#trope mashups | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

river-ocean · 12 days

Note

39. Survival/wilderness fic + 60. Poorly timed confession for meeee!! You know which ships i like so you can pick whichever 💕

Of all of the C2 Challenges Ferrari has forced them to do, this one has to be the worst, Charles thinks. He doesn’t usually mind camping, but sharing a tent with Carlos sounds like the least appealing way to spend a weekend after they’ve been at each others’ throats for the majority of the season.

The scavenger hunt the team sent them on was no exception. It’s probably for the best that they didn’t send anyone with them to film the actual hunt. Each time Charles thinks that he has found one of the items, Carlos argues with him — the leaf from an oak tree was actually a maple leaf, the moss was just grass, and he even argued with him that the acorn Charles picked up was probably a walnut.

By the time they start searching for a pine cone, Charles is ready to give up. He thinks he can have the team come up with an alternative challenge for them. Maybe they can figure out how to start a fire without matches or something. He thinks he could leave Carlos to figure that out on his own.

“I am going back to the campsite. I am not doing this anymore,” Charles says with a huff.

“Come on, why are you being like this?” Carlos asks.

“Why am I being like this?” Charles bites back at him. “You have doubted me every step of the way today.”

Carlos takes a step back, and Charles feels bad for all of half a second.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos says, and he sounds like he actually means it. “It’s just that…”

“It’s just what, Carlos?” Charles asks exasperatedly. "Can’t we just get this over with so we can relax for the night?”

“I’m not ready for this to be over.”

Charles scoffs. “I never took you for the wilderness type.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Carlos says, sincere.

“You are upset about leaving,” Charles responds.

Carlos nods. “A little. I feel like things are…unfinished.”

Charles can sense where this is going. “You don’t get to do this now,” he whispers, the fight suddenly leaving his body.

He had considered all of the possible outcomes of a conversation like this for years, since the moment he found out that Carlos would be his teammate. There had been multiple close calls — touches that lingered for a moment too long, eye contact that was a little too deep to be shared between teammates. But Charles had written off the possibility of anything more happening when it was announced that Carlos would be leaving.

“Then when?” Carlos asks.

Never, Charles thinks. It would be preferable to wherever this would go tonight. Especially considering the fact that they would have to share a tent either way.

“I’m going back to the campsite,” is all he says aloud.

“Charles, please wait,” Carlos pleads from behind him, but Charles doesn’t turn around.

“We have to talk about this,” he calls again, and Charles knows he won’t let up until Charles hears him out.

“Fine,” Charles spins around. “Let’s get this over with.”

#charlos #trope mashups #possibly (but not actually) unrequited confessions #i would write any ship for you baby 🤭

29 notes · View notes

oflights · 4 months

Note

soulmate AU teacher AU

god this one was LEGIT HARD probably because i just wrote a soulmate AU and i felt tapped out lmao. thank you though!! i had fun coming up with the cutest option.

anyway. one of those soulmate fics where when you or someone else writes/draws on your skin it shows up on your soulmate's. kindergarten teacher harry who's thinking of getting a tattoo and lets his students draw on his arms to get inspo. single dad draco who mostly tolerates this until one day he recognizes his kid's artwork.

send me tropes to mash up!

#asks #teledild0nix #trope mashups #drarry #ask meme #picture draco [not] being an adult about this #by which i mean he gets his kid to draw on him back instead of just talking to harry #the next artwork he sees is worse than all the little kids' (it's harry's)

17 notes · View notes

nitewrighter · 2 years

Note

May I suggest the ol' 51 & 53 for any pairing of your choice?

Gonna do Yeehan just because I think they're stupid enough to get entangled like that.

51. Accidentally Married

53. Mutual Pining

There's a major Shambali Festival celebrating Aurora's ascension and the awakening of Omnic sentience in Nepal. Hanzo has only been on the watchpoint a few months now, but both Genji and Zen want Hanzo to not just feel more like part of the group, and to help him understand how Genji learned to accept himself. Hanzo, as always, is skeptical, but Cassidy's curious about what a Shambali party looks like, and Mercy's honestly excited to see peace advocates like the Shambali in action. Cassidy and Hanzo are at this weird point in their relationship where like, Hanzo is very aware he's caught feelings at this point, but he's also still kind of stuck in the "The entire team hates me" zone, and meanwhile Cassidy's starting to catch feelings too, but he's kind of like "Oh, Hanzo's been very clear on his opinion of me from the start." And there's still this kind of stumbling, mutual "oh my god get over yourself" huffiness on both sides. The celebrations are... honestly a little off-putting for Hanzo (everyone's too nice and it's freaking him out a little bit), so Cassidy suggests they dodge the crowds by heading deeper into the temple. They end up coming across a very small, beautiful ceremony being held by a handful of Omnics and humans, they get invited to participate, sure, they don't really 'believe' in the Iris, but honestly since they barged in there it seems rude not to...

Later on they meet back up with Genji and Mercy and Cassidy's like, "Hey! Check out these nifty bracelets the monks gave us!" And Mercy and Genji look at them like :0 and Zen's just going "Oh! How wonderful!"

#yeehan #gency #trope mashups

43 notes · View notes

failedintsave · 2 years

Note

85 92 skwistok plzzz

[Trope Mashups]

Innocent physical contact/kink

This started as "innocent" but then Skwisgaar wanted to be a rascally goofball so idk it's not exact but 🤷🏼‍♀️ hope you still like it!

Almost one third of Toki's total birthdays had been spent celebrating with the band. His twenty-first had seemed at the time like the height of debauchery, with its marathon bar-crawl-turned-house-party that, after a neighbor called in a noise complaint, migrated first to the strip club before finally ending with him passed out in the sand as the sun rose over the ocean. He'd been sure nothing would ever top it, and that the hangover would kill him. Then their first record went platinum, money started pouring in, and twenty-two made the previous year's blow-out look like a kindergarten graduation.

"Here we ams."

The lock beeped as Skwisgaar swiped his key card, opening the door to their blessedly quiet penthouse suite and immediately disappearing around the corner. Thick, creamy rugs covered the parquet flooring, a wall of glass overlooking the Côte d'Azur below. The sky and water alike were dusky with pinks and purples, the sun already hidden by a low bank of clouds along the horizon. Shadows stretched long in the dying light, and it took Toki's eyes several seconds to adjust so he could enter without tripping over Skwisgaar's abandoned suitcase ahead of him.

After a decade of screaming groupies, of binge drinking and drug-fueled hijinks, Toki decided that for his thirtieth, all he wanted was to get away. He dropped his luggage just inside the foyer—someone would take care of it later—and made straight for the white leather sectional that dominated the lounge, diving onto it with a running leap.

"Ohh, dis is niiiice," Toki sighed, twisting up in the cashmere throw draped artfully over the back of the couch. He was accustomed to luxury, but his standards were meager compared to Skwisgaar's requirements for accommodations. Letting him plan their holiday had been a good choice, Toki was sure the amenities here lacked for nothing.

"You likes it?" Skwisgaar reappeared, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. He must have gone to freshen up after their flight.

"I loves it."

"Dats good, cuz you owns it now. Happy boirthdays, hueghueh." Skwisgaar dropped the towel on the floor, moving to straddle Toki's lap as he sat up.

"Oh, was de wallpapers not to your liking before? Dids dey not haves cucumber water bidets installed?" Toki squeezed Skwisgaar's thigh, the couch cushions creaking as he reclined. "I thought it smelled like sawdust in heres, how much dids you remodel?"

Skwisgaar shrugged, "Was just easiers dis way. No checkingk in and outs. Can come backs whenever want."

"Mm. Dat do sounds good." Toki leaned forward for a kiss, Skwisgaar meeting him halfway. "Thank you."

"Of course. But I has anudder soirprise too." He punctuated the statement with another press of lips, and Toki melted into it until he felt the stretch of an elastic band at the back of his head.

"What ams you doing?" Pulling back, Toki's brows rose as a satin mask was slipped over his eyes.

"What does it looks like I am doing?"

"I don't knows? I can't see?"

Skwisgaar batted his fingers away when he reached for the blindfold. "Ezacktlies."

"But—"

"You don't trusts me?" Mock-offense made Skwisgaar's voice hike in pitch. "After I wents to all dis trouble!"

"Ja, swipings your credit card sure can takes a lot out of you." Toki was rewarded for his cheekiness with another light swat.

Climbing from Toki's lap, Skwisgaar continued his lament, the sound of his voice floating away as he crossed to the opposite side of the room, as best Toki could judge without peeking. "So unapprciateds, I don't know why I tries."

After a minute, footfalls announced his return, then his hands tickled over Toki's chest and stomach, finally alighting on his waist. Skwisgaar slowly, carefully peeled away Toki's shirt, readjusting the blindfold when it shifted as the tee was pulled over his head. Toki saw only a brief glimpse of flickering light, surmising that Skwisgaar must have opted for candlelight as the night grew deeper. That made him smile, it was awfully romantic.

Skwisgaar brushed Toki's hair over one shoulder, ducking to plant a trail of kisses up his neck, but the notion of a quiet, tender evening was quickly ejected from Toki's mind as nimble fingers fastened something around his throat.

They'd discussed restraints, even employed them a time or two, but never on Toki and never without warning first. His initial burst of shock abated quickly, dissolving into a warmth that simmered low in his belly; his hands were still free, he could object if it turned out to be too much for him. Curiosity won out. He waited.

Muted clattering on the coffee table piqued his interest next, Toki's mind racing with possibility. Skwisgaar had a tendency to over pack, his suitcase quite large for a weekend away, but Toki assumed the bag had been jammed full of hair products and backups for his backup outfits. Perhaps there was something more rousing smuggled away in the Swede's carry-on. His pulse quickened, his legs jumping in anticipation.

A bit more racket from the table, then the unmistakable sound of a plastic cap being flipped open. Though he couldn't see him, Toki could sense Skwisgaar standing directly in front of him, looming tall. When he spoke, the bassy timbre of his voice sent an excited shiver through Toki's system.

"Okej, now opens your mouth."

Toki obeyed, gripping the edge of his seat to keep his hands still. Immediately, he jolted backwards, his tongue coated with creamy sweetness.

"Dats cold! What de hell?!" He ripped the blindfold from his eyes, blinking up at Skwisgaar holding a fork.

He'd been correct about the lighting, though less so when he imagined hundreds of pillars and tapers encased in hurricane glass cylinders, rose petals scattered to enhance the mood. Instead, melting slowly at the center of the coffee table, sat a square dessert topped with a handful of guttering candles.

"What?"

Toki loved sweets. He loved sweets, but that fondness for treats had taken its toll on his body in a dangerous way. Their doctor warned him that as he got older he needed to be even more careful to mind his glucose levels, so meals lately had been more restrictive and his alcohol intake (a bit) more mindful.

An assortment of syrups and toppings and jars of sprinkles bordered the platter bearing a sweating ice cream cake, each bottle and container bearing a green sunburst label that read 'sugar free!' in blocky lettering. It seemed his dietary concerns had been considered when these offerings were laid at the altar.

"You gots me a birthday cakes?" Toki lifted his gaze from the dessert to Skwisgaar still hovering over him. "Wait. Why you takes my shirt off?"

"Tch, does you want to gets you clothes all sticky?" He still held a forkful of cake, his other hand cupped beneath it to catch any drips.

Toki looked down, finally paying attention to the shift of fabric against his otherwise bare chest. The sensation hadn't registered through his burgeoning arousal, and now confusion flooded into the mix. He grabbed the terry cloth and yanked, pulling the bib from around his neck, mouth hanging open incredulously.

"What de hell ams dis for?!"

"It's cold, you said sos yourself! I didn't think you'd wants to gets any on you eidder!" Skwisgaar's lip trembled, clearly fighting laughter at this point. To stall, he ate the bite of cake himself, then his head tipped to the side, all honey and false innocence when he asked, "What dids you expects when I said soirprise?"

The bridge of Toki's nose prickled as a blush spread over his cheeks, his jaw jutting forward in a pout. "Ha ha, you's very funny. And yes, I did think you hads something else ups your sleeves. You gots me. Great jobs, jerk." He crossed his arms obstinately over his naked torso. "Thought you was supposed to be nice to me at least for today."

Skwisgaar smirked. He turned and stabbed the fork into the center of the cake, a flag planted to claim some conquered territory, then picked up one of the aluminum cans from the table, tossing it so that it spun end over end in the air before slapping against his palm when he caught it again. It made a quiet sloshing sound as he shook it under Toki's nose.

"I didn'ts say dat you was wrong ins your assumptions. Dis ams clearly too much whipped creams for a slice of cakes." The pink tip of his tongue slid along the edge of his teeth and he eyed Toki expectantly. "Well? You gonna makes a wish or not?"

Growling wolfishly, Toki lunged forward and blew out the candles with a mighty puff. In the same motion, he snagged Skwisgaar behind the knees and dragged him laughing onto the cushions as the room was plunged into twilit shadow.

No wish necessary.

#trope mashups #prompts #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #skwistok #metalocalypse #dethklok #thanks! 💜#me writing

24 notes · View notes

theminecraftbee · 1 month

Note

Vintagebeef and time loop?

The second-most annoying thing, he thinks, is that his crops just won't grow.

He's wanted to retire for a while now. Head out and live on a farm. Get some rest. Not have to worry about gunfire and business fronts and drugs and appearances and being in charge. He'd known he wouldn't be able to escape fully. Beef always knew he was on a timer, no matter how he tried to bury the hatchet and bury his past behind you. It always catches up.

He had a big name. He had a big life. He can't just retire from being head of Big Salmon, even if his loyal Skizzleman is the only person he told where he was going. One day, someone will catch up with him, and perhaps if he's lucky they'll turn his tractor into a car bomb. If he's unlucky, it'll be personal.

So in a lot of ways, really, the fact he keeps on waking up in the morning is a gift. It may be the same morning over and over again, sure, but he collects the eggs from his chickens, and he pats his dog, and he feeds his pigs, and he feels the sun shine on his face in a place that smells nothing like asphalt and fumes.

If his tomatoes would grow, it'd be nearly perfect, getting to wake up again and again in the sun like this. It's better than a man like him deserves, really. And it may be Wednesday, and Wednesday, and no tomorrows, but he didn't have himself much of a tomorrow anyway, and collecting the eggs from the chickens is nearly as good as harvesting the crops.

Quiet, and peaceful.

Or it should be. But see: the crops not growing are the second-most annoying thing.

The first most annoying is--

"HALLO! I have decided that this time, I am announcing I am here to assassinate you, ah? That way, you won't see it coming and manage to escape."

Beef groans and puts his head in his hands. A red dot appears on his temple.

"Don't try to run. You have a lovely home, of course, and I don't want to put holes in it. You've repaired those holes real fast, I have to say. You're a real hole expert. No, wait, that sounds terrible in English. Ah well, I'll just say it again."

It's him again.

"...hello? VintageBeef? I have been hired to kill you by your rivals? You aren't even moving. See, this is how you always get me. You do not move and I think I have killed you, then I come back in the morning and it is fixed! Very strange, very strange."

He hasn't realized it's a time loop. Somehow. Beef's tried to tell him. It's a little hard when he's busy being as annoying as possible, and ruining what would otherwise be the best chance for Beef to retire he's got.

"Well, okay, I guess I'll just pull the trigger. This is boring. You're boring, except for the part where you won't die. Hey, wait, maybe you can introduce me to your chickens instead? So next time I can bring you a totally safe chicken."

"Go away," Beef says.

"But I'm being paid so much money to kill you!" the famed assassin codenamed Iskall85 says. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"No!"

"But I've tried to do this so many ways!"

"Have you considered there's a reason it's not working?"

Iskall considers for a moment. "Naaaaah," he says, and Beef's instincts flare all at once. He dives to the ground as Iskall takes the shot. "Awww, no fair. I thought you were not moving."

"What do you want from me," Beef says.

"I mean, I feel like I've been pretty clear," Iskall says, and Beef doesn't say that he's not even asking Iskall at this point. He's asking the universe. He's asking this Wednesday. He's asking why this has happened to him.

The universe, of course, does not respond, and Beef ducks behind cover for yet another day of his peaceful time loop retirement being completely ruined.

#answered #fakezircon #ask game #a bee fic #hermitfic #hermitcraft #vintagebeef #iskall85 #i am just writing these as my brain takes me btw. anyway take this bizzare trope mashup of an au #like can you IMAGINE it would be fantastic right

304 notes · View notes

ohnococo · 1 month

Note

GASP first kiss with sukuna please🙏🙏🙏

👀 oooh this one became more of a blurb/drabble than anything lol

You could pinpoint two very different “first kisses” with Ryomen Sukuna. The first is stolen, when you don’t expect it. He’s baring his teeth, fire in his eyes, and when he approaches you honestly think he may just be about to kill you. Instead he’s holding you in place by the jaw, not that you would have pulled back anyway, and pressing his lips roughly to yours. Open mouthed, tongue demanding, teeth clashing.

The second is requested. It’s not presented as such, it’s a calm “Kiss me.” He sits back, amused, waiting to see if you’ll do it willingly. The way he raises his brows and focuses his attention elsewhere when you take too long shows it wasn’t quite the demand it had seemed to be. You do kiss him then, slow, soft, sighing into his mouth when he opens it and waits for you to slide your tongue past his lips. The contented look he gives you after makes it feel like the first time.

Fanfic trope mash up

#💛 asks #💛 anon #ask game #sukuna x reader #my writing #coco trope mashup #ryomen sukuna x reader

130 notes · View notes

fictionadventurer · 10 months

Text

Sometimes it's good to create stories that are nuanced and meaningful and explore deep themes and complex characters. And sometimes you need to create stories that make you CACKLE WITH DELIGHT because of how dumb they are.

#adventures in writing #anyway i got to talk about both the american hallmark royalty romance and powers and prejudice #and the delight of those absurd mashups cannot be expressed #esp with the first #applying hallmark tropes to this historical au creates some very dumb sentences and it's so fun

227 notes · View notes

phdmama · 2 months

Note

For the trope mash-up post, may I request Fake Dating and Soulmate AU for Drarry please, if it sparks any fun inspiration?

(P.S. you're wonderful and I will love literally anything you come up with, even if it's not for these prompts, I just got super excited when you posted this 💜)

No, YOU'RE wonderful!!

So this is what came to me - and I can actually see the rest of the story but I have to go adult for a bit, but I am going to come back later and write some more of this! (As per usual, this is pretty much SOOC and unbeta'd, etc etc.)

Draco’s known since the Final Battle.

He’s pretty sure Potter has no idea, whether it’s that no one’s remembered to tell him about soulmates, or that his mark hasn’t activated yet, but he treats Draco exactly the way he’s treated him since they'd all arrived at University. He’s unfailingly polite, cool and distanced, and deeply disinterested in one Draco Malfoy.

Which isn’t, you know, how you’re supposed to treat your soulmate.

The thumbprint on Draco’s wrist had flared to life when Potter had grabbed his arm to haul him onto the back of the battered broom that carried them both out of the fire. He’d almost fallen off at the way Potter’s magic had rushed over him, through him. Draco had always heard the stories that connecting with your soulmate could be disorienting, but since it happened to him in the midst of mortal terror, Draco’s not sure his experience was typical.

It’s also very rare that one person connects and the other doesn’t, although it does happen. It takes time for the bond to solidify, to grow into a true soulmate connection, and obviously, that’s not happened here. Basically, Potter is a faint echo in Draco’s mind, enough to distract and ache a little, nothing more than that.

All this to say, it’s weird when Potter comes dashing into their suite common room one Saturday afternoon, looking wild-eyed and somewhat disheveled. It’s a rainy day, raw and windy, the kind of day where Draco does not plan to leave the building if he can help it. Potter is damp and windblown, so he clearly had other ideas. Fucking weirdo.

Potter looks around wildly, and lights up when he spots Draco curled up on the couch under his favorite striped blanket.

“Malfoy,” he says eagerly, and Draco blinks up at him in surprise.

Potter’s never sounded happy to see Draco before.

“Yes?” Draco says cautiously. “Can I help you?”

Potter nods vigorously. “You can, yes, absolutely. I need you to pretend to be my soulmate and go to the gala with me tonight.”

“I beg your pardon?” Draco asks, trying to make sense of the words he’s just heard. “You need me to what?”

Potter hangs his coat on the rack by the door, kicks off his grubby trainers and makes his way around the couch to plop down next to Draco.

“I need you to pretend to be my soulmate and go to the gala with me tonight.”

“That’s what I thought you said,” Draco says. “But also, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Potter sighs, lets his head rest on the back of the couch and runs a hand through his unruly hair.

“You know how the press…” his voice trails off and he flushes.

“Follows you around incessantly and makes your life a living hell?” Draco says dryly. “Yes, Potter, I’m aware.”

“Well, someone thought it was a good idea to advertise that I haven’t found my soulmate, and to suggest that anyone who’s unbonded should come to the gala tonight and you know. Shoot their shot or whatever.”

Draco sits bolt upright, outraged. “What the hell? That’s bullshit. That’s not even how it works!”

Potter just sighs again and slumps down even further, eyes closed. “Yeah, I know that, but it’s turned into this whole thing, and every girl in the greater Oxford area, apparently, is now coming to the gala.”

“Can’t you just… not go?”

Potter shakes his head, looking miserable. “No. The Fund is really important to me. I promised to speak.”

“So your solution is to fake a soulmate bond with a man?” Draco asks and Potter snorts.

“Okay, well, when you put it like that, it does sound stupid. I just thought if I could get them all off my back for a bit… No, you’re right. I’ll just have to get a bodyguard again, I guess.”

He sounds so utterly miserable that Draco can’t help but feel sorry for him, which is why he finds himself saying, “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

Potter opens his eyes to stare at Draco. “What?”

Draco shrugs. “I’m not doing anything tonight, there’ll be wine at the gala, yeah?”

Potter looks excited but then his face falls. “But what about your soulmate? What if they’re out there looking for you?”

Draco looks away and swallows. “That won’t be a problem.”

Potter’s eyes narrow. “Why not?” He sucks in a breath and whispers, “Malfoy, do you know who your soulmate is?”

Draco just nods and there’s a long silence while Potter clearly puts some picture together in his head. He’s never been stupid, Draco concedes. Since for all intents and purposes, Draco is unbonded, Potter must know there’s something wrong with all of it.

Finally Potter says, “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Draco says and finally turns to look at Potter. “It’ll be fun,” he says carelessly. “What should I wear?”

#my writing #trope mashup #Drarry vignette #fic beginning #I ask that you check in with me before finishing any of my vignettes #THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING

38 notes · View notes

quail-in-red · 20 days

Note

Uhh mashup! drarry + 58 Accidental Eavesdropping and 59 Interrupted Declaration of Love. Yay!

Ron is best boy

#drarry #hp fanart #harry potter #draco malfoy #trope mashups #sorry ron

2K notes · View notes

karalovesallthegirls · 2 years

Note

time travel + I didn’t mean to turn you on

hello my love thank you for your request I wrote a bunch solely because I'm in love with you

Life is nothing if not consistent for Lena Luthor. She wakes at the same hour every single day, does an hour of stretches and exercise, eats the same egg white omelet. She’s the first to the office and the last to leave. Every moment is structured and accounted for, allowing Lena maximum control and regulation. Just the way she likes it.

And then, one day as she was stretching deep into a downward dog, her new life path came crashing down through her crystal glass coffee table.

One moment she’s thinking about the meeting she has in an hour and the next she’s flinching away from a spray of glass raining down overhead. She curls in on herself with a yelp, terrified and frozen at the sudden explosion beside her. After the clattering of glass had stopped, she’s left in dead silence. With a deep breath for confidence, she finally works up the nerve to look.

Collapsed over the metal frame of what had been her table lay some woman she had never seen before in her life, knocked out and bleeding all over her Persian rug.

Lena feels herself clicking into survival mode at the sight of her. She’s always been good at that – surviving. No one can keep a clearer head in a crisis than Lena. The initial fear now replaced with adrenaline and clarity, Lena jumps into action. Years of Pilates and daily weight-lifting aides her as she pulls the bloody woman off the twisted frame, dragging her over to her yoga mat. The woman is out cold.

She’s got glass stuck in all kinds of places, the worst of which seems to be a long, jagged piece stuck in her thigh. Lena knows better than to try and pull that one out, so she instead focuses on tying her sweatshirt around the woman’s thigh to try and stave the bleeding. It looks like it might be in a dangerous spot, possibly close to an artery, and the last thing Lena needs is some home invader dying on her living room floor. The press would have a field day with that.

While working to stabilize the rush of bleeding from her thigh, Lena shouted out, “HOPE, call emergency services.” HOPE, her omnipresent homemade helper, replied back from the speaker located just above. “Yes, Miss Luthor. Police, fire, or EMT?”

“EMT and pol-” she’s cut off by two hands on her at once: one covering her mouth forcefully and the other pressing a large glass chunk to her throat right at the jugular vein. She freezes.

Apparently, the unconscious intruder was more conscious than she thought. “Tell her to cancel it,” the woman says with a hoarse, pained voice. Lena watches her with a calculating eye, weighing her option. If she didn’t respond to HOPE in the next few moments, she knew her virtual assistant would call the police automatically. “It’ll take them, what, 5 minutes to get here? Maybe 10 with traffic. You’ll bleed out in seconds and I’ll be long gone before they even get close,” the woman says, “Nobody has to die today, okay? Cancel it.”

Her mind reels for alternatives, but the woman presses the glass harder against her throat, hard enough to cut, and her mind is made up. She nods, and hesitantly the other woman removes her hand from her mouth. “Cancel request, HOPE,” Lena says, voice surprisingly steady for someone in such a situation. “Request successfully cancelled,” HOPE chirped happily before shutting off.

The other woman sighs, the glass held to Lena’s neck slacking just a bit as she leans backwards. Lena can feel the way it pulls at her skin, how blood starts to trickle. She keeps her hands where they’ve been this entire time – pressing hard around the glass in the woman’s thigh. She’s bleeding a lot, even with the pressure Lena’s applying. “That was foolish,” Lena says, pulling away from the woman. “The EMT was for you. You’re bleeding too much too quickly, I think you nicked your femoral artery.” The woman laughs, laid back eyes closed like she’s not invading her house and threatening her life. “That’s right, you had medical training. I forgot about that,” the other woman says, pulling herself up into a half-sit and looking down at her injuries with a curious eye. “In my defense, they barely mention that in the history books.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” The woman just shakes her head.

“What day is it?” she asks. Lena is tired of this already. She’s supposed to be showering right now and preparing to leave for work, not negotiating with a half-dead possible hostage-taker. “Tuesday. March 13th.”

“What year?” “Is that a joke?” “Yeah,” the woman smiled, a hint of blood on her teeth. “Humor me.” “2018.”

The smile fades fast, replaced with a sudden alarm. As if the year were somehow worse than the giant piece of glass sticking from her thigh. “That’s way too early,” she says, hints of panic in her voice. “They dropped me way too far back. Crap.”

Her face looks pale and grows paler by the minute. Lena looks down to see the cloth she’d tied around her thigh fully saturated, the puddle beneath her growing. She’s losing too much blood. “Put the glass down and give me your hands,” Lena says, but the woman doesn’t move. Frustrated, Lena grabs her hands with her bloody ones and presses them just above the glass. “Hold here,” she says, and then gets up to leave.

Lena races to her bathroom, ignoring the woman’s shout of “Wait! Come back here!” and rifles around until she finds what she’s looking for. She comes back with a field medic kit and lays it on the ground. The other woman watches her wearily, hands still pressed to the wound. “You’re bleeding too fast,” Lena says, “and at this point you’ll be dead before the ambulance can arrive. We have to stop the bleeding.”

The woman doesn’t resist. At this point she might not have the strength to. Lena uses shears to cut up the seam of the the the woman’s pants, up and past the deep gash of the glass shard. “This is bad,” she says, and the woman doesn’t even look. “It’s too early,” the woman is saying, sounding weak, and Lena pulls supplies from her kit. She ties a tight tourniquet, earning a shocked groan of pain. “This is temporary, it can only be temporary. It should buy you a little time but it’s going to hurt like hell and if it’s on too long you could lose the leg.” “Fine, it’s fine,” the other woman says, almost delirious, and she grabs Lena’s shirt to pull her attention. “Listen to me,” she says, eyes wide and bloodshot, “Your brother is going to destroy the world, and you’re going to help him. But you don’t have to. You don’t have to help him, okay?” She’s practically incoherent. The blood has stopped but it’s still everywhere and Lena is covered in it. “They’re calling me,” the woman continues, shaking her head, “I’ll come back, or they’ll send someone else, but you have to stop him, Lena Luthor. Non Nocere-”

And then she vanishes.

One minute, Lena is wrapped around a delirious, halfway bled-out home invader, and the next she’s alone in her living room surrounded by glass and blood.

- She’s much more prepared the next time the stranger comes. To her credit, she’s had a few years by then to obsess and analyze and research. She’s watched the security footage of that day so many times and in such excruciating detail that she could tell you how many pieces of glass were shattered, how many gasps the intruder let out in pain. She could recite the entire five-minute experience from start to finish with perfect accuracy. Yet she could never explain it.

She can infer the basic gist of it, of course: at some point, time travel becomes a possibility, and the best possible use of that unbelievable advancement is to come back and stop her, because something she does – or rather, something she helps Lex do – is so catastrophically horrible it’s world ending.

She’s tried to find this woman, though of course if she’s a time traveler she may not even exist yet. There’s no way to know. Lena’s spent months studying the footage she has of her, noting the militaristic jumpsuit she wore, the strange patches for organizations that don’t seem to exist adorning the sleeve. She’s made note of the scars she can see – the long one that dances down her face, the smaller ones made visible when her pant leg was cut. The woman had clearly endured hell in life, and that hell had led her to Lena’s penthouse. She felt a sick nervousness just thinking about how they might link.

All of that to say, Lena is much more prepared when the woman returned, at least on an intellectual level. She’s not so prepared for the woman to show up as she’s sitting post-shower on her bed in nothing but a silk robe.

One minute she’s sitting alone, the next a woman is crashing on top of her. Their heads bonk together hard at the force of it, Lena reeling back against her pillow with a groan. At least she’s a softer landing than glass and metal.

“Ah crap,” the woman says, and there’s an instant spark of excitement in Lena at just the sound of her voice. She’d listened to that tape so many times it’s burned into her psyche but hearing it now in person after so long – absolutely thrilling.

“Thank you for not breaking any furniture this time,” Lena says, and her voice is a bit breathy from the rush of it. The other woman pulls up from where she’d collapsed against her and seems to finally realize where she is and just how little Lena actually has on. She practically flings herself off of her and on to the floor with a shout.

“Oh wow,” the woman says, mouth agape and face beet red. “I- I’m so sorry, there’s no way to know what you’ll be doing when I get here and I just, I didn’t realize you weren’t done getting dressed or… that wasn’t… I’ll just-”

“Wait in the hallway?” Lena asks, amused. This version of the stranger is such a funny leap from the way she was all those years before, yet exactly the same. It’s like she hadn’t aged much at all. “I was finishing my bedtime routine and I sleep naked. This is as dressed as I’ll be the rest of the night.”

Somehow, the woman’s face gets even redder. It reminds Lena of the blood from that day, how dark and covering it had been on her. That takes a bit of wind out of her sails.

“How’s the leg?” she asks, sitting back. She can feel her robe fall open slightly but left it be. It's amusing to see how nervously the other woman’s eyes dart around looking everywhere but her.

“Still sore,” the woman finally says, pulling herself up to sit on the end of Lena’s bed. She glances at her and then looks away. “It’s only been a few weeks for me, so it’s not close to healed yet, but I didn’t lose the leg or my life, thanks to you.” “Glad to hear it.” “Are you?”

“Mmhm. If you’d died that day, I wouldn’t have this chance now to ask you what the hell is going on.” The woman is watching her in a strange sort of way, and it seems to take her a moment to clear her throat and mind.

“Right, yes, that makes sense. I just-” she rubs her eyes, laughing in an embarrassed sort of way. “I’m sorry, you’re just a little distracting.” Her eyes stray along the line of Lena’s robe before jerking away. She stands up and moves away, hands ringing nervously. Lena notices the slight limp to her walk. “Crap, I’m sorry. Okay, focus, Kara, focus,” she coaches herself, and Lena latches on to that morsel of information with a fierce excitement. “Yes, Kara,” she drawls, and the woman’s eyes cut sharply to her. “Focus. Tell me who you are and what I can do to help.” Kara gulps noticeably at her tone, shifting on her legs, before saying, “I’m from the future. 40 years in the future, to be exact, and I was sent back in time to stop you and your brother from destroying the world.” Lena nods along. It’s not so unbelievable, the idea that Lex could destroy the world. That he could use her desperate yearning for connection to make her a willing accomplish. “Non Nocere,” she says, and the woman jolts in surprise. “What? That’s – have you already invented it?” “No, but you said that last time we met.”

Kara visibly deflates, sinking into a sigh as she leaned back against the wall.

“Thank Rao, okay. Yes. It shouldn’t exist yet, not for another year.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the tool your brother uses to destroy the world. You build it for him.”

Kara looks heartbroken as she says it, and Lena feels just the same hearing it. All she’s ever wanted to do is be a force for good despite her family, despite the life they’d set up for her, but here is this scarred, scared stranger come back to tell her how horribly she fails. How she destroys everything.

“Okay,” Lena says. “So how do we stop it?”

And that, at least, earns her a smile.

#i also wrote a lot because as previously discussed through text like twenty minutes ago i forgot to take my medicine today #and my brain has hyper fixated on this story rather than the notes and work I should be doing during my break #:D #mine #trope mashup #supercorp #I was tempted to go the time travelers wife route since we just hate-watched it but honestly my favorite time traveler concept #will always be terminator #so its more of that #anyway!!!!!!!!!! love ya

855 notes · View notes

jrooc · 3 months

Note

68 + 91 for the trope mashup please? 💖

Hi Calli!

So 68-Husbands In Love and 91-Interrupted Intimacy

Also this is somehow @heymrspatel’s fault.

——

Mickey didn’t run home. He walked quickly. Briskly, if you must.

It wasn’t his fault that package arrived this morning and his Husband’s eyes practically sparkled with mischief when he told Mickey they’d “open it later” and “hurry home from work.” So he fuckin’ hurried, alright?

He knew Ian had been browsing that lingerie site the other night. He’d gotten into some kind of lace kink. Mickey would be horrified if that lace didn’t feel so good against his skin.

He practically broke down the door on his way in only to find Ian standing there, package in hand, laughter sparkling in those beautiful emerald eyes he was so in fucking love with.

“Looking for this?” He asked.

“Maybe.”

Ian grinned and passed him the package and he practically sprinted into the room ripping off his clothes as he went, his husband’s laughter filling the room.

Sure enough, they were men’s panties meant to frame his ass and they fit perfectly. They were black and lacy and Mickey had never felt sexier.

“Can I come in now?” Ian asked from the doorway, his voice already husky with lust. His eyes connected with Mickey’s ass and they almost popped out of his head. “Holy fuck I love you” he breathed out as he closed the distance between them, touching every piece of lace and skin he could get his hands on.

Mickey leaned up and captured Ian’s lips in a heated kiss, their tongues tangling, breathing into each other’s mouths.

*Bam Bam Bam*

“Is that the door?” Mickey asked, eyes wild.

“Ooooohhh fuck, I totally forgot-“

“Ian? We saw your car outside. Family dinner is tonight, right? You guys aren’t banging in there… right?” Lip’s voice yelled through the front door.

“Ian.” Mickey stared at his guilty-faced husband.

“Don’t take those off. Wanna know you’re wearing them under your clothes. Gonna take them off with my teeth later.” And with a cheeky wink, Ian adjusted himself in his pants, straightened his shirt and went to answer the door.

Gallavich Fanfic Trope Mashup

#rated M #fanfic trope mashup #gallavich #Mickey in lace #husbands in love #intimacy interrupted #gallavich fanfic #shameless us #good morning #JRooc drabbles

28 notes · View notes

nitewrighter · 2 years

Note

80 + 63 for Claude/Byleth?

80. Green-eyed epiphany

63. Everybody knows/Mistaken for couple

Claude and Byleth are at a peasant celebration following Golden Deer House's defeat of a local bandit mercenary troupe and everyone's getting a little tipsy and randy on the local mead and ale. In a rare break from her usual stoicism, Byleth is laughingly having a blast dancing with the whole house--doing a cute little technical quadrille with Ignatz, gracefully sweeping around with Lorenz, getting wildly tossed into the air and caught by Raphael, and even managing to pull Marianne into the festivities. Claude looks on with, what he assumes is a perfectly normal and acceptable level of affection and admiration. Meanwhile Hilda is watching him watch Byleth like >:3c. The local lordling sidles up to Claude like, "I would not imagine the Ashen Demon would be such a remarkably beautiful woman. You're quite lucky, Count Von Riegan."

And Claude's just like, "Oh Teach? Yeah, she's great."

And the lordling laughs like, "And you still call her 'Teach!' That's endearing."

And Claude's like "...why wouldn't I call her 'Teach?'" And at this point Hilda is glancing off awkwardly and sipping her drink like Goddess, Claude you cannot be this dumb.

And the Lordling blinks like, "Oh, so you aren't betrothed?"

And this is when Claude on reflex gets a bit flustered like, "I mean, we're obviously very busy with defending villages like this one and a lot of things are up in the air with regard to diplomatic marriages and y'know Teach, er, that is the Lady Byleth, she's a very independent woman--very focused, and all that, you can't just lock her in to something like that--"

And that's when the Lordling is like "So... she's available?" and looks back to Byleth with marked interest and this is the point where Hilda observes that Claude is getting that one unhinged face he sometimes get when he's at the height of all his plots and shenanigans. Like there's a visible twitch in Claude's eye as he's looking at this guy look at Byleth like "No you are the fuck not thinking what I think you're fucking thinking."

And that's when Hilda, ever the diplomat, goes, "I'll get another round of drinks--you guys want drinks?!" and she basically hurries off for another couple flagons before either of them can respond.

And like, without Hilda present, Claude is about to lean into one of his usual very-well-disguised, very flowery, very diplomatic threats, but that's when Byleth, drunk off her ass, staggers away from the group, swings an arm around Claude's neck and flops into his arms like "Claaaauuuude what was that thing you were saying earlier? I was just saying to Ignatz you were saying a thing earlier--what was that thing you were saying? About the thing?"

And Claude just knee-jerk goes "Do you want to dance?"

Byleth, still drunk off her ass goes, "I'm so good at dancing," And then she gasps like "Oh! Oh! You have to let Raphael toss you--it's so fun!"

And Claude goes, "Great!" and basically drags Byleth back into the dance with a pointed glare over his shoulder at the lordling.

Meanwhile Hilda is sipping her drink like "God, Claude you are so fucking stupid."

#claudeleth #fe3h #trope mashups

24 notes · View notes

failedintsave · 2 years

Note

This is the 27 anon. Honestly if you wanna do smth with their hands do et i love that trope. Thank you a

[Trope Mashups]

Sick/injured + Hands

I just did one with injured hands recently, so we'll go for sick fic (my beloved)

He wasn't sure what was worse, the pounding headache or the chills ripping through his body, shivers radiating like aftershocks hard enough to make his teeth chatter. Or maybe it was the fire burning in his throat that no amount of painful swallowing could extinguish. How did dragons cope with that anyway? Were they armored with scale inside as well as out? It definitely wasn't by using benzocaine, because that was not working.

Skwisgaar hadn't been sick like this in years. Not since the flu so severe it sent him to the emergency room as a child. It was hazy, but he remembered the broad strokes. His mother dropped him at mormor's house for the weekend, feverish and sleepy. By lunchtime he was too nauseous to eat, and before the sun set he was laid up in a hospital bed, needles behind his knuckles feeding him fluids and medicine through a tangle of tubes. He could still imagine his grandmother, pacing from his bedside to the payphone outside the door, spending the same returned coin over and over trying to reach her flighty daughter. He especially recalled her fingers, wrinkled and knobbly with arthritis she'd passed down to him, cool against the flush of his cheeks as she lulled him into fitful sleep.

The hand that swept his hair off his forehead now was larger than the one in his memory, with thick, callused fingers and nails bitten to the quick. Farmer's hands, he'd called them once in a fit of annoyance, regretting the vindictive comment now as those same hands tested his temperature with a gentleness that belied the owner's strength.

"Still burnings up. I think it's been long enoughs for you to has another dose."

He hadn't meant it when he said it, not really. Toki's hands were toughened from labor, yes, but they were quick and light when he focused. He was just frustrated; who wouldn't be after rerecording the same deleted track over and over for twenty-two days straight? Skwisgaar cracked one eye, watching as Toki carefully measured syrupy medication into a tiny plastic cup.

"You shouldn'ts even be in here." He croaked through chapped lips. "Gonna get sick too."

Toki hummed, holding the medicine cup aloft to check the dosage. He squinted in the low light provided through the open bathroom door, Skwisgaar's curtains drawn and lamp turned off in an attempt to lessen the vice-like pressure in his head. "Toki gots a pretty good immunes system, I'll be okei. Can you sits up?"

"Ja just…gives me a minute."

Skwisgaar shifted under the weight of his blankets, his inflamed joints screaming in protest as he struggled onto his elbow. A wide palm slipped between his back and the mattress, strong and solid, and Toki helped him the rest of the way upright. His covers pooled around his waist, his skin prickling with goosebumps. The medication went down like lava, his taste buds dead to any artificial flavoring, only the bitter tang of alcohol piercing through the fuzz coating his mouth. He coughed, then winced.

Setting the cup aside, Toki held him in place when Skwisgaar tried to slump back into the mattress. "Let's get some water ins you while you's up. Hopefully dis stuff knocks you out. Next time you wakes up you really needs to eat something."

Toki ignored Skwisgaar's pitiful moan at the mention of food. He picked a glass up from beside the bed and offered it, but didn't let go when Skwisgaar reached for it, keeping his fingers around the rim and anchoring the straw with his knuckle. Skwisgaar drank what he could from the tepid water, then pushed it away.

"Euughh, just lets me die." He went limp and boneless, Toki supporting him one-armed while he set the glass on the floor.

"Oh hush."

"Ends my sufferingk."

"You'll feels better soon, promise."

Down filling crinkled behind his head as Toki lowered Skwisgaar back to his pillow, pulling the bed spread up to his chin and smoothing it over his chest. Warmth bloomed under Toki's hands, fending off a fresh wave of chills. Letting his head loll towards the rhythm guitarist, Skwisgaar gave a weak, lopsided grin.

"You know, if you ams gonna plays nurse, you could at least puts on de sexy uniforms."

"You wants me to finds a rectal thermometer too, or ams dat just for special occasions?"

"I'd settles for a sponge baths if you gots de time." Skwisgaar snorted, which triggered another coughing fit. With Toki's assistance, he rolled onto his side, the spasm subsiding into a wheeze.

As before, Toki's blunt fingers brushed Skwisgaar's hair from his face, tenderly picking sweaty tendrils from his forehead and settling a cold wash rag there instead. Skwisgaar closed his eyes, embarrassed at the grateful tears that were starting to well up. Though it was difficult to will his aching muscles to move any further, Skwisgaar managed to slide his hand from under the blankets, reaching up to touch Toki's sturdy wrist in silent thanks.

"Do you remembers de first time you guys got me super drunk?" Toki asked, molding the wet cloth to Skwisgaar's skull so it would remain in place.

He tried, but it was like a thick fog had rolled into his brain, obscuring most of his thoughts outside of the need for sleep. "Not shore."

"Nathan tore dat crosswalk signal off de post, but den decided he didn't want it and threws it off an overpass."

"Doesn't really narrows it down." Skwisgaar chuckled through his nose.

"Dat basement bar wif all de neons and de mirror wall and de pool table dat dipped in de middle?"

A spark of recognition. "Oh ja, dat place. What's a dump."

Toki's arm twisted under Skwisgaar's fingers, his hand catching Skwisgaar's and lifting it to his lips. "I fell down hard at some point, tores my jeans, scraped my whole arm up real bads. And den I puked so much all night I thoughts dat I was dying or poisoned or something. Felt like it would never end, just a big, terrible blurs." He nuzzled the back of Skwisgaar's knuckles, his mustache scratchy on flushed skin. "But when I woke up in de bathrooms, my hair was tied back, and my scrapes was all cleaned and had bandaids. And you came in and feds me a whole bottle of gatorades, I couldn't even holds it wif my cuts wrapped up."

"I was so mads at you." Skwisgaar admitted, the memory materializing out of the haze. "You never did knows when to quit."

He'd witnessed the fall, Toki narrowly avoiding his head being split on a curb, twisting at the last second to catch himself on the asphalt. With his fret hand, no less. He remembered how the others had laughed and hauled the young man to his feet, dusted him off and then passed him on to Skwisgaar to handle.

"Oh you mades your fruskrations pretty clear. But still. Even wif all your bitching, it made me feels a lot better to has you dere." Toki gave Skwisgaar's fingers a final squeeze, then laid them on the pillow next to his head. The mattress shifted as he got to his feet. "You should rest."

Though he was ashamed of it now, Skwisgaar recalled his main concern at the time being whether or not Toki had broken any fingers and what good the kid would be to him if he crippled his ability to play the guitar. Where was his sense of self-preservation? He'd wondered (not for the first or last time) if maybe bringing Toki on had been a lapse in judgement. He wasn't a goddamn babysitter.

"Stay?" Guilt stirred in his gut, but he couldn't help being selfish again now. The fever made him desperate for comfort.

He'd resented being elected caretaker. Owner-operator of the Skwisgaar Skwigelf Daycare Center for Baby Dildoes Who Can't Wipe Their Own Noses. Toki was old enough to look after himself; Skwisgaar had been doing that since he was half the younger guitarist's age. But when those pale, glassy eyes stared up at him he'd had no other option. And that's just how it was.

"I'm not going anywhere."

The bed depressed again, and Skwisgaar fought his eyelids open a sliver when the quiet sound of strings picked up. His Explorer sat cradled reverently on Toki's lap, stout fingers moving fluidly to tap out a lilting melody.

He recognized the progression. "Chopin?"

"Yeps." Toki didn't look up from the fretboard, using his thumb to strum in place of a pick.

"Mm." Skwisgaar sighed, settling further into his blankets. "Could prackstice your own tracks, you knows."

"And you could shuts up. Wasn't your throat killing you a minute ago?" Amusement evident in his retort, Toki shifted closer on the bed until his hip squished the edge of the pillow. Skwisgaar scooted forward so his nose bumped Toki's thigh, and a heavy hand petted his hair fondly. "Now goes to sleep, stupid. No thinking abouts work til you gets better."

Skwisgaar snuggled a fraction of an inch nearer, grinning when Toki transitioned to a flawless Bach variation. "You's de boss, doc."

"Any chance you gonna remember you said dat when you wakes up?"

Drowsiness was a black hole, its massive gravity dragging Skwisgaar under. His jaw popped with an enormous yawn. "None."

(the song Toki is playing is Nocturne in E-Flat Major)

#skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #skwistok #metalocalypse #dethklok #trope mashups #thanks! 💜#me writing

39 notes · View notes