donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2016-07-25 04:17 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2016-07-25 04:17 pm
Entry tags:
The Tropeanator
Title: The Tropeanator
Fandom/Warning/Rating: Sherlock (BBC), crack warning, rated PG-13 for language
Word Count: 1622 words
Summary: John was going to kill Sherlock. He was going to kill him. If he could get to him, which was a pretty big 'if' all things considered.
Author's Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
watsons_woes JWP#25. Be prepared for a lot of cursing and a LOT of tropes. Full list of the tropes in the spoiler cut after the story.
The tropeanator machine took up half the laboratory and had a button bearing the warning "DANGER! DO NOT TOUCH."
In all caps.
In bright red, very big letters.
Which meant, all things considered, that John was not remotely surprised that whilst he was clearing the rest of the hall, Sherlock presumably pressed it.
John might not be a genius, but even he would have been hard-pressed to not be aware of the immediate consequences. Being turned into a unicorn had that sort of effect on a person. Horse? Creature? He started to run (gallop?) back to the laboratory where he'd left Sherlock but stopped suddenly, distracted by the HOLY FUCKITY FUCK WHY THE FUCK WAS A SPARKLY RAINBOW SHOOTING OUT OF HIS ARSE?!?!
He was going to fucking kill Sherlock.
Continuing on his way he'd only taken another step before he was shimmering and shifting and was, thankfully, a person again. A ridiculously short person though, he realized, since he was now about eye level with a coffee cup that had been abandoned on the floor. "Sherlock!" His voice sounded wrong and oddly pitched to his ears, but he was FUCKING SIX CENTIMETRES TALL so of course his vocal cords were different and it was going to take him FOR FUCKING EVER to get to Sherlock at this size but he took off running because the sooner he got there the sooner he could KILL HIM.
He'd barely made any progress when suddenly, midstep, he was back to his normal size except oddly misbalanced. Because he had wings. Huge, white, incredibly distracting wings. That could move. Holy hell, he had wings and he could control them! Spreading them out he could feel every feather, every muscle, and he gave them an experimental flap and HOLY SHITE he nearly got airborne THIS WAS SO COOL!
But then suddenly the wings were gone and his weight shifted, from his back to his front and unable to compensate he fell over, barely managing to catch himself before face planting onto the floor. Which was good because WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON AND HOW THE FUCK WAS HE PREGNANT?!?! A full term foetus was a full term foetus and John was a doctor and he knew what one looked like and what, in theory, all the symptoms of pregnancy should be and despite still having a penis and having all discernible male anatomy and thus NOT HAVING A FUCKING UTERUS he was fucking pregnant and HOW THE HELL DID THAT WORK? Thankfully, he hadn't had time to more than briefly consider how the hell the baby would get out before he was shimmering and shifting again and-
"Waaaaaah!!!!!"
*gurgle*
"Waaaaaah!!!!!"
WHY THE FUCK DID HE HAVE THRITY LIMBS. Wait, no, not limbs. Tentacles. His entire torso was covered in tentacles. How the fuck was he supposed to move with these things? How the hell do you coordinate these stupid things enough to slither in an actual direction and not just writhe on the floor like some sort of useless flopping fish?
Why the fuck was it suddenly so dark? Wait, no, not dark. He was blind. Well, not really blind. Blind people usually had some vision but he had absolutely none whatsoever. Harkening back to his military training he adjusted, continuing to walk forward but shifting his feet along the floor instead of lifting them as one usually did with each step.
And now he had breasts. He wasn't pregnant. He assumed. At least if he was it was only first trimester and wasn't obvious and he was carefully not going to consider that line of thinking any further. His hair was longer too and his fringe really annoyingly half covering his eyes but he could see which was rather an improvement after the blindness so he began to run. He only had to get to the corner and then to the second door, maybe ten metres in all, and then he could-
Except now he was floating. Floating. Looking down at himself he realized he was floating because he was noncorporeal. And since apparently he no longer need to breathe and didn't seem to have a pulse he was pretty sure he was noncorporeal because he was dead and therefore a ghost. Because being dead whilst still being alive was a thing that someone could be now because Sherlock was AN ARSEHOLE WHO KEPT PUSHING THAT FUCKING BUTTON!
Crashing back down onto the floor should have been painful, and it didn't occur to John that it wasn't or to wonder why until he went to step forward and couldn't because he didn't have any feet. He didn't have any feet because he was some sort of animatronic rubbish bin on wheels. "Meep!" he cursed loudly, the dish antenna thing on his head spinning in angry frustration.
He'd only just figured out how to get all his wheels aligned to move in an actual direction when he felt the now familiar shimmering and shifting and then he had a peg leg and patch over an eye and there was a fucking bird on his shoulder shitting on him as it screamed "Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!" in his ear and he was about to grab the damned thing to get it the hell off of him when it was gone and he was back to normal.
Okay, not normal.
"Vat now?" He rubbed his temples, thankful at least he had hands. Actually, he was pretty sure he knew what he was now. Weird accent? Check. Ice cold skin? Check. Extremely pale? Check. No pulse? Check. Oddly shaped canines? Right, he thought so. He was only maybe 8 metres from the lab now, if he was still a vampire by the time he arrived Sherlock deserved to have his blood drunk.
But, of course, that was not to be because by the time John rounded the corner he'd found himself transforming into a werewolf and howling at the moon (despite it being only late afternoon last he'd checked), then spending a few minutes just standing there, having totally forgotten who he was and what he was doing, only to remember everything but find himself suffering extreme hypothermia which ended abruptly when he randomly broke out in song and began to dance. He could perform an acceptable tap number, which he supposed would have been an impressive thing to discover if he hadn't been trying to GET TO SHERLOCK SO HE COULD KILL HIM!
He was only a few steps away from the door when he found himself distracted by the swirls of dust mites in the air. His senses had gone haywire. He could see the air currents, smell the mould in the wood, feel the roughness of his clothes rubbing against his skin and hear the skittering of bugs in the walls. He reached out his hand, entranced by watching his blood flow and seeing how each individual hair moved but then his senses were back to normal but found himself falling over and unable to breathe.
He couldn't breathe because he had gills and he fell because instead of legs he had a tail and he had gills and a tail because apparently HE WAS A FUCKING MERMAID! Merman? Male mermaid? It didn't really matter what the fuck he was because HE COULDN'T BREATHE and he was going to die because SHERLOCK WAS AN ARSEHOLE WHO COULDN'T RESIST PRESSING A GODDAMN FUCKING BUTTON!!!
Useless lungs burning, things were just starting to go spotty and dim when he shifted again and thank fuck he could breathe but when he exhaled fire shot out of his mouth. Because of course it did. Because he was a fucking dragon. Which was actually kind of cool. His scales were iridescent and were either green or gold depending on the angle he examined them and his tail was strong enough that it left a crack in the wall when he swished it. And his teeth! The clicking noise they made when he tried a few experimental bites was so lovely. He wondered what they would sound like when he was crunching down on something. Maybe something boney and Sherlock shaped?
Unfortunately (wait, unfortunately?) he was human again. Or at least not a dragon any longer. But maybe not completely human either because he barely missed slicing his arm off when RANDOM LASERS SHOT OUT OF HIS EYES. Which, WHAT THE FUCK?!?! Okay, so how the hell was he supposed to be able to see where he was going if his eyes shot lasers whenever they were open? How the hell was that supposed to work?
If I don't figure this out soon, Sherlock's voice said, suddenly and disconcertingly inside his head, John is going to kill me.
Damn right I am going to kill you, John thought back, because apparently that was something he could do now. I told you to leave that machine alone! I even made you promise!
John felt something alike a sense of both shock and contrition coming from Sherlock as he opened the door to the lab and stopped short because the lab decked out like a creepy bordello with velvet curtains and whips and things hanging from the wall and various devices strewn about that John hadn't ever any desire to fantasise about, let alone use. Sherlock reached for John, batting his incredibly long lashes as his beautiful, bountiful amber curls-
"That's IT!" John shouted. "What kind of drivel is this? Long lashes? Amber curls?"
"John-"
"Nope, that's it. I've had it. I'm done."
"John?"
"I can't hear you!"
"Take your fingers out of your ears, John, I need to propose to you. John? John!"
And they all lived happily ever after.
~the end~
In the order they appear:
animal transformation/unicorns
shrinking
wing!fic
mpreg
de-aging
tentacles
blindness
genderswap
ghosts
robot!AU
pirate!AU
vampires
werewolves
amnesia
hypothermia
musical!AU
sentinels
mermaids
dragons
mutant powers
telepathy
pornstar!AU
breaking the fourth wall
proposals
fairy tale!AU
and, as pointed out by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
okapi1895, in general: For Science!
Fandom/Warning/Rating: Sherlock (BBC), crack warning, rated PG-13 for language
Word Count: 1622 words
Summary: John was going to kill Sherlock. He was going to kill him. If he could get to him, which was a pretty big 'if' all things considered.
Author's Note: Written for
watsons_woes JWP#25. Be prepared for a lot of cursing and a LOT of tropes. Full list of the tropes in the spoiler cut after the story.The tropeanator machine took up half the laboratory and had a button bearing the warning "DANGER! DO NOT TOUCH."
In all caps.
In bright red, very big letters.
Which meant, all things considered, that John was not remotely surprised that whilst he was clearing the rest of the hall, Sherlock presumably pressed it.
John might not be a genius, but even he would have been hard-pressed to not be aware of the immediate consequences. Being turned into a unicorn had that sort of effect on a person. Horse? Creature? He started to run (gallop?) back to the laboratory where he'd left Sherlock but stopped suddenly, distracted by the HOLY FUCKITY FUCK WHY THE FUCK WAS A SPARKLY RAINBOW SHOOTING OUT OF HIS ARSE?!?!
He was going to fucking kill Sherlock.
Continuing on his way he'd only taken another step before he was shimmering and shifting and was, thankfully, a person again. A ridiculously short person though, he realized, since he was now about eye level with a coffee cup that had been abandoned on the floor. "Sherlock!" His voice sounded wrong and oddly pitched to his ears, but he was FUCKING SIX CENTIMETRES TALL so of course his vocal cords were different and it was going to take him FOR FUCKING EVER to get to Sherlock at this size but he took off running because the sooner he got there the sooner he could KILL HIM.
He'd barely made any progress when suddenly, midstep, he was back to his normal size except oddly misbalanced. Because he had wings. Huge, white, incredibly distracting wings. That could move. Holy hell, he had wings and he could control them! Spreading them out he could feel every feather, every muscle, and he gave them an experimental flap and HOLY SHITE he nearly got airborne THIS WAS SO COOL!
But then suddenly the wings were gone and his weight shifted, from his back to his front and unable to compensate he fell over, barely managing to catch himself before face planting onto the floor. Which was good because WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON AND HOW THE FUCK WAS HE PREGNANT?!?! A full term foetus was a full term foetus and John was a doctor and he knew what one looked like and what, in theory, all the symptoms of pregnancy should be and despite still having a penis and having all discernible male anatomy and thus NOT HAVING A FUCKING UTERUS he was fucking pregnant and HOW THE HELL DID THAT WORK? Thankfully, he hadn't had time to more than briefly consider how the hell the baby would get out before he was shimmering and shifting again and-
"Waaaaaah!!!!!"
*gurgle*
"Waaaaaah!!!!!"
WHY THE FUCK DID HE HAVE THRITY LIMBS. Wait, no, not limbs. Tentacles. His entire torso was covered in tentacles. How the fuck was he supposed to move with these things? How the hell do you coordinate these stupid things enough to slither in an actual direction and not just writhe on the floor like some sort of useless flopping fish?
Why the fuck was it suddenly so dark? Wait, no, not dark. He was blind. Well, not really blind. Blind people usually had some vision but he had absolutely none whatsoever. Harkening back to his military training he adjusted, continuing to walk forward but shifting his feet along the floor instead of lifting them as one usually did with each step.
And now he had breasts. He wasn't pregnant. He assumed. At least if he was it was only first trimester and wasn't obvious and he was carefully not going to consider that line of thinking any further. His hair was longer too and his fringe really annoyingly half covering his eyes but he could see which was rather an improvement after the blindness so he began to run. He only had to get to the corner and then to the second door, maybe ten metres in all, and then he could-
Except now he was floating. Floating. Looking down at himself he realized he was floating because he was noncorporeal. And since apparently he no longer need to breathe and didn't seem to have a pulse he was pretty sure he was noncorporeal because he was dead and therefore a ghost. Because being dead whilst still being alive was a thing that someone could be now because Sherlock was AN ARSEHOLE WHO KEPT PUSHING THAT FUCKING BUTTON!
Crashing back down onto the floor should have been painful, and it didn't occur to John that it wasn't or to wonder why until he went to step forward and couldn't because he didn't have any feet. He didn't have any feet because he was some sort of animatronic rubbish bin on wheels. "Meep!" he cursed loudly, the dish antenna thing on his head spinning in angry frustration.
He'd only just figured out how to get all his wheels aligned to move in an actual direction when he felt the now familiar shimmering and shifting and then he had a peg leg and patch over an eye and there was a fucking bird on his shoulder shitting on him as it screamed "Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!" in his ear and he was about to grab the damned thing to get it the hell off of him when it was gone and he was back to normal.
Okay, not normal.
"Vat now?" He rubbed his temples, thankful at least he had hands. Actually, he was pretty sure he knew what he was now. Weird accent? Check. Ice cold skin? Check. Extremely pale? Check. No pulse? Check. Oddly shaped canines? Right, he thought so. He was only maybe 8 metres from the lab now, if he was still a vampire by the time he arrived Sherlock deserved to have his blood drunk.
But, of course, that was not to be because by the time John rounded the corner he'd found himself transforming into a werewolf and howling at the moon (despite it being only late afternoon last he'd checked), then spending a few minutes just standing there, having totally forgotten who he was and what he was doing, only to remember everything but find himself suffering extreme hypothermia which ended abruptly when he randomly broke out in song and began to dance. He could perform an acceptable tap number, which he supposed would have been an impressive thing to discover if he hadn't been trying to GET TO SHERLOCK SO HE COULD KILL HIM!
He was only a few steps away from the door when he found himself distracted by the swirls of dust mites in the air. His senses had gone haywire. He could see the air currents, smell the mould in the wood, feel the roughness of his clothes rubbing against his skin and hear the skittering of bugs in the walls. He reached out his hand, entranced by watching his blood flow and seeing how each individual hair moved but then his senses were back to normal but found himself falling over and unable to breathe.
He couldn't breathe because he had gills and he fell because instead of legs he had a tail and he had gills and a tail because apparently HE WAS A FUCKING MERMAID! Merman? Male mermaid? It didn't really matter what the fuck he was because HE COULDN'T BREATHE and he was going to die because SHERLOCK WAS AN ARSEHOLE WHO COULDN'T RESIST PRESSING A GODDAMN FUCKING BUTTON!!!
Useless lungs burning, things were just starting to go spotty and dim when he shifted again and thank fuck he could breathe but when he exhaled fire shot out of his mouth. Because of course it did. Because he was a fucking dragon. Which was actually kind of cool. His scales were iridescent and were either green or gold depending on the angle he examined them and his tail was strong enough that it left a crack in the wall when he swished it. And his teeth! The clicking noise they made when he tried a few experimental bites was so lovely. He wondered what they would sound like when he was crunching down on something. Maybe something boney and Sherlock shaped?
Unfortunately (wait, unfortunately?) he was human again. Or at least not a dragon any longer. But maybe not completely human either because he barely missed slicing his arm off when RANDOM LASERS SHOT OUT OF HIS EYES. Which, WHAT THE FUCK?!?! Okay, so how the hell was he supposed to be able to see where he was going if his eyes shot lasers whenever they were open? How the hell was that supposed to work?
If I don't figure this out soon, Sherlock's voice said, suddenly and disconcertingly inside his head, John is going to kill me.
Damn right I am going to kill you, John thought back, because apparently that was something he could do now. I told you to leave that machine alone! I even made you promise!
John felt something alike a sense of both shock and contrition coming from Sherlock as he opened the door to the lab and stopped short because the lab decked out like a creepy bordello with velvet curtains and whips and things hanging from the wall and various devices strewn about that John hadn't ever any desire to fantasise about, let alone use. Sherlock reached for John, batting his incredibly long lashes as his beautiful, bountiful amber curls-
"That's IT!" John shouted. "What kind of drivel is this? Long lashes? Amber curls?"
"John-"
"Nope, that's it. I've had it. I'm done."
"John?"
"I can't hear you!"
"Take your fingers out of your ears, John, I need to propose to you. John? John!"
And they all lived happily ever after.
~the end~
In the order they appear:
animal transformation/unicorns
shrinking
wing!fic
mpreg
de-aging
tentacles
blindness
genderswap
ghosts
robot!AU
pirate!AU
vampires
werewolves
amnesia
hypothermia
musical!AU
sentinels
mermaids
dragons
mutant powers
telepathy
pornstar!AU
breaking the fourth wall
proposals
fairy tale!AU
and, as pointed out by
okapi1895, in general: For Science!
no subject
no subject
Glad you liked it! :)