#you might notice that Lust and Sloth don’t have their sins added to the list of Week adjectives

[kayzero]

hello kay kayzero what are the names and etymology of weekdays and months 👁️👁️

so the first thing you have to understand is what the setting is based around. because i have an obsession, the ragtag group of plucky adventurers who defeated the angelic oppressors are named after the seven sins. Peccatum, the name of the planet, is Latin for Sin.

so the Leader of about 80% of all humanity on the planet is Lady Pride. her secretary, who everyone in the Prideful Nation sees as her second-in-command (but everyone who knows them knows that it Cannot lead anyone in anything) is V, the sin of envy.

V is fanatical in its devotion to Pride, and coincidentally was the one who made the discovery that led to both the length of a year—which corresponds to the Angelsbane’s growth cycle (exactly 343 days to grow, bud, bloom, wither, die, and regrow)—and the space between pulses and amount of pulses in a day—exactly 78,400—and yes, it sat there and manually counted.

so because it gathered this data itself, it was granted the honor of naming the days and the months. it also named the weeks, which are used mostly for formal announcements and research papers, but for the most part people just go with “the Xth week of this or that month”.

anywho,

Months

named after flowers associated with each Sin

Cyclamen

Dianthus

Dahlia

Gentiana

Gazania

Helenium

Belladonna

then we have

Weeks

mostly adjectives that V associated with each Sin (who was then told by Pride to get rid of the ones that were more insulting)

Prideful, Excellent, Primary, First

Envious, Silver, Shifting, Second

Wrathful, Combative, Enduring, Third

Lovely, Radiant, Musical, Fourth

Greedy, Golden, Wealthy, Fifth

Gluttonous, Hungry, Indulgent, Sixth

Sleeping, Last, Silent, Seventh

and finally,

Days

gemstones

Amethyst

Emerald

Ruby

Sapphire

Topaz

Carnelian

Opal

[bang-tan-bitches]

(sooooo so sorry please ignore my asks! i've been away from tumblr for a while and didn't know there was like an ask limit so i couldn't send everything so i'll just submit it djshshshs)

i've been rereading immortals every time my class is cancelled and i get to stay in and i just now noticed in ch. 10, during the smut scene, they'd say "oh my gods" or "gods yes" which leads me to add to my theory list: gods.

when i first read it, like oc, i was convinced that they were werewolves as well (the heat, yellow eyes, i mean come oN). the second time, maybe shifters, or just people with supernatural powers. then came demons (maybe lust ones? or the 7 deadly sins but that's a huge reach since i haven't seen anyone display signs of gluttony or sloth etc.) and even sirens. but now i'm thinking they're some sort of gods or something. gods live for as long as they're worshipped and they're literally idols.

the woman with the clip board reminds me of that woman in Avatar: The Last Air Bender where they're hypnotized to welcome refugees and to pretend that nothing was wrong. like sort of brainwashing? like the way you've described her seems like someone controlled by something. kind of similar to dolls? the first chapter where you write that the oc feels as if her strings have been cut after taehyung fails to have her sit in his lap during the fanmeet is the reason why "taehyung's specialty is hypnotism/puppet master" is on the top of my theory list.

and anyway, with that much people acting weird with reader makes me think they all know or that bighit is actually secretly some kind of hideout for their kind? i would assume that bangtan play by their own rules there, but i'm not sure. maybe bang pd might make an appearance and prove me wrong, but so far it feels like everyone there bends to their will. maybe bang is another one of their puppets? either way, with the way everyone kind of follows them i keep thinking they're their servants or followers. and so far i haven't noticed anything that hints on their weaknesses (or maybe i just need to look more into it)

also, another one of the things i added to my theories is that reader will get a tattoo like theirs when everyone has had their turn frick fracking her and when she completes it she'll be immortal with them?

(i'm still fairly worried about the boyfriend. i hope he isn't dead or miserable or anything lol)

the way you've built this story, so many possibilities. you never know what's going to happen next and you can't help but sympathize with every character. oc is being manipulated, boyfriend is (missing and hopefully not dead) actually cool and a nice person, and bangtan are just really badly horny but then we don't know how long they've been waiting for her. it's like you feel every word and it really gets you invested. your characters are so nicely written that you even gave the guards personalities (i really appreciated that bit about reader snapping at the woman and the guard gave a small smile). you can literally feel the magic in your story and it's already my all time favorite since i found it. thank you for delivering such a masterpiece.

-----------------

((Oh wow. Thank you for this lovely lovely submission. It's always nice to hear different theories in regards to this story.

We think it's great that you took the time to pick up on little details that we sprinkle through out the story.

Nothing is accidental. Everything has a purpose.

We hope you enjoy the next chapter. It should be out in the next few weeks.

Thank you again for the lovely submission/ review. It really motivates and inspires us. We appreciate it.

-A&B💜💜💜))

[lady-divine-writes]

The Sins We Wear (Chapter 2)

(AO3)

“I just took the kettle off the stove. Would you like a cup of tea?” Aziraphale walks past Crowley, heading to the table that held their bottle of Jim Bean and two shot glasses earlier. But those have been cleared away, and now the table is perfectly appointed with cream-colored crocheted doilies, a porcelain tea pot and matching cups, a bowl of sugar, honey, cream, and a plate of biscuits.

Two cups, Crowley notes.

It touches Crowley that Aziraphale set a place for him though it seemed, at first, he wasn’t going to let him in.

“That would be lovely. Thank you,” Crowley says, accepting this olive branch since Aziraphale was in no way obligated to open his door.

Aziraphale motions to a chair and Crowley sits. He watches Aziraphale serve the tea, pouring Crowley’s and adding cream and sugar on autopilot. Aziraphale has served Crowley tea dozens of times. Crowley has taken the fact that Aziraphale knows how he drinks it for granted till now. Crowley waits till Aziraphale has his own cup prepared, sitting heavily into the chair opposite and stirring in a questionable amount of honey, before he speaks.

“I am so sorry, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale shakes his head, staring sadly into his cup. “Crowley, my dear, you don’t have a thing to be sorry for. Perhaps you were right all along. This is a mistake.”

“No! No, it isn’t a mistake!” Crowley reaches across the table for Aziraphale’s hand, but it falls into the angel’s lap before he can touch it. “I feel awful! I feel so awful! I don’t want you to think this has anything to do with me not wanting to be with you because it doesn’t! And you did nothing wrong! It’s not you at all!”

“So what you’re saying is it’s not me, it’s you?” Aziraphale raises his cup to his lips. “How original.”

“I know what you’re implying. But I’m not trying to blow you off.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to win you back. I can’t lose you, Aziraphale! Not after I finally have you!”

A reserved smile dances across Aziraphale’s lips as he silently accepts those words as Crowley’s official apology. “You didn’t lose me. You just … bruised my ego a little. That’s all. I’ll get over it.”

“I don’t want you to get over it! I want you to hold me accountable! I …” Crowley takes a deep breath, trying to get the words coming out of his mouth to match up with the ones swirling around his head. But they’re steadily swirling faster, preparing to flush down the drain of his brain into his mouth. What will come out at that point is anyone’s guess. There’s simply too much to explain. Combine that with his complicated feelings and trying not to hurt Aziraphale’s, and he can already foresee disaster.

Crowley has never been the most tactful of demons.

So he decides instead to take a leap of faith, continue on where they left off, and show Aziraphale.

He’ll explain afterwards.

Crowley pulls aside the collar of his shirt to reveal the name Aziraphale already saw. The angel rolls his eyes. He’d wanted to forget about this drama for tonight. But he puts down his cup and slides closer, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Heather Manson-Pride,” the angel reads. “And who is that, might I ask? Old girlfriend, perhaps? Is she a demon, too?”

Crowley’s eyes pop and he bites his lower lip hard. Jealous! His angel is jealous! Oh, dear Lord in Heaven above, why did this have to come out now, when he can’t do a thing about it? What he wouldn’t give for the opportunity to rib his angel over this, preferably while cozily submerged in another bottle of Jim Bean, but this definitely isn’t the time.

Five minutes.

That’s all he was given.

And he’s already wasted three.

“No. Just Heather Manson. Pride isn’t part of her name. It’s the sin she committed that got her damned.” Crowley lets those words hit. He watches Aziraphale, reaching for his cup, stop with his fingers centimeters from the handle. “The sin I exploited that got her damned.”

Aziraphale’s hands return to his lap, discomfort straightening his back; his eyes, glossed over with emotion, locked on that name.

“Are there others?” he asks.

“You might say that.” Crowley pushes his shirt off his shoulders and lets it billow to the floor. Aziraphale can’t help staring. All over Crowley’s chest are names.

Hundreds of names.

Names written in languages ancient, languages Aziraphale can’t read, languages he doesn’t recognize.

“There’re so many of them!”

“That’s not all.” Crowley stands up and turns around, reaching for the button fly to his jeans. As he pulls the buttons open, Aziraphale sees more names scrawled over Crowley’s back. Only this time does he realize that they’re each written in a different hand – more than likely the individual signatures of the people whose names they are.

Signatures used to secure the contracts for the deals Crowley made with them.

Crowley pushes his jeans down his legs to his ankles. The names continue on in their various scripts, traveling beneath the denim to spots Aziraphale can’t see.

“But … why? Why are they on your skin?”

“It’s hell’s way of keeping track. Keeping score, more like, which is why most demons show theirs off.”

Aziraphale reaches out a trembling hand to touch, but he can’t. Each of these names, representing a real person who lives or has lived on this planet, is steeped in agony, in despair. He doesn’t have to touch them to feel it.

They radiate.

“Can’t you miracle them away?”

“It doesn’t work. I’ve tried. I can glamour them for short periods of time, but it doesn’t last long.” Crowley catches the hopeful glimmer in his angel’s eyes dim and grins slightly. “It wouldn’t last long enough for that, if that’s what you’re thinking. Not for what I have planned.”

Aziraphale gazes off to the side, hiding his glowing cheeks in the low, golden light. Crowley sees hints of a smile fighting to bloom, but in a blink, Aziraphale returns to the issue at hand.

“Why didn’t I see them in Hell? When I was lying in that tub of Holy Water? I could see my reflection … uh, your reflection … in the glass. There were no names then.”

“Because they’re attached to me. Not my body but my spirit. Since it was you inside my body, they didn’t appear.”

“And the other demons didn’t suspect because …?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, angel, but I try not to look like other demons when I can help it. I keep the names glamoured when I’m down below. That way no one sees them.”

“Why do you do that? Wouldn’t it help your reputation if everyone could see?”

“Mostly because it drives Hastur bonkers,” Crowley admits with a laugh. “He feels wearing Earthly disguises in Hell is unnecessary. And disrespectful. He wants to see them, wants proof of what I’ve done up here. It’s a power play. And I don’t play well with others.”

“May I look a little closer?”

“Oh. Yeah. Go ahead. Be my guest.” Crowley turns around, waddling so as not to trip over his trousers, and sits back down in his chair. Aziraphale grabs his glasses and slides them on. Peering closely at Crowley’s skin, he begins to read the names and sins out loud.

“Thomas Decourt – sloth. Hazel Porter – envy. Kevin Smelt – lust.” Aziraphale peeks up at Crowley, eyebrow raised, but Crowley isn’t looking at him - eyes closed, patiently waiting in the darkness behind his eyelids for Aziraphale to finish. “Martin Marlin … well, if that isn’t an unfortunate name … gluttony. Katrina Meltzer – pride. Corbin Brenn – wrath. Shawn Meyers – wrath.” There are so many names, he decides to stick to the sins instead. “Pride, greed, gluttony, lust, envy, wrath, lust, lust, lust, lust, lust …” Aziraphale swallows so hard, he nearly chokes. “Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“There’s an awful lot of lust listed here.”

“Is there?”

“Yes. And I can’t help but wonder … does that mean …? Did you … you know … with all these people?”

“No. Not at all. Not with anyone.”

“But you made them want you.”

“Yes.” Crowley pauses, triple thinking every word before it comes out his mouth. “And some of them … I made believe we had. It helped. A necessary evil, one might say.”

“All evils are necessary when you’re a demon, I imagine.”

Without looking, Crowley feels Aziraphale shrink away, sliding back to his seat without a sound.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“You and I never really talk shop. Not the specifics, anyway. Besides, I didn’t know how.”

“You’ve had 6000 years to figure it out.”

“To be honest … I forgot.”

Aziraphale clicks his tongue in disgust. “Crowley!”

“It’s true! I know it’s difficult to believe, but it’s true! I don’t look at them, Aziraphale! I don’t look at me because of them! In each one I can see the person it belonged to, clear as day. What I did to push them over. A lot of them deserved it, angel! Don’t get me wrong. A lot of them did. But some …” His hand comes up, finding Heather’s name and covering it. “Some of them could have been redeemed if it had been in my nature to help them. If I’d been you instead of me.”

“So these names show up on your body after you’ve convinced them to commit their deadly sin?”

“Yes.”

“And if you and I make love, and my name ends up on your body …”

“It means you’re damned, angel. Nothing can mend that.”

“Not even divine intervention?”

“Don’t know.” Crowley shrugs. “The divine have never intervened on anyone’s behalf before. But I don’t see you getting damned. I really don’t.”

“Really?” Aziraphale huffs. “When did you suddenly become the optimistic one, hmm?”

“Aziraphale” – Crowley smirks – “you may not have noticed, but you skirt the rules, some pretty serious ones, all the time and you haven’t been damned yet.”

Aziraphale glares at Crowley, aghast. “I do not!”

“Yes, you do! What about our arrangement? That was a huge skirting of the rules right there!”

“I like to think of it as a necessary evil,” Aziraphale says, mimicking Crowley’s earlier tone. “Regardless, I figure that slate is more or less clear. Don’t you?”

“No matter how you want to look at it, angel, we exploited a loophole, but that didn’t necessarily make it right!”

“It’s a grey area.”

“But angels aren’t supposed to have grey areas, are they?”

Aziraphale gasps, thoroughly betrayed. “Are you calling me a bad angel!?”

“Not at all! In fact, you are, hands down, the best angel I’ve ever met! What I’m saying is those grey areas you play around in? They don’t just exist for you! That ass sack you work for and his lackeys straddle grey areas all the time, and nothing has ever happened to them!” Crowley slides forward and kneels on the floor, resting his hands on Aziraphale’s knees as he continues. “Listen … do you want me?”

Aziraphale jerks back, but not away from Crowley’s touch. “Crowley! I really don’t think now’s the time …!”

“It’s just a question, angel. I’m trying to prove a point.” Crowley looks up at his angel earnestly through dark lashes. “Do you want me?”

Aziraphale looks positively done in by that question, but he answers it truthfully nonetheless. “Y-yes.”

“Do you want me … physically?”

Nope. Aziraphale was wrong. That’s the question with the power to discorporate him. “Y-yes.”

“Have you thought about it? About us together? What that would be like?”

Aziraphale crosses his arms protectively over his chest and hugs tight. “Maybe once. Could be twice.”

Crowley grins. “Of course you have. I know you have.”

Aziraphale sticks his nose defiantly in the air. “What makes you so confident?”

Crowley leans in, the answer to this one question, though cheeky, too tempting to resist. “You talk in your sleep.”

Aziraphale holds his breath. He’d better do since it’s the last breath he’ll ever take in his entire existence.

“Yes, all right. But thinking and doing are two very different things.”

“But doesn’t thinking about having sex fall under the umbrella of impure thoughts? And don’t impure thoughts keep you out of heaven?”

“That’s not how it works! Impure thoughts won’t condemn a true believer!”

Crowley smiles triumphantly. “Exactly! And you are, without a doubt, a true believer, even after everything you’ve been through. Gabriel conspired with agents of Hell to start a war! Doesn’t that fall into the category of Wrath, even if only by a smidgen? He also tiptoed into Pride, didn’t he, with that preening he did over how Heaven would win? And yet, he still has his job, his title, his corner office, and his Divinity.”

“I … I don’t think you can compare the two.”

“Why? A sin is a sin, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but … but Gabriel is an Archangel! And I’m … well, I’m a Principality. That’s like comparing apples and oranges. Huge difference,” Aziraphale counters, but he doesn’t sound much like he believes it.

“How? Apples and oranges are both fruit. Just like you and that festering codswallop are both angels.” Crowley stops, chews on the inside of his cheek as something occurs to him. “But, on second thought, you know what is frowned upon that might be difficult to work around?”

“What?”

“Sex before marriage.”

Aziraphale sighs, in relief and disappointment. “So you’re admitting that attempting it was a mistake.”

“No, I’m not admitting that. I’m saying we should perhaps go about it a different way. Do something to ensure that no matter what, you can’t be punished for us choosing to be together. For exercising your God given free will.”

Aziraphale’s eyelids narrow. “What are you proposing?”

“I am.”

Aziraphale’s face goes blank, then it scrunches. “No. Not What? Are you proposing? I’m asking you …” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration “… what are you saying!?”

“I was thinking that maybe the way around that is for us to get married.”

And in that moment, even with the light traffic outside, a sparse few voices calling to one another from across the street, the rain starting, the night birds singing, and all other evidence to the contrary, the world, for Aziraphale, stops spinning.

“Married?” he echoes.

“Yes, married!” Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s arms, a look of genuine excitement on his face. “We’ll do it up proper! A courtship, a wedding, in a church even … for as long as I can stand it. We’ll send out invites, have a reception catered by any restaurant you’d like. Just say the word, Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale doesn’t answer. He’s stunned. It’s too much for him to unpack. A wedding? Aziraphale hadn’t ever dreamt of having a wedding. He never thought it could be in the cards for him. But now that Crowley has brought it up, he’s thinking about it. Really thinking about it.

They don’t have many in the way of friends, but they do have a handful. Anathema and Newt for a start. Then there’s Adam and his friends. They could have the wedding in Tadfield so there’d be no problems with them attending. It would be lovely in the spring - an outdoor wedding so Crowley wouldn’t be forced to play hot potato on consecrated ground. They could use his plants to decorate! Wouldn’t it be nice for the poor things to get a day out of doors? And the cake! Heaven’s above! He can see it now - a five-tiered angel food cake with raspberry filling and white chocolate icing, with a devil’s food cake topper. It comes together rather quickly, the image Aziraphale has started constructing in his head ethereal, to say the least.

Though one detail – the one that launched this thought experiment – stands out like a sore thumb.

“You want the two of us to get married just so we can consummate without repercussions?”

“No,” Crowley whimpers, hurt that his angel would assume the worst. “I want to marry you because I love you, and I want to keep you safe.”

“But wouldn’t my falling and becoming a demon make things easier for you?”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley cups Aziraphale’s cheek with his hand, running his thumb over his soft skin. “It would destroy you. You don’t have what it takes to be a demon. You’re too kind, too pure. You see the good in everything, and no matter how hard you landed, I don’t see that ever leaving you. It would tear you apart every day. I couldn’t bear to see that happen to you.”

“Might I remind you that you’re the one who called me a bastard?”

“But I meant it as a compliment.”

“And if we got married and I decided I shouldn’t have sex? For the sake of keeping me safe?”

“Then I’ll still have married my best friend in the universe, and I’ll never regret it. Not a single solitary day.”

Aziraphale relaxes the arms wrapped around his torso and puts a hand over Crowley’s against his cheek. The other Crowley takes, brings it to his lips and kisses it knuckle by knuckle. Aziraphale had thought Crowley’s explanation might take a weight off his shoulders, relieve the anxiety he’d had that he’d frightened Crowley off with his inexperience, with his anxiety …

… with his overall him-ness.

He feels burdened now more than before with the enormity of Crowley’s suffering. But if he could lighten the yoke Crowley has been carrying by exchanging it for his own, then he’ll accept it.

It’ll be worth it.

“I’ll … I’ll have to think about it,” he says.

Crowley sighs. “Okay. I understand,” he says, nodding for comfort, with no guarantee he hasn’t lost some part of the relationship they’d had before – a relationship he’s relied on for 6000 years. “But now that everything’s out in the open, may I ask for a favor?”

“Anything. Well, almost anything.”

That gives Crowley a chuckle … and hope. Maybe he hasn’t lost anything after all. “Would it be all right with you if I stayed the night? I’ll … I’ll sleep on the sofa, if that makes you feel more comfortable. Just please. I don’t want to be away from you right now.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale smiles softly. “And don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to have you sleeping on the sofa.”

“The floor then, I take it?” Crowley teases, rising to his feet when Aziraphale does, not wanting to be too far from him.

“More like the cupboard under the stairs. Oh, and you can sleep with your shirt off if you’d like. I know you do when you’re home alone.” Aziraphale snaps at the teacups, reheating the cold tea.

Crowley takes Aziraphale’s left hand and holds it in both of his over the bare skin of his heart. “Would you like it if I did?”

“I would,” Aziraphale admits, clenching his teeth lightly to keep his voice from shaking. “Unless there’s something else you haven’t told me? Do tentacles shoot out your back while you sleep?”

“I think you’d know by now if they did.”

“Well,” Aziraphale hands Crowley his cup of tea. “Here’s hoping.”

***

It’s close to three in the morning by the time Aziraphale is certain Crowley is asleep. As with eating, angels and demons don’t need to sleep, but they do enjoy it from time to time. The stress of the evening must have taken its toll on Crowley. It took him a while to fall asleep, but once he did, he fell asleep hard.

He’s even snoring.

Aziraphale moves slowly, one eye on Crowley as he grabs a sheaf of papers from his bedside table. He has a plan. Admittedly, it’s not one of his best, and as with his theories on angels and physical intimacy, he has no idea whether or not it will work, but he has to try.

And as to why he’s not discussing it with Crowley?

Plausible deniability, in case someone in Hell gets wind of what Aziraphale’s planning.

Or if this backfires disastrously.

He puts a hand on Crowley’s arm. His touch, though light, causes Crowley to mumble and toss in his sleep. He murmurs the word angel, then don’t, but settles back into a comfortable rhythm of cleansing breaths and drifts back to his dreaming. Aziraphale holds his breath, waiting for the all clear, then presses his other hand flat to the empty top page. It’s a simple miracle and not a major one, so it should fly under the radar of anyone who wants to check up on him upstairs. But should anyone delve deeper, it comes with a rock solid alibi.

Aziraphale hopes, considering the way he chooses to play it.

He thinks on that more, mentally practicing every excuse he’d give in every conceivable situation, as he watches the names on Crowley’s body flow through his hand and fill up the pages.