#greatest accomplice

[companion-showdown]

Okay, looks like its probably going to be Greatest Accomplice to the Doctor's War Crimes

under the new system, there are 8 free slots to be filled with nominations, there are no restrictions, the show, spinoffs, EU, go wild

Current nominations:

Compassion

Gillian and John Who

Missy

The TARDIS

Fey Truscott-Sade

C'rizz

Karvanista

Alison Cheney

The Doctor themself

Gat

Lee Clayton

The Sisterhood of Karn

The General

Cinder

Being alone

Shalka!Master

Narvin

Nominations will be accepted until this time tomorrow (19:00 BST (UTC+1) 21/07/23)

you can find a list of companions who automatically get a slot here

[cringecompanionapologist]

I took a nap and woke up to Vicki and John and Gillian losing in the Greatest Accomplice competition. I swear to god they were winning before I took that nap. I’m sad now.

[zagz]

nobody gets them like i do. fyi

[lucydacusgirl]

russell t davies don’t piss me off

[bizarrebazaar13]

KING OF INKS

The King of Inks is a slight, bespectacled woman in a dark red dress. The sigils on her skin glow even through the bandages on her arms. She sits at a desk and toys absently with a scalpel, as one might fidget with a pen.

Recruit the King

The King of Inks’ cards become more powerful as the Poison Tolerance of Your Target increases. She checks your Artisan of the Red Science.

Bleeding Violant

The King dips her scalpel into an inkwell that hurts your eyes to look at. Carefully, she scratches a symbol into the surface of her desk, paying no mind to the smoke that rises from the wood. Her bladework is surgically precise, and when the smoke hits your nose, it begins to gush blood. She smiles.

[alsofullofflies]

Show me Shakespeare’s Duke of Buckingham

No the real Duke of Buckingham

No not him, the rEal Duke of Buckingham

Not quite, the REAL Duke of Buckingham

Ahh perfect

[d12victor]

s2 of yellowjackets is coming out soon n i wanna talk about how katniss wouldn't even mind the plane crash. she'd just get annoyed by all the girls and ask them to eat her next to save her from gouging her eyeballs out

[foldingfittedsheets]

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.

[gojoest]

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.”

[dawnchorus-if]

‎ ‎‎

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ Your sister is dead, murdered and mutilated and left to rot in a brothel like a sickly dog. You finally know your purpose: revenge.

DAWN CHORUS is an 18+ interactive fiction about death, love, and the song of new morning. Demo TBA.

You live in The Rocks, a decaying settlement in the shadowed outskirts of the kingdom, Cape Lyra. Once a cozy village, The Rocks has withered into a decrepit ruin since the assassination of King Cedric. Queen Lyra, for whom the kingdom was named, became consumed by grief and neglected the outer villages. Now, The Rocks is a place where even the birds come to die.

Desperate to earn money for the both of you, your sister ventured to Cape Lyra with her best friend, Jax. Only Jax returned, covered in your sister's blood, with a hazed description of her killer. Driven by the need for retribution, you and Jax set out for the kingdom, determined to find and punish the sick soul who took your sister's life. When revenge is your only remaining purpose, a life for a life only seems fair.

You hope.

‣‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎Fully customise yourself, from your name and appearance to your sexuality to your greatest woes and wants. Choose your approach to grief, to anger, to revenge—drown in your sorrows or push them aside in favour of a... different kind of vice. Curate a story that revolves around who you are, and what you'll stand for.

‣‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ Explore relationships with six different romanceable characters, and a multitude of other characters to befriend (or behead). Interact with a diverse cast of characters, each with their own impact to leave on the story. Just... be careful who you trust, some people might not be who they say they are.

‣‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ Find out what really happened to your sister. Hunt down her killer, or killers, and determine your own ability to play executioner on her behalf. Open doors to dark rooms in the royal family history, find out that there's a lot more darkness in Cape Lyra than there is light.

‣‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ Get involved in the politics of Cape Lyra. The people can only be neglected for so long before they start to revolt, right? What side of history will you be on? Or will you be too blinded by grief to care who gets hurt?

‣‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ Exorcise a demon, maybe.

DAWN, born amidst the morning birdsong, the cherished youngest child of King Cedric and Queen Lyra, and the heir apparent to the throne. They don't often get to see outside of Cape Lyra's walls, so don't fault them for being a little juvenile in their knowledge of the world, it's not born from a lack of desire. There's a youthful charm to Dawn, and a deep-seated eagerness to know more about the kingdom they'll one-day rule. [M/F, 22]

ASA KYNES, climbing the ranks as one of Cape Lyras most dedicated royal guards, Kynes is as formidable as they are resolute. You won't get past them very easily, they've got keen judgement skills, and you're up to something, they're sure of it. Kynes is loyal, and more than willing to lay their life down in servitude to the monarchy. Getting Kynes to open up is hard, but may be more than worth it. [M/F, 26]

JAX HANSLEY, your sisters best friend and now your accomplice in avenging her. Jax is royalty in The Rocks, charismatic beyond belief and has been teasing you since you were just starting to walk. Extravagant and always looking for something to do, you'll never find yourself bored around them. Plus, you couldn't get rid of Jax even if you wanted to, they're the closest thing to family that you have left. [M/F, 24]

CERYS SELINE, owner and face of The Rabbits Foot, Cape Lyra's busiest tavern. Cerys is a stern woman who works her ass off day and night, but there's a sweet undertone to the way she speaks: something nurturing. She's a pillar of the kingdom, well-connected and respected. There's more to her than meets the eye, sure, but for now she's more than willing to aid you in finding your sisters killer. [F, 26]

ARTHUR CASE, a priest who has been ousted from the kingdom for reasons he just won't speak aloud. Left with only one leg and crumbs of his faith, he's living in his late father's old church a short trek from the kingdoms gates. Pop in for a service one day, maybe confessionals don't always have to be one-sided. [M, 29]

??? — something cold in the shadows, and its eyes are on you.

DAWN CHORUS contains some heavy topics, such as graphic depictions of death, violence, drug use, explicit language and skippable sexual content. Classism is also a present topic. Readers discretion is advised.

reblogs r so appreciated and asks are more than welcome ^^

[companion-showdown]

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

[cringecompanionapologist]

Turlough was put against Jamie twice and now Ace twice. Shit luck there. Maybe there should be a Most Pathetic Little Meow-Meow ranking. He might make it to round 3 at least.

[dhampling]

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. 

[melestasflight]

I’m a Russingon girlie at heart and will never miss an opportunity to read into the romanticism of Maedhros’ rescue from Thangorodrim: ancient friends/lovers coming back together, Fingon finding compassion despite betrayal, all that good tear-jerker stuff.

But what makes Fingon’s heroism massive to me has nothing to do with the personal and everything to do with the politics at Mithrim. The fact that had he not gone to Thangorodrim, the Noldor in Beleriand would find themselves at literal war against each other.

This little passage from the Silm really deserves a lot more attention:

No love was there in the hearts of those that followed Fingolfin for the House of Fëanor, for the agony of those that endured the crossing of the Ice had been great, and Fingolfin held the sons the accomplices of their father. Then there was peril of strife between the hosts

Years later, when Fingon decides to look for Maedhros, the conflict between the hosts comes back as a primary reason behind his decision:

Then Fingon the valiant, son of Fingolfin, resolved to heal the feud that divided the Noldor, before their Enemy should be ready for war

This makes me conclude that the three years between Fingolfin’s arrival at Mitrhim (FA 2) to Fingon’s rescue mission (FA 5) must have been a continuous civil crisis. The hosts are in close proximity, a single lake dividing them, Fingolfin on one side, Maglor on the other, and for three years they cannot find a compromise. This crisis must have gotten pretty bad for someone to decide that braving Thangorodrim might be worth it.

And to me, this is Fingon's greatest contribution he ever made, not his battles, not his chasing of dragons, but preventing civil war among his people.

Of all the children of Finwë he is justly most renowned...

Yes, indeed, he is. Because without Fingon’s deed, there would be no victories for the Noldor, no Long Peace, no meeting of the Edain and Eldar. They would have fought each other endlessly until one group obliterated the other, or alternatively, Morgoth used this division (as the book seems to imply) to destroy them all swiftly. 

Fingon effectively accomplishes what Fingolfin and Fëanor never managed: peace, at least for a good while. Maedhros of course contributes in return by giving up the crown. He meets Fingon halfway, and they stay true to this alliance until Fingon’s death. They cross an impossible bridge no matter how you read their relationship. 

I’ll never tire of it. Ever.

[yourmomsawh0r3]

The Great Bridgerton Prank War

benedict bridgerton x female wife reader

The Bridgerton estate was always full of life, laughter, and the occasional bit of mischief. Benedict Bridgerton and his wife, Y/N, were no strangers to the lively antics that often filled their home. In fact, Y/N had become something of a mastermind in the art of pranking, much to the delight of Gregory and Hyacinth, who were her eager accomplices.

It all started one sunny afternoon when Y/N, Gregory, and Hyacinth were lounging in the garden. Gregory, always up for a bit of fun, was regaling them with tales of past pranks he had pulled on his siblings.

“You know,” Y/N said thoughtfully, “I think it’s time we up the ante. What do you say we team up and pull off the greatest prank the Bridgerton family has ever seen?”

Hyacinth’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Oh, yes! What do you have in mind?”

Y/N leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I have a few ideas…”

The first target was Colin, who was known for his love of food. Y/N, Gregory, and Hyacinth spent the evening preparing a batch of Y/N’s famous scones, but with a twist. They added an extra ingredient to a few of them: a generous amount of hot pepper.

The next morning, as the family gathered for breakfast, Colin was the first to reach for the scones. Y/N and her co-conspirators watched with barely concealed glee as he took a large bite. His eyes widened, and he reached for his glass of water, chugging it down as quickly as he could.

“What on earth is in these scones?” Colin spluttered, his face turning red.

Y/N feigned innocence. “Is something wrong, Colin? They’re just my usual recipe.”

Gregory and Hyacinth couldn’t hold back their laughter any longer. Colin glared at them, realizing he had been had. “Very funny,” he said, his lips still burning. “Just wait until it’s your turn.”

Next up was Eloise. Knowing her sister-in-law’s love for her morning routine, Y/N concocted a plan involving a bit of artistic trickery. Late at night, with Gregory and Hyacinth’s help, she replaced Eloise’s vanity mirror with a painted replica that distorted her reflection.

The following morning, Eloise sat down to brush her hair and nearly jumped out of her seat when she saw her reflection. Her face appeared comically stretched and squished.

“What in the world?” Eloise exclaimed, leaning closer to the mirror. “I look like a funhouse version of myself!”

Y/N, Gregory, and Hyacinth, who had been hiding nearby, burst into laughter. “Got you!” Gregory shouted.

Eloise, recovering from her shock, couldn’t help but laugh. “All right, you win this round. But I’ll be ready for you next time.”

Anthony, the eldest Bridgerton, prided himself on his orderliness and discipline. Naturally, he was the perfect target for their next prank. With Benedict’s unwitting help, Y/N, Gregory, and Hyacinth carefully rearranged Anthony’s meticulously organized study.

Books were placed out of order, papers were shuffled, and his favorite pen was hidden. When Anthony entered his study, he stopped in his tracks, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene.

“What happened here?” he demanded, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Y/N strolled in, a picture of innocence. “Is something wrong, Anthony? It looks fine to me.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the room. “This is not how I left it.”

Gregory and Hyacinth peeked around the doorframe, trying to stifle their giggles. Anthony’s expression softened as he realized he had fallen victim to their mischief.

“You three are incorrigible,” he said, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Just remember, I know how to get even.”

For the grand finale, Y/N decided to involve Benedict. They planned to prank Daphne and Simon, who were visiting for the weekend. With Gregory and Hyacinth’s help, they set up a series of harmless but hilarious traps around the guest room.

When Daphne and Simon arrived, they were greeted with a cascade of balloons falling from the closet, a whoopee cushion strategically placed on the armchair, and a bucket of confetti rigged to the door.

Daphne’s laughter rang through the house as she and Simon navigated the series of pranks. “I should have known you lot were up to something,” she said, still giggling.

Simon, ever the good sport, joined in the laughter. “I must say, you’ve outdone yourselves this time.”

Y/N, Gregory, Hyacinth, and Benedict gathered in the hallway, their faces beaming with pride and mischief. “Welcome to the Bridgerton Prank War,” Y/N declared. “May the best prankster win.”

The Bridgerton siblings took the pranks in stride, each vowing to get their revenge in due time. The house was filled with laughter and playful plotting, as everyone tried to outdo one another.

One evening, as Y/N and Benedict sat by the fire, Benedict pulled her close. “You know, my love, you’ve brought so much joy and fun into this family. I can’t imagine life without your laughter.”

Y/N smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “I couldn’t have done it without Gregory and Hyacinth. They’re wonderful partners in crime.”

Benedict chuckled. “Indeed they are. But be careful they might turn on you next.”

Y/N laughed, her heart full. “Let them try. I’m always ready.”

And so, the Bridgerton household remained a place of love, laughter, and endless fun, each day bringing new adventures and cherished memories. The pranks became a beloved tradition, a testament to the bond that held the family together, and a reminder that in the Bridgerton home, there was always room for a little bit of mischief and a lot of love.

[sintember]

Sintember 2024 - Official Prompts

Throwback Thursday prompts have been decided, so here is the official list of prompts for this year! Plain text and flavour texts for each prompt are below the cut.

Innocence - What would you do to preserve it, what will be done to tarnish it?

You just let it happen - Bystander, victim or accomplice, perhaps you shouldn't have let it pass...

Fame - Intoxicating in its power, mesmerising in its influence.

Can't let go - Everything you've tried to, has claw marks in it.

Throwback Thursday #1: Coercion - Subtle application of threat, the brute force of physicality, or could it be someone’s will itself working into their brain?

I love you - I do I do I do I do I do.

Forgotten - And time moves on.

"You are beneath me." - How does the boot taste?

Horrifying concept, thank you - A small change in the world could be a nightmare.

Replaced - You aren't what you were. To yourself, to them.

Self-care - Why feel guilty for a little treat?

Throwback Thursday #2: Captivity - How long has it been? Does the sound of your captor getting closer bring fear or hope. Has it been long enough to become joy?

"Why won't you stay dead?!" - It keeps coming back to this, again and again and again.

"It wasn't me!!" - But why would they believe you?

Learning - Maybe some things are better left unknown

On Display - Like a product on a shelf, no hiding from the eyes.

Pick a Side - You're torn, of course you are, but the time has come where the only other option is to lose both.

"You came back?" - But is it too late? What's done is done.

Throwback Thursday #3: You weren't supposed to enjoy that... - Are they judging you? Really??

Well, well, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions... - How inconvenient and unexpected and harrowing for you.

Tragic Backstory - We all know you've done horrible things to your OCs that you haven't put anywhere else. ;)

Ownership - Mine.

It's just business - No need to get all personal about it.

Revenge - A dish best served however the hell you want.

Magnum Opus - One's greatest work, one that will go down in history.

Throwback Thursday #4: Obsession - Love? Hate? Lust? Fear? Worship? Whatever the case, it’s all they can think about.

Too good to be true - And thus...

Cultivation - What does it take to make this grow, for a good harvest?

BDSM done wrong - Self-explanatory, really. :3

True Freedom - As always, write whatever you like~