#and he has to contend with his guilt

[poebrey]

it looks like the turns have tabled in disco s5 and now Book is the one with impulsive self-sacrificing self-destructive tendencies. good thing the love of his life is the poster girlie for how deep trauma begets deep self loathing

[buckttommy]

Who knew Eddie's dream sequence in 5x14 of Christopher, present yet distant, would be foreshadowing for the arc they're going to go through in Season 6

[guideaus]

i was making my wha/trigun post, but i couldnt decide who'd relate to who since vash and wolfwood kind of both share a lot of qualities

[drabblesandimagines]

Nettle Soup

Halsin x female reader 5,776 words of fluffy nonsense

--

It had started as an innocent tickle at the very back of your throat, something you’d barely given more than a moment’s thought to - fair enough due to the fact you had a tadpole squirming around in your skull to contend with. A day or so later, it had graduated from a tickle to an annoying and stubborn irritation which very much demanded attention – wouldn’t shift despite how many times you’d tried.

It would clear, surely, you thought, especially since the curse had lifted from the land and you were on your way towards Baldur’s Gate at last.

Except it didn’t.

If anything, it got worse - like you’d swallowed handfuls of crushed glass, the way it stung with every swallow – accompanied by heavy limbs and growing fatigue, no matter how much sleep you managed. Perhaps that was hardly surprising after the number of fights you’d undertaken recently, not quite as young as you once were. 

Although not comfortable with the hitchhiker in your skull, you were at least confident it wasn’t the first sign of ceremorphosis, though the concern that Lae’zel may try to slit your throat if you voiced any notion of feeling unwell remained, so you kept silent.

You powered on, as you always do.

Gale frowned when you didn’t finish your portion of stew that evening, all sat around the campfire. He prided himself on keeping the party well-fed and anything but clean bowls appeared to be a personal affront to his skill. It wasn’t that you felt nauseous, just a lack of appetite made the quarter you had managed sit too heavy in your stomach.

“Was it not to your liking?” The wizard hovers over your shoulder. “While I’ll admit it is a repeated recipe from a few days ago, you enjoyed it well enough then.”

“No, no, it’s wonderful, Gale.” You smile, trying to appease his anxieties by laying a hand on your stomach. “It’s just filling – I’m stuffed already.”

“I recall you had second helpings.”

Oh, he had you there. Think.

“We had just fought Ketheric Thorn too, quite difference from the day’s leisurely pace.”

“Hm.” His pout remains, and the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach has been joined by guilt.

“Hardly a repeated recipe, though. I’m sure I noted something different on the palate?”

That did the trick, a wistful smile now gracing his face. “Ah, yes, I did stumble upon some splendid wild garlic that I thought would enhance the flavour profile – how kind of you to notice.”

You nod along, politely, as Gale tells his tale – something about how it elevates the spices - not noticing the wood elf staring at you curiously from across the circle.

You’re thankful it’s not your turn to keep watch as the githyanki takes her place in the centre of the camp, sword laying ready in her lap. You don’t wish to dawdle around the campfire like you do most nights, worried she might sense something off about you and jump to conclusions, so you bid the remaining members of the party goodnight and walk at a brisk pace to the safety of your tent…

..only for an icy cold grip around your elbow to jerk you into their own, your back now pressed against a firm chest with a thud.

“Surprised, darling?” Astarion murmurs into your crown, his other arm wrapped around your waist. “I thought you better than that. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Bed.” You reply as brightly as possible, overcompensating for how rotten you’re now feeling.

“Oh, but the evening is still so young! I have a fine idea that will while away the hours, if you would be so very kind.” He drops his grip on your elbow and ghosts his hand up your side, making you squirm.

“Not tonight, Astarion.” You shake your head. Maybe it had been a mistake to let him feed off you after that first night. “I’m tired.”

“I can wait until you’re asleep, my sweet.” His hand finally reaches the back of your neck, giving it a slight squeeze. “I’ll be sure not to disturb any of your pretty dreams.”

“No.” Your tone is firm, maybe a little too firm as the vampire stiffens against you and drops his hand, causing your stomach to squirm with guilt once again. “Another night, I’m all yours – I promise.”

Astarion spins you around and you nearly lose your footing – a fact not missed by the vampire as his face transforms from annoyance at your denial to mild concern.

“My, you are out of sorts.” He sighs, before he plasters on a smile that you know to be fake. “Very well, darling. Off to bed you pop.”

You nod a thanks and hurry out of his tent, casting your eyes to the ground in the hopes of keeping steadier footing, only to collide into something firm.

A large, solid chest, covered in familiar druidic garb.

“My sincere apologies,” two warm hands grasp your upper arms, steadying you once again. “I am afraid I did not see you there. Are you all right?”

Your scalp tingles from the gravelly tones of Halsin’s voice, a warmth flushing over your cheeks as you look up at the former archdruid, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I’m fine, Halsin. And I should be the one apologizing - I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”

He chuckles at your concern. “Of course. Although you have remained polite by not yet mentioning my stature, I am sure you have noticed the comparison between us, little one.”

Although one to lose your temper with the use of such pet names in inns or in combat, there is something entirely different when Halsin says it. You know it is not meant to be patronizing, more a sign of his age, really – it’s wholeheartedly sincere, affectionate, perhaps even… loving? Well, you could still dream, couldn’t you? Even though he’d kindly turned you down at the celebration for the tieflings at camp all those weeks ago, you’d be a liar if you didn’t still kindle a flame of affection for the large elf. You smile, wryly. “I suppose I have.”

“Forgive me for prying, but is anything the matter? You seemed in quite the hurry after supper. I confess I’d hoped to catch you for a moment.”

Your throat stings again as you swallow. Halsin is a healer - he would be the one to mention it to…

But you don’t want to be a bother, especially so soon after Thaniel. What was a sore throat in comparison to being trapped within the Shadowrealm for near on a century? Pathetic, really.

You shrug it off, “A little tired, nothing an early night won’t sort. What did you wish to speak about?”

He smiles at your response, though you notice it doesn’t reach his eyes. You wish you weren’t so observant of him to be able to identify which are real and which are polite.

“Ah, no, nothing of urgency. Please, do not let me keep you from your well-deserved rest any longer.”

You eye your tent in the distance, but hesitate all the same. “Are you sure?”

“Quite.” He squeezes your upper arms, gently, before letting go. “I bid you sweet dreams and a peaceful sleep.”

--

You don’t even fall asleep deeply enough to dream – tossing and turning for hours, one moment feeling too hot and then another too cold, periodically drinking from your waterskin trying to ease the rawness of your throat.

You give up at dawn, quickly dressing in your armor. Instead of waiting for your companions to rise, you set your sight on climbing the hill not far off from camp - it should provide a good vista of the road ahead to Baldur’s Gate. It shouldn’t be a long walk either, you’ll be there and back before even Karlach has roused, usually the last to do so.

You had only made it a quarter of the way up the admittedly gentle incline when you start to feel unusually winded from the exercise – it feels as if you are not quite breathing deep enough, oxygen stagnating at the top of your lungs. Perhaps you’d laced your armour too tight that morning in your haste to get moving? The sun is still only a little over the horizon, given the earliness of the hour, but you feel so very warm, a sheen of sweat already on your brow.

You raise a weary hand to wipe it away, but your vision swims in response and you stumble, all reflexes abandoning you and your face meets the dirt.

--

Halsin lets out a sigh as he rubs his back against the bark in his bear form, the ridges appeasing an itch that had been bothering him since he had wildshaped. It has been a while since he’d indulged the bear for purely pleasure and not combat – it hadn’t felt right to do so when traveling through the shadow cursed lands.

He’d woken early, as usual, and decided to take advantage of an hour or so to patrol the area before the plan would be to head towards Baldur’s Gate. Heading to the city wasn’t something he was looking forward to – to be cut off from the nature he so adored made he feel uneasy - but he’d made a vow that he intended to keep.

A familiar, invigorating smell crosses his snout, carried in the gentle breeze. He inhales it deeply, being drawn him from his thoughts.

White violet, jasmine, a touch of sandalwood…

You.

It is too strong a scent to have drifted in from camp, which must mean you’re close by. He drops down to all four paws and begins to follow the trail, curious as to what has brought you out so early and, perhaps selfishly, hoping to take advantage of your company.

He doesn’t have to travel far, though, lumbering a hundred or so metres out of the wood that lines the path. His stomach sinks when he sees you sprawled out on your front down the incline, unmoving, eyes open in a blank stare in his direction.

The next thing you were aware of was thundering paws on the earth, a flash of gold and then warm, heavy palms turning you over to face the dawn sky. A very concerned wood elf soon fills your vision, pressing a hand to your cheek as his eyes scan you over, frantically.

“What is it, my heart? Speak to me.” Heart…? The world goes black.

--

You wake up slowly. Your eyelids feel heavy, drifting in and out of consciousness until, finally, you manage to crack both eyes open to find yourself swaddled in unfamiliar furs and blinking up at an equally unfamiliar ceiling.

No, not ceiling, but the inside of a tent and one that is not your own. Various herbs and flowers are hung from the support pole across the top, seemingly set out to dry, dotted between other hand-made trinkets. There’s a scent of wood smoke, flowers, freshly cut grass, and something enticingly sweet...

You sit up in alarm, trying to work out where you are, panic rising in your already tight chest when your eyes meet those of the large wood elf’s, sat only a little way to the side of the bed roll.

“Ah-ah,” Halsin chides with a sympathetic smile, pushing you back down easily with one large palm upon your shoulder. “Please - you must rest.”

“This isn’t my tent.” Your voice is painfully hoarse, but you lay your head back on the pillow in defeat and watch as he tugs the furs back up to under your chin - the brief moment you had been upright a chill had prickled across your skin, almost down to your very bones.

“That is true.” The former archdruid nods, looking a little bashful. “We were camped at quite opposite ends this time round.” Your party did tend to spread the tents out across the ground you used, rather than all cluster together. “I thought it best to bring you here, where I have everything to hand to easily prepare, rather than go to and fro whilst I oversee your recovery.”

“Recov-” You don’t reach the end of the word as a horrendous, wracking cough emerges deep within your chest. You sit up again in panic, hoping it will cease. Halsin assists you with one hand on your arm and an arm around your waist, before he begins to rub large circles on your upper back.

“Easy, little one. Easy. I know it is uncomfortable, but it will pass.” He says, softly. It doesn’t feel like it will – the pain is sharp, a tightness in your chest, a burn in your lungs, heart pounding as you feel more and more breathless with every cough.

Tears burn at your eyes but, true to his word, slowly but surely, it begins to settle, allowing you to catch your breath at last and left feeling exhausted.

The hand leaves your arm then but one remains on your back, keeping you steady, before a waterskin is brought up to your lips. “Take small sips. If you drink too quickly, it might trigger another fit.”

You nod, reaching up a hand to hold over his as he tips the liquid into your mouth. It’s soothing on your raw throat, but only for a brief moment. When he deems you’ve had enough, he pulls the waterskin away, placing it back down to the side of the bedroll before pressing a hand to your forehead, a poorly concealed frown soon gracing his lips.

“You have a fairly high fever.”

“Can’t you…?” You reach out to mimic cure wounds – a spell you’ve seen him and Shadowheart cast many a time - but it seems even your depth perception has abandoned you as you brush up against the wood elf's firm chest, before snatching your hand back and circling your wrist in what you think looks a somewhat magical motion. Halsin lets out a chuckle that makes you feel flush – your temperature varying sporadically by the minute.

“Wounds and other injuries indeed, as can Shadowheart, but I am afraid for such illnesses as this the only treatment is rest for a few days, supplemented by herbal remedies to alleviate symptoms.”

“No,” you shake your head and immediately regret how it makes your vision and head swim. “We must press on - the Absolute are already in the city.”

He looks at you in alarm. “You cannot mean you wish to go and face them? You know I admire your unwavering resolve and strength to do what is right, but at the moment I fear a light breeze would be more than enough to knock you prone.”

“But-”

“No. I cannot allow it.” His tone is firm, a growl at the back of his throat – it reminds you of how he had spoken to Kagha once he’d returned to the grove. "You will rest. Lie down,” he doesn’t even need to push you back this time with a heavy hand, you’ve gone quite limp against the arm that had been supporting you, shrinking back at his tone of voice and nestle back down amongst the furs.

 “Thank you.” Halsin replies, sincerely, the tension dropping both from his shoulders and voice. “I… I apologise for my manner of speaking, but I know of what I speak - you must rest in order to make a full recovery.”

“I’ll try – I promise.”

He looks down at you with a smile before brushing some loose hair from your face and then cupping your cheek with a large palm and calloused fingers. If you’d had more of your wits about you, if you could think clearly, you would’ve noticed the flash of gold in his palm as he cast sleep upon you.

--

You wake up to a hand pressing a damp cold compress against your forehead and your chest feeling tighter than before. You can’t help the wince as you open your eyes, the light smarting despite it being somewhat dim inside the tent. Halsin is sat cross-legged by your side, a frown in place.

“I am sorry to have woken you, but I am afraid your fever has developed.”

“Oh.”

“I have prepared something that will help. Allow me to sit you up.” Somehow, he manages to slip his arm beneath your head and around your shoulders, assisting you upright to lean back against a pile of firm pillows. Once he is satisfied you are settled, he produces a bowl from his side – a waft of steam emitting off the top.

“Here. It has cooled enough to drink.”

“What is it?” Your voice is still awfully hoarse, a raw sting as you talk.

“A staple in every healer’s repertoire - nettle soup. Adept at reducing fevers.”

You take the bowl carefully from his hand, though his follows closely as you guide it up to your mouth lest your grip fail.

You gulp down a mouthful, but it’s absolutely foul upon your tongue, burns your throat as you swallow it down. It feels as if you’ve taken a gulp out of a particularly filthy pond, one thick with algae.

You hold the bowl back out with a shake of your head, hoping he’ll take it. “That’s disgusting.”

Halsin smiles, knowingly – seemingly a complaint he is not all that unfamiliar with hearing. “Whilst I admit the taste is far from what one might call pleasant, it will do you a world of good to drink it.”

You shake your head again, trying to hand it back to him. “I can’t.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Dare I enquire your age again, little one? The children in the grove manage it just fine.”

“I’m not a child,” you pout – too feverish to realise the contradiction of your actions. “And they surely do not.”

“They do…”, he retorts, a wistful smile crosses his lips, “albeit with the promise of something sweet after they’ve rested. Would that suffice?”

“Something… sweet?” Your mind drifts off to somewhere it should not as your eyes drop down to focus on the druid’s mouth.

“Mm. They are quite partial to honeycakes, does that appeal?”

You shake your head, placing the bowl down on the floor between the two of you. Though a fan of sweets, the idea of eating anything at the moment doesn’t entice at all.

“No? Well, perhaps you have something else in mind. I’m sure Baldur’s Gate itself will have something to your tastes.”

“I want a kiss.” You mumble.

He must have misheard. “What was that?”

“A kiss - that’s the sweet thing I want.”

“Ah,” if it wasn’t for the dim light within the tent, you would’ve sworn the druid was blushing. “Now, that’ll be the fever speaking.”

“No.” You gaze up at him, wishing you had the strength to curl your fingers in his hair and pull him in for the kiss you crave. “It’s not. I’ve wanted one since that night at camp, the celebration with the tieflings. I swear I’ll drink all the nettle soup in Faerun for a kiss.” “Since…” He trails off. “No, I couldn’t, little one.” He shakes his head, truly looking apologetic. “I won’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Why?”

He cups your cheek in a large palm, a small smile on his lips. “I do not believe you are quite aware of what you are requesting, given your current ailment.”

You purse your lips in thought, trying to seek a compromise. “What about when I’m better, then?”

He removes his hand and nods. “When you are recovered and if you recall this conversation and still desire it, then… yes, you may claim your sweet.” He mumbles towards the end, not quite believing what he was apparently promising. “However, you will still need to drink the nettle soup now.”

“Deal.” You acquiesce, and Halsin picks up the bowl in offering.

It burns as it goes down – all four or five remaining mouthfuls - but you manage the whole bowl.

“Good girl,” the wood elf murmurs with a smile – it makes the discomfort feel worth it for a moment - as he inspects the empty bowl, swapping it out for the waterskin once again.  

“Now, try and sleep some more. By the time you wake, it will have done its work and you’ll be feeling much better.”

You lie back down without protest, closing your eyes. The furs smell like Halsin and you soon drift off back to sleep, a feverish thought of being wrapped up in his arms and the kiss you hoped to claim come morning.

--

Day turns into night and then day once more, the hours passed with numerous bowls of nettle soup that still burn at your throat with every swallow, vegetable broth for more sustenance and countless naps to no improvement. Halsin has been trying to distract himself with whittling, but it is not proving successful – lopping off half of the duck’s beak when you stir momentarily. He’s checked your temperature with the back of his hand too many times to count. There’s a taunting rattle from your lungs between bouts of sharp coughing fits that doesn’t seem to be easing either. The nettle soup should’ve broken your fever at least – he hadn’t encountered one in all his years that it had failed to do so – but you seem to be growing worse by the hour.

He watches as you toss and turn, brushing your hair from your face. You’ve done so much for him – freed him from the goblins, ensured the safety of the Grove and its occupants, defended him whilst he recovered Thaniel, freed a realm from the shadowcurse of beyond a century and yet he cannot return a simple favour by ridding you of a fever?

“Is she sick?”

“Thaniel.” Halsin’s starts at the sudden appearance of the spirit. The boy is knelt besides him, staring down curiously at your slumbering form. “What are you doing here, my friend?”

“Your party hasn’t moved on - I wondered why. Is she sick?”

Thaniel remained as curious as ever, it seemed.

Halsin sighs. “Yes, I am afraid so. The fever and cough proves most stubborn – I fear I am depleting this area’s supply of nettles.”

“Nettles?”

“For the soup – it reduces the fever. Or it should.”

Thaniel frowns, leaning over you and taking a cautious sniff. “But she smells of spolar.”

“Spolar?” The word seems vaguely familiar, though it sparks a sinking, sickening feeling in his stomach.

“It will have been a long time since you’ve had to treat it.” The boy shrugs. “A large purple mushroom, remember? Its spores line the lungs – its growth accelerates if surrounded by nettles.”

“No…” It’s as if a hand is squeezing at his heart. “I don’t recall seeing any on our travels out. It would grow so quickly?”

“Nettles are sturdy enough even for the shadowcurse, so when it was lifted it had probably laid dormant beneath the soil until the time came. How long have you been treating her?”

“Nearly two moons – numerous bowls of nettle soup.” Halsin’s face has drained of all colour. “By Silvanus, I’ll have been nourishing the infection itself.”

“You did not mean to,” Thaniel replied, patting Halsin on his thigh. “Do not fret. Vapours from a wilted Sussur Bloom will clear the lungs when inhaled, suspending any further spread. Then she will just need rest.”

“A wilted…” He gets to his feet, his mind whirring with the next steps. “I must make haste back to the Underdark – I could be there and back by night fall with the aid of sigil circles.”

He hurries out of his tent, finding Gale sat outside of his, camped a stone’s throw away, and a large tome in his lap.

“Halsin,” Gale starts cautiously, setting down his book at the wood elf's urgency. “Is something the matter?”

“Everything.” The druid drops to his knees and empties out his pack – planning to stuff it full of as much Sussur Bloom as he can lay his hands upon. “I made her worse. She’s inhaled the spore of the spolar.”

“The spore of what? And how could you have made her worse?” Gale quirks an eyebrow, trying to keep up. He has never seen the wood elf so flustered. “I don’t understand.”

“Spolar… the spores line the airways. It feeds and thrives upon other vegetation – I’ve been giving her nettle soup. She told me it burnt and I insisted she eat more. And she did, because she trusted me.”

“Oh. Well, you didn’t know-”

“I should’ve known!” Halsin explodes in response, his voice echoing around their encampment. “I need to go to the Underdark, I-” He gets up to his feet and immediately stumbles, catching himself before he could fall. Gale is quick to stand in front of him, hands held up to try in a feeble attempt to stop the wood elf leaving.

“Halsin, when is the last time you rested?”

“It matters not-”

“It very much does.” Gale chides. “Look at you – you are in no fit state to look after yourself, let alone gallivant off to the Underdark.”

“What the hells is going on?” Astarion appears the other side of Gale, drawn out by Halsin’s outburst.  

“I must set this right. I cannot allow her to suffer a moment longer due to my negligence-“

“Okay, I’m sensing there’s a lot more to your feelings here, but allow me to assure you that we all care about her. Allow us to assist you, to aid you in whatever you need in this moment.”

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Astarion almost stomps his foot, never one to be ignored.

Halsin sighs, running a large palm down his face. Gale is right – he is exhausted, unable to enter a state of reverie in the past days in fear of you needing him.

“A Sussur Bloom. I need to retrieve one from the Underdark.”

Gale frowns. “But they don’t work outside the Underdark.“

“Wilted ones, they-"

“Wilted, you say?” Astarion looks at his fingernails for imaginary dirt. “I’ve got a handful in my pack still, I’m sure.”

Halsin sets off running in the direction of the vampire’s tent and his pack, Astarion hot on his heels.

“Now, wait a moment!”

--

Halsin won’t look at you.

You’d woken up, confusingly, back in your own tent two days later to Gale sat by your side and your fever broken. Your voice was still a little hoarse and walking around the camp left you all but winded, but that was meant to pass in another day or two, then the plan was to finally set off towards Baldur’s Gate.

You’d felt bad for holding the party up for so long, but everyone has been rather kind about the delay, doting on you a little more than you’d like.

All but Halsin, really, who stares over your head – not a hard feat given his height, true – but still, it smarts when you cannot catch his eye, especially when it was something you used to achieve so easily. He appears to leave the campsite before dawn and returns for supper, though he moves away from the campfire when you take your place, thanking Gale for the meal before hurrying off.

It’s driving you mad.

Tonight, though, you have a plan. You took supper back to your tent, feigning the need for an early night to your companions and lying in wait for Halsin to depart the camp once more.

You find the elf stood at the very edge of the lake, standing in the shallow waters as it laps to and fro, hands held behind his back.

You approach cautiously, conscious of disturbing a meditation or ritual the ex-archdruid might be partaking in, but it seems he is already acutely aware of your presence.

“There’s a chill in the air tonight.” His voice is firm – you can imagine him using the same tone when he was chairing heated discussions amongst the other druids back at the Emerald Grove. “You should go back to camp and keep warm by the fire at least if you find yourself restless.”

“Halsin,” you choose to ignore him as you wring your hands together and take another step closer. “Have I… offended you in some way?”

“Offended? Never.” Still, he keeps his head turned away from you.

“I apologise sincerely if I said something that upset you whilst I was sick. I’m afraid I don’t recall much of the time in your tent – it’s all a bit of a haze.”

“That’s understandable. You were…” His breath hitches, as if it’s painful to remember. “..quite unwell. But, no, you did not say anything malicious or cruel – it is not in your nature.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

His biceps tense as he brings his arms back in front of him, his shoulders heaving up with a breath before dropping back down as he swings round on his heels. He meets your eyes for a second or two before his gaze moves back above your head, as if something was extremely interesting in the distance.

“There.” A forced smile – it doesn’t reach the wood elf’s eyes by a mile. “Now, will you go back to the camp?”

“No.” You huff, taking a step closer.

“Please. Your lungs are not fully recovered yet and the chill tonight will do you no favours.”

“I’m not going back until you look me in the eyes and tell me what I’ve done to be treated this way.” You stand firm, stubborn.

He sighs, seemingly exasperated at the conversation. “You have not done anything, my h… friend.”

“I must have done something.”

“You are mistaken.”

 “No, I’m not.” You retort back, placing your hands on your hips. “Ever since you healed me, you’ve been-”

“Healed you?” He scoffs, derisively, meeting your eyes at last with a furrowed brow. “Healed you? I did no such thing - I made you worse!”

You stare for a moment, bemused. “What? Worse how?”

“You said the nettle soup was burning your throat, you told me multiple times and I dismissed you saying it for not liking the taste, not of a symptom. Every time I had you drink it, I was giving the infection what it needed to thrive. I was killing you.”

“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t remember that.” And you don’t, everything’s hazy – vague memories of cooling compresses on your head, a supportive arm around your waist as you drank from a waterskin. “Why would I keep drinking it if it hurt?”

“Because,” he takes a shuddering breath, “we made a deal.”

“A deal about what?”

“I beg of you not to make me relive my shame.” Halsin sounds defeated, but you continue to push.

“A deal about what?”

“I… I told you of how the children in the Grove took their medicine under the promise they would receive something sweet when they were better. Honeycakes, candied fruits, the like. You…” His voice grows tight. “You asked for something else sweet.”

You feel your face flush, a hazy, whisp of a memory now becoming crystal clear. “A kiss.”

The wood elf’s shoulders shudder. “I took advantage of your trust in me.”

“Advantage?”

“Of your feverish state.”

“I’m the one who suggested the kiss.”

“And I’m the one who agreed due to my own selfish desires, ignoring what my patient was trying to tell me.”

“No, you thought you were doing the right thing. We all make mistakes, or misinterpret. I’m fine.” You wrap your hand around his forearm as best as you can, trying to tug him forward. “Besides the whole tadpole in my head, of course…”

He smiles, wryly, at your poor joke, though you see tears burn at his eyes. “I just… I cannot stand the thought that I have caused you harm, little one – intentional or otherwise.”

“You haven’t, Halsin.” You place your other hand tentatively on his chest and look up, feeling his heart beat beneath your fingertips. “I am well and, if you were still willing, I’m ready for my sweet.”

He shakes his head. “As much as my heart desires it – and it does - I do not deserve it.”

“Am I not allowed to be the judge of that? And I say a deal is a deal.”

“You… truly wish for it still?”

You stand up on your very tip toes and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, as far as you can reach. “More than ever.”

A firm arm wraps delicately around your waist – cautious of squeezing you too firmly – and heaves you up easily against his firm chest, his other hand cupping your cheek as he captures your lips in a kiss. It is soft and delicate, as if he’s worried you’ll break, but when you lift your hand to tangle in his locks and tug to bring him closer and deepening the kiss, there is no mistaking the growl that emits from his throat when your tongues intertwine.

As soon as you drop your hand from his hair, he retreats too, dropping you back down carefully to the ground, eyes scanning you in concern.

“You’re breathless, my heart.” You feel your cheeks prickle with heat at the term of endearment. “And flush too. Please, I insist you go back and keep warm-"

You cut him off, pressing your fingers against his lips, exhaling breathily. “Two things. One, I’m breathless because of your kiss. Two, I’m flush because of your words - what sort of reaction am I meant to have to you calling me that?”

He lifts his own hand then to hold yours in place so he can kiss the fingertips pressed against his lips, before tugging your hand back down and interlacing your fingers.

“My heart, my love, my sun, my moon, my stars - so many things I wish to call you whilst I lavish you with affection from dusk till dawn, and dawn till dusk… if you’d allow me, that is.”

“Allow?” You smile, “I encourage – heartily.”

It happens too fast to comprehend, a gentle twist of your arm to twirl you in front of him before one arm wraps around the back of your knees and you are swept off your feet, the wood elf commencing large strides back towards the camp.

“Then I insist we return to your tent where you will have as many sweets as you desire.”

“Oh, my tent now, is it?” You tease. “I thought I had to go and stay warm by the fire.”

 “Yes, but, lucky for you,” he smirks, “I am known to run quite hot.”

--

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[fellthemarvelous]

Aziraphale hate makes my brain hurt.

Like let's be really fuckin' for real here.

Neurodivergent fans have repeatedly said that Aziraphale is autistic coded. I agree with them. I have never been diagnosed but I wonder about myself. If only I could get a doctor to take me seriously enough to test me for it, but alas, I'm a 43-year-old woman living in the good ole US of A.

Those with religious trauma have repeatedly said that they identify with him as well. I'm one of those people. I endured 12 years of Catholic schools and just as much time being taught a very black and white view of things that I've had to spend more than 20 goddamn fucking years working to unlearn.

I find that my views as a survivor of religious abuse are often dismissed because people keep wanting to say "Aziraphale doesn't have religious trauma." Yes, thank you, I get that, but unless you've been indoctrinated and brainwashed into a very black and white view of the world, you probably don't understand the kind of feelings Aziraphale's onscreen experiences evoke in so many of us. Heaven might not be real, but the feelings of "God is always watching" still stick with me today even though I no longer believe in God. I have entirely denounced Christianity because of my own personal experience, and I refuse to allow people to try and guilt me or shame me for trauma that I didn't ask for. I wasn't given a choice.

As a child I was told that God was real and always watching everything you do (just like Santa Claus) and can hear everything you say and knows everything you are thinking. Do you know what I learned to do in order to cope with this overwhelming and anxiety-inducing information as a small child? I learned to censor my thoughts. I never spoke up, and I have always felt like I was putting on a show for people because I had to be who I was told to be or I would get into trouble.

Aziraphale said "poverty is a virtue" during The Resurrectionists, and as someone who grew up in the Bible belt and went to private schools, I was taught this very same shit by the Catholic church. He learned in that very same episode that "poverty is a virtue" is actually a tool of oppression to keep the poor poor and the wealthy wealthy. I know we all watched the episode. He went into that episode believing what he said, but by the end of it he knew it was actually utter bullshit. Aziraphale is not ignorant. He's highly intelligent, and he has never been too proud to admit when he has been wrong. He accepts that the information he learned before is not matching up with reality.

And it's so obvious some of you have zero experience with that type of indoctrination because of how very little empathy you show Aziraphale for his "mistake" of "choosing Heaven over Crowley" and "making Crowley sad" so clearly Aziraphale must somehow be "abusive" and "manipulative" and "selfish" and "self-centered" because he didn't choose to run away with Crowley at the end of season two.

First of all.

FIRST OF ALL...

Aziraphale has a mind of his own.

Aziraphale is always going to try and do what is right.

Aziraphale is an angel. He's a being of love. And the reason he's so "bad" at being an angel is because he actually wants to protect humanity. He has always loved humanity. He repeatedly has to contend with what is "right" versus what is "good" and "wrong" versus "evil". Yeah, he has flaws. He's an angel, not a goddamn fucking saint. He has lived on Earth for more than 6,000 years. He has seen everything. He loves doing human things.

He's obsessed with magic. It makes him so happy. He's not very good at it...well not when he's trying to put on a show for Crowley.

He chose to learn French the hard way, so even though he knows every single language in the world, he chooses to be mediocre at French. Something that annoys and amuses Crowley at the same time.

He loves to dance even though angels aren't supposed to dance, and dancing with Crowley was what he wanted the most.

He owns a bookshop and refuses to sell any of his books because they are books he's had for as long as there have been books. He will chase customers away from his collection, and Crowley understands how much they mean to Aziraphale because he refuses to sell any when Aziraphale leaves him in charge.

He and Crowley have been speaking to each other in coded language for more than 6,000 years. They have to be very careful about what they say because Heaven and Hell are always watching.

Heaven has photographs of Crowley and Aziraphale sitting or standing together throughout history. Hell had one photo of Crowley and Aziraphale actually working together and it was Aziraphale's quick thinking and how good he actually is at sleight of hand tricks that managed to get that photo out of Furfur's hands so he wouldn't be able to turn Crowley over to the Dark Council.

Aziraphale saved Crowley from being taken to Hell again. He wasn't able to save Crowley from Hell in Edinburgh, but he sure as heck managed to save Crowley from Hell during WWII. He took Crowley to his bookshop and showed Crowley that he stole the picture from Furfur. He saved Crowley.

You get that, right?

Aziraphale SAVED Crowley.

People always talk about how it's "always Crowley saving Aziraphale" because apparently heroic acts are only heroic when they are grand gestures. The sleight of hand wasn't heroic at all, am I right? It wasn't sparkly and showy. It wasn't interesting enough, therefore not heroic. At least that's all I'm hearing when people start with their "blah Aziraphale deserves to suffer because I have no imagination or ability to understand the media in front of me blah", and all these reasons he deserves to suffer is because Crowley almost got hurt.

Aziraphale did that without flinching and I watch that part closely every single time. He's not scared for himself. He's scared for Crowley, and he managed to hold onto that photograph. He did not fail Crowley. He protected Crowley.

And so here's another thing that we like to point out. The way that Aziraphale, an angel who is effeminate and male presenting, an angel who is soft and full of love, an angel who is kind and forgiving because he has empathy and compassion, is somehow painted as abusive and manipulative. He's not violent, but he could easily fuck up your world. He doesn't use his powers. We have no idea how powerful he is because we only ever see him do small acts. He's used to hiding. It's the only way he has ever been able to protect Crowley.

And I'm not saying that Aziraphale has actually saved Crowley before means that Crowley hasn't also saved Aziraphale. Like, you get that those are not mutually exclusive and their relationship is not transactional, right? They have spent their entire existence protecting each other but never actually getting to be together because Heaven and Hell are always watching.

Yeah, Crowley fell. We all know this. We are aware of this. He was the serpent of Eden. He gave humanity the knowledge of free will.

But what we don't talk about is what Aziraphale gave humanity.

What did he give them?

We all know what it is!

Let's say it together!

He gave Adam and Eve his flaming sword because it was dangerous outside the garden and Eve was pregnant and she was already having a really bad day. He showed them compassion and gave them his extremely powerful angelic weapon so they would stand a chance on the outside of the garden. He gave humanity the gift of compassion. It's just unfortunate that his flaming sword became a weapon of War.

And then what did he do after that?

Ooooh, yeah, that's right.

God asked him about it and he straight up lied to her and pretended he had no idea where he'd managed to misplace it. She didn't say anything after that. He told Crowley the truth though. He told Crowley the truth even though Crowley fell.

Yeah, we know Aziraphale has done some really fucking questionable things. He and Crowley both suck at passing for human in front of observant people like Nina. They're not human. They are still learning, but they managed to experience human history together despite being on opposite sides and their experiences with humanity are what has shaped them into the compassionate and loving duo they are now. One of them is not better from the other.

This, my friends, is what we call meeting in the middle. It's why shades of gray is so important. Aziraphale constantly breaks the rules. Crowley refused to play by Heaven's rules. It's the reason he fell. He doesn't play by Hell's rules either. These two dorks figured out how to cancel each others' miracles out throughout human history in order to have more time learning about humanity and each other because working all day every day sucks when there are so many new things to learn and experience with the people you love.

We know Crowley and Aziraphale both love each other. Neither of them are good at hiding the hearts stars in their eyes.

But here's what's really fucking annoying about the Aziraphale hate.

Aziraphale was already crying when Crowley grabbed him and kissed him. Aziraphale is trying so very hard to do the right thing. He loves Crowley. He does. But he also has a duty to humanity, and he has taken that job very seriously since the creation of Adam and Eve. He sent them out into the world with a flaming sword so they would have a chance at surviving beyond the walls of the garden.

And he knows that Something Terrible is going to happen and he spent all of second season trying to figure out what that Something Terrible was while trying to have some sort of more honest and open relationship with Crowley, but again, they aren't human, they are a demon and an angel approaching life from opposite sides who met in the middle and fell in love with humanity together.

He wants more than anything to tell Crowley how he feels about him, but he wants to do something grand for Crowley because Crowley has always been grand and dramatic and sexy and a little bit scary.

Crowley is impulsive and has a temper and sometimes says the wrong thing but he has always trusted Aziraphale because Aziraphale gave him a chance even after he fell. Aziraphale chose to shelter him instead of smiting him while they stood on top of that wall. He knew he was supposed to kill Crowley, but oops, he gave his sword away to the humans so he didn't really have anything to kill him with and Crowley is the one who created nebulas. The Pillars of Creation is Crowley's work and Aziraphale was there to witness that, but he watched Crowley more than he watched the nebula. He witnessed the pure joy on Crowley's face when he said "let there be light" as a nebula full of colors exploded before their eyes. He was fascinated by Crowley.

But Aziraphale is going back to Heaven even though he has made it perfectly clear he absolutely has no desire to go back to Heaven. He told the Metatron this during their conversation. He spoke these words out loud. They exist.

But then The Metatron said this....

The Metatron. The very same angel who told Aziraphale in season one "to speak to me is to speak to the Almighty." He's the boss. He's the big guy. He's used to existing as a giant head and he had to give himself a body so he wouldn't stand out on Earth. And he knows that Aziraphale and Crowley have been working together since the beginning. He knows they worked together to prevent Armageddon in season one, and now he's made it clear he knows they were working together long before that. And let's face it, Aziraphale really wants to know what this Something Terrible is that Gabriel is running from so he can try to prevent it from happening.

It makes sense that he would want to take Crowley to Heaven with him because he would be able to keep Hell from getting their hands on him again. Aziraphale hates it in Heaven. He doesn't want to go, but Something Terrible is happening and Metatron isn't taking no for an answer, and maybe Heaven won't be so bad if Crowley is there with him. At least they can fix Heaven together.

But Crowley can't go back. We all get that. We don't blame him for saying no. It doesn't change anything.

Something Terrible is about to happen and Aziraphale has to figure out what it is. He wants to change Heaven.

He is fully aware that Heaven sucks. He still has faith in God. His faith isn't in Heaven. He deserted his platoon in season one and threw himself back to Earth so he could figure out how to make sure the war between Heaven and Hell doesn't happen.

But see, here's the thing. Heaven is at the top. Heaven has all the resources. Heaven is responsible for the creation of Hell. Heaven is empty and Hell is overpopulated. Aziraphale knows this. Crowley knows this. It's obvious every time we see either place. Both sides are desperate to go to war and will not hesitate to destroy humanity in the process. This is the opposite of what Crowley and Aziraphale want for humanity. If anyone can change Heaven, it's Aziraphale. He's the only one up there who gives a shit about humanity as far as we know. No one else is going to speak on humanity's behalf.

Some of us are so busy getting mad at Aziraphale for going back to Heaven and giving Crowley a Big Sad. Newsflash: Crowley is not the main character of Good Omens. Aziraphale and Crowley are equals, yet we wanna hold Aziraphale to higher standards because he's an angel, and when he makes mistakes it's proof that he's the bad guy.

Holy mother of all things that trigger my religious trauma, let me tell you. I spent my entire life hating myself every time I made mistakes. I've had to teach myself that just because I mess up sometimes doesn't mean I'm bad. It means I'm human. I still struggle with it. I probably always will. So when you say that Aziraphale deserves to be punished for breaking Crowley's heart, you not only ignore that Aziraphale's heart is also broken, you're saying he deserves to be punished for doing what he thinks is right.

Wanting to change Heaven for the better is not a bad thing.

And some of y'all wanna see him suffer for going back into the lion's den that is Heaven, knowing that he is already an outcast, that they have already tried to kill him once, knowing that he is a deserter, that he has been lying to Heaven about a lot of things, and you still think he's blinded by Heaven? You think he's just so naive and that's the only reason he's going back. He doesn't show his emotions the same way Crowley does so it means he doesn't care as much. He's expected to consider Crowley's feelings over his own when making choices. Like holy shit if all of that hasn't defined my experience as a woman with religious trauma in this fucking society. He's expected to be subservient to Crowley and if he doesn't do what Crowley wants then he's being unreasonable and illogical.

What the actual fuck, y'all.

Like seriously.

I'm sick of this bullshit. I had to step away from this fandom because of how toxic some people in this fandom are. It's not chasing me away, but the fact that I chose to hang out in a a more toxic fandom that is already notorious for being really toxic over a fandom that claims to be more open-minded and welcoming should probably tell you something.

It gave me a lot of perspective, and yeah, I'm still gonna speak up against the bullshit Aziraphale hate.

People are entitled to their opinions, but the Aziraphale hate isn't an opinion. It's just ableist, misogynistic garbage. At this point we all know y'all say these extreme things about Aziraphale because y'all get more joy out of the harm and alienation it is causing others.

Keep being loudly wrong, but if you think I'm not entitled to challenge shitty-ass, harmful, hateful discourse, bite my ass.

I'm not the one who lost the plot in this fandom.

[twstowo]

Hi, there! :D

Okay, I ended up getting crushed (in a good way) by the: True love's kiss, but he's not the one. But what if we up the ante on anguish and pain? In another example and characters?

That the boys who kissed the prefect (Sebek, Ace, Floyd and Cater) saw that his "best friend" (Silver, Deuce, Jade and Trey) managed to wake up the prefect by kissing them proving that him are his true love💔

I think that would be much more painful to see, that your most loved person already has their loved one and it's not you.

But hey, it's an idea that occurred to me, I'll leave it in your hands if you want to do it. No pressure! Your twst writings are so entertaining <3

♡︎I took way to long to write this, sorry!!! I just kept on writing more and more and more.

♡︎As an Angst fan this was purelly briliant, I might write this prompt with more characters in the future!

♡︎Warning: Angst ofc

⋆⋅☆Sebek

When he learned of the spell that had befallen you, he hurriedly made his way to find you as swiftly as possible. Many were impressed by the unusual sight of him forsaking his duties, yet had they witnessed the concern etched across his face as he dashed through the school's hallways, it would have unveiled the depth of his worry.

Discovering you peacefully asleep in the infirmary, a serenity washed over you that made him yearn for the days when your exasperated expression met his loud voice, longing to hear your requests for help with homework. He sighed, a sigh not of annoyance, but rather of the realization that you had been ensnared by a sleeping spell – a rather foolish predicament, he mused. Nevertheless, his true sentiments lay in the admission that weeks ago, he had acknowledged his profound feelings for you.

Summoning the courage to kiss you, he envisioned your smile and your eyes meeting his. Yet, as he leaned in with hope, only to find you still unconscious, a surge of rage consumed him, making him leave the room with heavy steps.

By the end of the day, guilt had settled within him, recognizing the immaturity of his earlier outburst. Compelled to address his mistake, he visited you, only to be met with the sight of Silver tenderly kissing your slumbering form. Frozen in place, he observed the scene unfold until your eyes fluttered open, and you exchanged an enamored smile with Silver, your hand gently caressing his face.

Retreating from view without being noticed, he adopted an uncharacteristic coldness in his next encounters with Silver and you. In training sessions with Silver, he became a forceful contender, driven to win, yet even here, victory seemed to elude him.

With time, he allowed those emotions to vanish, redirecting his focus to his role as a knight, dedicated to safeguarding Malleus.

Love, he concluded, was never intended for one whose sole pursuit was the protection of his liege.

⋆⋅☆Ace

Ace and Deuce were around when the spell hit you. They were a mess, trying to figure out how to wake you up. When they thought about the true love kiss, things got awkward. Ace noticed Deuce blushing at your sleeping form. He shook off the idea that Deuce might like you because, according to Ace, you preferred spending time with him. You always came to him first in the morning, helped him with school stuff, and he was sure that if he kissed you, you'd wake up because you loved him as much as he loved you.

So, why didn’t you wake up when he kissed you? And why did you wake up when Deuce did?

Was Ace that blind? He didn't even remember you and Deuce being that close. Well, except for when you chatted in class, sent papers to each other, or when Deuce started giving you cheek kisses. By the Seven, he felt so clueless.

To deal with his feelings, Ace decided to distance himself for a bit. He didn't feel good being around you two. However, being without his closest friends at Night Raven College felt weird.

Sure, Ace could make new friends, but would they ever be as fun as you two?

⋆⋅☆Floyd

Floyd found himself carrying you like a sack of potatoes on his shoulder after overhearing that you had fallen victim to a sleeping spell. In an attempt to wake you up, he sought Azul's expertise to brew a potion. However, as he gently laid you down on the VIP room's sofa, he witnessed Azul becoming uncomfortably affectionate with you. Suppressing the impulse to grab you again, Floyd's told Azul to back off and quickly he got an answer. He listened as Azul explained that a love kiss could wake you up.

In typical Floyd fashion, he took those words like nothing, leaning down to kiss you without considering whether you reciprocated his feelings. In his mind, the two of you were unequivocally in love. So when you didn't wake up, he erupted into a fit of denial, accusing Azul of playing around with him regarding the concept of a love kiss as a cure. Despite his protestations, Azul reassured him that he wasn't lying. Frustrated, Floyd stormed out of the room, leaving behind an aura of annoyance that he redirected towards others, likely ending in detention.

Upon his return, still perturbed by your lack of reciprocation, Floyd witnessed Jade holding your hand as you sat on the sofa, engaged in conversation. Barging in, his gaze pierced you as he interrogated his brother about how you woke up and Jade, with a teasing look, disclosed that he had just kissed you.

Now, Floyd's annoyance escalated as he watched you, the person he harbored feelings for, being affectionate with his brother. In his perception, his own brother had betrayed him. Consumed by anger, it took him weeks to talk with both of you, maintaining a consistently sour mood. However, with time, Floyd moved on, losing his feelings for you. The three of you eventually resumed normal interactions, as Floyd couldn't sustain his frustration with his brother for long.

If Jade was happy with you, Floyd was fine with it.

⋆⋅☆Cater

Cater sprinted to your side as soon as he heard the news of you being placed under a sleeping spell. Worry clouded his thoughts, preventing him from thinking straight as he entered the room. There you were, surrounded by Riddle and Trey, who appeared to be brainstorming a solution to wake you up. Cater observed as Riddle approached him, a slight blush adorning his face, to convey that the apparent cure was a love kiss.

The information left Cater at a loss, unsure of how to navigate the situation. Despite harboring feelings for you and being exceptionally close, he had always believed that your relationship was purely friendly. While he cherished your friendship, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was just one of many in your life. Riddle, always there to assist you with studies, smart, kind, and a housewarden, seemed like a more fitting companion. Adding to the mix were Ace and Deuce, who were constantly by your side, creating a tight-knit trio. Cater vividly remembered the day he invited you to the music club, eager to spend time with you. However, he watched as Kalim quickly captivated your attention with his lively personality. Even though he knew he could have joined the conversation, Cater felt a sense of exclusion. Seeing you so engrossed in Kalim, despite his own efforts to plan a special day for the two of you, made him question his place in your life.

So, he didn’t even entertain the thought of kissing you, he knew deep down that such an action wouldn’t awaken you. His assumption was quickly validated when he returned to the room after his classes to find you awake. And even after assuring himself that you would never love him back, he still felt his heart sank as he witnessed Trey fully captivating your attention.

Even in that moment, you didn’t spare a glance his way, never once acknowledging his presence.

[the-last-thread-of-my-sanity]

I’ve been thinking lately about how much the ‘curse of Ymir’ really does affect the psyche of each of the nine shifters and how it impacts the ending of the story.

Up until the end of Season 3/Chapter 87-88, the reader and the viewer have no idea that the shifters have a limited amount of time to live. They seem to possess this god-like power and they can rejuvenate and survive almost any injury. They seem unstoppable.

This is what motivates Erwin to create a plan to take one of the nine shifter powers with the serum- having another Titan in your arsenal would make a difference in winning the war.

But what the Paradisians don’t know is how holding the power of the Nine just perpetuates a cycle of violence and cruelty. It’s a curse as much as it is a power. No matter how brilliant or grand your scope is for what you can do with this near limitless power, you have to contend with the fact that you will only have thirteen years to do it.

This revelation to me is the what colors the entire last arc of the story leading into and after the time skip.

For Zeke, it amps up the level of desperation he has for accomplishing the euthanization plan- relying on Eren was still a variable that was largely unpredictable, and he trusted him more than he probably would have if he weren’t running out of time.

Going back further in the story, it retroactively explains why Ymir (of the cadet corps) would go back with Reiner and Bertholdt at all- a seemingly nonsensical choice when it seems she has something to live for in her relationship with Krista/Historia. But Ymir knows she has little time left. She has no future. So she chooses to surrender.

For Annie, it shows her desperation to get back to her father, a man who showed her very little affection, and yet if she could just make it back maybe she could live at least a year or two with him and make at least one happy memory with the man who raised her to kill.

Armin, I honestly feel the most for, because what he and everyone else thought of as his salvation, was actually just saddling him with a curse. And heaps of responsibility to try and be grateful for it. He went from a character with a singular and wholesome conviction, to someone wracked with guilt and forced to solve the world’s problems with limited time and resources.

In Reiner’s case, I actually think the fact that he knows he is going to die is the only thing actually keeping him alive in the tail end of the story. He wants so badly to face retribution for his deeds, and he can only find the strength to keep towing the line because he knows his violent demise is guaranteed.

Characters like Pieck and Bertholdt seem to accept their lot in life- but deal with this internally and develop their own sense of morals despite it- albeit in different ways and in Pieck’s case with a shade of pessimism. Falco and Marcel stand out as a characters who see the farce for what it is- but still want to subject themselves to it in order to prevent someone they love from suffering through it in their place.

Eren, though, it’s easy to see how discovering he has already lived more of his life in powerless ignorance than what he has left is what ultimately causes the collapse in his character. Combine that with the way that he sees ‘future memories’ and doesn’t see any future beyond his own, and suddenly you have a naturally impulsive and violent person living in the most fatalistic reality ever. It makes perfect sense that his fall from grace is near immediate and precipitous.

What difference does all that power make if all it means is that you become a tool for destruction with no future? That you will be forced to curse someone else so that this cruel power will continue to exist? That is the true legacy of Ymir and the Eldian Empire- you can have near limitless power, but you will never have true control over your own life.

And it makes for such interesting discussions and questions about power and mortality and agency- and all the seemingly ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’ ways to respond to their dilemma.

Anyway, it is always ‘thinking about the moral quandary of the titan shifters’ hours around here…

[forthegothicheroine]

“The Late Mr. Kent” from Superman the Animated Series is a serious contender for the Superman story of all time.

Clark Kent is the only one to believe that a man condemned to the chair was innocent. Everyone else was eager to assume his guilt because he had a criminal record.

Clark Kent assembles evidence but the real killer sets a bomb in his car, and now Superman has to pretend Clark Kent is dead until he can think of an excuse for him to be alive again.

He complains to his parents “I need to be Clark! I can’t just be Superman all the time, it would drive me nuts!”

Lois cries because she genuinely cared a lot about her colleague.

Lois baits the real killer- a corrupt cop- into attacking her so that Superman can swoop in and catch him.

Superman flies to the jail and physically breaks out the innocent man from the electric chair.

Superman becomes Clark Kent again by claiming to have been injured and lost his memory from the bomb, but thankfully his ex-girlfriend Lana saved him! Lois is relieved but mad that he didn’t call her sooner.

The corrupt cop goes to the chair while still wondering how Kent survived the bomb. In an incredibly dark joke, he thinks in voiceover “Clark Kent is Superman!” and then the switch is pulled. End of episode!

[y-rhywbeth2]

Lore: Baldur's Gate #3

The Law and Legal System

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. There's a lot of lore; I don't know everything. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

The City #1 | Demographics | Law & Legal System | Administration & Government | ??? - WIP

There is a surprising amount of information on laws, and also on the legal system and law enforcement of Baldur's Gate. ...And it's fucking terrible! This is so long because there's so. Much. Terrible.

OK, let's see... corruption, corruption, corruption... • 9/10 crimes never go to trial: the police are your judge, jury and executioners. You do have rights; let's hope they care. • The four classifications of crimes. (Nobles get away with so much. Also, frankly, the clergy.) • The Flaming Fist - the police, the military and the secret police in one nifty corrupt package. • Courts of Law and Magistrates • Alternate courses of justice: The Crews. Also, have you considered praying for your tormentor's horrible death? No, seriously. • The Code Legal: the actual laws, the crimes and their punishments • How the temples might self-police and how a recap on how the law gets... flexible with evil-aligned faiths.

Arrests and Processing Crimes

Baldur's Gate, like most of the Western Heartlands (and frankly, a lot of Faerûn beyond that), follows the precedent set by the Warerdhavian Code Legal in setting its laws. Local variations may occur, but they're near enough the same.

The Code lays down the crimes, which are matched to whatever punishment the law of the land has deemed appropriate.

For the most part, where the Gate is concerned, this usually leads to "cut and dry" cases. The crime and accused will be assessed by a member of the Flaming Fist (or the Watch, if it's in the upper city) who will make their own judgement as to guilt and follow out the punishment as laid down in the Code.

Crimes only go to court in one of two conditions, firstly that the officer assessing the crime doesn't feel that the situation is clear enough for them to make a judgement - and secondly, when high ranking members of society (Patriars, clergy, etc) for whatever reason want to step in and have it taken to court.

The majority of crimes will never see court. "Flaming Fist patrols react to threats with indiscriminate violence," and even those that don't often turn a blind eye.

The extremes seen in the 15th century are a reaction to the increase in the intrigues of the Upper City and the crime rate of the more recent Outer City both spreading into the Lower City. Now the average citizen contends with both of those and police brutality every day. Even prior to the foundation of the Outer City, policing was heavy due to the strength and spread of the Thieves Guid.

There is something of a 75% chance that arrests will not follow protocol: those members of the Fist not inclined to police brutality and starting "bidding wars" (whoever can offer the highest bribe is let go: everyone else gets arrested) are often too overwhelmed with a myriad of other crimes they're trying to handle. The Watch is less inclined to violence and corruption (at least, in comparison), but they're also the Upper City's personal guard and prone to discriminate heavily against the poor (or those who look it) in their arrests.

Due to the upper classes being notoriously self-interested and corrupt, and judges often being in the pocket of the Thieves Guild, there is also little trust in any justice coming from there. Ulder Ravengard certainly doesn't have any. Ulder has been commander since 1482 DR, and held high rank and influence before that. He is "the incarnation of militarism", and his stance when directing the Fist has been of the "the ends justify the means" variety. There is a chance that in 1482, due to Bhaal - at the time too weak to directly influence people - subconsciously urging him to give into his dictatorship leanings and "murderous intentions", that Ulder also led the Fist into an even darker place involving military law and a lot of mutilation and murder, but I'm uncertain how much of that is part of mainstream canon.

Often, if the accused is a noble or a high ranking member of the clergy and the crime is not "serious", they will be let go - perhaps with a slap on the wrist. These groups also tend to police their own behind closed doors to avoid public backlash and scandals.

"Nobles enjoy many protections under the law and in some cases can escape punishment for assault, provocation, or the outright murder of a commoner."

Generally though, they'll avoid such obvious and crude crimes. A lot of noble crimes and schemes involve hiring adventurers - outsiders with no connection to the city or protection under the law - to do their dirty work. More serious crimes will either never see the light of day, or if it can't be hidden, scapegoating and appeasement will follow.

Crimes are only crimes within the confines of the land in question. A crime in Baldur's Gate is not a crime outside its walls, and if a crime without those walls is committed then the legal system of the Gate has no jurisdiction with which to arrest of punish the offender. As such clergy and nobles who must be punished may well receive temporary exile, where they will be appointed to a different temple/sent to live with relatives somewhere else in the realms.

Crimes are also not necessarily crimes if the victim in question is not a citizen (generally classified as never having had their name on official city documentation or owned property within the city).

Technically visitors and foreign agents to the city should have licenses marking them as such and stating that their presence in the city is legal. Without these permits their lives are forfeit to the whims of the "important people". Technically new arrivals should be told by officials stationed at the city gates to report to the High Hall to be interviewed (in case the individual means harm to the city) and then handed their license, but your average visitor is never even told of this law.

"Outer City residents are classified as "visiting economic interests," which affords them some rights. However, with a word from a duke of a peer, that classification could change to "visiting diplomat," which offers numerous perks, or "invader," which is essentially a death sentence." - Murder in Baldur's Gate

Baldur's Gate will nevertheless strive not to be an obviously oppressive hellhole however, as trade cities wish to show a welcoming and tolerant face to the world: merchants will not come if they feel they will be risking their safety. In fact visiting merchants, particularly wealthy ones, are liable to receive somewhat better treatment than the average permanent citizen of the Gate.

Covert corruption is favoured:

"Any rigging of results must be done behind the scenes rather than in public. For instance, you could avoid someone’s being brought to trial, or arrange a prisoner escape."

Offenses are split into four categories:

1) Crimes Against the Lords The name may be subject to change, depending on region and governance; it's likely slightly different in Baldur's Gate. This is essentially crimes against the state officials and nobility.

2) Crimes Against the City Arson, littering, public brawling, carrying weapons in public, etc.

3) Crimes Against the Gods Blasphemy against the gods and their servants (who are their own, outside the box tier of nobles, in a way)

4) Crimes Against Citizens "Low level" offenses that don't threaten to upset anybody important or disrupt the city functioning.

Different realms and city states will also have their own unique laws, for example it's illegal in Baldur's Gate to disobey an order from an officer of the Fist if they're in uniform under threat of martial discipline (loss of an ear, a hand, their tongue, or even their life). While theoretically, this law exists for emergencies, it is very much abused for personal gain.

As said, generally the handling of crimes won't progress past the jurisdiction of the Flaming Fist - who hold many roles: mercenary company, city military, city police, "secret police" (spymaster is a position within the organisation and plainclothes officers are everywhere)... and generally, studying the pattern, it seems that one of the Grand Dukes on the Council of Four is going to be their commander.

Generally, candidates seeking to join the Fist are screened for "strong loyalty and stronger morals." Not sure that's working.

There are usually a few rules regarding investigations amongst Faerûnian law enforcement which should be followed (and watched closely public scrutiny to ensure it is):

• Confiscated items may not be kept. When searching a location, nothing except evidence is to be confiscated. • Items must be returned to their owners, if identified. • Citizens must be kept informed of the whys and hows of an investigation: when you disrupt daily life, somebody must be on hand to answer their questions and explain - leaving out no detail - what is happening and why. "Authorities have very few justifiable grounds for not telling citizens anything they ask about (though “the king’s will” [government business, for which Baldurians would use a different term] is a justifiable ground)." • Magic and magical items involved in the crime must be examined, and typically dispelled, and citizens must be told "the whole truth about what magic was found, where it came from, and what it was intended for" • Disputes over property must be handled in public.

By the 15th century, the organisation has been noted to have become insanely corrupt. Should the Flaming Fist lapse into illegal behaviours like vigilantism, kangaroo courts and police brutality (including cutting out people's tongues and hanging them in their own doorways), the government will generally do nothing to intervene, as long as it doesn't start to affect the patriars (who make up said government). If the commander - or acting commander - happens to be corrupt then the whole organisation generally goes downhill.

If Orin and the Dark Urge have been doing their jobs right, then the ranks of the Fist may have been infiltrated by Bhaalists, who will be subtly engaging in and pushing for aforementioned police corruption where they can get away with it:

"Several Deathbringers have managed to become city rulers or the heads of city law-keeping forces—and their minions now stalk the night streets slaying undesirables and rivals to increase their wealth and tighten their rule. Increasingly, Deathbringers seek positions where they can live comfortably, make lots of coin, and kill often with few consequences. Adventurers far from home are godsend targets, as are outlaws or brigands; few care if such folk meet a bloody doom." - Elminster's Forgotten Realms

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Legal Courts

Should a case proceed to the courts it will be taken before one of the dukes, presided over in the courts at the High Hall. There was an attempted (and failed) coup by Grand Duke Valarken a few decades back to seize control of the city saw the patriars succeed in a naked power grab and the establishment of the Parliament of Peers, a governing body composed of mostly patriars and a smattering of Guildmasters and the other wealthy, who can buy and network/kiss enough patriar asses to elbow their way into power.

The dukes have since been able to delegate cases to one of the peers, who will serve as magistrate in their place. This worked out pretty well at first, and then went downhill:

"Proxy judges are not paid a salary, yet a temporary assignment to the High Hall's bench is a plum duty for any patriar, because hefty gifts and bribes flow to the judges from the [Thieves] Guid, from those grateful to be exonerated, and from those hoping to be exonerated."

For patriars who were called upon to handle a case the High Hall has several small libraries containing legal books, civic documentation (tax, property, censuses, etc etc), past court records and other relevant information to aid them with their duty. The libraries are also a disorganised mess, and volunteers from the local Oghmanyte clergy (followers of the god of knowledge, which technically includes legal lore) have their hands full trying to organise it and seem to be the only people who know how to find anything in there.

I have no information on how the court worked prior to the formation of the Peers in the 15th century, but if the Council of Four delegated back then then they most likely still picked from amongst the same people - the wealthy, mostly patriar, citizens of the Upper City who would be in their social and business circles enough for them to know each other.

If the accused desires legal defence, they have a few options.

In order for a legal representative to be considered valid, the court must be informed of your choice ahead of the court date. Sometimes it's only permitted to people who would struggle to represent themselves due to disability or language barriers (Common is not useful for daily conversation, let alone complex legal proceedings).

Baldur's Gate, unusually, has a few rare official barristers one may hire to represent one in court. These are generally far out of the pay range of the average citizen.

"The Realms does not have lawyers, robed and wigged or otherwise. There are some “advocates,” paid orators who will speak in court (always in the presence of an accused, not appearing in their stead) and who might know something of the law and can give advice to an accused. Some advocates are real performers who mimic the voices of people, act out scenes, tell jokes, and engage in furious debate in court—which, being great entertainment, is seldom cut short even by angry judges or rulers, because the commoners like it." - Elminster's Forgotten Realms

Tyrran clergy are also willing to defend the innocent and ensure that trials are fair and free of corruption, and the two groups are likely to overlap:

"In civilised areas (settlements), Tyrrans (inevitably called "tyrants" behind their back by nonbelievers) become legal experts and serve as the lawyers of Faerûn by dispensing advice and "speaking for" accused persons in trials." - Faiths and Avatars

(They still tend to charge for the service, although some will likely go pro bono as Tyrrans are also meant to be devoted to righting wrongs and ensuring the law serves the good of the people) Tyrrans are not a major faith in Baldur's Gate and don't wield a lot of influence, however - and to make matters worse, Tyr has been dead for a generation, and while the god returned in the Second Sundering, his clergy are still in recovery.

Magistrates may have the right to call upon divination spells - cast by mages or clergy - to root out the truth, although the wealthy and the nobility often have privileges and rights regarding this that are unavailable to the common class.

- Alternative Justice

As the citizens do not trust their legal system an inch, the common people band together in informal groups called "crews" for mutual protection. How they function depends on the crew (guarding each other's property, self-policing a shared street or neighbourhood, pooling funds, simply backing you up if you get mugged, etc)

The Gate has an unofficial system called burl, if you're fleeing persecution, be it from criminals or the Fist, and knock on a door three times the people inside owe you shelter and safety, no questions asked.

Another alternate route of justice exists - turning to the gods.

Tyrrans seek out criminals who escaped their sentence and slipped through the cracks - if you can't be brought to justice, they will bring it to you. They also work to change or protect laws for the betterment of people. Prior to the Spellplague Tyr's portfolio concerned the letter of the law, however during his death that passed to Torm (god of loyalty, and thus now loyalty to whatever my liege says is the law) and Tyr's focus is on benevolent readings of the spirit of the law. As said, they have been out of commission for around a generation, so Tyrran activity in the city will only have resumed with legal and divine backing for about a decade or two.

Ilmatari are permitted a tenday's worth of respite, where Ilmater temporarily releases from their vows - technically this is time meant for self-care and mental health, but Ilmatari have been known to use this freedom from their oath of non-violence to shank abusers and tyrants. They also engage in non-violent forms of protest and disruption against corruption and cruelty while under their oaths, and it's generally not a good idea to harm them because Ilmatari are very popular amongst the common people of Faerûn for their charity work.

There is a Helmite faction within the Gate - the Order of the Gauntlet - that covertly sponsors vigilantes. Their calling card is Helm's symbol, branded onto the flesh of either dead criminals or live ones left anonymously on the doorstep of the Flaming Fist.

And then there's Hoar; God of Vengeance; the Doombringer:

"Hoar charges his clergy to uphold true and fitting justice and to maintain the spirit of the law, not the letter of the law. Fitting recompense will always accrue for one's actions. Violence will meet violence and evil pay back evil, but good will also come to those who do good."

In Western Faerûn Hoar's clergy are not many and they do not build temples, but they wander the realms seeking victims of injustice. They listen to their stories, investigate to establish the veracity of their accounts, and if they're satisfied the person is being honest they will track down the perpetrator and deliver ironic punishments upon them. While they're considered criminals in the eyes of the law, to the common people of Faerûn hail them as champions of the underdog. On the darker side, Hoar and Bhaal are allies, and their followers share similar habits and a tendency to be retributive justice for hire. (Though Hoar is in it for vengeance, and Bhaal for the killings and bloodlust.)

Sharrans also present themselves as avengers in a world full of corrupt governments who don't care about you, and go out of their way to try and steal "jobs" from the Hoarites.

The temple of Bhaal will be sending priests up to the marketplaces and other gathering places - likely mostly in the Outer City, where it's impossible to break the city's laws - to listen to people's grievances and offer their services as killers. Bhaalists are also employable as freelance bounty hunters, and are obligated by their faith to train anybody who asks to fight and use weapons and are technically available as self-defence trainers (with an aim of "your opponent should not get back up"). They also usually select criminals for their sacrificial targets, and in private setting will turn these into public displays for the pleasure of the mob.

---

The Code Legal

There is no such thing as copyright law or libel and slander laws- unless they're offensive to clergy, rulers, nobility or whathaveyou. Authors on Toril are having great fun with the copyright thing, and often get ripped off by their publishers stealing their work. Also child labour is involved with the printing, but that's not the topic on hand.

When the punishment for a crime is arrest then the highborn, wealthy and influential will be placed under house arrest instead of spending their time in a jail cell.

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Crimes Against the Lords A category that includes government officials, rulers, nobility, the extremely wealthy and influential, and generally high priests/temple leaders (are you going to blaspheme argue with somebody who speaks directly to a god? On Faerûn the answer is "no".)

Assaulting a Lord: death

Impersonating a Lord: death

Assaulting or impersonating an official or noble: flogging, imprisonment for up to a tenday, and a fine up to a max of 500gp depending on severity

Blackmailing an official: flogging and exile up to 10 years

Bribery or attempted bribery of an official: exile up to 20 years and a fine up to double the bribe amount.

Murder of a Lord, official or noble: death

Using magic to influence a Lord without consent: imprisonment up to a year, and fine or damages up to 1,000gp

While killing a commoner may be split into murder and justified self-defence, no such clause exists for killing a noble, which is always met with the death penalty.

"In many lands, common-born people are bound by law to defer to their betters, the lords and ladies of the nobility. Even if the law does not require deference, it’s usually a good idea." - Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting

For the Gate, the nobility are the patriars.

Merchants and powerful Guildmasters (the trade guild, not the Thieves Guid) may have the money and connections to worm their way into this special treatment.

"The wealthiest merchants are virtually indistinguishable from mighty lords, Even if born from peasant stock, a merchant whose enterprises span-a kingdom might style himself "lord" and get away with it." - Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting

While you might get away with styling yourself a lord, as Gortash does, the patriars nevertheless insist on maintaining boundaries between themselves and the new money. I believe they've also occasionally introduced fun additional little laws like who is not allowed to wear what (colours, fabrics) so as not to be confused with the wealthy merchants and lowborn of the city with their inferior breeding. True nobility is a matter of birthright, after all.

Still money opens a lot of doors, especially in a major trade hub like Baldur's Gate.

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Crimes against the City

Arson: death or hard labour up to 1 year, with fines -and/or- damages covering the cost of repairs plus 2,000gp

Brandishing weapons without due cause: imprisonment up to a tenday -and/or- fine up to 10gp

Espionage: death -or- permanent exile

Fencing stolen goods: fine equal to the value of the stolen goods and edict

Forgery of an official document: flogging and exile for 10 summers (years)

Hampering justice: fine up to 200gp and hard labour up to a tenday

Littering: fine up to 2gp and an edict

Poisoning a city well: death

Theft: flogging, followed by imprisonment up to a tenday -or- hard labour up to a year -or- a fine equivalent to the value of the stolen good/s. Maiming, either through flogging or loss of limb. Baldur's Gate decided to edit this one for the extreme.

Treason: death

Vandalism: imprisonment up to a tenday plus fine - and/or - damages covering the cost of repairs plus up to 100gp

Using magic to influence an official without consent: fine -or -damages up to 1,000gp and edict

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Crimes against Citizens

Assaulting a citizen: imprisonment up to a tenday, flogging and damages up to 1,000gp depending on severity

Blackmailing or intimidating a citizen: fine or damages up to 500gp and an edict (presumably in the form of a restraining order)

Burglary: imprisonment up to 3 months and damages equal to the value of the stolen goods plus 500gp

Damaging property or livestock: damages covering the cost of repairs or replacement plus up to 500gp

Disturbing the peace: fine up to 25gp and edict

Murdering a citizen without justification: death - or - hard labour up to 10 years, and damages up to 1,000gp paid to the victim's kin

Murdering a citizen with justification: exile up to 5 years -or- hard labour up to 3 years -or- damages up to 1,000gp paid to the victim's kin

Robbery: hard labour up to 1 month and damages equal to the value of the stolen goods plus 500gp

Slavery: flogging and hard labour up to 10 years

Using magic to influence a citizen without consent: fine -or- damages up to 1,000gp and an edict

-

Crimes Against the Gods

Assaulting a priest or lay worshipper: imprisonment up to a tenday and damages up to 500gp

Disorderly conduct within a temple: fine up to 5gp and edict

Public blasphemy against a god or church: edict

Theft of temple goods or offerings: imprisonment up to a tenday and damages up to double the cost of the stolen items

Tomb-robbing: imprisonment up to a tenday and damages covering the cost of repairs plus 500gp

"In a polytheistic setting such as this one, it’s important to stand back from any real-life religious views of “absolute good"". - Elminster's Forgotten Realms

"Baldur's Gate has widely adopted a "do no harm" policy when it comes to faiths and organizations operating in the city. Any group is welcome to operate openly so long as the city's important citizens aren't harmed [and as long as they don't disrupt trade]." - Descent into Avernus

"Important citizens" is an interesting distinction. Usually the rule is "so long as citizens - in general - aren't harmed".

A familiar refrain on this blog, which I have already talked about at length, but from a Torilian perspective: just because the god is evil and howling for the blood of the innocent doesn't make their priests criminals for providing it unless they get caught in the act or breach their "understanding" with the government. Evil or Good (or neither), the gods are holy, and to offend any is blasphemy. There are no gods whose worship is illegal in Baldur's Gate, so long as their clergy aren't stupid about it. (Sharrans usually prefer to go underground anyway, because they'd rather preach sedition and do crime than play nice, which will get them outlawed.)

Crimes against the clergy make people nervous, as it is attacking a god, in a way. Still, most crimes against priests fall under either crimes against citizens or crimes against the lords. Generally, high ranking priests are closer to the latter, and lower ranking to the former, though it does depend on the strength and influence of the temple and larger church in the city/region:

"The powerful temples of Faerûn's deities parallel the king's authority. The lowest-ranking acolytes and mendicants are rarely reckoned beneath the station of a well-off merchant, and any cleric or priest in charge of a temple holds power comparable to that of a baronet or lord. The high priests of a faith favoured in a particular land are equal to the highest nobility." - Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting

That said, the clergy are wise not to push their luck too far, as people will risk the wrath of a god if they feel the need to defend themselves, and the law will turn on the temple for disturbing the peace and disrupting trade.

The Gate has four active temples whose clergy will rank highest amongst the various priests within the city: Tymora, goddess of luck; Umberlee, goddess of the sea; Gond, god of artificers; and - of course - Bhaal, god of murder. The leading priests of each of these - the High; the Wavelord/Wavemistress; the Artificer or High Artificer; and the High Primate/Primistress or Primate/Primistress - will generally be afforded the kind of treatment and leniency by the law that nobility may expect (though this will not extend to the lower ranks of the faith), and of these, Gond's church wields the most power.

As the most recent addition to the four, still in recovery due to their deity being out of commission for a century, the Bhaalists likely wield the least political power, however "[the faiths of the Dead Three] still command respect and fear throughout Baldur's Gate." Also there's a rumour that some important political figure or other is a Bhaalspawn, and it might be the High Primate, but these have always been proven to be smear campaigns.

Beneath these are the other well established faiths, who have shrines (though no temple heads): Ilmater, Lathander, Oghma and Helm.

And then a smattering of every other god on Toril, presumably represented by anything from a handful of priests to one. Also the Banites, who have been doing a fantastic job of climbing the ranks. Couldn't be anything to do with the systemic corruption and tolerance of evil, nah.

Still, clergy will not necessarily bother to take offenders to task and often take offenses against their deity into their own hands. Churches and secular powers tend to have some friction between them, as the government feels that its rules should hold sway while priests consider themselves (and the government) to be beholden to the wills of a higher power that takes precedence over those mere mortals in the High Hall.

Punishments vary according to faith and offense, and may range from placing a quest (gaes) upon the offender, enslaving them to the church, to simply murdering them and discretely disposing of the body. That last one may involve ritual sacrifice unto the deity of the temple, if appropriate. When the offender escapes the temple, the priests may call for the aid of their rural siblings in faith to hunt them down - wandering paladins, the Deathstalkers, etc. Many clergy have some amount of priests that don't stay still.

Churches have their own law enforcement systems. Temple guards are commonly seen, and in larger temples will answer to a paladin. Temples are often home to animals - selected from the deity's holy animals - who serve as security and defence. Certain deities will also have undead bound to the temple's service.

When one of their own ranks is caught breaking a law (say, murder) the priests usually prefer to deal with it themselves. The most common result of getting caught rocking the boat is either for the church to excommunicate the priest, or else for that priest to suddenly, silently be removed from their post and reassigned by the church somewhere else outside of the jurisdiction of the realm with the promise to secular authorities that they will be disciplined, which is accepted. The latter happens "more often than the general public would be pleased to know".

Evil-aligned religions are also held to another set of rules, whose terms are negotiated between the rulers and the church, but generally go thusly:

1) The church owes fealty and service to the government when demanded (assassins, spymasters, mercenaries, whatever) 2) Activities like human sacrifice are to be kept to agreed upon limits: no more than necessary, and the targets must not be "innocents, citizens, or government representatives." - random vagrants and criminals are fine. 3) Clergy must not attempt to overthrow the ruling class, 4) Nor cause too much distress in the general public (people are resigned to the existence of evil and accept and worship the evil deities, but they should not be pushed to the point where daily life is disrupted.) 5) Shrines and temples must be kept out of public view. 6) Keep your identity as a priest and your identity as a citizen separate: the public must not be able to identify you - the Gate has slightly looser restrictions on this, it seems 7) No forced conversions.

[yuri-is-online]

Keep thinking bout Yutu and his relationship to his dad. Like we know a little more about Ace, Floyd, Azul and Riddle (maybe I miss someone else?) but I was curious about other details or interactions with the other Overblot boys.

Like how does talking with someone who tries his best to not get involved in other people's business like Jamil work for making his parents fall in love (if that's even something Yutu can see happening with how distant he is)? How does Yutu go about trying to lay some clues for Vil without being found when Vil's doing his best (with Rook's help) to figure out what's going on?

Or what about the shenanigans Ortho would get to to ensure Idia and Yuu get together so they can try to stop the apocalypse and how would Yutu feel about having at least one person (his uncle at that!) who he can rely on? Or does Yutu ever find himself in a situation that makes him go "oh, I could've had this with dad if it weren't for the council" whenever Malleus says something deep without realizing?

Gaaaaahhhhh I just really like this au and I wanna ask you so many questions but I also don't wanna be annoying

ask is referencing the fyuuture kid au, information on which can be found here and here, or under the series section on my masterlist.

No one is annoying for asking questions! I have asks for Idia and Leona's Yutus, which I think makes every overblot boy except for Jamil and Vil due for a detailed post. Azul! Yutu is a bit of a grey area since I have talked about him a bunch but haven't done detailed hc for him. Yet anyway, Jade and Floyd got one so he needs one too otherwise it'll bug me.

Jamil! Yutu absolutely has a lot of guilt and self hatred around his entire existence. As I talked about in the post about the main cast, Jamil was executed in Yutu's future, and he feels personally responsible for that. If his dad had never fallen in love with Yuu then he would have had a chance at his freedom, that's how Yutu has come to see it anyway. He doesn't want Jamil to fall in love with Yuu, even if it means erasing his existence. Down that road lies only tragedy, but there is also something so beautiful about the way Jamil interacts with Yuu when he thinks no one is looking. There is a degree of mutual respect for how hard the other works and intense desire for approval and praise he can sympathize with. He just doesn't see a way for this to end well if it's allowed to continue, he's a very pessimistic kid Jamil! Yutu. But then again the others didn't have to see the rotted corpse of their father getting dragged around by a blot phantom and be told by a few angry relatives of Kalim that he is the one who put him there.

Vil! Yutu is a bit afraid of his dad. He knows from personal experience that the man is intense and does not take no for an answer but he's never been in the position to see 1) what a good thing that can be or 2) just how silly that can make him act. He's also NEVER had to contend with the real Rook before. The Rook he's familiar with is a mindless monster, dangerous sure, but with patterns you can memorize and protect yourself from. This guy is just wild, sure his dad says that he's only putting up for his behavior "for now" but someone tell him where the fucking line is??? The last thing he wants is to just say everything and risk ruining the timeline but Vil keeps demanding specifics. The main thing Yutu tries to do is get him cooperating with Idia in learning about blot phantoms, the way he sees it things will be much easier if his two most trusted adults are on the same page. It's not a difficult ask either post chapter six, I think Vil is someone who would want to understand what happened to him on a scientific level to some degree, but oh Yutu. Now you've just made him wonder how you know that little piece of information, not everyone knows about his overblot, but he didn't know that bit did he?

Ortho and Idia! Yutu wind up being very close. Having his uncle on his side puts Yutu in a much more stable place emotionally and mentally than other Yutus. They spend a lot of time analyzing old records about blot and phantoms, everyone else is convinced they're just hyping each other up for some weird PhD project inspired by the Ramshackle Prefect's time at NRC and hey. They aren't exactly wrong. As for how they go about trying to get Idia and Yuu together... it's a lot of anime recommendations and conveniently forgetting they had something else to do. Yutu has just as in depth knowledge of Idia's tastes as Ortho does, and the added bonus of knowing Yuu's, so they search through lists of things, pick out the shows they know will get the two of you talking and then sit back and let you interact. Yutu is genuinely confused about why or if this is working... but Ortho did send him a video of his dad hyping himself up to try and ask you out (he over heated and just hid inside his room instead but hey. It's the thought that counts.)

Malleus! Yutu just got his post here. And yes he does think regularly about what he could have had with his father if things had been different, but a lot of those thoughts come from his sillier moments. Hearing Malleus talk at length about ruins or seeing him confused about how to interact with technology make him seem more... human for lack of a better term to him. He's very familiar with the myth of Malleus Draconia, but he wasn't fathered by a myth. He was fathered by a man who fell in love with a human under very extraordinary circumstances and Yutu wants to know about why. What things did Malleus like most about Yuu? About Twisted Wonderland? If he had gotten a chance to be raised by him what things would Malleus have wanted to teach him? Would he be any different?

Azul! Yutu is also afraid of his dad, but not based on any personal experiences just his own insecurities. He's not a thin guy, he's not in Octavinelle, and he is extremely worried that his dad will see him as some sort of stupid muscle head and be disappointed in having him. He's also, understandably, extremely angry at him when he learns what he did in Book 3 to his parent. Fuck this guy, he'll just save Yuu himself and hopefully if they still get together he'll grow up to be a totally different person when he's born in this good timeline. But there's just something about Azul's approval that he can't help but want now that drives him crazy. Why can't he just be ok with being alone? He has been all this time anyway...

(Meanwhile Azul is deeply impressed with how well Yutu is at disguising himself as a dumb muscle head. Just look at the kid, he's got everyone thinking he just is controlling their shadows while he's actually using a really complicated bit of cosmic magic. Suckers all of them. Not him though. He's not being fooled by anything about Yutu, no sir.)

Leona, Leona, Leona. He's tricky for me to write. Scar apparently has children? In one the the Lion King sequels? Leona's dislike of kids seems to come from his complicated feelings around the throne and his want for people to be independent. I think he would be one of those gruff intense kind of dads who does the whole "we are never getting a pet" thing and then you see him asleep on the recliner with Princess Nooodles III chilling on his lap with him. Anyway back to Yutu-

Leona! Yutu's relationship with his dad is tempered by the fact Leona knows who and what he is from the start and demands to know why he has traveled back in time. He doesn't explicitly say he knows that he is his father or that Yuu is his other parent, just that he knows time travel is involved, so they have a fairly open amount of communication regarding the overblot "business" but not on much else. Yutu has a desire to understand his father and Leona has a desire to not disappoint him. Who would want their dad to be the second prince? He's destined for nothing but a miserable life anyway, all of the responsibility and none of the privilege (outside of the money but lets be real, Leona's ass does not understand that.) I don't think either Leona or Yutu fully understands that his existence is enough for the other to be happy. When they are forced to talk about it they both laugh it off and roll their eyes at how cheesy that sounds but deep down it means a lot to both of them.

Riddle! Yutu has gotten a lot of posts about him and his "hatred" of his dad but I thought I'd take this post to mention I like the idea of Yutu's favorite food being the chestnut tarts/mont blanc that aren't allowed at Unbirthday Parties but that Riddle still wanted to eat anyway. He's a lot like his father in his love of sweets and his determined denial of it, but he isn't the exact same. Also gives him one more thing to pick a fight with Riddle over (his dad doesn't get the big deal, they can just have a private tea party with Yuu and have all the different sweets they want... can't they?)

[acourtofthought]

I haven't seen this particular gem of a post but there is apparently one going around stating that everyone in the ACOTAR world has suffered more than Lucien, that he doesn't know suffering.

Just a little starter here. The first book began with Lucien's friend being murdered because they needed to sacrifice him in order to break the curse on Spring.

"Autumn Court is ...cutthroat. Beautiful, but his brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title."

"Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline." "His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch."

"Without his title protecting him, his brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord's crown. Three of them went out to kill him."

"But he has never forgotten what they did to her, or what his brothers tried to do to him. Even if he pretends that he has."

"She took his eye as punishment. Carved it out with her own fingernail, then scarred his face. She sent him back so bloody that Tamlin...The High Lord vomited when he saw his friend."

Lucien's brothers lurked on the edges of the crowd - no remorse, no fear on their handsome faces. Amarantha sighed. "I thought you would have learned your lesson, Lucien. Though this time your silence will damn you as much as your tongue." Lucien kept his eyes shut. Ready - he was ready for Rhysand to wipe out everything he was, to turn his mind, his self into dust.

"but only after she made Tamlin bestow Lucien's punishment. Twenty lashes." (remember, because he tried to help Feyre in her trial? Also she prevented Lucien from being able to heal).

"Lucien lay chained to the center of the floor on the other side of the chamber, his remaining russet eye so wide that it was surrounded with white. / Again he was to be Amarantha's toy to torment."

"Don't give me that look, Lucien." SIlence again. Then a vicious snarl, and a shudder of magic rocked the house. Tamlin's voice had been low, deadly. Do not push me on this. I didn't want to know what was happening in that room, what he'd done to Lucien.

Thoughts slammed into me, images and memories, a pattern of thinking and feeling that was old, and clever and sad, endlessly sad and guilt-ridden, hopeless -

"She - she didn't act that way at..." Lucien. Lucien had hated her. Had made vague, vicious allusions to not liking her, to being approached by her. I was going to throw up. Had she...had she pursued him like that? Had he...had he been forced to say yes because of her position?

He might have completed the Great Rite with Ianthe of his own free will, but he certainly hadn't enjoyed it. Some line had been blurred - badly.

I waited the five minutes it took Tamlin to decide not to kill Lucien, and then smiled. I wondered if Lucien had pieced it together. That I had known Tamlin would come to my room tonight, after I had given him so many shy touches and glances today.

"Back off". "Do not touch me," he growled." Where Lucien stood, back against a tree - twin bands of blue stone shackled around his wrists. / And in this case...holding Lucien against that tree as Ianthe surveyed him like a snake before a meal. She slid a hand over the broad panes of his chest, his stomach. And Lucien's eyes shot to me as I stepped between the trees, fear and humiliation reddening his golden skin.

As the youngest of seven sons, I wasn't particularly needed or wanted."

"Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?"

The circle of people who now claimed to be Feyre's new family...It was what, long ago, he'd once thought life at Tamlin's court would be. An ache like a blow to the chest went through him.

"I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court. And a whole lot of nothing.

"I do not belong in the Autumn Court. And I'm willing to be I'm no longer welcome at h- the Spring Court." Home, he had almost said.

"The same things he does now." Helion waved a hand. "Belittle her, leave bruises where no one but him will see them." (So to recap, Beron physically and verbally abuses his WIFE, killed Lucien's love and people think he had an easy childhood with this man?)

It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much - why they have tormented him his entire life.

I hadn't asked Lucien any questions about that visit - to Tamlin. Lucien hadn't explained the black eye and cut lip, either.

"I don't have anywhere else to go." "You ruined any chances I have of going back to Spring. Not to Tamlin, but to the court beyond his house. Everyone either still believes the lies you spun or they believe me complicit in your deceit" - Side note but even knowing this, about how the people feel about him because of Feyre's schemes, Lucien still allowed the NC to permanently station him there in SF. It's really cute of E/riels to think Az is having such a rough go of it, living in the Night Court with the brothers who love him, while Lucien just has it so easy, right?

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris's and Beron's cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father.

This paragraph is about Eris: Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him. / The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege - on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him?

So with that said, If that's how Beron treated his own son how do you think he treated the son he suspected belonged to another man?

Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien's lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn't he do?

So by all means, I'd love to know how a character who we have canon evidence of suffering from his younger years all the way through the present has it so much easier than everyone else?

Someone's selective reading is showing!!

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Cain Should Have Been Charlie's Mysterious Backer

Seriously, instead of the radio demon being presented as this backer who even the princess of hell is afraid of how about Cain who could be made out to be one of the few sinners who has the power to contend with Lucifer and Lilith due to him being like the latter a former human turned demon. He also would be the oldest overlord who has been there for centuries instead of it being Lord Zestial. Also I would have this motivation that maybe due to his guilt of feeling he caused the fall of so many of his own descendants that he wants set things right by maybe tackling the possibility of redeeming a sinner.

As a twist have Alasto, Husker, and Nifty all be former warlords who fell under him but still are notorious for being under him. Them being former warlords would show how really powerful he is and how he really has such grand power to make even powerful warlords bend to him. And make it so all three don't tell people who he is, but hint they work for someone higher up. Also have Cain be someone people talk in whispers and rumors and have them be tales of his antics.

To tie things with Adam have there be he has drama with Adam and tells Charlie not to mention him to his father and what he is doing because he still has issues with his family and can't really show his face to them after what he did eons ago. Also i this rewrite Adam is an angel but he's an ambassador from heaven who checks in on his children and acts like his canon self, but less debauch and is just a g rated rocker guy who likes to have fun with even his fallen descendants. I would like to think he would underneath show his secret vulnerable side to Charlie and says he misses his son Cain which gets Charlie to feel guilty about keeping Cain as her backer a secret from him.

[eurydice-pens]

can i have forgotten vaugarde au info of some sort. i went through your tag and im obsessed with the concept

hi!! yes yes of course >:3c thank you for being interested! i am in the process of plotting out a big fic for the au so i will hold some cards close to my chest, but here’s a bit of info just for you 💗💗 /pos /silly

~

Forgotten Vaugarde AU

Concept / Story

Toward the end of the ISAT canon, the King makes a wish that “everyone would understand how he feels.” This results in a rewriting of the Universe such that Vaugarde, rather than the Island Country, was forgotten, and the individuals to whom this wish was most directly addressed (Mirabelle, Isabeau, Odile, Bonnie, and Nille by virtue of association with Bonnie) become Travelers with no identity and home or, in the case of Odile, becomes someone for whom half of her identity is even less accessible than before.

The King and Loop are thrown into this new reality with their memories intact. The King’s body, however, is not preserved, as he finds himself Loopified into a tear-headed creature. They end up sharing a decidedly unamicable life inside the home of the version of the King who has never lost his memories or home, Aesop, as the King (who eventually names himself Luke) contends with the fact that he has become the very force he had feared so gravely: the one that erased Vaugarde, the land that had welcomed and loved him, from existence.

Mirabelle, Isabeau, Bonnie, and Nille (who had a chance encounter with Luke when reality was first rewritten, at which time, out of guilt and painful empathy, he told each of the, their names) wander the Island Country until they are discovered by Siffrin, whose family essentially adopts and raises them into adulthood / preteenhood. Odile eventually joins the group when she is visiting the Island Country essentially as a tourist and becomes attached to the group through her friendship with Siffrin’s parents and with Loop.

Mirabelle knows that she is very lucky, to have a home, to have some semblance of family and belonging. Nonetheless she is the one out of the group who most feels the pang of something real, and integral, and important missing from her, who is the most loathe to accept the belief common among the people around her that things happen as they should, and Fate is immutable, and every change (…Change?) merely the slow erosion of bodies, minds, and souls against the winds of Time. So when the mysterious Queen emerges and begins to wreak havoc across the Island, when she agrees to journey to the tyrant and to protect the country from the Queen’s Remaking with her friends, she has some inkling that there is something wrong, something missing, some reason why every glimpse they’ve gotten of the white-haired Queen has felt so achingly familiar.

It all feels so strange, and so important, long before Time stops for the first time.

Interactions with Other AUs / Headcanons and Contributors (so far)!

This AU borrows and expands upon @the-bitter-ocean ‘s Islander Euphrasie theory and shares a heart with @felikatze ‘s Divorce AU.

@princemonarchempress , @floating-far-from-earth , and @the-bitter-ocean have all contributed ideas to and inspired parts of the story!

And a special thank you to @snickerpuffs-art for drawing Luke 💙💙

~

thank you so much for reading and for your interest in the au!! i hope to make a lot more things for it in the future <333

[isayoldbean]

okay so let me introduce you to the first alt i ever made that i was able to stick with (to be fair, when your main is beef it's hard to find a character that can hold your interest in comparison)

his name is bane lunyasch, he lives on ultros primal, and he was born in a wet cardboard box by the side of the road

i asked him to pose for a picture and he panicked and tried to run away so this is all i could get sorry

he grew up in bozja, working with his large family in their small but popular bakery and trying to stay out of trouble with the garleans. however, when he came of age, he was conscripted into the military as a secutor and was shipped off to ala mhigo. not long after his forced departure, the bozja incident occurred, resulting in the loss of his entire hometown and all of his known family. while his hatred and resentment towards the empire continued to deepen, he also had to contend with the complex emotions that came from knowing that his being conscripted had also saved his life, in an odd way. it's something he still struggles to reconcile to this day.

bane has always been a gentle soul, so his stint in the military was even worse than it might have been otherwise. he couldn't handle the strain of the guilt from the things he had to do in order to survive, and so when his unit was shipped out to the front at the battle of carteneau, he took advantage of the chaos to fake his death and escape.

a defector with no home to return to and no real idea of what to do next, he remembered the conversations with an elezen conscript he had worked with previously about gridania and the conjurers that came from there, and made up his mind: he would run away to gridania and learn the healing arts, living a quiet life of helping to save others in penance for what he had been forced to do for the garleans, and forsaking violence for the rest of his life

however, since he is the warrior of light, life has other plans in store for him. and he's not gonna be happy about it

anyway i've learned that playing as a hrothgar does something to your brain. they send out hypnotic waves begging you to bimbofy and/or babygirlify them and it is so, so hard to resist. i am in a constant tug of war trying to balance the way i Want them to be with the way They want to be

anyway he's got anxiety and depression and ptsd and he knits to help his nerves and he owns a bakery in the lavender beds and he has an adopted mooncat daughter he found abandoned in the woods and he has huge tits and he's afraid of voidsent and he's bisexual and he's always constantly on the verge of crying and i love him even though he's a sad wet pathetic catman who has every disease

[bullet-prooflove]

Heyy how are you? Could write prompt 5)     “Kiss you in a crowded room” from the midnights prompt list for Tim Bradford? Thank you :)

Part One: Monster

Part Two: The Gaslight (NSFW)

Part Three: Stalemate

Tim wants to marry you. He’s thought about it so many times since the two of you got together, he always assumed it was inevitable. Now as he sits at the front desk during the night shift, sifting through the most ridiculous shit the public has to offer, he realises that that possibility is getting further and further away because Captain Ashmore is never going to let you go.

It's been over a month since his Captain pulled him into his office, demanding that he disclose your location. His refusal had left him relegated to desk duty for the first week, his punishments steadily getting worse the longer the stalemate continues.

Ashmore can’t outwardly fire him. There are procedures in place, the union to contend with, appeals if he tries but he can make Tim’s life miserable, he can stall his career, destroy his future prospects.

Tim’s willing to risk all of it to keep you safe, because that look in the other man’s eyes when he showed Tim that picture, he knows he’s going to kill you. Tim’s worked enough DV cases to see the signs.

The others have tried to talk to him about his predicament, but he’s kept his mouth shut, told them to mind their own business. He doesn’t want the Captain coming down on any of them, assuming that their co-conspirators so he keeps his distance. He hasn’t seen you since the night before Ashmore pulled him into his office. He’d managed to swipe Chen’s phone to send you a text.

“He knows.”

There had been no contact since.

It’s Angela that breaks his silence.

It’s 3am in the breakroom when she corners him. He’s sipping a coffee and flicking through your old Instagram images, ones before you abandoned the account. There’s one of the two of you from Angela’s wedding, him in a tuxedo and you in that silk, cornflower blue dress. He remembers undressing you that night, the fabric fluttering to the floor in his bedroom, your lipstick marks leaving a trail down his body.

“I need to talk to you.” Angela says interrupting his thoughts as she sits down across from him. She has a brown manilla folder in her hands and already the dread is climbing in his chest. “Captain Ashworth has asked me to look into something.”

When she flicks open the folder he sees your picture, the one from the academy and his heart just stops.

“Noones heard from her since she took that leave of absence. There’s been no posts on her socials, her phone’s switched off, her house is locked up. No movement on any of her accounts. He suspects foul play.” He leans back in her seat and shakes her head. “I thought she just needed some space after what happened with that kid. I didn’t think…”

Angela trails off and Tim can see that guilt, how much it weighs on her. The two of you were partners before you took off. You’d told her, you needed a break, that the Chapman case was too much. Finding out what that little girl’s father had done had almost broken you, but it wasn’t the reason you left.

It’s a devious move, one that even Tim didn’t see coming. Angela is an excellent detective, she’s tenacious and loyal, leading her to think that her friend is in danger is only going to add fuel that fire. That woman won’t stop until she tracks you down.

“The two of you were close, did she say anything...”

Tim swallows hard against the anguish in his chest, his jaw clenches because all of this… It’s just too much to carry on his shoulders, he can’t keep going it alone, not when Ashmore is pulling shit like this.

“Angela, she isn’t missing.” Tim says reaching over the table and closing the file. “She’s on the run.”

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[asmiraofsheba]

"It's been 2,129 years since Ptolemy died. He was fourteen. Eight world empires have risen up and fallen away since that day, and I still carry his face. Who do you think is the lucky one?"

Has to be a contender for one of the most heartbreaking passages I've ever read in a book.

Bartimaeus' pain is so clear here. To me, it's the pain of a parent who has lost his child.

I have no doubt that Bartimaeus loved Ptolemy as if he was his own. He loved him more than life itself. He was willing to die for him, and it was only Ptolemy's final dismissal that prevented him from doing so. After Ptolemy's death, Bartimaeus' grief consumed him, defined him - he always defaults to Ptolemy's form, and he wears his face like a funeral shroud, a memorial to the child he lost.

It's heartbreaking to think of Bartimaeus forced to carry his grief for so long, his guilt and despair that he couldn't protect Ptolemy. And he had to do it all alone, through centuries of being tortured and demeaned, because as a slave nobody cared enough about him to even ask.

Bartimaeus, who hides his pain, his loneliness, his vulnerability behind thick walls of cynicism and humour. Bartimaeus, who has been hurt and mistreated in every conceivable way by almost everyone he's ever met, yet is still full of so much capacity for love, still willing to see the good in others. I love this character so much.