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theminecraftbee · 1 month

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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

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ohnococo · 1 month

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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

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fictionadventurer · 10 months

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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

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phdmama · 2 months

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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

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pinkshampooedcows · 15 days

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So i did trope mashups again; i used a random number generator and got 32 + 7 - Pregnancy and Florist AU

click on the picture for better quality if you need

in case you were wondering, the fifth panel is harry and draco being surrounded by lily and narcissus flowers.

not going to lie, this (and the name of the flower shop) was inspired by @quail-in-red 's trope mashup comic with the coffee shop au - one of my favourites. as always, thanks for acknowledging my brainrot and have a lovely day

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river-ocean · 11 days

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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 🤭

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karalovesallthegirls · 2 years

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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

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writeforfandoms · 11 months

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Accidental eavesdropping + interrupted declaration of love for Chief and Reader?

Ohoho this is a good one. Alright, let's see what I can do with this.

There were times that John enjoyed the relative anonymity of being without the armor, mostly because it meant people left him alone.

And, just to be clear, he was not in the habit of eavesdropping. He respected peoples' privacy.

But when he heard someone talking about him, his steps slowed.

You were kind of flailing to your BFF because really this crush on Master Chief was kind of out of control. Thankfully you didn't have to talk to him or try to be coherent around him because yeah no that was not happening. It really wasn't your fault that you liked him - he was always polite to the Brokkr techs, and he had the most intense eyes, and--

Your BFF finally cut you off, laughing, saying you should just buck up and bring him coffee and an invitation to bed, like any normal person.

You spluttered and kicked your friend and maybe started a minor brawl. Maybe.

And you thought that would be that.

Except it wasn't.

John walked away to consider what he'd heard, and to do a bit of research. Because, well, having intel was a good thing.

He started interacting with you. Slowly. Just a little at a time. But every interaction sent your pulse fluttering and made you fall a little more. Because you were right: he was unfailingly polite, and kind in his own way, and boy could he hold eye contact for a long time. He listened to you. Short interactions got longer and longer until the two of you were having conversations. (That mostly involved you talking and him occasionally asking a question or prompting you into saying more, but hey, he was involved and he continued to seek you out, so clearly it was a win.)

You finally gathered the courage one day to tell him how you felt, as the two of you wandered the Infinity.

You got about as far as "I think I--" before a half dozen Spartan-IVs fell through the door, having very clearly been trying to eavesdrop.

You were about to die of embarrassment, except John stood, very calm and very quiet, and told you to hold that thought. One look at his expression had the Spartan-IVs scrambling away in a mad, terrified dash.

#tropes mashup #tropes weekend

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jrooc · 3 months

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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

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quail-in-red · 18 days

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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

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ohnococo · 1 month

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Hiiiii Coco, 💕💕

For the mash-up, may I ask a sfw version of Sukuna reacting to love confession + confessing

To anyone else other than you and perhaps Uraume, Sukuna’s reaction to your whispered confession of love is more of a non-reaction. Head resting on his fist, legs crossed as he lounges in his seat, gazing down at you with his head held so high that his eyes were barely visible. For you, there is more to be seen. The briefest upward quirk of his brows, the slight tension in the musculature of his thick neck, the stillness of his broad chest as his breathing stops for just a moment while he takes in your words.

It’s an endless moment, giving your body an opportunity to respond to your mind’s racing as sweat beads at your temples and your mouth runs dry. It forces you to take yet another leap of faith as you say the words searing themselves into your brain - does he feel the same?

“Why do you think you’re still here?”

Fanfic trope mash-up

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

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mybrainismelted · 2 months

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trope mashup! 2 aaand ... hmmm ... oh! 13! 🤗💚

ok, clearly you are TRYING to break my brain with this one Nosho! #2, prison, and #13, Mermaid AU. Here goes! The first time they met, it was in Juvie. Mickey was 16, and had been here a couple of times before. Ian was 14, and this was his first time in. They were cellmates, but they didn't really talk much. The redhead was weird, constantly trading other kids for their shower time. He must have showered at least 6 times every day, and who the hell does that? Ian was gone one day, out before Mickey, but the only reason he really noticed is because his new cellmate was loud and annoying as hell. He actually found himself kinda missing the kid.

They saw each other a couple more times on the inside before Mickey turned 18, but never as cellmates again. Still, they found themselves spending time together. There was something about that kid that Mickey could never put his finger on. Something different, but familiar. Mickey was 21 when he was sent to do some big boy time. Stupid mistake trusting his brother to keep watch - he'd pay for that when Mickey was out. He was surprised to find Ian already there when he arrived though. Relieved to have a cellmate he could trust though. Ian seemed different now. He was thin, and had an air of desperation that Mickey had never seen. He didn't really know how to help, and didn't want to ask what was wrong, but he remembered.... on the second day, when he asked if Ian wanted his shower slot, the redhead had actually started crying before throwing himself at Mickey, arms wrapping around him and shaking. "Hey, s'ok Red. Just go, I'll be here when you get back, a'ight?" Mickey was left confused, but not really surprised by how much he had enjoyed the feeling of his friend pressed against him. When he got back, Ian looked... better. Not like himself, but a bit more healthy. Over the next year, they grew closer, emotionally and physically, spending most evenings wrapped up together in a way Mickey had never imagined he could allow himself. He still had to shower sometimes himself, but whenever he could he would let the redhead have his turn, and even bullied some of the other newbies into giving Ian their slots a couple of times a week. They made plans in the quiet of the night, plans to find each other when they got out, plans to start a new life, but there was always something, some big secret that Ian was holding back, and Mickey didn't really want to say it out loud anyway. It was spring when Ian left that time, but he promised that he would be at the docks every day until Mickey got out, waiting for him at dusk. It was summer when Mickey was released. He didn't go home, didn't go anywhere near the southside, in fact. He spent his day hanging around the docks, hoping, wishing, but never 100% sure.... until dusk arrived, and a figure appeared at the end of the docks, beckoning to him. He gasped in relief as he walked, whispering "I knew you'd come. I knew." He walked slowly, knowing that the big secret, the thing they had never spoken of, was about to be revealed. He sat down, looking down a the face of the man he loved, who was floating serenely in the water. "Can I see?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on Ian's. Ian smiled, and braced his hands on the dock, giving one great heave of his body to pull himself up, lying somewhat ungracefully beside him, with his gorgeous, green and blue shimmering tail fully on display in the last bits of light.

#ask #trope mashup #nosho

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