#flawless as clothing of the celestials

[touhoutunes]

Title: その影法師、幼さを残して (That silhouette left my childishness behind)

Arrangement: yuta

Vocals: LIQU@。

Album: 夜伽話の神隠し

Circle: Minstrel

Original: Flawless as Clothing of the Celestials

[astrologyvas]

some virgo notes in honor of virgo szn

୨ৎ [18+] ˚˖𓍢 🦢✧˚.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

virgo moon — this placement is so brat. sheer tank tops, cigarettes, making questionable decisions at 3am. the sign of virgo is notorious for being clean and neat, but this placement is so beautifully sloppy. (ex. charli xcx, lorde, madonna, zoe kravitz)

virgo rising — little fawns drinking from the stream. but also the type of people you make awkward eye contact with. virgo risings are so observant of their surroundings, and i've noticed that if they see someone paying attention to them too, they can get super flustered

asteroid eros in virgo (433) — their heart is won with a heartfelt compliment. also the type of people who watch 18+ videos just to take notes. they may come across shy & reserved, but when they open up, these native's want to look and perform perfectly. they want to be everything their partner finds attractive. definitely captivated by intellect and wit

lilith in virgo (bml) — these people are on a mission for knowledge, and they might find a lot of healing through it. the kind of person who is completely consumed by their craft. i've also noticed they have a lot of shame and guilt when it comes to being wrong, they want to be able to prove their point no matter what

virgo in the 2nd house — very coy when it comes to discussing finances. probably refuses to share how much they make or what their salary is

virgo mars — virgo is the fashion sign. with virgo mars, i've noticed they're usually the "executive" fashion placement. these people are gifted visionaries when it comes to high fashion and outfit composition (ex. princess diana). mercurial energy in general meshes well with the fashion world— but virgo mars specifically have a very refined and chic personal style

virgo venus — while virgo mars have an eye for fashion framework, virgo venus is the muse. these people are able to pull off clothing extremely well, a lot of things just fall on them in a visually pleasing way. so many fashion icons w this placement

chiron in virgo — being "the wound of perfection," these people tend to have a never-ending feeling that something is wrong with them, and i've noticed they can easily fall victim to the toxic self-improvement mindset. (ex. chiron in virgo in the 4th house— pressure from family to be flawless, family could have placed intense standards and restrictions on them)

. ݁₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ . ݁₊ ⊹ ⋆.˚ ⋆ ˚⋆౨ৎ˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚⊹ ⋆ ˚⋆౨ৎ˚ ⋆.˚

virgo descendant — these native's want someone to cook for them, someone who wakes them up so they don't have to set an alarm. perpetually yearning to frolic in the forest with their partner

virgo mercury — the FBI. their bullshit detector is crazy, and arguing with them is literally terrifying. the negative aspect of this placement i've noticed is that they can struggle with being taken too seriously, even if they're trying to be funny or lighthearted. i've also noticed that they get immense relief from journaling, it's a good way to release all the energy in their head

virgo sun — one of the more intimidating virgo placements from my experience. they can be similar to virgo risings, however i've noticed virgo suns are a little bit more intense and aloof upon initially meeting them

virgo rising — every virgo rising i know gets super carsick. either that or they have such sensitive stomachs in general, like getting nauseous from eating anything. also a recycled take, but i swear they really are prone to lactose intolerance

virgo degrees 6°, 18° — placements in virgo degrees can give the planet/celestial body an entwined energy of rigidity and reservation, and can higher your standards revolving the themes of the planet. (ex. sagittarius rising at 6° could manifest as someone who can be obsessive and nitpicky over their body, or is more shy than typical sagittarius ascendants. may even slightly resemble physical virgo traits)

asteroid lust in virgo (4386) — i've noticed that these people feel like they can't fit into their own standards, especially regarding sex. deep insecurity can stem from physical intimacy, may have a lot of anxiety around how their body looks while in the act

virgo midheaven — these people obtain the important roles of society and crush them. i've noticed that these native's can handle the pressure from vital and demanding roles like doctors, dentists, or manager positions because of their personal desire for perfection—specifically revolving their career

virgo sun — this placement has such an infamous reputation in music. they're the blueprint for so many genres and types of sound, the people you think of when you think of "music" (michael jackson, beyoncé, freddie mercury, amy winehouse)

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

please do not copy or repeat my work anywhere

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Now See Them Burn in Fire | Part 1

Genre: dark fic, future smut, angst

Word Count: 7.1k

 Chapter Excerpt: “Do you let him kiss you?” He asks you, face blank apart from a muted curiosity. He was so close you can see every individual eyelash framing his gorgeous dark eyes, every tiny blemish on his otherwise flawless skin, the elegant slope of his nose, the firm but soft pillowing of his lips. 

You stay quiet, too scared to speak, too scared to unintentionally set him off. What if this is what the star meant? What if it was warning you of your untimely demise and that is why you were the only one to see it? 

“So you have.” He takes your silence as affirmation, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. “Then it’s only fair if I get a taste too.” 

Warnings: fem!reader, DARK FIC, FUTURE NONCON/CON, mentions of people being burned alive, iron age au, supernatural au, yandere beomgyu

_____________________________

Your fingers strum along the chords of the sacred lyre, producing celestial tunes that rise up to the heavens to reach the ears of the gods you’re worshipping through your songs, words of revelation passing through your lips like a prayer as the people of your tribe gather to witness and take part in the ceremony, offering up their own silent prayers for the ones above, wishing for food, safety, a good harvest, an opportune marriage for their children… It all moulds together to encase your song as it moves up to the heavens. 

Usually, you would be lost in it, surrendering yourself as a vessel for the will of the people to reach their gods. That is your role after all. As a priestess, you’re the link between the mortal world and the heavens above and you take your role very seriously. These people have entrusted you to carry their messages to the gods and the gods have entrusted you to deliver those messages, any distraction on your part could result in a failure of this process and the squandering of the people’s goodwill and the gods’ trust in your abilities. 

That’s why you feel guilty right now. You can’t focus your full energy on your job, not when you can feel his heavy, suffocating gaze on you. You look up to the heavens, seeking to gather strength from the stars above to guide you back to that enlightened state of being you usually access when performing the ceremonial prayers, but as your eyes land on the stars, you’re startled to see one suddenly fall down from the heavens in a bright flaming blaze. Your heart stops as you follow the distressing demise, no one else noticing it, all too focused on the song and dance and liveliness that you and your fellow priests and priestesses are putting on for the tribe. 

No one even notices your hands faltering over the strings, blasphemously ruining the perfection of the heavenly song. No one but one. And as the star heads to the earth, flickering its last flames of light as it approaches its demise, it disappears behind the trees, leading your eyes directly to the original source of your apprehension as if it had fallen merely to guide your attention towards him.

But you didn’t require such sacrifice to realise the burden of his scrutiny, you moved through every waking moment of your life entirely absorbed by the feeling of being watched and knowing whose eyes are upon you. 

It’s those eyes that belong to the boy with the long dark hair and even darker gaze. He stands out from the crowd, not for his clothes or jewels or status, but for his attitude of somberness and stillness among the joyful festivities of others which is enough to raise the hairs at the back of the neck of anyone who has the misfortune of noticing him. He stands there unmoving, his heavy eyes locked on you and no one else, and you–under that singular watchful gaze–hit the wrong note, plucking your own heartstring in the process, before you stop playing completely. 

No, this can’t be. You may not know precisely what all of this means but even the unenlightened can recognise such a glaringly bad omen–the star falling out of the heavens to point straight at the ill-fated boy. 

You're jolted out of your spiral when your friend nudges you, shooting you a concerned but sharp look, silently urging you to keep playing, and with widened eyes you quickly pick up your lyre again, looking around to see the concerned and strange looks from the tribes people, and the angry looks of your family. You can’t take your role lightly, not even for a second. You have a duty to your people and every second you’re not joining in the collective song, you’re weakening the prayers and risking their failure. 

You diligently join back into song, but you know your heart's not in it, not when you can still feel his cursed eyes upon you. 

He’s been watching you for some time now, and it wasn’t making only you uncomfortable. Others have noticed it too, and rumours have already started to spread–rumours about his inclination towards you. Some are making fun of you for being the object of desire of the tribe’s outcast–as if it makes you deficient in some way to be wanted by him–while others have started to distance themselves from you because of it, not wanting to be adjacent to the troubling boy even if it’s through the most tenuous connection to you. 

It makes you angry to be so unfairly burdened by the unwanted association with him but you can’t blame them too much. You know where their fear is coming from, and you wish he would stay away from you too. 

It’s not that he’s uncomely. If any of you were to be fair, you would readily admit that he is one of the most beautiful humans you have ever laid eyes upon, his handsome features seeming to have been carved out by the hands of a god… but which one, you’re not sure. A trickster god, perhaps, for the boy’s unrivalled looks that are meant to entice and enthral clash harshly with the unsettling darkness that surrounds him and keeps others away despite that immense beauty that under normal circumstances would have made him one of the most popular eligible young men in the tribe. 

The quiet orphan boy never quite fit in despite his parents having been formidable warriors and therefore much loved and respected members of the tribe. His father’s power and influence at one point even rivalled the current tribe’s leader, a fact that has undoubtedly been the source of the hushed and vile speculation by some of the tribe’s people asserting that that is precisely the reason behind the boy’s parents sudden and mysterious deaths when he was just twelve.

Of course none of it was true. These were just the ramblings of the bored and nefarious, gathered under dwindling bonfires and spouting their ignorant and hateful conspiracies. The leader is a kind and loving man. He would never deprive a boy of his family unjustly.

Just as unfounded are the rumours that the boy himself was at fault for his parents’ death. After all, they failed to bear a live child after him–his mother’s womb becoming a graveyard for multiple of his lost brothers and sisters until it eventually killed her. 

After his poor mother died while birthing yet another departed soul, his father was never the same afterwards. He became cruel and vengeful. He took his grief and turned it to anger–an emotion a warrior was much more familiar with handling. Unfortunately when defending the land and killing the tribe’s enemies wasn’t enough, he turned that anger towards his only son.  

You had felt sorry for the boy to be the subject of his father's anger and resentment. You even went out of your way to be kind to him every time you saw the marks of hate on his body or saw him crying to himself in the woods. For a very brief period, you may have even considered yourselves friends. 

He didn’t appear evil from up close. He wasn’t so quiet and menacing. He was a child like all of you were. He wanted to play and laugh and enjoy himself, and you really enjoyed watching him do that. He was a silly child when you were alone together and for a short while it warmed your heart to see him let go around you. He had a beautiful smile and a tinkling honey laugh. You developed a minor addiction to it and you craved to see it more and more. 

That is how you justify to yourself your traitorous indiscretion of secretly revealing to him some of the magic only those raised under the guidance of the gods should have access to. You couldn’t help it. He had shown such interest in it and you couldn’t refuse to indulge him in one of his very few desires. It wouldn’t do anyone any harm. It’s not like he could ever do anything with that knowledge. Only those chosen and trained by the temple could put that powerful knowledge into meaningful action. 

And so you felt comfortable telling him secrets about the practice that even seasoned mages didn’t have access to–secrets you’d only known by eavesdropping on your own high-ranking parents, and he lapped it all up, pushing you for more and more which you happily provided.

Truth is, you enjoyed divulging such secrets about priesthood to him because despite it being a very respected and esteemed position to hold, it was also incredibly isolating by nature. The arts you’ve learned allowed you to tap into great power meant to help and protect your people, but also necessitated that you guard the secrets to it closely so they don’t fall into the hands of those who have not been taught how to correctly use them, or worse yet, those with ill-intentions. 

Even amongst your fellow apprentices, each of you had your own area of study and weren’t privy to much else. That way each of you would only be skilled at a particular art and that art only lest you become too powerful and think yourself rival to the gods much the same way the great Gija did–an ancient priest so powerful he rejected the rule of the heavens and in his arrogance thought he could bring down the gods and take their place instead. His greed was like a sickness that spread through the tribe and corrupted your ancestors, convincing them that if they directed their duplicitous charges at the heavens, they could fell the gods and rule in their place, revelling in endless riches and heavenly desires, only for the gods to strike him down, leaving him to a fate worse than death and laying waste to your people–turning them from a once prosperous and opulent civilisation to one that is barely surviving amongst the wilderness. 

Many of the secrets of that ancient power were lost then, only a few ruins from that time remain guarded in the heart of the sacred temple and even fewer taught to you and your fellow apprentices in bits and pieces that are intentionally scattered amongst you to prevent another Gija from rising. 

That is why there are now so few priests and priestesses who have been allowed to learn more than one art of magic and why you’re forbidden from sharing secrets about your practice even amongst yourselves. 

But no one in the tribe knew you were meeting him in the woods under the cover of darkness and therefore no one could stop you from divulging all your secrets to him. It was harmless. What would he even do with that knowledge? He’s a warrior just like his parents–not a very good one much to his father’s chagrin, but it meant that he wouldn't be able to do anything with the secrets you were exposing to him even if he wanted to. He did not have the gift. 

Still, he understood your frustrated and disjointed ramblings well–a part of you secretly worried that he may have understood them too well for he would then make off hand alterations to incantations that would help you crack a spell you'd been struggling with for some time or bring you rare ingredients from the forest that were very hard to come by, maybe even dangerous, and would be the missing touch to a potion you’ve been slaving over to no avail. 

You didn’t understand how he knew what was missing each time but you selfishly didn't ask because you didn't want to ruin it. Not when his help was setting you apart from your peers and enabling you to make a mark for yourself as the most promising young priestess of your generation. 

For his part, Beomgyu's eyes would light up every time his help would cause you to advance further in your training. He never cared that he couldn’t claim credit for it in front of others. He would just smile and make you his special wildflower and mushroom soup to celebrate which tasted like nothing out of this earth and made you crave it almost as much as you craved his smile. 

That smile–that cursed smile he would wear as he looked at you while you gushed or complained about your training. He didn’t care, seemingly happy to listen to you talk either way, and your foolish young heart liked to think you could see a special fondness in his gaze. It was a stupid passing fancy of course. You couldn’t possibly consider him seriously, not with the dark rumours surrounding him even then and especially not after his father too passed in a uniquely gruesome way. 

As the story goes, he had been out drinking his sorrows as usual. At some point during the pitch black night, drunk and disoriented, he left the group of men he was drinking with to head towards his abode but he never made it back. He was found in the morning impaled on a spear that had gone through his eye and out the back of his head, his lifeless corpse suspended by it. 

It was deemed an accident, an intoxicated man tripping and falling on top of an improperly stored weapon. There was no evidence of a struggle, and even his own men could testify he was not walking straight when he left them. There was no reason to think anymore of it, they said, but between themselves the people talked… yet another death around the dark child. It scared even you. You knew he hated this father. You knew he had an inexplicable knowledge about magic. You knew many have died around him. And so as the whispers grew stranger and more fearful, and stories of curses and dark magic swirled around, you silently stepped away from the boy, your friendship living and dying under the darkness of the night. 

He tried to seek you out, tried to find out why you were suddenly gone, tried to win you back–but it was difficult for him to get to you when usually you were the one who would go out to meet him in the forest at night, away from prying eyes. He couldn't approach you when you put others in his path and so he tried to express himself through gifts and flowers that he would hide in your home, hoping they would help him gain back your favour.

His gifts were beautiful and precious–a stunning bouquet of wildflowers, an iridescent stone adoring a delicate ring, valuable ingredients for your potions… all carefully thought out and picked just for you which made you feel all the worse for rejecting them but you had to. This had gone on too far and for too long. You had both grown too attached to each other and you needed to end it. He must not think he has a chance with you. It was not fair to either of you so it was best to end it quickly, even ruthlessly. 

And so you threw his gifts away–you cut up the bouquets, scratched the jewelry and burned the ingredients, leaving them out in the woods where you knew he would find them and get the message that you wanted nothing to do with them. 

And he did get the message, for shortly after you stopped receiving any more gifts. The boy fading back into the unknowable abyss where he belongs. For years he stayed there. For years you knew peace–a guilty, lonely peace but a safe, secure one. He wasn't there to light up your nights anymore and you weren’t there to make him smile, but you were also spared the rumours and gossip that had long surrounded him and were threatening to infect you. 

It hurt you more than you liked to admit to lose him but it was necessary. There was just no future for you together and he seemed to finally understand that. 

Until now. Now it seems like those once familiar black eyes were watching everything you do once more, but you no longer had silly fancies about any imagined lost innocence in them. Instead they scare you the same way they scare everyone else, maybe even more. He has grown somber and serious without you. You haven’t seen his smile in years. He has abandoned his family’s legacy of fighting and heroism for the feared but respected path of foragers. It fit him. After all, he was always in that forest doing the gods only know what and now he has made a tenuous but necessary place for himself in the tribe by it, wading into that same forest to harvest or hunt for things and creatures unknown from treacherous regions that no one else dared to wade into. 

As part of the mysterious foragers profession, he has made himself indispensable to your people as they depended on him and his few peers to bring them the rare and crucial supplies that numerous factions of the tribe–the priests included–depended on in order to do their job. And he was the best of them. He could get you anything you had need or want for, no matter how remote or dangerous, for the right price and as long as you didn’t ask any questions. 

This, of course, caused more rumors to spread around him than ever before, the tribes’ people coming up with all sorts of tales about how he managed to find these things and what he had to do to procure them–whispers of dark pacts, evil ceremonies and dancing with demons dominated the imagination of your people, but no one dared to say anything directly to him. Not anymore. Not now that they needed him.  

You on the other hand were scared, not just of him but for him. Every time he would disappear for days on end in that wretched forest, you would wonder if he would come back, wonder if this is the last time you would ever see him as he inevitably makes his last trip into its dreary darkness like many other foragers have done before him. It’s a perilous, lonely life and so many do not make it for long. Yet he does. He always comes back, and you’re always relieved and scared to be met with his handsome face, the shadows under his eyes taking on a new layer of darkness every time.

What does he see when he goes in there? What creatures does he encounter? What horrors does he face? How close does he come to death and how does he manage to outwit it? 

You do not know for you could not ask him. He hasn’t even met your eyes in years following your pointed rejection of him. Even when he would drop off supplies at your temple, he would keep his eyes downcast as if meeting your gaze would reveal all his secrets to you.

Yes, he has avoided your eyes for years, which makes his recent unwavering stare all the more unnerving. Something has seemingly flipped in him overnight and now you’re the one hiding from his gaze that never falls off of you whenever you’re around him. 

You think you know what he wants. It is the summer fertility festival. It’s a time when those like you and him who have just come of age are encouraged to reach out and start looking to find a companion. You have already received multiple gifts from other boys in the tribe, most of them loudly claiming them and boasting about what they have managed to buy or trade or hunt for you. 

But one gift was unclaimed, the most precious of all, nestled in a nondescript wooden box with a delicately carved wildflower on top of it, and inside… inside was a night bloomer, a sacred plant that flowers only one night a year that the ancients would consume to aid in their divination. It is an integral part of your religion, a powerful tool that once upon a time allowed your people to peer into the future and speak to the gods, but after the great Gija rebelled against the gods and was smote down, the knowledge of where to find it and how to harvest it has been lost and so did the flower. 

No one saw it for centuries until it became the stuff of legends to the point that some of your fellow priests doubted its very existence, preferring to view the mentions of it in religious myths as a symbolic tool to signify how close the ancients were to the gods through their strong belief and how they lost that connection when they betrayed them.

Yet there it was, a bloomed flower sitting in your hands. And there can only be one person who could’ve found it for you. 

You should’ve rejected it. You should have given it back to him so he could give it to someone who will take him, but you were too selfish for that. How could you pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity? You would never get the chance to use a night bloomer again and you could not find it in you to do the right thing and return it to him. You needed to find out for yourself if it really was as powerful as all the legends described it. So you eagerly made it into a tea and drank it, ready to use its power to gaze into your future–another sin of yours. You were told over and over again not to use the powers gifted to you for your own gains. They’re meant to be used to guide and protect the tribe and not for your own selfish desires, but once again you couldn’t resist, and maybe that’s why you were punished so brutally.

The visions the flower brought you were horrific. They were twisted and bloody and demented–filled with death and gore and terror. In them, you saw everyone you knew and loved die in the most gruesome of ways. You saw them cry out to you for help as their skin melted off their bones and their eyes leaked out of their skulls. Their charred hands reached out to you, begging you to make it stop but you couldn’t. You could do nothing but stand there and watch–the smoke stinging your eyes and blackening your lungs. You couldn’t even look away or get yourself to wake up. You were trapped in the ugly visions for what seemed like eternity–none of them making much sense to you as visions usually don’t, but the smell of burnt flesh and the anguished cries needed no explanation, and throughout it all you felt watched, like someone or something was doing this just to see you suffer. 

The visions went on and on in a loop until you felt you would be trapped in them forever–perhaps a punishment for your misuse of this onerous gift–but slowly your vision cleared up and you could see the world around you again.

You found yourself burning up, covered in layers of animal fur as your mother tended to your feverish body. You wanted to throw them off but couldn't spare any energy to move your arms. You couldn’t even speak, the only thing that came out of your mouth was dry deathly whispers that immediately got carried away by the wind before they could reach your confused mother's ears. You lay like that, sick and immobile, for days, your muscles stiff as if the fire had burned off all the water in them as your mother nursed you back to health. For weeks after you'd be caught out by a sudden whiff of smoke and your heart would pick up and panic would flood your body. You quickly had to make every effort to cover up your visceral reaction to anything fire or burning as it attracted too much attention and threatened your place in the temple. Nobody wanted a hysteric apprentice to train or a frightened priestess to protect them. You’re supposed to be the personification of calm and strength. You would lose everything if people found out that the mere smell of ashes secretly sent you into a ball of terror. 

So you covered it up. You pretended that you didn't want to run and cower under your covers every time fires would be lit to warm up or make a simple meal. It was ridiculous. It was weak and laughable but you couldn’t help how your body reacted to it, and you could no longer stomach the taste of meat anymore–a bite of the cooked flesh would send you into a heaving and retching mess. You had sworn off it since then, much to the confusion of others and the irritation of your family. They never liked it when you did anything to draw the curious attention of others. You were not supposed to step out of line except to excel in your training. As their only child, your performance reflected directly on them, and they did not appreciate the strange way you've been acting since you had consumed that cursed night bloomer.  

Did he mess with it somehow? That can’t have been what the ancients used. This can't be your future. You refuse to believe it. He must have tricked you somehow. 

Your mother had attempted to enquire about what has happened to you–she pushed and prodded but you remained steadfast in your insistence about it merely being an illness brought about by eating spoiled meat which conveniently explained your newfound aversion to it. She didn't believe you, of course, but you also knew she preferred to be ignorant of anything that would indicate any brewing trouble, a crack in her perfect daughter, only telling you to get yourself together and not do something stupid to ruin your future. It was a clear order. Whatever it is that you had done, you better fix it–it meant.

That’s why you must stop whatever advances Beomgyu is trying to make on you. He can only bring you pain and trouble. Just like right now.

As soon as the prayer is done, you’re strong-armed back to your home by your chagrined family who were less than happy about your embarrassing performance tonight. 

“What was that?” Your father hisses at you as soon as you are tucked away in your shared abode, away from prying eyes. “How could you disgrace us in such a way in front of the whole tribe?”

“I am sorry, father. I–I–” You hang your head down, hesitating for a moment as your tongue falls almost paralysed under the weight of what you were about to reveal. “I saw something fall from the heavens. I saw a star die.” 

You choose to omit the part about the boy. Your family doesn't know about your brief secret friendship with him. They don’t know about everything you’ve told him. They don’t know about the blasted gift you have accepted from him. They can’t know. They might cast you out if they did. 

“What?” Your mother whispers fearfully, a tinge of denial in her voice as if she does not wish to believe you–again hiding away from the ugly truth. 

“It was big and bright and beautiful but–” You gulp, wrapping your arms around yourself to stop your body from shaking at the memory. “But I saw it flickering in the throes of death as it bled across the heavens and crashed to the earth.” You finish fearfully, and that fear latches onto your parents immediately. 

Your father strides towards you and grabs you by the shoulders roughly, face pale. “Are you certain, child?” 

“As certain as death. I saw it with my own eyes.” I saw it pointing straight towards him.

Your father casts you away as if you were stricken with pestilence and paces around the room, passing back and forth in front of the pale and ghastly figure of your mother. 

“Father. Mother. Tell me the truth. Tell me what this means.” You ask hesitantly, not certain you even want to hear the answer. You knew it was bad, of course, but their reactions were heightening your anxiety to intolerable levels. 

“The stars are supposed to be eternal watchers, the guardians of the heavens. If one of them falls then the ranks have weakened.” Your mother explains fearfully, “Something has managed to get in or out of the heavens.”

You shudder. What could that be? And what does it have to be with the boy who will forever be your one regret?   

“Only you saw it?” Your father asks and you gulp. “I think so.” 

“Good. We do not want to cause a panic unnecessarily, especially this close to the climax of the fertility season.” He proclaims, trying to compose himself but the pallor of his face gives him away. “The leader’s boy seems close to making a proposal for your hand.” 

You frown. Is this really what you should be focusing on right now? Certainly, you have been more than delighted to garner Kai’s favour and, prior to tonight, you have not been thinking about much else, but surely this star issue trumps trivial earthly matters of marriage and ranks. 

You know your family is pushing for this marriage to go through and you understand how monumental this would be for your position in the tribe–to marry into the ruling family would raise you to the top of the ranks and bathe you in the riches only available to them, but that does not mean you can neglect your duties as priests and priestesses. This fallen star could be fortelling a catastrophic future to befall the entire tribe and you need to set aside all your selfish desires to protect your people from this mysterious fate.

“But the star–” 

“Make no mention of it to any soul.” Your father cuts you off sharply. “Not until we find out more about it. Your mother and I will consult the temple’s ancient inscriptions. You just focus on winning that boy over. And make no repeats of that disgraceful display today.” 

You look down to your feet. You hadn’t meant to embarrass them. They would understand if they knew about your new shadow, but they must not know. No one must know. He is like a pestilence–anything he touches withers and dies and you will not let yourself be one of the ghosts hanging around him. 

You may not know what this dark omen means but you feel in your heart that it is related to him and you have to stop him. Maybe then you can avert this calamity from occurring.

So you meekly accept their admonishment and warnings, keeping your head down and waiting until your parents are well on their way to the temple before you slip out yourself, following in the direction you know he would be, along a trek you should have never have allowed yourself to get familiar with and are now determined to sever from your life. 

The path takes you out of the settlement and into the dark woods. The chill in the air didn’t suit a midsummer night, and it only grows more frigid once you spot the boy’s hunched over figure on the ground, digging for something with his bare hands. Your heart beats rapidly as you watch him pull weeds out of the ground as if he’s gutting the earth and for a second you consider turning around and running back to the safety of settlement. You don’t know what he’s doing out here at night–the once familiar, sometimes even welcoming forest now a strange and bizarre landscape of terror to you. He could be up to all manner of unsavoury things out here and there was no one around to protect you from him. Maybe you could find a way to speak to him in the morning…

But before your feet can move, he cranes his head back to look at you, his dark gaze rooting you to your spot, and just like that you cannot move a muscle. 

“What are you doing out here, flower?” He asks softly, voice deep and saccharine, bathing you like a fly in honey so you won’t escape. You resent yourself for being so improperly affected by it–still feeling a silent pull towards him despite your better judgement, but how can you convince your eyes to deny his beauty? How can you get your ears to shut away his honey voice? 

What you can do is contort your face into an ugly scowl. He doesn’t get to call you that anymore. You should have never allowed him to get close enough to have affectionate names for you. 

“What are you doing here?” You throw the question back at him, needing answers to quiet your worrying mind and time to gather your courage for what’s to come.  

“Gathering supplies for my soup.” He tells you readily, and your scowl loosens a bit at that. Of course, how can you forget his soup? You’ve tasted it many a times to the point that just the mention of it has a remnant of its memory tickling your tongue and making you salivate at the reminder. “Would you like to come home for a bowl? You haven't had any in ages.” 

You curse yourself for how much you suddenly crave it which is then followed by a sinking feeling in your gut as you question why exactly you’re craving it so much. Yes, it was one of the most delicious things you have had the chance to taste in your short life but why was it so? Did he do something to it the same way he did to the last “gift” he gave you? 

You shudder as you think about the countless bowls of soup he had made for you over the course of your brief friendship and what he might’ve slipped in them. No, you would not like to try strange soups from the strange boy, no matter how much your body craves it. “No, thank you.”

He frowns, looking upset–almost hurt–at the rejection. You would laugh if you weren’t so scared of him. “You don’t visit me anymore.” 

You can’t, however, hold back your scoff at his whiny proclamation, as if you owed him that acquaintance. “It is not proper for an unwed woman to meet strange men in the night.” 

“You meet Kai.” He retorts simply and anger and dread wrap around your cold form. What does he care about Kai? Does he really think he and Kai are on the same standing when it comes to you or anyone else for that matter? Has he forgotten himself? 

“That is not your concern.” You hiss at him, scared that he might do something to ruin your tentative relationship with the leader’s son. He has expressed his interest in making you his wife by providing you with the most luxurious gift during this fertility festival. You would be crazy to turn him down and even crazier to let whatever delusional fancy Beomgyu holds for you ruin your chances with him. 

“Why did that make you angry? Are you letting him do things to you that you know you shouldn’t?” Beomgyu confronts you, expression unnervingly blank. “Are you letting him under your skirts?” 

You stalk towards him, raising your hand up and slapping him, then watching a red handprint bloom across his handsome face. You immediately regret it. You’re now within arms reach of the dark boy and he looks angry. 

Before you can step back and run, he reaches out to grab the arm that you struck him with and pulls you to the ground with him. You try to fight him off, using all your strength to attempt to push him away but that just makes him climb on top of you so he can still your thrashing arms and pin them above your head, his body holding yours down as he presses you against the cold mud. 

He was surprisingly strong despite his lean frame, though you suppose you shouldn’t be so surprised given his warrior background even if he quit that path years ago. 

You stare up at him, his dark eyes almost swallowing up the stars above. You don’t dare speak or move. You just lay still as he uses one hand to keep your wrists above your head so he can free up the other to cradle your face, his muddy hand staining your skin. 

“Do you let him kiss you?” He asks you, face blank apart from a muted curiosity. He was so close you can see every individual eyelash framing his gorgeous dark eyes, every tiny blemish on his otherwise flawless skin, the elegant slope of his nose, the firm but soft pillowing of his lips. 

You stay quiet, too scared to speak, too scared to unintentionally set him off. What if this is what the star meant? What if it was warning you of your untimely demise and that is why you were the only one to see it? 

“So you have.” He takes your silence as affirmation, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. “Then it’s only fair if I get a taste too.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans down and meets your lips with his. They feel unfairly good against your own, fit you too well and you hate it. What is this inexplicable hold he has on you? What has he done to you?

In defiance, you command your body to stay still. You may not be able to fight him off but you won't give him the satisfaction of responding to his unwanted advances. So you just lay there and let him mould your mouth to his. He is incessant but surprisingly soft, pushing and coaxing until you unwillingly find yourself whining lowly, and when you open your mouth to let out a small gasp, he uses the opportunity to press his tongue in. 

He tastes so sweet fruits, honey and milk–all things you remember he loves so much and that you always used to provide for him just to see that smile that you now have not seen in years. 

How is it that he tastes this good? What unnatural magic is he using to entice you? He must be because you could not possibly be this inclined towards him.

Your doubts are further confirmed when you detect a hint of something bitter hidden underneath all the sweetness–a sharpness that prevents you from falling completely into him and keeps you on alert. 

Beomgyu lets out his own small moan as his tongue caresses yours and you should be disgusted to be so engulfed by the dark boy, to let him force himself over the boundaries you have put up to keep him away, but the heat radiating off him feels so good against your goosebumps afflicted skin, his small stuttered breaths and whimpers make your body tingle and sizzle and you have absolutely no control over it. You begin to fear you will be trapped here forever under his spell. 

But when his mouth leaves yours to make its way down your neck, you are allowed reprieve to gaze at the sky above and focus on something that isn't him. That's when your eyes stray to the spot where the fallen star was, naturally drawn to it like a tongue is drawn to a missing tooth, and with the phantom taste of iron in your mouth, you snap out of the spell he put you under. 

What the hell are you doing? How can you lie there and let him slither his way back to you? You're a disgrace. 

Disgusted at your weak self, you use that repulsion to fuel you as you gather all your strength and try once again to push him away, but all you could muster is enough power to unlatch him from your neck, exposing the wet freshly kiss-laden skin to the frigid air and making you shiver. 

He gazes at you with a farce concern as he gently cups your cheek, his warm hand like the soothing touch of honeyed milk to your skin that once again compels you to let your guards down, but his blown-wide pupils and his laboured breathing keep them up. 

“Hey, it's okay. I got you, my flower.” He tries to soothe you, bending back down to catch your lips again, but he only manages to freak you out more. 

My flower? No! You must stop this. 

You bite down on his lip harshly, tasting blood, and he reels back, cursing in pain. “What the fuck?” 

In his shock, you’re finally able to push him off and scramble to your feet. “Stay away from me. I do not want you. I have chosen him so stop whatever the hell you’re doing. I will never be yours.”

He levels you with a dark look, the little bit of blood dripping down his chin making him look even more chilling. “Why not?” He asks bitterly. “I can do good by you. You don't have to pay mind to the rumours about me. You know me.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, I do not know and never wish to know you. You are unwell. Stay away from me.” You proclaim with all the conviction and strength you could muster, before you turn around and dart back to your home. 

You didn’t want to give him the chance to challenge you. You do not know what he's capable of and you have disgraced yourself enough already. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you run, and you whip your head around constantly to make sure he isn't following you. You feel as though he is, gooseskin prickling at the back of your neck at the feeling of being watched, but every time you whip your head back, certain you'll meet his dark eyes, you find nothing there. 

Your family is not back when you reach your home which is both a relief and a grievance. You’re glad they are not there to question your whereabouts or your dirty frazzled condition but you do not wish to be left alone in case he comes to find you. 

In order to soothe yourself, you cast a protective spell on a powerful talisman and hold it to your chest, burying yourself under heaps of fur and praying that is enough to protect you from whatever evils linger around the dark boy.  

_____________________________

A/N: so excited for this series, let me know what you think please!

[compact-turtle]

So I’m my area, I’m in the country, it’s pretty common to see women just in their bikinis laid on a blanket/chair out in the yard to tan. It’s the country, ya know? No one sees you, except for whomever lives with you. It’s just something we do. How would Atticus feel about that tho? Seeing his darling in skimpy bathing-suit laying outside to tan??

I'm slowly and steadily finally going through my inbox after five months. Sorry to everyone if I don't make it to your post there's like 100+ things in my inbox :(

That would be so sweet actually. Imagine him getting butterflies and everything seeing you openly tan in a skimpy bathing suit.

----

Content Warning: slight n--s--f---w.

-Today was a mandatory laundry day for Atticus. He was officially out of clean clothes. Everything was dirty and starting to smell worse than the cows on a hot day. Of course, he didn't mind it too much, but you were here. What would you think if he didn't keep up with his hygiene?

-A basket of wet laundry was at his feet as he started to pin them up to dry. He'd much rather be out milking the cows or tending to the crops than doing this. Still, it gave Atticus time to be lost in his thoughts.

-He wondered how long he could stall you from leaving. It'd already been a few weeks since your car broke down and he knew everyone was getting antsy. Especially, after working so much on the farm.

-To combat this, he started giving everyone more breaks and days off. He even attempted to encourage them to view this as a "rent-free-all-expense-paid-vacation" in a beautiful rural setting. Thankfully, all your little friends seemed to be airheaded enough to believe this. They ain't got a lick of sense to them.

-His attention was pulled away when he noticed you from the corner of his eye. He tried watching you discreetly; wondering what you were doing. In your hands, there was a large blanket and a tote bag. You were dressed in a long white t-shirt that reached barely past your butt.

-You threw him a warm smile along as you walked past him. You stopped near an oak tree and began to lay out your blanket. Gently, you set your bag down and then took out a few items.

Perhaps you were out on a small picnic today?

-He watched slack-jawed as you removed your t-shirt to reveal everything hidden underneath. The silhouettes of your body seemed to be chiseled by the hand of a celestial sculptor. He'd gladly worship it, adorn it with jewels, anything you wanted. Your skin was like a holy text, inviting him to devote himself even deeper.

"Looks like you're begging for a mighty big sunburn there," Atticus said as he walked up. His gaze cast down as he avoided eye contact.

"No worries! I brought sunscreen with me! Actually, could you help put it on my back?" You asked as you searched in your bag for a bottle of sunscreen. You pulled it out and handed it to Atticus with a bright smile.

-He nodded, then took the bottle from you. Slowly, he poured the sunscreen into his rugged hands. He gently began to spread it out on your back.

-Atticus nervously wondered if you minded his calloused hands. Were they scratching up your back? Or was it making you regret asking him?

-Still, more than anything, he was giddier than a schoolchild. He loved the way your skin felt underneath his hands. Your skin was like a delicate canvas, soft and flawless in his eyes. This felt like a privilege to trace his fingers all across your back. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to touch the skin underneath your clothes.

"Atticus, it hurts. Be more gentle." You tenderly mumbled, "Don't push into my back so hard."

-He felt something familiar rise in his lower area. it took everything in him to not pounce on you right now. Atticus would love to litter kisses all over your back. He'd kiss every part until you were tired of it all.

-He desperately wanted needed to rut into you. To show, that he could satisfy you in any compacity you wanted. He imagined your voice moaning out in a breathy tone, begging him to just go harder and faster. Of course, he’s comply with your demands and go as faster as you want. Then he’d lean down and suck y-

"That should be good now, Atticus. Thank you for the help." You said as you flipped yourself around to face him.

-His eyes briefly dipped down to view your whole body. Another small wave of imagination rolled over him.

"No problem. Seems like all your little friends disappeared."

"It's sweet that you're worried about them! Everyone is swimming in the creek nearby. I was going to join them but figured I'd tan instead. I haven't been able to do it all summer. Especially due to our road trip."

"I see. Where'd ya get this tiny piece you got on from? Don't look like it covers much of anything."

"Oh, does it make you uncomfortable? I can go and change if-."

"No. It's fine. Just go on back and do your own thing." Atticus interrupted quickly, "Don't mind me."

-He watched as you laughed and nodded. Atticus turned back towards the house. His pace was unusually brisk with heavy panting.

-The laundry could wait. He had more important things to do right now.

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

(That may or may not involve fantasies of you two in some intense yoga positions)

[cruel-as-the-midday-sun]

The Tiger's Gambit

(closed RP thread for @queen-of-prophecy )

–––––

Rakesh’s palace stood as a symbol of untamed power and grandeur, carved from deep sandstone that glimmered faintly under Gluttony’s perpetual sunset.

Its walls bore intricate carvings of ferocious beasts and epic battles, a testament to the Maharaja’s victories and dominion.

Surrounding the palace were sprawling gardens, lush with rare plants and vibrant flowers, their scents drifting through the air. Servants, like silent shadows, worked tirelessly, tending to the gardens and ensuring the palace's upkeep without a word. The soft gurgle of fountains punctuated the quiet, their waters shimmering faintly.

Inside, the palace reflected a balance between raw power and refined taste. The floors, made of cool light marble, stretched beneath towering pillars carved into the shapes of prowling lions and roaring tigers.

Pardas (curtains) of rich silk hung from the walls, interspersed with tapestries that depicted the Maharaja’s rise to power. Chandeliers fashioned from bones and gold hung from vaulted ceilings painted with celestial scenes, reminding all who entered of Rakesh’s angelic origins and his violent fall.

On the eastern balcony, overlooking the vast gardens, Rakesh reclined in a low chair, his amber eyes fixed on the horizon. A long, carved pipe made of ivory rested between his fingers, the sweet smoke curling lazily into the air.

On the small wooden table beside him, an ancient scroll lay partially unrolled, its delicate script glowing faintly under the dim light.

The faint rustle of footsteps caught Rakesh’s attention. Sarin, his most trusted aide, approached with precise steps. The demon, with sleek leopard features and piercing blue eyes, adjusted his glasses and bowed slightly. Dressed in a sharp kurta-pajama paired with a tailored jacket, he carried the air of unwavering efficiency.

“My Maharaja,” Sarin said, his tone respectful yet steady. “News from the court of Emperor Paimon in Pride. Queen Vine has been excommunicated. King Lucifer himself has intervened, limiting her powers and confining her to a lower ring beneath Sloth...she called it the Ring of Heresy. Queen Vine herself created it.”

Rakesh inhaled deeply from his pipe, the amber tip glowing before he exhaled a steady stream of smoke.

“Aakhir hua jo hona tha (It was bound to happen).”

He said, his voice calm, almost detached. He closed the scroll with deliberate care and set it aside.

“Lucifer’s mercy was never endless, and Vine...she has always danced too close to the edge. But that is part of her allure.”

Sarin hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“How would you like to proceed, Maharaja?”

Rakesh rose from his chair, his towering figure casting a long shadow. He rested one hand on the balcony’s railing, staring into the distance.

“Prepare crates of food, a luxury yurta, warm clothes, and supplies. Cheese and wine, especially. Send them to her.”

Sarin tilted his head slightly, curiosity clear in his eyes.

“A gift of compassion, my Maharaja?”

Rakesh chuckled, low and dangerous, baring sharp teeth.

“Nahi, Sarin (No, Sarin). This is no mere act of kindness. It’s a message. Vine is still of use to me, and she’ll remember who stood by her when no one else did.”

Sarin nodded, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Samajh gaya, Maharaja (Understood, Maharaja). I’ll ensure the preparations are flawless.”

“Shabash (Good).”

Rakesh said, clapping his hands once and standing from his chair.

"Make sure everything is ready as soon as possible."

“Ji, Maharaja (Yes, Maharaja).”

Sarin replied with a bow before retreating to fulfill the orders.

––––

The palace buzzed quietly with activity as preparations for the convoy began. Crates of food, warm clothes, and other essentials were being carefully loaded onto wagons by servants, their movements efficient under the sharp eyes of Sarin. The leopard demon, clipboard in hand, supervised every detail, ensuring nothing was forgotten.

In the courtyard, Rakesh stood tall in his traveling attire: a long angrakha (robe) of dark crimson, paired with a heavy, gold-trimmed cloak. His pipe hung from his hand, unlit for once, as he surveyed the progress. The weight of his decision was evident in the tension of his jaw, though his amber eyes betrayed none of his inner thoughts.

Sarin approached, bowing slightly before speaking.

“Maharaja, the convoy is nearly ready. The last of the supplies are being secured.”

Rakesh gave a single nod, his gaze never leaving the wagons.

“Good. I’ll be going with them.”

Sarin straightened, momentarily caught off guard.

“You intend to go yourself, Maharaja?”

“Yes,” Rakesh said firmly, turning to face his aide. “I won’t entrust this task to anyone else. Vine has always been...complicated. I need to see her with my own eyes, speak to her directly. This exile of hers is not the end: only the beginning of something greater. And I intend to ensure she understands that.”

Sarin adjusted his glasses, his expression thoughtful.

“Do you think she’ll be in any state to listen, Maharaja? From the reports, her punishment was severe.”

Rakesh’s lips curled into a faint, wolfish grin.

“Vine is many things, Sarin, but weak is not one of them. She may be broken, but she will rise again...agar sahi raasta dikhaya jaaye (if shown the right path). I’ll make sure she knows who stands beside her when the dust settles.”

Sarin nodded slowly.

“Very well, Maharaja. I’ll prepare your carriage and ensure everything is in place for the journey.”

“Shabash (Good),” Rakesh replied, his voice low and commanding. As Sarin turned to leave, Rakesh called out,

“And Sarin...keep your wits about you. This visit is not just for her sake...it’s for mine. Opportunities like this don’t come often, and I’ll not let it slip through my grasp.”

“Samajh gaya, Maharaja (Understood, Maharaja).”

Sarin replied with a bow, disappearing into the flurry of activity.

As the convoy prepared to set out, Rakesh stood at the forefront, his figure imposing and resolute.

This...was only his first move.

[hero21us]

The Golden Age: A Century of Transformation

2024: The Dawn of the Golden Army

It began with a team. The Golden Army, an elite soccer squad formed in 2024, was more than just a sports phenomenon. Their players—each sculpted like gods—seemed almost unreal. Their uniforms shimmered with an otherworldly glow, and their skin bore an uncanny metallic sheen under the stadium lights. At first, the world marveled at their athleticism, their flawless movements, and their seemingly supernatural endurance.

The transformation started subtly. Their bodies became more reflective, their muscles denser, and their eyes gleamed like polished orbs. Whispers of "golden blood" spread through the media. Scientists dismissed it as an optical illusion, a trick of lighting or advanced training regimens. But then, one by one, the players stopped aging.

2035: The Expansion

The Golden Army was no longer just a football team—it was a movement. Athletes from every sport sought to join, believing the transformation was the ultimate evolution of the human body. Soon, soldiers, laborers, and even corporate elites clamored for the secret.

A discovery was made: a unique alchemical gold pond, kept secret by the team's founders, was the key. The molten gold within it could be manipulated and incorporated into clothing, spirals, food, almost anything. If ingested it caused a fundamental rewriting of human biology. Those who embraced the transformation experienced a euphoria beyond words. Strength beyond measure. And above all—immortality.

Governments tried to regulate distribution, but by the 2040s, resistance was futile. Entire nations embraced the Golden Path. Those who resisted were left behind, their flesh and blood a relic of the past.

2055: The Great Conversion

By the mid-21st century, nearly half of humanity had undergone the transformation. Cities glowed with a golden hue, their streets lined with beings who no longer needed sustenance or sleep. Art, culture, and even warfare took on a celestial quality.

Wars were fought, not with weapons, but with displays of radiant power. The Golden Men could channel energy, communicate without words, and reshape the world around them. The old ways of life crumbled as organic humans faded into obscurity.

By 2075, the last of the flesh-born governments surrendered. The Golden Council was formed—a ruling body of the first transformed, led by the original members of the Golden Army. Their decree was absolute: "All shall ascend."

2100: Earth Reforged

With no more wars, no more disease, and no more hunger, humanity turned to a new purpose—reshaping the planet. Every structure was rebuilt in gold. The oceans shimmered with golden waves. The forests, once green and untamed, now gleamed with metallic splendor. Even the sky, infused with particles of transmuted gold dust, reflected a brilliant eternal sunrise.

Space travel was abandoned—there was no need to leave. Earth itself had become the celestial paradise that mankind had always sought.

2125: The Radiance Complete

By the dawn of 2125, no flesh remained. Every man had become gold, their thoughts linked in a grand, harmonious consciousness.

The Earth radiated like a second sun, a beacon visible across the cosmos.

The universe took notice.

And somewhere, in the depths of space, other celestial beings turned their eyes toward the Golden Planet, wondering what mankind had become.

Would they see gods? Or something beyond?

Only time would tell.

Step into the future join golden army today message @polo-drone-001 @brodygold @goldenherc9 today

[another-lost-mc]

sry if you've been asked this question before but i wanna know what you think is the state of finance and commerce in the celestial realm. do u think they use money at all? or is it a barter and trade situation? or do they just share everything like the na'vi does in avatar since they're angels and all that? do u think currencies and payment were a foreign concept to the brothers when they first came to the devildom?

I had to look up the Avatar thing because I've only seen parts of that movie but based on a very quick search, yeah, that's probably the best way to describe my personal approach to writing the Celestial Realm's social organization.

There are basically two different structures at play when it comes to the angels and how the Celestial Realm functions:

Each angel's talents or interests is used for their personal contribution to society

The formal angelic ranks/power brackets are social classes that shape the power dynamics and interactions of the angels themselves

Since you asked specifically about the financial aspect, I'm going to focus on the first structure (as the second one is more important when it comes to their governance and class system as a whole).

Unlike the Devildom, the Celestial Realm doesn't really engage in capitalism or have formal currency. There aren't shops or stores where things are bought and sold, and there isn't an expectation of payment for services or the exchange of goods. The angels are a community or a family rather than strangers that exist in close proximity. They take care of themselves and each other because it is expected of them. How can they care for the well-being of the other realms if they can't take care of their own?

Angels aren't perfect or flawless - they're unique, but that is what gives them purpose. They embrace their strengths and contribute to the well-being of their brethren.

Some of the angels, usually those drawn to the warrior ranks, prefer to serve in battle and focus on enhancing their physical or magical combat abilities. (It's my personal headcanon that most angels, except some of those in the warrior ranks, tend to be vegetarians; warrior ranks are the ones tasked with hunting/fishing those ingredients.)

There are other areas where angels can use those talents (including but not limited to): gardening and agriculture, to grow the food they eat and the plants that will eventually become textiles or medicines; cooks and bakers that prepare meals; the tailors' guild that provide the angels with clothes and linens for their beds; the angels that gather precious metals and stones and the angels that forge them into armor and weapons. Of course, there are angels that are skilled writers, artists, or musicians. Those are accepted as important skills and equal contributions that make the Celestial Halls vibrant and beautiful, filled with song and colour and everything beautiful in the world they cherish most.

An angel's formal rank sometimes, but not always, indicates what sort of "job" they have. The Seraphs have their own special interests or talents, but they're usually overseeing the other ranks and have more of a managerial role. They delegate the day-to-day tasks and are the ones who have to plan for any unexpected problems or crises that might affect the other angels. Other ranks, like Thrones or Cherubs, usually have secondary tasks they can help with but only if they're not needed for their primary responsibilities first.

The Devildom society, one that functions as a type of capitalism, is a completely foreign concept. Angels understand it in theory, watching over the human world's development as they do, but it's not something they would want to depend on for their own survival.

Just like the demons have their own investments and financial ties to the human world (like the Hotel Corvo), angels also have a foothold in select human world sectors. Demons tend to invest closely with markets that give them more power and influence over human world developments and affairs, like tourism or technology. Angels tend to be more focused on monitoring human activity with community-based projects instead. Like The Angel's Halo cafe, coffee shops and bakeries are examples of an angel-owned establishments that help them blend in. Other potential businesses include book stores or publishing firms, art schools or galleries, florist shops and community gardens.

Angels might be used to participating in these human world projects, but it's still not nearly enough to prepare them for being dropkicked to the Devildom with next to no warning. Fallen angels - especially those who fell prior to Lucifer and his siblings - would've had the worst time acclimating to living as demons. They're not all fortunate enough to have someone from the Royal Family or other generous demons to take them under their wing and give them a crash course in Demon Society 101. (It's another personal headcanon that Lucifer and his brothers were an exception when Diavolo protected them the way he did, and most newly-turned demons had it far worse without that kind of support. That's completely glossing over the various physical and emotional/spiritual changes they would've endured as well.)

Angels aren't used to having to work long hours to afford the basic items they need on a daily basis, when things like food and water and housing and clothes were given to them freely by other angels that cared for them. Angels aren't used to relationships that feel so transactional. There are countless demons that might purposefully manipulate them or abuse them, at least until they know better, because lying and deceit are things that most fallen angels have to learn for themselves. Kill or be killed - literally, in some cases.

(Part of why The Fall exists is to explore various aspects of what it means for an angel of the Celestial Realm falling to the Devildom, and how completely overwhelming it would be for them to adjust with or without the protection of someone with enough power and resources to help them survive when they're most vulnerable.)

[bvannn]

transposed to g minor because I was in a g minor mood

[ivory--raven]

angelfish femslash feb day 10 ft. pre(?)-ineffable bureaucracy because it's IB's @rareomens day

The sky seems to crack as Michael appears just outside the door. Annoyance fizzes around her. She comes into the house holding The Celestial Times, which Jeanne plucks out of her hand.

“That was my newspaper!”

Jeanne is already paging through it. “Did you really need it?

“Gabriel is in it,” says Michael, frowning.

Dagon springs up from the sofa she was lying on. “Gabriel in the paper?”

“It’s a fashion feature, of all things,” Michael says.

“I found it!” says Jeanne. Dagon peers over her shoulder. Sure enough, Heaven’s own newspaper contains a sketch of Gabriel dressed in the finest men’s fashion, and an interview about where he gets his clothes. “‘I go to a fine tailor, Davidson, on Cork Street in London,’” Jeanne read aloud.

“Gabriel goes to a tailor on Earth?” Dagon blinks at the page.

“It’s his worst vice,” sighs Michael, shaking her head. “He and Sandalphon both spend hours visiting that tailor. He’s insufferable when he gets back.”

“I used to think you angels were all perfect and flawless and majestic,” says Jeanne. 

“Gabriel certainly thinks he is perfect and flawless and majestic.” Michael crosses her arms over her chest.

“I know an angel who is better than Gabriel, an angel who is definitely majestic,” says Dagon.

“One who has better things to do than arrange for the paper to interview them about their most annoying habit,” adds Jeanne. 

Michael smiles. “You’re sweet, both of you.”

“We’ll rot your teeth.” Dagon sidles up to her. “Mind if I take that paper to work?”

“Don’t tell everyone, we can’t have demons thinking archangels are soft.”

“We can’t have that, of course not,” agrees Dagon, bringing Michael’s hand to her lips and kissing her knuckles. “It would only be Beelzebub.”

“That would be fine,” says Michael.

“If you bring me more copies, I’ll shred them and use them as bedding for the chickens,” says Jeanne.

Michael smirks.

Half an hour later, Dagon leaves for Hell with The Celestial Times. She makes a beeline for Beelzebub’s office and finds it empty. Of course. They’re in the throne room.

Demons gather near the throne room in hopes of having a proper audience. There aren’t many formalities observed, except that there are guards outside and only one demon at a time is allowed to make their case. It’s unlike visiting their office because in the throne room, the average demon has a reasonable expectation that when it’s their turn to speak, they will be heard out.

Dagon ignores the guards and marches inside. Some demon she doesn’t know is in the middle of an impassioned speech. “Get out,” she tells them. She faces the watching crowd. “All of you. We’re pausing.”

“Come back later,” says Beelzebub, and at their word the gathered demons actually leave. Once the throne room is empty, they turn to Dagon. “This better be good.”

Dagon produces The Celestial Times and turns to Gabriel’s page. “Voila.”

Beelzebub leans forward. “Izz that Archwanker Gabriel?”

Dagon nods.

“He goezz to a tailor on Earth?”

“Apparently!”

Beelzebub throws back their head and laughs. “Satan, that’s fantastic. Dare I azk where you got thizz?”

Dagon smirks. “If you don’t ask, I’ll let you keep it.”

Beelzebub pulls the paper out of her grasp. “All right. But I was going to keep it anyway.”

[skylarxgraham]

Is that NICO GREETHAM? No, that's SKYLAR GRAHAM. The 26 year old BORROWER WITCH OMEGA is a PERSONAL ASSISTANT. If you ask their friends, they’re known to be SEDUCTIVE & AMBITIOUS, but beware, they’re also known to be RUTHLESS & IMPULSIVE.

BASIC INFO

full name — skylar james graham age — twenty-six (march 5th) gender — cis male, (he/ him/ his pronouns) second gender — omega moon — none occupation — personal assistant family — no children, possible brother (in the works) mate — aiden brenner (blog) clothing style — polo shirts, button-ups, tank tops and short shorts. recently loved dressing up like a greek twink

PHYSICAL INFO

face claim — nico greetham hair — blonde / eyes — green height — five foot & six inches build — lean with defined muscles, prominent abs, plump butt, toned legs scars — none, his skin is surprisingly flawless tattoos — a pair of angel wings under his right collar bone (like this) piercings — none special characteristics — likes to think the 'dumb blonde' stereotype doesn't apply to him but he has his himbo moments sexual preference — dom leaning verse but has a penchant for submitting every so often kinks — muscle worship, praise, musk, restraints, biting/marking, breeding, public play, multiple orgasms. anti-kinks — scat, gore, intense breath play

PERSONALITY

alignment — neutral good positive traits — seductive, ambitious negative traits — impulsive, ruthless hobbies — reading, writing, practicing magic, sex

MEDICAL INFO

mental — mild ocd physical — never broken a bone in his life phobias — thalassophobia eyesight — 18/20 dominant hand — ambidextrous drug use — no alcohol use — no, he prefers virgin drinks and mocktails diet — semi-healthy, has a bit of a sweet tooth for pastries, junk food only once every other week

BACKGROUND

birthplace — new haven, CT parents — deceased, both full-blooded witches education — college graduate notable skills — very organized, which help him excel in administrative and clerical jobs

Born from a long line of powerful witches, Skylar was blessed with the magic his ancestors wielded. Yet despite this rare privilege, he sought for something basic spells and potions simply couldn’t achieve. From a young age, he looked to the clouds above and marveled at the birds soaring through the heavens. Their gift of flight, feathery wings and near angelic appearance made him yearn for such freedom. He didn’t want to spend his life following the rules and regulations enforced by a coven. His true wish was to fade into the sky like an angel. To transcend the mountains and oceans keeping most practitioners of the mystic arts tethered to the terrestrial plane. 

It took him years to discover a magic that would make his wish come true. Skylar stumbled upon ancient texts depicting a way for whoever casts these spells will have their sins washed away by holy light. He was awestruck and incredibly curious. No form of sorcery was ever used before by anyone in recorded history. He could possibly be the first to master such power. Luckily for him, the ability to utilize witchcraft of any form ran through his veins. Skylar managed to decipher the rituals and incantations with relative ease. Now the remaining challenge was to put the knowledge he obtained to action. A task much easier said than done, unfortunately.

Just when Skylar was about to encounter a breakthrough, a creature with snow white fur and floppy ears hopped into his arms. He acknowledged Skylar as its master and together, the two developed a seemingly mutually beneficial relationship. He named his familiar Cassiel who bestowed him with a physical link to the celestial plane. With the final ingredient at his disposal, Skylar declared the price he was willing to pay and called forth an angel for the first time. He was absolutely fascinated to bring such a divine and powerful being into existence. It was everything he could have ever imagined and more. 

Now, Skylar is determined to learn everything he can about angels and the power they possess. So far, he's not had any issues with summoning them but that could very well change the more he taps into this ancient magic.

[theewitchwitch]

Spiders have woven their way through the tapestry of human history, embodying intricate webs of symbolism across diverse cultures and literary works since the beginning of time. From the delicate balance between creation and destruction to the mysterious dance of fate, spiders evoke both awe and fear. Observed as celestial weavers shaping destinies or feared as omens of impending darkness, these creatures have long fascinated humanity. What exactly is the message behind the spider?

The mythology of the spider goes back to ancient Greek and Egyptian stories of the spider being the weaver of the world. West African, Indigenous and even Norse mythology supports idea that the spider was a creative goddess who used strength and her interconnectedness in life to transform. It has been said that the spider created the alphabet and taught us "spelling." Seems pretty magical. Let's discuss one of the myths really quick.

So, there was a mortal named Arachne. Her dad was a man in the Asia Minor (near Turkey) with all the best dyes, especially purple which was a hard color to come by and meant strictly for the gods. As she grew in her craft, Arachne created linens and intricately woven tapestries. She wasn't just an ordinary weaver. It was as if her hands danced within the loom and created stories that impacted the fates of those who wore her clothing.

As Arachne grew in her craft, the townspeople started to compare her to Athena, the daughter of Zeus and goddess of wisdom and weaving. Now a quick little something about Athena. She was NOT a girl's girl. She was wholeheartedly supporting the patriarchy at the time and led a battle of the Titans, giving her father strategy to win. Zeus, Athena's dad, wasn't just the most powerful god at the time. He BIG DADDY. We were all his sons, if you know what I mean. To be fair, Zeus wasn't the only god running around being forceful with his love-taking and often disguising themselves as revered animals to be more accepted by the woman they were in pursuit of.

Athena finds out about Arachne's bold confidence in claiming she was a much better weaver over Athena. While Athena could have approached this mortal, in her war gear with Medusa's head full of snakes embroidered onto her cloak, eternally petrifying her.

Instead, Athena disguised herself as an old woman to pay Arachne a visit. She pleaded with Arachne to consider what she had been saying. How dare she say she was better than the daughter of Zeus! Arachne didn't care one bit. In fact, she Donald Trump doubled down on it. This angered Athena so much she dropped her disguise immediately and challenged Arachne to a tapestry weaving contest. Arachne sealed her own fate, offering to accept any punishment Athena deemed appropriate should she lose the contest.

Athena began weaving a tapestry with the corners filled with stories of how the gods felt about mortals' over-confidence and lack of respect to the gods. She then included the few times her mother, Hera, petrified humans in the past.

Arachne made an entire tapestry dedicated to outing the gods' sexually deviant behavior and lack of morality despite demanding worship from the mortals. Not only did Arachne embarrass the gods but also did it in a beautiful and impeccable design. Athena even acknowledged the beauty and flawlessness of Arachne's work while simultaneously being outraged that she would make that public knowledge with no remorse in sight.

In a fit of rage, Athena destroyed Arachne's tapestry and loom. Now he is where the story goes two ways. Some say that Athena tormented Arachne until Arachne hung herself with her threads. Other accounts show that Athena did physically hurt Arachne with the intentions of killing her only to have pity. She acquired a potion from Hekate that turned Arachne into a spider, being forced to weave for all of eternity.

What do we learn as humans on a spiritual level? Where can we weave parts of ourselves into humanity? How do we weave ourselves into the things we create and what is the lasting image we leave?

MESSAGE FROM THE SPIDER:

Haste makes waste.

See things from another perspective.

Weaving Intuitive Thoughts Can Heal- W.I.T.C.H.

[touhoutunes]

Title: ただひとつの天衣 (A Common Heavenly Veil)

Arrangement: deepse

Vocals: 天宮みや

Album: 聖人の調律

Circle: 少女フラクタル

Original: Flawless as Clothing of the Celestials

[robinette-green]

Murder's Doll

[Ao3 link]

Summary:

a small child forced to live on the streets is abducted by Eclipse and raised to be sold off as a pawn.

the first year of MC's life they live with Eclipse's charges, Sun and Moon and are tutored mercilessly until they are finally sent off to boarding school.

after finishing school, MC is married off to an abusive husband but is eventually saved by Sun and Moon.

From then on she’s treated like a treasure.

3753 words

Notes:

she/her pronouns

TW: -blood -bullying -domestic violence -body mutilation

My parents died when I was 5 or 6. 

Time hasn't meant much to me in a long time, and a lot is hazy about my past. 

I still remember living on the cold streets in the months after their death, keeping hidden and begging for scraps. 

I remember the day a tall man dressed in black stopped to look at my tiny form, huddled on a doorstep in the fading light of evening.

I hadn't had a choice when he bent down and scooped me up, taking me away from the streets to a new kind of hell. Too weak and cold to kick or scream, and even if I had fought, I wouldn't have been able to escape. 

The man's name was Eclipse. He took me to his home and had his staff wash and dress me in fine clothing. I was fed a delicious meal and allowed to sleep in a soft bed. It was like a dream. An angel had come and saved me. 

It wasn't until the next morning that things turned for the worse. 

Eclipse presented me to his charges explaining that I would live with them until I left for boarding school. 

This was news to me. Eclipse hadn't bothered to tell me anything about what he had planned, and never once did he ever explain things to me. 

The charges were Sun and Moon, children Eclipse were looking over and teaching. They were only a little older than me at 10, but they were from wealthy families. 

Sun Starr was a ginger while Moon Altalune had silver hair. Both were gorgeous, with flawless skin and incident faces. Both tortured me throughout my entire stay in that manor house. 

Spiders in my bed, traps set in the yard, shoves down the stairs, chili pepper in my food, holding me down to cut my hair, and so much more. 

On top of that, Eclipse would take their side in any conflict. Nothing I could do would ever please him. 

I spent most of my time trying to stay out of the way, but the boys would hunt me down and make me 'play' with them. 

I would be forced to go into town with them and carry their bags, buying treats so I would be forced to watch them eat them. They would have me watch them dissect rodents while I cried for the poor critter. Sometimes Sun would get a wild hair and force me to play dress up with him, laughing at me as he did. 

Fun for them… not for me.  

Through the blur of fear and anxiety, one day before I was shipped off for schooling stands out clearly in my memory. 

Sun and Moon had dragged me into town for some 'fun .'The boys were walking a few steps ahead of me, chatting away without a care in the world, when a window display caught my attention. I slowed to a stop without the boys noticing, staring up at the glass flowers. They were so delicately crafted, each looking almost real. 

So mesmerized was I that I didn't notice the group of kids that came up behind me. 

I was shoved to the ground, dropping everything I had been holding, scraping my hand and knees as I smacked down onto the cobblestones. 

"Look, it's the celestial's dog! Do you think you're a noble like the rest of us, doggie?" The lead boy laughed, kicking me hard in the side and making me cry out. 

"Let's make sure the doggie knows their place!"

The children laughed as they kicked and threw stones at me, keeping me down. I curled up as tight as possible, attempting to protect my soft bits. Tears streamed down my cheeks as one kid lifted his foot to stomp on my head, but suddenly he was gone. Something had slammed into him, taking him down. 

The pommelling stopped, the kids backing away, but I didn't look up until I heard the screaming. Sun had the lead boy pinned to the ground and was punching him senseless.

"No one can make her cry but us! She's ours!!" Sun shouted as the other boy's nose broke, squirting blood. 

Slowly I sat up, watching numbly as one of my tormentors defended me but flinched when Moon rested a hand on my shoulder. He didn't say anything as he knelt down and blotted at my face was a handkerchief. I studied his face with big nervous eyes, waiting for some kind of backlash for dropping everything or for lagging behind, maybe even receiving blame for the commotion, but it didn't come. 

"What were you looking at?" Moon asked, his voice soft for once, but I only shook my head. He'd use it against me like always. Maybe buying a glass flower to shatter it in front of me. 

Moon glanced up at the storefront that'd caught my attention and studied the display for a moment but didn't comment.

"There! They won't bother you ever again!" Sun chirped, standing proudly before Moon and me, hands on his hips. There was blood spattered all over him, and I decidedly kept my eyes away from the boy Sun had been beating. 

"You're ours, so we have to protect you!" Sun added, leaning down towards me and grinning. 

From that day until the day I was sent away, Sun and Moon doted on me. It made me unbelievably nervous. 

They gave me flowers and sweets, played much gentler games with me and Sun took every opportunity to call me pretty. 

The sudden shift was terrifying. Every second of every day, I expected some kind of trap to be sprung on me. I peered around corners and flinched at loud noises, waiting for the horrid trick to take place. 

They must want me to let my guard down so they could torment me in some new way. In my mind, there was no other rational explanation. 

If there had been a trick, it didn't have time to play out. 

A month after the boys' attitudes towards me changed, Eclipse had the few possessions I owned packed up, and I was shipped off to a different kind of hell known as school. 

Sun threw an absolute maelstrom of a fit as I was being loaded into the carriage while Moon looked on, his face dark with his own rage. Neither wanted me to leave, but nothing would change Eclipse's mind. I needed proper schooling for what he had planned for me, so I needed to go. 

I was bullied in school, but after what Sun and Moon had put me through, it was nothing I couldn't handle. Keeping my head down and doing as well as possible in my studies, I hoped to earn Eclipse's favor, hoping that when I was finally free of this place, my future would be a good one. Maybe my life could be like the one I'd dreamed of that first night in that soft bed. 

It was not to be. 

Once I finished schooling, I was immediately married off to an influential businessman that Eclipse wanted to have ties with. 

This was yet another hell I had been dropped into. 

Every night my husband would come home drunk, and I would spend the next morning tending to new cuts and bruises from the previous night's beating. 

Sometimes I would see Sun and Moon in town. It had been almost 15 years since I'd seen them, and they had aged into stunning young men. They would stroll through town with gorgeous ladies on their arms, laughing and smiling, looking as though they didn't have a care in the world. 

They wouldn't remember me. They wouldn't have a reason to. 

And I wasn't sure I wanted them to. They had been horrid to me while we had lived together. 

Maybe… 

Maybe I hoped that they would save me? They had both been adamant that I belonged to them and the last month I had lived with them, they had treated me so… kindly. 

Maybe, when I lay broken on the floor in the manor house that was my current prison, I hoped Sun would appear again to take down my attacker, and Moon would gently dab blood from my face. 

Maybe I hoped that I could experience kindness again. 

Things got so much worse before I finally saw a break in the horrid existence that had been my life thus far. 

I was wandering through town on one of my daily excursions. My husband wanted me to spend time out of the house so people would see me whole and well, part of the charade that he treats me kindly. 

Truthfully I also wanted to spend time out of the house. Away from the cold dread I felt between those walls and away from the eyes of the servants as they watched my every move. 

I had found myself standing before a shop window, looking in at the lovely little glass flowers and wishing for the hundredth time that my life could be different when a voice spoke in my ear. 

"You look so melancholic, Sweets." 

Ice shot through my veins as I whipped around to look up at the man behind me. It was Moon, the sly grin that had been on his lips dropping to a frown as he looked into my scared eyes. 

"And still so timid. What has you so scared, turtle dove?" 

He remembers me? I had assumed he had long forgotten who I was. He'd never paid me a second glance when we'd crossed paths in the street before, so I had assumed I was nothing but another passerby to him. Why was he speaking to me now? 

I had opened my mouth to lie, to pretend everything was alright at home, as I had been trained to do, when Moon moved. 

Before I could react, Moon had taken a step closer, pinning me to the wall, and pulled at the collar of my dress, revealing my skin and the dark purple bruises underneath. 

He was so close I could smell lavender on his clothes. 

"Sweets, how did you get these? Don't lie. I'll be very upset if you lie to me." 

My trembling fingers closed lightly around the wrist of the hand on my collar. Eyes on the ground to my side, I whispered.

"He wouldn't like it if I told you." 

Not a lie. I didn't want my husband to be especially angry with me, but I didn't want to lie to Moon either. 

Save me? 

"What do we have here! Oh, Dewdrop!" Sun had come up behind his partner and gave me a dazzling smile when he caught sight of me. He recognized me too. 

"Sun." That was all Moon needed to say to draw Sun's attention to the bruising, still visible as Moon kept a hand on my neck. The smile dropped immediately, fingers reaching out to lightly graze over the discolored skin on my collarbone. 

I could feel a light trimmer through Sun's fingers, and when I glanced up, I could see the blind rage in Sun's eyes, hiding behind a tight smile. 

"Is everything alright here?" 

Moon and Sun were suddenly a step away, as though they had not just been studying the bruises on my upper body, and I found myself anxious at the space between us. 

Some good samaritan had come to ensure I was not being harassed by the men who'd been pinning me to a shop front. We were still on a main street, not very inconspicuous. 

"Y-yes, we're alright," I said quickly, covering for Sun and Moon without fully knowing why. 

The man eyed us momentarily with an odd look before conceding and leaving us be. 

I felt nauseous. 

Did I recognize him? Did he recognize me??

"Darling thing." 

I looked up at Sun's smiling face, the anger seeming to have vanished. 

"It was so good to see you, but we'll have to part ways for now." 

They were… leaving? Just like that? A lump formed in my throat. Moments ago, they were asking about the bruises, angry and upset, so why??

Had I really put so much hope in them saving me? Why would I think they would? Why would I have ever thought they would care? 

My eyes were firmly on the ground as I did all I could to hold myself together, my body shaking slightly. 

"Alright," I whispered. I would not cry. I would not. 

We parted ways, my trek back to the manor house a long one, and when I reached it, my husband was waiting for me. 

The man who had seen me with Sun and Moon had been a family friend. I was called horrible names, my hair was pulled, I was hit and kicked, things were thrown at me, and at the end of it all, I was locked in the cellar. 

Blood oozed from a cut on my forehead, and one of my eyes was swelling closed from a punch to my cheek. Fat wet tears rolled freely down my face as I sat against a wall, staring blankly into the pitch-black around me. 

No one was coming to save me. 

No one cared about the girl that was once a gutter rat. 

I was just a pawn to be disposed of. 

I don't know how long I was down there, sitting in the dark. I may have fallen asleep at some point, but I couldn't be sure. I didn't know if my eyes were open or closed. Part of me had started to assume that I would be left down here to die, and that same part of me was relieved that I would be left in peace and that everything would be over soon. 

But then the door opened, and light filtered down the stairs. 

Footsteps made their way calmly down to me, and when I looked up I found Sun and Moon standing there. 

A small sob escaped me, I couldn't stop it, and Sun was crouching down to wrap his arms around me, lifting me up into a bridal hold. 

My arms wrapped securely around his neck, and I hid my face against him, body wracked with sobs as I was cradled in a firm embrace. 

"There there, we've got you," Sun said calmly, running a hand on my back. 

He smelt of oranges and honeysuckle… and something else… something metallic. 

"You're ours, so we'll always protect you," Sun said softly, lips pressed to my hair. 

"We're sorry it took us so long to save you, Sweets," Moon added, his fingers trailing along my arms.

I was instructed to keep my eyes closed as we left the manor, so I kept my face hidden against Sun, eyes squeezed shut. 

I knew what that metallic smell was, and as I was carried up the cellar stairs, it got stronger and stronger. 

The walls must be painted with blood.

There was a carriage waiting outside for us, and when we settled inside, Sun let me keep my arms around his neck, placing me in his lap. 

Moon sat next to us, and once the carriage was moving, he gently took hold of my chin and turned my face towards him so he could blot at the cut on my forehead with a handkerchief. 

I felt numb inside as I let Moon tend to my wounds. Never in a million years had I thought my childhood tormentors would save me, but here I was, safe in Sun's arms with Moon dabbing at my cut. 

They told me that they wanted to get me as soon as I had finished school, but Eclipse had convinced them that marrying me off would be better for me… though only barely. 

They'd been keeping tabs on me, wanting to ensure I was healthy and safe. It wasn't until recently that they'd noticed how unhappy I was and thought to check-in. 

I guess it makes sense that they wouldn't notice that I was unhappy right away. Not only had I never smiled around these two, neither were good at reading people's emotions… or at least, that's how it had been when we were children. 

The whole ride to their home, I sat with my head resting against Sun's shoulder, staring numbly into space as he held me close. 

All my emotions had shut down. 

I had been taken away from the man I was sold off to, but now I was in the hands of two men who might torture me for fun. This is what I had wanted, but this could end up being another horrible situation. 

Finally closing my eyes and relaxing into Sun, I decided that at least this would be the lesser of two evils. I would rather live in fear of a nasty trick than in fear of my life. 

I was taken to an elegant home with a vast garden. The maids were kind and gentle, helping me to bathe and change, bandaging my wounds, and outing ointment on my bruises. I had dinner with Sun and Moon but ate very little of the delicious meal. 

Even though I was quiet and unresponsive, Sun and Moon chattered away with each other and at me, unbothered by my numb state and keeping me included in the conversation. I managed to give short quiet replies when things needed a response, but otherwise, I looked blankly at my plate. 

Over the next few days, they let me acclimatize to the new environment, staying close and keeping an eye on me but letting me wander aimlessly. Slowly, I started to relax and actually explore. 

This is when the boys started to stick to me like glue whenever they were in the house and… I didn't mind it. 

Sun was quick to point out things in the house and garden that he thought would interest me. He'd pull small gifts from seemingly thin air and present them to me with a grin that could light up a room. 

Moon would have me sit with him in the library, reading stories to me from his favorite books or books he thought I'd like. He'd also set up tea parties in the garden and fed me sweets that were more delicious than anything I'd ever had before. 

I was nervous and hesitant to trust them, but I slowly opened up to them. One of them was almost always by my side, and they were kind and gentle. I would startle at loud noises, and some movements or actions would cause me to flinch or cower back, but I started to smile…

 I started to feel… happy. 

As the days went on, both men began to hold me close whenever they could. They would come up behind me, wrap their arms around me, or run their fingers through my hair or against my cheek. Sweet, tender touches and cuddling. 

I let them. 

Their embraces made me feel anxious but… also safe. 

Even after I accidentally stumbled on their dark secret, I still felt safest in their arms. 

From day one, I was told to never go into the basement. That was the one place I was not allowed to go, and I had no want to go down there. I had no reason to… 

Sometimes, one of the boys would vanish for a day or two. They seemed to take turns leaving to accomplish whatever task it was that took them away. I didn't think much about it until the day I came down to breakfast to find both men gone. 

I'd been living with the two for a little over a year at this point and I had become accustomed to their presence. Never before had both had to leave.

The house seemed so big and empty without them, even with the servants scurrying about. I could chat with the maids if I felt lonely, but they didn't make me feel safe like Sun and Moon did. 

All day I was nervous, fiddling with my fingers, pressing my nails into my palm, and glancing over my shoulder. Every sound made me twitch, made my heart jump into my throat. 

Were they back? 

I tried to fill my day with things to take my mind off their absence, but nothing seemed to work. Books couldn't hold my attention,

Wandering through the garden left me alone with my thoughts, and when I tried to sketch, I found I was drawing their faces. 

Sun and Moon were gone for three days and when they finally came back I was told by the house butler that they should not be disturbed. 

I was crestfallen. They'd returned, but I couldn't see them? Did they not want to see me? Had I done something wrong? 

I tried not to let myself spiral, tried to keep to myself and leave them be, but… I had a scare. 

They hadn't meant to scare me, I was jumpy at the best of times, but one of the servants dropped a vase on their foot and couldn't stop the angry shout that it resulted in. 

My brain sent me back to my time with my husband, the beatings and the anger, and my body reacted. I was in an utter panic, breath coming in small gasps and my body trembling. 

I needed Sun and Moon. 

I knew where they would be. They were in the one place I had been forbidden to go. The door wasn't locked, and I was through it and down a few steps before I hesitated. 

It was a fleeting feeling. A slight fear that coming down here and disrupting them would result in anger. But even in my childhood Sun and Moon had never gotten angry with me.  

Down the dimly lit steps and around a corner, I found myself in a long hallway lined with doors. A door hadn't been fully closed at the end, and a warm light leaked into the hall. 

Without a second thought, I trotted to the door and peered inside. 

A metallic smell hit me. 

Sun was standing at a metal table with his back to me.

Something… 

There was something on the table. 

Is that a body? 

Were those... limbs hanging from the ceiling? 

A warm hand slid over my eyes, an arm wrapped around my waist, and I was pulled back into a solid chest. 

"Turtle dove, you know you're not allowed down here," murmured Moon's soothing tones into my ear. 

[shmoo92]

Kaveh is sixteen, alone at boarding school, and staring at the door of his maths teacher's office.

He swallows.

Wipes his hands on his uniform.

Takes a deep breath.

Knocks on the door to his maths teacher’s office.

“”Come in.””

He pushes—wipes his palms again on his uniform and pushes open the door.

That’s his maths test on their desk.

His heart sinks.

“Kaveh,” greets his teacher. “Please have a seat.”

Kaveh croaks, “how bad is it?”

“Your procedures are flawless.”

Kaveh wets his lips then, “How. Bad.”

Ever so gently, his teacher says, “Forty nine of a hundred.”

Kaveh crumbles into the chair.

“Its just the little things—“

Kaveh’s eyes burn; he presses the heels of his palms against them.

“—forgotten decimals, flipped negatives ….”

Kaveh drops his hands. “But I didn’t leave until I found five mistakes.”

“I know you did! And I’m so proud of you and how far you’ve come, and I’ve recorded your score as fifty one to reflect that.” Their brow furrows and Kaveh doesn’t want to hear—

“But you’re not going to get into Kshahrewar with marks like these.”

Thickly, Kaveh asks, “Cant you just record my score as ninety something?”

His teacher chuckles. “Do you really want me to throw you to the wolves like that?”

Kaveh looks away.

“There /is the option of supplementing your scores with field work—“

Opportunities for which, Kaveh’s about to protest, are exceedingly rare, fought over with tooth and nail, and really, only available to the top of the class and to those with Connections.

But before he can give voice to any of this, his teacher raises a hand. “There’s a resupply caravan heading to an expedition out in the desert. They plan to leave tomorrow whether or not they’ve found a replacement for the apprentice they’re short.”

Kaveh wipes his eyes and nods.

Neither he nor his teacher says anything about disgraced academics or mad scholars, but Kaveh is as sure as anything thinking about them.

“Be ready to leave by luncheon.”

He nods again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Have a good supper, Kaveh.”

He croaks, “Thanks.” and pushes to his feet and out the door.

.

Kaveh gets to packing. but he doesn’t have as many pairs of underwear as he socks so he goes through his entire merger wardrobe and runs a late evening load of laundry and then figures he should wash the bedclothes as well. While he waits, he collects all his texts, notebooks, and primers and discovers quite by chance that the particular red of his physics textbook complements the burnt umber of his algebra text *beautifully*.

The bell warning about the looming curfew chimes.

Kaveh blinks back to awareness.

He’s apparently looking to fit his teal celestial mechanics text into the rainbow of books he’s arranged on the floor.

The bell chimes again.

Kaveh glances at his bed—

His blood chills: his bed clothes are still in the wash and he doesn’t have time before lights out to dry them.

He runs to the laundry, shovels his clothes and into his hamper, throws the linens in the dryer, and sprints back to his room, closing the door just as the curfew bell rings.

He lays a jumper over his pillow and wraps himself in a throw blanket, and shuts the light.

.

In order to have breakfast Kaveh needs to get out of bed, put on his slippers and overcoat, and walk two minutes to the meal hall.

They’re serving *pancakes* this morning. They’re warm and fluffy and have a delightfully crunchy shell.

He just. has. to get. *up*.

He’s idly designing a castle in his mind when he just gets up, puts on his slippers and overcoat, and leaves his room.

*Why is he like this?*

.

As it turns out, he has fewer day clothes than he has space in his bag. He frets about which books to bring until he hears his classmates head to class; this prompts him to only pack his workbook and the texts he needs to read to keep up with the others.

He ends up arriving an hour early to lunch.

.

When the caravan arrives, the dig site is all in a state: they’d found a door in the wall they’d been excavating.

They ease it open the next morning to find it full of tablets. By the time supper rolls around, the crew feel comfortable with the hypothesis that this small hall of records documents the early planning stages of Ay-Khanoum.

(Kaveh wants to read all of it.)

Also by supper, the head of the caravan has reprimanded him twice and two of the dig site crew have scolded him.

.

Late at night on the fourth day, he’s supposed to be doing an inventory of foodstuffs but he’s instead comparing the dye of two different bags of rice—

“Is this the best your school could come up with?” snaps the quartermaster. “Do you think this is how you’re going to earn a recommendation, kid? Do you think this how you’ll get into the Akademiya?”

Kaveh shakes his head.

“Then act like it, kid! You’re not here to slack off!”

Kaveh nods.

“Now scram! This’ll go faster with you elsewhere.”

Shame burns like acid; Kaveh sketches a bow and flees.

.

He finds himself in the hall of records, looking up at the mural of King Deshret.

“What’re you smiling about,” he grumbles. He sucks in a breath. “What even gives you the right to be up there on this stupid wall with a whole city to your name? What makes your brain oh so perfect and special and remarkable that you can manage—“ Kaveh waves. “—people and numbers and—“ He spits, “decimals. Why is it that you—“ Thickly, “Why do you get a city and I get yelled at? How do you make your brain work? Why can’t I make my brain work?” His eyes burn and he can barely see through his tears “I just want— He snatches—

The trowel shocks him.

He swallows.

The hair on his arms stands on end.

The air crackles.

His memory politely offers the fun fact that should these two experiences occur on a mountain, there’s about to be a lightning strike.

Since Kaveh is currently two stories underground, he screams in frustration about how stupid his head is.

And then the floor beneath him glows purple.

Whips of electro energy snap all around him, becoming brighter and brighter—

He’s so fucked.

.

Kaveh awakens to concerned blips.

Why does he know they’re concerned?

He opens his eyes.

It’s about the size and shape of a briefcase, a thousand different shades of purple, and a face made of flat, simple shapes looks upon him worriedly.

Kaveh reaches out—

The construct chirps happily and swoops up against his hand, nuzzling his palm.

He pushes himself up to sitting—

Something tumbles into his lap.

He attends—

A Vision!

[welcomeindiajourney0]

Same day Jaipur tour by train

Train Tour of Jaipur in One Day: An Enjoyable Trip to the Pink City An amazing chance to experience the splendor and cultural legacy of the Pink City in a single day is provided by a same-day train tour of Jaipur. This schedule is ideal for those who want to explore Jaipur's rich history and lively customs without spending a lot of time there because it is convenient, effective, and full of adventure.

Why Pick a Jaipur Same-Day Train Tour? Time-efficient: Allows for a full day of sightseeing, making it perfect for people with busy schedules. Comfortable Journey: Take advantage of contemporary conveniences on a hassle-free rail travel. Affordable: Taking the train is a cost-effective way to see Jaipur. Options for Train Travel from Delhi to Jaipur Shatabdi Express: This train, which leaves early in the morning and returns in the evening, is well-known for its comfort and speed. Double Decker Express: A well-liked choice with roomy seats and first-rate service. Another dependable option that will give you plenty of time to see Jaipur is Ajmer Shatabdi. Tour Schedule: The Ideal Jaipur Day Early Morning: Delhi Departure Getting on the Train: From New Delhi Railway Station, take an early morning train to begin your day. The majority of trains leave at six in the morning, so you should arrive in Jaipur by ten thirty. Travel Tip: Since many high-end trains have meal services, eat breakfast on board. Early Morning: Reaching Jaipur Greetings from the Pink City: Meet your driver or guide at Jaipur Junction as you arrive. Amber Fort is the first stop. Highlights: This magnificent fort provides breathtaking views of Jaipur from its hilltop location. The exquisite courtyards, Diwan-i-Khas, and Sheesh Mahal (Hall of Mirrors) are the main attractions. Optional Activity: Take a jeep or elephant ride to the gate to the fort. Lunch and Jal Mahal at noon Admire the charming water palace known as Jal Mahal, which is located in the center of Man Sagar Lake. Ideal for a little halt and for taking pictures. Lunch Break: Savor real Rajasthani food at a nearby eatery. Try foods like laal maas, gatte ki sabzi, and dal baati churma. Afternoon: Discovering the Architectural Wonders of Jaipur 1. The Palace of Winds, or Hawa Mahal Unique Design: Known for its 953 tiny windows and honeycomb-like construction. It was constructed with the intention of enabling royal women to watch city life covertly. 2. The Royal Residence at City Palace: The royal family of Jaipur still resides in this palace, which combines Rajput and Mughal architecture. Highlights of the Museum: Visit galleries that include royal clothing, weapons, and treasures. 3. The intriguing astronomical observatory Jantar Mantar, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is equipped with enormous instruments for studying celestial bodies. Fun Fact: The largest stone sundial in the world is housed there. Evening: Travel back to Delhi Shopping Stop: For handicrafts, jewelry, and textiles, if you have the time, visit one of Jaipur's lively bazaars, such as Johari Bazaar or Bapu Bazaar. Dinner on Board: As you return to Delhi, you can unwind and savor the meal at the majority of evening trains. Arrival in Delhi: Your amazing day will come to an end when you get back at the New Delhi Railway Station at approximately 10:30 PM. The Same-Day Jaipur Tour's Highlights Magnificent Monuments: Take in the splendor of City Palace, Hawa Mahal, and Amber Fort's architecture. Local Flavors: During your lunch break, savor traditional Rajasthani cuisine. Convenience: A seamless and pleasurable trip is made possible by flawless travel and knowledgeable guidance. Travel Advice for the Ideal Day Purchase train tickets in advance: To have the most comfort, use high-end trains like Shatabdi Express. Get Started Early: You will have enough time to see all of Jaipur's main sites if you leave early. Keep the necessities with you: For a comfortable day of sightseeing, pack a water bottle, a hat, and sunscreen. Wear modest clothing: Observe local traditions, particularly when you're at historical or religious locations. Arrange Your Stops: To get the most out of your day in Jaipur, follow your itinerary. For whom is this tour appropriate? Families, business travelers, and single travelers looking for a brief but rewarding tour of Jaipur would love this tour. It's ideal for anyone who wants to see the best parts of Jaipur without spending the night there.

In conclusion A great way to experience the charm and history of the Pink City is to take a train tour of Jaipur that takes place on the same day. Every moment in Jaipur is a sensory extravaganza, from the magnificence of Amber Fort to the exquisite beauty of Hawa Mahal. Regardless of your interest in history or culture, this fast-paced tour is sure to leave you with lifelong memories.

1. Can I see all of Jaipur's main attractions in a single day? Yes, you can visit all of Jaipur's main attractions in a single day if you prepare ahead and get started early.

2. What time of day is ideal for this tour? The months of October through March are ideal for touring because of the beautiful weather.

3. Does this excursion have guides available? It is possible to hire qualified guides to help you better comprehend Jaipur's history and culture.

4. Is taking the train to Jaipur safe? Of course! A comfortable and safe way to get to Jaipur is by train.

5. Am I allowed to shop while on the tour? If you have the time, you can shop for handicrafts and souvenirs at Jaipur's well-known markets.

[ganeshmoorti]

The Art and Craftsmanship Behind Radha Krishna Marble Statues

The Radha Krishna marble statue is a profound symbol of divine love and spirituality, revered in Hinduism. Beyond its religious significance, these statues are a testament to the rich artistic traditions and craftsmanship that have flourished in India for centuries. Carved from pure white marble, these statues blend spirituality with artistry, capturing the essence of devotion and love through detailed craftsmanship. The art of creating these statues is an intricate process that requires immense skill, patience, and attention to detail, making each piece a work of art that transcends time.

The Symbolism of Radha Krishna

Radha and Krishna are iconic figures in Hindu mythology, symbolizing divine love and the soul’s eternal longing for union with the Divine. Krishna represents God, while Radha symbolizes the soul that yearns for divine love. Together, they are revered as the epitome of love, devotion, and beauty. The image of Radha and Krishna in marble captures this celestial bond, offering a powerful visual representation of love that goes beyond the physical realm.

The Marble Selection Process

The creation of a marble Radha Krishna murti begins with the selection of the finest quality marble. Marble is highly valued for its durability, smooth texture, and natural beauty. Artisans typically prefer white marble from places like Makrana, Rajasthan, which is known for producing marble of exceptional quality. This particular marble is renowned for its pure whiteness and longevity, making it ideal for religious statues.

Once the marble is selected, it is meticulously inspected for any imperfections, ensuring that the final product will be flawless. This process is crucial, as any flaws in the marble can disrupt the aesthetic and structural integrity of the statue.

The Carving Process: A Symphony of Skill and Precision

Carving a Radha Krishna statue from marble is a laborious process that requires a high level of expertise. Master sculptors with years of experience use traditional tools such as chisels, hammers, and rasps to shape the marble block into a lifelike representation of Radha and Krishna. The artistry involved is remarkable—every detail, from the delicate features of the faces to the intricate designs on their garments and ornaments, is meticulously carved with precision.

The expressions of jugal Radha Krishna marble murti are often the most challenging and vital aspects of the statue. Krishna’s serene smile and Radha’s loving gaze must reflect the divinity and warmth of their bond. Sculptors often spend weeks perfecting the facial features, ensuring that the emotions of the deities are conveyed through their expressions.

The folds of the garments, the jewelry, and the accessories are also intricately carved. Each piece is designed to evoke a sense of movement, as if Radha and Krishna are captured in a moment of divine dance. The level of detail is extraordinary, with every curve and line contributing to the statue’s overall beauty.

Hand-Painting and Polishing: Adding Life to Marble

Once the statue is carved, artisans hand-paint the deities, adding vibrant colors to their clothing, ornaments, and accessories. Gold leaf and other decorative materials may be used to highlight certain aspects, enhancing the divine appearance of the statue. The eyes, in particular, are carefully painted to convey depth and emotion, bringing the deities to life in a way that resonates with devotees.

After painting, the statue undergoes a rigorous polishing process. This step ensures that the marble's natural sheen is accentuated, giving the statue a radiant and lifelike quality. The smooth, polished surface of the marble reflects light beautifully, enhancing the spiritual aura of the statue.

The Spiritual and Artistic Significance

A marble Iskcon Radha Krishna Statue is not just a work of art; it is a spiritual object that holds deep meaning for devotees. These statues are often placed in homes, temples, and sacred spaces, serving as a focal point for prayer and meditation. The artistic beauty of the statue enhances the spiritual experience, reminding devotees of the divine love and connection between Radha and Krishna.

For collectors and devotees alike, these marble statues are cherished for their timeless beauty and craftsmanship. Each statue is a unique piece, handcrafted with dedication and care, ensuring that it will stand the test of time both as an art object and as a symbol of divine love.

Conclusion

The creation of Radha Krishna marble statues is an art form that embodies devotion, skill, and tradition. From the careful selection of marble to the intricate carving and detailed painting, each statue is a masterpiece that reflects the rich cultural heritage of India. These statues serve not only as symbols of divine love but also as testaments to the exceptional craftsmanship that has been passed down through generations. Owning a Radha Krishna marble statue is akin to owning a piece of spiritual and artistic history, one that continues to inspire devotion and admiration for centuries.