He had been alone in the car for two and a quarter songs when a blue 1988 Toyota pick-up pulled into the gas station.

No.

Read the rest on Ao3!