#sensory anchoring

[glowettee]

hi there! im a fan of your page 💕

can you give me the best studying techniques?

hi angel!! @mythicalmarion tysm for asking about study techniques 🤍 i'm so excited to share my secret methods that helped me maintain perfect grades while still having a dreamy lifestyle + time for self-care!! and thank you for being a fan of my blog, it means everything to me. <3

~ ♡ my non-basic study secrets that actually work ♡ ~

(don't mind the number formatting)

the neural bridging technique this is literally my favorite discovery!! instead of traditional note-taking, i create what i call "neural bridges" between different subjects. for example, when studying both literature + history, i connect historical events with the literature written during that time. i use a special notebook divided into sections where each page has two columns - one for each subject. the connections help you understand both subjects deeper + create stronger memory patterns!!

here's how i do it:

example:

left column: historical event

right column: literary connection

middle: draw connecting lines + add small insights

bottom: write how they influenced each other

the shadow expert method this changed everything for me!! i pretend i'm going to be interviewed as an expert on the topic i'm studying. i create potential interview questions + prepare detailed answers. but here's the twist - i record myself answering these questions in three different ways:

basic explanation (like i'm talking to a friend)

detailed analysis (like i'm teaching a class)

complex discussion (like i'm at a conference)

this forces you to understand the topic from multiple angles + helps you explain concepts in different ways!!

the reverse engineering study system instead of starting with the basics, i begin with the most complex example i can find and work backwards to understand the fundamentals. for example, in calculus, i start with a complicated equation + break it down into smaller parts until i reach the basic concepts.

my process looks like:

find the hardest example in the textbook

list every concept needed to understand it

create a concept map working backwards

study each component separately

rebuild the complex example step by step

the sensory anchoring technique this is seriously game-changing!! i associate different types of information with specific sensory experiences:

theoretical concepts - study while standing

factual information - sitting at my desk

problem-solving - walking slowly

memorization - gentle swaying

review - lying down

your body literally creates muscle memory associated with different types of learning!!

the metacognition mapping strategy i created this method where i track my understanding using what i call "clarity scores":

level 1: can recognize it

level 2: can explain it simply

level 3: can teach it

level 4: can apply it to new situations

level 5: can connect it to other topics

i keep a spreadsheet tracking my clarity levels for each topic + focus my study time on moving everything to level 5!!

the information architecture method instead of linear notes, i create what i call "knowledge buildings":

foundation: basic principles

first floor: key concepts

second floor: applications

top floor: advanced ideas

roof: real-world connections

each "floor" must be solid before moving up + i review from top to bottom weekly!!

the cognitive stamina training this is my absolute secret weapon!! i use a special interval system based on brain wave patterns:

32 minutes of focused study

8 minutes of active recall

16 minutes of teaching the material to my plushies

4 minutes of complete rest

the specific timing helps maintain peak mental performance + prevents study fatigue!!

the synthesis spiral evolution this method literally transformed how i retain information:

create main concept spirals

add branch spirals for subtopics

connect related concepts with colored lines

review by tracing the spiral paths

add new connections each study session

your notes evolve into a beautiful web of knowledge that grows with your understanding!!

these methods might seem different from typical study advice, but they're based on how our brains actually process + store information!! i developed these through lots of research + personal experimentation, and they've helped me maintain perfect grades while still having time for self-care, hobbies + fun!!

sending you the biggest hug + all my good study vibes!! remember that effective studying is about working with your brain, not against it <3

p.s. if you try any of these methods, please let me know how they work for you!! i love hearing about your study journeys!!

xoxo, mindy 🤍

glowettee hotline is still open, drop your dilemmas before the next advice post 💌: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[kuraghe]

My third minishift

Ok so this mini-shift is much less significant than my previous two, but I still want to document it!

It happened sometime in late 2023 or early 2024. I was in bed but not really tired, and I decided to try shifting. At the time, I was obsessed with Jujutsu Kaisen (I still am, but I’m not trying to shift there). Since I felt such a strong connection to JJK, I thought it would be easier to shift there rather than to a waiting room. Looking back, it wasn’t the best decision since I had no script, and honestly, JJK is a pretty risky reality to shift to without one.

I used the five senses method, which had worked for my past mini-shifts. But since I didn’t have a script, I wasn’t sure exactly what to visualize. So, I picked something simple but immersive: I imagined myself sitting in bed, drinking a cup of herbal tea. My focus was on the strong scent of the tea and the warm mug in my hands. At first, I got into a deeply relaxed state before concentrating on the tea’s very specific smell (it’s the same tea I sometimes drink in my CR, and it has a strong scent). After a while, I zoned out. I know I keep saying that in my mini-shifting experiences, but I don’t know how else to describe it, it's just a very specific state where I zone out from this reality. Suddenly, I wasn't visualizing anymore but I was feeling. I could feel the mug in my hands, clearly smell the tea, and feel the hot water vapor on my face. The vapor was so specific, it wasn’t something I was even trying to visualize, but it just happened, and I felt it clearly.

Unfortunately, at that point, my focus shifted too much to the feeling of the pillow under my head, and I snapped fully back into my CR.

Still, it’s interesting to me that the water vapor just “appeared” on its own, almost like my senses were picking up on another reality. Moments like these make me feel like I’m so close, and they really keep me motivated.

Looking back, I’m honestly glad I didn’t shift to JJK that night. I had no script, and that world is kind of a messed-up place to shift to without proper preparation. For now, I’m focusing only on shifting to my waiting room. Once I get used to shifting, learning, and chilling in my WR, I’ll feel more confident about moving to a full DR.

After reflecting on my mini-shifts, I’ve realized that a strong shifting method, at least for me, is having a sensory anchor in another reality.

By this, I mean focusing intensely on a specific sensation that grounds you in your desired reality, whether it’s the feeling of an object in your hands, a distinct scent, or even a temperature change. I think having a sensory anchor helps bridge the gap between CR and DR.

If anyone has had similar experiences or has questions/thoughts/advice, I’d love to hear it! 💜

[il3x]

speaking of villainsonas for funsies (re: my tags here), here's my cooler cringier sound control sona!

she's called miss phonia and a generic insert for any superpowers 'verse. though I will admit I made her based on the worm powers poll (shaker w/ stranger secondary ftw!) her power is AoE sound control. absolutely not the power I'd actually get, but if I could choose...

also, my ass would NOT be on scene for fights!! concussive sound blasts are concussive sound blasts wherever they originate... catch me as far off as my range permits, disguised as a civilian, keeping track of things with binoculars. hiring people to wear my costume and act as decoys while I centre my sound control around them. when the enemy captures them and lets their guard down enough to resume audio communications I silence their comms and insert my disguised voice in its place. honestly idk why more shakers with wide range don't use master tactics. c'mon you guys

that's also why her costume has a cape. looks over practicality because she's not gonna be in the fray.

and yes. @thesternest. she can do the shrimp thing :)

[xyywrites]

How to Introduce and End Flashbacks

Introducing a Flashback

Through Sensory Triggers A sound, smell, or physical sensation can catapult a character into a memory. Example: The faint scent of jasmine wafted through the open window, pulling her back to her grandmother’s garden. She could almost feel the warm sun on her back as they planted flowers together, her grandmother’s laugh ringing in her ears. Sensory cues are especially effective because they feel immediate and relatable.

Using an Object or Photo Physical items are natural prompts for reminiscing. Example: He picked up the crumpled letter, its edges worn with age. As his eyes scanned the familiar handwriting, the years fell away. He was 16 again, reading those very words for the first time.

Dialogue That Sparks a Memory A conversation can easily lead to a flashback when a particular word or phrase resonates. Example: “You always overthink everything,” she said, laughing. He froze. Those were the exact words his father had thrown at him that night, before slamming the door and leaving for good.

A Character’s Internal Reflection This works well in introspective or emotional scenes. Example: As she stared at the divorce papers, her mind drifted to the first time they’d met.

A Sudden Triggering Event High-emotion events often cause memories to resurface. Example: The screech of tires on asphalt sent a cold shiver down her spine. In a heartbeat, she was back on that icy road, watching headlights careen toward her father’s car.

Dream or Hallucination For a more surreal tone, a dream or hallucination can segue into a flashback. Example: The dream unfolded like a reel of film, showing her the beachside house they’d once called home. She saw herself, small and wide-eyed, chasing the waves as her father’s voice called out in laughter.

Abrupt, Emotional Break For intense moments, an abrupt flashback can mimic a real-life flood of memory. Example: The argument escalated, he slammed his fist on the table. The sound echoed in her ears, morphing into the memory of her father’s hand hitting the dining room table, his voice booming in anger.

Ways to End a Flashback

Tie Back to the Trigger Return to the sensory cue or object that initiated the flashback. Example: The scent of jasmine faded, and she blinked, back in her office. The garden was gone, replaced by the gray walls and the cold glow of her computer screen.

Return to Present Action Use a sharp, present-day event to jolt the character back. Example: “Hey, are you even listening?” Her coworker’s voice snapped her out of the memory. She turned, realizing she’d been staring at the clock for minutes. OR “Are you okay?” His voice cut through the silence, pulling her out of the memory. She nodded quickly, hiding her unease.

Reinforce the Emotional Impact Show how the flashback has affected the character’s current emotions or decisions. Example: The memory left her hands trembling. She wiped her eyes quickly, unwilling to let the tears win this time. She had a meeting to face.

Transition with a Parallel Action Use a seamless flow between the past and present through similar actions or emotions. Example: In the memory, she had dropped the vase, its shattering echoing in the quiet house. Back in the present, her hand hovered over a similar vase on the shelf. She hesitated, her breath shallow, before carefully setting it down as if the past might repeat itself.\

Narrative Reflection Let the character or narrator explicitly acknowledge the memory and its significance. Example: She exhaled, shaking off the memory like dust from an old book. It didn’t matter anymore, she told herself, but her heart still felt heavy.

Anchor to the Setting Bring the reader’s focus back to the surroundings. Example: The memory faded, and she was left staring at the cracked pavement under her feet, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the street.

[unboundprompts]

hi! i wanted to ask how could i write a scene of a band performing and make it flow smoothly? Reactions to it and inner dialogue of the leader singer while performing?

I hope that makes sense!

Thank you :)

How to Write a Band Performance

Set the Atmosphere with Sound and Sensory Details

Use sensory language to capture the energy of the music, the movement on stage, and the audience’s reaction. Think about the sounds of instruments, the lights, the thrum of bass vibrating through the floor, or how the crowd looks.

Example: The drums kicked in, a thunderous heartbeat that pulsed through the packed venue. Strings followed, filling the air with an electric charge, and the lights dimmed just enough for the crowd to lean in, hungry for the next note.

Anchor the Lead Singer’s Focus

The lead singer might catch moments in the crowd, like a fan mouthing every lyric, someone laughing, or even seeing familiar faces in the sea of people. These little connections add a human touch and make the performance feel alive.

Example: He spotted a girl in the front row, eyes closed, every word leaving her lips like a prayer. She knew each lyric by heart, maybe better than he did. That look kept him grounded—kept him singing.

Use Inner Dialogue to Show Nerves, Confidence, or Distraction

Let the lead singer’s mind wander a bit, but keep it tethered to the music. They might think of something unrelated that they suppress to stay focused, or maybe they reflect on what this song means to them, especially if it’s deeply personal or symbolic.

Example: Here we go. Breathe. Just like rehearsal. But it was never just like rehearsal. Each word brought him back to the night he wrote it—a night he barely survived. He shook off the thought. No. Tonight, it’s just for them.

Describe Body Movements and How They Connect to Emotion

Physical sensations can be as telling as dialogue. The lead singer might feel the warmth of the spotlight, the stickiness of sweat on their skin, or the way their voice feels strong, raw, or strained.

Example: He gripped the mic stand, fingers tight, and leaned forward. His voice cracked on a high note, but he let it, gave it to the crowd raw. They wanted his truth, his realness. That was all he had to give.

Show the Crowd’s Reaction

Describe reactions like a wave, where energy ebbs and flows. The crowd might sway during slower parts, roar during the chorus, or go silent in the song’s more intimate moments. This back-and-forth dance adds rhythm to the scene.

Example: As the first chorus hit, the crowd became a sea of outstretched hands, fingers clawing for a piece of the music. A roar rose, then softened as they sang with him, their voices tangling with his own, something fragile and fierce all at once.

Balance Between Action and Inner Thoughts

To keep the scene flowing, alternate between what the singer does (interacting with the mic, moving on stage) and what they think. Too much inner dialogue could slow down the scene, so give action and reaction space to keep the reader engaged.

Example: He took a step back, holding the last note, letting it resonate through the space. He stole a glance at his bandmates. They were lost in the music too, faces set, eyes closed. It felt like the old days—a secret between them, shared with everyone.

End with a Climactic Moment or a Release of Tension

End the scene with a dramatic finish, like a powerful note, a burst of applause, or even silence if it’s an emotional song. The lead singer could feel relieved, drained, or exhilarated by the end.

Example: As the last chord faded, a brief silence hung over the crowd—a pause, a heartbeat—before it shattered with applause. He closed his eyes, letting it wash over him, knowing that for now, the song was enough.

[kikunai]

man flopstyle is so pretty but god the css and the theme page itself is a nightmare to me

[crescenthistory]

slight air and purging fire

Pairing: Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

Summary: He's your person and, apparently, you're his flame. Your more-than-a-best-friend spends the evening with you when Regulus needs a break, and you're both happy for the excuse.

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: gn!reader, no use of y/n, pyromaniac!barty, best friends to lovers, undiscussed relationship, just sweet fluff, physical affection, barty is always a bit suggestive, vague references to barty's mental state/trauma, cuddling, banter, implied autistic!regulus, background bsf!moonwater

Note: i haven't written a full barty fic since december, this was so cathartic<33 i still have some small drabbles from my celebration to release but wanted to share this with you before. and yes the title is from shakespeare even though i reference woolf in this, sue me. much love xx

It wasn’t an as common occurrence anymore, as Regulus had become more grounded the closer he got to Remus, but it was an ingrained habit regardless – every now and again, the dark haired boy would come to pull at your sleeve and give you a look.

A desperate exhausted look that clearly read “come get your beast under control”.

Over the years of sharing a dorm with Barty, Regulus had grown not only passionately loyal and affectionate towards him, but also rather sensorially detached. Meaning that most days, he was able to just tune his best friend’s antics out when they were too overstimulating or in his face. When Barty either talked a mile a minute for too many minutes, couldn’t sit still or couldn’t help from physically engaging with Regulus in some capacity, causing him to switch his brain off to deal with all the inputs. However, even the best soldier occasionally needs backup, and lucky for all the boys in their dormitory, said backup waltzed into their lives in year three and had been the only one fully able to quiet and anchor the hotheaded boy.

Your friendship with Barty came as naturally as a sunrise when you were paired together for a Potions project – you were his first desk partner that could thread the balance of stopping him from blowing up your cauldron and still having fun. 

He adored you for it.

You found he wasn’t half bad either.

The nature of your relationship and dynamic changed over the years as you grew up side by side, but the overall sentiment remained the same; you were each other’s person. Barty managed to catch every aspect of you both metaphorically and physically, and with you, Barty could move at a regular pace without losing himself.

You became Regulus’ secret weapon rather quickly when you were integrated fully into their friend group. 

“How do you do it? Why is he… like that with you?” Regulus asked you once in fourth year when Barty had fallen asleep with his head in your lap after three days of refusing to sleep. 

His legs were hanging over each side of the sofa, one shoe mysteriously missing, but he seemed perfectly at peace in your lap. You carded your fingers gently through his hair, separating the green and brown strands with a small smile on your face. “Like what?”

“It’s like he goes quiet.”

You snorted. “Barty is never quiet, even when I’m around.”

Regulus gave you a so-so shrug. “Not literally – but he kind of is, though. He will always be Barty, but it’s like he’s more… at peace. With you.”

You didn’t know why at the time, but you couldn’t meet Regulus’ gaze since he started this line of questioning. “I don’t know. If he is, I’m grateful for it, though. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

It was probably never fully platonic between you and Barty, you recognise now. Laying on your stomach in your dorm while reading a book only half-focussed with your mind straying away to silver piercings, canine-grins and that laugh. 

He was the best friend you could have, but more so in the same way a dog is or, you’d hope, a husband would be. You shook the thought from your head.

It was a slow development – while you became inseparable friends within a week, the journey away towards a spoken, outlined romantic relationship was a long one. Not in the same way a queue is long, though, more so a cross-country roadtrip with, well, your best friend. 

Barty hugged you properly for the first time a year into your friendship. He cried in front of you for the first time in fourth year, and held your hand in fifth year. Last year, he kissed you for the first time. 

It had been quiet in that complex way Regulus had tried to put into words, where it was very clearly Barty so it was far from calm, but there was a certain peace hanging over the moment anyway. He had been having nightmares the last few weeks of term, so the two of you had taken to co-sleeping in the Room of Requirement, with your dearest prefect Regulus covering for you. Originally, Barty had conjured up two beds, but you swiftly pushed them together and charmed the gap away, giving him some snarky comment about “be sensible, Junior” that he laughed loudly at. 

There was no suggestive intent behind it, not really, just an insatiable desire for closeness. The same desire that had Barty at your side like a magnet from all the way back in third year, the same desire that flared in you each time his father or his pain came near, as if you could protect him with an embrace. 

He would have told you that you could.

It wasn’t clear to you anymore how it began, how one thing led to another. All you knew was that several days into your arrangement, you were still acting like small kids at a sleepover, staying up late because you couldn’t help but giggle. You had been in a half-cuddle but far enough apart to laugh with your entire bodies – one moment you made eye contact with your faces close to each other, your giggles spilling out across his face, the next he was trying to swallow your sounds with his smiling lips. 

There had been a lot of kisses since then, and not too many words about it. 

You would have thought it would tear you apart to live like this, having crossed the boundary over from best friends to something more without outlining it – but as with everything else, this was Barty. There had been no real boundary to cross, it was just waves in water, hand in hand. You knew inexplicably that you were safe in his hands, heart included. 

The oddest aspect of it was discovering that you had discovered a new level of comfort when you thought those had already been exhausted. Lips on lips, lips on skin, air on skin, clothes wherever, hands everywhere. 

With your finger caressing the page, a smile was still faint on your lips, and so was his touch. 

You were brought out of your idyllic mental landscapes by a physical tug on your sleeve. 

Your eyes darted down to the fabric on your left arm, seeing the jumper ruffle as if someone pinched it and be dragged out, as if you were being pulled out of your bed. The sound that escaped you were equal parts laugh and sigh, endlessly endeared by Regulus’ determination to avoid social or overstimulating situations – going to the extent of crafting spells specifically to save him. 

You slapped absentmindedly on your arm, hoping it would notify him with the energy of “okay, okay, I’m on my way”, as you rolled out of bed and made for the stairs.

The development of your relationship with Barty hadn’t come up with your friends yet. Or, you hadn’t let it, always steering the conversation away when Dorcas gave you knowing looks or Regulus whispered with you. This once, you indulged yourself to be selfish and keep him to yourself for just a bit longer.

Which is part of the reason why you leaned over the railing overlooking the common room, whistling as you spotted your group of friends around their favourite fireplace.

Regulus sat in Remus’ lap on the edge of a settee, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, looking picturesque in a way that made your heart ache with happiness for him. Evan was draped across the other side of the settee, feeding grapes to Pandora sat cross-legged on the floor with Emmeline’s head in her lap. Dorcas was absent, likely out training with Marlene, which was a totally normal thing to do with your quidditch rival, shut up you guys.

Your dearest Barty was currently laying balanced on the back of the same settee his friends were in, casting sparkling spells above him, likely to entertain himself in the calm atmosphere.

You understood why Regulus called on you. 

At the sound of your whistle, your friends’ heads whipped around to look at you, recognising the specific tune you only used for them – them being mostly Barty. You got a few greeting cheers from Barty, Evan and Emmeline, but it was the former’s grin that made your own spread.

“B!” you yelled. “Come read with me.”

You could have gone down to sit with them, but the comfort of your dorm was too overpowering tonight. Plus Regulus really really hated when Barty played with physical fire, so you figured you were doing him a double favour, too.

Anyone else making the same request – or rather, demand – to Barty would have received a scoff or a pout, but for you, Barty simply rolled off of the back of the sofa and used the momentum of his fall to run towards the stairs. He ruffled Evan’s hair on the way who flipped him off without looking up.

“Later, losers, love ya,” Barty called as he made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

He took them two at a time and before you knew it he was in front of you, placing his hand right beside yours on the railing as he looked at you with a lop-sided grin. “Thought you’d resigned for the evening.”

You bumped your fingertips into his. “Sort of. Got bored, though.”

His grin widened as he pushed off the railing to walk backwards towards your vacant dorm. “Can’t have that, can we, darling?”

You shook your head with a smile and followed after him, leaving just enough time to look over your shoulder and lock eyes with Regulus, pointing two fingers from your own eyes to his before intertwining them in a symbol of friendship. Regulus rolled his eyes at you with a smile, but Remus – his clearly better half – blew you a kiss. 

When you moved your attention back on the short walk to your dorm, you caught just the end of Barty jogging ahead so he could open your door for you with a theatrical flourish. You paid it little mind, kissing his cheek in thanks as you moved in past him, not waiting to see his reaction, if there was one.

“Where’s your roomies tonight?” Barty’s tone was half-mocking, referring to the endless saga of your two constantly absent dormmates. They were lovely people but so scattered, always either with their various partners or at events or simply just missing somehow.

Though you could hardly criticise as you do guess this is a saga of three, considering how you occasionally would stay over at Barty’s or even the Room of Requirement. You three were a perfect match. 

“Don’t know honestly,” you replied as you made to lay back down on your bed, keeping slightly to the left side. “Something about a breakup for one of them, so either partaking in a good cry session with a friend or making up once again.”

Just a year or two ago, Barty would have transfigured your small dorm bed to extend so he could sprawl out across it to his heart’s content, but to your heart’s content, he didn’t this time – he just laid down on top of your duvet with you, turned over on his side and propping his head up on his hand. “Or maybe making out with someone else, if they know what’s right for them.” Barty knew all about your dormmate’s turbulent relationships from the nights he stayed over while they were there, ranting to the both of you.  

“Oh you know all about what’s right for them, do you?” Your voice was teasing as you got more comfortable on the bed, laying your book on your bedside table.

Barty scoffed, as if to say duh. “Weren’t you going to read to me, sweetheart?” He nodded his head towards the book your fingertips were still lingering on.

The smile that spread across your face was outside your control, but you still maintained an air of sarcasm. “I believe I asked you to come read with me, I didn’t say I would read to you,” you clarified with a raised brow. “And I didn’t think you actually would.”

Barty leaned across from you and nipped the book off the table to hand over to you, the small paperback and his hand barely fitting between you two given the cramped space. “I want to hear you read.” 

He said it matter-of-factly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and you supposed it was. You would occasionally read to Barty when he needed help falling asleep, memories that though born from a bad situation rested fondly in your heart.

You took the book from him, opening it to the right page with one hand before looking up at him with appled cheeks. As soon as his hand was off the book, it settled on your hip instead, fingertips sliding beneath your jumper to rest against your skin there.

“Please,” he added when you didn’t reply right away. 

“Whatever my boy wants, right?” Your tone wound up being more affectionate than teasing. “Do you want it read softly or theatrically?”

When he tilted his head sideways to read the book’s spine, some of his hair fell into his eyes, which you promptly pushed back. “Is it possible to read Virginia Woolf theatrically?” he asked with a humoured tone.

“Oh, you have no idea. Obviously I have to do it theatrically now.”

Barty squeezed your hip as he all-but giggled. “Alright, show me the ropes then.”

He folded his arm to lay his head down to rest as his gaze fixated on your face as you read to him. Perhaps you would have felt self-conscious in any other situation, but with Barty’s legs tangling with yours, the scent of his shampoo filling your nose and his hums of approval, you were everything but. 

As you read, Barty pushed your jumper further up so that your side was exposed, enabling him to trace various patterns there while you read. Whether there was any sense to the chaos you wouldn’t know, eyes focussed on the page to give him the most proper experience of how theatrical Virginia Woolf truly could be. 

With Barty, time trickled by in an odd way. You felt as if you were spending centuries together without any of it wearing you down – in the sense that time passed quick but the minutes always carried more meaning when together. You got through two chapters, interrupted by long bouts of laughter when Woolf’s comedy struck through or when your attempt at one of the character’s accents thoroughly failed, before you began to tire out. 

His hand never left your side as you read, and when you laughed, Barty seemed to tackle you in a hug so he could feel every vibration of your laughter run through his own body. 

As you finished up the second chapter, a shiver ran down your spine for reasons you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Barty propped himself back up on his elbow to grab his wand from the nightstand and bring the duvet you were laying on to spread out over you without disturbing your position.

“Want to give that beautiful voice a break, darling?” Even as Barty asked, he was already gently – almost disproportionately so – taking the book from your hands and putting your water bottle into them instead.

You nodded as you put the bottle to your lips, swallowing greedy mouthfuls of water, though not regretting the activity in the slightest. Barty’s eyes followed the movement of your throat, eventually letting them trail up to meet your own as he took your bottle and placed it beside the bed with ease.

When you laid back down against your small mountain of pillows, Barty scooted closer to you and pushed your jumper back up where it had fallen down. He stared at his own fingers’ movements as he dragged just the tips over the curve of your hip, swirling around near your ribs before making the journey back down. He looked hypnotised by the movement, but your own eyes never left his face.

You heaved a large sigh, the one that drags itself from your lungs when you’re completely relaxed after a long day.

Without looking up, Barty asked, “Okay?” You were unsure if he was asking if you were okay, if his touching you were okay or something else entirely. 

Either way, the answer was: “Yes, love.”

At the term of endearment, Barty looked up at you at last, his teeth flashing as he smiled. He let his fingertips trail up the side of your body to your face as his eyes flitted across it, seeming increasingly content with what he found.

The silence was comfortable as you let him trace the lines of your face – your jaw up to your ear, cheekbones, browbones, forehead, nose, lips.

You almost wondered if you could have fallen asleep like this, safe and comfortable in this atmosphere he created that you almost dared call reverent, until he spoke again.

“My flame.” 

He said it absentmindedly as he caressed your face, almost as if he didn’t even notice he said it. His hand couldn’t stay still, using its quest on your face as a form of stimming, sensory seeking in his affection.

“Your what?” you asked quietly, humour laced into your voice that automatically tugged on the corners of his lips. 

“Flame,” he clarified, as if it was obvious. 

When he didn’t elaborate, you poked him teasingly in the ribs – simultaneously taking the opportunity to slip your hand up beneath his shirt to splay across his bare back.

“Just thinking about something Evans told me in Muggle Studies.” His smile grew slowly as he recalled more and more of the memory.

“Since when do you pay attention in Muggle Studies?” When you laughed, your face moved too much for him to trace, and he moved his fingers back into your hair until it evened out again.

He huffed in faux offense for only a second before relenting with a smile and an eye roll. “Only when Evans tells me weird fun facts. She understands what I find entertaining. None of that rain-wear bullshit – I want to know about the crazies.”

“Understandable. Game recognises game.”

Barty pinched your cheek lightly and stuck his tongue out at you. “Is that why we’re friends?”

“You tell me.” Your smile had an undertone he didn’t seem to miss as his expression turned just a fraction more bashful. You pressed your hand more flat against his back in encouragement. “What did Lily tell you about?”

“Oh, nothing.” He looked past you for a second with an absent yet pleased gaze before returning it to your awaiting expression. “Just about how some muggles believe in something called twin flames. It’s basically the same soulmate crap as everything else, divine connections and whatnot. Just people finding another way to explain their love. But I liked the name.”

His eyebrows moved emphatically as he spoke in quintessential Barty fashion. It filled you with a sensation only eased by moving your free hand to wedge beneath his cheek, resting there as a makeshift pillow, thumb brushing across his cheek. “Did you now?” 

He hummed in the affirmative. “I like flames.”

You snorted at that, which made his eyes light up and crinkle.

“No, I mean it–”

“I know you do.”

Barty rolled his eyes but his teeth were still on full display. “Do you want to hear my reasoning or not?”

You pressed your lips together to keep from continuing the banter and nodded. You wanted to see where this would go.

“I like flames. I like how they look, their warmth, how they make me feel. I’m always just itching to see one, to light something on fire or see sparks fly. But not when I’m with you.” 

His expression had neutralised as he kept studying you with an observant gaze – it felt like every twitch or movement held grand meaning to him. You felt like poking fun, but your voice came out almost as reverent as his. “Is this you saying you’re not bored when you’re with me?”

“This is me saying I’m not insane when you’re with me.”

Your smile instantly softened, hand on his back increasing pressure as it slid further up to rest over his heart. “You’re never insane, B,” you whispered. “Not actually, regardless of if I’m there or not.”

His eyes crinkled as if he was smiling, but his lips were pressed together, as if in thought. It wasn’t often you saw him thinking over his words before opening his mouth.

“This is me saying I love you.” His brows twitched into a furrow as he tilted his head sideways into your palm. “I don’t need that… that distraction when I’m with you. My flame.”

Your lips parted momentarily, as an oh died on them. Your eyes moved across his face rapidly, drinking in the expression, committing every open window into his soul to memory. He seemingly let you, a soft smile resting on his lips, though it was more vulnerable than you thought you had seen it.

“Love ya” was common in your friend group after Pandora went on a mission to normalise it between you. Elaborate practical jokes about proposing to one another or being secret lovers were a longstanding tradition. Your special bond with Barty was a given to you.

This, though, this was new – yet it did not feel like uncharted territory as you moved to respond.

Your face gravitated closer and closer to his as your gaze flickered between his lips and his eyes. “Then you might forgive me for saying I love you too, then?”

Barty’s breath hitched, but the sound was quickly taken over by a soft laugh as he leaned his forehead forward the last few centimetres that separated it from yours. “I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t forgive you for, darling. Though it might mean you’re more insane than I am.”

You shook your head softly. “Again, you’re not insane, B. That is an oversimplification made solely for jokes – same as how Regulus isn’t actually boring, even when you joke he is.”

Barty furrowed his brows deeply. “Who told you those were jokes?”

Your hand beneath his shirt pinched him, drawing a yelp from him followed by a deep giggle that you happily mirrored.

“No, I know, I know,” he said through a laugh, locking gaze with you through his lashes. “But I do feel crazy without you. That’s how I know.”

You didn’t need to ask what he was referring to. You looked down between you for a moment as you could not contain your smile. A comfortable warmth began to spread through your body, as if something was carved in stone with each touch, each smile.

“I do suppose it’s safer you entertain yourself with me rather than light fire to innocent structures and civilians.”

Barty hummed appreciatively as he took on a theatrically wolfish expression. “And Salazar, do I know how to entertain myself with you.”

This time you pinched him harder as a scandalous bark of laughter escaped you – both of which seemingly triggered Barty to roll his body forward and over you, winding up on the very edge of the bed with you now held flush against him, laughing together like the kids in love you were.

You shrieked as he manhandled you into the chaotic embrace, laughing against his neck as you held onto him tighter. “You beast!”

“Your beast,” he corrected, pressing his forehead back against yours while his palm cupped your cheek fondly. “Right?”

You weren’t ashamed to admit you melted into him; your expression surely lovestruck. “Right.” You nodded, dazed. “Mine.”

His smile twitched repeatedly as he maintained eye contact. “My flame?”

“Yours.”

There was a certain glossiness to his gaze as he pressed his lips together and nodded faux matter-of-factly. “Sounds like a fair arrangement?” 

You had never been more grateful to be fluent in Barty. It made that one sentence hold so much more sentimental worth in your heart.

“I reckon that’s fair, yeah.”

You didn’t wait for Barty to kiss you before you closed the distance between you with enough force to push him off his side onto his back – nearly off of the bed.

Just like the first time, you were laughing against each other’s lips, swallowing more and more of the sounds as you devoured the other, heart and soul.

Unlike the first time, when you intertwined your fingers beside his head and squeezed, there was no question in your heart left in your heart.

[melanchoire]

Reader has an oral fixation and is usually sucking on lollipops to soothe the fixation but when there’s none for her to fixate on her girlfriend (Karina)offers to help her out by letting her suck on her boobs/breasts/tits(idk which to use lol)

BETTER THAN SWEETS ──── yu jimin

── ( 🍨 ) you’ve always found comfort in the sweet, hard shell of a lollipop, the constant motion a balm for your restless mind; however, your chronic oral fixation, fueled by an endless supply of lollipops and the incessant schmack of your chewing, has finally pushed karina, your girlfriend, to the edge; one night, instead of nagging or leaving, she takes matters (and your mouth) into her own hands, devising an intensely sensual and shockingly effective intervention that will challenge everything you think you know about your desires… and maybe even her own.

pairing. soft dom!girlfriend!karina x sub!girlfriend!fem reader

warning(s). nipple play, titsucking, oral fixation, suggestive at the end.

word count. 2,5k

the flicker of the television screen dances on the walls, a pale blue glow that does little to illuminate the comfortable clutter of your apartment. karina is lost in the endless scroll of her phone, the soft tap–tap–tapping a counterpoint to the quiet hum of the refrigerator. you barely register the movie playing on the screen, your world narrowed to the sweet, artificial cherry flavor coating your tongue. this is your haven, this small, sugary escape. you’ve always found comfort in the act of sucking, chewing, the sensation of something in your mouth, and a lollipop is a perfect, portable solution.

the sweetness coats your tongue, a familiar comfort, a sensory anchor in the mundane. you run the hard candy over your teeth, licking the sugary surface, the rhythmic sound of your enjoyment filling the space. it’s always been like this. when you were a child, you were a magnet for well–meaning adults, hands filled with sugary treats, happy to indulge your insatiable sweet tooth. it was a simple, innocent pleasure then; grandparents would slip you hard candies, aunts would press chocolates into your palms, and the world felt like a giant, edible playground.

but then you grew up, and your habits, like everything else, evolved. the candies became gum, then lollipops, then the nervous gnawing of pen caps during class. you knew it was a quirk, an oddity, but it was a part of you, and you’d learned to live with it, mostly.

you steal a glance at karina, lost in the glow of her phone screen. you’re grateful for her understanding, her acceptance when you first hesitantly confessed your “problem” as you sometimes called it. to her, it was just another habit, like the way she always rearranged the throw pillows on the couch or how she had to have the radio on while she was showering. “everyone had their things” she had said.

but tonight, the silence of the apartment is suddenly broken by the thunk of her phone hitting the coffee table. you’re pulled from your sugary reverie as her eyes, a deep, startling brown, land on you. her face is devoid of expression, an unsettling blankness that makes your stomach clench.

karina throws her phone onto the coffee table, the sudden clatter startling you. she turns to you, her eyes fixed on you, her expression unreadable, blank. “do you have to chew it like that?” her voice is flat, devoid of the usual warmth. “like you’re a horse eating grass or something?”

the question catches you off guard. you pull the lollipop from your mouth, the sweet, cherry scent still lingering in the air. “was i… making a lot of noise?” you hadn’t noticed, lost in the comfort of the familiar flavor and the rhythmic motions. you’d been so focused on the simple act, you hadn't even considered that it might grate on someone else.

she folds her arms, her gaze intense. “It’s like… i can hear you slurping it from across the room.”

you set the lollipop on the table, the plastic stick clicking softly against the glass. “sorry, i didn’t realize.”

a moment of silence hangs between you, thick and uncomfortable. then, she asks, “how long have you had that thing? you opened it this morning, right?”

your heart sinks a little. you know she means well; she’s always been concerned about your well–being. but this feels different, like a criticism. “uhm, actually.” you admit. “i had more than one.”

her eyebrows shoot up, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “more than one? how many more?” she asks, incredulous. “you didn’t even eat lunch. how are you not sick?”

you nod, avoiding her eyes, suddenly feeling like a misbehaving child caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “i… i don’t know...” you can’t bring yourself to look at her. “i think— three? maybe four?”

a sharp intake of breath. “four lollipops? today? that’s… a lot of sugar, isn’t it?”

you feel a prickle of defensiveness. “it’s not like i’m eating them all at once!” you quickly add: “mostly.”

she looks at you, a mixture of exasperation and worry swirling in her eyes. “okay...” she says, her voice calmer. “okay... you know, i used to buy you those boxes of lollipops, because i thought it was… helpful, to allow it. i never thought you did it so much.”

you’re immediately sheepish. it wasn’t to hurt. you never thought you did it that much.

you shrug, a little sheepish. you know it’s a lot of sugar, but it’s not about the sugar, not really. It’s the sensation, the movement, the comfort. you carefully remove the lollipop, leaving it on the coffee table, discarded like a toy that has outlived its use. you were about to reach for it but she called you over.

“come here.” she gestures for you to come closer. you obey, your heart pounding a strange mix of nervousness and anticipation. you settle onto her lap, the soft fabric of her pajamas a welcome contrast to the sudden tension — along with the gentle pressure of her thighs against yours sends a shiver down your spine.

her hands find your hips, her fingers tracing gentle circles on your sides. she smiles, that slow, mesmerizing smile that always sends shivers down your spine.

her voice, usually laced with warmth and amusement, is now a husky whisper that makes your skin prickle. “maybe…maybe we could try something different.” she purrs, her fingers lightly tracing the curve of your hip, but moving away from your curves and towards her own pajama shirt.

the buttons of her pajama shirt yield to her nimble fingers, one by one, until the silk falls away, revealing the soft, pale expanse of her chest. the sight of her breasts, full and inviting, sends a jolt of heat through your veins. they look… edible. the thought, unbidden, makes you blush.

her fingers dance over your skin, sending sparks of desire through your veins. “think you can help me out with that?” she asks, her fingers trailing up your sides in a light caress. “try something new?”

your gaze is fixated on her chest, your mouth suddenly dry. the craving you usually satisfied with sweets takes on a new, almost overwhelming intensity. it’s not just about the taste or texture anymore, it’s about something deeper, a connection. you nod, your own hands reaching up to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin.

karina leans closer, her gaze locking onto yours. “I’ve always wondered if you…” she hesitates, a shy smile playing on her lips. “if you’d like to try this.” her hands, now gripping your hips with more purpose, guide you forward. your face is level with her chest now, the faint scent of her skin and vanilla lotion filling your senses.

a soft gasp escapes you as she gently pushes your head forward, her fingers threading through your hair, guiding you toward her right breast. it feels incredibly soft against your cheek, warm and pliant. you hesitate for a moment, still processing the sudden turn this night has taken. but then, she strokes your hair again, her low hum vibrating through her chest, and the last vestiges of hesitation melt away.

you open your mouth, and with a nervous, almost reverent gentleness, you take her nipple into your mouth. it’s softer and warmer than anything you’ve ever tasted.

she leans her head back against the sofa, a soft moan escaping her lips as your mouth finally reaches her. the skin is soft and warm, and as you gently suck, the taste is intoxicating, a combination of her soft skin, warm body temperature, and the subtle, almost salty flavor of her sweat. a tiny gasp as you explore her. the feeling is overwhelming, the warmth and softness nothing like the artificial sweetness you usually crave, and you find yourself drawn in, completely captivated.

her hands tangle in your hair, her fingers gripping and massaging your scalp as you continue. you suck on her nipple, your lips moving in a gentle way that she deeply appreciates. her skin is supple and soft, the perfect texture just for you. you suckle gently, your tongue dancing over her nipple, reveling in the sounds escaping her lips: moans of pleasure mixed with soft sighs.

your tongue circles the areola, exploring the texture of her skin, before you begin to suckle more. it’s not a frantic, desperate need, but a slow, deliberate exploration, as if your mouth is mapping every inch of her. with each delicate tug, a wave of pleasure washes over you, and the gentle hums escaping karina’s throat become more pronounced, a clear indication that you are doing something right.

“oh, baby.” she murmurs, her voice thick with a mixture of pleasure and wonder. “that feels… incredible.”

you continue, drawing her nipple further into your mouth, your lips caressing the sensitive skin. you suckle harder, the gentle tugging a source of immense satisfaction. the taste of her skin is subtle, slightly salty and warm, and it mixes with the faint scent of her vanilla lotion, creating an intoxicating combination. you move back and forth, letting your tongue flick over her nipple, the soft rasp driving her wild.

“you’re so good.” she whispers, her hands moving from your hair to your back, pulling you closer, her nails lightly scratching at your skin. “you have such a gentle mouth, baby. i love the way you’re doing this." her words, a gentle wave of praise, makes you want to continue, to explore every inch of her, to taste her entire body.

you try to deepen your hold, your hands cupping her breast, trying to draw her closer, as if to meld yourselves. the sensations are overwhelming, and so you concentrate your efforts on pleasing her. you suck a little harder and she moans again.

“you’re so good.” she says, her voice breathless. “so, so good. i love how you do that.”

you shift to her other breast, teasing and tantalizing her nipple, drawing out soft groans and shivers from her. the low hum of her pleasure is a melody you find yourself wanting to replay forever. you lick, you suck, you nibble, exploring every inch with your mouth, finding satisfaction in her pleasure.

“yes...” she breathes out. “that’s it. you’re making me crazy.”

as you continue to suckle, the tension in your shoulders starts to melt away. it’s like you’ve found the perfect substitute for the lollipops, a new and infinitely more satisfying way to soothe your oral fixation. you’re not just filling a need, you’re connecting with karina on a deeply intimate level, sharing a moment of vulnerability and pleasure. her skin is soft against your lips, her heartbeat a comforting rhythm against your cheek, and each delicate suck brings her closer to you, and you to her.

you pause for a moment, looking up at her. Her eyes are half–closed, her lips parted, and your skin tingles with the power that your mouth has over her. she looks beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly in your thrall.

“you’re my little baby.” she murmurs, her fingers tracing the line of your cheek, and she pulls you back to her chest. the sweetness of her skin fills your mouth as you continue to suck, your desire finding not just release, but connection and genuine, deep intimacy. this is so much better than any lollipop could offer, and you know, in this moment, that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

oh, and that’s what makes you completely lose the little sanity that was still present in your system.

your hand, almost instinctively, seeks the other breast. you cup it gently, the weight a grounding sensation. you press your face further into the first, inhaling the scent of her skin, a warm mix of vanilla and something uniquely karina. it’s a comfort, a balm for a restless soul. you find yourself tracing the areola with your tongue, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine, not of sexual arousal, but of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

karina doesn’t react at first, content to let you have your moment of quiet bliss. but then, you start to get silly. it’s not intentional, not exactly. it’s like a switch flips, and the playful, somewhat childish side of you takes over. you don’t realize it, but you accidentally start drooling on her skin, your attention on her mounds becoming more messy, your hand now moving to grasp the second breast. it’s a clumsy hold, a little too tight, but somehow right. you pull the other one closer to your mouth.

this is where things take a turn. you try to hold each of her breasts cupped in your hands while trying to keep the other one in your mouth. you’re like a newborn, trying to coordinate your limbs, and she can’t help but burst into laughter. it’s a bubbly, infectious sound, the kind that warms your chest from the inside out. it’s not mockery, but genuine amusement, and something that makes her whole face shine.

you lift your head, a little confused by the sudden sound. you see her face, lit up with laughter, her eyes sparkling with mirth. it’s both disarming and strangely endearing. your usual self might be mortified, but in this moment, you find yourself beaming back at her. you look like a little kid who's just found the best toy in history. you even try to nuzzle back into her chest, trying to recapture the feeling, but she gently pushes you back slightly, still chuckling.

“alright, you little baby.” she says, her voice laced with a playful tenderness. “i think that’s enough now.” you try to move back into position, reaching for them again, but she holds you back. this time, there's a sparkle of something more in her eyes.

she gently but firmly pushes you away from her chest, her hands now resting on your shoulders. your lower lip pouts out, and you make a grab for her breast, your face now a mask of mock desperation.

“no, no, no.” she says, shaking her head, “that’s enough. it’s time to move on.”

you whine, a low sound of protest that somehow manages to sound both comical and needy. you try to nuzzle back, your hands searching for a familiar grip. but she’s firm, her hands a gentle but impassable barrier.

“oh, don’t give me that face.” she says, her eyes dancing with mischief. “i have something planned, and it’s time to go to the bedroom.”

a slow smile spreads across your face, a sudden rush of excitement replacing your earlier silliness. you can’t help but notice the way her eyes are sparkling, the promise that lingers in her voice, and your heart skips a beat.

"the bedroom?" you ask, your voice a husky whisper, no longer childish.

karina smiles, a slow, knowing smile that sends shivers down your spine. she takes your hand, pulls you to your feet, and tugs you towards the bedroom. “yes, the bedroom,” she repeats, her eyes never leaving yours, “now, come on.”

and as she leads you away, the lingering scent of her perfume still clinging to your skin, you feel a thrill of anticipation wash over you.

based on her smile, you can’t tell if that means she’ll let you fuck her with the strap–on in missionary to have her tits bouncing in front of your face and do whatever you want with them or she’ll fuck you with the strap and put two fingers in your mouth when she feels you’re being too loud.

[sugarcoatedcherry]

Reach Turiya (Void state) in sleep

Words used alternatively- Pure consciousness/Turiya/Void.

Reaching the Turiya state (the "fourth state of consciousness") through sleep is a profound spiritual practice rooted in many traditions, including Vedanta and Tantra. Turiya is a state of pure awareness beyond the three conventional states of waking (jagrat), dreaming (svapna), and deep sleep (sushupti). It represents transcendence and connection to universal consciousness—the formless, eternal aspect of reality.

Turiya is the underlying state of wakefulness, dream state and deep sleep. Experienced yogis and meditators find it easy to transition from wakefulness and Turiya. For the rest of us, transitioning from the other two states is easier.

In sleep, Turiya can be accessed by cultivating awareness during the transitional states of dreaming and deep sleep phases, where ordinary consciousness is dissolved but awareness remains. Here's a detailed explanation of how to use sleep as a pathway to Turiya:

Key Concepts of Turiya and Sleep

1. Waking, Dreaming, and Deep Sleep as Portals:

In waking (jagrat), the mind is tied to the external world. In dreaming (svapna), the mind is absorbed in internal projections. In deep sleep (sushupti), the ego and mind dissolve, but there is no awareness. Turiya exists as the witness behind all these states, observing without being bound by them.

2. Sleep as a Natural Entryway:

Sleep provides a fertile ground to access Turiya because the mental activity reduces significantly, and the ego temporarily dissolves. With training, awareness can be sustained during the transitional phases and deep sleep.

3. Awareness as the Key:

The critical difference between ordinary deep sleep and reaching Turiya is awareness. Normally, in deep sleep, consciousness is inactive. To experience Turiya, one must retain awareness as they transition into and through sleep.

Steps to Reach Turiya through Sleep

1. Preparation Before Sleep:

Meditation: Before lying down, meditate to calm the mind and detach from sensory distractions. Focus on your breath or a mantra to center your awareness.

Intention Setting (Sankalpa): Set a clear intention to remain aware as you fall asleep. A simple affirmation like, "I will remain aware as I drift into sleep and beyond" can help.

Body Relaxation: Practice body awareness or progressive muscle relaxation to ease tension. This creates the foundation for effortless transition into subtle states.

2. During the Hypnagogic State (Between Waking and Sleep):

Observe the shifting mental states as you fall asleep. Be a witness to the random images, thoughts, or sensations without becoming attached to them.

Focus on a mantra, breath, or inner sound (nada). This acts as an anchor for your awareness.

Stay relaxed but vigilant, avoiding active engagement with any arising mental content. The goal is to observe without being drawn into dreams.

3. Cultivating Awareness in Dreaming:

Practice lucid dreaming techniques. By becoming aware in your dreams, you begin to dissolve the boundaries between dream consciousness and the witnessing state of Turiya.

If you become aware that you are dreaming, remind yourself that you are the witness of the dream. This awareness is a step toward accessing Turiya. Follow one of these.

4. Maintaining Awareness in Deep Sleep:

In deep sleep, there are no thoughts, forms, or perceptions—only pure stillness. To reach Turiya, the goal is to remain aware during this formless state. When people say they "woke up" in void, this is what they mean.

5. Practice Witnessing the Transitions:

Pay attention to the gap between wakefulness and sleep, between dreams and deep sleep, and between sleep and wake fullness. These gaps are portals where the ego dissolves, and pure awareness/void can be glimpsed.

Challenges and Solutions

1. Falling Asleep Completely (Losing Awareness):

Solution: Strengthen your practice of mindfulness during the day. The more aware you are in daily life, the easier it becomes to retain awareness during sleep.

2. Restlessness or Overthinking:

Solution: Practice calming pranayama (like Nadi Shodhana) before sleep to quiet the mind. Or switch between direct and indirect techniques.

3. Difficulty Transitioning into Deep Sleep Awareness:

Solution: Focus on the witnessing state during meditation daily. This helps train your mind to maintain awareness even in non-ordinary states. Or use Lucid dreaming techniques instead.

Vijñāna Bhairava Tantra is an ancient Hindu scripture that reveals 112 techniques to enter the void state. Let me know if you want a post on that.

(this is not the guide/challenge I was talking about, this is only a informational post. The other one will be out by tomorrow)

[rin-and-jade]

Heres a reminder for you that being dissociated isn't limited to the common misconception where you are frozen in place, incapable of doing anything or even thinking, or experiencing a significant time gap,, those things. (This is a very important post, read till bottom so im happy!)

And while its hard to spot the milder signs when you're dissociating, don't worry i got you covered by bringing awareness, im showing what those signs could look like:

Dazing/blanking out several times

Hands looking weird (depersonalization)

Surroundings also looking weird (derealization)

Feeling detached emotionally, physically, or both

Light-headedness

Less reactive in responding

Forget things more often

Unable to focus or keep concentration straight

And many more..!

When you have multiple of those signs at once, then chances are you are dissociating (extra note that it can also co-occur with derealization/depersonalization). While it can be caused by various factors, i would like to add that it may or may not get worse as time passes and no one wants that thing to snowball until it got too bad (remember, preventing now is better than dealing later) so having a few tips would help:

Grounding (sensory): listening to music, feeling different textures, paying attention to things in your surroundings, trying different fragrant or scents, have some snacks to occupy your senses

Grounding (physically): feel your chest as you breathe, get your body moving to redirect focus, splash some cold water, hold something you can squeeze (such as a stress ball)

Practice being mindful. As it can help you re-anchor back to reality faster, regulate better, building more resilience, increasing awareness of oneself's state

Sometimes we go do our day without giving a thought that were detached from reality, usually by going autopilot and scrolling through social medias without being aware (well, atleast for me) and forget lots of things while being dysregulated at the end. So by being aware of the mild signs and incorporating grounding skills im sure memory gaps and those funny aftermath stuffs won't be a problem anymore, have a good day peeps.

EDIT: I forgot to mention that another sign is your hearing feels muffled, that you can hear sounds feel more distant despite close, i thought it could be grouped with the “less reactive” before.

EDIT 2: It is true that sometimes these techniques will not work,, so it's recommended to create a peaceful environment in hopes of going away sooner when waiting it out. grab some videos to watch, put some of your favorite musics or cuddle your soft pillows (if any, pets) and stay comfy! Do not stress about it because it'll be counterproductive. Full explanation at here.

- j

[bohemianrapshawty]

Safe in His Arms

It was just another busy day in the Pitt, but today, everything felt off. You were used to the chaos, the constant buzz of beeping machines, and the high-energy environment of the ER. But today, your senses felt overwhelmed in a way you couldn’t explain.

You kept your head down, focusing on the task at hand, sorting through patient files and checking vital signs. But as the room filled with the usual flurry of activity, the noise seemed to build up in your ears. The chatter, the footsteps, the machines beeping—it all felt too much. Your thoughts were jumbled, and your breathing started to get a little quicker. You felt the familiar tightening in your chest as your body’s response to sensory overload started to take over.

Your fingers instinctively began to fiddle with the little gold cross necklace you always wore. It was your anchor, the small thing you could focus on when everything else started to feel like too much. But even that wasn’t working now. You felt like you were suffocating.

Dr. Robby had been watching you from across the room. It wasn’t unusual for him to keep an eye on his colleagues—he cared deeply for everyone in the Pitt—but with you, it was different. He’d spent enough time working alongside you to learn your signs, to understand the subtle cues that indicated when you were overwhelmed. And right now, he could tell you were starting to unravel.

He knew you well enough to recognize the slight change in your posture—the way your shoulders tensed, the way your hands fidgeted more than usual. But it was the deep, almost imperceptible breath you took that confirmed his suspicion. You were in the beginning stages of a meltdown.

Robby’s mind raced. He wanted to help you, but he knew that pushing too hard could make things worse. Instead, he stood still for a moment, waiting for the right moment to step in.

But then it happened—something that was rare in the hectic world of the ER. You froze, your face pale, eyes wide, like you couldn’t breathe. Robby’s heart ached. He’d seen this happen before, and he knew exactly what it meant. You were on the verge of spiraling.

Dana, who had noticed too, immediately stepped in. “Robby,” she said urgently, her voice soft but firm. “She’s having an anxiety attack.”

Without a second thought, Robby moved swiftly toward you. He could hear the panicked breaths coming from you as you clutched at your neck, your eyes darting around the room like you were trying to escape the noise, the chaos. He gently touched your arm, trying not to startle you, his voice low and steady.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, it’s me, Robby,” he said softly, his voice like a grounding force in the midst of your panic. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

You didn’t respond at first. Your hands were shaking now, and your chest was tight, making it hard to take in a full breath. You were starting to feel trapped, and the walls of the ER felt like they were closing in on you.

Robby’s heart broke as he watched you struggle, but he didn’t panic. He’d seen you like this before, and he knew the routine. He knew exactly what to do.

“Come with me,” he said, his tone calm, guiding you with a gentle touch on your arm. “We’re going to step away for a bit, okay? Just breathe with me.”

You didn’t have the energy to protest. You simply let him lead you through the busy ER, out of the chaos and toward the quieter back hallway. Robby opened the door to a small break room, the quiet hum of the air conditioner the only sound. He guided you over to one of the chairs and sat down with you.

Your breathing was still rapid, your hands clutched at the fabric of your scrubs, your eyes still wide with fear. Robby sat next to you, close enough that you could feel his presence without feeling suffocated. He knew you well enough to know that sometimes, you just needed space, but you also needed someone there who wouldn’t let you fall apart.

“You’re safe here,” Robby said softly, his hand resting on the arm of your chair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, but the words felt like they weren’t enough. Your mind was still racing, your anxiety swallowing you whole. Robby could see it, and he hated that you had to go through this. But he wasn’t about to leave you like this.

Slowly, he began to speak, his voice a calm, soothing rhythm that cut through the noise in your head. “Okay, let’s focus on something simple,” he said. “I’m here with you, and I’m not leaving. Let’s breathe together, alright?”

You didn’t respond at first, but you listened. Robby took a deep breath in, and then exhaled slowly. “In… out… in… out…” he repeated, his voice steady, guiding you.

You slowly began to mirror his breathing, the deep inhales and exhales helping to calm your racing thoughts, even if just a little. The tension in your body started to ease, and for the first time in what felt like hours, you felt like you could breathe again.

After a few minutes, Robby noticed the tension in your shoulders start to relax. Your hands stopped shaking, and your chest wasn’t as tight. You were still overwhelmed, but you were no longer spiraling.

“Better?” Robby asked softly, his eyes full of concern and care.

You nodded, feeling the weight of your anxiety slowly lift. “Yeah… I just… it got too loud in there.”

Robby smiled softly, his voice warm and reassuring. “I know. It’s a lot sometimes. But you’re not alone, Y/N. I’ve got you, okay?”

You gave him a small smile, grateful beyond words for how he was there for you. But then, just as the tension started to fade, Robby did something that made your heart skip a beat.

He reached out and wrapped his arms around you in a gentle hug, pulling you into his chest. The warmth of his embrace, his steady heartbeat, made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. It wasn’t just his presence; it was the way he had noticed you needed help before you even knew yourself. How he knew exactly what to do.

“I’ll always be here for you,” Robby murmured, his voice soft and sincere. “Whenever you need me. Just… let me know.”

You held onto him a little longer than usual, letting the comfort of his arms reassure you. "Thank you," you whispered, feeling the anxiety finally loosen its grip on you.

Robby chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. "Anytime, Y/N. Anytime."

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t alone in the world, that there was someone who truly understood you—someone who would always be there to catch you when you fell.

[translunaryanimus]

Various displays of affectionate behavior from various chenesht couples.

Fun fact! Chenesht 'kissing' doesn't involve the lips nearly as much as it looks like it does. The lips are pressed against the face of the receiver, and then the kisser's whiskers flit about the receiver's face in an affectionate manner to both give and receive pleasent sensory input. The lips are just an anchor point.

[hellinistical]

in which your heart is not your own, owed to Rafayel. Rafayel x fem.reader. mdni.

tw: heart mutilation. obsessive tendencies. death of siblings. death of a friend. familial disowning. pet names. kidnapping. betrayal. miscommunication. manipulation. sexual manipulation. blood. nearly attempted murder. oral (f. receiving). piv. sensory deprivation (sight). manic episodes. fantalization of murder. death of reader. horrible mother-in-law. slightly ooc rafayel. virginity loss. stalking. harassment. not proof-read.

wc: 23.3k

The blindfold became a second skin, its silken weight a constant reminder of your curious bargain: love without sight. You weren’t blind or anything; quite the opposite. It was an arrangement sealed by whispers in the dark, by a voice that melted into your bones and hands that knew your body better than you did.

The room was alive as if the humid air pulsed with his presence. His touch was reverent, deliberate, as though tracing unseen constellations across your skin. He didn’t speak often, and when he did, his words were like the low hum of a distant storm—calm, commanding, magnetic. You had never known such intimacy, yet a lingering ache settled in your chest. A hunger to see the one who worshipped you so wholly.

The nights were your sanctuary, tangled in his arms, consumed by his worship. But the days were long and solitary. You would roam the halls of the vast, echoing estate, guided by touch, sound, and memory. Each room carried his essence: rich, intoxicating, and mysterious. Yet, no mirrors adorned the walls—no reflective surfaces offered even a shadow of him.

And truly, tonight was no different. 

His touch was a paradox of restraint and possession, a delicate balance between firm and tender. One hand pressed against your stomach, grounding you, anchoring you to him as though he feared you might drift away. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles on your skin, each movement a silent confession of need. The other hand cradled your chin, tilting your face upward with such care it made your breath hitch.

You felt his warmth everywhere, radiating from him like an endless flame, seeping into your own body. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if he were memorizing every shiver, every arch, every breathless sound that escaped your lips. The blindfold over your eyes heightened every sensation; every touch felt amplified, every brush of his lips on your skin a spark against the kindling of your longing.

“Do you feel me?” he murmured, his voice low and edged with something primal. 

Of course, you could. You nodded, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you, grounding yourself against the intensity of him. He shifted slightly, and the hand on your stomach pressed down harder, making you gasp. He stilled for a moment, as though savoring the sound, and then continued his slow, relentless worship of you.

"I want you to know," he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, "how deeply you are mine."

Your husband’s cock dragged against your gummy walls deliciously as he teased to pull out once again, only to push through your ings and fill you up. His hand on your stomach searched for where he may be inside your guts, and upon finding it, he pressed down again, 

“O-oh!” 

“So needy…but that’s okay,” His lips brushed against your forehead, trailing kisses down to your cheek, jaw, and neck, the hand holding your chin sliding down effortlessly to hold your hip as his thrusts worked you through almost hellishly slow. Your lips were puffy, overspent with not enough reward as he took the hand off your stomach to pinch your puckering clit. 

The syllables falling from your mouth were nonsensical. 

Grateful. That’s what he told himself he was. Grateful for your presence, for your laughter echoing softly in the vastness of his world, for the way your body responded to his touch as though it were made for him alone. But the truth?

No, gratitude wasn’t enough to contain the storm inside him. He was enamored—utterly captivated by the curve of your lips when you smiled, the way you furrowed your brow in thought, the quiet sighs you made when you slept. Obsessed, perhaps. He would trace the shape of your hand in his mind long after you had fallen asleep, commit the cadence of your voice to memory like a sacred hymn.

In love? The word seemed too small, too human for what he felt. His longing for you was consuming, a tidal wave threatening to pull him under. His heart, if it could still be called that, didn’t just yearn for you—it burned, a constant, searing ache that no touch, no whispered word could soothe.

Yearning. Yes, that was it. A raw, endless yearning. Not just to hold you, to worship you, but to be known by you. To shed the shadows that cloaked him and bask in the light of your gaze. Yet, the fear lingered, sharp and unrelenting. What if the truth of him made you recoil? What if the blindfold, that fragile barrier, was all that held this tenuous, perfect illusion together?

Every night, he battled with himself. The desire to see your eyes widen in recognition warred with the terror of seeing them widen in horror. And yet, he couldn’t stay away. You were his sanctuary, his punishment, his undoing.

As his hand lingered on your skin, tracing slow, reverent lines, he wondered if you could feel it—the desperation in his touch. The way it whispered what his lips could not: Stay. Don’t turn away.

Well, truly, he had his mother and her jealousy to thank, he supposed. It was her envy that had cast the first stone, her cruel game that brought you here, blindfolded and bewildered. And your sisters—ah, yes, your sisters. Their bitter whispers had stoked your doubts, planted the seeds of curiosity and rebellion in your mind. They had warned you, hadn’t they? Told you no man could love like this without hiding something monstrous. They had been so sure, so certain, that the one who adored you so fervently could only be a beast in disguise. He hated them for it, hated the cracks they had tried to drive between you. Their envy had been a quieter thing, but no less potent, planting seeds of doubt in you that he struggled to uproot.

His hand slid up from your hip, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. Slowly, deliberately, he intertwined his fingers with yours, as if anchoring himself to this moment. His thumb brushed the ring on your finger—a masterpiece of his own making.

The ring had been the first gift he’d ever given you, long before you’d come to this place, to him. A delicate band of gold, adorned with a singular blue gem.  He had poured his essence into its creation, shaping it with his own hands, imbuing it with fragments of himself. It was meant to be a promise, though he hadn’t dared to speak the words aloud when he placed it on your finger. You are mine, as I am yours.

His own creation, forged in a moment of reckless hope. The gemstone glimmered faintly even in the dim light, its color a reflection of something deep and hidden within him. A piece of his essence, captured and bound in that delicate band, as much a promise as it was a claim.

And it may have been foolish- stupid, even, to get sentimental at such a time when he should have been focusing on the pleasure of his wife, but timing be damned.  He took your hand, kissing it tenderly.

And you…you were just about gone. 

Needy. Insatiable. So full of want. Your mind became saturated at his prolonged drags, your back long since off the feather-stuffed sack you called a bed. 

He threw your ankles over his shoulders, locking them around his neck carelessly, your thighs jittery, your muscles tender from his earlier man-handling. 

Your husband’s hand slid upward, wrapping around your throat. His grip was firm but careful, more a reminder of his presence than a threat. Yet, even as he reveled in the softness of your skin, a darker thought flickered through his mind.

Sometimes—only sometimes—he wondered what would happen if he just... snapped it.

What would it be like to end it all, to sever the connection so completely? To see you shatter, your life slipping from him like water from a cracked vessel. The power of it, the utter control. He imagined it in flashes—your eyes wide with shock, the sound of your breath halting, your skin going cold beneath his touch.

The thought thrilled him, excited him. His pulse quickened at the heady rush of power, of having you utterly and completely in his grasp. The idea of snapping your fragile neck—the utter finality of it—was both intoxicating and terrifying. But no. 

No.

Not his lady love. 

He tightened his grip just enough for you to feel it, but not enough to hurt you. His eyes, though unseen, burned with the ferocity of his internal battle, trying to wrestle with the darkness in him that was so close to taking over.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, his voice rough, a raw edge to it. He pulled his hand away, but his breath was shallow and uneven.

"Husband?" Your voice trembles with both curiosity and unease, a soft whisper that feels too loud in the silence that suddenly envelops the room. The warmth of his body, the heat of his touch, is gone—vanished like a fleeting dream.

You sit up, instinctively reaching for the space where his form had once been, only to find it empty. The bed feels cold now, the soft sheets still clinging to your skin but no longer warm with his presence. For a moment, you’re disoriented, your pulse quickening in the sudden, oppressive quiet.

He had been there, hadn't he? His hands, his lips, his breath... all so real, so consuming. And now, nothing. The absence of him presses down on you like a physical weight.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor beneath your feet grounding you in reality, but still, the question lingers: Where is he?

A subtle shift in the air, like a quiet breath, stirs your senses. Something is wrong. You feel it in your bones, the pull of something deep inside you—a fear that has no name, only the cold certainty that the distance between you and him is more than just physical. It feels like he's slipped beyond reach, as though the very essence of him has evaporated into the shadows.

“Husband?” You call again, this time louder, more urgent, the words trembling on your lips. The sound feels strange in your mouth, a name you no longer feel certain about.

The silence is deafening, and the lingering scent of him on your skin becomes both a comfort and a cruel reminder of the emptiness now surrounding you. Your fingers brush over the empty space on the bed where he should be.

And then, faintly—so faint you almost wonder if it's your imagination—a whisper floats from the shadows, a voice low and almost broken.

"Don’t search for me."

The words send a shiver down your spine. They're not a command, but a plea.

*** The sun shone brightly, filtering through the leaves above as you stood by the lake, the warmth of the day wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. The water lapped at your calves in a gentle rhythm, its cool touch refreshing against the summer heat. You smiled to yourself, wringing out your hair, the droplets catching the light as they fell, each one a tiny diamond in the air.

Birds flitted from branch to branch, their cheerful songs blending with the soft rustle of the leaves in the breeze. The day was perfect—everything about it seemed touched by the gods. The soft chirping of the birds, the way the water shimmered under the sun, the gentle sway of the wildflowers on the bank—it was all part of the peaceful symphony that made this place feel like a dream.

You couldn’t help but feel grateful. This hidden lake, tucked away from the hustle of the village, was your secret retreat, and it always brought you peace. You had come to bathe here often, and the nymphs who lived in the lake were like old friends, joining you with their laughter and playful antics. Their bright laughter echoed through the trees, and you found yourself smiling as their voices floated over the water. Sometimes, they would gift you flowers woven into crowns, and other times they would tell you stories in their musical voices that made you laugh until your sides ached.

A soft ripple in the water caught your attention, and before you could turn around, a gentle but playful grip wrapped around your breasts.  You gasped in surprise, but laughter bubbled up from within you as the familiar presence of Hersilia, the naiads’ most mischievous, appeared behind you, her long, wet hair trailing behind her like silken strands in the water.

“You’re getting too comfortable, my friend,” Hersilia teased, her voice lilting with joy. Her fingers, slick with water, pinched at your sides, sending a shiver through your body. You swatted at her hands, laughing as you tried to push her away, but she was quick—too quick—and only giggled harder as she danced just out of reach.

“You can’t catch me!” Hersilia sang, her feet skimming across the water’s surface, sending soft splashes that sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight. The mischievous glint in her eyes told you this would turn into another playful chase through the lake, and you couldn’t help but grin.

“Do you always sneak up on people like that?” you asked, feigning annoyance, but your laughter betrayed the mock seriousness in your voice.

"Always," Hersilia replied, her voice light and teasing. "If you didn’t want to be caught, you should have kept an eye out." She twirled in the water, her movements fluid and graceful like a dance. “Now, you’re mine.” With that, she lunged toward you again, her wet hands reaching for your sides, causing you to squirm and giggle even more.

“Catch me if you can!” she called out, her voice full of challenge as she darted into deeper water, her lithe body cutting through the surface like a serpent.

As soon as you put your hands in the water to splash the naiad, your heart still light from laughter, you froze. Your sisters voices carried over the water as they called out to you. Hersilia’s teasing grin faltered, and in a blink, she disappeared beneath the surface as if she were never there, the ripples from her intrusion fading just as quick as she did. 

Your sisters' figures stood silhouetted against the sun at the top of the hill, their skirts fluttering in the breeze. Algaura, ever the patient one, raised a hand to shade her eyes as she looked for you, while Clidippe cupped her hands around her mouth, her voice ringing out.

"Are you planning to live in that lake forever?" Clidippe called, her tone sharp but not unkind. "Mother’s been asking after you, and we’ve wasted enough time chasing you down!"

You sighed, casting a glance at the shimmering lake. For a moment, you thought you saw Hersilia’s laughing eyes just beneath the surface, but when you blinked, the water was clear, its secrets tucked away once more.

Reluctantly, you waded toward the shore, water dripping from your dress as you stepped onto the soft grass. "I wasn’t hiding," you called back, wringing out the hem of your gown.

"You’re always hiding," Algaura said, her voice softer, though you could hear the faintest hint of amusement. "Come on now. We shouldn’t keep Mother waiting."

You climbed the gentle slope to where your sisters stood, their expressions a mix of exasperation and affection. Clidippe crossed her arms, arching a brow. "You’ll have to explain to her why you look like you’ve been dragged through the lake."

"Maybe I was," you quipped, earning a laugh from Algaura and an eye roll from Clidippe.

“Besides, you know you’re not even supposed to be out—there’ve been rumors of kidnappings at the markets lately,” Algaura added quietly, her voice laced with concern. Her eyes darted around as if she expected danger to leap out from the trees. You knew she wasn’t wrong. As princesses, you and your sisters were always at risk, especially during times of unrest. The weight of your station pressed on you, even now, as you walked back toward the village.

Clidippe, ever the brash one, scoffed. “Never mind the kidnappings. We have enough trouble with peasants constantly vying for your attention, Y/N.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, her tone dripping with disdain. “Honestly, the way they fawn over you—it’s ridiculous.”

You couldn’t help but sigh at Clidippe’s dramatics. “It’s not my fault people are kind to me,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips despite her exasperation.

“Kind?” Clidippe shot you a sidelong glance, her lips curling into a wry smirk. “Please. Half of them would give anything to whisk you away. The other half just want to curry favor for their own benefit.”

“Not everyone has ulterior motives, Clidippe,” Algaura interjected, her voice calm but firm. “Y/N has a way with people—it’s why they like her.”

“Too much, if you ask me,” Clidippe muttered, though there was no real malice in her words. She glanced at you, her expression softening slightly. “I’m just saying, you should be careful. You’re too trusting sometimes.”

You looked between your sisters, touched by their concern even if it came in different forms. Algaura’s quiet worry and Clidippe’s sharp protectiveness were two sides of the same coin, and though you often found their nagging tiresome, you knew it came from a place of love.

“I’ll be fine,” you assured them, your voice light but sincere. “I always have you two watching over me, don’t I?”

Algaura smiled gently, reaching out to tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “Always,” she said softly.

Clidippe rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked into a reluctant smile.

Still, it didn’t stop Clidippe from popping the back of your head with a playful but firm slap. "Run out again, and I’ll tell Mother everything," she threatened, though the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips betrayed her true feelings.

You yelped, rubbing the spot where her hand landed. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” Clidippe said, arching an eyebrow with a look that only a sister could perfect—a blend of teasing and warning. “One more stunt like this, and I’ll make sure Mother knows all about your little escapades to that lake. Let’s see how much ‘kindness’ you get after that.”

Algaura sighed, ever the peacekeeper. “Clidippe, don’t be so harsh. She’s not a child anymore.”

“Exactly,” Clidippe shot back, throwing her hands in the air. “Which is why she should know better!”

You stuck your tongue out at Clidippe, earning a pointed glare. “I’ll be good, I promise,” you said, though the sparkle in your eyes made it clear you’d likely end up sneaking off again.

Clidippe rolled her eyes dramatically, muttering something under her breath about you being incorrigible. But as the three of you reached the village gates, the lighthearted bickering melted into an easy camaraderie.

Despite her threats, you knew Clidippe would never actually tattle. 

***

True to your sister’s words, the palace was already in an uproar. Servants scrambled through the halls, their frantic footsteps echoing off marble floors. The air buzzed with tension as your name was shouted by guards and attendants alike.

Ushered through the hidden servant’s path by Clidippe and Algaura, you reached your chambers in a hurry. Even so, the chaos outside did not abate, nor did the sharp, commanding voice of your mother as it carried through the palace. The tone was unmistakable: fury tempered only by concern.

“Get in, and don’t say a word,” Clidippe hissed as she shoved you inside.

“Stay quiet,” Algaura added in a softer tone. “We’ll try to talk to her.”

You nodded and hurried to change out of your damp dress, tossing it into the hidden laundry chute as you pulled on a fresh gown. Your hair was still damp, but you quickly twisted it into a loose braid, praying it wouldn’t give you away.

No sooner had you seated yourself by the window with an open book than the door burst open, your mother’s imposing figure framed in the doorway. Her face was a storm, eyes blazing as she took in the sight of you.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, her voice like the crack of a whip.

“Mother, she’s been here,” Clidippe interrupted smoothly, stepping into the room. Her tone was casual, but there was an edge of urgency to it. “We checked ourselves—she’s been reading by the window.”

Algaura appeared beside her, nodding in agreement. “It was a misunderstanding. The servants must have miscounted.”

But your mother was not so easily deceived. Her piercing gaze flicked between your sisters, then settled on you. She took a step closer, her presence filling the room.

“You think me a fool?” she snapped, her voice low and dangerous. “Your hair is still wet. You reek of the lake.” Her eyes narrowed, and you felt the weight of her judgment bearing down on you. “Do you have any idea the panic you’ve caused?”

“Mother, it wasn’t—” Clidippe began, but she was cut off by a sharp wave of your mother’s hand.

“Enough!” she barked, silencing the room. “Both of you, out. Now.”

Clidippe and Algaura hesitated, glancing at you with apologetic looks, but they knew better than to argue. They slipped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Left alone with your mother, you felt as though the air had been sucked from the room.

“I have warned you,” she said, her tone cold and measured, “time and time again about your reckless behavior. And yet, you defy me.”

“Mother, I didn’t mean—”

“Silence,” she interrupted, her eyes boring into yours. “You are a princess. Your actions affect more than just yourself. Do you understand that? While you frolic at the lake, the palace is thrown into disarray, and our reputation is put at risk.”

You looked down, shame burning in your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry will not suffice,” she said sharply. “You will spend the next week confined to your chambers. No visits to the garden, no trips to the library. Perhaps solitude will teach you the responsibility you so sorely lack.”

Your heart sank, but you knew better than to protest. “Yes, Mother,” you said quietly.

She studied you for a moment longer, her expression softening ever so slightly. “I do this because I love you, Y/N. But you must learn. For your own sake.”

With that, she turned and left, the door closing behind her with a decisive thud and the unmistakable click of the lock. You sat in silence, the weight of her words pressing down on you. Outside, you could hear your sisters murmuring, their voices laced with guilt.

Your chambers were vast, grandiose in a way that reminded you constantly of your status as a princess. High ceilings, intricate tapestries, and polished floors—all designed to impress and suffocate in equal measure. Large windows let in streams of sunlight, and a balcony overlooked the sprawling gardens below. But what use was beauty when it felt like a gilded cage?

You paced the length of the room, your bare feet making soft sounds against the cool stone floor. The confines of the space didn’t ease your restless mind. You considered the balcony, leaning against its railing and staring down at the manicured hedges and fountains below. It was tempting—freedom was right there. But jumping wasn’t an option. The drop was too far, and while you could climb, you doubted you’d make it down without breaking a limb or getting caught.

“Damn it all,” you muttered under your breath, smacking your palm against the railing in frustration. The sting in your hand was nothing compared to the helplessness bubbling inside you. You had barely been out at the lake an hour, and now you were stuck here for a week.

You threw yourself onto the chaise by the window, staring at the ceiling with an exaggerated sigh. The room might have been big, but it felt smaller with each passing moment. You hated being confined like this, unable to explore the world outside, the woods, the lake, the freedom.

The sound of soft footsteps in the hall made you sit up. It was likely a servant delivering food or linens—maybe even your sisters trying to sneak in a visit. You darted toward the door, pressing your ear against it and listening.

“Y/N?” came a whispered voice.

Algaura.

Relief flooded you as you opened the door just a crack. Her face appeared, smiling sheepishly as she squeezed through the gap.

“Mother would kill me if she knew I was here,” she said, glancing around nervously. “But I couldn’t leave you alone all day.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you admitted, hugging her tightly.

She pulled away, her expression thoughtful. “I brought something to cheer you up,” she said, producing a small bundle wrapped in cloth. She unwrapped it to reveal a handful of flowers—wild ones, from the woods near the lake. “Don’t tell me I’m the only one who can bend the rules now and then.”

You laughed, the tension in your chest easing slightly. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t let Clidippe hear that,” Algaura said with a wink. “She’ll never let me live it down.”

It’s quiet for a moment before she adds on. "You know, Clidippe was right- there really are lot of suitors outside. It's a little...strange."

Algaura’s words made you pause. You sat back on the chaise, the wildflowers resting in your lap. “What do you mean?” you asked, tilting your head.

She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, looking thoughtful. “It’s not just the usual nobles hoping for a chance to curry favor with Mother and Father. There are strangers—people I’ve never seen before. Foreigners. Merchants. Even a few peasants who’ve somehow wormed their way to the gates. All of them asking about you.”

You frowned, your fingers brushing absently over the soft petals of a flower. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would they be asking about me specifically?”

Algaura shrugged, though there was a flicker of unease in her expression. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. It’s not surprising people would notice you. But this... It feels different. Like they know something we don’t.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, though you tried to laugh it off. “Maybe they’ve just heard about my charming personality,” you joked, though your voice wavered slightly.

Algaura didn’t laugh. Instead, she studied you closely, her brow furrowing. “Be careful,” she said softly. “I know you hate being cooped up, but maybe Mother was right to keep you here for now. There’s something strange in the air lately. I can feel it.”

You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her warning settling over you. Algaura wasn’t one to be superstitious, but when she got a feeling about something, she was rarely wrong.

“Strange how?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

She hesitated, as though weighing her words. “It’s hard to explain. Just... I don’t trust all those people outside. It’s like they’re waiting for something.”

The unease inside you grew, twisting like a knot in your stomach. You glanced toward the window, half-expecting to see shadows moving in the garden below. But there was nothing—only sunlight and swaying trees.

“I’ll be careful,” you promised, though the words felt hollow.

Algaura nodded, though her worried expression remained. “Good. Because something tells me this is just the beginning.”

***

The rumors had started as whispers—passed from one mouth to another, carried on the breeze that swept through the markets and the quiet corners of taverns. But in time, they grew louder, more insistent, until the very air around the kingdom seemed to hum with the story of a princess more beautiful than any goddess of old.

A beauty that rivaled Aphrodite herself.

It wasn’t just your appearance that captivated people’s attention; it was the mystery that surrounded you.  No one had truly seen your face, at least not in the way they wanted to. 

Each rumor twisted, shaped by the imagination of the masses, until you were not just a princess—but an otherworldly vision. Some said you were touched by the gods themselves, a living incarnation of love and grace. Others whispered that you were an enchantress, capable of bending the hearts of even the hardest of men.

And so, like a ripple in a pond, the word spread far beyond the kingdom’s borders—across oceans, over mountains, through forests, and into lands where they did not even know your name. But they knew the legend.

The first few days, it had been easy to dismiss. A few admirers calling out from below, a few bouquets of flowers left at the foot of the palace gates. It was nothing new, nothing you hadn’t experienced before. But soon, it became something else entirely.

You could barely step out onto your balcony without being greeted by the sight of eager faces staring up at you, their eyes filled with something darker than mere admiration. They had no shame, no respect for the space between royalty and commoner. 

The flowers had turned from sweet-scented lilies to strange, unfamiliar blossoms. Some with petals as black as night, others with thorns sharp enough to pierce your skin if you weren't careful. And the gifts—small trinkets, strange tokens, even jewelry—felt like offerings, as though they thought you were some kind of goddess to be pleased.

It wasn’t just the courtyard. It was everywhere. As you walked through the palace halls, you could hear the faint, eerie whispers of your name on the wind, drifting in from outside. Even the servants, usually busy with their duties, glanced nervously at you, as if they too were starting to sense that something was amiss.

The situation grew increasingly unsettling, day by day. At first, it had been easy to brush off the behavior of a few overzealous suitors, but now it was spiraling into something far more disturbing. The crowds gathered outside the gates and beneath your balcony grew more persistent, more entitled. No longer were they content with simply offering their gifts or admiring you from afar.

It wasn’t long before your guards began to report strange incidents: men lurking in the shadows, eyes fixed upon the windows, waiting for the right moment to approach. 

There were whispers among the palace staff about people who had tried to slip past the guards, pretending to be servants or tradesmen. Some had been caught trying to scale the walls, attempting to break into your chambers when the moon was high in the sky. And then, there were the ones who had been caught near the palace gardens, staring at the windows with expressions that were almost manic, as if they believed they had a right to be there.

At first, you had relished the attention. The excitement of being desired, the feeling of power that came with being the center of so many people's gaze. The flowers, the gifts, the glances of admiration from every corner of the kingdom—it all felt flattering. After all, who wouldn't enjoy being the object of such longing?

But as the days wore on, that thrill began to dull, replaced by an uncomfortable weight that grew heavier with each passing moment. The whispers that once made you feel cherished now felt like chains, dragging you down. The crowd below, once full of eager faces, began to feel suffocating. Their eyes were no longer filled with admiration, but something far more possessive. They expected something from you—something you could never give.

It felt like an impossible request: to want someone who loved you for you, not for the polished image they had built of you in their minds. The desire for genuine connection, something real, was becoming a sharp, aching void in your chest. You longed for someone who saw beyond your beauty, someone who wasn’t captivated by your face alone, someone who wanted you, with all your flaws, your doubts, your fears.

The thought flickered in your mind, almost in jest, that perhaps you could somehow make them stop looking at you like that. If you marred your appearance, disfigured the thing they worshipped, maybe then they would stop seeing you as an object. But the idea made you sick, even as it seemed to offer a twisted kind of solution to your growing dread. You knew, deep down, you weren’t brave enough for such an extreme. You couldn't bring yourself to erase the one thing that had given you power in the first place, even if that very power was suffocating you.

But the yearning for something real, something honest and untouched by the expectations of the world, gnawed at you relentlessly. The pressure, the eyes on you, felt unbearable. Every interaction, every glance, every whispered word from the crowd below reminded you that you weren’t truly seen. You were only admired for the idea of you. And the more you thought about it, the more it consumed you.

***

Angry. Angry pacing. No, anger didn’t quite cut it. Aphrodite was seething. On a marble bay window, Talia stretched, wine red lips staining her glass. "I don't know why it bothers you so much, friend. You should be glad the mortal seems just as uncomfortable with the comparison that you are mad it was even made."

Aphrodite’s pacing halted, her golden hair shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the bay window. Her eyes, sharp and brimming with fire, flicked toward Talia with a look that could shatter glass. “Glad?” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “Glad that a mortal child—a mortal princess no less—is being called more beautiful than me? Glad that my name is on the tongues of men not for my glory, but for how she surpasses it?”

Talia smirked, taking another languid sip of her wine. “Yes, actually. It’s amusing. Mortals and their fleeting obsessions. The girl could slip on a rock and ruin her face tomorrow, and your precious title would be safe again.” She tilted her head, her crimson nails tapping against the glass. “Why waste so much energy on someone who doesn’t even want the attention she’s getting?”

Aphrodite’s nostrils flared, her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms. “It isn’t just about her,” she snapped. “It’s about the insult. The audacity. Do you know what I’ve heard, Talia? Some say she might be a daughter of mine. That she carries my blood and my beauty, unclaimed.”

Talia chuckled, a low, throaty sound. “And is she?”

Aphrodite’s jaw tightened. “No. But mortals are stupid enough to believe it. And if they’re willing to believe that, what else will they start to question? My divinity? My perfection? My place?” She resumed her pacing, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “This isn’t just about a girl. It’s about what she represents. A challenge. An insult to my name.”

Talia leaned back, watching her friend with amused detachment. “And yet, the mortal hides herself away, terrified of the world outside her palace walls. She doesn’t seem much of a challenge to me.”

Aphrodite’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “That’s the only thing keeping her safe.” She turned to the window, gazing out at the distant horizon. “But even the most beautiful rose wilts when plucked from its garden. And I intend to see just how much pressure she can withstand before she breaks.”

"You take everything so personally," Talia drawled, her voice as smooth and rich as the drink in her hand. "Mortals are fickle creatures. They say what they wish, worship who they will. Their praise and comparisons mean nothing in the grand scheme of things."

Aphrodite’s lips curled into a sneer. "Nothing? It’s not nothing when their whispers spread like wildfire, tarnishing my name. Diminishing my glory. What is a goddess without her reputation?"

Talia raised an elegant brow, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "A goddess still," she replied, lifting her glass in a mock toast. "You’re acting like a jealous lover, fretting over someone stealing the affections of their beloved. But isn’t that what you do, Aphrodite? Stir hearts, twist desires, ignite jealousy?"

Aphrodite’s expression darkened, and the air in the room seemed to grow heavier, as though the weight of her rage pressed against the walls. "This is different," she hissed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "She is no goddess. She’s a child. A fragile, mortal girl. And yet they dare speak her name in the same breath as mine? I will not tolerate it."

Talia set her glass down, finally meeting Aphrodite’s gaze. "Then what will you do?" she asked, her tone carrying a hint of mockery. "Strike her down? Curse her beauty? Destroy her entirely? Wouldn’t that only prove their point, that she poses a threat to you? It’s a delicate line, dear friend, and one that even you may not wish to cross."

Aphrodite’s jaw tightened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She hated that Talia was right, hated the truth in her words. 

Talia raised her glass in a mock toast. “Ah, there it is. The vindictive goddess I know so well.” She smirked. “Do be careful, dear. Mortals are fragile things, but they can surprise you when cornered. I’d hate for you to get your hands dirty and find yourself with more than just a bruised ego.”

Aphrodite turned on her heel, her gown sweeping the floor like the tail of a restless serpent. Her fiery glare softened for a fleeting moment, replaced by a look that was almost calculating, almost...fond. She raised a hand, her golden bracelets chiming softly with the motion, and gestured toward the attendant waiting in the shadows of the chamber.

"Fine then," Aphrodite declared, her voice now calm but heavy with authority. "Bring my son."

The attendant, a young nymph with wide, shimmering eyes, immediately bowed low, her silken hair falling over her shoulders like a curtain. "Of course, goddess," she murmured, before slipping out of the chamber as quietly as a passing breeze.

Aphrodite moved to her seat, a throne carved from pure alabaster and inlaid with veins of gold. She sat gracefully, her hands folding in her lap as her expression hardened once more. The flickering flames of the room’s lanterns cast long shadows across her face, accentuating the sharpness of her features.

Talia, still lounging by the bay window, arched a curious brow. "Your son, hmm?" she mused, her tone laced with intrigue. "And what role will he play in your scheme, I wonder?"

Aphrodite didn’t look at her, her gaze fixed on the far door as though willing it to open. "He will do as I command," she said simply, her voice void of doubt. "It’s time he learned the responsibilities that come with being the son of a goddess. And who better to teach this mortal girl her place than someone who understands the weight of divine beauty?"

Talia chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Ever the strategist," she murmured, swirling the last of her wine before downing it. "I suppose I should prepare myself for the fireworks that are sure to follow."

Aphrodite didn’t respond. She simply waited, her mind already weaving the threads of her plan, her lips curving into a smile that promised both charm and danger. Soon enough, the door opened, and soft, steady footsteps echoed through the chamber.

She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The air itself seemed to shift with his arrival, a presence both magnetic and unnerving.

"Mother," came the voice, smooth as silk but carrying an undertone of reluctant obedience.

Aphrodite smiled, her eyes finally lifting to meet his. "My darling," she purred. "I have a task for you."

***

It was stupid.

Really stupid.

Did you tell your sisters? Nope. Did you leave any warning behind? Not a chance.

A horse? Ridiculous. Too obvious. And besides, what was the fun in making it easy? You were faster on foot anyway.

Even a snack? Who needed a snack when you were on the verge of discovering the truth?

The fact that you were going to be found out, eventually, didn’t bother you. It was bound to happen. But right now, you needed answers. You needed to understand.

“Huzzah, huzzah,” You giggle excitedly to yourself, quiet. 

So, you set out for the Oracle. No more distractions. No more idle questions from your sisters. No more waiting for someone to tell you what to do. You were going to make your own decisions for once.

And if it helped to get some fresh air, all the better.

The cool night air wrapped around you like a cloak, the quiet stillness of the palace gardens turning into the bustling sounds of the village as you moved further away from the gates. You felt the soft crunch of gravel beneath your boots, your breath coming steady and slow.

You had no idea where the Oracle’s temple even was. Not a clue.

But you knew your nymph friends—Hersilia and the others—would. They always seemed to know everything, didn't they? If anyone could point you in the right direction, it was them. So, you made a snap decision, leaving the overgrown paths of the village behind and heading straight for the hidden lake.

It was a place you had frequented many times before, the secret sanctuary where the cool waters were the only constant, and the ever-playful nymphs danced and sang, unseen by the world. The lake was deep in the woods, far enough from the prying eyes of the palace that no one would think to search there. And it had been a while since you last visited, at least since the rumors and the crowds started gathering.

The walk was familiar, like returning to a dream you hadn’t quite finished. You stepped lightly over roots and rocks, your thoughts swirling, but your purpose clear. You needed answers. The air was thick with the scent of pine, and soon the rhythmic calls of the birds shifted into the soft sounds of water lapping against stone, guiding you toward the hidden clearing.

When you arrived at the lake, the scene was just as you remembered—peaceful, serene, untouched by time. The cool mist from the water wrapped around you as you approached the edge, your fingers grazing the surface. You could hear the faint whispers, just beyond your sight, of the nymphs who lived here, hidden in the depths.

"Hersilia?" You called softly, hoping she’d hear you through the quiet.

There was a splash. A ripple in the water, followed by the unmistakable sound of giggles. And then, as if materializing from the mist itself, Hersilia appeared—her form rising from the water with a grace only a creature of the lake could possess. Her pale skin glistened like moonlight on the water, and her green hair cascaded around her shoulders like flowing seaweed.

"Well, well, look who decided to show up." There was a false playfulness to her voice.  "What brings you here, little princess? Trouble?"

You smile, opening your mouth to say something, but she puts a hand up. 

“You’ve been gone so long,” she murmured quietly, more to herself than to you. The light from the lake’s surface danced in her eyes, and for a moment, you could have sworn there was a tinge of sadness in her expression. “I thought you might have forgotten us... forgotten me.”

The guilt pricked at your chest, the weight of time and distance settling in. You hadn’t meant to stay away from your friends, but with everything that had happened—the palace, the rumors, your mother’s constant grip on you—it had been impossible to carve out any time for yourself.

“I haven’t forgotten you,” you said quickly, taking a step toward her. “Mother had-” “I’m not taking you to the oracle.”

“What?”

Well. That certainly threw a wrench into your plans. 

The air between you both felt heavier now, as though the very weight of the unspoken history between you was pressing down on you both. She seemed to take a slow, deep breath before she met your eyes again, her gaze still carrying that trace of sadness.

"I don’t know if I should help you," Hersilia admitted, the hesitation in her voice unmistakable. "The Oracle, Y/n… It’s not just any place. You have no idea what’s been happening with the gods. There are rumors. Things changing in the heavens, in Olympus. You don’t want to go there... especially now."

You could tell she was holding back, her eyes flicking away as if she didn’t want to speak more of it. But there was a distinct shift in her tone—one that suggested there was more to this than just the Oracle being difficult to reach. Whatever it was, it clearly troubled her.

She took a step closer, the water barely shifting with her movement. "I’m your friend," Hersilia continued, her voice almost pleading now. "I care about you, and I don’t want to see you fall into something you don’t understand. The gods are... fickle. And the Oracle, well, she doesn’t always show you what you want to see. Sometimes, you can’t unsee it."

Hersilia’s eyes hardened as she stood her ground, the playful demeanor that had once been there entirely gone. The air between you both seemed to thicken, and the tension was palpable. Her lips pressed together, her usual kindness replaced by something much more firm—almost fierce.

"And I don't want you asking my sisters for help either," she added, her tone brokering no argument.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she cut you off, her voice unwavering. "No, Y/n. I don’t want you going to the Oracle." Her words were final, as if she'd made a decision that you couldn’t undo.

For a moment, you stood there, your thoughts swirling. There was something in the way she spoke, something in her eyes, that made it clear she wasn’t just worried about you getting lost or confused. There was a deeper fear in her, something you couldn't fully understand. Her words about the gods, about the Oracle... they lingered in your mind like a warning.

"But why?" you finally asked, your voice softer now. "Why don’t you want me to go?"

Hersilia hesitated, her jaw tightening. She seemed to struggle with how much to reveal, her gaze shifting between you and the water. She opened her mouth as if to say something more but paused, taking a deep breath.

"You don’t know what you’re asking, Y/n," she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. "You don’t know what’s at stake. You think you’re ready, but you’re not." Her hand reached out, almost as if to touch you, but she pulled it back before she could. "The Oracle’s answers aren’t simple. They come with a price. And sometimes... once you’ve seen what she has to show you, you can’t unsee it. You can’t go back to the way things were. I don’t mean to sound like a cliche, but that’s final.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with a sense of warning, but also with an underlying sorrow. Hersilia was afraid—not just for you, but for what you might uncover. It was clear now that there was something deeper at play, something she feared you wouldn't be able to handle.

The silence stretched between you both, and she finally spoke again, softer this time, her voice laced with regret. "Please. Don’t go to her. Not now. Not yet."

Indeed, it threw a wrench in your plans. 

…

Oh well!

You make your way home in a hurry not to get caught. If the nymphs wouldn’t help you, surely he would. 

Despite the nagging feeling in your chest, the desire for something real—something not tied to your appearance or your royal status—pushed you forward. The evening air felt lighter as you walked back, your footsteps quick and determined. Hersilia’s words had barely sunk in before you were already moving, not willing to let the uncertainty weigh you down.

When you finally reached your balcony, your pulse quickened, and your thoughts buzzed with the familiar restlessness. There was only one way to escape the constraints of your palace, the constant eyes that sought only your beauty. One way to chase something genuine, something more than the false promises of suitors and endless admirers.

You closed your eyes and whispered the words, calling for Zephyrus, the playful west wind who often answered your summons. The breeze picked up immediately, carrying the scent of distant flowers and fresh rain, and with it, his presence.

"You called?" His voice was light and teasing, and before you could even spot him, you could feel the air shift around you—lighter, warmer, like the embrace of an old friend.

Zephyrus appeared, his grin wide, almost absurdly cheerful. His tousled hair was windblown as usual, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous gleam. He crossed his arms, the playful energy about him almost infectious.

"Did you miss me?" he asked with a wink, his tone always more teasing than serious. "Though I must admit, I was wondering when you'd summon me. Been a little too quiet around here, don’t you think?"

You grin, then pause.  "I need your help, Zephyrus. I... I need to escape for a little while. Everything’s just... too much. I can’t take it anymore. Not with them all watching, and the pressure of being what they want me to be."

Zephyrus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Ah, I see. The princess wants a little freedom, hmm? Can’t say I blame you. But you know, I’m not some simple errand boy, dear." His grin widened, clearly enjoying the drama of the moment. "What’s in it for me?"

You narrowed your eyes at his teasing, but you were desperate, and you knew how to play his game. "Come on, you owe me one. You know you do." You leaned in, dropping your voice to a mock serious whisper. "Besides, I’ve heard rumors that you were getting bored of your usual windblown routes. Thought I might spice things up for you."

Zephyrus chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. "Oh, you’re good," he said, and with a mischievous wink, he gave you a nod. "Alright, alright. You’ve convinced me. But you know this is going to cost you, right? A favor in return. That’s how we wind spirits work."

You sighed, rolling your eyes again. "Fine. Whatever it takes. Just get me out of here, Zephyrus."

The wind spirit beamed at you, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Deal. Hold on tight, princess. Let’s give you the escape you’re looking for."

In an instant, the air around you seemed to rush in all at once, sweeping you off your feet. The room, the palace, the overwhelming pressure—all of it disappeared in the span of a breath.

“But, just a question. Where’re we going, honey?”

Zephyrus’ voice rang in your ears as the wind swirled around you. You could feel the familiar pull of the air as it wrapped you in its embrace, but something about his question gave you pause. You hadn’t quite thought this through—hadn’t really figured out how to explain what you were doing.

You didn’t want to lie, but you also didn’t want to admit how reckless your plan was. Still, there was no backing down now.

"The Oracle," you said with a defiant smirk, though your heart raced a little in your chest.

Zephyrus was quiet for a moment, and you could almost feel the wind hesitate, swirling around you with a sudden, cooler edge. Then, with a small laugh that was half disbelief, half amusement, he replied, "The Oracle? Really? That's where you want to go, princess?" He paused again, his voice laced with something that wasn’t quite concern, but it was close. "Do you even know what you're getting yourself into?"

You clenched your jaw. "I need answers. I can’t stay in this cage forever, Zephyrus."

The wind spirit’s playful tone shifted, a bit of seriousness creeping in. "And what happens when the Oracle gives you those answers? What do you do with them then?" His voice lowered, sounding almost like a warning. "Once you know the truth, you can't un-know it. You can't go back to the way things were."

You swallowed, his words striking a nerve. But you had already made up your mind.

"Take me to her," you insisted, a firmness in your voice that you hadn't expected.

Zephyrus was silent for a moment longer, then sighed dramatically. "You’re impossible, you know that?" But despite his teasing, there was a note of respect in his voice. "Alright, princess. Hold on tight. We’re going to the Oracle."

***

Hersilia stood by the lake, her usually bright and carefree demeanor now clouded with concern. She had been watching you from a distance, making sure you didn’t stray too far, but when Zephyrus appeared and swept you off without a second thought, a pang of disappointment shot through her.

She had warned you, tried to keep you safe, but it seemed you were determined to walk your own path—even if it meant putting yourself in danger. Hersilia’s lips pressed into a thin line as she sank back into the water, disappearing from view. She didn’t want to see you go like this, but there was little she could do now.

She’d failed to stop you.

Hersilia had just sunk beneath the water, her form dissolving into the deep blue, when she felt a chill run up her spine. The temperature dropped sharply, and a hand—cold, lethal—clamped around her throat. It was like the water itself had frozen solid.

Her breath hitched, and her body stiffened in shock. She barely had time to react before the sharp pressure against her ribcage told her an arrow was now hovering just under her skin, its tip pressing against her in a way that made her heart race.

The voice that followed was low, chilling—an echo of power she recognized but feared.

"The mortal. Where did she go?"

Hersilia’s eyes widened in panic. She opened her mouth to speak, to beg for mercy, to tell him where you’d gone—but her words died in her throat. The hand around her neck squeezed harder, and before she could finish her sentence, her form began to flicker, her essence dissolving into the air.

Her last vision before she vanished was of a figure stepping forward, eyes dark with fury and an edge of something colder beneath.

"Raf—"

But before she could finish, before she could offer any explanation, her form began to dissolve. The pain from the arrow flared once more, but it was the overwhelming force of his power that caused her body to vanish into a shimmer of water, evaporating like mist in the morning sun.

The man, now left with nothing but the ripples of his presence, clicked his tongue in annoyance. His voice, laced with venom, echoed through the quiet air. "Using my name. What gave you the right?"

And with that, he was gone—disappearing as swiftly and silently as he had come, leaving only an eerie silence behind.

Hersilia's fading form lingered in his mind for just a moment longer, but her disappearance meant nothing now. He had other things to tend to. The mortal—she—was his concern.

***

Zephyrus had kept to his word. He’d dropped you off and told you to call him again when you were ready to come home. 

The air was thick with the scent of incense, thick enough to make your head spin, and the shadows in the temple seemed to stretch long and ominous. You’d barely made your way through the murky halls, the flickering torches casting strange reflections on the walls. The oracle’s place wasn’t nearly as grand as you'd imagined, no golden temples or sacred fire to mark the divine presence. Instead, the stone was worn, the floors cracked in places, and you even had to kick a few scattered skulls out of your path as you walked.

"Damn... Apollo really doesn't care for who he picks despite all the glamorization," you muttered, your voice bouncing off the cold walls. You were beyond unimpressed. The long, winding journey to the Oracle had felt so much more grandiose in your mind, but here you were, standing in a crumbling temple with nothing but a handful of whispers from those who’d come before you.

You kicked a skull out of the way and glanced around, half expecting something extraordinary to happen, but...nothing.

The Oracle, seated on an old stone bench, was the only thing that stood out in this place, an elderly woman hunched over with wisps of white hair framing her face. She looked as though she’d seen everything—and yet, the air about her was as dull as the rest of the temple.

You sighed, a little too dramatically, and crossed your arms. "Erm…hello. I’m uh..I’m Y/n. So, you're the Oracle?" you asked, cringing at how your voice came out. "What is this place? I thought there’d be more...mysticism. More fanfare. Less dust."

The old woman’s eyes flickered up at you from beneath heavy eyelids, and for a brief moment, you almost felt like you had stepped on something sacred. But her gaze held no such intensity. It was passive—almost bored. "It’s not the place that matters, child. It’s the answers you seek."

You raised an eyebrow. “Right. And what kind of answers are we talking about here?”

She blinked slowly, her wrinkled hand reaching out to beckon you closer, her fingers shaking slightly. “That depends. What is it that you seek?”

"Um... was hoping you could tell me about my fate? Ya know, my er- my love life." The oracle raised a brow. "You ventured here for...your love life?" 

Well, when she said it out loud, it did sound silly. 

You shifted uncomfortably under the Oracle’s gaze, suddenly aware of how ridiculous it sounded. "Well, yeah," you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. "I mean, it’s kind of important, right? Who doesn’t want to know about their love life?"

The Oracle gave you a long, steady look, her eyes narrowing as if she could see right through you. "You came all this way to ask about something so fleeting?" Her voice was both calm and oddly judgmental. "Do you not seek more? A purpose? Power?"

You flushed, feeling small. “I—uh—guess... but it’s just that love’s been on my mind, and I thought maybe you could help me out with some... insight? I mean, if I’m going to get it wrong, I’d at least like to know how to fix it.”

She hummed under her breath, studying you carefully. The silence stretched out long enough to make you question whether she’d say anything at all. Finally, her cracked voice broke through with a sigh.

"Fine. Apollo knows this isn't what I signed up for. First the girl with her dreams and now this-" she clears her throat. "Alright, lemme see." you look excitedly, expecting some magical prowess to be on display- maybe glowing eyes, floating hair, anything. but the old lady just closes her eyes and hums a little bit before talking. "A monster." "Beg your pardon?" "Your love is a beast. Be careful of your trusts."

How anticlimactic. 

You blinked, trying to process her words. "A monster?" you repeated, feeling a bit insulted. "What do you mean? Like, a literal monster?"

The Oracle’s eyes remained closed, her wrinkled hands folded in her lap. "A beast," she repeated softly, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "The kind that lurks in the shadows, hidden behind a beautiful face." She paused, letting the silence linger for a moment before adding, "Not all monsters show their fangs at first."

You stood there, bewildered, feeling the excitement you had felt moments before quickly draining away. This wasn’t what you’d imagined when you came looking for answers. "Isn’t there more to it?" you pressed, desperate for something more concrete. "What does this monster want with me?"

The Oracle finally opened her eyes, locking them onto yours with a piercing gaze. "What they want doesn’t matter," she said. "It’s what they take that you must worry about. And how far you’re willing to go to follow them."

You felt a chill run down your spine. You were used to cryptic answers, but this one had a weight to it. It wasn’t just vague—it felt... ominous.

"Are you saying I should just stay away from this person?" you asked, heart hammering in your chest.

The Oracle didn’t answer immediately. She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tapping gently on the edge of her chair. When she finally spoke, her voice was lower, almost a whisper.

"If i say anything else, it's 5 coins a word." "What?"

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the Oracle’s antics as she faded into her strange muttering. The whole experience had been so anticlimactic, and the Oracle’s smugness didn’t help at all. Five coins a word? Seriously? Highway robbery indeed—except without the actual highway, just a confusing old lady hiding in some forgotten corner of the world.

You shook your head, turning to leave the dreary little hut behind, already regretting the trip. As you stepped out into the open air, you could hear the faint rustle of trees and the call of birds overhead. It felt good to be back in the world where things made sense—or, at least, where you could pretend they did.

“Alright, whatever,” you muttered to yourself, starting to walk back toward the place you’d landed, grateful that at least Zephyrus wasn’t hovering around anymore. "You have a good day too," you muttered sarcastically, throwing one last glance at the hut as you made your way toward the lake once more. It was clear the Oracle wasn’t in any mood to provide more answers, and frankly, neither were you.

***

Your sisters sat on either side of you, Algaura leaning in with a furrowed brow while Clidippe played with the tassels of your blanket, clearly uninterested but humoring you nonetheless. You were pacing in frustration, your hands gesturing wildly as you retold the story, the words tumbling out of you faster than you could stop them.

“I mean, can you believe that? The Oracle actually charged me for every word! I paid her all I had left—five coins a word!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “And then, then she tells me my love is a monster. A beast—like, are you kidding me? Is that some kind of riddle? I don’t even know who she’s talking about!”

Clidippe snorted, not even looking up from the blanket. “Sounds like a bunch of nonsense, honestly. Why would you go to that old crone for advice in the first place? She’s just as cryptic as everyone else. ‘A monster’? Please. It’s probably just some dramatic thing to make you worry.”

Algaura, ever the more thoughtful one, tilted her head. “I’m with Clidippe on this one, Y/n. It sounds like something made up to keep you hooked on her words. Monsters? That’s absurd. It’s just another way to keep you tethered to superstition.”

“But, what if it’s not?” you muttered, sinking down beside them, running a hand through your hair. "What if there really is someone out there that—" You cut yourself off, swallowing hard. “What if that’s the whole point? What if I’m going to fall for someone... dangerous?”

Clidippe rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Don’t be so dramatic. You’re looking for some deep meaning in a riddle when you’ve already got enough suitors begging for your attention. If you’re smart, you’ll just stick with someone safe. You’ve got everything you need, don’t let some fortune teller confuse you.”

Algaura, however, seemed less sure, her lips pressed together in contemplation. “Maybe Clidippe’s right about not overthinking it. But still, I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to what the Oracle said than just her usual rambling. Could it be…? No, never mind.” She quickly shook her head, cutting off her own thought.

Clidippe let out a sharp yelp as you flopped onto the bed, crashing right into her. She groaned, smacking your arm in mock annoyance. "Uggghhhh... Is it too much to ask for a guy that can rock my shit without being weird?"

You felt the bed dip as you lay there, burying your face into the pillow in frustration. “Seriously! It’s like every suitor out there either has some insane expectation or, like, weird obsession. What do they even want from me? I can’t even breathe without someone offering me their life.”

Algaura, sitting at the edge of the bed, gave you a sidelong glance, her lips curling slightly in amusement. "You do realize that many of them are after your title, right? It's not you, it's the whole princess thing. You’re a catch, Y/n."

“But I don’t want to be a catch,” you groaned, your face still buried in the pillow. “I just want someone who actually likes me for me, not for what I can do for them, or because of some ridiculous prophecy.”

Clidippe snorted. “Who said you needed anyone? You’ve got everything you need right here, don’t you?” She gestured to the lavish surroundings of your room, the fine fabrics, the jewelry, and everything else. “No one’s worth losing your peace of mind over. You’re a princess—act like one.”

You lifted your head, a frown tugging at your lips. “But what if there’s something more, Clidippe? Something out there I’m missing. The Oracle said—”

“Ugh, stop going on about that!” Clidippe threw up her hands, clearly fed up. “That old woman probably saw some rat scurrying around and thought it was a monster. You’re overthinking it. Trust me, the best thing you can do is just enjoy being you.”

You stared at the ceiling, the weight of her words settling in. Maybe she was right. Maybe you just needed to stop worrying about the unknown and focus on the life in front of you, the one that was full of luxury and comfort.

But something about that thought still felt hollow.

***

That night, you could slept like a baby. How? only Hypnos knew. But it didn't matter. soft feathers fell gracefully to your floor, the sounds of feet padding across even softer. His eyes searched in the dark, looking at the figure hidden in the blankets.

Aphrodite said just one arrow should work. But then- you turn, shuffling, exposing yourself. 

Gods you were beautiful.

His fingers trembled as he held the delicate, glistening arrow between his fingers. The moment had come. He had watched from the shadows, unseen, waiting for the right moment to strike. Aphrodite had been clear: One arrow to make you fall in love, and everything would be his. But as he stared at you, his breath caught in his throat, and the arrow—a weapon meant to bend hearts—slipped from his grasp, pricking his own skin.

A sharp, cold sensation shot through him, a tremor that reached deep into his chest, igniting a burning heat inside him. The world blurred as the room seemed to shift. His thoughts, once precise and calculated, became erratic. His pulse quickened as a foreign ache stirred deep within his bones.

No... No. This wasn’t part of the plan. He was supposed to control this. He was supposed to be the one to make you fall, not the other way around. Yet, as he watched you, still sleeping, he could feel his heart pounding louder than ever before. It wasn’t just the allure of your beauty; it was something deeper, something he couldn’t name.

He took a slow step forward, watching you with an intensity he had never experienced before. The arrow was forgotten now, discarded on the floor. His mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another as he tried to make sense of the overwhelming feeling that had taken hold of him.

And then, as if guided by an invisible force, his hand reached toward you. The same hand that had been meant to hold the arrow now reached for the warmth of your skin, trembling with a new kind of desire—one that wasn’t born of manipulation or divine intervention, but of something far more real. Something he couldn’t control.

Your skin was... soft. Softer than he imagined it could be. The warmth of it seeped into his fingertips, sending a jolt up his arm that made him freeze. His breath hitched, his heart racing uncontrollably as if it were trying to match the rhythm of your own. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but this—this was entirely different.

His thumb brushed over the curve of your shoulder, featherlight, as if afraid the touch might break you or, worse, wake you. It was a tenderness he didn’t recognize in himself, a care he wasn’t sure he was capable of. The simple contact stirred something deeper, something raw and unguarded that he didn’t want to confront.

For a fleeting moment, he let himself indulge in the serenity of the moment. The way your chest rose and fell with each breath, the peaceful expression on your face, the strands of hair that had fallen across your cheek—all of it captivated him, held him in place like an invisible tether.

And then, as quickly as the moment came, reality sank in. What was he doing? He wasn’t supposed to touch you, wasn’t supposed to feel this. You were the mortal. A fleeting existence compared to his own. Yet here he was, unable to pull away, unable to resist the pull that seemed to come from within his very soul.

He clenched his jaw, withdrawing his hand slowly, reluctantly. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, a mix of confusion and longing swirling in his chest. He had come here with a purpose, but now, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it.

"Well, fuck... Mother will not be happy about this," he murmured under his breath, dragging his hand away from your shoulder as if burned by his own foolishness. He let out a frustrated sigh, his eyes flicking down to the arrow he had dropped earlier. With a swift movement, he retrieved it, inspecting the delicate tip as if it held the answers to his predicament.

The temptation to stay lingered in the air like an unspoken promise, but he shook his head, steeling himself.

No. Not tonight.

With one last look at your sleeping form, a mixture of awe and frustration playing across his face, he stepped back into the shadows. You were still, serene, and unaware of the storm he had just unleashed within himself.

"I’ll come back for you," he whispered into the silence, the words hanging in the air like an unbreakable vow.

And then he was gone, leaving only a faint trace of feathers and the lingering warmth of his presence.

***

The rumors hadn’t stopped. If anything, they had grown more wild and insistent, with whispers of suitors climbing palace walls and offering impossible treasures for just a glimpse of you. It was overwhelming, stifling even, and yet none of it mattered—not when the oracle’s words kept echoing in your head.

"A monster."

True love was true love, wasn’t it? That’s what all the stories said. Love wasn’t supposed to care for appearances or stature. And if your destined love happened to be a beast? Well...so be it. You’d face it head-on, the way you had faced everything else in life.

Which is how you found yourself perched on a windswept cliff, staring out at the vast expanse of sea. The roar of the waves below filled the air, mingling with the occasional caw of seabirds circling above. The sky was painted in soft shades of twilight, the sun dipping low on the horizon, and still, you sat there, waiting.

For what, exactly? You weren’t sure. Some grand, monstrous entrance, maybe. Something to finally give you the excitement your heart craved.

Instead, there was nothing but the rhythmic crash of the waves and the wind tugging at your hair.

You sighed, leaning back on your hands, letting the cool stone press against your palms. "Honestly," you muttered to yourself, "if this beast is real, it’s taking its sweet time."

You kicked a pebble over the edge, watching it tumble down into the frothy waters below. It felt absurd, waiting for some mythical creature to show up like a character from a bard’s tale. And yet, here you were—bored, restless, and hoping for something, anything, to happen.

A light tap on your shoulder broke through the quiet, startling you out of your thoughts.

You turned your head sharply, expecting to see someone standing behind you—but there was no one there.

"Huh?" you muttered, frowning as you scanned the empty cliffside.

Another tap, this time on your other shoulder.

You whipped around again, irritation bubbling up in your chest. "Who—hey!"

Before you could finish, something soft but firm slid over your face, plunging you into darkness. A blindfold.

Your hands shot up, scrambling to pull it off. "What in the gods’ names—"

"Shhh," a low, velvet voice whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your breath hitched. "Who are you? What do you want?"

A chuckle, soft and almost amused. "You called, didn’t you? Now I’m here."

Your heart raced as you froze in place, the voice far too close for comfort. "Called?" you echoed, confusion laced with a flicker of fear.

"Yes," the voice murmured, shifting to your other side. You could feel the faint brush of air against your cheek as the figure moved. "You waited for your beast. And now your beast has come."

Out of pure reflex, your fist shot forward, connecting solidly with something—or rather, someone. A sharp grunt of pain followed as the figure stumbled back.

"Ow! Seriously?" the voice hissed, filled with both surprise and indignation.

Your hands immediately flew up in panic, blindly waving in the air. "Sorry! Sorry—oh gods, that sounded like it hurt! Are you okay?" You reached for the blindfold, but no matter how you tugged at it, it didn’t budge.

"Would you stop—" the voice cut off, clearly frustrated. "Leave it," they commanded, the irritation in their tone mixed with a faint hint of amusement.

You froze, your hands hovering near the cloth covering your eyes. "What—what do you mean, leave it? I can’t see!"

"That’s kind of the point," they muttered dryly, and you could almost hear the smirk in their voice. "If I let you see me, it’d ruin the fun."

"Fun?" you echoed incredulously, half-tempted to swing again. "What kind of fun is this? Who just sneaks up on people, ties them up, and—"

"You’re not tied up," they interrupted smoothly.

"Blindfolded, whatever!" you snapped. "This is ridiculous!"

They chuckled, low and rich, sending another shiver down your spine. "You’re just mad you didn’t see it coming. But don’t worry, little mortal. I’m full of surprises."

Before you could deliver a follow-up punch or throw out another retort, his grip was sudden—fast, firm, and impossibly smooth. He scooped you up effortlessly, as though you weighed nothing at all.

"Hey! What the—put me down!" you protested, thrashing instinctively. But his hold didn’t falter; if anything, it tightened, keeping you steady despite your struggles.

"Stop squirming," he said, his voice closer now, velvet smooth and annoyingly calm. "You’ll hurt yourself, and I’d rather avoid that."

"Avoid that?" you snapped, kicking your legs uselessly in the air. "Maybe you should’ve thought about that before grabbing me like some—some deranged kidnapper!"

His laugh rumbled through you, infuriatingly warm for someone committing what absolutely felt like an abduction. "Kidnapper? Dramatic, aren’t we? I’d say this is more like… escorting."

"Escorting? You didn’t exactly give me a choice!"

"No," he admitted, and you could practically hear the grin in his tone. "I didn’t."

You twisted again, trying to wrench yourself free, but he was impossibly strong. And now, despite the blindfold, you were acutely aware of something—his warmth, the way his hands cradled you with surprising care despite his teasing tone.

Your voice dropped to a mutter, frustration blending with confusion. "Who even are you?"

There was a pause, and then: "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

And then he threw you off the cliff. 

The air was ripped from your lungs as you felt yourself being hurled into the void, the edge of the cliff disappearing behind you. The blindfold fell off now, flying away to return to its owner. 

A scream tore from your throat, panic flooding every part of your body. But instead of the gut-wrenching drop you expected, the wind surged around you, catching you with a powerful, almost gentle force.

"Zephyrus?!" you gasped, recognizing the familiar warmth of the west wind as it wrapped around you, carrying you upward and away from the rocky descent.

There was no response.

"Zaephryus, answer me!" you demanded, your voice rising with the chaos of your emotions. But this time, he didn’t answer. No playful quip, no cheeky banter—just a strange, disquieting silence.

You tried to crane your neck, but the wind was too fast, too strong, rushing around you as if it were trying to shield you. Something wasn’t right. The usually carefree spirit felt… afraid.

"What’s going on?" you shouted, your voice carried off into the night. "Why aren’t you talking to me?"

Still, there was nothing. Only the sound of the wind, howling louder than it ever had before.

You stumbled as you were dropped unceremoniously in front of the palace gates, the sudden shift from the wind's embrace to solid ground leaving you dizzy and disoriented. You barely caught yourself, hands pressing against the cool stone walls for balance.

"What in the—" Your words cut off as you tried to steady yourself, confusion flooding your senses. The wind was already gone, leaving only the strange echo of its absence.

You glanced around, expecting something, anything, to make sense of the situation, but it didn’t. The night air felt thick and tense, and the sound of your own heart pounding seemed louder than ever.

Why had Zephyrus brought you here? Why had he ignored you so completely?

A chill ran down your spine as a shiver of dread prickled the back of your neck.

And that’s when you heard it—a soft whisper in the air, so faint you almost thought it was your imagination.

"Aphrodite..." The word drifted past your ears, a whisper that felt like it had come from the very air itself, and your stomach dropped.

You’d heard rumors about her, about what she could do, but this? This felt like something darker. Something that made the air feel heavier, as if the world around you was closing in.

What had you gotten yourself into?

***

The days in the palace had turned into a surreal rhythm. It was odd, almost dreamlike, to move through the grand halls filled with invisible hands that seemed to anticipate your every need. The peace was nice, and the constant arguing was a thing of the past. For once, you were allowed to exist in the silence of your own thoughts without boredom…at first.

Still, the so-called "beast" was a mystery. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once. His voice followed you through the corridors, rich and smooth, a deep timbre that wrapped around you like the softest silk. He’d talk to you during your strolls in the lush gardens, his voice carrying on the wind. At meals, you’d hear him as though he were seated right across from you, but the chair always remained empty yet all only at night. When you first arrived, he’d told you that everything in the palace belonged to you. And he kept true to his word about that. 

And yet soon enough, you became lonely again, only looking forward to the night, when he would visit you. 

Oh, how his hands would worship you, smooth over your body, lips whispering praises as he lost himself in you every night…

But still…

“You’re avoiding me,” you’d accused once, poking at the air with a fork.

“I could never avoid you,” he’d replied smoothly, a chuckle in his voice. “I am always with you.”

It was infuriating.

You tried to reason with him, plead with him, even bribe him to show himself, but every time he’d laugh softly and give the same answer:

“No, my love.”

The palace, as beautiful as it was, began to feel like a gilded cage. You couldn’t leave, though you hadn’t really tried yet. Something about the way the invisible servants seemed to watch your every move was unsettling. They weren’t unkind, but they were a constant, quiet reminder that you were not entirely free.

***

And yet, despite the strangeness of it all, you couldn’t deny that you’d started to enjoy your conversations with the beast. He was clever, funny even, and he always seemed to know just what to say to draw a laugh or a blush from you.

But there was one thing you couldn’t shake:

Why wouldn’t he let you see him?

You sat on the edge of the plush velvet chaise, the weight of the ring on your finger now feeling oddly familiar, though still heavy with unspoken meaning. The palace felt more like a home each passing day, but something about the silence from your sisters made the air feel thicker, colder. You needed to talk to him. Needed his presence, his guidance.

“Husband?” you called again, voice soft, yet laced with the hint of a question that had been bubbling inside you for days. You hadn't been able to shake the thought of them—Algaura, Clidippe.You missed them. And there was a strange part of you that wanted to show them this strange new world you had found yourself in. It wasn't just about the palace or the mystery of your beastly husband—it was about you, too.

You were different now, weren’t you?

The air shifted, faint at first, but undeniable. His voice rang out, a deep, soothing sound that filled the space despite his absence.

“What do you need, my love?”

His words never failed to make the corners of your lips twitch into a smile, despite the frustration simmering in your chest. You swallowed the rising feeling before it had a chance to take root. This was him—your husband. The one you’d been growing to care for, though you'd never seen his face, never truly understood the full weight of the creature that he was.

“I—well... I’ve been thinking about my sisters,” you began, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the ring on your finger. “I miss them. Could... could I invite them to visit?”

There was a pause, a long stretch of quiet that made the silence in the room feel as if it were pressing in on you. You held your breath, unsure of his answer. What would he say?

He responded, his tone carefully measured, yet a softness lingered within it. “Your sisters…”

He didn’t continue immediately, but his voice didn’t waver. “Why would you want them here?” His question wasn’t harsh, but there was a clear undertone of concern.

The question hit you harder than you expected, but you pushed through. “Because... I miss them. And because I want them to see... see you. See this place. It’s... it’s not so bad here, not really.” You bit your lip, mentally cursing yourself for the half-formed confession. But it was the truth.

“You wish to bring them here to... what?” he asked, his voice almost... quiet. There was a trace of something you couldn’t quite place in his tone. Was it hesitation? Was he afraid of what your sisters might see, or worse, of what they might think of him?

No, impossible. He was too secure for that. The thought of him caring about their opinions was laughable in itself. You licked your lips, your mouth suddenly dry. It wasn’t about fear—at least, not for him. Was it about you?

“I just wish to spend some time with them. Maybe have tea. Please?” you murmured, your voice soft yet earnest. You didn’t know why you were so nervous, or why you felt the need to plead your case. But the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

There was no immediate response, but the weight of his presence filled the room. You felt it—oddly comforting yet undeniably strange—the weight of his head resting in your lap. It was something he did when he was deep in thought, seeking your touch without words.

Your hand moved instinctively to his hair, fingers threading through the invisible strands as you began to gently massage his head. It was surreal, feeling the texture and warmth of him, knowing he was there yet unable to truly see him. His arms wrapped around your waist, grounding you in the moment.

“I could say no,” he finally said, his voice low and deliberate, the vibration of his words almost tangible against you. “But I don’t want to deny you something you long for.”

Your heart leaped, a mix of hope and relief flooding your chest. “You mean...?”

“I’ll allow it,” he said, his tone softer now. “But only if you promise me one thing.”

You stilled, your hand pausing in his hair. “Anything,” you whispered.

“Promise me you’ll tell me if their visit troubles you.” There was something in his voice—a protectiveness that made your chest tighten. “I’ll arrange for them to come, but your happiness is my only concern.”

You exhaled slowly, your hand resuming its gentle movement. “I promise.”

And though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel the warmth of his contentment, the invisible lines between you both softening in the quiet of the room.

***

Clidippe and Algaura sat across from you, their expressions a mix of confusion and awe as the servant poured tea into delicate cups, their hands trembling slightly from the sheer surprise. They must have been in a state of adrenaline; Zephryus had whisked them to the palace on your husband’s orders. You, on the other hand, could barely contain your excitement. The familiar faces of your sisters, so long absent from your life, were a welcome sight.

Clidippe raised an eyebrow, eyeing the invisible space next to you, where the beast’s presence loomed. “So… this is where you’ve been all this time?” she asked, her voice cautious, yet carrying a sharpness that suggested she wasn’t quite ready to believe everything she was seeing.

You, on the other hand, were practically buzzing with excitement. "Isn't it incredible?" you asked, your voice bright and brimming with enthusiasm. "The palace, the gardens, the servants—it’s like something out of a dream!"

Clidippe glanced at Algaura, her lips pressing into a thin line. "A dream... or a curse," she muttered under her breath, though loud enough for you to catch.

"Clidippe!" you scolded, though your grin didn’t falter. "Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not a curse. It’s... well, okay, it’s unconventional, but I’m happy here!"

"Happy?" Algaura asked, raising a skeptical brow. "With an invisible husband?" She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Have you even seen him yet?"

You hesitated, your hands tightening slightly around your own teacup. "Well... no, not exactly," you admitted, trying to sound casual. "But we talk all the time, and he’s kind, and thoughtful, and... he loves me."

Clidippe let out an incredulous laugh, setting her teacup down with a sharp clink. "Y/n, how can you know that if you’ve never even seen him? What if he’s some monster? What if he’s—"

Algaura, always one to amplify a dramatic moment, leaned forward, her voice rising slightly. "What if he’s evil or—" she gasped, eyes wide with mock horror, "—ugly?"

"Algaura!" you scolded, setting your teacup down so forcefully that the porcelain rattled. "He’s not evil. And even if he were... um, ugly, it wouldn’t matter!"

"Wouldn’t it, though?" Clidippe chimed in, arching a brow. "You’ve got this whole fairytale thing going on here, but isn’t it weird that he hasn’t shown you his face? What’s he hiding?"

You crossed your arms, glaring at both of them. "He’s not hiding anything. He told me he wants me to get to know him for who he is, not what he looks like. And honestly, I think that’s kind of beautiful."

"Or kind of suspicious," Algaura muttered under her breath, earning a glare from you.

"Look," you said firmly, "I didn’t invite you here to criticize my life or my husband. I wanted you to see that I’m happy, that I’m okay. Can’t you just trust me on this?"

Clidippe set her teacup down with a deliberate clink, fixing you with a serious gaze. "We can't, actually." Her words were sharp, cutting through the fragile layer of joy you'd been clinging to. "You're being a fool."

Her bluntness stung, and you felt your chest tighten. "A fool?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," she continued, unrelenting. "You’re living in some enchanted palace, surrounded by invisible servants, married to someone who won’t even show you who he is. And you think that’s normal? That that’s love?"

Algaura nodded reluctantly, her earlier teasing replaced by a more subdued concern. "Clidippe’s right. We just... we don’t want you to get hurt. What if—"

You held up a hand, silencing her. "I know what you’re going to say. What if he’s dangerous? What if he’s lying? What if this is all some trap? I’ve heard it all before."

"And have you considered any of it?" Clidippe pressed. "Because, honestly, it doesn’t sound like you have."

Your lips parted to argue, but no words came out. Deep down, you knew they had a point.

"You’ve always been headstrong," Clidippe continued, her tone softening. "And we love that about you. But sometimes... sometimes you’re so stubborn you can’t see the cliff you’re about to walk off of."

The room felt heavy, the warmth of the tea and the laughter from earlier evaporating into an uncomfortable silence.

"I’m not walking off a cliff," you said finally, your voice quiet but steady. "I know this seems strange to you, but I feel safe here. He makes me feel safe."

"Then why hasn’t he shown you who he really is?" Clidippe asked gently.

You didn’t have an answer. And that, more than anything, made their words cut even deeper.

***

Later that night, long after your sisters had left, you waited eagerly for your husband, who, as per usual, arrived with a gust of wind blowing through the naked windows. You giggle excitedly as the wind blew into your hair, smiling big as you feel him embrace you tenderly. “I take it you enjoyed yourself?” He murmurs in your ear, his lips gently nipping the shell. “I did! They were happy for me, husband,”

You feel him tense for a split second before relaxing. “Happy? They didn’t question it?”

You pull away, waving your arms as you clarify. “Oh, no- they definitely did, but it was just curious questions, nothing to fret over. Oh! And Helina had made the most delicious tea earlier. I think she had put pomegranates in it!” He chuckled at your excitement, patting your head affectionately, “That so? Then I will give you all the world of pomegranates.”

His hand slid down to your jaw, and with the other, he returned the blindfold to your eyes so that he could stop hiding. 

It’s a natural thing now. But… when he does so, you can’t help but think about how your sisters had questioned your love if you’ve never seen your husband.

The thoughts leave just as quickly as they came, his lips following a trail only known to him as he lifts you off your feet.

***

The feathered mattress was comfortable as it ever was, staying cool against your hot skin as your husband ravished you. Your knees were pressed up to your chest, your hands grasping at the pillows, sheets, him- whatever you could find to anchor you. 

You tried to keep quiet, truly, but it was much harder than you thought. The blindfold, coiled with his touch and pleas for you to be more vocal? It was simply too much. It was one thing to not have the blindfold and not see him, but to have your sight denied? 

You could feel how the goosebumps rose, hairs sticking up, your arms feeling all but off. 

“C’mon, sweet princess, please don’t hide your voice. Sing for me, yeah?” His voice murmured softly as kisses decorated your skin, down your inner thighs.

“Husband-” “Rafayel.”

What?

You open your eyes, the black from them being covered of course blocking what you could see. 

“Call me Rafayel.” His voice was light. Airy. In need. 

When you don’t immediately address him as so, he presses a kiss to your clothed cunt, tapping it so affectionatley. “C’mon princess, don’t hesitate now of all times.”

And the words he used were like honey, his lips on your clothed folds a dessert to your sense of touch. 

“I- okay, Rafayel,”

He hums in delight, kissing your cunt again, your underwear wet and soft against his lips as he moves your thigh to open wider, make more space for him. “Thank you, my love,”

You didn’t even question why he was only now giving you a name to address him as; “husband” was perfectly fine for the months you had been here beforehand. 

Then again, how could you focus, when your husband’s- when Rafayel’s- lips were so loving and his fingers so tender as he pulled the fabric to the side, all but worshipping your cunt. 

His fingers patted it softly, humming in approval at just how wet you were, giving a quick kiss to your exposed clit. Your hips jerk, he’s enjoying it as he spreads your folds open, bringing his tongue to lay flat, swiping up, up, up to the tippy top, his nose bumping your clit as he groans. 

“Pretty girl, my sweet wife, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting every day for night to come, ‘s not because of you. Could you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?” Like you were ambrosia, he drank, drank, drank from you, not waiting for an answer, as he already knew. 

But again. 

Your sisters words crept in the back of your mind as the night carried on….

***

…Doubt is a cruel thing. It slithered into your mind and refused to let go, wrapping its coils tighter with every passing moment. The warmth of his presence, his gentle words, the invisible hands that cared for you—they all felt too good to be true now, tainted by the seeds of your sisters' concern.

The room felt suffocating as you stared at the flickering flame of the oil lamp, its light casting eerie shadows across the walls. The knife was cold in your hand, its gleaming edge a stark contrast to the warmth of the flame. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, a mixture of fear and doubt twisting in your gut.

What if they were right? What if you were blind to the truth, just swept up in the illusion of safety and comfort he'd created? What if this whole thing, the grand gestures, the unseen servants, the kindness he'd shown you... what if it was all a game, a way to keep you trapped in his web?

You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they kept creeping in, clawing at the edges of your mind. "What if he's just using me?" you whispered to yourself, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

You glanced at the knife again, its sharp blade gleaming menacingly in the lamplight. It wasn’t like you intended to hurt him—at least, not physically—but you had to know. You had to see what he was, who he really was.

With trembling hands, you set the knife down and reached for the lamp. It was an impulsive decision, one born out of fear, not logic. But you needed to know the truth, and if that meant seeing him for who he truly was, then you'd face it. Even if it broke your heart.

The silence of the room was deafening as you quietly slipped out of bed and headed toward the door. You weren’t sure what you were going to do once you found him, but at this point, the uncertainty gnawed at you more than anything else.

Your pulse raced in the stillness, every step heavier than the last as you ventured deeper into the corridors of the palace. The shadows seemed to stretch longer, the air thicker with each breath you took. The further you went, the more you felt like you were walking into something you couldn’t turn back from. Something... irreversible.

The palace seemed to whisper as you moved, the halls groaning underfoot. And just as you reached the doorway to his chambers, your breath hitched. Was this really what you wanted? To confront the beast, to strip away the mystery, to shatter the fragile peace you’d built?

But there was no turning back now.

You pressed the lamp to the door, the faint glow barely illuminating the intricate carvings etched in the wood. The knife felt like an anchor in your hand, both a lifeline and a threat.

"Please..." you murmured, unsure whether you were praying or pleading with yourself, "Just... just let me see the truth."

And then, with a deep breath, you pushed open the door.

You froze in the doorway, the oil lamp trembling in your grasp. The sight before you was almost too much to comprehend. Your husband—no, this—was not what you had expected. Not in the slightest.

His body lay still, relaxed in sleep, draped in the faintest sheen of moonlight that filtered through the window. His skin shimmered faintly, as though kissed by the gods themselves, and his chest rose and fell with a peaceful rhythm. His wings, vast and impossibly beautiful, were folded neatly behind him, feathers soft and iridescent, catching the light in a cascade of colors that seemed almost otherworldly.

You took a hesitant step closer, the flame of your lamp flickering as though it too was stunned into silence. His features were perfect—sharper than you imagined yet softened in slumber.

You had known his presence, felt his warmth, his embrace. But now, seeing him like this, unguarded and vulnerable, the fear that had driven you here melted away like mist in the early morning sun. The knife in your hand felt foolish now, heavy with the weight of your doubts, and you realized just how misplaced your fears had been.

His beauty was undeniable. Everything about him—from his sculpted features to the grace with which he rested—was perfect. The lavender curls of his hair framed his face so gently, his long lashes resting peacefully against his cheeks.

Another step forward. The lips that had whispered sweet nothings to you now parted slightly as he breathed. And those hands... the hands that had touched you so tenderly, cradled your face, and drawn soft gasps from your lips—they rested loosely on the bed, every vein and knuckle a masterpiece.

But it was the wings that held your attention. They weren’t just wings; they were art. Each feather seemed crafted by divine hands, glimmering with colors you couldn’t even name. They exuded warmth and power, a silent testament to his nature—whatever that nature might truly be.

Your throat felt tight. You wanted to cry out, to drop the lamp and run to him, to apologize for doubting him, for letting your sisters' words cloud your mind. But something rooted you in place. A mix of awe and fear kept you there, staring down at the man—the being—you’d married.

Who are you? the thought screamed in your mind, louder than you intended. Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

But you knew. 

You knew he was a god. 

How stupid- how foolish of you.

And then, as if sensing the weight of your gaze, his eyes fluttered open. Those eyes... they were a storm of colors, shifting like the tides, deep and endless. He blinked, confusion crossing his face before realization struck. His gaze fell to the lamp in your hands, and then to the knife, still clenched tightly in your trembling fingers.

His expression changed. Hurt. Betrayal. A crack forming in his once serene features.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice soft yet heavy with disbelief. “Why?”

His eyes, once warm and filled with a tenderness you had come to know, now held a coldness that made your heart drop. The air between you thickened with the weight of unspoken words, his grief pulling at the edges of his features.

“Why?” His voice was a whisper, rough with emotion. “After everything… after I’ve shown you nothing but care, why would you—” His breath hitched, his wings shuddering slightly as if even they were trying to shield him from the sting of your doubt.

You opened your mouth, but no words came. The knife trembled in your grasp, the edge of it catching the faint light of the room. The lamp you had forgotten to put down flickered as if in sympathy for the tension that crackled in the air.

“I didn’t mean… I just…” Your voice was small, barely a whisper. What did you mean? What could you say to undo this?

You had wanted to confront the fear that had been gnawing at you, the doubt planted by your sisters. They had warned you, raised questions you hadn't wanted to entertain. What if he’s a monster? What if he’s only been pretending to be kind? It was foolish, you knew that now. But in the quiet moments, when your mind wandered, the questions took root.

He reached for the knife gently, his movements slow, cautious. His fingers brushed yours, a brief, almost hesitant touch. “You thought I was a monster,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, the pain in his voice evident.

You recoiled, clutching the knife to your chest in an instinctive defense. "No, I didn’t—I thought—" Your words faltered as you met his gaze again. “I was scared. I didn’t know what to believe.”

The hurt in his eyes deepened. He stood, his wings flexing as he moved closer, his presence overwhelming yet gentle. “I’ve shown you nothing but who I am—who I really am,” he said, each word deliberate, his voice breaking slightly. “And yet, this doubt… it lingers in your heart?”

“It was your sisters, wasn’t it?”

His grip on your wrist was firm, his eyes narrowing with a hurt that twisted in a way that made your heart ache even more. The anger in his voice was unmistakable, sharp like a blade itself.

"It was your sisters, wasn't it?" he repeated, the words heavy with accusation. The quiet rage simmered beneath his words, as if the mere thought of their influence was enough to unravel whatever fragile peace you’d built. His wings twitched, his body rigid with tension.

Before you could respond, he yanked the knife from your grasp, tossing it aside with a flick of his wrist. It landed with a soft thud on the floor, its sharpness now rendered useless in the face of his fury.

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. His anger wasn't just at the doubt you’d harbored—it was at the outside voices that had planted the seeds of it. He had allowed himself to believe in you, in what you could be together, only for that fragile trust to be shattered by their words.

"I warned you," he spat, his breath quickening. "I warned you not to listen to them. They know nothing of us, of what we are." His fists clenched at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

It felt as though the very air around you had shifted, turning cold and heavy. You wanted to apologize, to explain, to beg for his understanding, but the words seemed to stick in your throat.

The beast before you—your beast—wasn’t just angry. He was hurt, deeply so. It wasn’t just the betrayal of your doubt. It was the years of isolation, the weight of everything he’d carried in silence, the belief that for once, someone might truly see him for who he was.

"I wanted to protect you," he muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he looked away, fighting the emotions that were bubbling to the surface. His wings were tight against his back, the darkened feathers almost trembling with the weight of it all.

The truth was, you had been foolish. You had let the whispers of your sisters cloud your judgment, but now, standing before him, you saw the depth of his pain—the depth of your own misunderstanding. It wasn’t just about him being a beast; it was about him being someone who had allowed you into his world, and you had almost thrown it all away.

"You—" He stopped himself, swallowing hard. "I thought you understood me." His hands went to your throat for a brief moment, his eyes full with the intent to snap it, but something stops him. It wasn’t the pitiful way your hands clawed at his grasp to let you go, or your pleas for forgiveness, no. It was the fact that he even considered to snap it. Rafayel thought that surely he was done with such fantasies, the urge to break you apart every time he bed you- to rip your head, to bite and tear into your flesh, to utterly consume you, he thought he could hold back, no, that he must hold back. In a mix of horror at himself and grief- mourning at your betrayal, he took a step back, letting you drop to the floor and crumpling. 

Your heart dropped as his wings unfurled, the magnificent span of them taking up the entire room, and before you could even fully comprehend what was happening, he was gone. His words, cold and final, lingered in the air long after his form disappeared into the night sky.

"You...You have betrayed me. And I have no need for traitors. I- I’m- forgive me, for not earning your trust," 

The words echoed in your mind like a death sentence. The finality in his voice, the hurt that bled through his anger—it was all too much. You were left standing there, breathless, as the silence rushed in to fill the void he had left behind. The weight of his absence crushed down on you, suffocating. Tears welled in your eyes, but they didn’t fall. Instead, they stung—burning with the guilt of your actions, of the doubt you had let fester and bloom in your heart. You were a fool to let anyone, even those you loved, make you question him. He had shown you nothing but care, nothing but love, and you—you had betrayed him with your own insecurities.

"No," you whispered to yourself, shaking your head as if to rid yourself of the thought. But it didn’t work. The guilt remained, a gnawing feeling that twisted in your gut.

You rushed to the window, pressing your palms against the cold glass, but there was nothing—no sign of him, just the empty expanse of the sky. He was gone, and you were left in the wreckage of your own foolishness.

"Please," you whispered, the desperation in your voice thick. "Please, come back."

But the wind only howled back at you, carrying his absence like a cruel reminder of what you had done.

It was too late to take it all back. Too late to explain that you hadn’t meant to hurt him, that you were just scared. But now, there was no one left to explain it to.

Tears finally spilled from your eyes as you sank to your knees on the cold floor, your heart shattered. The bed, once a place of warmth and love, now felt empty, a reminder of the broken trust between you.

You had lost him. And you weren't sure how to find him again.

***

A month passed in a haze of silence. The palace, once full of warmth and life, now felt like a cold, oppressive shell. The servants remained kind, as they always had been, but their smiles were hollow, their eyes carrying the weight of something unsaid. You could feel their pity, even if it was never spoken aloud.

The days blurred into one another, each one spent in the same routine—quiet walks through the gardens, meals that were eaten alone, and long hours in your room, staring out at the world outside the palace walls, wishing for something—anything—to change. The silence of your husband’s absence was deafening. He hadn’t returned, hadn’t even sent word.

Your thoughts were consumed with guilt and regret, constantly replaying that night over and over in your mind. What if you had just trusted him? What if you had never listened to your sisters, to the doubts that they planted in your mind? But it was too late for what ifs. The damage was done, and you were left with nothing but a gnawing emptiness inside.

The loneliness was suffocating. You had always relied on your sisters to bring laughter and comfort, but now, with no one to share your thoughts and fears with, you felt more isolated than ever. You missed them terribly—their teasing, their warmth, their presence. You needed to see them again.

The palace felt like a prison, and you were a prisoner of your own making.

So, one evening, you made up your mind. You couldn’t stay here, not like this. You had to see your sisters, to feel some semblance of normalcy again. You had to fix what you had broken, no matter how impossible it seemed.

You slipped out of the palace, as quietly as you could, hoping that no one would stop you. The night air was cool, the scent of fresh flowers and earth filling your senses, but the sense of relief was short-lived. You couldn’t escape the tight knot in your chest—the dread of what you had lost and the uncertainty of what you would find.

“Zephyrus?”

He was there in an instant. Zephyrus’s voice was soft, as if he knew the weight of your request, even before you spoke it. "Of course, my lady. Home it is."

The wind responded to his call, swirling around you gently, as if coaxing you back into its embrace. You didn’t know if it was the wind’s touch or the weight of your own thoughts, but you felt the shift—the pull toward something that felt more familiar, more comforting than the cold emptiness that had become your palace.

With a quiet sigh, you felt the wind lift you off the ground, carrying you away from the place that had once been your home but now felt foreign. The cool air rushed past your skin, and the familiar feeling of flight made your chest tighten in both relief and sorrow.

"Zephyrus," you murmur again, this time with a hint of vulnerability in your voice. "Do you think… do you think I’ve ruined everything?"

There was no immediate answer, only the soft whoosh of the wind as you flew. His silence was not comforting, yet somehow, it gave you the space to reflect, to finally let yourself feel everything that had been buried inside.

It didn’t take long before you saw the familiar landscape below—green fields, gentle slopes, and, in the distance, the village where you grew up. Home. Your heart tightened, knowing that even this place might no longer feel the same after everything that had happened.

But this was where you belonged, wasn’t it?

Zephyrus landed you gently in a quiet corner near the palace, not far from where your sisters lived. His presence faded into the wind, leaving you standing there, facing the uncertainty of your future.

***

As you spoke, recounting everything that had happened—your marriage, your betrayal, your husband’s departure—it felt as though the words were echoing in an empty room. You saw the concern on their faces, the sadness in their eyes, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to ease the discomfort in your chest.

Clidippe’s eyes softened as she listened, but the skepticism in her voice was impossible to ignore. “So, he just… left?” she asked, her tone tinged with disbelief. “After everything? You let him leave like that?”

Algaura, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke up, her voice sharp. “You were so sure, Y/n. So sure he was something special. And now look at you. Empty-handed.”

Their words stung, each one sharper than the last. You hadn’t expected their support, not really, but this felt… different. You thought they would understand, that they would see the pain you were in, that they would comfort you in a way only family could. But instead, you felt like a stranger in their presence, isolated by your choices.

“I—” you started, but the words faltered in your throat, swallowed by the knot of guilt that tightened with every passing second.

Algaura’s eyes narrowed. “What, Y/n? What now? You want us to feel sorry for you? To fix this mess?”

Clidippe reached out, her hand resting gently on your shoulder. “We don’t blame you, Y/n. But you need to think about this. What’s next for you?”

You couldn’t answer. The emptiness inside you, the pain of knowing that you had hurt someone you loved deeply, it all churned inside, and there was no easy way to make it right. Not now. Not ever.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, feeling the weight of everything crash down on you. "I thought... I thought I knew what I wanted, but now... I don't even know who I am anymore."

The silence stretched between you and your sisters, an uncomfortable weight. They didn’t have the answers, either. And neither did you.

It felt wrong. It felt like no matter how hard you tried, there was no going back. You couldn’t undo what had been done. And worse yet, the wound you had created in your heart was only growing deeper, as if the space where your husband used to be was now an aching void you couldn't fill.

And the worst part? You weren’t sure you even wanted to anymore.

***

Clidippe and Algaura were more than pleased after you left. "Perhaps, he'll take one of us to be his wife?" Clidippe said, almost cheerfully. 

Algaura let out a small laugh, though it was cold and cynical. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. After all, we’re far more deserving than Y/n, aren’t we?”

The two of them exchanged a glance, one that spoke volumes, though it said nothing aloud. The tension was palpable, their earlier concern for you now replaced by something darker, more calculating.

Clidippe leaned back, her expression shifting from one of mirth to something far more calculating. "I always thought Y/n was too naïve to keep something like that. Such a fool to waste an opportunity with someone like him."

Algaura scoffed. "Exactly. So much potential thrown away. It’s almost laughable." She leaned in, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “But I’m not so sure. There might be a way for us to claim what she couldn’t.”

Clidippe’s eyes gleamed with a quiet determination. “Let’s wait and see. If he comes back... we’ll be ready.” She paused for a moment, as if contemplating something more. "We don’t need her to ruin things for us again."

Algaura smirked, a cold, confident expression. "No, we won’t let her."

"Better idea. Why don't we just go to the cliff and have that wind god take us?" "Sister!”

Clidippe raised an eyebrow, but the mischievous glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement. "You know, I might just be tempted to take you up on that offer. Imagine the look on her face when we show up with him in tow."

Algaura laughed again, but this time it was tinged with something darker. "What a sight that would be. A wind god at our side, whisking us away... too bad we’d have to deal with her first, wouldn’t we?"

Clidippe shrugged, her smile widening. "Why deal with her when we can let her waste away in her pitiful loneliness? It's more fun this way, don't you think?"

The two sisters shared a knowing look, their plans already forming in the corners of their minds. Whatever they did next, it was clear they had no intention of letting you get in the way of their ambitions.

***

“You what?” Aphrodite fumed as she tended to her son.

Rafayel flinched, his wings tensing behind him as his mother’s words echoed in the grand hall. "Mother, please, calm down."

"Calm down?" Aphrodite’s voice rang out, her tone venomous. "You’ve disgraced yourself, and worse—her! You let a mortal get the better of you, make a fool of you, and you hide it like it’s some kind of prize?" She spun around, eyes blazing with fury. "Do you even understand what this means?"

Rafayel, for the first time, didn’t know how to respond. His silence seemed to only fuel his mother’s rage.

"You don’t know the first thing about real love, Rafayel!" Aphrodite’s voice cracked as she gestured toward the grandiose chambers. "That mortal girl is just a stepping stone. You’ve thrown away everything for her—your honor, your name, and now your position among the gods."

"But mother, she loved me," Rafayel said softly, the weight of his words falling heavily in the air between them.

Aphrodite’s laughter was cold. "Love? No, my son. What you call love is nothing more than infatuation. Mortal affection is fleeting, and you—" She narrowed her gaze, "—you have let it consume you. You cannot afford such weakness. Not as my son. Not as the being you were destined to be."

Rafayel stared at her, a distant sadness in his eyes. "You don’t understand. She’s different."

Aphrodite’s lips curled into a sneer. "And you will suffer because of it. You always do." She turned away, as if dismissing him. "You had a job to do, but you couldn’t even do that.”

Rafayel’s shoulders sagged under the weight of his mother’s fury, his wings folding tightly against his back, as if trying to shrink from her anger. His eyes, usually so confident and composed, were now filled with a mixture of sadness and uncertainty. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, unsure of how to express the turmoil swirling inside him.

"Mother, please..." he whispered, his voice quiet and vulnerable, almost pleading. "I didn’t mean to disappoint you. I just... I didn’t want to be alone anymore. She—she makes me feel alive. I’ve never felt anything like this before."

“That doesnt matter.”

"I... I thought you would be happy for me," Rafayel murmured, eyes dropping to the marble floor, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I thought you'd want me to be happy. You said... you said I should follow my heart. And now I’m following it... and you hate me for it."

His voice cracked as the reality of his mother’s rejection washed over him. He wasn’t the confident, untouchable creature he pretended to be. He was raw. He was hurt. And all he wanted, more than anything, was to share that with you. To be with you. But now, in this cold, unforgiving space, he didn’t know if he even deserved to.

"She’s everything I’ve ever wanted," he said softly, as if confessing a secret he was scared to admit. "And I don’t care what anyone says, not even you, mother. I love her. I love her more than you could ever understand."

His heart hammered in his chest, torn between the loyalty he had to his mother, the goddess who had raised him, and the love he had for his wife- you.  "Please... just try to understand. This is real. She’s real." His voice faltered. "I don’t want to lose her."

But it was no use. 

“You just let mother take care of this. Mother will fix  everything.”

Rafayel's body jerked as the magic took hold of him, his wings freezing mid-flap. The transformation was swift, brutal, and without mercy. His form shrank, feathers sprouting where skin once was, his wings no longer elegant and powerful but instead simple and fragile. His sharp, pleading gaze locked with his mother’s, but the words he tried to speak caught in his throat, swallowed by the magic that overtook him. He could only chirp, a sound far from the voice he had once used to proclaim his love.

His body was small, vulnerable, caged. The bars of the iron cage pressed against his delicate wings, and a bitter taste of defeat filled his mouth. He flapped once, twice, but there was no escaping the confines of his mother's wrath.

Aphrodite stood, her face set in stone, her anger still simmering beneath her calm demeanor. She waved her hand dismissively, ignoring the bird trapped within the cage. The motherly affection she had once had for Rafayel seemed like a distant memory.

"You’re a fool, Rafayel," she said coldly, her voice dripping with disdain. "But I will make sure everything works out. I always do. You will see. You will forget this mortal... and you will return to me. You will learn that I know what's best for you."

***

Talia's expression remained impassive as she watched you from her perch, her fingers lightly tapping against the railing of the balcony she'd been lounging on. She had seen this coming, even before you had realized what was happening. You and Rafayel? It was almost too predictable. That beautiful, foolish boy who had so easily fallen for you, swept up in his own infatuation, despite the consequences. Talia knew Aphrodite too well to not expect such a response.

Still, there was a pang of something in her chest—was it pity? Yes, perhaps it was pity. For you, for the way your world was now falling apart, even though you were too blind to see it coming. It wasn’t that Talia enjoyed watching you suffer, but it was hard to ignore how predictable everything had become.

Aphrodite, beside her, glared. 

“You pity a stranger over your friend.”

A statement. A fact. Not an accusation. 

"She humiliated my son, broke his heart, and shattered his trust. I should’ve intervened sooner."

Talia leaned lazily against a pillar, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers, utterly unbothered by the goddess’s rage. She was no stranger to Aphrodite’s dramatics.

"And yet," Talia replied, her tone as light as the breeze, "it was your son who fell for her, wasn’t it? Who bound himself to her in secret? Perhaps your anger is misplaced."

Aphrodite’s glare could have turned lesser mortals to ash. "Watch your tongue, Talia. My patience with you is thin."

"Yes, yes, your patience," Talia said with a dismissive wave. She pushed off the pillar, stepping closer to the goddess with a confidence that bordered on reckless. "But let’s not forget, Goddess, you’re the one who proclaimed yourself the expert in love. Perhaps your son inherited your taste for chaos. Shouldn’t that make you... proud?"

Aphrodite’s hand twitched, her nails biting into her palm as she considered smiting the infuriating nymph. Instead, she closed her eyes, taking a slow, measured breath. Talia always knew how to strike a nerve.

"This isn’t chaos," Aphrodite finally said, her voice quieter but no less sharp. "This is betrayal. She doesn’t deserve him. And I will not allow her to destroy him further."

Talia’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. "You sound more like a mother scorned than a goddess of love."

Aphrodite turned away, her expression unreadable as she gazed down at the mortal world below. The fields stretched endlessly, the winds carrying whispers of sorrow. Somewhere down there, you were grieving. Somewhere, you were suffering.

Good.

And yet...

For a fleeting moment, a pang of something unfamiliar—something dangerously close to guilt—flickered in Aphrodite’s chest.

"I protect what is mine," she said at last, as much to herself as to Talia.

Talia tilted her head, watching the goddess with an almost pitying gaze. "If you keep him caged, Aphrodite, you’ll lose him too. Just like she did."

The golden cage trembled violently as Rafayel clawed against the spell that bound him. His bird form shimmered, wings beating with a frantic energy that sent feathers scattering like falling stars.

“Rafayel, stop!” Aphrodite’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. But he couldn’t—he wouldn’t. The bars bent under his growing form, groaning under the pressure as he swelled beyond the confines of her magic.

His breathing was ragged, desperate. His talons stretched into fingers, his wings unfurling as the feathers melted back into flesh. With one final, guttural cry, the cage snapped, its golden fragments raining down like shards of light.

"Rafayel, please—" Aphrodite’s tone shifted, now tinged with worry. She reached out to him, but he recoiled, his back to her as his transformation completed.

He was silent, his chest heaving as he stood tall, his silhouette framed by the moonlight pouring through the open window. His lavender hair clung to his damp skin, his iridescent wings unfurling to their full, magnificent span.

“I can’t stay here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling.

“Son, listen to me,” Aphrodite implored, stepping closer, her divine grace now softened with maternal concern. “That girl doesn’t deserve—”

“She does!” he cut her off, spinning to face her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “She made a mistake, yes, but so did I. I left her to face her doubt alone, Mother. I love her, and I don’t care what you think anymore.”

Aphrodite’s hand hovered in the air, her lips parting as though to protest, but the raw pain in his voice froze her.

Before she could speak, Rafayel turned, his wings extending. With a mighty leap, he soared through the window, the force of his departure sending a gust of wind through the room.

“Rafayel!” Aphrodite called after him, her voice breaking.

But he didn’t look back. The stars blurred as he flew, his heart pounding with one singular thought:

He had to find you.

***

How ironic. 

How ironic that you had returned to the cliff where this had started. 

Only to find your sisters. 

The air was thick with the scent of saltwater, the wind teasing your hair, but it did nothing to soothe the aching void inside you. You stood there, frozen, watching your sisters with a hollow heart. They laughed, carefree, on the edge of the cliff, their voices carrying on the wind, full of mirth.

"Zephyrus! Zephyrus, catch us!" they called in unison, like children daring fate. Their voices rang in the cold air, their words both a plea and a taunt, as though they were so certain he would appear. But there was no response. No gust of wind, no comforting presence.

How….oh, how your heart hurt.

Your chest tightened as you felt the coldness settle in your bones. You should have known. Should have known that their trivial games would come at a cost. Your sisters were so used to their charm, their beauty, their privileges that they believed everyone else—everything—would bend to their will. Of course…you should have known when they had suddenly decided to question your love when they first visited you, instead of being happy for you. 

And yet, you ran. 

You ran to them. You needed them. One last hug, one lass embrace-

Clidippe took a step forward, laughing as she always did, confident in the wind's power to save her. Algaura followed, grinning, her trust in Zephyrus unwavering.

But Zephyrus wasn’t coming.

The air seemed to still as they jumped. No wind rushed to catch them, no graceful hands reached out. Instead, the two of them plummeted into the dark abyss, their screams quickly swallowed by the sea.

A sick feeling churned in your stomach, a blend of guilt, betrayal, and something much worse. 

You barely registered the tears that spilled down your cheeks as you watched the empty space where they had fallen, knowing that nothing could bring them back.

“Why didn’t he catch them?” you whispered to yourself, voice raw with disbelief. Was it because of your own failure? Had you made him so bitter, so distant, that he had forsaken them, too? Or was it their own arrogance that had led to their doom?

“No…no-! No, no, no, no. NO!” You ran to the edge of the cliff, almost stumbling off but the wind was pushing you back. 

“Zephyrus! Let me go! Let me- my- my sisters! Zephyrus-” You gasp for air as you swallow back the thick knots forming in your throat, blocking your breath. Your stomach was in your heart, your heart in your lungs, everything out of place. 

The weight of your heart pressed down, harder than the cold air around you. How had everything fallen apart so quickly?

A soft rustle disturbed your thoughts, and you turned sharply, hoping for some form of relief. But all you saw was the wind, swirling around you in a turbulent dance.

And then, his voice—gentle, familiar—came through the chaos of your mind.

"I'm here, my love."

Rafayel stood before you, wings glistening in the moonlight. His form seemed to fill the space, ethereal and powerful. His eyes were filled with something softer now, the pain from before replaced with something new. Something deeper.

“Rafayel…” you breathed, your voice trembling as you rushed toward him.

He took a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. The distance between you, the betrayal, the pain—all seemed to fade with each passing moment.

"I didn't mean for this," he whispered, reaching out to you. “I should have never left you. I thought... I thought if I kept my distance, you'd be safe, but I was wrong."

You wrapped your arms around him, the warmth of his presence surrounding you, and for the first time in so long, you allowed yourself to feel something other than emptiness.

“I didn’t want them to fall,” you whispered into his chest, your tears soaking his clothes.

His hands held you tightly, pressing you against him as if to shield you from the world. “You didn’t cause this, love. They made their own choices, and now they must face the consequences. But you... you are everything to me.”

He gently tilted your chin up, his gaze locking with yours, and for the first time in ages, you felt truly seen.

“Will you come back with me?” Rafayel asked softly. "Let me show you that you are loved. You’ve been through too much alone."

But-

No.

He had left you.

He left you.

The weight of your heart pressed down, harder than the cold air around you. How had everything fallen apart so quickly? The faces of your sisters, their laughter, their screams—they wouldn’t leave your mind. The sight of Rafayel, his tender gaze, his outstretched hands, was too much. It was all too much.

You stumbled back, your legs trembling beneath you. His voice called out to you, soft yet desperate, but you couldn’t face him—not now, not like this. The world spun, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the reality of what had just happened sunk deeper into your soul.

“Stay with me,” Rafayel said, his voice pleading. But you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t.

Your feet moved before you realized what was happening. You turned, your body propelled by something primal, something desperate. You ran. Away from Rafayel, away from the cliff, away from the memories that clung to you like a shroud. Back, back, back—to home, to safety, to the one place you knew might offer you solace.

The lake.

Hersilia!

Her name echoed in your mind like a lifeline, a prayer. She would know what to do. She always did. Your breath hitched as you pushed forward, the terrain blurring around you. The sharp branches clawed at your skin, the cold night air stung your face, but none of it mattered.

You needed her.

The lake came into view, its surface eerily still under the pale moonlight. Your feet slipped on the damp grass as you stumbled toward the water’s edge.

“Hersilia!” you cried out, your voice cracking. “Please, I need you!”

***

When you came to that secret lake, the air felt wrong, heavy, and strange. The surface of the water was no longer the welcoming mirror of moonlight you remembered. Instead, it churned faintly, disturbed by an unseen presence. Around you, the nymphs who once danced and sang in joy screamed and fled into the shadows of the trees, their translucent forms flickering like dying embers.

Were they afraid of you? Or of something else? You couldn’t tell, and you didn’t care. Your mind could focus only on one thing.

“Hersilia!” you cried out, your voice raw and desperate. “Please, I need you!”

No answer came, only the sound of the water lapping against the shore. The nymphs’ fearful whispers drifted to your ears, fragmented and faint.

“She doesn’t know...” “Should we tell her?” “No! Let her be.”

Their words were like shards of glass cutting into your heart. You shook your head, refusing to believe what they might mean.

“Hersilia!” you shouted again, your voice breaking as you collapsed to your knees by the lake’s edge. “Please, it’s me! It’s—”

Your words died in your throat as you caught sight of the water. There, faint and ghostly, was a face—a face you knew too well. Hersilia’s face, but pale and ethereal, like a memory clinging to the surface of the lake. Her once-lively eyes were dulled, her expression distant.

“Hersilia,” you whispered, reaching out.

The image wavered and dissolved, leaving you staring at nothing but ripples in the water.

“She is gone,” a trembling voice said behind you. One of the braver nymphs had stepped forward, her form flickering as if she might vanish at any moment. “Hersilia has been gone for many moons. You... you did not know?”

But then a nymph shrieked, her voice piercing the stillness of the night like a crack of thunder. Her trembling finger pointed behind you.

Your heart stopped. You turned slowly, fear and hope warring within you.

There, standing at the edge of the clearing, was Rafayel.

His lavender hair was disheveled, the soft curls wild from flight. His wings, now fully unfurled, glistened in the moonlight, each feather shimmering like mother-of-pearl. His eyes, those deep sea-blue and pink hues, were filled with an emotion so raw it took your breath away—grief, anger, love, and longing all at once.

“Rafayel...” you breathed, rising to your feet.

He didn’t move closer. His gaze bore into you, searching, as if trying to understand something unspoken. The nymphs had scattered entirely now, their fear palpable in the air. Only the two of you remained by the lake, the silence deafening.

“I thought...” His voice broke, soft and trembling, but then it shifted, cracking with something darker. “I thought I would never see you again…” His gaze hardened, and his tone grew sharper, more raw. “And you—” He took a step forward, his wings shuddering with restrained emotion. “You run away? You run away from me?”

His laugh was almost maniacal, echoing in the quiet night like something unhinged. The sound made your blood run cold.

You instinctively took a step back, your heels slipping into the cool water of the lake.

"You..." Your voice trembled, barely audible as fear gripped you. "You killed Hersilia?"

The words hung heavy in the air, your body stiffening as his gaze locked onto yours. His eyes darkened, unreadable and sharp as a blade.

Before you could even register his movement, he was suddenly there—his hands gripping your arms tightly, pulling you closer with a force that left no room for escape.

"She was a bad influence," he said, his voice low and cold, venom dripping from every syllable.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding against your chest as his words sank in. "Rafayel, she was my—"

"Your what?" he snapped, his wings flaring wide behind him in a display of frustration. "A friend? Someone who told you to run from me? To leave your place by my side? To keep you from your fate?”

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. "No, she—"

"Don’t lie to me!" His voice cracked, raw and filled with pain. For a moment, the grip on your arms loosened, as though he realized the weight of his own actions. His hands slid down to your wrists, trembling. "Everything I’ve done... I’ve done for you."

Your breath caught in your throat as his hands closed around your neck, tightening with a force that made it hard to breathe. His eyes burned with a desperation that mirrored the one you'd felt in your own chest—his need, his possessiveness, overwhelming everything.

"And you're staying with me," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You want someone to love you. Y/n? You don't want to be lonely? Well neither do I."

His words echoed in your mind, each one heavier than the last. The suffocating grip on your throat made it difficult to focus, the edges of your vision starting to blur. His pain was raw, but it was tainted with something darker—a twisted form of affection that you couldn’t bring yourself to understand.

"You’re hurting me," you gasped, struggling to free yourself, but his hold only tightened, his face inches from yours.

"Not enough," he spat, his voice full of anguish. "Not enough for you to understand how much I need you. How much I need you to stay."

His eyes flickered for a second, showing you the vulnerability that you once recognized. The part of him that wasn’t a monster, the part that had loved you with a gentleness you hadn’t thought possible. But then it was gone, replaced again by something darker, more volatile.

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to protect you—or break you.

And it didn’t matter.

Because he snapped your neck. 

The world went black. No pain, just the crushing emptiness that followed when your body stopped fighting, when everything ceased to exist in an instant. Your breath, your heart—gone.

Rafayel stood over you, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his eyes wild, still filled with that insatiable need. He had done it. He had taken everything.

He dropped to his knees beside your lifeless form, his hands trembling as he reached for you.

Rafayel’s lips pressed softly against yours, his tears falling gently onto your still face. His heart was heavy, the weight of his love and his violence crashing together in an unbearable torrent. He had taken everything from you—your life, your love, and now... your silence.

"Till death do us part," he whispered against your lips, his words full of regret and sorrow. "And for you, I give you half my heart."

He layed you down as the nymphs hid in the lake in horror, watching as the god tore his chest open, golden blood spilling in torrents as he took his heart, ripping it in half, its aorta limp and loose, the left ventricle almost coming apart as if it were tender and slow cooked. He gasps in pain, closing his eyes as he opens your chest, tearing your heart out. 

And the same, he rips it in half. 

Half to you, half to him….

***

When you woke up, you gasp, clutching your neck. Could it be?

Was it truly just a horrible dream?

You turn to look beside you, reaching out. 

Your husband was invisible; you could feel the warmth of his back against your hand. 

But…there was an itch in your chest. Like something didn’t quite fit. 

[curatedbyondrea]

The Art of Rest: 7 Invitations to Recharge Your Feminine Energy

Ah, rest. The very word evokes a sense of tranquility, a sigh of relief as we sink into a haven of rejuvenation. But in our busy lives, rest can often feel like a luxury we can't afford. Yet, true well-being hinges on this precious practice.

Just like a beautiful flower needs a variety of nurturing elements to bloom, we as women require different kinds of rest to flourish. Let's explore seven invitations to cultivate a deeper sense of rest and radiate your feminine energy from the inside out.

1. The Invitation to Physical Ease: Imagine yourself nestled in cozy blankets, the soft weight of sleep gently cradling your body. Physical rest is the foundation, allowing our muscles to mend and our energy to replenish. Grant yourself the gift of sufficient sleep, gentle stretches, or a warm bath – acts of kindness your body will surely thank you for.

2. The Invitation to Quiet Your Mind: Our thoughts can sometimes feel like a relentless current, pulling us in a million directions. Mental rest is about creating a sanctuary within. Curl up with a calming book, step outside for a mindful walk, or simply allow your breath to be your anchor. As your mind quiets, a sense of peace will naturally wash over you.

3. The Invitation to Sensory Solace: Dim the bright lights, put down the phone, and allow yourself to truly listen to the world around you. Sensory rest is a gentle retreat from the constant stimulation of modern life. Create a calming ambiance with soft music, or step outside and feel the earth beneath your bare feet. Let your senses savor the present moment.

4. The Invitation to Unleash Creativity: Sometimes, the most creative ideas spark when we allow ourselves to simply be. Creative rest isn't about forcing inspiration, but rather letting it flow freely. Engage in activities that bring you joy, like dancing to your favorite music, or simply daydreaming with a cup of tea.

5. The Invitation to Nurture Your Emotions: Just like delicate flowers, our emotions need tending to. Emotional rest is about creating a safe space to process your feelings, whether through journaling, spending time with a trusted friend, or simply allowing yourself to cry. By acknowledging your emotions, you create space for inner peace to blossom.

6. The Invitation to Embrace Solitude: While connection is vital, social rest allows us to fully recharge. Take an afternoon for yourself, curl up with a good book, or simply enjoy the quiet company of your own thoughts. In this solitude, you'll discover a renewed capacity for connection when you return to social spaces.

7. The Invitation to Connect with Something Bigger: Spiritual rest allows us to connect with something that transcends the everyday. This might involve spending time in nature, practicing a form of meditation, or simply reflecting on your values and purpose. By nurturing this connection, you'll find a deeper sense of peace and grounding.

By embracing these invitations to rest, you'll discover a wellspring of renewed energy, a blossoming of creativity, and a radiant inner glow that exemplifies the true essence of feminine energy. Remember, dear friend, rest is not a sign of weakness; it's the foundation for a life overflowing with grace and strength.

[xyywrites]

Contextual Details in Description

When you add contextual depth to the little things around your characters, you can subtly reveal their emotions, their past, and even the plot itself without hitting readers over the head with it. Here’s how to do it. 👇

1. The Vase on the Table

Instead of just saying “There was a vase on the table,” you could add:

"A cracked vase sat on the table, half-filling with wilting daisies, the dried petals spilling onto the wood in a scatter of pale yellow."

This says a lot more, right? 👀 The broken vase suggests something is off. Maybe it’s been neglected or maybe it’s been damaged by something or someone. The wilting flowers signal that time has passed, that things are not as they should be. And the pale yellow petals spilling over could symbolize something fragile—emotions, perhaps, or relationships in the story that are falling apart. You’ve got a moment in just that vase.

2. The Book in Her Hand

Instead of saying “She held a book,” try:

"Her fingers curled around the edges of the leather-bound book like it was a lifeline, the faint smell of ink and paper clinging to the cover as if it had absorbed every secret she’d ever whispered into its pages."

Now, the book isn’t just an object—it’s an anchor for her emotional state. The “lifeline” suggests she’s in turmoil, possibly using the book to find comfort or distraction. The detail of the “smell of ink and paper” gives us sensory insight, while also implying that the book is well-worn, loved, or possibly even overused in moments of solitude. Suddenly, this book tells us something about her, too.

TL;DR

In literature, every description should serve multiple functions:

Setting the Scene – What does this detail tell us about the environment?

Revealing Character Emotion – How does the character interact with this object? Is it a source of comfort or pain?

Foreshadowing or Thematic Connection – Does this object hint at something bigger coming up?

[darqx]

Snakes on a post

Another particularly long answer dump since i, once again, have a backlog of things to potentially answer |D

❗️For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ

Got jumpscared with my own old art for a hot minute there LAUGHS.

(For those wondering, the naga doodle from here was attached to the ask)

That is every other Royal that exists in the Nether and also at least some of the demons that challenged him for his Royal title lol.

Believe me, no one was or is more surprised then me XD;

So, the thing about where Rire's ichor manifests is that it kinda exists and doesn't exist at the same time. Meaning that his upper back is where the manifestation point is anchored, BUT it can still manifest with a bit of space in between it and his back hence why it will manifest over his clothes and not through them.

So if you touch where the manifestation point is sans the ichor, than you are just straight up touching his back. With the ichor, he still gets sensory input from the tentacles to his back but it's a lot more soft and muted esp the further away it gets from him. As you've seen implied though, he would feel a very sharp pain if a great deal of damage was done to the ichor where it clusters at the manifestation point, since he'd DEF be feeling that straight in his back lol.

He is definitely a top and the only way he would bottom for anybody is if they somehow forced him to.

Ah i knew i'd answered this a long time ago [finally found it]! Holy crosses (those that have been blessed) can also burn him but they would need to be in contact with him the entire time. Being a Royal he also has more of a tolerance to these than normal demons.

Well, unless said person actually has the undeniable ability to make good on their words, Rire would just stand there rather genially with that little smile he sometimes has and let them finish.

And then he might use them as reverse suggestions for dealing with said person (why would you give him any ideas!!?)

both

In BTD canon it is quite possible that they actually haven't in person. But we are using creative license here haha.

Rire heals a lot faster than a human. Cain is not my character so I don't know how his stacks up.

I've grouped these asks cos they kind of have similar answers - 360° (jk sorry sorry to the second q that is just a very common spelling mistake and I couldn't resist XD; )

Now, even though we mashed all the characs together in BTD, they all actually come from different storylines and so their canons outside the "BTD canon" may differ. This tends to bleed in. With this in mind:

The rules of Rire's canon (eg the concept of Battle Royales and how to become a Royal) don't apply to Cain. Anyway, they don't live in the same place either.

Cain is canonically the oldest and most OP character in BTD lol so yes he is stronger than Rire - you might've noticed, but Rire is never in the same drawing as Cain voluntarily. I play with this along with the "natural weakness" aspect - which I've also referred to as scissors-paper-rock rules XD Basically; demons beat humans, angels beat demons (purely because demons have weakness against holiness).

It would (be insane) but I hope you are not looking at me to fulfil this :d

Not really

His coronation day is a public holiday in his sector so yes XD

Aww thank you very much for your interest! ≧(´▽｀)≦ It's really cool that some of you guys want to actually fund such a thing - I'd have thought you'd have enough of him killing you in BTD1 XD Unfortunately, I have no plans for a Rire game at the moment as I'm working on a webcomic which looks like it will take up all my free time (that being said, he will be in the webcomic at some point).

Nope! Although i can kinda see why you might think that lol.

Whatever that one is where he doesn't particularly care what someone else identifies as. It really makes no difference to him or how he will act.

There are viruses in the Nether that if contracted could potentially kill you, yes. Part of being a Royal is becoming a lot more robust than normal Demons though. As for if/when Rire dies, I dunno maybe either in a Battle Royale somewhere thousands of years down the line or by old age (which is rare for a Royal but not impossible if you play your cards right).

If you are asking if he has a heat/rut of some sort, he does not |D