#trophy fic

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

WIP Wednesday!

Tagged by @sophiainspace thank you!

Not sure if this will be in the final draft or not... but here's something from Trophy!

Barry opened his eyes “No.” He looked around, taking in his new surroundings with a mounting horror. “No, no, no, no–” The events of earlier were coming back, shattering his entire world all over again, a world that was spinning before his eyes. “No, no, no, please–” He didn’t know who he was begging, the universe, the speedforce maybe– anyone who could undo what he couldn’t.

@negative-speedforce @vexic929 @shrinkthisviolet @i-hate-happy-endings @practically-an-x-man no pressure of course !

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

On my ao3 account I booked marked Trophy with ntoes as "Zoom is mean to Barry" lol Zoom is VERY mean to Barry - Flash anon

HA! That is an apt description😂

Pretty sure I had ‘Zoom is an asshole’ at the top of the doc for a while— not sure why lmao

[ghostbsuter]

"I can see dead people." He mentions with a shrug, using the chopsticks to fish more noodles into his mouth.

Dick stares at him. "Huh."

"Is that why you help?" He asks, getting more spring rolls.

"Yeah. Once someone becomes a ghost, word gets out quick, and they come to me. Always tatling about unfairness and justice." The kid waves the words around, rolling his eyes.

Dick just pretens to he uninterested, despite his mind racing at the new info. He is piecing past moments together, every shadow leaping away, every note with tips, leads and—

Huh.

"Do you... like it? Doing all that?" Richard approaches thus carefully, brows furrowed at the kid opposite of him.

Danny moves his head, giving a 'so-so' answer. "It's not much to like, I can see ghosts, and they know it and use it. If it brings them to peace or whatever– well, that's just a plus."

Dick stares. He places his chopsticks down and looks at Danny worried.

In turn, the kid sighs. "Sometimes gifts become curses the longer you have it."

And Dick understands.

Mind made up, he throws a pair of keys at the kid, watching fondly as the other catches them with confusion.

"Next time use these, instead of entering through the window."

Danny mock-salutes with a shit eating grin. "Yes, Officer grayson."

[izzystizzys]

“…I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I still don’t quite understand”, Fox says, for what must be the dozenth time that hour. His heartbeat pounds behind his eyes in an incessant drum of hurt, and his head aches with every breath like someone’s taken a rusty fork to the inside of his skull and raked his brain out. Fox’ eyes are beginning to burn the way they start doing around hour 80 of a shift, and he has to suppress the brief urge to check over his shoulder. Not even Stabby could come up with a ploy this contrived to make him sleep. Probably.

In front of him, General Grievous coughs awkwardly, long spindly durasteel limbs shivering with its force. “Certainly”, he vocalizes, in that deep, watery cadence. “For your glorious triumphs in battle, your awe-inspiring victory over me in close combat, and your undeniable warrior spirit, I accept you as my consort. I have proven my skills through the ritual capture, and thus, by Kaleesh custom, we are now wed, Commander Fox. I will honor you as my war-bride, and visit vengeance upon your enemies. I swear it to you.”

Expectantly, Grievous tilts his faceplate to the side, and Fox only just catches the suppression of the manic giggle that wants to escape him. Yeah, probably not Stabby - maybe a dying fever dream? Has the infected gash from that skirmish on the lower levels five rotations ago finally decided to end him? If so, it’s not fast enough for Fox’ tastes.

Here’s how it happened: Fox has no kriffing clue. All he knows is one moment an emergency alert tore him from precious Scream Closet time this morning, he went to rescue the Chancellor’s dumb ass again, and whoop, here he is on General Grievous’ ship with the war-criminal himself declaring them happily married. And eyeing him up and down like a piece of candy.

Why, Fox thinks, desperately, does this always have to happen to me?!

Chancellor’s still kidnapped, by the way. Fox has other priorities for the time being.

“I swear to aim my weapons in your service”, Grievous continues, when it becomes exceedingly clear Fox is not going to break out of his shocked stupor anytime soon. “I swear to aim true and strike with murderous intent, I swear to uphold the sacred bonds of our clans in the name of our union, I swear to raise a strong, bloodthirsty brood of warriors with-“

“Wait”, Fox interrupts, once his brain has caught up past the astromech dial-up sound it seems to be playing on repeat. “Uphold clan bonds? You murder your way through my brothers like a rabid nexu on spice on the regular!”

Grievous’ faceplate, which should be for all intents and purposes totally expressionless, does something that reminds Fox strangely of contrition. It has him gaping and shivering in discomfort, in any case. “A fact I regret, but acknowledge lies in my past before the fateful crossing of our paths. I am a warrior at soul, you must understand, my worthy mate.” Durasteel faceplates don’t turn soft. They don’t. And coughs don’t sound loving. They simply do not. “But I uphold the bonds of these sacred vows under Kaleesh law, that I swear to you, my beloved.”

“All I did was grapple you to the ground”, Fox says, mourningly. “Cody has kicked you in the head dozens of times and you’ve never tried to marry him.”

“He is not you, and his battle lacks the lustful vitality and love of violence of yours”, Grievous declares, and Fox really cannot tell whether the sound that erupts from him is a lovelorn sigh or a hacking death-gurgle. This cannot be his life.

Just then, a droid conveniently enters, putting a pause to all Fox’ sufferings. He’ll need to tell Thorn to research Kaleesh divorce proceedings. Or, better yet - he needs to blow up this whole karking ship including himself and destroy all evidence of this ever happening.

“Generals Kenobi and Skywalker awaiting in custody, Sir”, says the droid, nervously. “They are here to rescue Chancellor Palpatine, but we cut them off just out of the hangar bay.”

Internally, Fox rolls his eyes so hard it hurts his brain. “The Jedi can wait”, Grievous hacks out, and for once Fox agrees with him. Let the two dick around onboard, there’s bigger issues at hand.

“But Sir”, says the droid, all twitchy with an anxiety Fox eternally wonders who the kriff programmed into the damn things, “what if they try to escape and -“

A deep, growling noise erupts from deep within Grievous’ massive metal chest, amplifying Fox’ pounding headache by a thousandfold. “I have no time for this”, he snarls at the cowering droid. “Remove yourself from my and mine beloved’s sight.”

“Roger Roger”, the B2 squeaks, hesitantly, before adding on - “The Chancellor-“

Harrumphing petulantly, Grievous stomps one massive, clawed foot and makes what feels like the whole viewdeck shake. “I will twist his head off his body like a rotten fruit”, he declares. “That will get those pesky Jedi off my ship faster, and then we can continue saying our vows.” He pauses, thoughtfully, and then hooded eyes ringed by what must surely be rotten flesh fix on Fox inexorably. “It will be my wedding gift to you, beloved, an offering of peace to your brothers.”

Fox opens his mouth to protest, but quickly snaps it shut again when his husband already turns tail and storms off.

Huh. Maybe this marriage thing isn’t all bad.

[phantoms-world-and-more]

Danny steals Tim's splean

So Ra al ghul is a petty asshole, everyone knows that, so it's not that far fetched that when he cut out tim's splean he had someone collect it, put it in a solution and keep it as a trophy

This is where Danny comes in

So Clockwork send Danny to clean up some corrupted ectoplasm that leaked into one of the universes in the infinite realms

When he was there saw some weird crap but he didn't bother taking much note

Until he saw the organ in a jar, it was interesting and he wanted to show it to Sam, she would loose her mind over this

.

.

.

The Batfam had no idea how to react when Ra's Al Ghul and a group of his assassins barged into Wayne Manor and asked which one of them took Tim's splean back

...

YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING SPLEAN!!!

[wyvernest]

feminism and miguel o'hara are 2 things that cannot and do not coexist in my brain at any given second, they either take turns or im dead

[manchesterau]

dan is pretty trophy wife coded

i know this has nothing to do with your ask but no but fr i know...like i KNOWWWW when phil got dan on skype he was lowkey worried that dan was another catfish using a hot emo boys pic as his pfp and as soon as the picture loaded (bc shitty internet) he let out the biggest sigh of relief that he somehow snagged an unknown hot emo boy like i knowwwww he was making soo many promises to dan over text and over skype and he was proud af when dan was featured on his channel like 'yeahhhh look what i got :)'

[hoodlander]

@himelander so I wrote it, lol. Was low-key thinking of doing it then I saw your sweet additional tags and knew I was absolutely going to do something with it.

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

...So how's your day going?

Taglist (unofficial. Literally just peeps who’ve been interested/commented; lmk if you want off {or on}) : @negative-speedforce @shrinkthisviolet @the-feral-gremlin @practically-an-x-man @leatafandom @stalecabbage @localcanadiancryptid22 @elutrosop @vexic929 @kindestwalkingmentalbreakdown

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

What “practically an x men” asked you…

Just

Imagining Barry trying to escape in Trophy. Is determined to free the “stranger man in the mask/Jay”. Then Zoom comes up behind him like some kinda demon, and drags him back to the cell by his hair or something.

Or in general Barry just sitting there in his cell and Zoom drags him up by the hair to force eye contact.

Grabbed by the hair is such a fun trope; I used it in chapter 1 and probably won’t stop there.

This ask is very interesting to me… for reasons I shant say

[wrencatte]

mini-fic! Cal and Merrin training, from Greez's POV. 1k words.

Cal and Merrin face off in a small clearing not far from the Mantis. She has a staff in hand, new and sturdy, just picked up from an outpost market, and Cal has…nothing. In fact, his lightsaber sits next to a nonchalant Cere, who’s scrolling through a holopad, seemingly unaware that Cal is about to get his ass kicked by an armed Nightsister.

Their resident Jedi Knight is a powerhouse, sure, and Greez is thankful every day he’s on their side, but without his lightsaber… Greez takes one look at the situation and decides he really don’t want to know.

He asks anyway.

“Training!” Cal says without opening his eyes. Greez isn’t going to question it. Not this time. Nope. Merrin watches Cal closely, one end of her staff buried in the soil, her hands folded on the other end so she can rest her cheek on the back of them. She waits patiently.

They all seem to be waiting for something. Even Greez, who still has no idea how this qualifies as ‘training.’ And Cere, who still doesn’t look up from her ‘pad, takes a serene sip of her drink. She’s probably using some freaky Force thing to sense what’s going on.

Cal looks like he’s meditating standing up. Deep, slow breaths. Calm expression. He keeps his hands lowered, like he’d used them to direct his breaths and then left them down on the exhale. Greez has seen Cal and Cere on early mornings, moving in sync with each other as they go through a fluid, tranquil set of movements without their lightsabers. It always started and ended with them directing their breaths like that.

Greez moves next to Cere, feeling like an intruder, but unable to stop watching.

The atmosphere is calm. Poised.

Then Cere says, “Go.”

Merrin is fast. She kicks her staff up and swings fiercely, devastating even without her magicks. She’s aiming straight for Cal’s head –

 – who doesn’t karkin’ move. Greez lurches, a shout on his lips, but Cere puts out a hand to stop him. Wait and see, she doesn’t say, but Greez knows that look.

Cal dodges without opening his eyes. Minimal movement, languid in a way Greez’s never seen before. Merrin’s eyes flash in determination and she’s quick to go in for another strike. He dodges again, body twisting, never taking more than a couple centimeters more than he needs to avoid her staff. Greez’s heart eventually calms as the two of them move in tandem. Like a dance. An elegant and mesmerizing back and forth.

It could almost be a performance. Something specially created for a dramatic stage.

Eventually, though, Cal’s calm expression starts to pinch. Mouth twisted into a grimace, sweat beads up on his forehead and darkens his training top. He falters. Dodges a second slower. Moves a little further out of the way than he was before.

Merrin swings her staff just has hard, just as fast as she has been, but Cal doesn’t dodge in time. He flinches and stumbles – and Merrin’s not stopping.

That determination slides into panic, Merrin’s eyes widening, but the momentum is too quick even for her. She tries to change the target from Cal’s head to somewhere safer, like his arm, because a broken arm is better than a broken skull, but she’s too fast and he’s fumbling and –

Just before the staff connects – it wasn’t going to make it to his arm, Greez realized with a sick horror – it flies out of Merrin’s grip into Cere’s hand. Holopad and drink forgotten, Cere twirls the staff in one hand before she plants the edge into the dirt. Greez hadn’t even seen her move. Hells.

Cal drops to the ground, heaving for breath. He groans out a heartfelt swear in some language Greez doesn’t recognize – Greez discovered early in their mission for the holocron that the kid knew way too many languages. Seriously, a kid that young, five years on a backwater planet like Bracca or not, shouldn’t know so many languages! Let alone all those karkin’ swears.

“Language,” Cere scolds mildly. Cal just groans again. “What happened?”

He props himself up on his elbows, hair in disarray and the side of his face speckled with dark soil. Merrin carefully pats the soil off the back of his head, her movements stiff. “It started to feel too easy, and I panicked,” he admits. “I started overthinking.”

“How do we fix it?”

“…Don’t do that?” Cal offers, grinning. Cere raises an eyebrow. He takes Merrin’s hand and allows her to heave him up. Greez doesn’t miss the way he subtly squeezes her hand in reassurance before he lets go. “I got complacent. If there was another opponent, I would’ve been taken out a lot sooner. It was only the Force and Merrin, and I freaked when I realized I didn’t know anything else.”

Cere nods. “In other words, you sank too deep. That’ll only be fixed with more practice. You can’t do that in the middle of real combat.”

Cal sighs gustily. “More practice,” he agrees as he holds out a hand and Merrin’s staff comes flying to smack into it. He twirls it with a flourish before presenting it in a low and dramatic bow to an amused Merrin just to make her smile. She does, helplessly charmed, before she quickly twists it into a smirk as she takes it back, a faint blush on her cheeks. Cere hides her own smile behind her hand.

“Next time, maybe don’t aim for his head?” Greez suggests.

Merrin looks disgusted by the very idea. “Then how will he learn? Training must prepare you for battle. If you do not fear for your life in training, then you will not fear for your life in true war. You will die.”

Cal laughs loudly over Greez’s sputtering. “Yeah, Greez, how will I learn? Merrin, aim for the head any time.”

“With pleasure. Someone must knock sense into you.”

Greez drags a hand down his face in despair. What did he get himself into?

[steddieas-shegoes]

Steve was a fixer.

But when it came to fixing things, he was lacking.

People? Great.

The bathroom sink? The car? His favorite sweater? Not so great.

But Eddie was a fixer, too.

And he could fix things.

When Steve’s bathroom sink started leaking, Eddie came over to replace a part of the pipe.

Steve watched as he concentrated on removing the piece that was broken, his tongue poking out of his mouth in a way that made Steve’s heart flip.

When it was fixed, Steve offered to pay him, but Eddie just glared at him and took a beer from the fridge before leaving in his van.

When Steve’s car started smoking on his way home from work, he took a left instead of a right at the fork in the road to get to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie spend the next hour tinkering away, breaking a sweat, causing Steve to have a heart attack while he watched.

When he finished, Steve offered him the cash in his pocket and was given a shake of the head and an offer to come inside for a drink.

He would’ve been stupid not to take the offer.

But out of everything, his favorite sweater getting a hole in the shoulder was the most devastating.

He wore it to bed, to the store, even to work when he was dealing with a migraine. He wore it during every season, during any event. He’d gotten endless compliments on it for two years running and he’d be stupid to part with it.

So the hole in the shoulder had to be fixed.

Unfortunately, Steve’s only needle and thread were for stitches. Despite his ability to stitch a wound close in minutes, he couldn’t stitch cloth together to save his life.

Did it make sense? No.

So, he took a chance.

He called Eddie, reigning in the sudden indescribable panic in his voice, hoping that he didn’t sound incredibly ridiculous.

“Yep.”

“That’s how you answer your phone?”

“When I was almost asleep, yeah.”

Steve glanced at the clock. Shit. It was almost midnight. He hadn’t even realized how late it was by the time he got out of the shower.

“Sorry, man. Um…I’ll call you in the morning.”

Steve started to hang up but stopped when he heard Eddie yelling on the other end.

“Harrington! Wait!”

“Okay…”

“Is everything good? You’ve never called this late.”

Steve gulped. He hadn’t actually called him before for anything other than trying to find one of the kids. This was entirely out of character and Eddie would be extremely suspicious if he didn’t explain.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s…fine. Totally fine. Just had a favor to ask.”

“Ask away.”

Steve cleared his throat awkwardly. This wasn’t what he’d prepared for at all.

“So you know my blue sweater?”

“The one that brings out the gold in your eyes?”

Well. That’s certainly. Something.

“I…guess? Um. Anyways. It’s got a hole in it and I figured you’re pretty good at fixing things so. Maybe you could fix that?”

The silence on the other end wasn’t promising and Steve was considering just hanging up and driving over the cliff at the quarry when Eddie finally spoke up.

“Yeah, can do. Just bring it over in the morning.”

Steve should’ve accepted that. This was already a nice favor, it was encroaching closer to midnight, and this was a sweater he didn’t even need to wear right now.

But for some reason, Steve’s brain couldn’t let this go until morning.

“Would it…be okay to like. Bring it now?”

Silence again.

God, he was so fucking stupid.

He sounded certifiably insane. Like, send him to a psychiatric hospital crazy.

“Never mind. That’s so. Just. Never mind.”

This time he did hang up before Eddie’s silence could say any more.

The phone rang less than a minute later and he ignored it.

He could never talk to Eddie again. He’d have to learn how fix things now. Bathroom sinks and cars, and now this sweater that ruined his life.

Then the phone rang again and Steve decided he had to be an adult about this.

“Harrington residence.”

“Steve, you know it’s me.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah.”

“I’m coming over. I’ll bring my sewing kit.”

“What? No! You don’t have to do that. I’m sorry, it’s not an emergency, I don’t know why I acted like it was.”

“Be there in ten.”

And he was. He probably broke every speed limit between his trailer and Steve’s house, but Steve didn’t care because the panic that had settled deep in his bones was already dissipating.

Without saying a word, Eddie invited himself in and walked up the stairs to Steve’s room. Steve ran a mental inventory of every single thing currently on his bedroom floor and thanked his past self for cleaning up the day before.

When he entered his room, Eddie was already sitting on his bed, sewing kit placed next to him, sweater in hand. He was inspecting the hole, which in hindsight, was barely there at all. Eddie was going to laugh at him. Or leave and never come back. Or both.

“Not so bad, but I can see why you’re worried. This placement is right on the seam of the collar. Could’ve torn the whole thing if it got caught on something.”

And then Eddie got to work.

Steve just let his words of comfort wash over him.

Had he been silly about a tiny hole in a sweater that could be replaced? Maybe.

But Eddie acknowledged that no matter how silly it was, he was allowed to be worried.

No one had done that before. Not even for things he genuinely should have been worried about.

Steve slowly sat down on the bed, being careful not to disrupt the focused flow Eddie had going.

“Thanks for doing this. I really didn’t think it was that late.”

Eddie shrugged. “No big deal. Already almost fixed.”

He remembered Robin telling him about Eddie helping her sew a patch on her band uniform not long ago, and how Dustin said Eddie had sewn all his own patches on his denim jacket. A small hole in a sweater would be nothing.

Only a minute later, Eddie was handing the sweater to Steve with a small, tired smile.

“Like new!” He threw out his arms dramatically.

Steve examined the sweater, amazed to see it genuinely looked like nothing had ever happened.

“You’re amazing.” He looked up to see Eddie blush.

“It’s just a basic stitch. I could show you at a more reasonable hour if you want.”

Steve could learn. It probably wasn’t that hard. And Eddie seemed good at it, he barely even had to think about this fix.

“But then I wouldn’t get company at midnight.”

Why did he say that? Jesus Christ, why did he say that?

That was beyond desperate, borderline creepy, and Eddie would definitely never talk to him ever again.

“You can call me anytime you need company, Stevie.”

Hm.

“I could always use your company.”

What was going on? This felt like openly flirting in a potentially dangerous way. They were alone, it was just past midnight, Steve had been fantasizing about Eddie for months. All the pieces of the puzzle pointed to taking a chance.

Or whatever.

“I’m pretty tired. Could I stay here?”

It felt like a very sharp turn from where they were in the conversation. Steve stared in confusion.

“Uh. I mean yeah. Yeah, that’s great, actually. I can take the guest room.”

“Didn’t you just say you could always use my company?”

Steve huffed out an awkward laugh. “I guess I did.”

“Unless you didn’t mean it, I could just stay in here with you.”

Steve’s brain short-circuited, static filling his ears. Bad idea.

“Yeah. Okay.”

His mouth was now functioning without permission from his brain, which may actually be a health concern.

As Steve changed into the sweater Eddie rushed over to fix, Eddie shucked off his jeans and t-shirt. Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t sneak a look. It’s hard not to when the person you lo…like a lot has such a tiny waist staring back.

They wordlessly got in Steve’s bed, Eddie naturally falling on the side by the door. He had no interest in getting under the covers, apparently, since he curled up against one of the pillows more on Steve’s side, and let out a sigh.

Steve stared at the way his eyelashes fluttered slightly as he completely settled into sleep.

He’d tell him in the morning. Maybe.

But for now, he’d appreciate the company in his bed.

And in the morning, when he found every article of clothing that needed to be fixed, he went to his fixer with a smile and eventually, a kiss.

[linka-from-captain-planet]

sometimes, DMs about niche content spiral into DMs about even niche-r content and now there's a delightful Minthara/Florrick country club/suburban power couple AU written by @athenas-only-daughter so obviously I needed to draw them in their preppy swag

[underwittingly]

@into-the-midst

for the scene of Draco amongst the trophies in ch14 of Within the Hollow Crown

[httpiastri]

https://www.tumblr.com/httpiastri/746212709248401408/hes-so-baby-girl-in-this-i-need-him?source=share

nono.... i think the people would like you to start speaking on his hands bc... um. i am thinking a LOT of thoughts right now.

lili 😭 i really shouldn't let my thoughts about this run free 😭😭 i have tried so hard to only post arms/hand/neck pics of oscar bcs that's who i started this blog for but... i may have slipped a few times...... and it's getting way too hard to hold back

lemme just insert these pics and then disappear bcs if i start to think about this... i will be up all night......

[martiansodas-blog]

🎾 🤍💐✨🎀

you woke up a few hours before the evening shift, which is evidence enough of your exhaustion.

you ate then returned to your cocoon.

“hey.”

you didn’t feel like talking, just waved your hand. then hid under the covers.

“where’d my pretty girl go?”

damnit.

“shes on unavailable till 5pm.”

“that’s too bad. i was hoping to spend time with her before she has to work.” he speaks playfully but there’s truth to his words.

a few minutes later you hear art in the next room.

“hi liz, its art donaldson, how are you today?” gotta lay on the charm. “good, good. i’m calling for my wife. she can’t come in today, she’s come down with something. yes, thank you. i’ve got her some medicine, no need to worry. uh huh. thank you for understanding.”

you shoot up from your place in bed as he walks back into the room.

“art?? what did you just do?”

“called in sick for you.”

he said like it’s no big deal. like, obviously?

“we live together and i barely see you anymore. you’re sore, you’re sleepy, you’re always rushed. just take one day to rest.”

you tried to form words but nothing would budge. he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“please? for me? i don’t want to see you burn out. i care about you too much.”

he brought his big hand to your cheek and stroked it. a classic art comforting trick that it’s practically become pavlovian.

“…you think about me being your wife?” you ask quietly.

art gets bashful, smiles and looks down at his feet. his signature blush that takes over his whole face appears.

“of course i do.” the two of you conversations in hushed whispers now. “i practically fantasize about it.

he took your left hand and played with the fourth finger. imagining.

it’s not like you and art had never discussed marriage. you agreed it was in the future and living together was the step before the step. but it still gave you butterflies when you realized he thinks about it just as much as you do.

“you know you can always let me take care of you.”

“i don’t want to be a trophy wife.”

“i know,” he looked at you with sincerity, “you’re your own person…but maybe you could let me ease some of your struggles.”

you began tearing up. you wanted to sob and hug him and quit your job and -

but you didn’t do that. you were unfortunately frozen.

touched by how much he would do for you.

he wiped a tear from your face.

he didn’t rush you. he knew it was a lot to take in. he knew if you did marry him, you’ll become a public figure. a name people use as headlines. under a microscope.

“mrs. donaldson… huh? has a nice ring to it.” you say smiling big.

it made art coy. you gave him a big hug, blankets bunched around your hips.

“thank you.”

he squeezed you tight. probably tighter than he should have but it showed how much he heeded your declaration.

you pulled back, much to arts dismay.

“i won’t quit my job. but i’ll cut back on hours.” now he was the one wanting to cry. “and i’ll let you take care of me.”