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foldingfittedsheets · 1 year ago

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I’ve always been a pretty good liar. As an adult I’ve come to a moral place in which I don’t use that skill set unless it will explicitly benefit someone. But when I was a kid all bets were off.

I think tiny child me was doing their little autistic best but recognized that some situations would be best navigated by lying as telling the truth never netted positive results. Whether it was because my needs often went unmet or ignored, or because I didn’t see any reason not to lie if it would be more favorable, I’m not sure.

This is the story of my proudest lie. The best lie I ever did. A lie that looking back I still go, damn, I was eight.

Our story begins in second grade. I was eight. My school was having a book fair and I spent my small stipend on Gulliver’s Travels. No idea why. Lacking further funds I wandered the fair and came upon the greatest sight known to man. Frog erasers. They were so cute and I was extremely into animals of all kinds.

The whimsy. Who could have known they made erasers in such wonderful shapes? I mourned that I’d spent my money already, and played quietly with the little frogs in their bin. That’s when I was approached by a few other kids from my class.

I didn’t know most of them very well, but enough that it was civil when they asked me, “Are you going to buy those frogs?”

“I’d like to,” I admitted, “but I spent all my money.”

“Why don’t you steal them?”

“I thought about that, but I don’t have pockets.” Indeed, stealing had crossed my mind but it had been a brief temptation. I wasn’t even scandalized that the other girls suggested it.

“Caitlin has pockets,” the leader of the pack said. And indeed, Caitlin in her purple overalls did have pocket space for two frogs. So Caitlin and I became partners. My role in the escapade was just... wanting frogs and walking out with her. We stole two frogs, a yellow and a purple, and united by the misdeed we played together with them at recess despite not really being friendly prior.

After lunch I was called from class to the library. The principal herself was there waiting for me. She had a somber air, almost mournful that she needed to punish me. It was self evident to me that I was here for frog crimes. Caitlin had cracked and taken the fastest route to forgiveness- snitching on an accomplice. Despite the fact that my role was just: wanted frogs, I knew I was going to be in trouble.

Now, I could have told the truth. Pulled a Caitlin and ratted on the girl who told us to steal them. But clearly I’d still be in trouble for having gone along with the morally bereft plan. I was mad at Caitlin for telling but not enough to foist the onus back into her.

“Do you know why you’re here?” The principal asked kindly.

“Is it about the frogs?”

“Yes, Caitlin told us you stole the frogs.”

I quivered my lip and drew myself up indignantly. “I didn’t steal them!”

She blinked at my vehemence but since I looked near tears she carefully asked, “What happened?”

“I really wanted the frogs, but I didn’t have any money. So I asked the librarian if I could take them and bring the money tomorrow! But she was really busy and lots of people were talking to her, and she said yes! But maybe she was saying yes to someone else? And I thought it was to me but Caitlin didn’t, but I was going to bring money tomorrow!”

The principal. Was flummoxed. This was a situation in which I clearly thought I’d done no wrong, in which she couldn’t prove I had done anything wrong, and which the librarian would almost certainly not be able to weigh in. She regarded me not with suspicion but rather vaguely confused as to how to handle me.

I got off with a slight warning that I should pay for things before taking them, despite not having been the one to take things in the first place, and the frogs were confiscated.

I was vaguely worried they’d call my parents but years later when I admitted the story to my mom as an adult she laughed herself sick and said she’d never gotten a call.

#ramblies #funny #ffs foibles #writing #story #funny story

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gojoest · 1 year ago

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COMPETITION — gojo satoru

satoru tries to beat the bad cook allegations and win his girls back

girl dad satoru, established relationship — you’re married & have a daughter (oc), her name is sora, f! reader, reader is referred to as “mama”, mentions of food, this is a silly little thing, not proofread, wc: 1.2k

satoru can be a lot of things — the strongest sorcerer, the most loving and devoted husband, the world’s greatest dad, society’s biggest menace, and according to some “the owner of the most annoying heh” — but there’s one thing he most definitely isn’t. a good cook.

but ever since you had a family brunch gathering at nanami’s place where the latter had singlehandedly prepared a feast, without letting his wife lift a single finger even when it came to setting the table, satoru took it upon himself to prove that he can be as good of a cook as nanami, or even better.

the way you and your five-year-old daughter, sora, looked as if you’ve just tasted heaven while savoring each bite was a blow below the belt for satoru, while the finishing one was you complimenting nanami and telling his wife how she is the luckiest woman alive to have a husband who’s so skilled and willing in the kitchen because satoru can’t even boil water — to which sora nodded in agreement, “papa really sucks in the kitchen.”

it’s been two weeks ever since and you regret ever making that snarky remark about satoru’s incompetence because you’ve been banned from the kitchen all along, not even allowed to pour yourself a glass of water — all you have to do is ask and your husband will do it for you while you sit back and watch as the state of your kitchen worsens with each passing day.

he would occasionally have sora keep him company and help him prep the ingredients, sometimes even take the first bite if the end product looks edible, but for you the kitchen was completely off limits, he’s got a point to prove — that he is the best husband and you should’ve never said those flattering words about his friend in the first place because he can’t stand it when you acknowledge in any way any other man that isn’t him.

satoru’s determination is strong. he has no intention of letting this matter go, not until he sees that same expression on you and your daughter’s face — this is his life goal right now, he cannot have his two most important girls swayed by another man’s cooking, not even if that man is nanami (and especially because it’s him).

you might be running out of usable plates and pans, as they’re either broken or burnt, but satoru is definitely making progress. all the cooking videos he’s watched and the tips he’s gotten from talking to mothers on online forums are finally paying off because today, for the first time ever, he didn’t burn the pancakes for breakfast.

“papa”, sora looks with disapproving eyes at her dad, her cheeks squished between her tiny palms as she’s leaning her elbows on the kitchen counter.

“yes, my life”, satoru crouches down to her level. even though she’s standing on the toddler step stool her head can barely reach his hips. but whenever satoru talks to her, he always, without fail, either squats down or leans forward or holds her in his arms — because in those moments it’s just him and his little princess against the world, on equal footing always so he can hear her better and never miss a single expression she makes. “what’s with that look, hm?”, he nuzzles his flour covered nose against hers, the action itself causing some of the white particles to smudge on hers too.

“the pancakes look like pancakes this time but mama will not like this mess you made, again” — the sink is filled to the brim, there’s flour and baking powder on every single surface — counter, table, chairs, floor, the butter has started melting because satoru placed it too close to the stove after using some of it, there’s eggshells on the floor — any clean freak’s biggest nightmare.

“the mess i made?”, he gasps, “aren’t you an accomplice in this, little miss?”

“no”, she flatly denies, “i only watched you and broke the eggs”

“on the floor, that is”

“it’s because you said pick three eggs while i can only carry two, look—”, she stretches her tiny hands forward, palms facing up, to prove her point, “i have only two hands and they’re not big like yours, how am i supposed to hold the third one?”

satoru chuckles at her genuinely puzzled face, “you’re right, my life”, he replies through a soft smile after taking her hands into his and peppering kisses on the inside of each, “papa didn’t consider this”

“it’s okay, papa”, sora rests her forehead against her dad’s, “i am a big girl now, i will help you clean after breakfast”

“but you’ll always be my little girl no matter how old you get”, satoru whispers softly, lifting her up with just one arm so his free hand can gently caress the back of her head as she comfortably nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck, “which is why papa will take care of it”

“but first”, he sits her on the countertop and cuts a small piece of the pancake for her to taste. “say aah”, he holds the fork to her mouth, eagerly observing every gesture on her face as she takes the bite and starts chewing. it’s definitely not the look she made while eating nanami’s cooking but she doesn’t seem to hate it either.

“papa.”

“yes, my life?”, satoru looks at her expectantly.

“can i be honest with you?”

“yes, of course you can”

“uncle nanamin does it better”, she admits to which satoru instantly deflates, “but—”

“but?”, a tiny spark of hope makes it back to his sulking eyes.

“i wouldn’t trade your pancakes for the world”

“YESSS”, satoru triumphantly pumps his fist in the air and spins around beaming with joy, “got one of my girls back on my team — now let’s hear your mother’s verdict… but hold on”, his face painted in concern again.

“hmm?”, sora questions the sudden change in his demeanor.

“sora.”, satoru speaks in a rather serious voice.

“papa?”

“you’re not saying this just because i’m your papa, right?”

“well, it’s partly because of it actually”, sora pauses for a second, trying to pick the right words before continuing, “but it’s because you put so much love and effort to make me and mama happy that it makes anything you do my favorite thing in the world, and i wouldn’t trade it for anything, papa”

“i haven’t tasted the pancakes yet but i must agree with sora on this”, your voice reaches them from behind as you stand leaning on the doorframe. you came following the sweet and warm aroma wafting through the air but found yourself accidentally eavesdropping on their little heart-to-heart talk. “you put your heart and soul for us always — aren’t we the luckiest girls in the world?”, you wink at sora and she nods.

satoru sighs in relief, “if i can’t give you the best of everything that means i am a failure both as a husband and as a father. because you two are my biggest blessing and i only live to make you happy. also — you’re still not allowed in the kitchen, so just stay there and wait for the pancakes.”

#ઈઉ — ai writes #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo fluff #[ ♡ ] — satoru

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cutehoons02 · 22 days ago

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Enhypen (Harry potter) Series!

Hey:) here you will find 7 one-shots autoconclusive inspired by Hogwarts with the Enhypen, they are all love stories with various spicy scenes, I hope you like the comments and rebblog are well appreciated

Sunghoon: Y/n, a cunning, spoiled, and provocative Slytherin, constantly clashes with Sunghoon, a brilliant and cynical Ravenclaw, who is irresistibly drawn to his complex personality. Despite the tension between them and their mutual attitude of defiance, an intense chemistry emerges beneath their banter. Their relationship evolves into a game of power and attraction, where provocations become a battleground, fueled by passions that are never fully expressed. Y/n, always in control, challenges Sunghoon to push past his limits, while he struggles to maintain his cool, but fails to do so completely.

Heeseung: In a hidden corner of Hogwarts, amidst laughter and tension, the shy and cynical Y/n, a brilliant Ravenclaw, finds herself trapped in a dangerous and seductive game. A chance encounter with Heeseung, the charismatic captain of Gryffindor’s Quiddich, would trigger a series of events that will involve her in a network of seduction and mystery. It all begins during an evening of "Magic Truth and Obligation", when Y/n, to avoid the humiliation of refusing an obligation, ends up being forced to spend ten minutes in a room with Heeseung, Despite her armor of cynicism and coldness, Y/n is irresistibly attracted to him, discovering new sides of herself that she never thought she would know and maybe those 10 minutes will last for hours…

Jay: Being a Gryffindor and excel in all subjects was for you a symptom of pride but there was only one subject in which you did not do well, magic against the dark arts and after failing another exam your teacher gives you a tutor as well as Jay. Jay is part of the Slytherin house and he’s a thoroughbred and to your misfortune he’s the best student in the class and you’ll have to pass under his clutches to be able to pass the next exam!

Ni-Ki: In a world where magic flows through the roots of plants and into the young hearts of Hogwarts, you were a gentle gentle Hufflepuff, bright and with the rare talent of Herbology - become the greatest temptation for a Slytherin who has always hidden his obsession behind brazen jokes and elusive glances. Ni-ki, rising star of magic basketball and boy with a turbulent soul, has always seen in you what he could not have: innocence, purity, goodness. But the more he tried to drive you away with his sarcasm, the more he wanted you. And the more he saw you smile at others, the more jealousy dug into them like a slow and unstoppable poison.

Jungwon: When your friends start to push you to find a guy or girl, you and Jungwon - both Hufflepuff, both allergic to love drama - decide to pretend to be together. A simple plan, no? Just some hand in hand, some smile accomplices in the corridors, nothing real but between innocent lies and looks that become too long, the border between fiction and desire begins to fade.

Sunoo: You were a student of Ravenclaw, known for your sharp intelligence and your cynical attitude and everyone knew you also because you were the cousin of Hoon, a popular student as well as leader of your family. When Hoon asks you to help his friend Sunoo Park, a sunny and charming Hufflepuff, prepare for the Potions exams, you reluctantly accept. During the study sessions, you and Sunoo discover an unexpected chemistry. Your opposite personalities - your coldness and its warmth - create a growing tension. While you try to keep control, Sunoo challenges you to let go, taking you to explore emotions and desires that you had always repressed.

Jake: Being Heeseung’s sister at Hogwarts has always meant only one thing: to be untouchable. No one dares to approach, no one dares to try... No one but Jake Sim, his best friend, also Gryffindor. After a summer in which everything seems changed - longer looks, more mischievous smiles - between you and Jake explodes a forbidden tension difficult to ignore. In the silence of the Common Room, between shared tasks and childish quarrels, there are stolen kisses, forbidden caresses and secret nights. Jake knows that breaking Heeseung’s trust is a mistake. You know you’re playing with fire. But when the desire is so strong that it takes your breath away, how do you stop?

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Hey, I hope you like these stories!! you can already find the stories of Sunghoon and Heeseung:)

If you want to be tagged write me your @ that when I publish one of these stories you can read them immediately!

Tell me what you would like to read more that I am very curious, comments and rebblog are appreciated XOXO KISS KISS

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4mrplumi · 3 months ago

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ZERO (ii): SCAVENGERY . (ms/prev/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs.

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, toxic relationships, fem love interest, unhealthy coping mechanisms, obsessive compulsive disorder, paranoia, murder, sociopathic tendencies, full on master list.

> a/n; this entry is skippable! while ive done work to establish the laws and details for the insert and the world around them, the batfamily moments one would look for scattered across. the prologue is planned for this world building exactly, and the next part will be focused on the family.

you have to be prepared. profiled. planned. not paranoid. you are not paranoid.

plans upon plans, plots behind plots, ploys behind ploys. by sixteen, you had your entire life planned out, exactly what you'd do, what you’d do if that didn’t work out, and another two back up plans just in case. you were prepared for yourself to get moved around like this too, driving into the third option you’d laid for your life. with its own backup plans, own what if’s and what not’s, probables and situations.

order. organisation. prepared.

it only makes you a little sick to see your behaviour mirrored on the man of the house, with his contingencies and protocols. but you’re not that stuck up, surely. you do it only out of resentment, you're nothing like him. he and your family are unable to save the scraps they've left, you have to do this to make up for the mess they've created.

you make sure none of your outings, meeting areas, contact lists or even the names you sign on grocery bills are the same. you can’t let any common clue stick out, whether it’s in your civilian life, or under the duty you’ve taken up. even though you’re relatively low on their radar right now, studying the world’s greatest detective’s tactics and those of his rogues has taught you that a frayed past never does anyone any good. it was a backup plan, a just in case, in the event you gained too much unwanted attention.

you want your family out of your business. it’s funny how the teenage, "i’m my own person" phase has so morbidly warped in your life. but you mean it. you don’t trust them with their rules, and will not risk anything trying to correct their errors and making yourself a target. they can live in oblivion, but you won't let them intrude. you don’t trust them.

to ensure your “friends”, as you have termed them, stay similarly in line, you make sure they update you on everything. no detail of common interest is hidden, because everything is common, aligned, on your principles and clues. everything must be known, not because you are paranoid. you check in on them, their health, their whereabouts, their families. they’re in debt, with not much space to refuse, taking the burner phones you force into their hands wearily. but sentimental isn’t the best word to use for you.

you are concerned for the wellbeing of your accomplices only to the extent that they remain in your line of work, alive. yes, you will feed their families and see to their wounds, but only and only to tip the scales of their debts towards you. it’s the exact reason why you make sure the work you put on them isn’t too much, so that there's a low chance that scale could be imbalanced, this time, against your favour. they need to remain in your control, to propel your movements and wipe out the instance of a snitch, a tattle tale.

in a way, with much reluctance, this is a trait you’ve picked up from the batman. you’ve learnt that his training comprises many different things, how to stop a man from running, how to disarm their guns, how to keep them from fleeing. but never how to kill.

of course, you don’t do as much fighting as he does, but you’ve taken the liberty to curve his ways to suit you. you’ll teach the people who work for you how to figure out plots, hidden intentions, the next move and the one after that. but never your next move.

you’ve wondered morbidly, only once, if he’d be proud of you, if your skills were somewhere more suitable, per say. but you have no intentions to change your ways for his peace of mind. you do not care for his pride.

you’ve made of yourself an independent dependant, unreliable. you'd caught on early that having expectations from others and expectations on yourself was an unnecessary burden. your first year in the manor was terrible, and it has improved only out of your isolation, your distrust.

you trusted just about no one, and made sure no one trusted you. no debt, no obligation.

you had to know everything, but not because you were paranoid.

there are only five people out of the handful you keep, allowed into your inner circle. people to confide in and accompany you when you need a plus one. they’re the easiest to keep in line, students or workers, and of course, her. your ‘girlfriend’ who too was a device for your plotting.

however, with her drawling voice and less than weary affections, you need to remind her of it often. you’ve heard very little endearment from people in your life; called “kid” or “doll” by the people in your childhood, your proper legal name by your ‘family’, and a plethora of less pleasant things by self-proclaimed rivals in school and on the streets.

so when she takes to calling you angel, you pause from smacking her hand away from curling in your hair. in an attempt to decipher her intentions, knowing damn well she did all this to gain your favour (you would not so kindly give it), you think upon it. for more hours than considered normal.

is she calling you inhumane? damian had said the same thing to you once, coming across your little hobby in the greenhouse once. is she calling you frightening? you were kinder to her than the others, just by a sliver. dick grayson had looked at you with weariness once, perhaps seeing the hint of a familiar scowl on you. or is she genuinely, as genuine as the glorified scum of your accomplices get, being genuine? an angel… you.

you don’t dwell on it any longer after that, pushing her hand aside and her legs off off of yours, leaving. you were not weak, and if that was what she was trying from you, it would not work. you were not weak, and not ashamed to show that you weren’t. people deserve to know their faults. and you’re no exception.

you did not ever, ever hide your disappointment nor disgust. damian wayne was scorned out loud for his empathy, dick grayson scowled at for his sensitivity and tim drake hissed at for his distance. jason todd for his dramatics, but not to his face, and duke for his concerns.

you judged, as an interrupting scoff that broke their peace, and did none of it for fun. you did not gain anything by irritating your brothers, nor did you hope to lose anything. you were speaking your mind, what they deserved to know.

if they resented you for it, fine! you couldn't care less, since you didn’t owe each other anything for it. you wanted them out of the way, and needed none of their kindness. you are unbothered.

you are not paranoid, but you can always be more prepared.

> a/n; i hope i’ve made a good effort to build on the mindset here. i had to rewrite this whole chapter cus the styles weren’t matching up (- - ;;) the prologues are super just set ins. plot starts from ch1 that i'm hoping to get out before my exams.

i’m incredibly happy that people are finding interest in this!! however, i need opinions on the relationship dynamics you think would be visible with the “friends”. i will expand on it maybe in a drabble? even though this is something i’m writing, i think it's important to know what kind of thoughts my sentences create. this means valid criticism on the writing is also appreciated (just please don’t be mean).

thank you for reading!!

taglist: @boredselkie @shirp-collector-of-fixations @randomlyappearingartist @bat1212 @maicenitas @xjesterxjacksx @heartjwonie @lucienneb1ue @vikkus-main @adornedlace @cuntiesweet @minorlyatfall @staarflowerr

#saria 💤 says #'25 run: scavengery #yandere batfamily #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #x male reader #x gn reader #yandere x reader #batfam x villain reader

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insidekatmind · 3 months ago

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Escape~Berlin (Song-Jun ho)

Request : yes!

The tension in the air is thick, almost suffocating, as the ticking of the clock marks every passing second. You’re there, inside the State Mint of Korea, your heart pounding in your chest, your breath slow and measured. Every step you take is calculated, every glance a move in a game that allows no mistakes. But despite everything, there is one thing beyond your control: Berlin.

Your husband. Your accomplice. Your greatest mistake and your only refuge.

The plan was going smoothly,almost too smoothly. You knew that luck is never free, and in fact, the Korean police siege arrives like a steel grip. They tighten, closing off every escape route, and suddenly, the Professor breaks the silence in your earpieces.

"Proceed with the escape plan. Now."

There’s no hesitation in his voice. It’s an order. And you’ve always been good at following orders,until it comes to him.

You turn, and Berlin is there. His face is calm, too calm. That lopsided smile at the corner of his lips,the one that infuriates you, the one that made you fall in love. You already know what he’s about to say, and yet hearing the words is like a cold blade piercing through your chest.

"Someone has to stay behind, my dear London."

Time seems to freeze. The sound of sirens, the frantic shouting of the police outside,it all fades away. There’s only him and that damned smile. Berlin never cries. Berlin never trembles. But you do. And now, you do.

"No." Your voice is a sharp whisper, but the pain it carries is deafening. "Not this time."

He slowly shakes his head, and his smile becomes sweeter, crueler. "You’ve always been smarter than me, but never more stubborn."

You look at him, with all the rage and love burning inside you. How much you hate him in this moment. And how much you love him. Because you know him,you know his battered heart and restless soul. He thinks this is the only way. His sacrifice for you.

But you won’t allow it.

In an instant, your hand moves and grabs his—firm, desperate. You won’t let go. Not this time. Not ever.

"I won’t leave you here to die," you whisper, tears burning behind your eyes. "Not without me."

For the first time, you see him falter. Berlin,the man who defies death with a smirk yields. Not to pride, not to fate. To you.

He squeezes your hand, and in that space of chaos and dust, you both choose the only thing that truly matters: escaping together.

You move like shadows through the hell breaking loose around you. The escape plan was reckless, like every plan of the Professor, but you and Berlin are even more reckless. The side routes, the hidden tunnels, the diversionary explosions. Every step is a gamble against fate. And every time you feel his hand in yours, you find the strength to keep moving.

Then, there is a moment,when the doors of the secret passage close behind you, and the sound of footsteps and voices fades,where everything stops.

You’re alive.

Outside, the Korean night is cold and silent. The world may collapse, but you are still here. Together.

Berlin stops, breathless, and looks at you. That smile,the one you have hated and loved at the same time,spreads across his lips again. But this time, there’s something different. There’s gratitude. There’s surrender.

"You are my miracle, London." His voice is low, almost trembling.

And you smile, even as your heart pounds in your chest, because you know he’s right.

It was never about the gold. It was never about the money. The real heist was already won.

It was staying alive. It was staying together.

#song jun ho #berlin son jun ho #berlin money heist #berlin x reader #berlin #money heist korea imagine #money heist korea #money heist #park haesoo x reader #park hae soo smut #park hae soo imagine #park haesoo #park hae soo #imagine netflix

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companion-showdown · 2 years ago

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Who is the Greatest Accomplice to the Doctor's War Crimes Masterpost

GRAND FINAL:

The TARDIS vs Clara Oswald WINNER: The TARDIS

SEMIFINALS:

The TARDIS vs Ace McShane WINNER: The TARDIS

Clara Oswald vs The Sisterhood of Karn WINNER: Clara Oswald

QUARTERFINALS:

The TARDIS vs Vicki Pallister WINNER: The TARDIS

Gillian & John Who vs Ace McShane WINNER: Ace McShane

Shalka!Master vs Clara Oswald WINNER: Clara Oswald

River Song vs The Sisterhood of Karn WINNER: The Sisterhood of Karn

ROUND 3:

The TARDIS vs Fitz Kreiner WINNER: The TARDIS

K9 vs Vicki Pallister WINNER: Vicki Pallister

Gillian & John Who vs Rose Tyler WINNER: Gillian & John Who

the next three matches are part of a triple matchup: to win the companion must beat both their competitors

Susan Foreman vs Bernice Summerfield WINNER: Bernice Summerfield

Susan Foreman vs Ace McShane WINNER: Ace McShane

Ace McShane vs Bernice Summerfield WINNER: Ace McShane

Shalka!Master vs Jamie McCrimmon WINNER: Shalka!Master

Being Alone vs Clara Oswald WINNER: Clara Oswald

River Song vs The Brigadier WINNER: River Song

Romana II vs The Sisterhood of Karn WINNER: The Sisterhood of Karn

ROUND 2:

The TARDIS vs Yasmin Khan WINNER: The TARDIS

Karvanista vs Fitz Kreiner WINNER: Fitz Kreiner

K9 vs Iris Wildthyme WINNER: K9

Jack Harkness vs Vicki Pallister WINNER: Vicki Pallister

Cinder vs Rose Tyler WINNER: Rose Tyler

Jo Grant vs Gillian & John Who WINNER: Gillian & John Who

Susan Foreman vs Bernice Summerfield TIE

Vislor Turlough vs Ace McShane WINNER: Ace McShane

Shalka!Master vs Romana I WINNER: Shalka!Master

Narvin vs Jamie McCrimmon WINNER: Jamie McCrimmon

Being Alone vs Frobisher WINNER: Being Alone

Steven Taylor vs Clara Oswald WINNER: Clara Oswald

River Song vs Charley Pollard WINNER: River Song

Liv Chenka vs The Brigadier WINNER: The Brigadier

Romana II vs Leela WINNER: Romana II

Lucie Miller vs The Sisterhood of Karn WINNER: The Sisterhood of Karn

ROUND 1:

The TARDIS vs Ryan Sinclair WINNER: The TARDIS

Dodo Chaplet vs Yasmin Khan WINNER: Yasmin Khan

Karvanista vs Rory Williams WINNER: Karvanista

Dan Lewis vs Fitz Kreiner WINNER: Fitz Kreiner

K9 vs Ben Jackson WINNER: K9

Evelyn Smythe vs Iris Wildthyme WINNER: Iris Wildthyme

Jack Harkness vs Mel Bush WINNER: Jack Harkness

Peri Brown vs Vicki Pallister WINNER: Vicki Pallister

Cinder vs Mickey Smith WINNER: Cinder

Barbara Wright vs Rose Tyler WINNER: Rose Tyler

Jo Grant vs Bill Potts WINNER: Jo Grant

Harry Sullivan vs Gillian & John Who WINNER: Gillian & John Who

Susan Foreman vs Victoria Waterfield WINNER: Susan Foreman

Tegan Jovanka vs Bernice Summerfield WINNER: Bernice Summerfield

Liz Shaw vs Vislor Turlough WINNER: Vislor Turlough

Graham O'Brien vs Ace McShane WINNER: Ace McShane

Shalka!Master vs Sergeant Benton WINNER: Shalka!Master

Romana I vs Amy Pond WINNER: Romana I

Narvin vs Mike Yates WINNER: Narvin

Chang Lee vs Jamie McCrimmon WINNER: Jamie McCrimmon

Being Alone vs Nyssa WINNER: Being Alone

Wilfred Mott vs Frobisher WINNER: Frobisher

Donna Noble vs Steven Taylor WINNER: Steven Taylor

Polly Wright vs Clara Oswald WINNER: Clara Oswald

River Song vs Grace Holloway WINNER: River Song

Zoe Heriot vs Charley Pollard WINNER: Charley Pollard

Nardole vs Liv Chenka WINNER: Liv Chenka

Ian Chesterton vs The Brigadier WINNER: The Brigadier

Romana II vs Kamelion WINNER: Romana II

Adric vs Leela WINNER: Leela

Sarah-Jane Smith vs Lucie Miller WINNER: Lucie Miller

Martha Jones vs the Sisterhood of Karn WINNER: The Sisterhood of Karn

Links to previous tournaments

#doctor who #greatest accomplice #masterpost

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mysticmumbles · 4 months ago

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While rewatching the SAW movies with my friend, I noticed something about Strahm and Hoffman and their traps.

Peter Strahm's are the Cube Trap and The Glass Coffin.

And Mark Hoffman's traps are the Shotgun Chair, The dud Electric Chair, and The Reverse Beartrap.

Anyway. Strahm's traps are glass boxes. Hoffman's traps always have to do something with chairs.

Looking up symbolism of glass and chairs got me some interesting results.

Glass - Transparency. Strength and Vulnerability. Enlightenment. Truth.

Chairs - Power. High Status. Authority. Rememberance. Loss.

And I am just thinking about the two of them in SAW V.

Peter Strahm saw the truth about Mark Hoffman after the Cube trap. He was enlightened, and throughout the entire movie, he uncovers the true identity of Hoffman. Strahm is a strong man physically, mentally? I believe to an extent. Twice in his traps, he showed his vulnerability to Hoffman. (Especially in the end when Strahm frantically tries to escape the room/stop his impending death)

Mark Hoffman is the lead homicide detective in the Jigsaw Killer case. Not only that, in the movie he saved a little girl, and he got promoted to detective lieutenant. Of course he has power, high status, and authority. Not just as a detective, but as a Jigsaw accomplice as well. This is also the movie we find out about Angelina Acomb, Hoffman's greatest loss. And throughout the movie, we see remembrance of the past, back when Hoffman was just starting out as a Jigsaw accomplice.

I could also be just grabbing straws and rambling like a mad man, butttt yeah, those are my thoughts about the traps and what they kinda symbolize to Strahm and Hoffman.

#mystic mumbles #saw #saw movies #saw franchise #mark hoffman #peter strahm #hoffstrahm #coffinshipping

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onaperduamedee · 3 months ago

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My greatest expectation in terms of arc this season (Siuan aside) is Nynaeve's because I'm waiting for the show to develop her story in a preventative way against the dilapidation of her thread post book 7.

One of the books most unexpected failures for me was Nynaeve's arc after she broke out of the block, as she becomes essentially other characters' powerful sidekick. Storylines that should have centered her like the Cleansing positioned her as an adjuvant, rather than a story driver. She still accomplishes great feats but her writing always feels rather external and not as involved as the introspection we get for any of the other EF5 and Elayne.

And it's so disappointing because there is no rhyme nor reason to this demotion: one minute she is on equal footing with her Two Rivers friends in ACoS, and the next book she becomes a side character plus.

It's so immensely frustrating because as many side characters in this series, she has meaty things going on later on, for example she's married to a war veteran with immense emotional baggage and my favourite bits of Lan and Nynaeve's relationship are when we see that under the marital bliss there is an unease on Nyn's side because she wasn't really equipped to handle all that come with Lan. Or later on in the series, Rand uses her on several occasions and makes her accomplice to war crimes and tortures, which as someone whose drive is healing the world must be incredibly brutal.

Yet, we don't get as much introspection about these events on Nynaeve's end, although she would be entirely legitimate in giving her perspective, particularly as they touch on different, complex sides of healing: what happens when the wound left is trauma? what constitutes mercy killing?

So if there is one arc I really need the show to properly fix, it is Nynaeve's. And that means letting her be a main character until the end.

#The wheel of time #wot book spoilers #Wot journey #Remblai #Yes I got salty again about her book arc post book 7 #She doesn't have an arc and it's so annoying #There were so many directions to explore #An arc of her own I might add #She gets grafted onto the arcs of Lan or Rand #My suggestions: keep the Moghy feud until the end for one thing #Let Nynaeve be the Kin intermediary #Have Nynaeve work on the Cleansing as a consequence of seeing Rand unravel #And let Nynaeve be a strong opponent of war #Nynaeve al'Meara #Like a raging sun

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dhampling · 1 year ago

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both free gn!reader, 2.1k

The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots.

A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose.

A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you.

you reject bhaal's greatest gift and pay with your life. to this, your horrified love bears witness.

word count: 2,105

a massive THANK YOU to @scarstothepast for sending this request my way - i hope it does your idea justice <3

as always, read the tags and decide your fate!

Mutilation.

Reduced to nothing but a flaccid gasp of your former self; a marionette in your father’s horrid hand.

Mangled beyond recognition. Bhaal’s rotten plaything. His prodigal children, both dead.

Far past any conceivable beg for reconciliation.

Naught but a smack as your carcass plummets to stone.

The Bhaalist temple is ripe, unsurprisingly.

The smell of a weeping wound seeps from every porous surface. Infection in the mortar, decay in the miry ridges lining the floor; burning flesh amidst flame torches and wails in the middle distance akin to an abattoir.

Yet, Astarion finds comfort there solely in your confidence. Your conviction. Your will to want for better, to reject your savage bloodline. The power you command over that innate desire to harm.

You’ve prepared well for this encounter. You’re aware of the risks, you’ve scoped out the entrance to Orin’s rancid shrine; and you’ve gathered appropriate accomplices from your rooms in the Elfsong to assist you in rescuing the one of you held in her clutches.

He should be a little wary. A little skittish. Observant, always; but there should be a little rattle in his brain telling him to hold back from the rest of you.

The self-preservation instinct developed over two centuries in captivity simply isn’t there.

He’s free, because of you.

He wants to rip the windpipe from the changeling’s throat with his bare teeth.

Stalk her chanting cultists from the shadowy ledges surrounding their sacrificial altar and shoot off innumerable Arrows of Many Targets at their vile heads. He - personally - wants to eviscerate any Bhaalist visage presented to you with brutal slash upon brutal slash until he is positively covered in putrid god-guts and wailing in victory.

A twirl of his dagger. The easy click of his disarm tools. A wink in your direction.

Astarion will save you the way you saved him.

He remembers the way you looked at him with the most hells-bent fury during the Ritual of Profane Ascension, ripped from your side and thrown aloft by Cazador’s wicked pact magic. The resolute wrath with which you slashed your way through the monstrosities between you. Pulling him from Cazador’s circle, his daggers returned; a rage so formidable in your eyes he almost wanted to sink to his knees and propose to you there and then.

You wanted better for him. Better than perpetuating the vicious cycle of abuse starting all those centuries ago with Eravask the Forebear to his very own master.

Master.

He is better.

He is capable of so much more than the brief wavering moment in that foulest of Dungeons, in which he wanted the most grossly depraved of powers for himself. Every single moment of agony, terror; torment, hunger - the way with which you so effusively confronted his paralysing fears and talked him from the brink; from becoming that very same monster in his moment of sheer dread.

You hop with a determined gait down the towering stairs to the walkway. Entrance in sight. Astarion stalks ahead and moves to disarm the trapped plates in your path.

The two of you have spoken about this moment many times, sequestered away in a corner in the Elfsong by candlelight. A bottle of Firewine and tears threatening to brim in your eyes.

You once were a master. Your freak of a demon butler cast in role seemingly as your very own Godey. You have no recollection of it, those you killed in your father’s name, nor how you did it; but the weight of those souls indeterminate in number is abject torture. There is no forgiveness for you. No hope, no conclusion. Just a wide and wavering path to redemption you can never be sure you’ll justly earn.

That awful, plagued creature you were. The night you softly awoke with Scleritas above you and that primal urge to kill the one closest to you through your whole adventure so far. Holding back. Warning him.

The way he sat and spoke with you, smoothed your hair as you bit furiously at his wrists and spat his name with such evil spite. Unafraid of you, no matter the threat.

Two beasts in tandem.

Orin is horrifying in appearance. Pale, skin writhing with blue vein-like whips across her white flesh; armour of crimson jerky and eyes empty.

Lips smacking in wily delight. Bloodkin. Bloodkin.

Astarion watches your confrontation prior to the conflict he knows is to come. He’ll get his moment to brutalise every single one of these sadists, but this is yours.

The ritual sacrifice is spared through your recollection of Bhaal’s terms - you were the one challenged, not your accomplice.

These terms also mean your fight will be one on one. You versus her.

Astarion’s face falls.

Fuck.

However, he takes solace in the fact that he’s come to know your expressions well through your adventures together. Your innate ability to stay one step ahead is what has carried you so far in the first place.

She taunts you, yapping, pointing, aggrandizing; at one point even shifting into you. If the circumstances weren’t so dire he’d probably make a joke about what a fun evening could be had with such a skill.

You remain stoic, mapping out the environment and taking stock of what you can use as leverage. He simply watches you with a mixture of trepidation and admiration resting uneasy in his gut.

"Come to me, Father. Set my flesh to your unholy purpose."

The most grotesque monstrosity replaces Orin. The Slayer.

Astarion watches on as the duel begins.

In light of having prior defeated the undead Visage of Myrkul, Orin alone isn’t a formidable enemy. Your battle-strengthened dexterity is unmatched and with each attempt the current favoured of Bhaal makes to injure you, you simply strengthen your position and hit her harder.

It’s almost enjoyable to watch the two of you dance.

While not easy, it certainly isn’t difficult to gain the upper hand with each attack you make.

The Slayer is almost… clumsy?

Too large to aim her lunges with precision, you dodge her at most turns. Your party watches with baited breath, but small smiles begin to edge onto their weary faces.

The rabid dog and the acrobat.

Each hit you strike weakens her substantially. While she does get some vantage on you and causes a little damage by the sacrificial altar, her limbs in this form are too spindly and make for stupidly easy targets to focus your attacks.

Within minutes, the imposing figure is reduced to little but a pile of gore on the floor.

Among the foetid viscera that once was the changeling you immediately drop to search for her Netherstone-jewelled dagger. Bloodthirst. Hands heavy with still-warm organs as you retrieve your winnings, blood soaking every inch of exposed flesh on your arms. You throw your spoils to the side and hold the altar key to your chest.

A pair of arms wraps around you from behind, startling you for the briefest moment.

Astarion.

“Gods. You idiot! You are positively deranged! You knew that would happen, didn’t you? Did you bring us along just to watch?!” He grins.

Your own smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You turn to embrace him fully.

The rest of your party traipse across the tides of blood toward you.

“I had a feeling it might.”

You rest your head on his shoulder in the newborn silence of the temple, tossing the altar key in the vague direction of your party as your hands bloody his armour in a reverent grasp.

“I love you. I just - I love you! You insane thing. You did it!” He laughs loudly, ecstatic.

You see your friends behind him, your eyes meeting theirs in a downcast stare. A nod of understanding.

“I love you.’

You sigh into his chest, splaying your fingers as if to hold more of him.

‘It’s not over yet.”

He pulls away and looks at you, lifting your head softly so your eyes meet his. His neck juts a little.

“Hm?”

His brow quirks inquisitively. The wail of victory depletes into a quivering hum.

The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots.

A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose.

A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you.

The Visage of Bhaal is gone.

Your flesh operates as little more than a bag of broken bones, skull cracked and limbs fractured almost beyond recognition. Eyes wide open but unmistakably dead.

He hears your two accomplices bicker in the background as the multiple Scrolls of Revivify retrieved from your pack fail to glow near your remains. They don’t make sense. This doesn’t make sense. Their shouts are crisp in the silence of the temple. Brash. Disturbing.

There should be more noise. There should be shouting, screaming, crying. Crowds of those you’ve saved should be here petitioning whatever God sickens of their stream of bitter tears to bring you back to them.

To him.

He can’t take his eyes off your own. Empty.

If he’d gone through with the ritual, maybe he could have saved you. Turned you. Revived you as his and kept you safe from a fate like this for the rest of eternity.

You’d have despised him for it, but it’d be ok. You’d be awake. You’d be capable of feeling with which to despise him.

No, he mutters. Not that. Not ever.

He is better than that.

He shifts to sit cross legged next to your corpse as your accomplices’ shouting turns to unbridled wailing. Toys with your hair gently so as not to disturb the broken skull below the flesh and whispers to you softly.

“You silly thing. I know you’re still in there, aren’t you? I hope you know how much I love you.’

A quiet, heavy wracked sob.

‘You are so magnificent, little dove. So smart. You did so, so well. I am so very proud of you.”

He doesn’t notice Withers, not until he speaks.

You’re fuzzy as you stand.

He’s frozen on the floor, cross legged and round-eyed. Sharp ears pinned back.

“No.” Astarion chokes.

Your eyes are heavy. They search for him in the blur and you stumble trying to feel for him.

“Astarion?’

Your companions are paralysed.

The stages of grief begin to unravel.

“Astar- Astarion, I can’t see. Where are you?” You sob, reaching out blindly in front of you to search for him in the fog.

“Oh. Oh, my love -’

He looks up at you and blinks away a flood of tears as they threaten to spill.

‘My love. I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His feet carry his fraught body to you once again, mindless in their pursuit of you. You’re here. You’re warm, speaking; sobbing, and here.

Name stricken from the archives. Pulled gently into his arms the second he stepped within reach and wrapped the tightest within them you ever have been.

Your party swaddles you in the biggest hug you’ve had in your life.

Astarion doesn’t let go when they do. He buries one hand in your hair, keeps one tightly around your waist. Shakes with sobs.

“You scared me.” He mumbles, letting out a small laugh into the crook of your neck.

You neglect to mention the patch of snot and fresh wet tears now adorning his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He whispers, playing with a lock of your hair.

“No. I am. I am so, so sorry.”

“Seeing you like that ruined me, you know.’ He smiles shakily.

You sob once more.

‘I wondered why the whole of Toril wasn’t screaming for you at the moment of your death.’

He moves his head to look at you. Brings his forehead to yours. Kisses you so gently that you wonder if his lips have always felt this soft and his forlorn eyes glisten. Alive and in the arms of your lover.

‘They gave me nothing. Two hundred years of nothing. Useless wretches.’ He laughs and rolls his teary eyes. Sniffs. You smile at him with the dopiest eyes - you think - that have ever existed across the Sword Coast.

‘But the Gods listened to me this time because they knew.’

Astarion coughs.

He smells like home - warm, spiced; familiar. Your eyes meet his now, his grasp on you still firm.

‘You defied your father. You resisted your cruel destiny.’

Another kiss.

‘And now we’re both free.” He whispers.

Time stops for a few precious moments, a silent promise.

No more.

#astarion x reader #angst with a happy ending #my writing #one shot #request #requests open #gn reader #astarion x dark urge #durge

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