#brainworm drabble

[random-thot-generator]

Thinking about dark knight!Ghost who is sent by King John to conquer a neighboring kingdom and bring him back a pretty princess to marry.

TW- Adult content below the cut. Brief violence, Sexual situations, Explicit sexual content

Notes: A long drabble(?) to purge this horny medieval brainworm from my head, so I can work on my other WIPS. Hope you enjoy my brainrot. Bone apple tea!

-

Dark knight Ghost, who sneaks in a small band of his personally trained men through the king's own escape tunnel in the wee hours of the morning. The entire castle guard is defeated by dawn, the king himself captured.

Dark knight Ghost, who corners the king in his chambers and under threat of death forces him to sign a decree, giving over the Princess' hand in marriage. The king's daughter is now betrothed to Ghost's sovereign lord, King John. He makes sure the wedding banns are posted throughout the surrounding kingdoms, cementing his king's claim on the princess.

Dark knight Ghost, who has also been tasked with delivering the bride-to-be to King John, but he ends up being duped by the crafty princess and her ladies-in-waiting, who dress you, her chambermaid, in one of her finest dresses, draping you in jewels and finery before handing you over to the frightening dark knight in your princess' stead.

Dark knight Ghost, who is only doing this odious task at his king's behest, but the gruff knight doesn't care to deal with a royal snobby brat. He's heard the stories about the Princess' terrible moods and tantrums and has already decided he will suffer none of it.

Dark knight Ghost, who can't reconcile the stories of the shrewish Princess with the shy, soft-spoken damsel now in his care. Thinking you are trying to play him for a fool, his treatment of you is gruff, manhandling you and barking orders at you until tears well up in your eyes and you cringe away in fright. If he happens to feel guilty for scaring you and making you cry, he never lets it show, but he refrains from doing it again; he honestly can't bear to see you shrink away from him.

Dark knight Ghost, who is irritated when his younger knights, Sirs Kyle and Johnny, fawn over you, dressing them down for their unseemly behavior even though he himself can't deny that your sweet smile, soft voice and big doe-eyes are a constant distraction. He can't get you back to King John fast enough.

Dark knight Ghost, who insists on accompanying you himself when you bathe. He tries to be chivalrous and keep his back turned, but after catching a glimpse of your naked, wet curves shimmering in the sunlight, he now blatantly watches you bathe from the bank, much to your mortification. He takes particular delight in ordering you out of the river, just to watch your nude form rise from the water like Aphrodite from the waves.

Dark knight Ghost, who begins to grow jealous of his knights, Kyle and Johnny, who he has ordered to guard you while traveling. The pair of them are too bloody charming for their own good, making your cute little giggles ring in his ears and harden his cock. He ends up having to call a halt for rest, just to relieve the heaviness of his aching balls, leaving a copious amount of his seed on the trunk of an ancient oak.

Dark knight Ghost, who 'discovers' the following morning that your royal mount is now gone, apparently "stolen by vagabonds" while most of the camp was asleep. He admonishes the men on guard duty for not keeping a sharper eye, but leaves it at that, uncharacteristically lenient, for a change. He does insist that you ride his destrier with him for the rest of the journey, however.

Dark knight Ghost, who makes you sleep by his side when camp is set every night, because he likes waking in the predawn hours to find you cuddled up in his arms. He now pulls you close before you even fall asleep, pulling your back into his chest before settling his big hand on your belly, telling you it's the pommel of his short sword that's poking you in the back.

Dark knight Ghost, who doesn't realize how hard he's truly fallen for you until highway bandits attack them on the forest road and steal you away. He decides in that instant he'll kill anyone who stands between him and his sweet princess.

Dark knight Ghost, who will stop at nothing to get you back, so tracks down the thieves to their den hidden deep in the forest and slaughters them all for daring to lay a finger on his woman. The cowardly bandit who pressed his blade to your throat and drew a bead of blood dies a particularly brutal death, Ghost relishing the sound of the bastard choking on his own blood.

Dark knight Ghost, who can no longer keep his feelings hidden, ripping his helmet off and kissing you amidst the carnage, swearing an oath to give his own life to protect you. His hold is possessive as he carries you back to his destrier and sits you in front of him, hands wandering over your body as he lets his horse pick its way back to camp.

Dark knight Ghost, who stops at an inn to give you a proper rest while his men camp outside of town. He demands the best room in the inn for his Princess. There is only the one bed, and though he offers to sleep on the floor, you won't allow it. What finally breaks his will to deny you is when you look up at him with those soulful eyes and soft, trembling lips, whispering, "I cannot sleep without you now, my lord. Please, come to bed."

Dark knight Ghost, who strips down to his tunic and climbs into bed with his king's betrothed, knowing full well he's already done enough to warrant his own execution, but still pulls you close in the darkness as a shudder runs through his body. When his lips meet yours, he is well and truly lost.

Dark knight Ghost, who feels your soft hands tracing the many scars underneath his tunic— on his back, on his chest, even the ones on his face, and leans into your touch instead of away, letting his own hands explore the intimate parts of your body that he has denied himself for too long.

Dark knight Ghost, who has never wanted a woman more than he wants you and can't stop himself from climbing on top of you to kiss your soft lips while his hand delves between your legs to find you wet and wanting. He drinks long and deep from your cup, making you squirm and beg, but for what you do not know.

Dark knight Ghost, who can no longer bear to listen to your soft little whines and moans, can no longer deny his need for you, so settles himself between her trembling thighs and eases his engorged cock into your virgin cunt, finally claiming you for his own. If he had to die a thousand deaths to experience this one moment with you, he would gladly receive the killing blade into his heart over and over again.

Dark knight Ghost, who takes you again and again throughout the night, insatiable for you, your cries of his name echoing down the narrow, creaking corridors of the inn. If his fellow knights happen to overhear, Kyle and Johnny do not mention it the following morning.

Dark knight Ghost, who smirks smugly under his helm when you can barely sit a horse the next day. He stops midday to take you to "bathe" at the river, soothing your sore cunt with his tongue. He lays you out on the soft grass of the riverbank, his head buried between your legs for the better part of an hour, still in his full armor, your cum painting his face. He doesn't think he's ever tasted anything sweeter; he would happily drown in you, unable to imagine a better death.

Dark knight Ghost, who begins to drag out the journey, no longer eager to return to King John's court. He's never shirked his duty to his king, but this time he is sorely tested. He knows if the king learns that his most trusted knight has deflowered his betrothed, he may well kill you both, so your dark knight insists that you say he forced you if your illicit affair is discovered. You refuse, much to his irritation, but also to his secret delight. You are well and truly his, no matter what fate has in store for you.

Dark knight Ghost, who finally arrives at King John's castle, feeling sick down to his very soul as he leads you into the throne room to greet your future husband and king. He watches with a heavy heart as you demure before the king, bowing in a deep curtsy, hand laid over your fluttering heart.

Dark knight Ghost, who frowns in confusion when King John barks out a laugh and waves a hand at you, the so-called Princess. "This is not the princess, Sir Ghost," King John informs him. He sniffs in amusement. "Should have known the little minx would pull something like this. You've been duped, Sir knight, by no fault of your own. I will have to retrieve the stubborn wench myself, I suppose, show her who her future husband really is."

Dark knight Ghost, who glares at you while you stare down at your fidgeting hands, biting your lip in that way that drives him bloody mad with lust. He seizes your arm in his grip, his cock twitching beneath his armor when you let out a squeak of fright. "An' what o' this one, my king? What shall I do with her?"

Dark knight Ghost, whose eyes go half-lidded and dark when the king grants him permission to interrogate this false princess for information about the king's true betrothed. He can keep you as his servant, the king tells him, if you're still alive once the interrogation is over. This is said only to frighten you, of course, but there's no need to tell you that just yet.

Dark knight Ghost, who is already planning on marrying you once all this Princess business is finally done and over, but he isn't about to tell you that just yet, either. He finds that he very much likes the way you tremble in his hands. He's most eager to begin your 'interrogation'. "Don't worry, my Liege. I know just what t'do t'make her sing like a li'l bird." He grips your arm and pulls you close. "Ain't tha' right, Princess?"

-

Good King!John drabble (sequel)

#brainworm drabble #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #dark knight!ghost #ghost cod

[acrushedlittlestar]

dr ratio who leans over you lifts your chin up with his finger and looks into your eyes, he pauses for a few moments just looking over your face with a soft expression before finally leaning in to kiss you. It's slow and gentle, he takes his time in his advances, cupping your cheek with his hand; wrapping his arms around you. He'd pull away for a moment to whisper how he'd missed you and how he loves you before resting his head on your shoulder happy to finally be able to feel your warmth again.

#dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #hsr #hsr drabbles #honkai star rail #ੈ✩ stars writing #ੈ✩ stars brainworms

[stevebabey]

steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3

“Steven, this is ridiculous.”

Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.

It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.

She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.

But Steve? Steve is not.

It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.

It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.

Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.

So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.

Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.

He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.

Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.

She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.

She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.

She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.

She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.

Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.

She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.

He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.

The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.

“Mom—”

“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.

“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”

She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.

“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.

“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.

The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.

Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.

She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.

“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”

Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.

She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.

Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.

“And to leave the house in such a state?”

Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.

There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.

“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.

“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.

It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.

Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.

Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.

“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”

Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.

“I’m not coming with you.”

The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”

He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.

It makes him stand a little straighter.

“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”

Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.

“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”

“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.

“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”

It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.

“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”

In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.

She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.

He’s shaking, she realises.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest.

Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”

Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.

Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.

“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”

“Steven—”

“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."

A beat.

"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”

Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.

She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.

“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”

There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.

“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”

“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.

“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”

His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”

And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.

Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.

Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.

The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.

If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.

Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.

He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.

“Steve…” She breathes softly.

He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.

Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.

She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.

If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.

“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.

Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.

“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.

Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.

She thinks of what Steve had said.

“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.

“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”

It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.

“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.

Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.

Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.

“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”

“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.

Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.

She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.

“You alright?”

Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.

Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.

“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”

Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”

#everybody say it with me now: OOF #the writing of this episode is so good and i simply cannot resist the brainworms when it fits too well #i love making them hurt so they can comfort each other <3 #robin remains to this day the only one who knows the truth about that scar #stobin my beloved #ruby writes steve & robin #... new tag used shlay #steve & robin #steve harrington #robin buckley #stobin #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates #stobin ficlet #stobin drabble #i love these besties w all my freaking bones #idk tell me how i did. or dont. but please #steve harrington has bad parents #steve harrington whump #steve harrington hurt/comfort #platonic with a capital p

[voidpacifist]

I have a new brainworm about steve harrington that I need (NEED!!) to share

imagine this for me: it's 1983. nothing eventful happens, at least in the supernatural sense. steve and nancy still date, he still drops his terrible friends when he realizes they're not gonna support him if it doesn't fit their agenda, he still accidentally becomes close to a bunch of seventh graders when nance asks him if he can babysit--

(not that he'd ever say no to her, but it's not what he envisioned the summer of '84 to be like, okay?)

--and overall, things are relatively normal for him. his parents continue to be absent, but they still get excited for him when they learn he has a girlfriend or won a new award at the end of the school year for something sporty or what have you. they're not bad people, they just don't know how to be good parents. and they're always, always away.

but the thing about 1983, is that his final interaction with tommy before he "broke up" their friendship by dating someone kind and sweet and "perfect" like nancy, was him getting absolutely wailed on. enough that he went to the hospital with a severe concussion and some damage to his optic nerve. the doctors told him he already has something going on with his vision to begin with, probably a genetic disease passed down from one of his folks, that increase his chances of going blind earlier in life. meaning, if push came to shove, his vision could go entirely if he got into any more scruples with ex-friends or people who just generally disliked him.

and then lucas sinclair asks him for dating advice, because he likes max mayfield, the new girl in his class, and ultimately it lands steve being the chauffeur for their first date just days after halloween in 1984. by now, he and nancy have broken up — they weren't emotionally available in the ways they needed to be with one another, and steve knows his dream of the future is different from her own. this time, there's no speech about bullshit or faking it. they simply both know that their expiration is upon them and call it quits.

(it still hurts, but he told lucas to shoot his shot, because if there's anything he's learned by dating nancy wheeler, it's that projecting his heartbreak and hurt onto others is a gateway to toxicity in the water; and by god he is not sabotaging this kids emotional maturity, okay? okay)

so he takes the kids to bennys burgers, because lucas insists it's "cool enough" for this girl, and he doesn't want to overdo it by going somewhere too fancy. but when steve returns to pick them up, there's a hiccup in the plan.

billy, maxs step-brother and steve's most recent bother at school, is there, gearing up to try and scare lucas off, or do something worse. steve, anointed babysitter and generally protective friend, steps in without hesitation. the fight that results makes the local news. steve lands in the hospital again.

his vision doesn't go completely, but it goes enough. enough that he can't drive, enough that he'll have to find large print books or simply relearn to read altogether in braille. enough that he's advised to get a cane or a guide dog. enough that, when all is said and done, his old life has been completely upended.

jonathan--

(the same jonathan who has now swept nancy off her feet the way steve used to)

--surprisingly, is the one who ends up getting close to steve after this. he tells steve about what it was like when will was found after being missing for a week, about how he knows it isn't the same, but that he relates to the feeling of oh god, everythings different and nothing I used to have is coming back. he doesn't divulge on the details, but steve knows he's serious about understanding the feeling.

even more surprising is nancy, who commands him every day that god dammit steve, your life is not coming back unless you take it back yourself and then reassures him in the same breath that he's not weak for needing help doing so.

and then the kids join in too. and steve harrington isnt a king anymore of anything, but he's the king of his own life, he's the king of himself. he starts going back to school even when he feels embarrassed to be there, like he's an imposter or ill equipped. he starts going to public places just to meet poorly concealed whispers with something friendly and witty in return. he starts taking his power back in a way that never needs to hurt anyone, that never needs to hurt himself.

he also discovers he loves bright colors — neons and pinks and reds especially. he takes a trip with nancy and barb one day to indy on some sort of girls trip (they've long since made up since the first house party, and barb latches onto steve as a best friend shockingly fast in the wake of his and tommy's split), and it's there that he meets someone punk for the first time. he develops a fixation on the colored hair, the leather and spikes and denim with safety pins in it. he badgers the girls about teaching him how to wear eyeliner.

it's his gateway into punk style, which is then a further path into the subculture itself, into colored laces and battle vests and the politics and social aspects. steve takes to it like a fish to water.

the name steve harrington used to mean something entirely different. even though he calls his parents every day since the incident, even though they've been back to see him multiple times, even though they've tried to be present in their strange, semi-absent way, they still haven't seen him since his transformation from local jock to local punk.

needless to say, he spends a lot more time educating them about his "waywardness" and a lot less time actually excitedly telling them about the next color of his hair. but the harringtons aren't unaware — they can see how while this may be a creative way for steve to begin expressing and discovering himself, it's also an armor. no one really wants to fuck with someone who will trip you with his cane if you're being an asshole, someone who wears a lot of spikes and other sharp objects on their body for fun.

so they let it be. and they stay a little longer, this time.

this shift doesn't go unnoticed by the local gossips, but it also doesn't go unnoticed by the "freaks and geeks" at school. he develops, quite by accident, a reputation that rivals that of the king of freaks at hawkins. eddie munson wears the title proudly, clings to it with every antic and every quip that feeds into the rumors about him. but he respects what it took for steve to get here.

so he invites him along to a hellfire session. which turns into two. which turns into steve becoming a party member, which turns into him excitedly telling the kids he babysits that he gets it now, that yes, they can absolutely host their games at his house as long as they have rides back home.

but as he and eddie get closer as friends, eddie notices that as well as steve has done accepting himself as he is, he still misses the things he used to do without thinking much about needing sight to do it. contact sports and movies and other very visually inclined things. and listen, eddie's happy that steve has renounced the toxic social scene of jockdom, he really is, but he also recognizes a guy who misses pieces of his old life.

(he finds himself missing his old life, the life before wayne, all the time, just for the parts that didn't hurt him)

so eddie, much to steves surprise, suggests he try joining the swim team for the final quarter of his senior year. and hey, fuck it, what can it hurt? he's already a nerd now as well as a punk as well as disabled — he can go for one more oddball, not-quite-jock occupation. the coach has several stipulations, all of which steve takes in stride.

he's granted a tryout. he doesn't make it on.

eddie, in his wildest nightmares, doesn't touch sports. he's already athletic in other regards, naturally good at sprinting and lifting heavy things from taking equipment to and from band practice. he doesn't think he actually needs sports, but he's willing to go with steve to lake jordan to keep practicing. he's seen how stubborn harrington is, and he's not about to stop it.

eventually, they do these laps across the lake and back (it's a pretty small lake) just to get high once they're done. and fuck, if steve can swim the length of the lake, he can get a job at the new starcourt mall. and he does. he's there at scoops ahoy the bare minimum of hours they're required to give him to technically say he's employed, but at least he has work. his friends visit him there after their own jobs are done for the day, and eddie consistently shows up just to bug him.

robin, his coworker, is impressed and startled by this version of steve. she'd say she doesn't trust it, but there's nothing to trust really, about the shock of bright green hair or the way his eyes aren't actually that focused looking, or about the way he casually tells stories about getting high and swimming the length of lake jordan. not to mention, the chemistry he can't physically or metaphorically see between him and eddie is laughable to her, and entirely too obvious.

she ends up with one bad trip from the wrong dealer, and steve stays with her through the comedown, and she realizes she would probably die for him, because he sits there and listens to her buzzed ramble about tammy thompson and his bagel crumbs and other dumb shit from when he was still in high school. he's the first person she's ever come out to, and she's the first person he's ever thought could be a soulmate, the kind he'd never give his body but would marry in a heartbeat if she asked him.

he tells her about billy. she tells him about her mother. they tell each other a lot of secrets, more than he's ever told jonathan and nancy, or barb, or even eddie.

and then their workplace gets set on fire from a gas leak after hours. they pack up and go to family video, because they're a package deal. it's barb being on the crew that convinces keith to let steve take the job, and he has a new shtick joking about being a blind guy who likes movies.

then eddie probably takes him to one or two or maybe five. then they maybe make out after one of their swims. then steve starts going to eddies shows at the hideout, starts going with him damn near everywhere, and this was the kind of companionship he needed from the get go but didn't have. the kind where they support each other's interests without changing themselves for it, the kind where there is love born from fierce and unwavering friendship, the kind where loyalty is unquestionable but agreeing all the time is optional. and god.

steve harrington has been blind for a year. and he wears metal in his face and color in his hair. and he and his friends gather for movies just for the enjoyment of it. and he swims the lakes of hawkins with his boyfriend. and he plays dungeons and dragons with the kids who haven't let go of him just yet. and his parents aren't who he needs them to be yet, but they're trying. everyones trying. and eveyrone is enough.

and he's enough, at the end of the day.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #blind steve harrington #steddie ficlet #steve harrington brainworm #drabble #sort of

[chucapybara]

—monsters.

a short arlecchino x harbinger fem!reader drabble.

—in which a wounded innamorati is tended to be blackened hands and mournful words.

notes: "innamorati" is one of the cast in the commedia dell'arte, with the theme of the lovers, if i remember correctly. they are usually a pair, as well. wrote this a few days ago; this came to me with my own version of a harbinger!oc in mind (hence it may come off as self-shippy), but i think it's vague enough to substitute a reader as innamorati. :3c inna also has cryo-inclined abilities (hence titled "Permafrost") and covers themselves in armour!

"You still bleed like a man does."

"And how does... ngfh... a man bleed?"

"Red."

Were it not for the slickened crimson coating her cursed palms, Arlecchino may as well have thought that the Innamorati was no more than an inanimate suit of obsidian. Innamorati's breaths come heavy, misting like frost at the base of her visor.

There is a kinship, in the blood and in the ghastly taint that sours them both. Like beckons like, as the familiar recognises the familiar from a sea of crowds.

For a moment, Arlecchino's dead-eyed gaze flickers over the shadows in Innamorati's helmet, as if searching for a glimpse of the soul that stares beneath. She almost catches the abyssal-flecked hazel, the dredges of human, or what once was human.

"Innamorati."

"Mmh."

"The children will mourn your passing," the Fourth mutters. It's difficult to dress the wound of an acquaintance who refuses to shed their armour, but she improvises. The bleeding must stop eventually.

"Will they, now?"

Arlecchino bows her head, the slightest nudge of a nod. It was not often that Innamorati passed by the House, but every instance always brought with it the intrigue from the children, and the rumour of the risen "abyssal knight". For all the Lovers' aloof frigidity, a wonder it had become when said abyssal knight would bring souvenirs and trinkets for the children of the Hearth after and between deployments, when said abyssal knight would converse with the fosters in a voice soft as snow, gentle as a whisper upon a dandelion breeze.

Quickly, Innamorati had unknowingly earned a place for herself among the denizens of that organisation, and had come under the scrutiny of its unfeeling Father. Hence had Arlecchino found a wounded Innamorati, returned from a mission, stalking past whilst nursing an injury; hence had Arlecchino beckoned her fellow Harbinger into her office, where a box of medical supplies sits in her cabinet for unforeseen events much like this.

"And of you?" The words come slow from 'neath Inna's helm, a gravelled drag to them, strained. "Will you mourn my passing, Knave?"

There is a long silence. With calculating coldness, the baleful moon falls quiet, perhaps contemplative, perhaps resentful of the question.

How many has she reaped? How many throats slashed, heads ground into a marrowy pulp? And of the many, of what number were those she had no strength to aid, left to keep the reminder of their lives in their final breaths?

Even now, from the depths of that icy past blazed upon a crimson pyre, Innamorati ferried recollections that the Knave had not pondered in a long time: her first blood, on that fated arena, within the cage of a woman madder than she—the blood of a fallen dreamer, an heir to tragedy.

When Arlecchino does not answer, Innamorati answers for her.

"Well," the Permafrost mutters in a rasp, "I have yet to forfeit my life, stubborn as I am. You do not grieve for the living."

"And yet we grieve, still, for what eludes us in the present."

Their gazes meet—or Arlecchino thinks they do. She feels a knowing shiver at the tilt of Innamorati's head, in her direction, where the fiery moon meets a frigid sun.

We grieve for what we have lost.

And if naught else, yours is the grave whose flowers I shall never allow to wilt.

#🌙 chuca drabbles #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #hmmmmmm #ah yes to mourn for your lost humanity #to mourn the blood on your hands that were never your own... #there's a lot of brainworms in my head about arlecchino and innamorati rn #i should be working on my finals AHAHSNDLKA

[satoruin]

if rin had to chose between you, his brother’s s/o, and his brother, he choses you a hundred times over.

it’s no secret that the relationship between the brothers is strained, but rin’s relationship with you is more than fine. though it can be a bit awkward for you. but rin is like the little brother you don’t have, so you feel the need to spoil and dote on him.

you’ll pack rin a bento for the day if you’ve already done one for sae, slip him some pocket money for snacks, and keep his favorite protein powder in stock at your house. it’s not odd to invite rin over to watch horror movies or cook dinner for the three of you. the brothers are amicable when around you, it’s much better than when rin tried to strangle sae the first time you invited him over.

rin also adores your head pats and how angry it seems to make his brother. and whenever the two of them fight you are quick to take rin’s side, telling sae that it’s not nice for him to be rude to his younger brother. your small actions mean the world to rin, it makes you really older sibling in his eyes. it also leads rin to tease that you’re only in a relationship with sae so you can dote on him or that you actually love him more than sae.

sae never discourages you from doting on his younger brother or even having him over despite their relationship. of course, he’s been jealous but that’s solved when you snake your arms around his waist and kiss him, something rin wants to barf at. but rin knows why sae never says anything even with his obviously irritated expression.

he’s heard too much about the ring box hiding in sae’s sock drawer. blabbing to his younger brother about you the second you leave the room and even texting him asking about how he should propose. but he’s glad that his brother has found someone that makes him happy, it’s just an added bonus that you like his family too.

#//a lil sae drabble from rin’s pov that i definitely want to make a full fic out of #//guys i am having sae brainworms… #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x you #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #bllk sae #bllk #sae x reader #sae x you #sae itoshi x you #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #[ lee's writing ] #[ + ] bllk #! sae itoshi #! rin itoshi

[nyoomerr]

Another silly prompt if you’d like:

Shen Qingqiu starts exhibiting ‘symptoms’ of being some fraction Heavenly Demon thanks to every heavenly demon he’d met previously feeding him their blood.

(Maybe he and Binghe came across some artifact meant to ‘awaken one’s bloodline’ and/or Airplane had some cut plot-line about an artificial heavenly demon for Binghe to fight).

ok i said no more prompts for now but i've been thinking about a really stupid idea for this one and i couldn't stop thinking about it so dfkjh here it is!!

---

There’s no reason to suspect anything is out of the ordinary, at first. The visiting dignitary and his troupe are exceedingly deferential to both Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu in equal measure; not unusual, considering the amount of importance Luo Binghe places on having Shen Qingqiu treated well. 

Lesser demons have been beheaded for conveniently ‘forgetting’ to greet their emperor’s human spouse with enough respect. More politically empowered demons - the ones that understand just how important it is to respect a powerful demon’s demands for his wife - have had trade agreements stalled and family honor lost for being too nice to Shen Qingqiu, crossing Luo Binghe’s hair-trigger alarm for any potential competition to his Shizun’s attention. 

Taking both extremes into account, the safest bet is usually to treat Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu with the same level of esteem. Indeed, this visiting dignitary’s actions are very normal.

…Or they had started as such, and then Shen Qingqiu had let his guard down, and now they’re on day three of this particular political visit and things seem to have shifted ever so slightly to the left.

The little lordling is still plenty respectful to them both, of course, and he hasn’t started looking too long or too kindly at Shen Qingqiu, so it isn’t - erm, it isn’t any any sort of wife plot, trying to stir up jealousy with the stallion protagonist. 

Instead, it’s both more and less alarming than that: this demon has somehow gotten it into his head that Shen Qingqiu is in charge here. 

Never mind what Luo Binghe may or may not have to say about such a thing!! This is about the law of the land - the actual, real emperor between the two of them is Luo Binghe, if only because Luo Binghe knows well that Shen Qingqiu couldn’t tolerate the work of such a position. Part time empresses, part time peak lords got to have naps; Luo Binghe didn’t get those unless Shen Qingqiu thickened his face and made gestures from the bed that may or may not be construed as requests for cuddles. Shut up.

Anyway, the point is thus: Luo Binghe is emperor of the demonic lands. Shen Qingqiu is to be treated well when he decides he wants to participate in a bit of demonic politicking, but he is not supposed to be the one little visiting dignitaries look to for the final decision.

Shen Qingqiu tries to ignore it, of course. If he pretends he doesn’t notice, maybe Luo Binghe will do the same, and then there’s less of a chance of Luo Binghe being weird about it in bed later!

But as the days stretch on, the visiting dignitary seems to become more confident in his decision on which one of them is in charge, and it finally comes to a head during the feast on the final day: the little lordling seats himself to the side of Shen Qingqiu, rather than that of Luo Binghe.

Shen Qingqiu shifts uncomfortably in his seat, glancing over the top of his fan at the dignitary. Surely, he’ll realize his mistake here…?

“Lord Shen,” the demon lord says, seemingly oblivious to the tension throughout the banquet hall as everyone watches the political misstep in action. “Once more, our people can only thank you and your husband for the hospitality you’ve afforded us during this visit. The agreement between our lands will -”

Shen Qingqiu closes his fan with a snap, drawing himself up with a mental tirade of a thousand of his best curses. That really is the last straw - if he doesn’t correct this mistake now, Luo Binghe might really decide to do something petty and violent later to correct the offense!

“Lord Xia,” Shen Qingqiu says, voice perfectly level. “It appears as if you may have had one too many drinks this afternoon; your place is over there.” 

Saying as such, Shen Qingqiu gestures sharply with his fan to Luo Binghe’s other side. The dignitary pauses, glancing between Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu.

“...No,” he says slowly, “I’m - that is, this lowly one is fairly certain his loyalty is to Lord Shen…”

Shen Qingqiu glances up to the heavens, which have surely forsaken him many years ago. Oh, why did this stupid little man have to word it like that!!

“Xia Yang had best remember what is and is not his,” Luo Binghe says lowly. “The only one allowed to pledge such loyalty to Shizun is myself.”

Xia Yang once more glances between the two of them, his expression growing more confused by the moment. 

“Is Lord Shen… not the demon emperor of this realm?”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him. To his side, Luo Binghe is staring too, though with a far more shrewd expression; clearly, he’s trying to parse this response out as either an acceptable excuse for being too friendly with Shen Qingqiu or not.

“I’m afraid Lord Xia is mistaken,” Shen Qingqiu says when it becomes clear that Luo Binghe is busy being silent and brooding. “This lord is quite human.”

The visiting dignitary’s brows draw together, and then slowly he tilts his head up, scenting the air. 

“...Is Lord Shen sure?” Xia Yang asks, clearly uncertain. “Of course, I had heard of the tales of Luo Binghe and his human spouse, but Lord Shen is…”

“Speak plainly, or lose your tongue,” Luo Binghe snaps.

Shen Qingqiu sighs, reaching over to rap his knee under the table sharply. This sticky disciple of his, always so snappish when it comes to what others say about Shen Qingqiu, ah! This scum villain has had to tolerate far worse things said about him than this sort of mistake, you know!

“It is only that Lord Shen’s blood is clearly of heavenly demon origin,” the little lordling says, shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny. 

Shen Qingqiu feels a bit mortified. Has he - has he really consumed that much of Luo Binghe’s blood??

“Xia Yang smells my own blood in Shizun’s veins,” Luo Binghe says, still looking a bit ruffled. “Shizun is human.”

“All due respect to Lord Luo,” Xia Yang says, “but Lord Shen’s heavenly demon blood is distinct from your own. It -”

Xia Yang cuts off, his mouth shutting so fast he seems to almost bite his own tongue right off and his cheeks coloring a scandalized pink. Shen Qingqiu feels a sense of great foreboding for what is about to be said next.

“Speak,” Luo Binghe hisses.

“Lord Shen’s bloodline is clearly the same as Lord Luo’s,” Xia Yang says in a rush. “This one isn’t sure how close, but it - ah, from the smell of his blood, this one thought Lord Shen might be Lord Luo’s father, or perhaps an uncle…”

The banquet hall is dead silent. Shen Qingqiu feels a bit faint. 

“Tianlang-jun,” he says, mostly to himself. 

“And that snake, too,” Luo Binghe agrees, his eyes flashing and his demonic qi writhing around him. “Shizun, you said they were dead.”

“They are!” Shen Qingqiu exclaims, still feeling a bit regretful about it. “But - well, it isn’t like I could siphon their blood out! It’s all mixed up in there!”

Luo Binghe gnashes his teeth, glaring down at the table. He looks very much like he wishes his parental family was still alive, actually, just so he could have the pleasure of serving them a beat down for putting their blood in Shen Qingqiu’s body and causing this misunderstanding in the first place.

“Lord Shen… has consumed the blood of several heavenly demons?” Xia Yang asks curiously. Shen Qingqiu almost wants to yell at him to read the room just a bit, ah!

“Indeed,” Shen Qingqiu says instead, his voice positively frosty. “So as Lord Xia can see, there has been a misunderstanding: this Lord is human.”

Xia Yang blinks, looks between Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe a final time, and gets up to exchange seats so he’s finally sitting in the proper location. Shen Qingqiu reaches blindly for his wine. Ah, that poor little demon, he really will end up on the shit side of things, after riling Luo Binghe up this much! And this political visit had been going so well, too -!

Shen Qingqiu glances over at Luo Binghe. He does not, in fact, look quite so furious as he had a moment prior. Instead, he’s watching Xia Yang with a look that is very, very concerning to Shen Qingqiu.

“...You said Shizun smelled like he could be my father?” Luo Binghe asks quietly, the tips of his ears pink.

Ah. Never mind. That poor little demon would see his end by Shen Qingqiu’s hand, for what he’s just done to their bedroom life!!

#OKAY BRAINWORMS FROM THE PAST FEW DAYS GONE i am so sorry sqq djkf #svsss #bingqiu #scum villain's self saving system #人渣反派自救系统 #fic drabble

[blenselche]

familiar.

@unicornmachine the brainworms!!!! aaaaa!

She begins to remember things, like how his cracked molar would catch on the tip of her tongue, or the oddly musical pattern of his wake-up joint pops… how he only gentles when you're lathering strawberry scented shampoo into his scalp, how his hands grab with a jarringly insecure hunger. Fi isn't a homewrecker, but her insides twist up with a ferocious, venom coated jealousy upon the dawning realization that magic wasn't the only thing stolen away from their world, pinching herself and digging her knuckles into a dark green bruise she's worked into her thigh at the sight of him happy with someone else. A small, shameful part of her comes alive in the back of her brain, whispering hopefully that he'll remember, too, when his eyes stutter over her face.

#this is a reminder that i will draw your ships and write a little drabble for them so hmu #fiolee #fionna campbell #marshall lee #we've traded ship brainworms lmfao #gift art #i gave him pointed bodymod ears fight me #adventure time with fionna and cake

[hisaacswrites]

See, Soap is a bartender. Well, he’s actually whatever his boss says he is while he gets used to civvie life again, but right now he’s a bartender. And before that, he was SAS. In both professions, being able to read people is invaluable. And even before that, Soap had always been good at getting a feel for people, at reading a room and seeing what’s underneath it all.

Which is why he’s been keeping an eye on the bar’s back booth. There’s a couple there. A bombshell of a woman and a hulking mountain of a man. For all intents and purposes, they look like the stereotypical lovesick couple who’ve had a bit too much to drink to understand the boundaries of acceptable PDA- The woman is draped across the man’s lap, her hands are wandering across and under, her lips working furiously over his skin every chance she gets in between sips of her drink and eyeing the crowd.

But something sets Soap’s senses on edge. Something is wrong.

Maybe it’s how stiff and awkward and downright uncomfortable the man looks.

Maybe it’s how the woman keeps shoving drinks into his hands despite his clear reluctance, watching him like a hawk until he finishes the glass.

Maybe it’s how the man subtly flinches every time the woman touches his bare skin with her oxblood nails. Or how he tries to hunch in on himself when she’s not focused on him, how he seems to be pressing back into the seat as if he could disappear into the upholstery.

Maybe it’s the panic in his eyes, the resignation on his face, the ignored “no’s” that Soap can read on his lips even across the dark room.

Something is wrong.

So even though the man is built like a brick shithouse and looks like he could bench Soap without breaking a sweat, and even though he has scars across his face and knuckles that prove he can take care of himself, and even though Soap can feel the aura of “leave-me-the-fuck-alone” radiating from him-

Soap still approaches the man when the woman stumbles her way to the bathroom. Because something is wrong and he’ll be damned if he ignores his intuition.

So Soap goes over under the guise of picking up the empty glasses, undeterred by the man who’s unfocused gaze is boring holes into the sticky table. He picks up the glasses and plays it cool, rapping his knuckles to get the man’s attention, as if taking his order for a refill.

Asks the stranger if he needs an angel shot.

It takes a moment for the man to respond, for him to understand what Soap is asking. But when the man’s shoulders slump in relief and gratitude shines in his dark eyes as he nods up at Soap, looking like a lost child staring up at their salvation, Soap knows he made the right decision.

The woman returns, sliding into the booth and spreading possessively over the man’s lap when Soap asks him how he wants his drink.

The “On ice, please,” spoken in a rough and tired baritone has Soap nodding and heading back to the bar with a grim but determined expression.

In a few minutes, he’ll head back to the table and tell the man that something is wrong with his credit card and he should come with him to settle the tab. He’ll take the man to the back office, safe and secure, and get the woman an Uber of her own. He’ll learn that the man’s name is Simon and that he’s been in an abusive relationship with the woman for two and a half years. Soap’ll learn that she physically, mentally, emotionally, financially abused Simon, that she controls his every move, that she cost him his job, she wrecked his car, she killed his cat-

But right now he’s grabbing a refrigerated bottle of water and a bag of crisps, dropping them off in the back before putting his best apologetic-server face on and heading back towards the booth with the “bad news” about the man’s card.

First, he has an angel shot to deliver.

A brainworm drabble that’s near and dear to my heart. Abuse comes in all shapes and sizes and doesn’t discriminate against gender. Please keep your eyes peeled, your ears sharp, and your hearts open to those who may need help, including yourselves. A part of me wants to make this a full fic, but I’m not sure. For now it’ll live with the other brain worms.

#call of duty #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #fanfic #fanfiction #ghostsoap #soapghost #writing #drabble #brainworm #angst #tw abuse #angel shot #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #john mactavish

[camels-pen]

I feel like, if left to their own devices for too long, lusopp will end up tied up in knots and with no way to free themselves on their own

hear me out- Usopp seems like a guy who likes to fiddle with stuff in his hands. Luffy, being made of rubber and enjoying the feeling of Usopp playing with his hands, would probably enjoy Usopp fiddling with his fingers. He'd probably take the opportunity to just relax and hang out on Usopp's lap or something. With a 50/50 shot of him falling asleep there

And then some indeterminate amount of time later, Luffy's fingers are tied in knots and Usopp's fingers are also tied into those knots somehow (Luffy's wiggling and wanting to keep touching Usopp's hands the whole time).

Thus they are stuck and have to get themselves up and to the nearest crewmate to help untie them

(they trip and laugh and kiss a lot before managing to get upright. Eventually one of them will pick up the other in their arms to make it easier. It ends up making the knotting worse. Every time. Luffy and Usopp never seem to mind though)

#one piece #lusopp #luffy #usopp #nemotime #errant late night brainworms leftover from that drabble yesterday

[oshiawaseni]

Izuku’s scars. Most of them had been made while he was still trying to get used to his power, in his desperation to become a hero.

Kacchan’s scars… had all been made when he'd found something to protect and were born in his desperation to become Izuku’s hero.

After they first started dating, whenever his chest lay bare in front of Izuku, Izuku can barely look at those scars and quickly downcasts his eyes after a second because he knows they are his fault. Kacchan’s stunning Adonis body was now marred all over because of him.

But as the months pass by, a new warm feeling starts to build in Izuku's chest whenever he looks at them. The more he learns of the feelings and everything else inside the blonde’s heart, the more he begins to see those scars as beautifully splayed proofs of Kacchan’s love. And because of them, he becomes even more breathtaking and perfect to him, which Izuku had thought was impossible.

When they make love, Izuku runs his fingers over them and often dampens the wrecked skin with hot tears while nuzzling his face against them. It overwhelms him how much more loved he feels while Kacchan embraces him, all because of those pretty scars.

If he wakes up the next morning and Kacchan’s lying next to him, he might kiss them softly and lightly trace around their edges with the tips of his fingers, ever so carefully, so as to not wake Kacchan up.

And on some mornings, Izuku can't help the tears that run down his face after watching him for just a few minutes because he feels so blessed his hero is lying right there, right next to him, alive and breathing peacefully in his sleep.

Which brings us to now, it's been a few years since their first kiss and Izuku is lightly stroking Kacchan's soft hair in the quiet early hours of another morning together. Not even the birds are awake and breaking the still air with their chittering. Izuku thinks back to a precious memory of the first and only time they had ever talked about the scars. Kacchan had clicked his tongue and said to him after they’d gotten out of the boy's bath in their third year,

‘Stop looking at ‘em so mopey, Izuku. ’m like a cool war hero ‘n these’re all my badges of honour.” .......

The blonde had looked like there was more he wanted to say as his eyes contemplated Izuku, who was a little bewildered by the topic of his outburst. But instead of letting out anymore words, Kacchan reached his hand over to pull Izuku flush against his body.

Izuku had reached up with his hand to caress over Kacchan’s right cheek, where a trace amount of scar tissue still remained, and gazed deep into the smouldering embers of those fiery eyes, searching for what truths lay beneath them. Kacchan’s usual intense stare softened as it took in Izuku and when Izuku saw the faintest flicker of tenderness flash into those beautiful expressive red orbs that never told lies, he slightly leaned up to claim a deep kiss from the blonde’s mouth and smiled at him gently.

‘Yes, General.’

And that had been the end of it. Izuku sighs and falls back to sleep with his hand laying over Kacchan’s heart.

-

Katsuki's eyes opened. The truth was he’s always known about Izuku’s fixation with his scars. Over the years, he had been roused a few times by Izuku's feather touches and quiet sniffling in the early morning hours before dawn. After the nightmare they both went through during those trying high school years, he felt there wasn't much to be done about it. He only felt immense gratitude for his scars, they made it so Izuku and he could live out the rest of their lives, fulfilling all of their dreams together.

Katsuki gently wiped away an almost dry tear from his beloved’s cheek and pulled the sleeping bundle in closer to him, barely murmuring into his hair,

‘I’d get ‘em all over again ‘n a thousand more if it meant I could still get ta hold you in my arms like this.’

Katsuki kisses the top of green curls and closes his eyes with a hum, allowing himself to be slowly lulled back into unconsciousness by the calming even breaths of his lover sleeping beside him.

~owari~

#imagine #kana writes #bakudeku #bkdk fic #scars drabble #I had to let out another midnight brainworm #hope you guys like it #p.s. this was actually a meta disguised as a drabble #bnha meta #i just wanted you to think about how romantic kacchan's scars for izuku are and how theyll make izuku feel in the future lol #(p.p.s katsukis line at the end are the words unsaid from before) #ok gn x

[acrushedlittlestar]

I haven't recovered from the Dr ratio brainworm. he's all I think about so umm more thoughts.....

ੈ♡ - God he's so soft and gentle when he's alone he doesn't have to be mean doesn't have to be harsh when with you he can relax and be vulnerable, he can show his adoration and love for you without hiding himself behind that god awful plaster head

ੈ♡ - He traces your features with his fingers, you'll be centimeters away from each other but he won't lean down to kiss you until he's done caressing around the highs of your cheekbones with his thumb brushing down your nose over your eyebrows down your jaw and neck he'd feel up your shoulders collarbone kiss along your clavicle if you have an Adams apple he 100% kisses there too just to feel you gulp under him.

ੈ♡ - Veritas is touchstarved as hell and just loves finally having someone that's willing to feed into his clingy-ness and need to be physically touching whenever possible. Sitting on a sofa? He's leaning on you white he writes parts of his research or he's resting his head on your lap as he reads a book. You want to go bathe? He's joining in. Want to go to bed? He'll lay there with you cuddles however you'd like as he works.

ੈ♡ - Hides his face behind that plaster head whenever he's embarrassed or a bit shy but imagine kissing it!! He's already blushing under it because of whatever you did before suddenly feeling a gentle pressure on his face seeing you up close kissing the head before you slowly take it off of his head while you smile up at him. His face would be priceless and probably beet red

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr drabbles #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #ੈ✩ stars writing #ੈ✩ stars brainworms #veritas ratio

[thejacketscloset]

Ghostsoap captured together fic execpt instead of being tortured they're told they get to chose which one of them lives and which one of them dies bc I saw this tiktok and it won't leave my mind

Ghost immediately offers himself to be the one to die, he knows Soap could have so much more joy in life ahead of him than he ever thinks he himself could. He can imagine a happy life for Johnny so easily. He can think about the other going on vacations, laughing and chatting at a pub with the rest of the 141. He sees him sketching in that journal of his happily, showing off his latest addition and chatting the ear off of whoever would listen about it. Ghost doesn't push those thoughts away for once, feeling like he can indulge in them one last time if his life is ending in the next few minutes.

"You'd make the most out of life like I'll never be able to." Is what ghost says to justify himself, but seeing Soap's face morph into something that looks like rage is not at all what he expects in response.

"That's pure shite Si and you know it." Soap practically spits out, because he's so angry that Ghost would think him enjoying himself somehow means his life is more valuable.

Soap doesn't know much about Ghost's past but what he does know is that if anyone deserves to have another chance to get better and be happy it's Simon damnit. After all the shit he's been though before and in the military, after all the people he's saved, including Johnny himself, he deserves to live. Not just survive and make it out of there, but to really live. To try new things, to find people that make him feel cared for, to smile and laugh and feel joy, to finally know that life can have a different meaning to him.

They go back and fourth arguing over who should get out for so long, basically running around in circles with their reasoning and calling each other self sacrificing (neither of them are wrong.) Until finally one of them can't make up excuses anymore and tells the other the real reason they want the other to live.

They practically pour their hearts out to each other after that, listing reason after reason to why the other should be the one to keep living and not making it any closer to a decision.

Ghost and Soap realize very suddenly though that they don't want to die, they hear all the wonderful things they hope for the other to have and it's suddenly so hard to imagine a reality where they aren't with the other.

The lives they want each other to have a chance at hardly hold the same meaning if they won't be there to see it happen.

They want to live. They want to live together. They want to live and to love so much it aches.

Ghost thinks this might be the most effective torture he's ever experienced, seeing how it caused him to lay his thoughts out bare in a way he never had before. Soap just thinks this was the cruelest way to find out how in love he is.

When they can't reach a decision in time they're both somehow relieved. There's comfort in knowing that even though they wanted better for the one they love, they'll still be together, facing death like they had faced everything else since they first met.

#soapghost #ghostsoap #my fic #drabble #this is just my can of brainworms #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #angst #ghost cod #soap cod #cod mw2 fic

[casualsheeteater]

Window To The Soul

GhostxSoap

Just a drabble of how I think Soap would realize he's in love.

TW: None :) Just fluff!

---

Soap's Ma always told him that the eyes were the window to the soul, and since he was kid, Soap had watched and observed, gazing at other's eyes whenever he got the chance. He found that they could tell quite the story.

Often men in his field would have eyes, still lit with /something/, Price, his eyes were mellow, dark pine tones, but a harshness that would spring up in them whenever things got serious. Like the bright sun setting behind cold jagged mountains, leaving something frighteningly empty.

Gaz, was more like honey.

A neverending buzzing of bees, flitting about, occasionally interrupted by splashes of chocolate, and a golden glow, like sunflowers bordering an aok forest.

But Ghosts?

It was hard to tell due to his mask, usually. The lighting obscuring his gaze, but not the feeling that came along with it, like a dozen knives being simulatenously pierced into your flesh whenever it would flick to your figure. Soap was used to it, and in fact came to be comforted by the feeling.

It'd happened, only once, Soap got to peer through /his/ window.

They were sitting on a bench, outside, enjoying the fresh air. Soap doesn't even remember what they had been talking about, it'd been forgotten quite quickly. He'd glanced over, Ghosts attention being caught by something. And his head tilted just so, the late evening rays had touched his pupils.

Soap couldn't help but stare.

It was a cold, shivery blue. Dark, and swirling like ocean waves, repeatedly crashing upon a beach, with a current so strong it could pull you under.

And pull you under it did. Soap was transfixed, drowning in the sight before him.

The glass panes and shutters were cracked and broken, but still /there/. They stood strong, battling against the onslaught of waves.

Soap found himself wanting to see a stream spill off from that ocean, as if attempting to empty a bit of itself, despite it's vastness.

Ghost turned back again, and all of a sudden Soap could breath again, those icy blues freezing over the ocean currents once more, the water now stagnant.

He felt a shiver go down his spine.

"Ser..ant-"

The mask moved but Soap could barely hear a sound, a persistent ringing in his ears, as his eyes were a bit wide, just staring at his Lieutenant.

"S..p"

The man in front of him moved closer, brows furrowing and cutting off the bit of light that was left. Soap was staring at an empty room.

"Soa.."

The ringing grew louder, his breath hitched as his heart thudded. He'd never felt anything like this before. Was this what cardiac arrest was like? His body felt, not his, but a shell, something he was viewing. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, entirely transfixed on that window, as the glass rattled as it slammed shut.

"Johnny."

He blinked, one, two, maybe three times, before he regained control over himself.

"Ah."

"You alright there?"

"Aye. Daydreamin'.."

The other man only huffed in amusement, shutting his eyes for a second, and only now had Soap realized just how close the other was. His face only a foot and a half from his.

When those windows opened again, he saw it cracked open, just a tad, as if the curtains had been moved aside, /just for him/.

-----

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod modern warfare #mw2 ghost #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #Fluff #drabble #cod mwii #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #Soast #ghost x soap #brainworms are popping off rn

[awriternamedart]

It was just a few more turns. Even Fu Xuan found herself on the edge of her seat from the sheer tension that permeated the table. And it was not often that this game made her anxious, even if it was far from the first game she had watched.

But it was the first game Qingque had invited her to.

Her face did nothing to betray her anticipation as Qingque drew another tile.

A bated breath was drawn as Qingque showed no emotion, before the hint of a smirk showed itself on her face.

She slammed down the tiles on the table, calling her win with a wild grin before the table erupted into noise, cheers and groans as those who had been placing bets around them had to pay up.

But all of it was background noise as Qingque turned on her heel, sprinting through the mass of people. Fu Xuan barely had a moment to register just what Qingque was planning before she was right in front of her.

"I won!!" Fu Xuan yelped as Qingque squealed and wrapped her arms around Fu Xuans waist, picking up the Master Diviner with surprising ease.

"Qingque-!!" She barely managed to steady herself, hands pushed against Qingque's shoulders as she began to spin them both around in her glee.

"I won I won I won! Your the best good luck charm ever!!" Finally, she set Fu Xuan down, but she didnt let go before she managed to land a firm kiss on Fu Xuan's lips. "I gotta play another game now, Im on a roll!"

It was all Fu Xuan could do to stand there and stare as Qingque disappeared back to the game table just as fast as she had arrived. Slowly lifting a hand up to touch her lips, realization slowly creeping up on her, Fu Xuan was helpless but to watch as another game started, heart racing as Qingque flashed a wide grin in her direction.

Oh, she had it bad.

-

yes this is me saying i still plan to do a larger fuqing fic but take this drabble as a peace offering

#drabble #fuqing #fuque #honkai star rail #qingque x fu xuan #fu xuan #qingque #brainrot #the brainworms got to me

[greenbeany]

"This isn't fair! We did everything right!"

And to Charlie's knowledge, they had.

Nobody had rocked the boat. Tommy hadn't acted childish and got them killed, it wasn't Phil's stubbornness or Ranboo's curiosity. Nobody had done anything stupid. By horror movie law, they should have made it out.

Doors were locked. Nobody went off alone. They rarely argued or took fights they couldn't win. Wilbur spent days worth of sleepless nights up making elaborate plans for the group. And they almost always worked.

But of course if they always worked, Charlie wouldn't be staring down a hoard of zombies.

From their little log cabin (now shaking from strain), he knows they're done for.

Nobody had expected a hoard this big.

"Tom, nobody could have predicted this. I'm sorry." Wilbur is standing behind a table now, desperately trying to scramble together a plan even when he knows the numbers look rough.

"But you said we'd survive!"

"And I thought this would all blow over in a week. That's on me."

"But we're meant to survive! You lied!"

"Tommy." Phil snaps. He's next to Charlie, looking out of the window from the couch in the corner. Tommy and Will are speaking like they have minutes left to scrape together a plan. From Charlie's view, it looks more like seconds.

"It's futile. It's always been fucking futile."

#the sorry boys brainworms overtook me my bad #the sorry boys #wilbur soot #tommy innit #charlie slimecicle #philza #ranboo #his ass was barely in this drabble my bad