#let me tempt you writes
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to celebrate hitting 50k i'm sharing a snippet of the longfic i'm currently working on <3 (thank you v much to both @deepwithintheabyss and @paprikadotmp4 for the encouragement & brainstorming help <3)
still untitled (i've been calling it the "aob dubcon fic" lmao) but i have written a summary:
Jason tries to sell off his first heat to make ends meet for the upcoming winter. When he’s taken by traffickers instead, he’s sure that’s the end of him—until he’s rescued by a mysterious alpha. That “rescue” comes with a price: Jason’s heat hits shortly after, and… one thing leads to another, and now Jason and Tim are bound together by a fledgling mate bond.
It’s not the first time Jason’s had to make the best of things, but… he finds it a little bit easier this time, especially as he grows to genuinely like Tim. Unfortunately, just as they're starting to settle into mated life, Tim’s ex-pack starts getting involved, and they don’t exactly approve of Tim’s choice in mate—never mind that it wasn’t really a choice at all.
cws/tags for this snippet: reverse robins, aob dynamics, underage jason (15), first aid, medical inaccuracies (probably; i'm not a doctor, so i'm warning to be safe), hurt/comfort, touch starvation, anxiety, allusions to captivity related ptsd, self-deprecation, brief memories of non-consensual touching
editing to add: this snippet takes place in the 2nd half of chapter 2 <3 (& was originally the second scene for the fic lol)
i have also previously shared a snippet of the scene after this, when jason's heat hits, here.
Tim parks outside of an old apartment building. The brick facade is worn, cracked and peeling in places. Most of the windows are intact at least, though; two of them have lights on, the rest dark.
Tim gets out first, already having rounded the car by the time Jason is swinging his legs out. His hand rests on the door, waiting patiently for Jason to join him on the sidewalk. Then he shuts it. One hand rests on Jason’s back again, a gentle guide inside.
There’s a man at the desk near the front entrance, reading a newspaper. He spares them a brief, bored glance before going back to it.
There’s an out of order sign on the elevator, so they have to take the stairs. It’s just two flights, but by the end, Jason’s slightly out of breath. He’d thought he was in pretty good shape, but—
He guesses spending nearly a week in a small, windowless room hasn’t done him any favors.
Tim stops at a door in the middle of the hall, unlocking it and letting Jason go in first. The main room is all one room; living room transitioning to kitchen, separated by an island counter. Tim guides Jason to the couch, directing him to sit while he gets the first aid kit.
The couch is worn but comfortable, cushions sinking under Jason’s weight, cradling him.
Tim disappears down the hall, and returns a few moments later holding the biggest first aid kit Jason has ever seen. Not that he’s really an expert on the things, but— The one at his house was pretty small.
And mostly empty, honestly.
The coffee table looks comically small under it. It makes Jason’s belly flip with nerves, remembering the feeling of latex covered hands on his body, spreading him open.
He bites his lip.
Tim doesn’t open it, though; instead, he slips into the kitchen. He comes back a moment later, holding a bottle of purple Gatorade. Then, he kneels in front of Jason. It’s—odd. Having an alpha kneel in front of him, voluntarily. Even though Jason knows he doesn’t exactly have any power here, the visual dissonance is—
Odd.
He offers up the bottle. It takes a moment for Jason’s hands to move, but he does take it. His fingers fumble with the cap; he flushed, embarrassed despite himself, but gets it open.
As soon as it touches his lips, his thirst hits him full force. He allows himself two large gulps to wet his throat, and then forces himself to slow down, sipping instead.
When he screws the cap back on, he finds Tim still there. Waiting. He twists his hands around the plastic nervously.
“Alright,” Tim says gently. “Other than the bruise on your side, and the rope burns… are you injured?”
Jason shakes his head, twisting the sleeves of the alpha’s jacket. “Nn-nn. Just some bruises,” he says softly. He pauses. “And, um. I did hit my head once. It still hurts, but— I’m not, like, dizzy or nothin’.”
Tim nods. “Alright,” he says. “I’d like to do a head injury evaluation anyway. I’ll just feel over your skull, and then use a penlight to evaluate your pupil dilation. I’ve got cream for the rope burns, and for the bruise—” Tim hesitates a moment, then continues, “I’ll need to check and make sure nothing is cracked, and there’s no internal bruising.” He pauses again. “As long as there’s nothing serious anywhere else… I have some painkillers you can take, when we eat.”
Jason takes a moment to absorb all of that, and then nods, tipping his head forward obediently.
There’s a part of him screaming at himself not to be so compliant. To kick and claw and scratch and bite and fight, the way he has been for the past week. But he’s— He’s so tired, and sore, and—
The alpha smells so good, and— The smiles he keeps giving Jason melt something inside of him. He wants to keep seeing them. Keep earning them.
Tomorrow that might scare him.
Tonight—
His eyes fall closed when Tim’s fingers slide into his curls. The touch is achingly gentle. It feels— It feels good. Nice. Jason can’t help but lean into it. He thinks Tim’s hands linger a little longer than they need to, like he’s indulging Jason’s obvious enjoyment of the touch.
He does pull away eventually. Jason bites back his whine, instead sitting back up against the cushions.
“No bumps,” Tim murmurs. He gets out the penlight next, and cups Jason’s face as he shines a light first in one eye, and then the other. Jason grimaces, hissing a little as he squints. The light aggravates his aching head. “Pupil dilation is normal.” He pockets the light, and strokes Jason’s cheek with his thumb before he pulls away. “Now, I need to check your bruises.”
Jason bites his lip again. The constant worrying is starting to make the top layer of skin break and flake under his teeth. He averts his eyes, rolling the sleeves of the suit jacket up, exposing his hands. Then he pulls his shirt up, bunching it up just beneath his breasts.
His stomach jumps when Tim touches him. Tim pauses, hand hesitating, just barely touching Jason’s skin, and then— He starts to rumble, low and deep.
Jason whines. He doesn’t mean to—but it bursts from him; he can’t stop it, can’t muffle it. It’s a soft, helpless little keen, and the alpha’s rumble gets louder in response. He scoots closer, until he’s between Jason’s knees. His hand settles onto Jason’s skin, curving around his side. His other hand comes to cup Jason’s shoulder, thumb rubbing gentle circles through his clothes.
“It’s alright,” he soothes, the rumble deepening his voice. The sound—
Jason has only vague memories of his father rumbling for him, from when he was much, much smaller. Before working as a henchman had stolen much of his father’s good will. Other than that, Jason has only ever heard alphas rumble on TV. It’s—
It’s a really nice sound.
Against his will, tears fill his eyes, and he raises his hand, pressing his palm over one, like he can force them back inside. Tim’s hand settles against his side, just underneath the bruising. “You’re alright,” the alpha murmurs. “It’s okay to cry, pup.”
Jason sniffs, loud in the quiet. “I—I—”
“Shh, puppy.” Tim’s hand doesn’t leave Jason as he rises, slipping onto the couch beside him. His other hand cups the back of Jason’s head, tugging him forward—Jason’s arms come up automatically, wrapping around Tim’s neck, his shirt falling back over his abdomen. The alpha’s scent drips with comfort and the promise of protection and Jason—
He feels… He feels warm, and safe, and—
A sob rattles through his chest. Tim holds him closer, tighter, his arm winding around Jason’s waist. He buries his nose in Jason’s curls, stroking his skin with his thumb as he rocks him, slowly.
Jason’s chest heaves. His whole body shakes with each sob, so much that Jason is worried he’s going to shake himself apart. Tim’s steady hold feels like all that’s keeping him together.
It’s not just the last few days, it’s— It’s everything, since his Mom got sick and Dad turned to working as henchman and their lives just… fell apart. He’s— Jason’s been on his own for so long. Longer even than he’s been on the streets. Every day has been a fight for survival and Jason—
Honestly, he thought he’d finally lost.
Tim murmurs in his ear. Jason can’t hear a word of what he’s saying, but the tone is low and gentle, and Jason clings to it.
It takes a long time for Jason’s sobs to subside. Jason— He doesn’t know how long exactly. But he does know that when he’s done he feels exhausted. He slumps into Tim’s chest, tremors still running down his spine. His face is sticky. He definitely got snot all over Tim’s nice shirt, and that—
He’s too tired to even worry about Tim’s reaction.
Fingers comb through his hair again, lightly scritching his scalp. He lets out a soft sigh, slumping even more against the alpha’s chest.
Tim hums. He noses at Jason’s temple; a gentle nudge Jason grumbles at. “C’mon, pup,” he murmurs. “I still need to look at your bruises.”
Jason whines—the same plaintive little puppy whine he used to give his mom when he wasn’t ready to get up yet, for one reason or another. It makes Tim huff, amused; the humor reflected in his scent. It’s nice. Really nice.
He noses at Jason’s temple again. “Pup.” His voice is a little more stern. It’s not threatening, though—doesn’t even make Jason’s hackles raise. Tim is still rumbling. Close as they are, it feels like it’s seeping into Jason’s bones. It lessens the ache in him. His skin— His skin has been itchy for years, but. The creepy crawling of it has subsided, for now at least.
He’s comfortable. Jason doesn’t want to move.
He does anyway, sitting back with a scowl on his face. It makes Tim smile—his scowl deepens.
“I’ll be quick,” Tim promises.
Jason huffs a little. He leans back against the couch cushions. Tim’s hand is still under his shirt, sliding back over to the injured side as Jason lifts it. He feels— He feels more settled now. Less nervous, though butterflies still flutter between his ribs.
Jason watched Tim’s fingers probe gently around the bruising. The purple has started to fade to a greenish hue, but it still hurts when he prods it. Jason’s quiet, pained noises are soothed with soft rumbles and fingers rubbing his shoulders.
When he’s done, Tim’s hand lingers, laying casually on his waist. Jason’s skin would normally be prickling, but—
It isn’t.
It hasn’t this whole time, any time the alpha touched him.
“I don’t feel any cracks or breaks. Did— Were there any injuries to your back?” He’s no longer rumbling.
Jason misses it already. There’s a part of him that wants to snuggle up to him, see if he can’t coax that rumble back out.
He ignores it; instead shaking his head. “No. They— The, um, the boss said they were supposed to keep me as uninjured as possible. Any punishment had to be careful not to leave a mark.”
Tim hums. He strokes Jason’s skin with his thumb, and then slips his hand from Jason’s waist. It—
Jason finds that he misses it.
Tim leans forward, finally opening the first aid kit. It’s stocked, full of things Jason has names for and things he doesn’t. Tim takes out two things: the first, a small jar, and the second, a bottle of puppy’s Tylenol. Jason—he doesn’t like it, but he can’t really argue with it. Not at his size and weight and everything. They’re pills, at least, and chewable too,
Jason examines them carefully before he takes them, washing away the chalky flavor with the drink he’d been given before.
Tim unscrews the lid of the jar. The cream inside smells herbal, though not unpleasantly so. Jason holds out his arm, relaxing into the couch as the alpha works the cream into his skin.
It’s easy to let his eyes fall half-lidded. Jason is warm and sleepy. The air is thick with protective alpha scent; it soothes his hind-brain, the part that is purely omega, purely pup and longing for the comfort and safety of pack.
A small voice in the back of his mind is screaming, telling him he needs to keep his guard up.
It’s easy to ignore like this. To focus on nothing but gentle hands on his skin and the ambient noise around him; the hum of electricity and the distant noise of outside traffic.
Jason drifts.
He barely registers when the alpha switches arms, coming back up only to croon confusedly when Tim stops touching him. He blinks up at him, and gets a kind smile in return.
“Hush, pup,” the alpha soothes. “I’m going to get us something to eat.”
Jason blinks slowly at him and hums in acknowledgment. Tim gets a blanket from—somewhere, and lays it over him. It’s soft. Jason likes it. He nuzzles into it, into more of the alpha’s scent, and sighs.
He can hear Tim moving around in the kitchen—the clatter of dishware and pans, the bubbling of boiling liquid, the sound of his soft footsteps. He can smell something savory—chicken, he thinks, and garlic.
He drifts again, stirring only when Tim nudges him gently. A steaming bowl of soup is pressed into his hands.
“It’s hot,” Tim warns, a bit unnecessarily.
Jason still burns his tongue on the first mouthful. He doesn’t care. Having the food in front of him has made him realize how ravenous he is. His bowl is empty far too soon, though he’s too stuffed to go back for seconds.
His empty bowl is taken from him, and then Tim returns again. “C’mon, pup,” he murmurs. “I’ve got a spare toothbrush you can use. A spare den, too. I’ll get you some nesting materials and pajamas while you brush your teeth.”
Jason reluctantly leaves the couch and blanket behind, shuffling down the hall and into the bathroom. Tim procures a toothbrush for him, and then leaves.
It’s a relief to brush his teeth.
His captors had done it for him, so rough his gums had bled and ached. They still bleed under Jason’s gentle ministrations, but at least it doesn’t hurt. By the time he’s rinsing his mouth, Tim has returned, a bundle in his arms. He offers it to Jason.
“Clothes,” he says, a little unnecessarily.
Jason takes them, and Tim leaves again, giving him privacy. Jason goes to shut the door and then—
Hesitates.
He doesn’t want it open. But— He doesn’t…
What if he shuts it, and it won’t open again?
He’s. He’s being silly.
There’s no way this apartment has more than one bathroom. Trapping Jason inside here would be dumb, and he doesn’t think this alpha is dumb.
Jason takes a deep breath. He shuts the door.
Except—
He doesn’t. The latch hits the frame and Jason stops. His heart thunders in his ears. His breaths come sharper, quicker. He can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.
Tears burn in his eyes.
It’s not fair.
He rests his head against the frame; one hand cradling the bundle of clothes to his chest, the other gripping the doorknob.
God. He’s so fucking pathetic.
He shudders. Takes a deep breath. It shakes on his exhale, a tremor in his chest. It’s fine. He doesn’t have to shut it all the way. He can leave it like this, with the metal latch over the door frame, only the tiniest sliver of hallway visible.
It’s fine.
He’s fine.
Jason strips quickly, clothes falling into a puddle at his feet. He yanks on the pants the alpha provided. They’re a little short at the ankle, and he has to draw the drawstrings all the way out for them to stay up, but. They fit well enough.
The shirt, too, is a little big, hanging off slightly at one shoulder. It doesn’t show his breasts, and hangs down to his mid-thigh, so Jason doesn’t mind.. Both pants and tee are soft on his skin, not scratching like the other set did.
There’s a hamper. Jason drops his old clothes in, though he’d much rather see them in a dumpster somewhere. The jacket—
Jason hadn’t realized how much it had been comforting him until now. Without it, he feels almost naked. Exposed. He wants to put it back on again. He resists the urge, though. Instead, he straightens it as best he can, then folds it in half and lays it on top of the hamper before he exits the bathroom.
Tim isn’t in the living room any more, and Jason stands, nibbling on his lip. Maybe he should go for the door… but. He can’t bring himself to. Instead he stands there, uselessly, until he hears rustling further down the hall.
He approaches tentatively, and finds Tim in the den at the end of the hall.
Tim glances up when he hears Jason approach, and smiles a little. “I was just getting out some nesting materials,” he says, gesturing.
In front of him is a cushioned nest base, held off the ground by a wooden frame. Piled on top of it is—
Jason had been expecting maybe a couple of blankets and some pillows, but—
The blankets are piled tall; the one on top Jason recognizes as the blanket he’d been using on the couch. There are plenty of pillows, too—and padding, for added layers, and cushions, and, it’s… It’s a lot.
Jason’s throat feels a little tight. “Thanks,” he says, voice small.
“Of course, pup,” Tim says gently. He’s pulled his scent in tight now, but when he draws nearer, Jason catches a whiff of safehere and everythingsokay drifting off of him. His hand moves slow enough it would be easy for Jason to avoid it, but. He stays still, letting the alpha brush his knuckles over his cheek.
“Goodnight, pup,” he murmurs. “If you need me, I’ll be just down the hall.”
Jason nods. The alpha’s hand drops, and then he leaves.
The rest of the den… It’s not bare, but it lacks a personal touch. There’s a chest of drawers in the corner closest to the closet; a nightstand by the nest; and curtains hanging over the window. He shuffles further in, leaving the door open behind him.
He leaves the nest alone for now. Instead—
He goes for the closet first, opening the door. It’s bare inside, except for a thin layer of dust. Jason shuts it again. He opens the drawers, as quietly as he can. Empty as well. The den smells— Not stale, it’s definitely been used before, but. He catches the barest hints of alpha scent, and other than that… It just smells clean.
Jason rubs at his eyes.
No more putting it off.
As much as he doesn’t want to… Jason doesn’t shut the door all the way. Instead, just like in the bathroom, he leaves it open the tiniest sliver. Anything more, and he won’t be able to sleep. Anything less—
Panic.
Even the thought makes his heart race.
Jason rubs his face. He hates this. He hates it so much. Fuck. Sometimes it feels like life is just out to get him. Like—someone or something out there wants him to suffer.
Stop it. Plenty of people have it worse than you do, he scolds himself. He’s safe right now, or— He has the illusion of safety, at least. The alpha is being nice. Jason is— He’s not bound up. The door isn’t locked. There are no bars on the window. Tim treated his injuries. Held him when he cried. Gave him food and something to drink and soft clothes.
And he’d given Jason plenty of material to make a nice, comfortable nest to den in. One that might finally satisfy the instincts that have been screaming at him.
Jason takes a breath, and pads over to the nest. The sheer amount of material before him is almost overwhelming, but… He goes through it slowly. He starts with the padding, layering it into the nest base and using the cushions to help give it shape. He tests it as he goes, until he has something that’s plush, but not so much that it will engulf him. He works a nest cover over it. It’s a bit of a struggle to get it on, but Jason manages; only a little winded by the end. What padding and cushions he didn’t use—
He decides to put them in the closet, where they’ll be out of the way.
Blankets next.
Jason sorts through the pile slowly, rubbing each on his cheek. Scenting them. The one he used on the couch is the strongest scented; still thick with the contentment he’d felt in the alpha’s arms, and the protective, comforting scent Tim had drenched the air with.
He ends up using a little over half of the blankets Tim provided. The rest he puts in the closet.
Pillows—
Jason doesn’t use as many of them. He ends up putting most of them in the closet. And then, finally—
His nest is done.
He stands back, surveying his handiwork. He trills with pride, running his hand over the edge. His nest is soft. Cozy. It needs— It needs books. And— His fox. He misses his fox, the one his mom gave him. He kept it— He managed to keep it safe, all this time.
It’s probably gone now. Or ruined.
His eyes sting, and he swipes at them roughly.
Jason is so tired of crying.
He climbs into bed, pulling the blankets over and around him, snuggling down into the pillows. It feels—
Safe.
There’s something missing, though. Jason— He’s not sure what it is, but—
He’ll worry about it in the morning.
#jaytim#timjay#tauriawritesfanfic#aob dubcon fic#i'm so tempted to start posting even tho i usually prefer to wait till its done#ive broken everything into chapters; have a list of tags; wrote a summary...#i do not. have a fucking title tho#most of my titles were brainstormed for the 15k version!! which. hm. i *could* post that separately maybe...?#smth to think about#a n y w a y#hope u enjoy <333#as soon as this fic lets go of the chokehold it has on me i'll get back to like#prompts & the other wips languishing in my docs#(and when i say chokehold i mean i started writing this around like... december 20th?)#(and you can thank abyss for THAT too bc this all spiraled from 8k of a genfic i showed them <3)
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don't let me tempt you / ch.1
pairing: angel!seokjin x angel!f.reader
⇢ au: Good Omens universe (none of the characters or the plot are mentioned so this fic can be read without knowing anything of Good Omens)
⇢ genre: forbidden romance, friends 2 lovers, comedy(?), fluff, eventual smut (not in this chapter)
⇢ summary: Seokjin is temporarily banished from Heaven and you're not all that good at paperwork.
⇢ chapter wc: 4.5k
⇢ rating: fic rating is explicit/18+ for eventual smut; chapter rating is 16 & up bc they're the equivalent of ken dolls rn, but minors please DNI anyway. This isn't for you.
⇢ chapter warnings: LOTS of religious imagery bc this is set in the Good Omens universe and there's gonna be a bunch of biblical references, but please remember that this isn't meant to be accurate. Author is an atheist. Author did next to no research on calendars that pre-date the Georgian one bc she is lazy and can't do maths. Swearing. If there's any tags you think I'm missing, please let me know - I'd hate to be the cause of any upset or discomfort <3
⇢ a/n: thank u to my beloveds @the-boy-meets-evil and @ugh-yoongi for reading this over and thinking my babies are cute. thank u to my angel @effortandmore for your encouragement! Ur all cute too. Ily
1106 BC
Time in 1106 BC follows some kind of construct that the author has not deemed necessary to research, but if the Georgian calendar (or indeed days of the week) had been invented, the day our story begins would be in mid April, on a Tuesday, around 3pm.
The weather in Heaven is, as you would expect, perfect. The company is not.
“Sorry to bring you in here like this,” you say, as the thirteenth angel of the day takes a seat on the other side of your desk.
There’s a spiel to this. Angels have a tendency to lean towards the dramatic, so you’ve learned the ways of ‘softening the blow’, as the humans call it. Doling out God’s punishments wasn’t your preferred assignment, but it’s the role that was dropped in your lap after you quit the last - and you’re not in a position to refuse Her again. Here goes another.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news but-”
“Let me guess,” the other angel interjects. “She’s demoting me?”
This is unusual. The angels know God’s wrath, but they’re usually surprised to find out when said wrath is directed toward them specifically. Not this one, he’s sitting there, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, waiting for you to rip off the bandaid.
“Uhh. A temporary banishment actually.”
He stares at you. “It was only a little miracle.”
“Three very large miracles, I’ll have you know. We’re not supposed to be bringing people back from the dead anymore.”
“Since when?” he asks, rather like a petulant human toddler.
You frown. “Since protocol changed - didn’t you read the memo?” The angel shakes his head. “God’s decided to save those types of miracles for someone really special in-” You pause to check your watch “- a thousand years, give or take a century.”
“Special how?” The angel asks, sitting up a little straighter.
“You know we’re not told details of The Great Plan.” You flip the file shut. “Well, it seems like you know the issue at hand, and there’s little else to discuss-”
There’s a look of unease creeping over his assigned face that gives you pause. His fingertips drum on his knee. Too human for a heavenly body. “Are you alright?”
“She’s not- they’re not going to cut-”
“Oh! Goodness no,” you’re quick to reassure. “Oh no, you’d have to do something really awful for that, like, question her authority like Lucifer did.” His laugh comes out like a bark, and you’re confused because it wasn’t a joke. “No, but I am terribly sorry to say that you’re being sentenced to four-hundred years on Earth.”
He blinks twice. “Excuse me?”
“Four-hundred years - horrid, I know. But God does say the punishment must fit the deed-”
You’re interrupted again, this time by the kind of laughter that starts as disbelief and quickly has his shoulders shaking and tears rolling down his cheeks. Most unusual.
“You’re telling me I get to spend near half a century on Earth?”
“What do you mean ‘get to’?” The thought of even spending ten years in such a place sends shivers right through your wings. “You won’t be able to return to heaven at all during that time. No correspondence with anyone, unless of course we contact you first.” He’s positively glowing and you can’t understand it. “You’ll have to live amongst humans-”
He’s standing now, moving to the screen and zooming in on earth. “Can I pick where?”
You move to stand next to him. He’s zoomed in so far, you can’t quite tell where it’s supposed to be. In truth, you spend very little time looking over God’s preferred planet, choosing instead to focus on the vastness of the universe in all its glory. You prefer the stars and the galaxies and all of their colours.
“May I?”
“Sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Can I choose where to live? Will I have a role?”
There’s nothing like this in the training manual. No one ever has these questions. They’re too busy crying, wailing for another chance to stay in heaven, let alone look excited as this one does.
“I suppose you could,” you say slowly. “And no - there’s no role.” You wait for the penny to drop, but he doesn’t seem to get it. “Pointlessness is the point of this sentence.”
Wonder breaks out in his expression, and he turns back to the screen and zooms in on a peninsular you’ve never noticed before. “Can you drop me here?”
“Where’s here?”
“Gojoseon.”
“Why?”
“Good people.” His smile spreads wide. “Good food.”
You gasp. “You’ve consumed their provisions? You’ve eaten?”
He looks at you in shock. “You haven’t?”
Of course you flaming haven’t! Even if you could stomach it - how in heaven would you get the opportunity to dine on Earth, what with all the work piling up in your pigeonhole and the lack of angels rights to paid time off, not to mention a union?
Your expression must say it all because he laughs again and says, “Well then visit me sometime, I’ll cook for you.”
“You’re very peculiar.”
“Yes,” he says with a shrug. “I get that a lot.”
You move back over to the desk to complete the rest of the paperwork while he stands there, still looking at the map with a satisfied smile.
After a few moments, he says, “I’ll need a name if I’m to live with humans.”
You find his given name at the top of the page. Soterasiel.
“What’s wrong with the one you’ve got?”
He shrugs again. “Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue for everyone.”
“I hear John is rather popular these days,” you muse, still checking boxes. “And Abraham. Or what about Jos-”
“Seokjin.”
“Bless you.”
“No, I mean- Seokjin.” He moves to sit back down. You don’t quite like it, the way he walks, like he’s got a bravado he hasn’t done anything to earn - rather the opposite in fact, given his grievous error in judgement. “That’s my new name.”
“Oh-” You glance up at him. “It suits you.”
Seokjin beams. He’s quiet for the next few moments, but you can sense his eagerness as he watches your fingertip move down the page. When all the documents are signed, you show him over to the chute, and he peers into it.
“This is the one-way?”
You nod. “We’ll send someone to relieve you once your sentence is up.”
He steps inside without hesitation, and it’s almost too late. You've been itching with curiosity since you opened his file, so you blurt out exactly what you’re not supposed to ask.
“Why did you do it?”
Seokjin tilts his head, confused.
“Why did you bring those humans back from the dead?” you clarify.
His eyes soften. “They’re my favourites.”
There’s a pregnant pause as you regard him. You don’t understand. Favourites? Angels aren’t supposed to have favourites. Angels aren’t supposed to be anything like him. Maybe you haven’t met enough to speak on the matter.
“Come visit me, won’t you? I get the impression you’ll like it down there.”
And before you can scoff at the very idea of visiting a banished (albeit temporarily) angel on earth, the chute opens up below him and he’s gone.
It’s difficult to get back to work after all that. All day there are punishments to give out in God’s name, but thankfully they’re nothing as extreme as that one. You get through a few sanctions, several warnings filed, and a strongly worded letter to the Department of Animals to remind them to stop creating wasps (apparently earth has enough) and then (at what would usually be known as 6pm), like clockwork, Turiel enters your office.
He’s another one you can’t get a read on, but in an entirely different way. He came up the ranks quickly, and became your boss without the necessary qualifications within a single century. He’s kind of course, but he’s a Watcher, so naturally he watches everything. Being watched makes you uncomfortable.
“How is everything?”
“Wonderful, thank you.”
“What happened with the banishment this morning?”
“With Seok- Soterasiel? He took it rather well.” Turiel stares at you, and you clear your throat to fill the awkward quiet. “Seemed quite happy about it, actually.”
Turiel frowns. “That’s odd.”
“Yes, quite.”
“We should watch that one,” he says, already making his way out. “Oh- you remembered to strip his miracles, correct?”
Strip his- why in heaven would you do that? It seems horribly cruel enough just to leave them there, let alone take their ability to do anything worthwhile.
“Sorry?”
Turiel stops on the spot and turns, frown deepening further. “Tell me you saw the memo from Metatron? We’re to strip any and all banishments of their miracles going forward. Too many mishaps and too many angel turned demon that still have their powers.”
If you had any blood in your face it would surely drain. No, you haven’t seen any blasted memo. The pigeonhole is stuffed to burst and it’s something you’ve been meaning to work through, you truly have, but there’s so little time in the day and- and- heavens, he’s still staring at you. Tell him the truth. Tell him you didn’t take Seokjin’s miracles. They’d overlook one error, especially as it’s the first offence. Surely?
“No need to worry,” you hear yourself say, voice unnaturally high. “Of course I did.”
Turiel blinks, smiles with relief, and shuts the door behind him as he leaves.
For the first time in your existence, you’re tempted to curse.
879 BC
6:43pm. Patchy rain showers through til 8.
Seokjin’s home looks like nothing. A shack at best. It’s hardly worthy of the name home but you still need his sodding permission to cross the threshold, so you knock and wait, huddling as close to the door as possible to keep dry. As the rain pelts your back you bitterly wonder why angels have to wait at the threshold for permission to enter. It’s utterly beyond you, surely such a restraint could be reserved for those who are up to no good?
(You pointedly ignore the little voice saying that you are actually up to no good.)
“Oh my God,” Seokjin says when he opens the door (if it weren’t for the threshold force you’d keel over) and your nose wrinkles automatically at the blasphemy. “It’s you.”
“May I come in?” you say, too busy watching for Watchers in your peripherals to take in the sight of the angel in front of you. It would be terrible to be caught now, after the web of lies you weaved in order to get an hour off work.
“Why?” he asks, suspicion lacing his voice. “You’re not bringing me back early are you?”
“Oh heavens no,” you say, starting to feel a little desperate, pushing the wet hair from your eyes. “I forgot something in your documents, a quick signature and I’ll be off in a jiffy.”
“You forgot something?”
“Yes-”
“And you decided two hundred and twenty-seven years later was the right time to fix that?”
“Time slips away when you’re working!”
Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Your lot really need to unionise.”
“Shh!” you hiss. “Let me in, please?”
“Alright, alright,” he says, stepping aside. “Come on in. Take your shoes off at the door.”
“I don’t have shoes,” you say as you push past him. A little miracle as soon as you’re out of the rain has you dry and warm again. What a pity, you think, that Seokjin will have to live without these little perks for the rest of his banishment. The sympathy you feel for him catches you unawares. “What are shoes?”
Seokjin smiles. “Thought you were a watcher?”
Part Cherubim part Virtue actually, but you won’t be telling Seokjin that. That’s between you and God. You bustle past him inside the shack and you can finally relax. All protocols are being broken right now, but with the teeny tiny miracle that you performed earlier, only you and Seokjin will know about this clandestine meeting.
Seokjin’s home is much nicer on the inside. Rather homely. And clean. And it smells good. What is that smell?
“I just made some tea, would you like a cup?”
Drinking? Apparently you can’t hide your expression because Seokjin's responding smile is mirthful. “Haven’t changed much, have you?”
“I suppose not, no.”
There’s no time to dilly dally like this. If you’re not back in the office soon, there’ll be questions you won’t know how to answer without twisting the truth. An angel can’t be going around telling lies. It’s uncouth.
Seokjin busies himself at the table while you unroll the documents. The scroll is horribly long, but eventually you find the line you missed all those years ago. You cough to get his attention, and he looks up and takes the scroll from your outstretched hand.
But then he starts to read. Oh goodness gracious. You hadn’t expected that. He seemed the sort that wouldn’t get hung up on the details, that would trust an angel (one like yourself in particular) implicitly. It’s offensive, actually, that he doesn’t trust that you’re not trying to pull the wool over his eyes, even though that might be exactly what you were trying to do. Are you not trustworthy? Are you not angelic?
Seokjin frowns. Uh oh.
“You’re taking my miracles?”
“Uh-”
“Why?”
“Well- uh. It’s protocol, you see.”
Seokjin stares. The silence is palpable.
“You fucked up.”
You gasp. “Don’t curse!”
“You did!” he says, eyes wild. “You fucked up when you sent me down here!”
There’s heat creeping up your neck.
“It really doesn’t need to be such a big to-do,” you splutter. “Just sign the form, and I’ll be on my way and then you’ll be back in Heaven in no time at all!”
“But I won’t have my miracles?”
“You’ll get them back on your return!”
“What if I need them?”
“You won’t.”
“I’ve needed them a lot, actually,” Seokjin insists. “You’ve no idea how many sticky situations I’ve been in thanks to all the creatures our Heavenly Mother made!”
“Oh!” you exclaim. “Have you seen a tiger yet? Those are my favourite.”
Seokjin looks like he might slap you.
The door opens.
“Seokjinie-hyung! We’re back!”
We? Who’s we?
We are three men, one short, one tall, and one somewhere in the middle.
The room is very suddenly too small and too quiet as all of you stare at each other.
The small one’s eyes, wide and curious, dart between you and Seokjin.
“Who’s this, Seokjin hyung?”
“Uh-” you say.
“Uhh-” says Seokjin.
You can’t think of a human name. Not a single, blasted one comes to mind. Of course, humans know angels exist, but you can’t go around telling everyone who you are when you’re not exactly here on official business. Their mouths blabber too much. Word on Earth gets around faster than in Heaven.
“This is-”
“Oh my God-” the somewhere-in-the-middle one exclaims, while you grimace. “You’re that angel hyung told us about!”
You turn to glare at Seokjin, who is all of sudden very interested in the wood grain on the table. His ears are strawberry red. Strawberries were one of your ideas, you’d know that colour anywhere.
“You told them?” you say, incredulously. “What were you thinking?”
Seokjin sighs. “They’re not going to say anything.”
“Yeah!” the small one says. “Don’t worry, we’ve kept Seokijn hyung’s secret for two cent-”
He’s cut off by a loud cough from the tall one, but you’re not stupid. Humans aren’t supposed to be alive that long anymore, not since The Great Flood when God finally got sick of Noah and his bothersome family - that was one of the few memos you read.
“Seokjin-” you say slowly. He’s pointedly looking everywhere else but your face. “Are these the same humans you told me about during our first meeting?”
The small one grins. “Oh hyung, I knew you loved us more than you let on.”
Two centuries they’ve been alive - at least. Oh Goodness. You need to report it, but how could you without telling them you didn’t do your job properly.
“You don’t need to say anything to Heaven,” Seokjin says. “What they don’t know doesn’t hurt them.”
“The protocol-” you start, but you’re cut off by a groan.
“Fuck the protocol! Don’t you want to think for yourself for once? Didn’t She give us free will for a reason?”
“She gave them free will, not us!” you reason. “We’re to do as we’re told!”
“Why? What for?”
“The Great Plan!”
“The Great Plan-” he parrots in the most condescending tone. “-is supposed to be ineffable. If we knew what was in it, we wouldn’t have a choice. If I didn’t have free will, I wouldn’t have been able to turn them into vampires.”
You frown, confused. Vampires weren’t in the handbook, but then you never could keep up. “What’s a vampire?”
Seokjin swallows thickly. “Uh. Nevermind that. The point is, if this wasn’t in The Great Plan, if it wasn’t written, would I have even been able to do it?”
The thought gives you pause. He’s got a point, actually. The Archangels talk often of fate and destiny and what She wrote. No one knows the plan, of course, and it can change at Her will, but the whole point of this charade is that you’re all to trust in God’s Plan, regardless of what happens.
There’s a long moment of silence. The three men- or rather, vampires- are still just standing there watching the two of you argue.
The small one finally breaks the tension and introduces himself. “I’m Jimin,” he says.
You nod, and give your name. He repeats it, butchering the pronunciation, but of course you expected that. Humans have never quite managed to get their tongue around it. You muse for a moment if you should give yourself a more human name, like Seokjin, but your thoughts are interrupted by the large one.
“I’m Namjoon,” he says, and points to the last one, who gives a tentative wave. “This is Taehyung.”
You nod again, and start to feel a little ridiculous.
Okay, so the plan needs to be adjusted. You can’t take away Seokjin’s miracles without getting him to undo whatever he did to the human-vampires.
“How long have you all been alive?”
Namjoon glances at Seokjin, who nods. “Around three hundred years.”
“Okay,” you say. “And do you plan on dying any time soon?”
The three of them stare at you. “It’s not something we’d considered, no,” whispers Jimin.
“Right,” you say, and then turn to Seokjin. “You need to fix this, make them human again. I’ve got to go, they’ll be looking for me, but I’ll be back soon to check in on you so you’d better have done it by then.”
Seokjin’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat. It’s… somewhat pleasant to look at.
“Pleasure to meet you everyone,” you say tightly to Seokjin’s friends. “Enjoy the rest of your lives.”
You catch their confused expressions shift into something horrified before you appear back at your desk in Heaven. It leaves you befuddled. That was a perfectly pleasant first interaction with humans that are aware of your celestial-ness - you’re not quite sure what they could be so bothered about.
827 BC
Early Autumn. 8:12am. Current Earthly conditions: foggy
It’s another fifty years or so before you can catch a break long enough to get back down to Earth. The shack has improved drastically - quite the pleasant looking home in fact. There’s flower boxes on the windowsills that are covered in a light morning dew, but the plants seem hardy. Purples and yellows. Dainty looking little things. You wonder what they might be.
The door opens as you bend to smell them, and you look up to find the angel wrapped up in the largest item of clothing you’ve ever seen for something that just seems to be used for a neck. It’s ever so bright. Mismatched colours and patterns that don’t seem to line up. One end of it drags along the floor. Seokjin doesn’t appear too pleased to see you.
“What are you wearing?” you ask, amused.
“Taehyung made me a scarf.”
“It’s very big.”
Seokjin glares.
“Did you really come to ruin my life so early in the morning?”
You roll your eyes. “You’re immortal. I hardly doubt this little blip will destroy you. More like God would if you don’t pull it together.”
“I could say the same about you.”
He’s got you there. But as you hold his gaze something in the air shifts, and he reluctantly lets you in. This time you take his offer of a cup of tea. You take a tentative sip, and it warms your belly in such an unexpected way. The weight of the cup is heavy in your hand, and the warmth of it seeps into your palm. It’s rather nice.
You sit at the same table he had fifty-something years ago. There’s a few more marks in the woodwork by now.
“Shall we get it over with then?” he says. “Where do I need to sign?”
You stop his hastiness with a gentle touch to his arm. He stares at your hand.
“Did you get everything in order first?” you ask.
Seokjin coughs. “Yes, of course.”
His ears are strawberry red again. The colour really is pretty, you’re glad you chose it. You’re glad you see it in other things, even if they are the tips of this angel’s ears.
“They’re dead?”
“Not yet,” he says, lips twisting bitterly around the words. “They’re living out the rest of their lives. You might get a chance to see them, if you stay awhile. They said they’d be popping by later.”
“Oh,” you say, surprised. “Well, I suppose that’s something. You know, I am really sorry about that. I thought about it after my last visit, and I think I understand now why you’d want to keep your friends around for longer.”
“Feeling lonely up there?” he asks, voice gentler than usual.
“No!” You snort with (only slightly put on) derision. “Of course not. Too busy for such a thing as loneliness.”
He chuckles. “Maybe I wasn’t busy enough then.”
You ignore what feels like a thimbleful of sadness dropping into your stomach.
Seokjin does most of the talking while you drink your tea. He talks about what he does down here - cooking mostly, but also a little pottery. He’s been training under a man called Yoongi. Says he made the cups you’re holding, and you inspect them. They’re quite ugly, thick and uneven- and you’re about to say as such, but Seokjin looks proud, so you smile and tell him he did very well, and that you like the colour of the clay. You wish you could bottle the way he beams.
All too soon the tea is finished, and Seokjin signs the document. It’s done. His eyes still shine, if a little less bright now.
“What now?” he asks.
You suck in a breath. “Your miracles are in trust until your return to Heaven. Until then you can live as a human. More or less.”
His eyes snap up. “I’m still immortal, right?”
“Oh of course,” you say with a laugh. “You think they’d go through all this trouble just to risk you being eaten by a giraffe?”
“Do you know anything about Earth?” Seokjin says it like you’re an idiot. “At all?”
You’re tempted to roll your eyes. “I know plenty-”
“Name one thing,” he interrupts, crossing his arms and looking at you with an almost amused expression.
You draw your shoulders back. You’ll give him three. “It weighs five point nine-seven septillion kilograms.”
Seokjin blinks three times fast. You must’ve caught him off guard with your knowledge. Good.
“It’s made up of thirty-two point one percent iron, fifteen point one percent silic-”
“Alright,” Seokjin says, lips twisting into a small smile. “I get it. You don’t need to prove yourself.”
You grin, ever so pleased with yourself, and Seokjin laughs.
“You’re cute.”
“What?”
“Cute,” he repeats. “It’s a compliment.”
“Oh,” you say, wondering why reciting facts from the Earth’s handbook would warrant a compliment on your character. “Okay…” You look down at your mug and see it’s empty and you’re struck with a surprising pang of disappointment. The tea was really rather good, it’s something of a pity as you realise you won’t be able to make it the same back in Heaven.
“Well, I’d better get going. Paperwork to do. Miracles to take.”
“Of course,” says Seokjin, and stands to see you off. “If you visit again will you let me know in advance?”
“Why?”
“I’ll make dinner.”
You smile without thinking. “I don’t eat, Seokjin.”
“You know,” he says, in a very matter of fact tone. “Despite the fact that every time we meet you’re taking away something of mine, I’m growing quite fond of our meetings.”
You blink.
His eyes are so big and gentle and- “Let me know- okay?” he says with earnest.
“Okay,” you promise, already wondering when you could possibly get away long enough to watch Seokjin eat dinner.
“Would you like to take some flowers with you?” he asks suddenly. “I saw you smelling them.”
“Oh! Ye-” you start, and then you think better of it. So you plaster on a smile and say “No, that’s quite alright, I can whip some of my own up in no time at all.”
Seokjin nods. He looks like he’s going to say something else, but time is getting on and you’re not used to these odd goodbye rituals the humans (and this angel in particular) seem so fond of, so with a flash of a smile you’re back in Heaven. Seokjin and his lovely brown eyes remain on Earth.
Your office looks so bland in comparison to Seokjin's home.
It takes a second to notice that the cup he gave you is still in your hand, remnants of the sweet tea drying on the bottom. You briefly consider going back down, just to hand it over and say goodbye properly, but in walks Turiel to squash any ideas you have about leaving your post again.
“Great, you’re finally back,” he says, dumping a stack of files on your desk. “We’re swamped.”
“What happened?” you exclaim. You’re barely able to see him over the pile.
“Some bright spark in Organisms made a new virus. Let it loose in Greece without proper authorisation, killed half of them,” he says with a frustrated sigh. “The higher ups are fretting because one of the dead ones was supposed to be a prophet.”
Oh dear.
Turiel leaves without display. No time for pleasantries like offerings of tea and flowers up here. You sigh, dejected.
Being around Seokjin makes you wistful for things you didn’t know you wanted. You set the mug on your desk, turning it to and fro so you get a view of the prettier side- and with the smallest of miracles, there grows delicate flowers, in purple and yellow.
#bts fic#bts fanfction#seokjin x you#seokjin fanfic#seokjin x reader#bts fanfic#bts seokjin#seokjin fluff#jin x you#jin x reader#thank u for reading#fic: don't let me tempt you#ksj x reader#ksj fic#ksj fluff#bee writes
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you know, we have only Oromis words to tell how was Morzan when he was a kid, how can we be sure that he doesn't' exaggerate? Morzan was a rebellious kid, who could be rude and maybe cruel? A lot of kids can be cruels, it's doesn't mean they're fully bad from the start. I just think that Morzan had need of a parental figure who would correct his attitude and would CARE for him, because it what Oromis should have been: a teacher AND a parental figure since the kid was 10 when he took him.
YES THIS I 100% agree with you!! Forgive me for the very long rant I’m about to go on because I have many thoughts about Morzan that I’ve wanted to get down for a long while now. I find it super interesting to interpret that he wasn’t entirely malicious or irredeemable from the outset.
I really, REALLY don’t like the old order of Riders. From all the things we learn about them, they had a seriously objectionable system. The way they took human kids when they were 10 years old and then left them to the discretion of people like Oromis is brazen evidence of that. I’m really intrigued by the possibility that at least one of the Forsworn joined Galbatorix to dismantle the Riders out of a genuine aversion to their abuse and a desire to put an end to it and build something better, not just from a personal lust for power.
Given the way Galbatorix talks to Oromis and Nasuada, I think he would have presented his intentions that way to distract from his real deranged vengefulness. It would have fascinating implications for any of the Forsworn to have truly fallen for that, and then as the consequences of their actions fully unfold and Galbatorix becomes an even worse tyrant, for that Forsworn to burn with regret and resentment and hatred towards him. It would make for such an interesting dynamic during the Empire’s reign. I just want one disloyal Forsworn who hates Galbatorix because they feel tricked and used, it’d be cool!!!
Admittedly, Morzan is the only one of the Forsworn we have any background for at all, so it doesn’t mean much to say he’s the best fit, but the backstory we do have can potentially line up with that role very well. Morzan was very young when he met Galbatorix, and thus inexperienced and impressionable. He spent more time with him and would have been exposed to a lot more of his manipulation. And I think he would have reason to be predisposed against the Riders before they met, a resentment Galbatorix could have fueled for his own benefit.
I’ve made it no secret how much I loathe Oromis. Tbh the fact that Morzan spent years training under him is a huge reason why I’m able to sympathize with him lmao. I would also start killing people. That man could have never given the necessary care and tolerance and emotional support to a ten year old, but it seems like the new Riders were entrusted entirely to their mentors. We see how horribly Oromis mistreats Eragon and how that affects him even when he’s sixteen- his callous neglect inflicted on ten year old children is a disaster waiting to happen, especially if any of those kids weren’t well cared for to begin with.
Also, this is slightly pedantic, but when Oromis is talking about Morzan, he specifically says that he “grew so proud and cruel,” which implies that this issue was less significant or not there at all when he first took Morzan. His harmful behaviors apparently developed over time which should be addressed and cared for by whoever’s raising him. Oromis is the only one in a position to raise him and he still turns a blind eye to Morzan.
In my headcanons, Morzan grew up impoverished and neglected. He doesn’t know what fair and caring treatment looks like and so he also can’t identify Oromis’s abuse, but its impact is compounding on an already present wound. Morzan is starving to make something of himself because no one has acknowledged and loved him for who he already is, which makes for a horribly volatile mixture with Oromis’s penchant for demanding his students prove themselves against an arbitrary and merciless standard. Morzan’s susceptibility to Oromis’s pressure makes him viciously desperate to prove himself, intensely competitive, and highly reactive to disapproval. It creates a perception of inadequacy that bleeds into everything Morzan does.
When he’s unpressured and at ease, Morzan’s nature is actually quite reserved, slow, passive, and methodical, but he is so, so easily incensed. Because he’s so fixated on proving himself, he assumes everyone initially holds a very low opinion of him and that’s what necessitates he fight for approval. He just can’t fathom receiving acceptance, respect, or care without proving he deserves it, and so he’s perpetually clawing for more. And falling short feels so devastating because he’s never been shown his worth beyond people’s expectations.
To me, that’s why he ends up attached to someone like Brom, who idolizes and defers to him. For Morzan, it would feel like his endless efforts to prove himself have actually proven something. Because he thinks he has to earn love, Brom’s affection would also feed into Morzan’s ego, providing a long desired vindication. The fact that Oromis trains both of them makes their relationship so much worse. I feel like his relatively positive relationship with Brom could have balanced out and helped Morzan adjust with time, but there’s an unfortunate competitive aspect at play. As Morzan scrambles for Oromis’s approval, now Brom is also being trained and the differences between them present another metric that could make Morzan seem lesser. So he puts Brom down and fights against him for their master’s care and validation like they’re limited commodities.
I think, over time, Morzan comes to recognize elements of Oromis’s abuse. He simply doesn’t have the energy to constantly struggle for his approval forever, and as that starts to run dry, it reveals some things. He resents that Oromis belittles his struggles and only values efforts that yield the results he wants, so he stops putting in the effort. If Morzan still doesn’t matter to him after trying so hard, why should he keep trying? He hates that Oromis can never give a true justification for the standards he demands they reach, and he starts ignoring them. He despises how he lies when says he cares for him and wants the best for him, because he prioritized his utility to the Riders over his well being in every moment since they met.
So, when he meets Galbatorix, Morzan is bitterly resentful and disillusioned. He joins him out of desire for revenge on Oromis and to tear down the system that abandoned him to his abuse. I do believe Morzan genuinely loved Brom in a certain way, despite his mistreatment, and he starts trying to incite him against Oromis not solely because of his own vindictiveness but also out of concern for Brom. As Galbatorix’s plans start to move, Morzan balks and begins seriously doubting him, even more so as the scope of slaughter unfolds, but he swallows his misgivings and stays determined to recruit Brom to the winning side. When one of the Forsworn kills the first Saphira despite Morzan’s insistence they be spared, he’s vehemently outraged. I think of Galbatorix’s disinterest in his uproar as the turning point in Morzan’s loyalty to him. As the Empire takes form, that disloyalty solidifies and Morzan hates Galbatorix for being even more cruel, manipulative, and uncaring than the people he wanted revenge on. Galbatorix tolerates it because forcing his vengeful resentment into subservience gratifies his sadistic impulse.
Now all of this is well within the realm of extrapolation and interpretation- none of these details directly suggest this version of Morzan’s character and motivations. They give the potential, but not real support, and they can just as easily be seen in any number of different ways. However, there is one single thing that actually grounds this in canon, which is that Morzan was a name-slave from very early on. When Eragon is telling Murtagh about the chance to change his true name and challenges his hesitation, Murtagh says, “[Galbatorix] has been creating name-slaves for over a hundred years, ever since he recruited our father.”
This detail fascinates me. There is the possibility that it’s a lie, but I can’t imagine Murtagh would make it up considering how much distaste he expresses towards his father. And I don’t think it would make sense for Galbatorix to lie to Murtagh about it either. If he didn’t actually have control over Morzan’s name then, claiming he did would discredit that real loyalty Morzan would have had to feel for him and his cause to do everything of his own free will. I think it’s the truth. Galbatorix learned Morzan’s true name more than a hundred years ago, before the fall, when he recruited him- which, to me, feels like before Morzan even helped him steal Shruikan’s egg.
Morzan either knew his true name already or Galbatorix went through his mind to find out, and the latter seems far more likely. Given the way Morzan’s described: young, arrogant, weak minded- I highly doubt he knew and the way Murtagh brings this up implies Galbatorix’s skill at uncovering names. Morzan either felt so loyal to Galbatorix at that point that he willingly let him in his mind, he was coerced into agreeing to it, or Galbatorix did it by force.
This still doesn’t mean Morzan wanted to dismantle the broken parts of the Riders instead of fully destroying them and that Galbatorix manipulated him into starting a war he found appalling- but it makes that idea much more feasible. If Morzan did realize Galbatorix’s intentions weren’t what he said and that he didn’t want to take things so far, he couldn’t back out. Any reluctance or disagreement would have been overridden and things would unfold exactly how they did.
I think Morzan was wounded and angry and starving for true respect and care that lured him to Galbatorix, and the precarious pride he clung to made him look away from the severity of Galbatorix’s actions. Then he realized his desperation was preyed upon only when it was far too late.
#eragon#inheritance cycle#morzan#oromis#galbatorix#brom#answered ask#anon im sorry i think this might have been more than you bargained for lmao#im a little insane about this#but this concept captivated me and i wont let go of it now#also im quite tempted to write a fic of young morzan and brom. i have scenes in my brain
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Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss
…on a scar.
Love the list and tempted to send ore than one number in one go . . but I won't be greedy . . 😊
from the kiss list / see the rest
Notes: Mentions of the fact that Blaine has scars caused by his Sadie Hawkins experience but no details about it.
~~~~~
"So I can't help but notice," Kurt says. "That no one else is home."
He smiles mischievously and pulls Blaine down next to him on the bed. Blaine feels the affection unfold in his stomach. He loves Kurt like this. Cheeks flushed and eyes bright and so obviously interested that it soothes some of Blaine's constant insecurities.
"Hmm," Blaine hums like this fact had completely escaped him and the thought hadn't been thrumming under his skin for the whole car ride here. "Yeah. I guess my parents are both out tonight."
Kurt doesn't bother to act coy. His arms slide over Blaine's shoulders and then their mouths meet, soft and warm.
It still feels so new. Kissing Kurt. Even though it's been a few months now. Months of sweet, shy kisses that have melted into heated making out. They've learned how to turn their heads to perfectly fit together. Blaine knows that Kurt's nose fits in the groove of his cheek. He knows that Kurt makes a gorgeous, needy little noise if Blaine's teeth catch on his bottom lip. He knows that his hand always finds Kurt's cheek or jaw, eager to keep him close.
It's unusual for them to get any real privacy and Blaine doesn't fully know what he expected from suddenly getting some, but he loves how it’s turned out. Just the opportunity to kiss slowly and lazily, a constant catch and release of mouths and shared breaths until his ears are flushed and his lips feel swollen and Kurt's eyes are dark and heavy.
Blaine can't believe how good kissing feels. He could happily never stop kissing Kurt.
"Can I…?" Kurt breaths, trailing off. He toys with the buttons on Blaine's shirt.
"Hmm?" Blaine can't stop staring at Kurt's mouth. Slightly red and damp. Completely kissable.
"Can we take our shirts off?"
Blaine freezes, breath catching nervously. He wants to see Kurt so badly and trail his fingers across Kurt's perfect skin. Map out the shape of him without clothes in the way. But. That would also mean exposing himself. And he doesn’t know whether to warn Kurt about the scars. The ones that spider from his hips and up across his ribs. But the warning will just invite more questions. He doesn’t want to talk about Sadie Hawkins right now. Not because he doesn’t trust Kurt. But because he just wants to be with him in the moment and not invite his past into this bubble they’ve created.
Of course, not telling him means that Blaine might have to watch his face turn to shock or disgust. Blaine is not ashamed of the scars. And he doesn’t think that Kurt is the sort of person to care about them either. But there’s always that small level of doubt.
"Blaine?" Kurt prompts gently. "Sorry. It's too soon. Forget I-"
“No,” Blaine interrupts. He cups Kurt’s face. “It’s not that. I want to. Just… do mine first.” He doesn’t want to talk about the scars. But he does want to get the reveal over with.
Kurt catches Blaine’s eye as he reaches for Blaine’s buttons again. He makes quick work of them, hand sliding warmly over Blaine’s collarbone as the sliver of skin is exposed. Blaine shrugs out of the shirt before he can change his mind, letting Kurt pull it away eagerly like a kid tearing wrapping off a gift.
He hears the way Kurt’s breath catches. “Wow,” Kurt murmurs. He sounds reverent rather than appalled so Blaine chances a glance at his face. His eyes are soft with open adoration. It makes Blaine’s own breath stutter. He thinks Kurt must not have noticed the scars somehow, as impossible as that would be. But Kurt places his hands directly over the worst of them in a gentle caress.
“Does this hurt?” he asks.
“No. They’re old scars.”
Kurt gives him a knowing look. Like he knows as well as Blaine that some scars never truly heal. “Can we lie down?”
Blaine wants to protest that Kurt still has his shirt on but if Kurt looked at him the way he is now whilst half naked, he might just combust on the spot. So he just nods. He lets Kurt push him down. Kurt doesn’t quite straddle him but he does hover over him, pressing another lush kiss to his waiting lips before turning his attention to Blaine’s chest again.
It’s startling when he puts his lips directly on Blaine’s bare hip. Blaine’s breath punches out of him. For all the kissing they’ve done, it couldn’t prepare him for Kurt’s lips on the more untouched parts of his body. It feels so intimate, the way Kurt’s lips softly press the path of the most obvious scar. Blaine shivers, hand fisting uselessly in the sheets.
“Is this OK?” Kurt checks, voice low. “You’re trembling.”
“It’s OK. Better than OK. Good even,” Blaine babbles and Kurt grins down at him, head slightly cocked.
“God, you’re gorgeous. I’m kind of feeling insane that I get to see you like this.”
Blaine would agree but Kurt’s mouth is back on his body and all he manages is a groan. He throws a hand over his face. Heat spreads from every point of Kurt’s lips on him. His hips shift helplessly against nothing. The simmering arousal from making out, slightly quelled by his anxiety, roars back into life. Blaine reaches for Kurt, finds his hair, wraps his fingers through it.
“So gorgeous,” Kurt repeats half like an assurance and half like he just can't help himself.
By the time he's finished mapping Blaine's scar and is making his way up Blaine's throat instead, Blaine barely knows what to do with himself. He's hard and aching. He's breathless and flushed and incoherent. He wants Kurt's body on him, wants to get at his bare skin, wants to devour him.
Kurt's face meets him back at eye level and looks down at him. He looks flushed too, bright eyed with arousal and looking at Blaine's lips. He nuzzles their noses together and Blaine melts. He hooks an arm over Kurt's shoulders and pulls him close so Kurt is half on top of him and their foreheads are pressed together.
"You're perfect," Kurt says, quiet into the space between them and Blaine didn't know how much he needed to hear it.
"So are you." Blaine slides a hand under Kurt's shirt, trailing over warm skin. He wants to make Kurt feel the same as he does. Adored and content and stupidly horny. "Let me show you."
#klaine#klaine fic#glee#klaine fanfiction#my fic#the kiss fics#asks#bitbybitwrites#im very in my feelings about early klaine lately who knew#i was very tempted to write some trans kurt#and i did get this prompt multiple times#so i could still write it#let me know if trans kurt is something you would be interested in#my other half is always saying there isn't enough trans rep in fanfic or yknow in general#and i agree!#so i wanna contribute some#this is really relying on someone reading the tags on this but here we are#the real me is hidden in the footnotes or something
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One thing I noticed is that in nearly every au that i’ve heard concepts of, seen written, and written myself where the Bard survives the rebellion, Venti still chooses to take his form (or at the very least his form is highly influenced by them)
Bard: *Dies*
Venti: “I want to take your form so that I can always remember you, to make sure your face is forever carved into the world’s memory, so I can carry the burden of knowing you exist, of knowing the freedom you brought, of the changes you made to this world. People say that no one dies until they are truly forgotten by everyone, and it’s true- I may never have learned your name, but even so I will carry you with me to the ends of Teyvat and back, and it doesn’t matter how much I despise my reflection, how many centuries I spent agonizing over your loss, how I have tarnished your beautiful face with the weight of my sins, I will continue doing this. Because I love you, and until the winds carry me back to the primordial space where I originated from, I will continue loving you. Forever and always.”
Bard: *Lives*
Venti: “Bro ngl you look kinda pretty tho do u mind if i permanently borrow ur gender rq i’ll give credits”
#bardven#venti#namelessbard#genshin impact#old mondstadt#venbard#my writing#they both need hugs and therapy plz#gtsk i know you’re reading this and let me tell you i was VERY tempted to steal some lines from some of your fics#venti needs a break#alternate universe
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Hmmm. What if I attempted to write a piece of Trash and posted it anonymously?
#What is wrong with you Sam you should not be allowed to write#This post was inspired by...something#Namely me getting a Bad Idea for a fic (thanks to someone's else's fic)#And then feeling The Shame because I'm just like that and this would normally be enough to stop me from even attempting it#But then I was just like...what if I tried anyway and just stopped giving a shit?#I'm being super vague here because reasons#But...this bitch is tempted to just write some problematic poorly written trash and shove it out there for all to see#It's not like I have a reputation to worry about I'm a nobody LOL#But at the same time there's a bunch of reasons why I don't think I should bother#Shame is only part of it tbh there's other more valid reasons why#it doesn't help that most of the other stuff I've been working on is stuff I don't think I could ever post anon or not#I'm babbling on about nothing here what the hell?#This is what happens when I kinda-sorta inch my way out of a month-long writing slump and then I start getting Ideas again#Bad Ideas!#Folks if I'm really about to enter my IDGAF Era of writing it's gonna be a baaaaaad time for all involved...#OK that's enough Sam let's stop now#......................................the idea is for an OrangeHook fic#Or whatever people are calling that now
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See for ages I've been like I want to do a masters in medieval studies, it's where my interest is, I should do my diss on something related to medieval history/lit but the women of Richard iii 👀
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I don't know if these make sense, but I ran out of room so easily soooo
if you wanna ask any questions, just comment on this post. also, requests are still open, so send any through :D
#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#which one should i write like really#requests open#angst or angst or fluff#you guys know me I'm tempted to write angst ofc#but i've written so much#let's see if anyone actually votes and if i get any responses lmao
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Once upon a time in the quaint village, there lived a young mail courier. He was known for his unwavering dedication to his job, delivering letters and packages with a smile to every doorstep. One day, an urgent message arrived at the village, instructing him to embark on a long journey to a distant town where a crucial post office awaited.
The mail he carried was no ordinary mail; it held the hopes and dreams of the villagers, connecting loved ones and spreading joy. The journey to the post office was not an easy one, as it spanned through vast meadows, dense forests, and treacherous mountains. However, he was determined to fulfill his duty, knowing that the letters in his bag held significant meaning to the recipients.
With a firm resolve, he bid farewell to his family and set off at the crack of dawn, his loyal horse carrying him through the countryside. Along the way, the courier encountered various challenges, from wild storms that soaked him to the bone to a broken bridge that forced him to find an alternative path.
As the days turned into weeks, he faced moments of doubt, but he never faltered. The thought of the smiles on people's faces when they received their letters and packages kept him going. Each night, he would rest under the starlit sky, reading letters from his own family for encouragement.
On his journey, he met fellow travelers who shared their own tales of hope and love, making him realize the profound impact his job had on connecting people's lives. With newfound determination, he pressed on, even through the darkest of nights and the coldest of days.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sight of the town appeared on the horizon. Exhausted but elated, the courier and his horse made their way through the bustling streets, guided by the townsfolk who welcomed them warmly.
The post office in the town was a grand building with ornate architecture, a symbol of communication and unity. As he entered, he handed over the carefully protected mail, knowing the importance of each letter entrusted to him. The postmaster was grateful for his perseverance and dedication, acknowledging the role he played in bringing happiness to so many.
In one of the letters is said: "what would happen if Desmond can turn into Eren's founding Titan form? Doesn't have to be an aot au. I bet it would be very funny lmao XD"
Alright, let’s talk about how we can do this. So we’ll give Desmond the Founding Titan’s powers but keep him in the AC world. (unless someone wants an AOT AU or a Desmond get isekai’ed to the AOT world AU)
So, first, let’s clarify what the Founding Titan’s powers would be now that there’s actually no… you know… Titan in AC (have spoilers for AOT, I guess):
The Founding Titan can create and control other Titans who are Subjects of Ymir. In this idea, you might think that means Desmond should be able to control those with Isu blood but I suggest a different idea: Desmond would be able to control humans in general but the more Isu blood one has, the harder it is to control them. (We’ll get to why we’re changing it this way in a bit). As for the creation part, since we’re not giving Desmond the ability to create Titan (I mean, we could), we’ll make him able to create ‘monsters’ instead. To be more specific: he can manipulate human genes and change them to whatever he liked, although it might be easier for him to change them lightly (like perhaps giving them the ability to access Eagle Vision) or to keep them more human-like (like say… a minotaur or a gorgon or a werewolf… if you catch my drift). This will also be the equivalent of the Founding Titan’s ability to change the body of the Subjects of Ymir (which, when you think about it, Titan creation is a subset of this ability anyway).
The Founding Titan can manipulate memories of the Subjects of Ymir. This means Desmond would be able to change or add or even remove memories of humans, even going as far as give them fake memories if need be.
The Founding Titan can telepathically communicate with Subjects of Ymir so I guess we’re giving Desmond telepathy as well.
The Founding Titan has the ability can influence the past in some way but it cannot completely change the past. It’s a bit complicated so we’ll set this up different with Desmond using one specific device: The Animus.
Of course the Founding Titan can only be used completely by those with royal blood so we’re making Desmond’s Isu ancestor be one of the Titan children of Gaia and Uranus. We actually have two main candidates: Iapetus whose sons were called mankind’s ancestors and we’ll translate it to Iapetus’ children being one of the Isus who helped humans during the war, turning their backs against their fellow Isus. Perhaps one of Adam and Eve’s children would marry one of Iapetus’ sons in this scenario. Another candidate is Hyperion who fathered the three children and lights of the heaven: Helios, Selene and Eos. Of course, we’ll pick Helios as Desmond’s ancestor to further twist the knife of Desmond dying from the solar flare or, if you want to be kind to him, we’ll give him Eos as a symbol of an upcoming dawn.
Now that’s done, we’ll talk about why those abilities might sound familiar…
They’re all ‘powers’ that Kassandra actually sees during her travels. To be more specific, she encountered mystical beings being controlled by Isu artifacts (that may or may not be Apple, we’re not completely certain that the Apple was able to change them or if they’re being used to simply control them after their change, the human experiments of Juno and Aita in Atlantis would point at the latter) which means that Desmond’s Founding Titan powers are powers that Juno and Aita were trying to recreate.
This is why Desmond’s Isu ancestor being Iapetus makes more sense because all of his powers are to subjugate and control humans, not Isus.
And then we come to the power to change the past which isn’t something that Desmond could actually do until he comes in contact with the Animus.
To be more exact, the Animus used by Vidic still holds the POE that he had used to develop the Animus in the first place because it was the prototype. The POE reacted to his Founding abilities that had been dormant until he got into the Animus.
And this is how Desmond would be able to change the past.
By connecting to his own genes, he’s able to contact and even control to a certain degree the actions of the people who share the same Iapetus genes as him.
However, we come to a certain… shall we say ‘snag’ in this idea.
Because Desmond has two different bloodlines that, as far as we know, does not intersect.
Altaïr’s bloodline that comes from his mother and the Auditore-Kenway bloodline that came from William Miles.
This means that we have to choose who would carry the Iapetus bloodline. Of course, it’s me, so you know I’m going to suggest Altaïr but I have another reason other than the fact that I will always choose Altaïr given a choice.
Altaïr is someone willing to make a deal with Desmond in exchange for the safety and happiness of his family. Once Desmond learned of the truth of Altaïr’s future, he could use the Founding Titan’s power to contact Altaïr and to help him change the past in exchange to being Desmond’s ‘prophet’. Using the Founding Titan’s ability to change human composition, Desmond could change Altaïr to be immortal until all their work is finish and Altaïr would agree to it. Desmond’s connection to Altaïr would give Desmond a direct way to change the past, slowly unraveling the entire road that the Isus wished him to walk.
The path that would end with a noose tied to his neck as the sun burns him away.
And, of course, we have the Founder Ymir being the ‘helper’ of the one who holds the Founding Titan.
And who else will we pick but the Reader?
The Reader who can see the past, present and future thanks to the Calculations but unable to change anything without a ‘master’ to command him.
And the truth was…
The Reader was able to tweak it.
There was a split second when Desmond Miles was able to use his Founding Titan powers.
But it wasn’t when he was first put in the Animus.
No.
It was when he used the device in the Grand Temple to save the world.
In that split second…
The Reader used that time to manipulate Desmond to making him order him.
“I want to live.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“Please… someone… save me.”
He used Desmond’s desperation to live to set everything into motion. He changed the past just enough for Vidic to make the prototype have the POE, making him believe this was the best way to get clearer and more stable memories.
And from that…
The Reader set the third loop.
.
.
Just to clarify:
The first loop: AC canon with the Reader coming to existence
The second loop: Desmond Miles manages to awaken his Founding Titan power when he’s about to die and the Reader used that to change just enough things to make the third loop.
The third loop: the current loop with Desmond awakening his Founding Titan power during his first Animus session and, later on, making a deal with Altaïr to change the past using Altaïr as his ‘spokesperson’.
==== For the Alchemist Section ====
The mail courier’s perseverance traveled as far as his mail and it was now up to the local courier to make sure it arrived in its proper destination safe and sound.
Their little village rarely received mails before the alchemist took residence in the abandoned house up the hill and it had become part of his daily job to bring new mails and take the alchemist’s daily shipment but…
Things had been hectic around these parts. Harvest season was upon them and they had been so busy these past three months because of it. He knew that the mails were being delivered much later than usual but they haven’t heard a complaint just yet which was nice, especially with the heavy rainfall they’ve been getting lately. Everyone was quite worried for their corps.
Still, it was up to him to make sure he was able to deliver the ones that do manage to get to their village and send the ones the alchemist was able to finish in the midst of them helping with the preparations for harvest season.
But…
The chimney’s smoke was red.
The kind of red that reminded him of blood.
The alchemist made the weirdest things whenever they feel like it. The moving clay doll last month was one of them.
So…
He took a deep breath and prepared to knock on the door-
Only to gasp when he smelled the smoke.
It was because he was too close to the house. Even if the smoke was coming out of the chimney and dispersing into the air, it was still quite close.
His body…
… feels so hot right now.
He fell on his knees and began to pant, the heat seemingly coiling all over his body distracting him from the creaking sound the front door always make.
Then…
He felt cold air hit him like a puff of smoke.
And the heat disappeared.
Leaving only embarrassment with the way his body had reacted.
It was like…
“Sorry about that.”
He raised his head and…
… came face to face with a complete hazmat suit that covered the alchemist from head to toe. The only reason why he even know it was the alchemist because of the white and red butterfly brooch that they had always worn, now adorning the helmet of their hazmat suit like it was a hairpin.
“It would be better if you stay by the fence and shout instead. I’ll take my mail and give you my deliveries instead.”
The alchemist made a motion with their hand and he weakly stood, using his courier standard bag to hide his shame as he handed the alchemist the mails he had received today.
“Uuuhh… is it…” He looked behind the alchemist and the entire house looked alright from what he could see.
“It’s just for this week. This week’s…” The alchemist paused for a moment before adding, “… No. Next Monday’s quite special, I suppose.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll have this done later this evening. Please come back by then instead.” The alchemist requested and he nodded.
“Alright. I’ll see you later then.”
With that said, the alchemist closed the door, leaving the courier unable to ask…
If they actually did not see his shame or if…
They simply didn’t care?
#oh man#i guess this is sorta like#desmond appearing to altaïr in dreams and such#or maybe even just as a ghostly companion only he sees#and altaïr changing the past#i tried adding the alchemist's section at the bottom this time around#let me know if you want the alchemist sections before the answer or after#ngl i was tempted to give the courier a dog#because of bg3’s scratch#but i didn’t because#the alchemist would have gone ‘dog!’ and derailed the entire thing by petting the dog#assassin's creed#desmond miles#altaïr ibn la'ahad#ask and answer#teecup writes/has a plot#fic idea: assassin's creed#uuuhhh#imma not tag aot unless someone wants a full blown crossover#first fe now aot#it's like “hey remember your old fandoms teecup???”
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i see your requests !! i will get to them when i feel rested, thank u !!
#it means the world to me that people engage w my writing let alone compliment it#i didnt think so many of you would like it but!! you did!! thank you#my feet are aching and im numb all over my body i havent felt so much exhaustion omfg#and i have to clean up my dorm room bc im gonna go stay at my friends house tomorrow#oughhhghhhh#tempted to draw aven huggingme#imbeingcringesowwy#chip is talkin🪤
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some of the “tell us more about this character or that aspect of the world” asks i’ve received in the past few months are SO good, i am on the edge of my seat to draw and write responses to them, i have them like, planned, i just gotta wait till january to get started
also as an aside, bc two new people have asked: yes, i am still making that
“veri help, the OCs i made to be evil villains never stay evil, they inevitably slide into antihero territory at worst, why does this happen and how do i keep this from happening so i can have at least one ACTUAL villain running around” writing advice guide, it just got away from me a bit and needs some streamlining so it isn’t basically a long winded youtube video essay without the actual youtube video
#sporadic warbling#i mean i guess i COULD make it a video essay#but let's not tempt fate and also not force me to make rebus talk sprites#rebus: i'm gona do it#everyone: NO DONT PLEASE#rebus: *folds their arms*#everyone: NOOO#that said the most extremely simplified answer is:#how your brain will engage with an OC that is ultimately a toy in an evershifting sandbox#will be much different then how you are forced to write them in an actual concrete story#which a lot of people are often reluctant to admit they are not Actually making#but it does go deeper that that and what causes the different panning out is what i'll be getting into
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don't let me tempt you / ch.2
pairing: angel!seokjin x angel!f.reader
⇢ au: angels & demons
⇢ genre: forbidden romance, friends 2 lovers, comedy(?), fluff, eventual smut (not in this chapter), lite angst
⇢ summary: Seokjin is temporarily banished from Heaven and you're not all that good at paperwork.
⇢ chapter wc: 4k
⇢ rating: fic rating is explicit/18+ for eventual smut; chapter rating is 16 & up bc they're the equivalent of ken dolls rn, but minors please DNI anyway. This isn't for you.
⇢ chapter warnings: LOTS of religious imagery but please remember that this isn't meant to be accurate, it's crack Good Omens style nonsense. Author is an atheist. Swearing. Drinking. Implications of loss of faith. If there's any tags you think I'm missing, please let me know - I'd hate to be the cause of any upset or discomfort
⇢ a/n: thank uuuuuu @ugh-yoongi for reading this over, i adore you
chapter 1 here
chapter 2
736 BC
August 12th. 6:13pm. Sunshine.
It’s been ninety-one years and twenty-six visits to Earth since your first cup of tea. Since then Seokjin has shown you could enjoy so many more earthly pleasures than you thought possible. He makes an effort to show you something new every time you visit, and humans, as it turns out, are so much more creative than angels give them credit for. You’re really starting to enjoy it here. Every time, you wish you could stay longer. And so you learned you could convince Turiel to add routine patrols on all your banishments - by all accounts you’re only ever visiting Earth on ‘Official Business’.
(‘Managed to convince’ isn’t really the right turn of phrase, more like you briefly floated the idea and Turiel near bit your hand off to add more to your workload.)
Of course the visits mean more reports in theory, but truth be told there aren’t that many banishments to keep on top of, and you spend far less time with the other banished angels than anyone else need know. That isn’t the case for Seokjin’s visits. No, you could spend an entire day in his company and feel like it’s been no time at all. For those reports alone, you need to twist the truth.
Your stomach growls and Seokjin tuts.
“If you didn’t wait thirteen years between visits,” he grumbles. “Your stomach wouldn’t be so loud.”
You open your mouth to say that the only reason you have any interest in Earth is because of Seokjin and his friends (though maybe by now they count as yours too, it’s something you’ll have to ask Taehyung) but the sour look on his face gives you pause.
(Ah yes. Taehyung. Your readers will probably be wondering why he’s still alive. Well, they all are. As it turns out the change from human to vampire was irreversible, and all Seokjin had been able to do was make it so they’re not quite as immortal as angels and demons are. In short - one could kill the three of them with a stake to the heart, if they should wish. When you found out Seokjin had omitted the truth (his words) about their lack of demise, that had been the biggest (and only) argument you’ve had in the centuries you’ve known him. Jimin had cried. It was very embarrassing.
Of course, you’d moved past it, because there was little to be done to change anything, and you actually rather like the company of the vampire trio. Yoongi is another anomaly, he should be dead too, and he kind of- he sort of is. Seokjin calls him a ghoul. But having met him, you can’t say he’s as evil as the handbooks make ghouls out to be. A grouch, definitely, but you can see why Seokjin likes to keep him around.
Anyway, the point of this opening was not Seokjin’s lie of omission. The point is Seokjin’s current disposition.)
“Why are you in such a mood?”
“I’m not in a mood,” Seokjin shoots back.
“You are,” you counter.
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
Seokjin flicks you on the forehead.
“Ow!”
“Please stop,” snaps Namjoon from the corner of the room. “Some of us are trying to study.”
You crane your neck to spy on the book he’s reading. Heraclitian Philosophy.
Seokjin notices you looking. “Namjoon fancies himself as one of the new age philosophers,” he whispers. “He won’t listen but I keep telling him they’re a bunch of miserable fu-”
“I can hear you,” says Namjoon, pointedly.
You and Seokjin share a private smile.
“We missed you,” he murmurs.
“Missed you too,” you say, cheerfully.
You dip a spoon into the pot Seokjin is standing over, and he chastises you for tasting too early (it’s not ready, so he says) but it’s so good that you can’t help yourself.
“Mmm,” you hum, appreciative. “My favourite.”
He’s strawberry red again.
“Where do strawberries grow?” you ask.
Seokjin laughs. “You always ask such weird questions.”
You bonk him on the head with your spoon.
“Answer please.”
“Dunno,” says Seokjin with a shrug. “I haven’t seen any here.”
“In Europe!” Namjoon calls over.
“Thank you!” you shout back.
“Why do you ask?” says Seokjin.
“I want to try one.”
He tilts his head, a curious puppy if you ever saw one.
“I invented them,” you answer his unasked question.
“You?”
You frown. “Yes, me.”
“You made food?”
“I made lots of things.”
“But you didn’t try anything?”
“Well why would I? I made lovely things in pretty colours just like they asked and sent them off to Agriculture.”
Seokjin smiles sardonically, saying, “such a good little angel, aren’t you?”
You beam even though it’s a non-compliment, and Seokjin rolls his eyes, but this time the look in his eye is one of affection.
“What else did you invent?” Seokjin asks, and off you go, listing all the things in your roster until you lose your breath.
After dinner, Namjoon goes out to meet the others for a dinner of their own, leaving you and Seokjin sitting in front of an open window, sipping tea and catching up on the happenings over the last decade.
Seokjin seems down. He leaves his tea to go cold and picks at loose threads on his tunic.
After a while, you ask, “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
Your friend’s face falls into a dejected pout. “Time’s almost up,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Thirty years left and I’ve hardly been anywhere. Hardly seen a thing.”
Seokjin always claims he’s not sentimental, but you look at the home he’s built for himself, the friends he keeps, the trinkets that adorn the room, some four-hundred years old, and you deduce that there is little truth to that statement. What he isn’t is someone who tends to feel sorry for himself.
It’s unsettling, seeing him like this.
“It’ll be okay,” you tell him. “Once you’re back home you’ll have your miracles, and you can have all of this and more in Heaven.”
Seokjin rolls his bottom lip between his teeth.
“I’ll be there too,” you tack on.
His responding smile is a little pitiful, but a smile is a smile, and if that’s all he’s got, you’ll take it.
729 BC
January 28th. 6:56pm. Snowing.
Taehyung says he’s invented a game. It’s called truth or dare, and the objective is to tell the truth when you’re asked a question, or do something at the other player's request. Despite asking on several occasions, there seems to be no clear rules on how to win.
“This isn’t a criticism of your creativity, Taehyung,” you say gently. “But it seems as if there’s no real point in playing if your point scoring system is flawed.”
Taehyung stares at you. Jimin hides a laugh behind his hand.
“How do we know when to end the game if there’s no objective winner?” you ask.
They ignore you, and Namjoon suggests it would be better to write down the dares and questions and draw them from different jars. For yours, you write down things like eat exactly 2/7ths of an apple and what time is it?
Jimin pours drinks, because apparently there’s also ‘forfeits’ in the form of ‘taking a shot’ if you can’t answer truthfully or complete a dare, but you can’t imagine why either thing would be such difficult tasks to complete.
“Why would I lie, though?” you ask again. “It’s my job to be divine.”
“You’ve lied for me on more than a hundred occasions,” Seokjin reminds you.
“Nonsense,” you say, haughtily. “That was for the greater good.”
Jimin and Taehyung share a funny look.
Namjoon coughs. “Shall we just play?”
You grumble something about rules being made to be followed that the others pointedly ignore, and Yoongi is the first to draw from the dare pile, and Taehyung- who is reading over his shoulder- shrieks.
Run naked to the end of the street and back <3
Oh.
Yoongi turns as red as a ghoul can go (which is to say, not very) and says he’s glad he can turn invisible, and promptly disappears from view. The only suggestion that he even leaves the room is the door opening and closing. Jimin says pointedly that he bets Yoongi is still in the room, but a minute later the door goes again, and Yoongi appears once more at the table, pink-cheeked and panting. Jimin scowls like a child and calls him a spoilsport.
The game continues in this vein until Namjoon gets your dare.
“Put on socks?” he says, confused.
“Yes!” You nod. “It’s very cold.”
Seokjin laughs. “You really are an angel.”
You beam at him.
Namjoon goes to find socks.
“Stop making googly eyes at each other,” says an exasperated Jimin. “I’m bored.”
Taehyung nudges the jars toward Seokjin. “Your turn.”
He makes a drawn out show of searching for the best one while not actually looking, claiming he can tell who wrote it by the way they folded the paper. He pulls out one he says was ‘obviously’ written by Yoongi, but by the gleeful look on Jimin’s face, you wonder if it was really him.
“Kiss your favourite person in the room,” reads Seokjin. He stares very hard at the paper. He’s not even blinking.
Taehyung and Jimin break the silence with a giggle. Namjoon is back, with more socks on, and his eyes dart between you and Seokjin. And now your eyes have turned into curious little fiends too, looking from Seokjin to the paper to Seokjin to the paper, to your hands, which are suddenly very interesting for no reason at all.
Seokjin looks at you for a long time. Seokjin turns red. And then Seokjin kisses Yoongi on the cheek.
“Forfeit!” yells Namjoon.
723 BC
March 9th. 8:02pm. A little chilly, but not unpleasantly so.
Today, the cold weather has you craving kimchi jjigae, and Seokjin has only complained three-hundred times about it. He says he made a table full of food, he asks why you can’t wait until everyone else arrives, he says of course you’d want the one thing he hadn’t made. He makes it anyway, and mutters that none of his other friends are as demanding nor as needy, including Taehyung.
The reason for the sheer amount of food adorning the table is because today is Yoongi’s birthday, and Seokjin is throwing him a party. Even though he’s sort of dead… and doesn’t need to eat. (It’s both pointless and confusing.)
You sit in front of the fire, bowl of jjigae warming your belly, kicking your legs contentedly while you wait for the guests to arrive.
Seokjin is anxious. He adjusts the position of the furniture six times. He wipes over his ornaments twice. He sweeps the floor three times and shoots you a glare when you try to help by using a little miracle to evaporate every speck of dust in the entire house. Normally he appreciates the privilege your miracles bring, since he lost access to his own, not tonight apparently. At first you attribute his sour mood to the idea of people he hardly knows invading his space, because while Yoongi is the quietest being you’ve ever known, he’s somehow friends with everyone in a twenty-mile radius. But Seokjin has hosted before - it’s nothing unusual for him to play host for others and dissolve into the background once everyone starts enjoying themselves.
No. Something else is going on here.
“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask.
“Talk about what?” Seokjin mutters with a scowl, distracted by fussing over a china pot that’s apparently three millimetres out of place.
“Whatever it is that has you acting like you’re not enjoying my company.”
Seokjin looks up at you, expression unreadable. The silence hangs uncomfortably until it’s interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. It’s the first guests, bringing with them gifts of food and wine.
People filter in quickly after that. You don’t know many, but those you recognise offer a friendly hello or a polite bow in your direction. You tend to keep your distance from most people, at least those who don’t know your true identity as an Angel of the Lord, but you do enjoy their idle chatter. It’s ever so interesting, the matters that concern them, the small things that bring them joy in their (without any disrespect) insignificant lives. You’d tried engaging a human in conversation once, at a market Seokjin brought you to, but Taehyung had laughed and suggested you needed more practice interacting with people. After that you lost your confidence.
Perhaps tonight could be another opportunity, if Seokjin has enough wine to make his guests less suspicious.
You jump up, fetching bottles and cups from the other room and passing them around with a smile. The humans accept them gratefully. There’s nothing like alcohol to get people talking. Thirty minutes later the room is full, and loud, and everyone is on (at least) their third drink. With a wave of your hand, the guests' cups are refilled, and thankfully it’s only Seokjin that seems to notice. He waves you over from the other side.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Helping,” you say.
“We don’t need to get everyone drunk before he arrives.” He stares at the door.
“I don’t think Yoongi would mind,” you say. “Hasn’t he been half-drunk every time I’ve seen him?”
“Oh, not him,” Seokjin says absent-mindedly.
You frown.
“Who then?”
Just then, the door bursts open and a dishevelled Yoongi is carried through on the shoulders of Taehyung and Jimin, with a panicked Namjoon following closely behind - hands outstretched as if that would help Yoongi if he were to fall.
Everyone cheers. Someone pours them a drink. Seokjin continues to stare at the door.
Weird.
After leaving Seokjin to his own devices you decide to work the room and quickly discover how right you were about the alcohol. It’s been forty-five minutes and you can’t escape a man who doesn’t seem to know whose birthday it is, but is very glad for the opportunity to talk about his herd of goats and all the trouble he’s having with one particular fox.
“I wouldn’t mind if it was a one off but it seems like the bastard has it out for me.”
“That’s terrible.” You commiserate, trying to look interested while scanning the room in search of an out. The few people you know well enough to call for help from are otherwise occupied. Taehyung is pouring wine into Jimin’s open mouth. Yoongi and Namjoon are sitting around the table deep in conversation with an elderly woman and her husband.
“-usually one a day,” he says, slurring his words. “Sometimes two!”
“Awful,” you agree.
Seokjin is standing by the door, face impassive, talking out of the corner of his mouth to a man who wasn’t here earlier. He’s impossibly tall, doesn’t look like anyone else in the room, all sallow skin and sunken eyes. Seokjin has a wrinkle in his nose suggesting there’s a bad smell nearby. You’d bet your immortal soul it’s the man next to him.
“-at this point it’d take a bloody miracle to save my herd-”
“A miracle,” you echo, hardly listening, too busy looking at how the man holds out his hand. The eager gleam in his hollow eyes. How Seokjin’s lips curl with distaste but he shakes his hand anyway.
“I’m fucked if it carries on,” your companion says, voice breaking.
“Yeah,” you breathe. There’s a pit forming in your stomach. “Fucked.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, me too,” you say. “I’ve just got to- uh- go… Over there.” And you’re weaving through the people in the room to get to Seokjin and the stranger who has your hackles raised like no one else has had in centuries.
“Seokjin!” you say with false brightness, smile tight. “Who’s your friend?”
Seokjin turns to you, eyes wide and desperate.
“Not now,” he whispers. “Please.”
You stand firm, undeterred. “I’m Seokjin’s friend-”
And then the man turns his glare on you, and you see it. You smell it.
A demon.
You can hardly contain your gasp.
The demon grins. His teeth are unbrushed. “The angel says she’s your friend, Seokjin, and you haven’t told her what you’ve been doing? Who you’ve been talking to. Tut tut.”
Your gaze snaps to Seokjin who looks like he’s about to be sick.
“Told me what?”
“Not now,” Seokjin snaps.
You’ve never seen him like it, not once in three centuries. Face suddenly hard and unmoving. Not even during your fight about his friend's lack of mortality. The pit in your stomach grows. Something horrible is happening and you can’t figure it out.
“Go home,” he says, resigned. “We’ll talk later.”
“But it’s Yoongi’s birthday-” you start, but the hard line of Seokjin’s lips tell you your argument is pointless.
“He’s my friend, Angel,” he says, voice raising enough to attract a few looks from the people nearby. “Mine. Not yours. Go.”
Seokjin shouts. Shouts often, in fact. A drama queen if one ever existed. But Seokjin doesn’t shout at you. Not like that. One last wary glance between your friend and the demon at his shoulder, and you’re back at your desk wondering what in Heaven just happened.
723 BC
March 10th. 6:42am. Cold. Uncomfortably so, but perhaps that’s just the vibe in the room.
Seokjin doesn’t notice you’re back. But then he is fast asleep in his chair, several empty bottles at his feet. There’s drool running down his chin.
“Wake up,” you say. The miracle helps him along with stirring. You’re impatient this morning. He blinks awake, and upon seeing you standing above him, he groans.
“M’too drunk for this righnow.”
“Then sober up.”
Seokjin scowls and slurs in an accusatory tone, “you took my miracles, remember? You’ll hav-to wait for me to do it the human way.” He’s very green. “Pass me a bucket won’t you, m’gonna be sick.”
You arch an eyebrow, thoroughly disgruntled, and he groans louder as the alcohol dissipates from his bloodstream.
Now sheepish, Seokjin straightens up awkwardly. He doesn’t look at you.
“I don’t care for the way you treated me last night,” you begin.
Seokjin nods.
“Yes. Sorry.”
“I also don’t care for your meeting with demons.”
Seokjin shifts awkwardly, rubs at his forehead, but the apology you expected is noticeably absent.
You suck in a breath. “Aren’t you going to explain?”
He nudges one of the bottles on the ground with his toe, watching it turn on its side, letting the silence hang heavy around you.
After a minute, you can’t bear it any longer. “Seok-”
“Can’t you see I’m miserable?” he cuts in.
You sigh. “Well, yes I had noticed.”
You know it’s been a long time since he’s been home, there’s bound to be some apprehension about returning. But you’ll be there too. You’ve got sway with the committee now that you’ve been “putting in the work” with the banished angels, you can put in a good word for him, get him into a position that gives him more freedom to visit Earth now and then. You explain all this, but Seokjin shakes his head, but apparently that wasn’t a good idea because he holds it in his hands and groans.
“Angel, you don’t get it,” he snaps. “Why would I want to go back? Back to that place where they only give a shit about one corner of the world-”
“That’s not true-” you interject.
“It is true,” Seokjin insists. “The past four-thousand years it’s been Jerusalem this, Jerusalem that. Bethlehem and Jordan and Egypt.”
“They’re great places!”
“Yes, but everywhere else is great too. What makes one place better than the rest? What was the point of making all of this beauty if the one book of any importance doesn’t talk about it? If it’s just going to be gone-” He snaps his fingers. “-in two thousand years. All anyone goes on about is Noah, and Abraham, and Joseph and his stupid fucking coat! What is the point of me? Of us?”
“It’s in the plan-”
“Oh- who cares about a coat? What could the plan possibly say about that?” Seokjin is standing now, red faced and pulling at his hair. “What about these people?” He’s raising his voice again. “These people here? The people on the other side of the world? Where are their stories? Why isn’t anyone writing about them?”
“They will!”
“When?”
You don’t know. You don’t know anything.
“When it’s significant!”
“Isn’t everyone significant? Isn’t that the point?”
Yes. Yes and no. They’re obviously significant to each other, but not necessarily in the grand scheme of things. Seokjin doesn’t like that answer. His frown deepens when you suggest his faith is being tested.
“That was the stupidest idea they could’ve come up with,” Seokjin rants. “the notion of testing and tempting. No one can live without breaking one of these ridiculous made up rules or else our souls be damned for eternity. What’s the point? Be miserable for your entire life or be miserable for eternity. Can’t anyone enjoy anything without worrying for their immortal soul?”
“I don’t like this conversation,” you say.
“Of course you don’t,” says Seokjin bluntly. “Makes you uncomfortable, does it? You know I have a point and you don’t like thinking badly of our Heavenly Mother.”
You frown. “I’m not thinking badly of Her. It’s just- I don’t know. I don’t like it when you make me question things. We’re made to obey.”
Seokjin scoffs. His eyes are so unusually cold. “I don’t want to obey.”
Your breath catches.
“What are you saying?”
Seokjin hesitates. There’s a moment where you think he won’t say it, but then - “I hate it up there, Angel,” he says, and your throat goes dry and tight and uncomfortable as you remember the way the demon’s tongue rolled around the word angel, how it’s so different from the way Seokjin addresses you. You recognise the demon now, know him for exactly who he is and what he did to your friend. Leviathan, Prince of the Seraphim, tempting mankind and angels alike into heresy.
“You can’t seriously want to join their side?”
Seokjin’s face goes tight. “Of course I don’t. I want to be on my own side.”
There’s a beat of silence.
You stare at one another.
“I’m not going back,” he says, brows knitting together.
“You have to.”
“Angel-” he says it gently, with a tenderness so at odds with the way he spoke only moments before. “I can’t. I won’t be a hypocrite.”
“No-” you shake your head, reaching out and taking his hands in yours. He stares at you, confused by your insistence and your tears threaten to spill over. “Seokjin you don’t understand- if you don’t go back, they’ll know, they’ll kill you for defecting-”
“They can’t-”
“They can,” you insist. “Holy fire.”
Seokjin pales.
“You haven’t got your miracles. You can’t survive it.”
He drops your hands. Sinks into the chair behind him and stares blankly at the wall.
“Come back when you’re called, Seokjin,” you say, resolute. “For my sake.”
His eyes flit to meet yours.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
“It won’t be as bad as you think,” you say desperately, but you don’t know who you’re trying to convince at this point. It might be your home but Seokjin has never liked the way it’s run. But he’ll be safe, and that’s what matters. “I’ll help you.”
Seokjin smiles weakly. “Alright, Angel.”
“Another thing I don’t care for is the way you’re calling me Angel.”
“Why?”
You reach out, pick a loose thread from the shoulder of his tunic. “It implies we’re too different.”
“Aren’t we different?” he says.
He’s not looking at you. Instead his absent gaze is turned into the empty fireplace, staring at the ash left over from the night before.
“Not in that sense.”
Seokjin’s lips twist in a way that silently says not yet.
#ksj x reader#ksj fic#ksj x you#jin x reader#jin imagine#bts imagines#bts fanfction#jin fanfiction#jin x you#fic: don't let me tempt you#bee writes#jin scenario#jin imagines#seokjin fanfic#seokjin x reader#seokjin fluff#seokjin x you
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Howdy Caroline, I saw a post about Talk shop Tuesday so I thought I'd be nosy on main. I wonder, how does research factor into your fic writing, and what was the most taxing research you had to do for a fic? 🐸
oooh hi, iva!!! thank you so much for shooting the ask--god knows i always love talking about fic!
to answer your question: i think most of my fic-related research is limited to "what episode did character x do this/say that", just so that i have the timeline of events down. i know it's not the end of the world if i don't perfectly remember how a certain scene went down, but i can't help it--i like being precise when it comes to at least recalling canon events.
outside of that specific brand of research (just making sure my timeline/recitation of quotes is all set), i'll sometimes do wilder research for like ... au projects that are set in a different time. that doesn't happen often (i think the reason why i tend not to write au's that are set other than present day is specifically because i get overwhelmed by the amount of research to be done), but when it does, i'm usually stuck researching for hours. that's probably why i just never got around to posting this one period jwds au i have. the plot keeps shifting, mostly to suit the research that i've done. deep sigh. one day i swear i'll finish writing that story and post it, but right now it's just gotten a little away from me. it's marinating.
outside of that story though, i think i've been lucky enough to not need to do too much research for fics . . . maybe that'll change one day (especially if i ever fall in love with a more period-drama-esque story), but ! ! ! as of now, i think my research time really only takes up 10 - 15% of my fic writing process.
#answered#thank u for the ask iva!!! <333#i do also. write suits fic every once in a while#and sometimes i do get tempted to just like. write a funny bantery scene of mike and harvey talking about. funny corporate law stuff#because i just think it's fun to talk about.#i think one day i want to write a leverage/suits crossover#of nate ford and harvey specter pissing each other off. just so much.#of harvey going ':) if someone is upset with a corporation they can just sue us :) take us to court. sure. let's see what happens'#and nate going ':) you know full well :) that a lawsuit :) will :) never :) go :) anywhere :)'#and parker going 'so yeah why is that.'#cue everyone looking at her and parker shrugging bc 'listen i am a thief. i don't actually care about law stuff. but we're stuck in this#elevator for at least another 2 minutes.'#(because hardison would be working on it with parker.)#and then nate gives the run-down on why corporate 'litigation' really just ends in a dead-end for 98% of cases#and the system is specifically built that way#and then also cue nate and hardison and parker point-blank calling harvey out for hiring a fraudster.#nate: you should have been disbarred for at least a dozen violations of the rules of professional conduct#harvey: YOU are telling ME how to be a lawyer. YOU. the actual THIEF.#nate: yes because at least thieves don't have actual rules that they need to follow. u really want to go there.#and that really would be. the dumbest fic i'd ever write. but i just think it'd be funny
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going unbelievably insane over this
#tm#i i'm like i'm short circuiting#the way - when they both carry so much pain and trauma with them; where they deal with death and the worst of people every day;#when they've lost so much; lost each other more than once -#one of the most pervasive themes in their story; woven throughout it from the very beginning is happiness#wanting to give whatever happiness they can to others -#comforting families and getting justice for victims and jane's gifts and pranks and lisbon's supportive leadership and understanding -#wanting to be happy themselves; and maybe most importantly wanting the other to be happy#like just off the top of my head (and i'm so tempted to go right back and rewatch and actually write down every one) there's so much of it#and it makes me crazy because of how it's expressed on both sides#lisbon doesn't SAY it much - most of the 'i want you to be happy' kind of lines are jane's - but she SHOWS it#from the day they met and she helped him up off the floor she's there in support of him;#her quiet comfort when he's low; her eye rolls and indulging grins when he's pulling a silly trick on the team;#her soft smiles in the background when someone genuinely thanks him and he doesn't know what to do#with the pain she has in her past; in growing up; with the tough skin she's wrapped herself in to get through what she has#she appreciates the quieter moments; the moments where her big bombastic partner lets down his guard and#stops putting on so much of a show and she can see the joy he can still find in the little things even with all the darkness he carries#it's jane that has the big loud moments - the confessions and the spoken words - where he states outright (and repeatedly)#how much he wants her to be happy; how important it is to him and that makes so much sense because that's who he is#(not always of course but more often than not and that's how he presents himself)#he's dramatic and he's bold and his grief is the same; this giant unavoidable yoke that's never going to completely fall off his shoulders#and idk there's just something so beautiful to me about this man with the more obvious burden of pain being so doggedly - and vocally -#committed to the happiness of this woman who tries to hide her pain and shies away from comfort more than she's able to accept it#and that through everything they've been together the ways both of them approach happiness and each other have also come together#where he can say something like this and not only can she be happy for him but she can know just how much of that is because of her#'for the first time in YOU know how long' and she does#they just make me crazy
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Poe is just beautiful
He really is it’s actually unfair
#no but for real there was a gif set of Oscar smoking and let me tell you#I’m#so tempted to write a one shot about smoking with Poe#the juices are flowinggggg#vee answers#anon#Poe dameron
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🎵 one of these things is not like the others, one of these things doesn’t belong🎵
#i present to you: hell.#HEY WHO REMEMBERS MY REAL TOOTH FAIRY?????#i’m going to start drawing weird comics about them.#or at least i’m tempted to start drawing weird comics about them#but like. i used to play that game ALL THE TIME because i thought they were real??????#i mean it WAS in the name!!!!#and obviously i made like a million accounts because i could NEVER remember passwords (stupid moment)#((if you have a bad memory like me WRITE YOUR PASSWORDS DOWN))#and also because my FAIRY WARDROBE WAS TOO SMALL 😭😭😭😭😭😭#let me tell you this bitch was a fashion DIVA.#i mean i played moviestarplanet WHAT DO YOU EXPECT?????#anyways. ahem#i’m a real earthie girl. can’t stop me now#OK TAG TIME#my real tooth fairy#the real tooth fairies#klavier gavin#ace attorney#shitpost#AAAAAAAAAAA
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