#monsters like me do this to people. It's what I do and have been doing
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â WORLD ALONE âą
when you make a living in the bowels of the eternal holy city, nothing is ever personal. until you catch yourself wondering just how heavy of a crown that kremnoan prince actually bears.
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featuring; mydei x f!reader
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word count; 40.6k words (i'm sorry.....)
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tags; canon compliant, red light district, prostitution, doomed relationship, yearning, heavy angst (like,,, this is not an exaggeration i swear), implied/referenced past abuse, smut (MINORS DNI)
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notes; the very first mydei fic i've written, coming to you on tumblr dot com! i was wondering if the character limit is going to permit the existence of a monster wall of text like this, but surprisingly, it did! on ao3, this is actually a trilogy of fics, but part of me thought it really would have been better if it was posted in one go AJSJDHFSHD so here we are!!!! the title is also from lorde's world alone <3
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header art cr; chongguolyb on x
READ ON AO3
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 SMUT TAGS; vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, mating press, creampie, oral (f receiving), come eating, emotional sex, wall sex, really every smut scene is just so tender and melancholic
Despite its reputation as the city dearly loved by the sun, Okhema has its own share of misgivings. Youâve known since you first set foot within the borders of the Holy City that you have no place here. Even if it prides itself as a sanctuary for those whose homes were ravaged by the Black Tide, the reception for refugees offers none of the hospitality once promised to you. Perhaps those born and raised in the capitalâfar from the city states that have fallen prey to the eternal nightâwould rather not involve themselves with people like you. People that have seen the worst of what the impending calamity has in store. People who only wish to find some place to call home. But you donât condemn them from feeling the way they do. Okhemans treat all outsiders with an equal amount of disdain: the Kremnoans, the Dolosians, even the Aidonians. Then again, if your hometown suddenly has an influx of strangers pouring in from every part of the world, you would be alarmed by it as well. Thatâs why you try your best to stay in their good graces. Always. âBig Sis Thalia? Someoneâs looking for you.â Your session of early morning tea is quietly interrupted by a child named Nikolas. He peeks through the curtain of seashells separating your quarters from the rest of The House, eyes closed just to make sure heâs not intruding on anything. The boyâs discretion makes you laugh. âNik, itâs alright. Come in,â you insist and ever-so shyly, he does. Nikolas has been inside here before, but the bedazzled look in his eyes whenever he takes in the trinkets youâve decorated your space with is nothing short of amusing. You give him some time to gawk around as you finish the rest of your tea. âSorry,â he mumbles once he snaps out of it. âMother wanted me to tell you that the swordsman is here again. The one with the white hair?â You shake your head. âNik, Lord Phainon has done enough for the undercity that you should at least remember his name.â âY-Yes, him! Lord Phainon.â âOkay, did Elena tell you what he wants?â you ask, despite already hazarding a couple of reasons for his visit. âI doubt heâs here to avail of my services.â Unlike most boys his age, Nikolas doesnât get flustered by casual mentions of your line of work. After all, he was born in this very brothel. His mother raised him to treat all his big sisters with love and respect, and itâs hard not to dote on him because of it. âShe didnât say,â he sighs. âShould I tell the other big sisters to let him up here?â
âI donât see why not.â
Shortly after, another person parts the curtain of glittering shells by the entryway. Phainon lets himself inside with a polite look on his face, as if heâs walking into the Pantheonâs grand hall and not some common whoreâs quarters. âLord Phainon,â you address him with an inquisitive smile. âWhat brings you here?â
Phainonâs lips crack into a handsome smile. âLady Thaliaââ
That makes you groan. âPlease, you donât have to address me with that name. Youâre a friend.âÂ
âBut itâs only proper if Iâm here on the prospect of business, isnât it?âÂ
â...Forgive me, but the mere idea of doing business with you feels horrendously wrong. Iâm afraid I must declineââ
Phainon says your real name as a matter of throwing you off, and your face contorts with mild vexation. But now that he has your attention, he says, âYou donât have to worry. Iâm not here to seek the paradise that The House offers to all willing patrons. Itâs more likeâŠa referral of sorts.â You take in his words slowly, making sure thereâs no underlying wordplay. But you suppose the man is as direct as he can be with what heâs trying to say.Â
âA referral?â you echo with a snort. âNow, who could a Chrysos Heir like you be referring to a shoddy place like this? Your mere presence here is already enough to send Lady Aglaea into a fit of rage, you know. What more if you endorse our services to someone else?â
âIf that's the case, then Iâm afraid that you gravely misunderstand her,â Phainon chuckles softly. âBut I digress. I think it would be best for you to meet this person face-to-face rather than have me put in a word for him.â
âSo youâre basically asking if Iâm willing to accommodate whoever this is?â is your deadpan retort. âLord Phainon, when you work here in the undercity, making ends meet is difficult if you donât pull enough strings. Someone like me has no business refusing clientsââ
âYet you refused me?â he sighs dramatically.
âYou just said youâre not here for that! Can you please make up your mind?â
Phainon lets out a laugh he pulls straight from the pit of his stomach, and it makes you think that maybe you would have fallen for someone like him if your life had been more different, if fate had been kinder to you. But this is the reality you live in; a reality where youâd rather drown in the Black Tide than put your friendship with Phainon to the test. âAnyway,â he interjects once heâs done guffawing. âI take it that youâre agreeing to meet this friend of mine? I donât usually bring up The House to just anyone, but I think he might need the distraction. And the company.â Heaving a sigh, you fold your arms together. âI take it that you have no plans to even tell me your friendâs name?â
âIf I did that, you would probably decline in an instant,â Phainon laughs again, âwhich is perfectly fine in any case. I just want you to give him a chance first.â
â...Your description alone is already making me second guess.â
Placing a hand over his chest, he bows. âI swear on Kephaleâs name that this man will bring neither you nor the other residents of The House any harm. If he does, Iâll personally end him for you.â
That makes you arch an eyebrow. âSo youâre saying he has the capacity to do that?â
âYes, but apart from free will, intellect is another one of Kephaleâs greatest gifts to mankind.â Phainon rises back to his full height, eyes brimming with optimism as usual. âEven if my friend is free to hurt others, it doesn't mean he will. Amphoreus is past the age of barbaric violence, after all.âÂ
Thereâs something infuriating in how cheeky Phainonâs reasoning is, but heâs always been gifted with words. You suppose itâs alright to do him this favor, given that heâs the reason The House has yet to be cracked down on by the Council of Elders. If it werenât for Phainon, you and the other girls would have been forced back into the streets of the Holy City, with those Okhemans who seem to despise foreigners more than the Black Tide itself.Â
â...Fine. When is he coming?â you relent eventually, much to your dismay. âI donât have any patrons to accommodate this evening, so your timing is actually impeccableâsuspiciously so.â
The subtle jab does not go unnoticed. âWhy, I have nothing to do with that at all. But Iâll let him know. Thank you for your kind consideration, Lady Thalia.â
âIf you call me that one more timeâŠâ
Phainon eventually bids his farewell, not just to you but the rest of the girls in The House. Of course, they practically swoon from his unintentional charm. Everyone here loves that man to varying degrees, after all.Â
âBig Sister, should I help draw a bath for you?âÂ
The third person who crosses your seashell curtain today is a girl named Iris. Her voice is meek, as is her countenance, and youâre convinced that, whatever hell she escaped from, she must not be used to being able to speak as freely as she does now. âIris,â you sigh. âIâm not your master or anything like that. You donât have to draw me a bath.â
âB-But Lady Elena mentioned you were accommodating someone tonight,â she squeaks, embarrassment coloring her cheeks with warmth. âI just wanted to help you out, just like you did for me back thenâŠâ Her thoughtfulness makes you smile candidly. âAlright. If you insist.â
The straight affirmation makes her face light up, and the sight warms your heart. Iris constantly stammers with her words as she helps you prepare for the arrival of Phainonâs friend, but her nervousness is compensated for by her sincerityâsomething youâve come to enjoy as a staple ever since you started living at The House. Why live amongst the vicious Okhemans when not even the Dawn Device can light up their obscured view of foreigners like you? Itâs much better to stay with your newfound sisters here in the shadows. Even if youâre lifetimes away from the vast ocean you once called home, what you found here is the closest thing.
Youâd be a fool to trade it for anything else.
Evenings have always been long in Okhemaâs red light district.Â
Itâs a place devoid of the usual rules they follow up there on the surface. Absolutely anything goes in the undercity, and the promise of secrecy is enticing enough even for the overworlders to come crawling down into the darkness. You know itâs hypocritical of those Okhemans to shun outsiders whenever they feel like riding their moral high horses, only to succumb to the pleasures of the flesh when itâs convenient for them. But itâs even more hypocritical of you to despise them in equal measure, just for you to accept their money as if itâs your only lifeline. Debauchery is only second to the stench of hypocrisy that lingers in the stale air of the undercity. But the only way to survive here is to never take anything to heart.
Much like the fact that Phainonâs friend still hasnât shown up past midnight.Â
Youâre no stranger to missed appointmentsâif you can even call them that to begin with. While there are some depraved men who would do anything for a minute of your time, there are also others who donât think youâre worth a moment of theirs. At the end of the day, youâre just some prostitute they can do as they please with. Iris waits with you out of courtesy. Even if the poor girl is better off resting in bedâgiven that her last client did quite a number on herâshe insisted on keeping you company. But when the fourth hour ticks past with no sign of Phainonâs friend, she gives up and obeys when you plead with her to get some sleep.Â
Eventually, the ruckus youâve grown accustomed to hearing around The House dulls into shared whispers between your sisters who are thoughtful enough to keep their voices down. The location of the red light district allows for the illusion of night without the threat of the Black Tide. Here, anyone can fall into a deep sleep without the sun razing their eyes.
âI didnât think you would agree.â
Elenaâs voice is soft like thunder rumbling in the distance, strangely comforting to hear. She joins you in the room youâve reserved for tonightâs tryst. Titans know youâd never bring patrons to your own quarters. Still, as the head of The House, itâs only natural for her to make a place meant for sinners to feel like home for girls with nowhere else to go. âTo what?â you ask, deciding to play along.
She smiles before taking a seat next to you on the bed. âTo Lord Phainonâs outrageous request. You seem like youâd do anything but take anyone associated with him as a patron.âÂ
âThatâs what I thought, too. But you know how convincing he can be.â
âVery much so.â The two of you share a laugh in the dim lights of the lanterns. If there are any people who know how much Phainon has helped The House, itâs you and Elena.Â
âThat boy is a bit of a gray character, isnât he? A hero of the people, telling his friend to relieve some tension at a place like this?â Elena shakes her head in disbelief. âIâd understand why that friend of his is a no-show. Phainon is the only overworlder crazy enough to not have a bone to pick with us bottom dwellers.â
You hum. âNot so sure about that. I heard that Penelopeâs client for tonight is a wealthy merchant that has no problem with her dominating him into oblivion.âÂ
âDo me a favor and exclude the nymphomaniacs from the conversation, please?â
Despite his status as both an overworlder and a Chrysos Heir, the main reason why Phainon even involves himself with the undercity is Elena. The two of them came from the same small village at the edge of the worldâlong forgotten, long burned to ashes. Aedes Elysiae is a place youâve only learned about when Elena took you in. While you donât bother with the specifics, itâs comforting to know that Phainon is well aware of the gripes that come with being a foreigner. Youâd call him a hypocrite too, for cozying up to the overworlders, but heâs much too kind to everyone he encounters. Coupled with the fact that he helped save you and Elena from the clutches of the old master of The House, you suppose he deserves your respect. âDid he tell you who it is though?â To be fair, curiosity is starting to eat at you. âI canât think of a single soul that would even consider Phainonâs suggestion. Itâs as you said: no one is as crazy as he is.â Though Elena is good at masking her thoughts from the others, you can read her like an open book. Even if she only hums in response, thatâs already an answer on its own. âFine. Keep your secrets then,â you grumble. âSo can I wash off my makeup now? Though I feel a bit bad since Iris helped out. She even did my nails.â âYou know, that girl has taken a liking to you the same way you did with me back in the day.â âYou wish.â Elena shakes her head endearingly. âNo need to wish for something thatâs already true. Oh, but I suggest you wait just a while longer.â That warrants an immediate groan. âWhy? The entire districtâs asleep by now.â âExactly.â Like she always does, Elena gets up without elaborating further. She makes a beeline toward the entrance with a knowing look on her face and, without so much as another word, the head of The House leaves you to your own devices. Great. Speaking with Elena isnât so different from speaking with Phainon. You wonder if they have a shared trait where they can rile you up without trying. Is it something exclusive to Aedes Elysians? Thank Titans, her son Nikolas hasnât manifested anything similar. You wouldnât be able to handle three troublemakers. In the midst of your musing, you hear the sound of footsteps down the hall. You typically wouldnât mind the noise, given that this brothel houses about a dozen and a half of your sisters. But each step sounds deliberateâstrong and sure, like a person who knows the value of their presence. You initially assume itâs Elena, but have an inkling that the footsteps are much too heavy to be hers. Just when you decide to get up and check who it is, you come face-to-face with the perpetrator the moment you parted the velvet curtains. The man that stands before you is more of a legend than anything else. Youâve heard about him from tall tales that Kremnoan patrons have shared out of the blue. The Last Prince. The Immortal Lion. While the reputation of those who hail from Castrum Kremnos precedes them, you didnât think theyâd be so devoted to their Prince until that day. Your patron spoke about him as if he was a Titan himself. But now that youâre faced with none other than Mydeimos in the flesh, everything has started to make sense. He towers over you with ease, his presence effortlessly domineering. The placid look on his face as he sizes you up makes you feel like youâre on opposite sides of the battlefield, and youâd rather not fight a seasoned warrior whoâs nearly twice your sizeâ âHello,â he greets surprisinglyâŠnormally. âMy name is Mydeimos, but Iâd rather you call me Mydei. You are?â His directness makes you blink up at him. You didnât think he was the type to introduce himself. He seems like someone who expects every person he crosses paths with to know his name. After all, Mydeimos made waves when he brought the Kremnoan Detachment in Okhema and helped defend the city against the mad Titan, Nikador, among other feats. âThalia,â you tell him your working name while keeping a straight face, trying not to let him see just how befuddled you are. âItâs nice to meet you.â
âThe Deliverer has told me about you a couple of times in passing,â he tells you, all while taking in the interior of the dimly lit room. âWhile I was initially against his proposal, one thing led to another and Iâve found myself right where he wants me.â It takes you a moment to figure out who this Deliverer is. âOh. Lord Phainon can be quite persuasive.â âPersuasive is an understatement,â the blond huffs before affixing you with that golden-eyed stare. âSo, how will this go? Iâm afraid I am wholly unfamiliar with how you operate in the undercity. IâŠdonât want to overstep any boundaries.â That only serves to confuse you even more. Youâve been in the business long enough to know that men are disgusting scoundrels one way or another. Most of them would just pay to use your body and not even say a word when theyâre done. Theyâd never even think twice about you since youâre working for them at that moment, after all. Itâs a lifestyle youâre not proud of. Youâve never felt more empty than when a man pumps you full of his seed with no regard for your wellbeing. But this is all you know. All youâre good for. And you love Elena and your sisters too much to leave The House behind. Then this man walks into the room with overstepping boundaries as his main concern instead of getting impatient to fuck you against the closest solid surface. Still, you tread carefully. âBefore anything else, Iâd like to clarify what exactly it is you came here for,â you say, proud of how firm you sound in spite of how anxious you are. âWe canât work on anything if I donât know where to start, Lord Mydeimos.â He sighs. âAs I said, just Mydei is fine. And didn't the Deliverer already tell you?â You cast him a pointed look. âLoâ Mydei, we both know Lord Phainon well enough to know that he tends to exaggerate certain details. Heâs not the one paying for my servicesâyou are. So I ask you againâŠâ In a show of confidence, you step closer to him, eyes drifting to the ornate necklace sitting across his throat. It was a band of dark metal inlaid with gilded sapphires gleaming in the waning light. You muster enough courage to curl your fingers around it and tug. He yields disarmingly easily, grunting in contempt but with no signs of protest. For some reason, it fills you with a strange sense of accomplishment.
âWhat are you here for?â you say, voice barely above a whisper. His jaw clenches for a moment, as if biting something down. Though you try your best to keep your eyes focused on his gaze of molten fire, you canât help but notice the way his posture shifts to accommodate the compromising position you forced him into. Mydeiâs body is as flawless as people say it isânot a single scar denting his strong, rippled flesh. This is the physique of a man who has gone to war far more times than you can imagine. There is no blade in the world sharp enough to cut him down, and you quietly revel in the detail that Kephale personally took to mold this statue of a man. âIâŠâ  He starts, but hesitates still. Feeling emboldened, you caress Mydeiâs face gentlyâtracing the bright red marks that bleed from his right eye before swirling in deliberate patterns across the rest of his body. He shudders at your touch and you flash him a lopsided smile. Then and there, you pull up a mental catalogue of every single thing youâve heard about Mydei in passing. What the people love about him, what they hate, what they wish they could emulate for themselvesâall of it. Because your line of work requires you to deduce what will make your patrons unravel at the seams in a mere glance. Thatâs how you decide to play your cards: out of a plethora of guesses about their character. From the way Mydei has acted in the five minutes youâve been together, itâs painstakingly obvious that he bears the weight of a crown he does not even want. Which makes things much easier for you. âGo on,â you murmur, letting your breath fan across his face. âThereïżœïżœs no need for hesitation here. When youâre with me⊠âYou donât have to be anything else but mine.â While it always works on your more eager patrons, saying something so intrepid to a Chrysos Heir is near-unthinkable. A shot in the dark. You arenât even sure if Mydei is into being addressed that way by a complete stranger, but you see it againâthat not-so subtle click of his jaw, which tells you more than enough. The tension hangs heavy in the air. You can barely breathe without feeling your heart race erratically. Thereâs an unspoken fervor in Mydeiâs gaze as his lips quiver like he has something to say.
But you quickly realize that there is little need for words when it comes to someone like him. Mydeiâs intentions translate much better when he puts them into action. He barely gives you any time to process what was happening. All you know is that thereâs nothing sweeter than the moment the distance between you disappears, and his warm lips slant across yours. The kiss catches you off-guard for only a moment. Most of your patrons donât bother. In the red light district, kissing is far too intimate for most of them. Yet Mydei doesnât even think twice about it. His warmth permeates into you as Mydei holds you as close as he canâpressing you flush against his rigid body. Itâs a dizzying feeling, but one you canât dwell on for long when you feel his tongue prodding at your lips. You grant Mydei entrance far too easily, letting him map the cavern of your mouth with the slick appendage. He pulls a moan out of you, and in turn, you feel a strong hand firmly pushing your head further into the kiss. The feel of his cold gauntlet in your hair should have scared you, or at least, made you wary. But his armor is of little consequence when Mydei holds you like youâre the most precious thing in the entire world. You donât recall the last time youâve felt so lightheaded from a patronâs kiss. You donât even remember the last time any of them even kissed you. Thatâs how you know that this encounter with Mydei will cement itself into your memory whether or not you want it to. Not just because heâs a Prince, but because he makes it a point to remind you that things like this are supposed to feel good. You gasp his name against his lips, but Mydei devours the words before you can get them out. That simple show of dominance already has you clenching your thighsâa reaction that isnât lost on the perpetrator himself. In another attempt to catch you completely by surprise, Mydeiâs armor-clad hands travel to your thighs, where the high slits of your skirt conveniently part to accommodate the intrusion. Your doughy flesh is hot against his gauntlets and you nearly whimper when he grabs the meat of your assâthe sharp tips digging into your sensitive skin. Despite your mind being thrown into a haze, you still catch on to what he wants. You curl one of your thighs around his hipsâlips still melded together as Mydei helps hoist you up. Once heâs balanced your weight sufficiently, youâre able to cage him between your legs. Still, the both of you know who truly holds the reins. Mydei traces a path of flames along the hollow of your throat, murmuring words in a language you canât understand. When he presses you against the nearest wall and takes full advantage of the leverage, you canât ever hope to resist. He doesnât say anything more, content with swathing your skin in reds and blues from each bruising kiss. The man hasnât even done much, but youâre already this willing to let him do as he pleases. Itâs difficult to miss just how much slick has pooled between your thighs, and the anticipation makes you shiver. When was the last time you were this eager to let a patron have his way with you? âHold on,â he whispers before gently nibbling on your bottom lip. âI need to feel you.â Head still fuzzy from his ministrations, you barely notice when Mydei maneuvers you to the bed, setting you down as gently as he can. The cool sheets are a stark contrast to your fever-pitched skin. But you barely pay attention when you notice Mydei pressing a knee onto the bed, molten gold irises entirely transfixed on you as he unlatches the gauntlets from his arms.Â
His words only begin to dawn on you then. I need to feel you. Did you excite a reaction so intense that Mydei felt such a carnal need to touch you with his bare handsâskin to skin, and nothing in between? You donât care if his armor clatters uselessly onto the floor. Not when Mydei surges forward to capture your lips again and nudges your legs apart. Saliva trickles past the corner of your mouth as another moan is lost to his fervent kiss.  Contrary to your initial beliefs, Mydei is not the legend many think he is. In fact, he is just as human as anyone elseâthose large, hot hands of his are proof of that. Mydei spreads you apart before him like he wants to take in every inch of youâto devour you with his gaze.
Heâs not much of a talker, which poses no problem, as youâve been with enough men who think far too much of themselves. Fools often compensate for their poor performance with senseless talk. But thereâs none of that with Mydei, whose gaze alone can melt you into nothingness. (You hope he knows that you're all too willing to surrender all that you have for a taste of him.) When Mydei leans closer, you expect another kissâeven pucker up in sheer anticipation. But his first display of petulance comes in a small smirk that plays at his lips. The Prince quickly evades you to nose at your collarbone, licking at the motley of bruises he left in his wake. Almost like a quiet apology despite himself. His discretion makes you squirm, and it distracts you from the fact that heâs undoing the laces holding your dress together. When the fabric comes apart, heâs granted a generous view of your breasts, and the noise that escapes him would make you think heâs unearthed some holy relic from a past gone by. Mydei wastes no time peppering your chest with the degree of affection heâs lathered along the column of your neck. Itâs like he means for every biting kiss to leave a mark, a lasting reminder of your time with him for days to come. The moment he takes one of your pert nipples into his mouth, you barely contain your own sounds, and you wonder if youâll lose yourself completely once heâs gone all the way. Unlike the cold bite of his gauntlets, Mydeiâs bare hands are warmer than the unsetting sun on the surface. He touches you with the intention of committing each dip and crevice of your body to memory. You feel him pawing at your breasts, his nails digging into the curve of your ass, and when those wandering hands settle along the curve of your hips, you involuntarily buck up into him. Itâs a reaction that makes him pause, those golden eyes like gilded lanterns in the night flickering to yours in a heartbeat. Your breath hitches as your gazes meet. Strange enough, you find the eye contact much more intimate than whatever heâs doing to your body. Wordlessly, Mydei stops suckling at your breasts to sink lower on the bed. The man doesnât even bother removing your skirt, content with nudging it out of the way before settling himself between your lovely thighs.
When you realize what heâs trying to do, you tense up for all the wrong reasons. You know what people say about the whores of The House. No matter how many times you cleanse yourselves with Phagousaâs blessing of the stream, your bodies will remain tainted by the touch of all the men youâve let inside of you. You should know better. The Titan of the Sea is much closer to you than meets the eye, but if you stay in Okhema for far too long, you start to forget what youâve been taught at homeâyour real home. âYour mind is wandering.â Mydeiâs quiet voice snaps you out of your reverie, making your face flush. But he quickly dispels the lingering shame when his soft fingers prod at your mound. He spreads your lips apart with caution, like he doesnât wish to hurt you. And when he has a firsthand look of how drenched you are, he barely stifles a groan. He doesnât comment on your momentary distraction again, thank Titans. However, he momentarily robs you of your capacity to speak when he hoists your thighs up his broad shoulders, not even thinking twice before licking a long, deliberate stripe across your dripping cunt. Your nerves are set alight every which way. Mydei repeats the motions of his tongue in dizzying succession, even taking the time to trace tight circles around your sensitive nub. It has you gushing in an instant, and Mydei is all too eager to lap up every drop of your essence. So tender in the way he pleases you, you canât help but tangle your fingers into his fiery blond hairâpressing his face even closer to your sopping heat. Mydei licks and slurps at you cunt like some mere mortal gifted ambrosia for the first time. Nothing makes sense about the passion heâs exhibiting for a complete stranger, but youâre too intoxicated from pleasure to deny yourself his devotion. You know youâre doomed the moment those thick fingers start to gather the slick thatâs collected along your seamâworking in tandem with his sinful tongue as he presses the lone digit inside your tight cunt. Your toes curl at the blissful intrusion, and youâre certain youâve pulled at his hair enough for it to hurt. Mydei doesnât exhibit any signs that he particularly minds. In fact, he even moans into your wet heat, making come hither motions with his finger that stimulates your walls in all the right ways. The premise of foreplay has been lost on you for a long time, and getting someone like him to do all of this without a second thought makes you wonder if this is all a dream. But then the Prince slides in another of his thick digits inside you, anchoring you to the shores of reality as he fucks you on his fingers and feasts on you with his mouth. The way he grips harshly onto your thighs ought to hurt, but the only thing that spills from your lips is pure ecstasy. Mydei doesnât lick between your folds with reckless abandon. He makes sure each flick of his tongue is slow, dragging, purposefulâenough to render you squirming beneath his touch. He builds up that steady burn flickering in the pit of your stomach. The more he tongues at your clit, fishes for that patch of spongy flesh that makes you keen just right, the closer he brings you to the precipice. You donât know how he can possibly tell, but when you start feeling that blissful release starting to boil beneath your skin, Mydei noticeably amps up the effort. His fingers barely retract from your cunt, in favor of driving those thick digits even deeper into you. That unfairly talented mouth latches onto your nub and Mydei concentrates all his attention to helping you reach that high you donât always see with most patrons. The stimulation is too good, too much.
Youâre not used to this, not used to him. You thought that the stars had left Amphoreus when Aquila closed their eyes. But all you see are a dozen constellations dancing across your blurry vision when you come apart on Mydeiâs tongue. He holds your hips down as you ride out that blissful highâmaking sure you feel it course through your veins and shoot straight through your skull. From his hedonistic stare alone, you would know heâs far from done with you. When the dust settles, you catch your breath in short gasps, pulse thundering in the confine of your ribs. You donât immediately realize that Mydei is in the process of taking off the rest of his armor. Though you canât help the soft giggle you make when you hear him curse out the offending garments when they refuse to yield to him. So, despite having little to no feeling in your legs, you scoot closer to the edge of the bedâundoing the latches that hold his belt and leg plates in place. Mydei awkwardly steps out of them, and you try your best to stifle your laughter; really, you do! âI donât understand why this is so amusing for you,â he grumbles. All you can offer him is a grin. âYouâre just notâŠthe person I expected.â âHm? Care to elaborate?â âI think you would enjoy it more if we pick up where we left off.â The Prince doesnât protest. Instead, he lets you pull him back to the bed not without stealing another kiss that grows more heated, more desperate with each passing second. Even if youâre still feeling the tingling sensation in the wake of your last orgasm, youâre eager to return the favor. Mydei doesnât object when you undo the clasp of his trousers. The fabric feels expensiveâbefitting of a man of royal lineage. But the way he sheds the rest of his clothes makes their value feel inconsequential when he has eyes on one thing only. You. Thereâs a teasing edge to the way you kiss him as you grasp his throbbing length. He feels hot and heavy in your hand, thick veins jutting along the underside. The girth of him troubles you for a moment, making you consider retrieving that jar of lubricant safety stashed in one of the nearby drawers. Before you can voice out the suggestion, however, Mydei rests his forehead on your shoulder, breathing heavily as you pump his cock in your feeble little hands. The show of vulnerability startles you a bit. Is he so deprived of relief that he crumbles the moment itâs given to him? Normally, this is when you would crawl between a patronâs legs and suck him off before letting him fuck you. But this entire session with Mydei is anything but normal. No man has ever gone down on you the way he has, and from the way he shudders so adorably from your hands alone tells you he needs release much more than he lets on. So, you plant both of your knees on either side of his hips to straddle him comfortably, and with all the strength you can muster, you push the Prince onto his back. Although you do fail to account for the manâs rapid reflexes. The moment he feels the extra force, his hand is quick to seize your wristâtight enough that it actually hurts. âM-MydeiâŠ?â The hint of fear in your voice seems to snap him out of it, and his ironclad grip loosens. Mydei stares up at you apologetically. âForgive me. ItâsâŠa force of habit.â
Oh, right. First and foremost, he is a warrior. A Kremnoan Prince. And though he has no business floating inside of your head at the moment, the conversation you had with Phainon earlier resurfaces in your head. Even if my friend is free to hurt others, it doesn't mean he will. The dissonance between what you know about the battle-hungry spirit of Kremnoans and the tenderness that Mydei has shown you so far only serves to puzzle you even more. Phainon was right to assume you would turn him down if he told you that the friend in question is Mydeimos of all people. BecauseâŠwhat else would you expect from a man whoâs known war more than heâs ever known love? Youâve lied with warriors before, and soldiers, and even some city guards. None of the people who have tasted what itâs like to stand on the battlefield have ever been kind to someone they only think of as a hole to fuckâa source of relief and none else. But Mydei? In the short time youâve known him, heâs convinced you that no harm will come to you as long as youâre in his company. Instead of fearing for your life, you feelâŠsafe. Something you consider a luxury for someone in your line of work. You feel like thereâs something twisted in the fact that youâre relieved just from the thought that he isnât here to kill you. But too many of your sisters have lost their lives to pigs who want to silence them for good. Unfaithful husbands that didnât want their wives to find out about their infidelity. Important societal figures that wanted no trace of their illicit activities. After all, anything goes in the undercity. Even the death of a prostituteâa foreigner, at that. âYouâre thinking too deeply again.â Count on Mydei to catch on to your little tells. Another thing you didnât expect about him is how easily he can read you. Or maybe youâve always been an open book. Itâs just that your patrons donât usually give as much of a damn as Mydei does. âItâs nothing,â you chuckle, mentally chiding yourself for being so distracted today. âYouâre just⊠I canât even put it into words. I might just be a bit overwhelmed is all.â You canât tell him that you canât wrap your head around the fact that youâre servicing a Chrysos Heir. It feels all sorts of inappropriate. Mydei studies you for only a moment before he rises back into a sitting position. Youâre about to protestâto let him let you please him this time. But he doesnât seem interested in heeding your quiet request.Â
He manhandles you in a way that swiftly switches your positions and you find yourself back beneath him. The lanterns cast a faint halo around his muscular glory. Even in the dim light, the red marks on Mydeiâs skin glow like veins of fire beneath the earth. He pins you in place not only with his strong hands, but also with eyes like liquid sunlight. âItâs as you said before,â he murmurs quietly before leaning closer to your ear. The warmth of his breath tickles your neck, and you shudder as he presses a soft, chaste kiss on your temple. âWhen youâre with me, you donât have to be anything else but mine.â The fact that he just used your words against you makes heat shoot straight to your core. Mydei makes the crude yet attractive motion of spitting into his hand before lathering his cock with saliva. Your mind whispers a reminder about that lubricant you were just thinking about, but thereâs something more carnal in the thought that heâs going to loosen you up with his spit alone. Yet despite the need burning in his eyes, each movement he makes is weighted with caution. You feel as if heâs compensating for that knee-jerk reaction from earlierâsomething youâd tell him is past you, and that he doesnât have to treat you like fragile glass. But again, the words evaporate on your tongue when you feel the head of his thick cock by your entrance. Mydei lets out another shuddering breath, nudging your knees apart before rubbing his length along the seam of your cunt. It glistens with spit and slick, and you pull him even closer to let him know what it is that you want. The abrupt tug you make on his arm disrupts his center of gravity, and Mydei nearly topples into you. But of course his reflexes work in time yet again and suddenly your faces are but a hairâs breadth apart. Youâve said it before and youâll say it again: eye contact is a thousand times more intimate than the act of sex itself. He breathes out a word from that unfamiliar language yet again. The way it rolls off his tongue is soft, tender in a way that it almost hurts. Like something meant to be heard by a person close to his heartânot some whore heâll probably never see again. You close your eyes and his lips find yours. Ever-so gently, he pushes himself in. Everything about Mydei is difficult to process. From his presence to his attitude to the sheer girth of himâyou had to take a moment to recalibrate yourself to every single one. You clutch the sheets tight enough that they start to pull off the edge of the bed. The intrusion is sharp, but not uncomfortable. Not when he eases inch by delicious inch into you with the patience of a saint. While he doesnât coo and coddle you, his eyes are expressive enough to let you know of his concern. You even feel him start to withdraw, possibly out of fear that you wouldnât be able to take him, but you hold on to his forearm to keep him in place.
âI do not wish to hurt you,â Mydei whispers. You shake your head vigorously. âYouâre doing everything but.â That doesnât immediately quell the doubt on his face, but Mydei presses forwardâslowly, slowly until his hips are flush against yours. All of a sudden, you forget how to breathe. Heâs⊠huge inside you. Spreading your walls so far apart, you wonder how you were even able to accommodate his size. Youâve never been so filled to the brim that tears nearly well in your eyes because of how good he feelsâ âFuckâŠâ Hearing him voice his own blissed out delight and seeing the euphoric look on his face makes you involuntarily clench around him. Itâs a reaction met with a snarl from the man currently eclipsing your smaller frame. Mydei makes the motions to pull out slowly, only to buck his hips with unforgiving force. The switch-up blindsides you for a moment, lips gaping from a soundless moan. When the Prince catches on to how much you like it, he hammers into you relentlesslyâpushing his fat cock desperately deeper into your slick sex. Your arms curl around his broad shoulders, fingers seeking purchase along the rippling flesh of his muscles. The sinew of his back shifts with each thrust, making you mewl his name pathetically as Mydei drowns you in the heat of him. There are no words shared between you. Only gasps and moans lost in the wet squelch of flesh. Youâre mindful enough to keep it down, and so is he. But even if the red light district is fast asleep, you and Mydei are only getting started. He doesnât quite fuck into you the way youâre used to. The intensity is there, but so is the unbridled passion. It feels like something that isn't yours, but Mydei gives it to you again and again and again until you have no choice but to claim it as your own. To take him as yours. (Even just for tonight.)
Your nails dig in sharply into his rigid skin, but the fact that he has an indestructible body makes you throw all caution to the wind. Where other men would bleed, he would only use it as a means to push ever-so deeply. As if Mydei isnât already pounding you into the bed, he grasps your chin and meets your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. He spreads you on his cock like he was made for you, and you alone. You can feel him so far inside of you that you fear itâll take days to sweat him out. The nature of your work requires you to never get too attached to any of your clients, which used to be as easy as breathing. None of the men you encounter are worth remembering and you thought that none of them ever will be. But when itâs a prince who kisses you like a lover and holds you like his queen, how are you supposed to put up a fight? Mydeiâs pace eventually starts to lose its sound rhythm. From the sharp breaths he takes to the fact that his eyes seem to be going in and out of focus, you can tell that heâs close to the edge. Who are you to deny him that? Your fingers tangle in his hair yet again and you whisper every sort of expletive in the book. You fuck me so good. Can feel you throbbing inside me. Come on, Mydeimos, I know youâre almost there. Please, please, pleaseâ That does just the trick. Mydei reaches the apex of bliss with a sharp hiss. But instead of finishing inside you, he musters up the strength to pull out and lets his white hot emission coat the sheets instead. You don't realize right away, but when you see the pearlescent essence of his cum on the sheets, your heart sinks. âW-Why did youâŠ?âÂ
You donât know why you sound so miserable at the idea of his seed not being deep inside of you. The mere thought of a manâs spend dripping from your cunt repulsed you to no end. But Mydei has a knack for being the sole exception to many things. Heâs quick to wipe the tears that trickle across your face, thumb swiping gently across your soft cheek. âI⊠I do not wish to burden you with having to bear my child. And I have my own reasons for not wanting to sire an heir at this point in time.â âButâŠâ Mydei continues, having not heard you protest. âKremnoan children are also difficult to bear, according to many mothers Iâve spoken to before. The last thing I want is for you toââ âMydeimos,â you sigh in exasperation, grabbing his face so that he would pay attention. âIâve been sterilized long before I met you, so you neednât fret about any children growing inside me.â The silence that follows is deafening, and it makes you want to bury your head in sand. Mydei is too baffled to speak right away, and you don't fault him for it. The rumors about women at The House have been floating around for a while, but none of you didn't want to sow any more conflicts than there already are. Instinctively, you trail your fingers along your navel. Though the scars have long been healed by Phagousaâs blessing, you remember what you lost like it was just yesterday. âWe canât bear any children because the previous head of The House took that away from us,â you murmurâmemories, old but still painful flashing in the forefront of your mind. âSo please donât concern yourself with trivial things like that. I only want to provide the most out of your experience.â Your chest aches at your own words. Itâs not that youâre dying to have children of your own. Nikolas being the first and last child to be born here is more than enough for you. Children should never have to grow up in the darkness anyways. Mydei frowns. âWhy do you speak of yourself like youâre nothing but an object made for my enjoyment?â âAm I not?â He doesnât answer. Instead, he pulls you uprightâanger glowing in his golden eyes. It doesnât scare you. Somehow, you know the ire in his gaze is not directed at you. But despite the obvious shift in his mood, Mydei kisses you again with nothing but passion imbued in his lips. He quickly melts away the bitterness dredged up by those memories he unknowingly dug up into the surface. The faith youâve put in him tonight is phenomenal, especially when you allow him back between your thighs despite what you just discussed. You donât understand how heâs still hard after releasing so much of his emission earlier. But if thereâs one thing you know about Kremnoans, itâs that their stamina is unparalleled. Unlike the first time, Mydei doesnât rut into you hard and fast. Everything about this is slow and sensual, as if he wants to mold your cunt into the shape of him. He presses your thighs into your chest, tilting your body at just the right angle so he can let his cock hit even deeper. âMydeiâŠâ His name sounds strained, like youâre choking on your own voice. âPlease.â You donât know what youâre begging for. You donât know what you even want at this point. But Mydei heeds your unspoken wishes anyway. He folds you further into the bed in a way that makes you feel like his desire for you is inescapable. The position youâre in is meant for lovers trying for a child, to make sure the seed takes and bears fruit. You two are nothing but strangers basking in each otherâs bodies deep in the darkness of the undercity.Â
But even if you can never have children of your own, thereâs something oddly comforting in the fact that Mydei fucks into you like this anyway. Like youâre worth more than a bottom dweller lost to the shadows. Your orgasm crests without much bravado either. Itâs straightforward, having been exacerbated by the Prince rubbing your clit as he nearly breaches a place inside of you that has never been reached by anyone else. It feels intrusive at first, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand in instinctive wariness. But as the head of his cock continues to drag along your spongy flesh, as he keeps hitting that sinfully sweet spot, your caution begins to fray at the seams. You embrace him with a quiet sob, tight walls squeezing his cock for all heâs worth. And then you fall off the edge of ecstasy itself. Itâs much different from when you came undone from his mouth. That felt like you were reaching for stars that burst in the back of your eyelids. This feels like coming back home.
Mydei murmurs yet another string of words that are beyond your range of understanding, each one sounding more vulnerable than the last. And with one last, stuttering thrust, he burstsâcoating your walls in the warmth of his release. He fills you to the brim, pumping you full of his seed until it drips out of your cunt with his cock still flush inside you. The sensation is filthy but not in a way that you despise. You even move your hips to let him fuck his cum deeper inside you. When Mydei notices, he lets out a sharp laugh. âI didnât thinkâŠyouâd still be this eager.â You donât say anything in returnâor more like, you canât. The sensation of him filling you up has rendered you into a mindless deviant. Only his cock can stoke the fire still raging inside you. So you do your best to entice him. While you loathe the idea at first, you slip his cock out of your soiled cunt. Mydei watches your every move with rapt attention and a growl nearly tears through his chest when you get on your knees, facing away from him before presenting your ass for the taking. His seed trickles out of you and onto the sheets. No man would be sane enough to resist the same display of seduction. âAre you sure you want to provoke me like this?â he warns. âThe woman in charge of this place told me I should be gone by sunrise.â Your mind doesnât quite register the fact that Elena herself imposed that restrictionâtoo desperate to be speared on his cock once more. The sun doesnât even rise in a place like this. âI donât care,â you whimper, tugging him closer to you. âMydei, fuck me more.â Mydei looks up at the ceiling, as if praying for some sort of deliverance. âWhat am I going to do with you?â
Fortunately for you, the Prince surrenders far too easily to the desires of the flesh. The two of you go at it with no end in sight. Mydei proves to live up to the Kremnoan stamina thatâs grown recently popular amongst your sisters. And despite the room smelling of sex and depravity alike, he doesnât relentâcommitted to fulfilling your desires until youâre completely spent. Youâre the first one to tap out, as expected. Mydei didnât seem finished with you at first, but when he finally notices the mess heâs made of your body, his rationality comes back to the surface. He lays your head on the pillow gently, positioning the rest of your body upright once heâs done wiping down the evidence of his time with you. Mydei knows youâre not quite asleep when your eyes slowly flutter in confusion, and he sighs before leaning forward to kiss your forehead. âCan I ask something?â âHmmâŠ?â Hopefully, that translates to a yes. âWhatâs your name? Your real name.â âMmmhâŠâ On a regular day, you would think twice before giving that information out so freely. Your line of work is more dangerous than it seems, and the most basic precaution is to never give patrons your real name. But you donât usually get your brains fucked into mush on regular days either, so you suppose Elena can forgive you for the lapse in judgement. Mydei repeats your name with a hint of fondness in his voice. You donât quite hear it, given that youâre halfway to the land of slumber.
âThank you⊠Your⊠has been⊠splendid.â What was thatâŠ? Youâre too far gone to give his words another conscious thought. Instead, you dream of a man with eyes hewn from pure starlight. Of a life you could have with him if only you hadnât been born with the lives you had. But like all dreams do, they cease to exist the moment you open your eyes.Â
âB-Big Sister, how do you make this much in one night?â This is the first thing Iris asks when you step into the pavilion. Well, youâre not sure if itâs even morning. Itâs difficult to tell here in the undercity. Still feeling the lasting throb of a headache, you gaze at Iris with a befuddled look. âWhat are you talking about?â Itâs only then that you realize a handful of your other sisters have gathered around the large table in the middle of the room, where bags upon bags of gold overflow on the marble surface. You stare at them with a nonplussed expression, not sure why they think all this finery belongs to youâ Mydei. âAlright, girls, give poor Thalia some space.â Sometimes, youâre grateful for Elenaâs timely interventions. While some of your sisters bemoan the lack of an explanation for thisâŠmassive influx of currency, they all have enough courtesy to step out when itâs needed. Shortly after, you enjoy a meal that Elena already prepared for you beforehandâone glass of pomegranate juice and a plate of golden honeycakes. âIâve never seen you that spent before,â the head of The House snickers to herself. âThat man did a number on you now, did he?â You would have glared at her, if only her cooking wasnât so good. âElena, shouldnât we practice the art of minding our own business?â âTechnically, youâre working for my business, yes?â This woman can really be insufferable sometimes.Â
Thankfully, Elena gives you enough grace for the next several minutes. You get to finish your food without so much as a quip on her end. But just when you think sheâs let you off the hook, she has the gall to ask: âAnd youâre sure you havenât fallen in love with that Prince?â Elenaâs preposterous words nearly make you choke on your drink. âIf I start falling for every man that shows me an ounce of kindness, then I wouldâve been long dead, Elena. You know that men who mask their intentions are worse than those who are outright scoundrels.â âBut is he?â â...What?â âA man who masks his intentions?â Her question is met with a puzzled stare. âOf course notââ âThen why not let yourself fall for the kind man?â Elena chuckles.Â
âBecause heâs a Chrysos Heir? He has much more pressing concerns than some random woman in the red light district. If the lesser men that have had me never even thought twice about me, why would he?â Elena shrugs. âOnly you can answer that, Iâm afraid.â Eventually, one of your sisters ends up calling Elena for an urgent matter. You donât quite hear what itâs about, but the head of The House steps out of the pavilion to leave you to your devices⊠Or to your heaps of gold, in this case. You still donât know what youâre supposed to do with all of this, but you might give half of the money to Elena to help with the much needed repairs around The House, and the other half to Phainon so he can give it to the less fortunate citizens up on the surface. Though you immediately scratch the latter off the list since the chance of Mydei finding out is fairly high. The moment your thoughts drift back to him, your face heats up with embarrassment.
You were not yourself last night. You donât know what drove you to go such lengths just to please him, and where you even got the courage to keep going. But when you recall the warmth of Mydeiâs golden eyes, the tenderness weighted beneath his touch, and the fire that seemed to burn behind those marks on his body⊠You spend the rest of your day ruminating about your time with Mydei. Hell, you even consider reaching out to Phainon to ask all your pressing questions just to sate your biting curiosity. Why did he come here? Did he need reprieve from his princely duties so badly? No. You shouldnât think of him anymore. Mydei is nothing but a client. Youâve rendered your services. Heâs paid his dues. That should be the end of the transaction, and nothing else. Time and time again, you tell yourself the same thing: When you make a living in the bowels of the Eternal Holy City, nothing is ever personal. Until you catch yourself wondering just how heavy of a crown that Kremnoan Prince actually bears. âBig Sister? A customer is asking for you.â Nikolas peeks through the curtain of seashells dangling by the entrance of your room again. He doesnât wait long for your answer because the speed in which you burst into a sprint is somewhat embarrassing. âWho is it?â you ask, eyes wide and pulse roaring in your ears. âDid you see?â âUmm, I think itâs just one of the bartenders working down the street. Why?â You visibly deflate at the news, and you know that despite being fairly young, Nikolas doesnât miss the disappointment on your face.
In the end, you decline to see any potential clients for the next few days. Your official statement is that youâre still recuperating from your last session. The only reason your sisters donât nose in on the matter is the fact that you brought so much revenue to The House in just one session, theyâre fully convinced that you deserve all the rest you can get. But the truth is that you spend most of your time lost in thought, daydreaming of a man with fiery hair and molten gold eyes. You wonder if heâll ever come back.
In the seaside state of Lethe, itâs fairly easy to forget about oneâs problems.
Wine and song filled every street and back-alley, as the land is loved by the Titan of honey brews and banquets. Tales of the neverending festivities reached far and wide in Amphoreus, and that word-of-mouth alone was enough to attract visitors from across the land.Â
Itâs for this reason that Lethians are as hospitable as they are. Phagousa taught them how to cultivate the sweetest wine from mere grapes; taught them the art of music and how it brings life to the darkest of nights.Â
For thousands of years, your people simply dedicated their toasts and sang their shanties to honor the Ocean Motherâs kindness. When others hailing from places near and far started to gravitate towards such a profound relationship between a Titan and their people, you welcomed them with open arms.Â
After all, Phagousaâs benevolence is meant to be shared, not kept.Â
Your mother has been bringing you into the jovial streets since you were ten years oldâsinging and dancing amongst drunken sailors and tourists who wanted a quick getaway. It was easy to let loose in a place meant for you to forget about lifeâs worries. But on some days, you preferred basking in the comfort of waves lapping gently across the shore. The stars were much easier to see along the coastline, far from the entertainment district that robbed a personâs attention of the vast sky that stretched above their heads. Though Phagousa exists in every goblet overflowing with drink, Their presence is most captivating when youâre out here at sea.Â
The spot youâve chosen was a ways away from the wharf that received and sent off ships. Which is why one bothers to encroach on this safe haven of yours. Not even your own mother. But apart from the privacy the secluded shore offered, there was another reason why you liked to sit here and observe in your lonesome.Â
A reason that might get you in trouble.Â
Several miles east of Lethe is the stronghold of the Titan of Death: the city state of Styxia. Legend has it, Lethians used to live there a long time agoâbefore the end of Era Chrysea, when Thanatos was born. The godâs presence was a plague that spread throughout the land. Not even Phagousa could protect Their people from Deathâs inviting fingertips.
But since the lost city state isnât too far from here, sometimes, fragments of the Nether Realm end up leaking into the open sea.
There, you often see things that others would deem impossible.Â
Soulsâby the hundreds, sometimes even by the thousands. They all drift aimlessly across the ocean like luminescent creatures youâd normally find deep underwater. The first time you witnessed this happening, you simply thought that it was migration season for the crystal jellyfish. Lethians even have a festival dedicated to that specific phenomenon.
But that only ever happens during the Month of Joy, which was over five months ago.Â
Instead of spiraling into a panic and alerting the entire island of what you saw, you chose to lingerâobserving as each soul meandered across the moonlit ocean and into the unknown. The sight reminded you of a tale about the Sea of Souls, and how you would inevitably make the journey towards it once you pass. You wondered if these souls have simply lost their way to their supposed destination. Though youâve never heard of this happening before, it wasnât such a farfetched ordeal. Perhaps even the dead long for Phagousaâs promise of gratification and delight.
Every day since the first, you began visiting the secluded shore in hopes of getting a glimpse of that literal sea of souls. Sometimes, they light up the sea like specters bathed in moonlight, but most of the time, itâs just you.Â
Always just you.Â
âBig Sister? Youâre dozing off again.â
Youâre not sure how exactly your mind managed to register the fact that youâre being scolded, but you jolt awake anyways. Eyes darting around, you grasp at the information availableâwho are you with, what are you doing, whatâs going onâand visibly relax when you remember that youâre with your sisters in the pavilion, feasting on todayâs breakfast after a rather long night.
Iris stares at you with a concerned look. âIs the food not to your liking?â
âOf course not!â you insist before shoveling a spoonful of eggs into your mouth and biting down on a piece of flatbread. âBreakfast is especially appetizing when youâre the one making it for me.â
âSo itâs not the case if Iâm the one cooking?âÂ
At the sound of Elena's sulking, you have to stifle a groan. The head of the House could be such a child at times, despite already being a mother herself. But then again her petulance knows no bounds. Elena joins you and the rest of your sisters at the dining table, depositing some of Irisâ cooking onto a plate before taking a seat. Though you try your best to avoid her gaze, itâs a bit difficult when the person in question is quite literally next to you.
Youâve been with Elena for so long that you donât even have to look at her to know whenever sheâs scheming something.Â
âIâll be heading up to the overworld today,â she imparts the information casually before popping a blueberry into her mouth. âNikolas has been meaning to join the Academy that trains the Holy Cityâs guards. Unfortunately, those scoundrels have rubbed off on my boy.âÂ
Despite your caution, you let slip a soft laugh. âWell, whenever we take some guards as clients, they have no one to talk to in the lobby apart from other patrons and Nik. You trained him to be too good of a conversationalist for a fourteen year-old.âÂ
âThis is what we get for those god-awful waiting times we subject them to,â Penelope chuckles. âBut look at the bright side: the city guards are the least rotten of the bunch. Nik at least chooses his heroes wisely.â
âI wouldnât call Officer Theodorus a hero,â snorts Alexandria. âHe has a wife and two children yet he goes down here to ask for me at least once a fortnight! Men are all the same, no matter what job they have.â
You donât blame your sisters for feeling the way they do. Working as prostitutes in the underground had little benefits. But people with nowhere else to go donât have much of a choice. Itâs just nice to be able to air all these frustrations out as freely as you all do now.Â
Unlike beforeâŠ
All of a sudden, Lyra pops into the discussion, snapping her fingers. âRemember that man who pretended to be an envoy from the Grove? I still wonder why he thought doing that to curry Elenaâs favor would give him any discounts. Not even Chrysos Heirs can haggle with her.âÂ
At the mere mention of that title, you feel several eyes on you at once. Just great.
âI thought we all agreed not to bring him up again?â you groan.
âBring who up?â Elena muses with a whimsical tone that annoys you a little. âI didnât know you felt so strongly about that fake scholar, Thalia.â
You know damn well itâs not about that impostor!
âU-Um, would you like some more juice, Big Sister?â Iris, ever the last to play the devilâs advocate, offers with a wobbly smile. You nod all too quickly before she refills your cup with enough pomegranate juice to last you until the end of your meal. Still, the sweet drink doesnât stop you from glaring daggers at Elena and your other sniveling sisters.Â
After breakfast, you all do your share of the housework. Elena wasnât very strict, but she did have a rule that you should all have at least one designated chore for each day.
Today, youâre in charge of the dishes.
For some reason, itâs everyoneâs least favorite. Most of your sisters didnât like it when their fingers pruned up after washing over twenty sets of plates and silverware after every meal. But fortunately for you, you grew up in a place that requires more than just your hands to get wet for prolonged periods of time.Â
âAre you coming along?â
Cue Elenaâs timely entrance once again. Sighing, you cast her a sidelong glance as you finish up rinsing the cups you all used for breakfast. âDo I want to know what this is about?âÂ
âI already told you this morning.â She smiles. âIâm enrolling Nikolas into the Academy. I havenât been to that part of the city, so I would appreciate some company.â
âElena, you know I donât like coming up to the surface,â you grumble.Â
âYes, and I also know itâs high time we broke you out of that shell of yours,â the older woman encourages. âThe Okhemans arenât as bad as you think they are, Thaliaââ
âMaybe to you, they arenât,â you snip back curtly. âBut me? They know where Iâm from, Elena. They know the face of the girl that Agamemnon stole from the Island of Debauchery.âÂ
Your voice still trembles with each word, but you find peace in the fact that uttering that manâs name no longer strikes fear into your heart. From the soft set of Elenaâs brow, you know she notices this as well. The faucet creaks when you twist it to turn off the water. You hear nothing over the sound over your heart pounding in your ears.Â
âBut Agamemnon is no longer with us,â Elena reminds you quietly. âIâm not telling you to forgive the man who ruined our lives, but you shouldnât let the ghost of him dictate the course of your life. If he found out how much of a hold he still has on you, that monster would be coming in his own grave.âÂ
As twisted as it is, you find comfort in the way she speaks of the old head of The House with as much disdain as you do. Itâs been a while since heâs been taken care of, but the scars he left will never really fade.Â
No matter how badly you want them to.
âNik and I will leave in half an hour,â she continues after a few moments of silence. âCome with us to the surface, please? I promise that if your experience is anything less than stellar, Iâll never ask you the same thing again.â
The sincerity in her plea is far from Elenaâs usual cheekiness, which makes you think that she might be getting a bit desperate to get you to agree. At that moment, you parse through dozens of possibilities as to why Elena thinks itâs such a good idea to bring you to the surface on such short notice. The other girls might be more amiable to the idea, whereas you are perfectly content with your life here in the undercity with other outcasts just trying to make a living.Â
âŠSure, you kind of want to visit the cafes at the Marmoreal Palace that Phainon told you about whenever he visits, but thatâs besides the point!
When you first set foot in Okhema as the newest addition to Agamemnonâs collection, you werenât gazed at with disgust because you were a prostitute. It was because you were Lethianâpeople widely known as swindlers who used Phagousa in their blasphemous schemes to sap people of their hard-earned money. Those revolted stares haunted you well into your dreams for months. So even if the person who dragged you across the ocean under the false pretense of protection is gone, there are some things that you cannot move past so easily.
âBig Sis Thalia? Are youâ oh! Mother, hello.âÂ
Just your luck, Nikolas chose the perfect time to pop into the kitchen. You notice that heâs all dressed upârobes all pinned in place, brass wrist bands and other pieces of jewelry glinting in the light of the lanterns. You canât help but gush about how proper he looks.Â
âStop,â he groans, cheeks all dusted pink as you ruffle his hair. âMother told me to make myself presentableâŠwhatever that means. I mustâve done a good job if youâre doting on me like this.â
âYou sure did,â you coo.Â
âSo youâre coming along with us then?â Nikolas segues with raised brows. âMother said sheâll try her best to convince you to go to the surface. Did she?â
From the expectant twinkle in the boyâs eyes, you figure that he mustâve been really looking forward to you chaperoning them to the Academy. You heave a deep sigh before your gaze flickers to Elena, who simply grins at you like the angel she is.Â
Hook. Line. Sinker.Â
âYeah, just give me a few minutes to get ready.â You force out a smile of your own before pinching the tip of Nikolasâ nose. âI might need some sunlight after all this scuttling in the dark.â
Nikolas stares at you with his mouth agape, then at his mother, and back at you again in mere seconds. âW-What? Really?â
â Really ,â you say, hoping you sound as sure as you hoped. âIâll see you in half an hour, okay?â
The grin that stretches across his chubby little face is so wide, it makes your heart hurt. How in the world are you supposed to say no to him?Â
When you head up to your quarters, the curtain of seashells parts at your entrance with a characteristic clinking sound. You donât usually rush inside this fast, but time is of the essence when you agree to go to the surface even if you only planned on finishing a novel today. Youâve never been as particular with what you wanted to wear as you are now. Most of the dresses in your wardrobe are meant for workâmeaning, theyâre far too revealing to wear in the streets of the Eternal Holy City. The last thing you want is to get arrested for public indecency.
Thankfully, you manage to spot some rather pristine robes that probably wonât get you kicked out of the Academy in the back of your closet. You try it on without another thought, smiling to yourself in the mirror when you find that itâs still a perfect fit. The rest follows swiftly after. Minimal makeup. Nothing too extravagant for jewelry. Comfortable sandals. Youâre pretty much all set.Â
But then you make the mistake of thinking, I wonder if Iâll run into Phainon today, which then makes you think about him.Â
Mydeimos.
Truth be told, the thought of that name incites an even more volatile reaction out of you than that of Agamemnonâs. Even if heâs a prince, he should be nothing but another name on your neverending list of clientele.Â
Before meeting him, you never quite understood prostitutes who hanker for certain patrons more than others, who even go as far as to fall in love with them. The next thing you know, their rooms in The House have been emptied and news of them being bought out by said patrons starts to spread. Youâre happy for them, of course. But the thought of having any sort of affection for a man who only used you for your body was near-unfathomable for you for a long, long time.Â
Until you met Mydei.Â
âBig Sis, are you ready?âÂ
The sound of Nikolas calling out for you down the hall dispels any and all thoughts of a certain Kremonan Prince. You shake your head, staring at yourself hard in the mirror as if wanting to remind you of your place. Whatâs done is done. They say you need countless lifetimes of fate to meet a person even once in this life. If you miss it when it brushes past, that's the end.
Right?
âIâll be down in a minute!â you shout back. âSorry for the wait!â
With that, you set off for your first excursion to the surface in a good whileâpraying to the heavens above. Youâre not even asking for a good day. You just need to be able to get through this without getting traumatized into hiding again.
Please. Just this once.Â
There are no gods left that would heed your plea, but it costs nothing to hope.Â
The air in Okhema feels different today.Â
Maybe because itâs been months, maybe longer, since you last walked these streets. Yet the weight of it allâthe towering marble spires, the golden banners, the bustling crowdsâclings to you like a second skin. You feel alien in a place that should have welcomed you. But instead, itâs the echo of past insults, cold stares, and harsh judgment that rises to the surface. It threatens to choke you, but you do your best to overcome it. You canât afford to lose face where Nikolas can see.Â
As you walk through the cityâs grand streets, the young boy skips ahead, eagerly pointing out the towering buildings and guards marching in formation. Elena walks beside him, hands on his shoulders, keeping him grounded as she smiles proudly at her son. Thereâs a quiet confidence in Elenaâs step, the kind of strength that you find yourself envying. Despite claiming otherwise, she knows this city well, knows how to navigate it, and how to move among the people. But for you, every step feels foreign, like an outsider trying to be something sheâs not.
You eventually reach the Academy without much spoken word. Nikolas is excited, tugging Elenaâs arm, eager to begin his training, while his mother smiles, giving him a gentle nudge toward the entrance. You linger a few paces behind, staring at the stone-carved doors before feeling a slight knot in your stomach as the reality sets in. This is where Nikolas will learn to become something great, something noble. And here you are, a shadow in the background, caught between worlds.
Elena turns to you, her smile faltering slightly. âThalia,â she says, voice soft but firm, âAre you all right?â
You blink, as if snapping out of a daze and before attempting to force a smile that only feels hollow. The words youâre looking for stick in your throat, tangled with the memories of your time in Okhemaâthe judgment, the whispers, the pain of feeling like you didnât belong here, like you were nothing more than an outcast.
âIâm fine,â you reply, though the words feel like a lie. You canât bring yourself to say more.Â
The city around you feels suffocating, its beauty just a façade for all the ugly truths beneath. Your gaze drifts toward the golden banners fluttering in the wind, the bright, polished marble reflecting the sun. It all feels too perfect, too pristine. But thereâs no life in it, no warmth. Just cold, glittering stone.
Nikolas notices the quiet tension between you. His youthful face scrunches in confusion, then concern. âBig Sis Thalia, you look sad.â
Youâre quick to shake your head, as if to push the feeling away. âItâs nothing, Nikolas. JustâŠâ A pause. âItâs a lot to take in.â
Elena watches you for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she can see right through the carefully constructed farce. âYou donât have to linger if you donât want to. I promised I wouldnât ask you to come again if it was too much, didnât I?â
The offer hangs in the air, a lifeline thrown your way, but you refuse it with a sigh. âNo. Iâll stay. Iâll wait for you two.â
Elena gives you a thoughtful look but doesnât press further. She turns back to Nikolas, her voice warming as she speaks to him again. âCome on, Nikolas. Letâs get you settled in.â
You watch them go, feeling like an outsider once more.Â
Eventually, you find yourself leaning against a nearby stone pillar, trying to push away the gnawing unease. As the sounds of the city swirl around youâlaughter, the distant clatter of metal, the hum of conversationâyou find yourself yearning for the stillness of the undercity. For the quiet comfort of familiarity, even if it was painful.Â
Here, in Okhema, thereâs nothing but unfamiliar faces, bright lights, and the weight of expectations. The city feels too big, too cold, too far removed from everything youâve known.
Your eyes catch the glitter of the golden sun off a nearby building, and you swallow hard. Somewhere, deep down, you know that this is what you should want. This is where Nikolas will build a better future. This is the world of the privileged, the elite.
And yet, all you can think of is Letheâthe island you came from, where the waves washed away the weight of the world for a time. Where you could drown your worries in song and drink, forgetting the ugliness of life. But even there, you were no stranger to suffering.
You blink back the feeling of helplessness that threatens to overwhelm you. For a brief moment, you wonder if youâll ever be able to escape the shadows of the pastâif you can even reconcile the girl who once wanted more with the woman who knows sheâll never have it all. The silence between you and the world around you stretches on, heavy like the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. You don't know how long you stand there, watching the bustling crowds of Okhema, feeling the chill of being far from homeâfar from Lethe. The sharp, rich laughter of the city mocks your uncertainty.
But just as youâre about to let yourself drown in it, a voice cuts through the air, low and familiar.
âLady Thalia?â
You jerk upright, eyes snapping toward the source. Standing a few paces away, tall and unruffled, is Phainon. His wide shoulders are relaxed, his posture easy, yet there's something about himâhis unwavering calm in this sea of chaosâthat makes him seem like an anchor in this storm of unfamiliar faces.
"Phainon!" you breathe, voice laced with surprise.Â
You hadnât expected to see him here. Heâs usually a fixture in The House, checking in on you, Elena and the others. But here? In the heart of Okhema? Itâs a little too much to process.
Phainon smiles, his eyes soft with something between surprise and delight. âI didnât expect to find you in the overworld, let alone at the Academy of all places. This is a first.â
You laugh quietly, though itâs a hollow sound, like the air leaving a balloon. âYeah, I guess I didnât expect to be here either,â you tell him, gaze flicking to the Academyâs entrance. You can feel the weight of the city press against you once more, but Phainonâs presence is like a breath of fresh air, grounding you in the moment.
He tilts his head, a glimmer of something thoughtful in his eyes. âSo what brings you here? Nothing bad, I hope?â
You nod, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. âIâm waiting for Elena and Nikolas. Theyâre just finishing up inside. Little Nik has been accepted into the Academy, and Iâm just here to provide some moral support.â
For a moment, you pause, gaze wandering again to the grand doors of the Academyâthe same door Nikolas will walk through everyday. It feels like the world is turning a page, and youâre left on the outside, watching it all happen.
Phainon studies you, sensing the flicker of doubt in your eyes. âWell, thatâs quite an accomplishment,â he says, his tone warm, though his voice drops a little, as though trying to lighten the mood. âAnd who knows, maybe youâll find your way around the city in time. Okhema isnât so bad once you get used to it.â
You offer up half a smile, though the sentiment doesnât quite ease the discomfort curling in your chest. âIâm not so sure about that. Itâs just... Iâm not sure I fit in here.â
Phainonâs expression softens, the playful energy draining from his face. âYou donât have to fit in, Lady Thalia,â he says simply. âThis city doesnât get to dictate who you are. Youâre the one who decides that.â
Before you can respond, the doors of the Academy finally open, and Elena and Nikolas step out. The former beams at you and Phainon, her proud smile lighting up her face. On the other hand, Nikolas is glued to her sideâhis eyes wide with excitement.
âI still canât believe it,â he exclaims, his youthful energy spilling over. âIâm going to be trained to fight! Iâm going to be a guard just like the ones we saw earlier!â
You chuckle softly, shaking your head. âYouâll be great, Nik. Youâll make us all proud.â
Elena looks over at Phainon, offering a warm smile as well. âI see we have company.â
Phainon grins back at her. âYou could say that. And what a pleasant surprise it is. I didnât expect to find Lady Thalia in Okhema, let alone in the Academy district.â
That makes you roll your eyes, but thereâs a warmth that you haven't felt since you set foot in this city. âI didnât expect it either,â you mutter, though thereâs something almost comforting in Phainonâs presence.
âWell,â Phainon continues, his voice taking on a playful note, âsince weâre all here, why donât we make the most of it? I was just on my way to the Overflowing Bath, and Iâd be more than happy to invite you all for a little dip.â
Your expression shifts, surprised by the offer. âThe Overflowing Bath?âÂ
Phainonâs mention of it stirs something in youâa memory of tales passed among your sisters, of how the bath is rumored to have healing waters, soothing both body and spirit. The waters, blessed by Phagousa, the Titan of the Ocean, have long been a comfort to those who sought solace in their depths.Â
It was in those very waters that you had found a semblance of peace after all those years you spent with Agamemnon, your scars slowly healing under the gentle flow of the blessed stream. That was the closest youâve been to the Titan who you used to believe in. Yet, despite the healing they offered your body, the scars of your heart have never quite mended.
Phainon notices the faraway look in your eyes and softens his tone. âThe Overflowing Bath is a place of peace,â he says, âblessed by Phagousa herself. Youâve heard of it, Iâm sure. Itâs a place where you can leave your burdens behind, even for just a little while.â
You nod slowly. âYes, Iâve heard of it. In fact, thatâs where Elena brought us first after you freed us fromâŠâ
The thought trails off, but the rest of them catch the unsaid message regardless. Elena smiles gently before placing a hand on your shoulder. âI know the bath has helped you heal before,â she says softly. âYouâve earned some time for yourself.â
Phainonâs grin is wide and inviting. âCome with me, then. Thereâs no rush, and no need to worry about anything for a while. I had the bath reserved for the morning if being in the company of strangers bothers you.â
That makes you scowl. âYou booked an entire bath for yourself?âÂ
â...More or less.â
Elena shakes her head, laughing lightly. âAs much as Iâd love to join, Nikolas still has to get his uniform made, and that will take some time. But you two go ahead. This one deserves the break she needs.â
Nikolas pouts. âAww, we canât go?âÂ
âIâll take good care of her, Elena,â Phainon assures, his voice light yet sincere. âI swear it in the name of the Flamechase Journey.âÂ
âWhat a tall oath,â the head of the House chuckles before egging you on. âGo ahead, Thalia. Itâs a rare moment of peace. Take it.â
You look between them with evident hesitation, a quiet thanks in your eyes as you finally nod in agreement.
âAlright,â you say, your voice steadier than it has been in a while. âIâll go.â
Phainonâs grin widens as he leads the way, the sunlight glinting off the gold-tinted streets of Okhema. The city fades behind you as you walk, the towering structures and polished marble giving way to the softer, more tranquil atmosphere of the Overflowing Bath. Phainonâs presence, calming and steady, makes you feel like you can breathe again, if only for a moment.
When you reach the specific area that Phainon reserved, he pushes open the ornate doors with a flourish. The sweet scent of warm water and incense wafts out, drawing you inside. Your eyes search the steamy, serene atmosphere, until your gaze catches on a figure lounging on one of the ledges of the bath.
You freeze in place, breath catching in your throat. Mydei, who you havenât seen or heard from in weeks is here. Of all the places. Of all the times.
Phainon, oblivious to the shock written on your face, smiles warmly. âAh, Mydei, I see youâve already made yourself at home.â
Mydei looks up, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile. âI thought Iâd get a head start.â His gaze shifts towards you, and for a moment, thereâs a flicker of something unspoken in his eyesâa softness that immediately makes your heart flutter.
âThalia,â he greets, his voice low but warm.
You don't know what to say. How do you speak to someone you tried so hard to forget, but whose presence still calls to you in ways you canât ignore? Sure youâd only seen Mydei once during that fateful encounter, but your sisters can attest to the fact that the Prince has affected you in ways no man has ever done before.
âIâdidnât know youâd be here,â you murmurs, your voice betraying the swirl of emotions youâve been hiding for so long.
Mydeiâs smile deepens, though it holds a trace of sadness. âI didnât expect to be, either.â
As the water of the Overflowing Bath beckons, you canât help but feel like the healing waters wonât just soothe your body this timeâbut perhaps, for better or worse, it will stir your heart once again.
The soft murmur of the stream fills the gaps in between your conversations. Phainon has settled into the pool with his usual ease, splashing the water lightly as he leans back with a relaxed grin. You, however, feel every drop against your skin as if it's a reminder of your discomfort. Coupled with Mydeiâs presence, itâs difficult to maintain your composure. You lower yourself into the water slowly, trying not to meet the princeâs gaze. His figure is hard to ignoreâhis chiseled form outlined in the glow of the bathâs warm light. Heâs right there, and yet, the space between you feels as vast as the ocean.
âWhat compelled you to rent out an entire bath?â you ask more to settle your nerves than anything else. You then turn your eyes to Phainon, finding something familiar in his carefree demeanor.Â
The Chrysos Heir lounging with his eyes half-closed, simply shrugs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. âI do have a tendency to pull off stuff that others least expect. Keeps things interesting, donât you think?â
You try to laugh, but it sounds hollow, even to your own ears. Mydei, on the other hand, remains quiet, his gaze shifting from Phainon to you, his expression unreadable.
âI... didnât think Iâd find you both here, together,â you add, fingers trailing lazily through the water, finding solace in its movement.
Phainon glances over at you, his eyes sparkling with his usual wit. âWell, you know Mydei. Heâs always full of surprises.â
Mydei shifts slightly but doesnât respond, his silence more eloquent than any words could be. You are acutely aware of the space between youâhow small, yet how loaded it feels. Itâs not the first time youâve felt something unsaid lingering in the air, but somehow this time feels different. More fragile. You find yourself stealing a glance at The Prince as he speaks with Phainon about some uproar in the Marmoreal Market. His broad shoulders are relaxed, his wet hair framing his face in a way that, for a moment, makes you forget the tension in the air. You quickly avert your eyes, ashamed of the way your heart flutters, even now.
âWhat about you? What are you doing here?âÂ
The sound of Mydeiâs voice startles you, low and deepâlike the distant rumbling of thunder. You know heâs talking to you because his words carry a characteristic softness that you donât really hear when heâs conversing with Phainon.
âI didnât mean to intrude,â you murmurs, trying to fill the silence with anything. âIâm just...passing the time.â
Mydei gives a low hum of acknowledgement, but itâs clear heâs not about to press you for more. Instead, he turns to you with an almost imperceptible nod. âThis place... itâs been known to heal more than just wounds,â he says casually, his voice laced with a tone you canât quite place. âIf youâve been carrying scars... the water here helps.â
âIâve heard,â you say, voice low enough to be a whisper. âWhen I first arrived here... I thought it was too good to be true.â
He looks at you then, his gaze softer than it has been before, but still guarded. âItâs true. The waters here have a way of healing whatâs broken. And they donât ask for anything in return.â
You dip your hand further into the water, feeling the warmth seep into your skin, almost as though it could wash away everything youâve tried to forget. You hadnât realized how much you needed this peace until you found it, in this strange, blessed space.
âI think Iâm used to broken things,â you tell him quietly, unsure whether you mean it for either of them to hear. âBut maybe... some things can be fixed.â
Mydei, still sitting near the edge of the bath, shifts slightly, but doesnât respond. Thereâs a weight in his eyes as they meet yours, and for the briefest of moments, it feels like the world outside of the bath has ceased to exist. There are no words for the thoughts passing between youâonly the waterâs gentle rhythm and the faint echo of an old song neither of you dares to sing aloud. Just as the silence begins to feel suffocating, Phainon rises from the water.Â
âIâll leave you two to talk,â he says with a grin, clearly not fooled by the unspoken tension. He starts moving toward the exit, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder as he passes. âEnjoy the waters. Donât forget, you twoârest is as important as duty. Youâve earned it.â
You watch him leave, feeling an inexplicable weight lift off your shoulders. Alone now, youâre left with the gentle pull of the water and the quiet, watchful presence of Mydei. The space between you has become an almost tangible thingâfragile and full of unspoken possibilities.
When he speaks again, itâs only after several moments have passed, as if heâs still choosing his words carefully.Â
âDoes it get easier?â he asks.
âNo,â you reply, your tone matching his. âIt doesnât.â
And with that, the silence returns, but this time, it doesnât feel quite so heavy.
You don't know how long you sit like thatâstill, silent, steeped in the warmth of the water and the ache of unspoken words. Around you, the sacred scent of herbs mingled with steam rises from the surface, curling in the air like incense in a forgotten temple. Somewhere beneath the hush of the baths, you can almost hear the pulse of the cityâdistant bells, murmured prayers, the echo of footsteps beyond the marble walls. You shift slightly, drawing your knees closer to your chest beneath the water. Mydei remains at the other end of the pool, his arms draped over the edge, head tilted back, eyes closed. If you didnât know better, youâd think he was asleep.Â
âDid you mean it?â you ask, soft but sudden. âWhat you said... about the water not asking for anything in return.â
He opens his eyes, but doesnât look at you right away. âYes,â he says after a pause. âNot everything here is like the rest of the city.â
You let that sit for a while. âThatâs rare,â you murmur, brushing your fingers over the surface of the water. âThings that donât take something from you.â
At that, Mydei deigns to look at you. His gaze isnât sharp or probingâitâs quiet. Careful. Like heâs trying to read a page you haven't decided to turn yet.
âIâm sorry,â he says after a moment. âFor what you were put through.â
The words catch you off guardânot because of what they are, but because of how gently he says them. Not as a prince, or a warrior, or a man trying to soothe his conscience. Just...a person who sees your pain. You don't respond right away. You canât. Your throat tightens in that way it sometimes does, where it feels like if you say anything at all, the mask youâve carefully kept in place will crumble.
Instead, you swallow it down with a minute nod.
âI know,â you finally say. âBut it wasnât your fault.â
âThat doesnât mean I donât carry it.â
The water laps quietly between you as you close your eyes. Youâre not supposed to be kind, you think bitterly. Youâre not supposed to see me.
But he does. You know he does.
Just then, Nikolasâ laugh echoes faintly from the corridor beyond the marble walls. Elena must have found something to delight him on their way hereâhis joy is unmistakable, pure and bright. It makes something ache deep in your chest. A reminder of why youâre still here. Why youâre trying, even if you havenât figured out how to start healing yet.
You open your eyes and let your gaze sweep across the bath. Mydei is watching you again, but thereâs no expectation in his molten gold irises. In spite of this, you manage a small, wry smile. âYouâre quieter than I remember.â
He gives a faint, sheepish shrug. âI talk less when I donât know what to say.â
âI thought princes were trained to always know what to say.â
He huffs softlyâmore breath than laughter, but itâs genuine. âMaybe I missed that lesson.â
You surprise yourself by laughing too, and for a moment, itâs easy. Light and fleeting as it is, it lifts something heavy off your chest. The two of you donât speak again after thatânot because youâve run out of things to say, but because silence feels safer now. More honest.
When you finally step out of the bath, wrapping yourself in one of the palaceâs pale linen towels, you feel... lighter. The pain hasnât gone. The past hasnât changed. But for a moment, the weight is a little easier to carry. Mydei stands as well, quiet and respectful, and doesnât look at you until you turn to him.
âIâll see you around,â you tell him. Not a question, not a promiseâjust something that hangs in the space between maybe and someday.
Mydei nods. âYou will.â
And then, as they part ways, the steam rises behind them, curling upward toward the sky where the temple windows open wide, letting in the late morning light. Letheâs daughter walks beneath it.
And for the first time in a long while, she doesnât feel like sheâs drowning.
That night, sleep finds you gently in your room at The House.
Itâs quietâunusually so. The murmurs and laughter from the halls have faded, and even the candlelight flickers soft and low, as if unwilling to disturb you. The sheets smell faintly of lavender and mineral salts still clinging to your skin. For the first time in a long while, your body feels light. Almost whole. But the moment your eyes close, the world begins to shift and suddenly, youâre in Lethe again.
The air smells like salt and fruit wine. Music drifts down cobbled streets, bright and winding, and laughter spills from open balconies. The sun dips low, spilling honey-colored light over everything. You remember this partâhow beautiful it always looked from the outside. A paradise that asked nothing of you but to smile, to dance, to forget. You tried so hard to forget.
The tide starts to rise.
Your bare feet slap against wet stone. The cobblestones fade beneath a creeping tide of black water. The music warps, slows, becomes something hollow. You try to run, but the water climbs higher, dark and cold, and from its depths emerge faces.
Wandering souls. Pale, half-formed, drifting just beneath the surface. Eyes like moons, wide and lost. You saw them onceâback on the shores of Lethe, before Agamemnon took you away. Now theyâre reaching for you. Calling for you like sirens. But before you can answer, the dream fractures again.
Youâre in the undercity.
A lantern swings overhead, casting jagged light along damp stone walls. You hear sobbing from behind closed doors, moans of pain, the dull thud of fists against flesh. You know these sounds. They followed you for years.
He is here.
Agamemnonâs voice slithers through the dark, oil-slick and indulgent.Â
âYouâre lucky,â he says, âA beauty like yours shouldnât be wasted in some seaside slum.â
âYouâll be taken care of. Treasured.â
âYouâre mine.â
You see him againâhis eyes devouring, hands like shackles dressed in gold. He touches your chin. You want to spit. You try to scream.
And thenâlight.
Like a blade cleaving darkness, you see Elena. Bent over, cradling a crying baby, shielding him from a world that wants nothing but to unmake him. Her eyesâtired, fierce, filled with love. Nikolas. His cries cut through the dream like a signal fire.
You run.
Through water, through shadow, through screams and shattered laughter. You donât know if youâre chasing something or fleeing from it. But the sea rises. The souls call. The walls bleed gold. And thenâ
You gasp awake, heart jackhammering in your chest. Sweat clings to your back, and the cool, sacred air of the overworld feels far too still. For a moment, you forget where you are.
Then you remember the bath. The light. The gentle way Phainon laughed. The quiet look Mydei gave you, unreadable and tender. You remember the promise of healing, the way the blessed water wrapped around your wounds like a whisper. But even the kindest waters cannot drown what lives inside you.
You wipe your face with trembling fingers. The night is silent, but your pulse is loud in your ears. Though the blessed water may have healed your body, the scars inside you still sing.
The ghosts are quiet now.
But not gone.
The sun never sets in Okhema.
By late afternoon, the light should have softened, dipping into that gentle hush before duskâbut here, under the watch of Kephaleâs Dawn Device, the city remains suspended in a perpetual golden hour.Â
Itâs beautiful in a way that makes your skin crawl if you think about it too long. The warmth feels artificial, borrowed. Like the heavens forgot to turn the page. You step onto the polished stone streets, the hem of your cloak catching faint glimmers of light. The satchel you carry is light, barely filled with anything but a half-eaten persimmon and a cloth to wipe Nikolasâ ever-sticky hands. Still, its strap rests against your shoulder like something heavierâsomething earned.
The walk to the Academy winds through quieter neighborhoods, far from the towering temples and the chatter of merchants. The air smells like crushed citrus and dust. You keep your head down. You always do, even now, even when people donât seem to look at you with the same venom they once did.Â
Itâs been some time since Agamemnon fell, but his ghost lingers in certain corners of your mind, like mildew that clings no matter how many times you scrub.
At the gates of the Academy, you pause, eyes tracing the archways carved with symbols of Kephaleâs divine mindâlogic, clarity, vision. Itâs meant to inspire discipline. Youâve never been particularly fond of order, but something about Nikolas in this place makes a strange kind of sense. He deserves more than survival. The gates creak open and children spill out like laughter, sharp and careless. Your eyes scan for him.
And there he isâNikolas, his hair a wild crown of dark curls, cheeks smudged with ink, a leather-bound workbook clutched to his chest like a badge of honor. His smile is wide when he spots you.
"Big Sis Thalia!" he calls, breaking into a run. He nearly barrels into your legs, arms wrapping tight around your waist. You let out a soft laugh despite yourself.
âYouâre filthy,â you murmur, brushing ink from his cheek. âElenaâs going to think I dragged you through the gutters.â
âShe always says that,â he shrugs, then looks up with that disarming earnestness only children possess. âDid you wait long?â
You shake your head. âOnly a little. Come on. Letâs head home.â
But he doesnât move. Instead, Nikolas digs his heels into the stone, tilting his head back with a grin that already spells trouble. âWaitâThalia, can we go to the Hall of Respite? Just real quick? Please?â
You raise a brow. âWhy so suddenly?â
He bobs his head eagerly. âThey have those honey-glazed flatcakes I likeâthe really soft ones! And I got a perfect score today. Ask anyone. Master Irenas even patted my head. That never happens!â
You blink. âA perfect score?â
He puffs out his chest, smug in the way only little boys whoâve just conquered the world can be. âI studied really hard. Even Lord Phainon said I should treat myself more. He did!â
You sigh, but itâs mostly for show. âI doubt he meant âbribe your guardian into feeding your sweet tooth.ââ
Nikolas clasps his hands together dramatically. âPlease? Iâll even save you a bite.â
You glance down at himâthe sunlight caught in his lashes, the pink blooming across his cheeks from too much running, the way heâs still slightly out of breath and doesnât care at all. The kind of breathless you used to be, back when days were filled with sea spray and laughter and song.
âAlright,â you sigh again, and this time itâs gentler. âBut only one. And donât think this means Iâll cover for you if you throw up before dinner.â
He whoops with victory, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the Hall of Respite, where the scents of warm milk, nutmeg, and golden syrup linger in the air like an embrace.
You follow, the goldlight casting your shadows long behind youâbut for now, you donât look back.
The Hall of Respite is a marvel in gold and gentle laughter. Soft harp strings hum in the background, accompanied by the distant trickle of a fountain somewhere beyond the marble colonnades. You and Nikolas sit tucked near one of the arched windows, bathed in dappled light as he gleefully tears into his honey-glazed flatcake, cheeks sticky with syrup and joy. He talks between bitesâfast and animatedâhis voice barely able to keep up with his thoughts.
ââand then he flipped Cassander over with just one arm! Just one! Like this!â Nikolas throws his arms out, nearly knocking over your cup of mulled cider. âAnd he made us practice breakfall drills until our backs hurt. But he said it was so we wouldn't crack our heads open later, which makes sense, right?â
You blink at him, smiling despite yourself. âWhat happened to that gentle etiquette instructor you said reminded you of a housecat?â
âOh, Master Aetius?â Nikolas waves him off. âHeâs still there. But this new guyâthey say he was a real warrior! Like, a real real one. He's a little scary. But⊠heâs kind too. He taught me how to breathe when I'm scared.â
Your smile falters just a little.
âYouâre scared?â
âSometimes,â he says plainly. âBut not with him around. Master Mydeiâs really strong. Like Lord Phainonâbut sharper. And he never talks down to us. Even if he looks tired sometimes.â
The name settles in your chest like a dropped stone. Your cup stills in your hands, forgotten. Youâre about to askâMaster Mydei?âbut before the words even leave your mouth, Nikolas is already wriggling around in his seat, eyes lit with recognition.
âHeâs over there! Hey! Master Mydei!â he shouts, waving one syrup-slicked hand in the air.
You nearly choke.
Across the hall, seated near a towering ficus and sipping from a ceramic cup with a journal open beside him, a figure turns his head. And the moment your eyes meetâthose same sunlit-gold irises now caught in the warm light of the Hallâtime slips. Your breath stutters. He doesnât look surprised.
A flicker of something unreadable passes across his face before his mouth curves into a small, polite smile. He closes the journal softly and stands.
Nikolas is already halfway out of his seat, grinning from ear to ear. âHeâs the one I was telling you about! Heâhe taught us how to roll without breaking our necks! And he gave me a second try when I tripped the first time!â
You, however, are frozen.
Of all the faces to find in the afterglow of a sun that never sets, it had to be his.
âMaster Mydei, this is Big Sis Thalia!â Nikolas beams, tugging on the hem of your sleeve like heâs about to introduce a treasured friend to a local god. âShe picks me up after class now!â
You feel your heart thrum a little too hard at that name spoken aloud. Mydei is already making his way toward your table, each step measured and unhurried. He moves like he always doesâlike someone born of silence and gravity, like someone whoâs learned the value of taking up just enough space. He stops just beside the table, gaze dipping to meet yours.
âItâs good to see you again, Thalia.â His voice is smooth and composed, but not cold. Thereâs a flicker of something warmer under the surfaceâfamiliarity, perhaps. Or curiosity.
You rise a little from your seat, unsure whether to bow, curtsy, or offer a nod. You settle for a soft, polite greeting. âLikewise, Lord Mydei.â
He waves the title away. âIâm only âMasterâ here in the Academy halls, and only because the instructors insisted.â
Nikolas clambers back onto his seat, already patting the bench beside him. âCome sit! Youâre not gonna leave already, are you?â
Mydei glances once at you, as if gauging your comfort, then back at the boy. âOnly if your guardian doesnât mind.â
Your mouth feels dry, but you manage a nod. âPlease. We were just having a small treat before heading home.â
âThen Iâll join you for a moment.â He lowers himself gracefully onto the bench beside Nikolas, placing his journal aside, hands folded neatly on the table. âYouâve had quite the day, havenât you?â
Nikolas puffs out his chest. âGot a perfect score on our formations quiz. Even the scary second-year instructor said so.â
âImpressive,â Mydei says, tone light but sincere. âMaybe youâll be teaching me something before long.â
The boy snickers proudly, and conversation carries on easily enoughâfor him, at least. You sit across from them, quietly, sipping from your cooling cider and watching the exchange. But before you can get lost in your thoughts, Nikolas looks between you both, his brows furrowing with curiosity.
âWait... Do you two know each other?â he asks, his voice suddenly serious, as if heâs stumbled onto something important.
You freeze for a split second, unsure of how to answer, but Mydei simply smilesâan easy, natural smile that doesnât reach too far into anything personal.
âWeâve met a few times,â Mydei says smoothly, his eyes flicking over to you briefly before returning to Nikolas. âMostly through your motherâs good work.â
Nikolasâs eyes narrow as he looks between you both. His lips quirk, understanding settling in like a quiet revelation. Heâs been around enough to know the weight of that phrase, to know what it means when someone mentions meeting through his motherâs âgood workâ.
A subtle, knowing look passes between the two of you, and you can see Nikolasâs mind working. He doesnât press it, though; instead, he just nods as if heâs pieced things together in that young, perceptive way of his.
âGot it,â Nikolas says with a slight grin, his voice dropping to something quieter. âWell, anyway... Master Mydeiâs pretty cool, right?â He sounds more casual now, as if the conversationâs already shifted away from anything thatâs uncomfortable for him. But heâs not blindâhe knows.
You meet Mydeiâs gaze, and for just a moment, the question lingers in the air between the two of you. But for Nikolas, itâs already passed. Heâs not going to make things harder for you. Heâs just glad to have his perfect score to boast about.
Nikolas chatters on beside you, still glowing with excitement from his day at the Academy, especially now that heâs seen his new instructor outside the training halls. You try to listen, but your eyes keep drifting toward the man standing before youâMydei, now dressed in a much more practical outfit than when you last saw him, though no less composed. His gaze doesnât linger on you long, but when it does, it feels as if he sees far too much.
âWell,â he says at last, with a polite nod toward Nikolas, âIâll leave you two to enjoy your treat.â
Thereâs nothing overt in his tone, but something in the weight of those words sticks with you, and you find yourself offering a small nod in return, though your chest tightens.
Nikolas, thankfully, doesnât notice the shift. He keeps talking, something about how Master Mydei demonstrated a maneuver with a practice spear earlier. You murmur something in response, but before you can fully catch your breath, Mydei is at your side again. You feel the brush of his handâlight, fleetingâguiding you a few paces away from Nikolas and the noisy crowd of the Hall. You donât resist. The moment feels suspended in air. He leans in, just enough that you feel the warmth of his breath against your ear.
âIâll see you again tonight,â he whispers, his voice low, meant for you and you alone.
Your heart skips. Youâre not sure what you expectedâif you expected anything at allâbut that wasnât it. Before you can gather a reply, heâs already stepping away, his touch gone, his presence retreating with effortless grace. You stand there, the din of the Hall slowly returning around you, and wonder if he knows just how much weight his words now carry.
Nikolas tugs at your sleeve, oblivious. âAre you okay?â
You manage a soft smile, though your thoughts are still chasing after the shadow of a prince disappearing into the golden light.
âYeah,â you say quietly. âLetâs finish that snack.â
You shouldnât be fussing this much.
You tell yourself that as you smooth the silken sheets for the third time, as you adjust the folds of your robe for the third time, as you dab perfume just under your jaw, though itâs not the kind you ever wore for clients. Itâs subtle, something like rosewater clinging to the memory of seafoam.
Your sisters have noticed. Of course they have. Fewer and fewer names on your ledger, fewer nights where you let your hair down for anyone but him. They donât say it outright, but you catch the glances. The knowing smirks. A gentle elbow here, a raised brow there. Elena says nothing, bless her, but thereâs a glint of worry behind her eyes.
Because girls like you are not meant to hope.
The fourth hour comes, quiet as a whisper. Mydei doesnât knock. You just know when heâs arrived. The door creaks open, and there he isâbathed in the low amber light of your chamber, looking more god than man. His hair is like a flame pulled taut into a low tie at his nape, loose strands catching the light like cinders. His golden eyes find yours, but they don't linger in lustâthey search. For what, you arenât sure. Answers, maybe. Or something youâve tucked too deep to name.
Red markings glisten faintly across his skin, crawling down the ridges of his arms, over the firm landscape of his torso. Not painted. Not cosmetic. They pulse faintly with some inner rhythm, as if alive with meaning. Youâve traced them before. With fingers. With lips. But youâve never asked about them. And heâs never offered.
You rise from the bed.
âI wasnât sure if youâd come,â you say softly, trying to keep your voice level. âI said I would.â He closes the door behind him. He walks with the silence of someone used to being watched. Every step deliberateâquiet, measured. âI didnât want to disturb the others.â
You nod, heart beating like a drum. For a moment, you hesitate. This is the part where he usually takes off his cloak. Where hands meet skin. Where everything unravels into motion. But instead, Mydei says, âI donât want that tonight.â
â...You donât?â
He shakes his head, steps closer, his expression unreadableâbut not cold. âI just want to sit. With you.â
Your body stills, breath catching. No manâs ever said that before. Not in this room. Not with that look in their eyes.
âWhy?â
He doesnât answer right away. Just walks past you and sits at the edge of your bed, elbows resting on his knees, eyes watching the floor like it might swallow him whole. âWhen Iâm with you,â he says at last, âI remember Iâm still human. That I havenât been swallowed yet by the weight of everything waiting outside.â
You take a slow breath, and then, you join him.
Silence stretches between you for a while, warm but unfamiliar. Youâve never had to fill it before. Not like this. Not with someone like him. So when you speak again, your voice is careful, hushed. âWhat did you want to talk about?â You look down at your hands as you say it, suddenly aware of how tightly youâre wringing the fabric of your robe. âIâm⊠not very good at small talk.â
He glances your way, not with judgment, but with something quieter. Gentler. âNeither am I.â
Thereâs a pauseâhe leans back slightly, gaze on the ceiling for a heartbeat, as if weighing the shape of the question heâs about to ask. Then, softly:Â âPhainon.â
You blink. âWhat about him?â
âI was just⊠wondering,â Mydei says, his voice measured but curious, âwhy heâs always around. Why heâs so close to everyone here. Itâs unusual.â
You study his expression. Thereâs no accusation behind it, no jealousy or condescension. Just a quiet sort of puzzlement. You suppose that makes sense. Mydei walks through the world like a figure carved of duty and divine weightâphilos, strategos, prince. A man raised in marble halls where power is either taken or inherited, never simply given away.
So you exhale and say, âCan I tell you a story?â
He nods once.
âThere was a man,â you begin, fingers tracing invisible lines along the embroidered edge of your sleeve. âA wicked man. Not in the way people always expectâhe didnât shout, didnât strike in public, didnât bare his teeth. He wore silks. Spoke softly. Promised the world.â
You glance up, briefly, and find Mydeiâs gaze hasnât wavered.
âThey said he had a collection. Not of art, or relics, or trinkets. But of little dolls. Girls, mostly. Women from across the land. He wandered farâcoastal villages, mountain towns, the wine-soaked islands. Heâd find the ones with songs in their hearts and stars in their eyes. The beautiful ones. The dreamers. The desperate.â
Your voice drops. âHe would say, âCome with me. Iâll give you a place to shine. A home. A future. A better life.ââ
âBut the moment they stepped into his palace, they were no longer people. Just property. Stripped of name, of will, of voice. He dressed them up. Painted them pretty. Locked them behind velvet doors, and called them his treasures.
âAnd if they cried, heâd say they were ungrateful. If they fought, heâd punish them. But if they stayed quietâif they obeyedâheâd smile and say they were his favorite.â
You fall silent then, and the memory of it coils like smoke in your throat. The sweet, rotting scent of those early days in Okhema. The illusion before the trap snapped shut.
Mydei doesnât interrupt. But when you look at him again, thereâs a new sharpness in his gaze, tempered only by a sadness you didnât expect to see. Like the weight of your story has settled somewhere behind his ribs. âAnd what became of the wicked man?â he asks softly.
You offer the ghost of a smile. âA good man drove a sword to his chest.â
The corners of Mydeiâs lips twitch ever-so slightly. You like to think that he was proud. You go on, voice low but even. âWhen the wicked man still ruled the undercity, we werenât anything more than possessions. Broken things, caged and bruised, prettied up for those who could afford cruelty. He was cruelest of all.â
The words are flat, almost clinical. Itâs easier that way.
âPhainon was sent to take himâdead or alive. I donât know who gave the order. But when he found us, locked behind his velvet curtains, we werenât his mission. Just⊠collateral.â You draw in a breath, remembering the blood, the broken door hinges, the weight of Agamemnonâs silence as it fell to the floor.
âBut Phainon didnât walk past. He stayed. He broke every lock. Carried the ones who couldnât walk. He helped bury what was left.â
You glance at Mydei now, his golden gaze unwavering.
âThatâs why heâs always around. Because even after that day, he never left. Never once tried to collect on our gratitude. He just⊠checks in. Makes sure the water still runs. The food still comes. That weâre still whole.â
A silence settles between you again. You didnât mean to say so much. But somehow, with him, the words come easier than you expect. And still, youâre not sure what heâs thinking. Not yet.
But he nods, slow and solemn. âHeâs a good man.â
âBetter than most,â you murmur, softer still. âHe never wanted anything from us. Not even a thank you.â
You donât say the rest. That in some ways, Phainon taught you that not all men come bearing knives beneath their smiles. And maybe⊠maybe Mydei could be one of them, too. âEnough about me,â you say after a beat, forcing a lighter tone. âI bet you have stories that are far more worthwhile to hear.â
He huffs a quiet laugh, eyes flitting down for a moment as though considering it. âI donât know,â he murmurs, lips curving. âDepends on whoâs listening.â
You raise a brow at him. âThat sounds like a princeâs way of dodging.â
âItâs worked so far,â he admits, unapologetically amused.
But you catch the glint in his eyesâthe kind that speaks of walls heâs not quite ready to lower. Heâs not being cruel. Just careful. You know that kind of silence all too well. So you pivot, gently.
âFine,â you say, leaning back on your palms. âThen let me ask you something real.â
That gets his attention.
âIs it true?â you ask. âThat you donât die?â
His expression shifts, just slightly. Not alarm, not defensivenessâbut something older. More tired. You continue before he can pretend ignorance. âThey say you walked away from death. That not even blades or poisons or the sea can keep you.â
For a moment, Mydei says nothing. Thenâ
âNo,â he says, voice like flint striking stone. âItâs not true.â
âI do die,â the prince adds, and thereâs a strange stillness to him now, like a sword balanced on its edge. âJust not permanently.â
âIâve been killed before. My lungs have filled with blood. Iâve drowned. Iâve been burned. Iâve been sent to the nether realm where the dead drift, where the living are not welcome. And every timeââ He tilts his head slightly. ââIâve clawed my way back.â
âClawed?â you echo.
He nods ever-so slowly. âThe nether realm is not a quiet place. Itâs full of things that shouldnât be remembered. Things that donât forget. I kill whatever stands in my way. Until the path home opens.â
You can hardly breathe for a moment.
âSounds lonely,â you whisper.
âIt is,â he says simply.
But thereâs no sorrow in the way he says it. No anger either. Just the truth. Heavy and hard and worn like old armor. And suddenly, you understand the look in his eyesâthe way it always seems like heâs staring through time itself. Because maybe he is. Maybe heâs already lived a hundred lifetimes. Maybe the only thing thatâs ever tethered him back to the present⊠is the choice to return.
âCan anyone else just kill their way out of the nether realm?â you ask, the words half a jest, half wonder.
Mydei's lips twitch, but his gaze doesn't waver.
ââŠIf there was,â he murmurs, âI think I wouldâve run into them by now.â
You fall into silence at that, eyes dragging over the lines of himâhis broad shoulders, the golden hue of his skin kissed by something celestial, and the red marks that wind down his arms, chest, torso. Not scars. Not tattoos. Something older, etched into him like language itself. Wordlessly, your hand lifts. You rest your palm lightly against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath warm skin. He doesn't move, doesn't flinch. Just watches you. Your fingertips trace the red markings slowly, following the curl of them as they wind over muscle and bone.
âThis body is special, then,â you say, voice almost reverent. A beat passes. His breath hitchesâbarelyâbut you catch it.
âCursed,â he says quietly. âOr blessed. Depends on who you ask.â
âAnd if I ask you?â
His gaze flickers down to where your hand rests, still trailing those strange, divine brands.
ââŠAsk me later,â he says, softer now.
As though heâs not ready to name what he is. As though something about your touch is unraveling the edges of him. You donât move your hand from his chest. You feel the warmth of himâtoo alive for someone whoâs clawed his way back from death. Too human for a man on the precipice of godhood. He looks at you, eyes shining gold even in the low light, flickering with something he doesnât say.
You tilt your head, your voice barely above a whisper. âLater, then.â
And you shouldâve pulled away. Shouldâve stepped back and said goodnight, like the polite fiction you both pretended to believe in. But you donât.
Instead, your hand slides higher, fingers grazing his collarbone, resting against the side of his neck. Youâre closer now. When did that happen? His breath mingles with yours, his lips parted slightly, like heâs on the edge of a word he canât find.
Then it happensâslow and inevitable.
He leans in first, but itâs you who closes the gap.
The kiss is soft the moment your lips touch. Careful. Testing. The kind of kiss that asks a question neither of you can put into words. His hand finds your waist, anchoring you like youâll vanish, like maybe he already thought you would. Itâs only when you deepen it, that he lets out the faintest sound against your mouthâhalf a sigh, half a surrender. And for a moment, thereâs nothing holy or tragic about either of you. No gods, no ghosts. Just this. Just now.
You forget what it means to be someone broken, and he forget what it means to be someone burdened. You just feel. Your lips part just barely from his, breath catching between the narrow space that remains. His hand still rests at your waist, his thumb moving in slow, lazy circles against the fabric of your robe. You search his face, trying to decipher if he means to pull back or dive in again.
âI thought you werenât here for this,â you whisper, your voice trembling not with fear, but the weight of wanting.
His eyes flicker down to your mouth, then back to yours, and a soft laugh escapes himâlow and rich, like the crackle of embers.
âYes,â he murmurs, âbut what sort of man would I be if I left you wanting?â
The corner of your mouth lifts, not quite a smileâmore like something delicate unraveling. His words coil around your ribs like silk, tightening gently, beautifully. You should say something clever, something to keep this from slipping too far.
But your mouth finds his again before you can even try.
The quiet between you lingers after the kiss, but itâs not empty. It thrums with something unspoken, something deeper than words. Mydeiâs breath brushes against your skin, warm and steady, his hands still resting at your waist as if anchoring himself in your presence. You donât say anything when you lean in again. You donât have to. The moment folds in on itself, soft and slow, like the hush before a storm. Your fingers trace the red markings on his chest again, not out of curiosity this time, but reverence. Thereâs something sacred about the way they wind across his skin, the way he lets you touch him like thisâopen, unguarded.
He follows your lead, hands gliding up your spine, over your shoulders, until they frame your face. When he kisses you again, itâs not with the urgency of want, but with the ache of longing. As though heâs been waiting to do this properly. As though he knows this might be the last night heâs allowed to feel human. The world outside your room fades, replaced by the rhythm of shared breath, the brush of skin against skin, the silent promises made in the space between heartbeats. The weight of your historiesâhis battles, your chainsâfalls away for just a little while.
What remains is tenderness.
Your clothes fall away one by one. Amidst the passion that seeps into your very bones, you find it in you to make a quip about how much easier things are when heâs not wearing his armor. Mydei scoffs, but thereâs no sign of annoyance on his face. Just the subtle endearment for somethingâsomeone he never knew he could connect with so deeply.Â
Heâs careful with you, even when your hands wander, even when your heartbeat quickens under his touch. Thereâs a reverence to the way he holds you, like heâs afraid to break something delicate, even though youâve long since learned to be unbreakable. His fingers slide into you with perfect precision, the slick between your legs granting him enough lubrication to make you feel every sensation there is to give. Your velvet walls clamp down on him with fervor, curling into the heat of his indestructible body as he spreads you open for him.Â
âYouâre so good for me,â he whispers. âToo good for me.âÂ
Thereâs an undertone of something you canât quite name that accompanies his words. But the notion is lost on you when he curls his fingers just so. A broken whimper escapes your lips, unable to stifle it as Mydei continues to hit that sweet, sweet spot inside you. You feel it far too soonâthat telltale sizzle of release. It bides its time, tying your stomach in knots until the pressure in your navel becomes too much to bear. Mydei growls into the curve of your neck when he feels your body spasm beneath him; having given into the pleasure so easily, it awakens something primal within him. Itâs like your body is on fire. Sensitive to the touch wherever his skin meets yours. Part of you wants to recoil, to beg for respite. Too much, too much, too muchâÂ
Sensing how deeply he's unraveled you, Mydei tempers the urgency of his touch into something gentlerâtender strokes that barely skim your skin, grounding you, reminding you he's still here. That he's not going anywhere. As if in silent apology, he presses a kiss to the tip of your noseâsoft and reverent.
âAll I want,â he breathes, his voice rough with restraint, âis for you to feel good. Do you trust me?â
You know he already holds the answer in his hands, but still, you blink through the blur of your tears until his face comes into focusâfractured by light and emotion, and yet still so beautiful. With a shaky breath, you reach up, fingers weaving behind his neck, and pull him into a kiss that speaks the answer for you.
âYes,â you whisper into his mouth, like a vow youâve been holding your whole life. âI trust you more than anything. More than anyone.â
This kind of vulnerability is something you never imagined you could offer so freely. Not after everything. Not to anyone. But with Mydei, it doesn't feel like surrender. It feels like remembering something you thought you'd lost: the ability to feel safe in someoneâs arms, to be seen without shame, to be held without fear. Despite yourself, heat flares in your cheeks at the sight of himâaroused and aching. His leaking cock strains against his abdomen, flushed with a need so primal, he practically grinds the throbbing shaft between your supple thighs.Â
âI need you,â you breathe, voice trembling, desperate. Your hand slips between your thighs, guiding him with aching intent. âPlease, Mydei⊠justâplease.â
He gives in to your wishesâheâs starting to grow much too weak against them. Mydei guides his length into your dripping heat, the head of his cock penetrating you with the same cautious anticipation he exhibited during your first night together.Â
And then, inch by inch, you feel whole again.
For a while, the two of you remain tangled in that momentâheat blooming between your bodies, thick and breathless. The stretch of him shouldâve been too much, but all you can feel is how right it is. How perfectly he fits, like he was always meant to be there. He groans, a proud lion reduced into nothingness when you purposely clench the walls of your cunt around his poor length. You find yourself grinning mischievously when Mydei starts speaking in that language long lost to time. You should ask him about that sometimeâwhen your heads arenât clouded with sheer desire. But for now, you live in the moment.Â
âI regret not finding you sooner,â he admits with a quiet laugh. A moment of clarity hovers across your mind, and your first instinct is to tease. âWhy? Would you have bought me out of this brothel if you did?â
âPerhaps,â Mydei murmurs before suckling a band of hickeys above your collarbones, initiating slow yet languid thrusts that have your toes curling with bliss. âBut if I had found you sooner, you never would have had to live the life you lead. I wouldâve stolen you away from Lethe myself.âÂ
You know those are just the words of a man lost in the throes of pleasure. Men tend to start running their mouths whenever theyâre high on the feel of your cunt pulsating around their cocks. But Mydei has a knack for being candid about all sorts of things.
âWould youâhah! W-would you have put me in a cage too?â you taunt and it gets you the exact reaction you want. Mydei snaps his hips harshly, nearly punching the breath from your lungs. âDress me up in the f-finest of silk and flaunt me to the world?âÂ
âNo. Never.â He grits his teeth so tightly, you swear you hear the strain in his jaw. âIâll make you mine, but only on your terms. Only if you want me to.â
Even in the haze of desire, he manages to remain the most honorable man in all of Okhema. The thought of it, the weight of his words, makes something warm well up inside youâso overwhelming you could weep with joy. His raw honesty encourages you to wrap your arms around his broad backâholding him so close that he canât ever hope to slip away. The heat of his skin against yours is grounding, a reminder that, despite everything, youâre here together, tangled in this moment. When his calloused fingers find the sensitive bud of your clit, you jostle beneath him in surprise. You were so focused on how good heâs giving it to you, that you failed to notice his hands wriggling down to your thighs.Â
âM-Mydeiâ!â you gasp, but he only fucks into you harder.Â
Mydeiâs breath stutters in quiet, devout gasps, the edge of release so close he could reach for it. But he holds back. Draws out the moment like a hymn. He could stay like this foreverâjust to savor the weight of your body beneath his, just to feel the hush between you stretch into something timeless. You memorize the feel of himânot just the way his body fits against yours, but the quiet sighs that escape when your lips find the hollow of his throat, the way he lingers on every touch like heâs afraid to let go.Â
Heâs fire and gold and thunderstorms, and yet he looks at you like youâre the miracle.
Mydei spills into you with reckless abandon, canting his hips with clockwork precision as he fills you to the brim. For a moment, the world quietsâlike the tide pulling back before the next great wave. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, breath hitching, arms locked tight around you like heâs terrified of the space that might form between your bodies.
You feel him trembling, not from exhaustion, but from the gravity of it all. As if something in him has broken looseâsomething raw and sacred and entirely yours. But it doesnât end there.
You donât realize what heâs doing when he swiftly breaks free of your embrace. But when his face hovers across your soiled cunt, you make the motions to pull him back upâonly for your beast of a lover to devour the mess heâs left in his wake. Mydei laves at your hole like he intends to feast on you for the rest of his life. He scoops his own cum out with his own fingers, slurping your mixed essence with so much depravity shining in his golden eyes, you can hardly believe heâs a prince. No sane man would look so blissed out whilst doing something soâ
âI can feel you,â he growls. âNeed you to come for me.â
The words are spoken with such authority, it sends a guilty thrill straight to your throbbing cunt. Mydei latches his lips onto your sensitive nub, fucking his cum back into you with those godlike fingers. You thrash around beneath him, but Mydei keeps you in place with a steady gripâmaking sure you feel everything heâs willing to give. Your body trembles, overwhelmed by the relentless tenderness he wields like a weapon. Every curl of his fingers, every flick of his tongue draws out a fresh wave of pleasure that crashes through you with no mercy. Your cries are half-muffled by the pillow, but he hears them all the sameâdrinks them in like a sacred prayer.
âMydei,â you sob, unable to do anything but hold onto him. Your legs shake around his shoulders, your hands tangled in his hair like lifelines.
He doesn't stop. He wonâtânot until heâs certain thereâs nothing left unsaid between your bodies. Not until your body recognizes him as deeply and completely as your heart already does. When he finally slows, itâs not because heâs spent, but because heâs sated. Because he knows you are too. And as he pulls you into his arms, nestling your exhausted form against the warmth of his chest, you realizeâthis isnât just release. Itâs devotion. A vow whispered into your very bones.
Time passes strangely in the dark. You donât know how long the two of you stay like this, curled in the comfort of each otherâs warmth. His hand is cradling the back of your neck, his breath evening out as you rest your forehead against his shoulder. There are no declarations. No promises. Only the quiet understanding between two people whoâve found something rare in each otherâif only for a night.
And that, somehow, is enough.
You are back on the shores of Lethe yet again.Â
The scent of the ocean is heavy in the air, salt mixing with the sweetness of the breeze. The horizon stretches wide before you, the sea infinite and restless, each wave a soft whisper against the shore. But thereâs something elseâsomething familiar, something that stirs deep within your chest.
The souls.
They drift across the water, gliding in and out of the mist that rises from the waves, countless and silent. At first, you donât see them clearly. Theyâre indistinct forms, like smoke or vapor, just the shape of something that used to be. They are lost, wandering. Some of them move in clusters, others alone, each drawn to the sea like they were always meant to be here. Itâs always been this way. Youâve seen it many times before. The souls spill from the nether realm, drawn across the waters, stretching between Lethe and Styxia. Youâve stood here before, in this same silence, watching as they passed by.
This time, though, thereâs something different. One soul catches your eye. Itâs faint at first, barely distinguishable among the others, but it glowsâa soft, golden light, faint but warm, as if itâs radiating from deep within. Youâre drawn to it without thinking. The pull is gentle, but it grows stronger the closer you get. The light flickers in the mist, barely visible behind the shadows of the other souls. But itâs there, unmistakable.
You take a step forward, and the light grows, a shining ember in the endless grey. You know, without a doubt, that this one is different from the rest. It moves with purpose, not like the others who are aimless, lost in their endless drift. This one seems... aware. Alive, somehow.
As you move closer, the light brightens, and you catch glimpses of a shape, a form within it. At first, itâs unclearâblurry, indistinct, like the edges of a dream. The golden light wraps itself around a figure, but itâs not fully defined, not yet. You reach out toward it, a quiet yearning stirring in your chest. Then the figure shifts slightly. You feel it, a subtle movement in the water, and your heart skips. The golden glow swirls, growing stronger, as if it recognizes you, as if itâs meant to find you. The warmth radiating from it is overwhelming. It's like sunlight after rain. You step forward again, closer, closer still, the feeling of it wrapping around you, pulling you toward the shore.
But then, just as quickly as it appeared, the light begins to fade. The soul drifts away, slowly at first, and then faster as the current pulls it back. You reach out, desperate to hold on, but your fingers touch only the mist. The light dims, vanishing into the expanse of souls, swallowed by the sea.
You stand still, the warmth that had filled you fading like the last embers of a fire. The mist thickens again, and the souls continue their endless journey, their forms lost to the distance. But something lingers. The feeling. The warmth. The sense that youâve witnessed something important, something that has been waiting for you all along. You donât know what it means, but you know, somehow, that itâs a connection youâre not meant to forget.Â
Not yet.
The bells of the Academy chime across the courtyard, clean and melodic like everything else in this part of Okhema. As the students depart for dismissal, you wait by the marble fountain just a ways away from the main entrance. A tree that curls over it offers ample shade beneath the unchanging light of the Dawn Device above. Nikolas emerges from the throng of students scurrying out. He doesnât run to you anymore, but his steps are quick, a little uneven, like he hasnât quite grown into his legs yet.
âWe talked about the Titans after our drills today,â he says after giving you a quick hug. âOne of my classmates asked if Kephale ever puts the Dawn Device down. Master Theon said, âNot once in all of history.ââ
You smile faintly, brushing a curl from his temple. âThat sounds like something youâd ask.â
He grins. âI wouldâve made it sound smarter. And I did 'cause Master asked us to make an essay about it.â
Nikolas tries to sound casual, but the way he looks at you afterward like heâs waiting for you to be proud makes your heart twist a little. Itâs only been a few weeks since he first walked through the Academy gatesâstill all knees and elbowsâbut heâs already grown so much. They donât ask for perfect speech or polished manners here. Just grit, and enough fire to stand when the Black Tide comes crawling. This isnât the Grove of Epiphany, where scholars chase after the elusive truth and speak in riddles. Here, boys and girls are shaped into the last line between the dark and everything worth saving.
You have half the mind to ask if Nikolas wants to make another detour to the Hall of Respite. To treat him to some of his favorite flat cakes. But then an unwelcome voice slithers into the quiet moment.Â
âWell, what do we have here? The whore walks in daylight.â
It takes effort to turn, to meet the manâs eyes without flinching. Heâs older now, more jowled than you remember, but the silk of his robes and the stink of indulgence are the same. Aeson. One of the men who used to come slinking through the undercity when the sun was too high for shame. He once asked you to sing for him while he undressed. Said you had a voice like smoke, a body like borrowed gold. He was never violent, just entitled. And worse, comfortable.
âI suspected that it was you for a few weeks now but even I knew how much you despised the overworld,â Aeson says, condescension dripping from every word. âThen again, you always did love playing mother to that stray.â
You hear Nikolas bristle at the manâs words, and you put out a hand to keep him from doing anything rash. Even at his young age, heâs seen how men treat you and your sisters like gunk beneath their sandals. And youâve seen how a boy, raised with so much love even in the dark, has tried to give it all backâto protect the women who became that love for him.
But youâre not in some smoke-choked alley of the undercity. Youâre in the pristine courtyard of the Academy itself. And thereâs no way in hell youâre jeopardizing Nikâs education just to put some pompous old coot in his place. Elena would never forgive you.
Instead, you give him a flat look before saying, âGo pester someone whoâs desperate.â
But the man steps in closer, a haughty look painted high on his wrinkly face. âI remember you desperate, girl. I paid for it. You should be grateful that anyone still looks at you nicely, knowing you're old Agamemnonâs trash.â
And that sinks teeth into you. The insult doesnât surprise you. Youâve heard worse from softer lips. But it stirs something darker: the memory of what it cost you to not belong. The long, awful ache of surviving by grace of what others wanted from your skin. The truth of it is what burns most. Because Agamemnon did claim you. And now his name clings to you like grease you canât scrub off.
You square your shoulders. You wonât give him the satisfaction of seeing it land. But before you can speak, the air shifts like something heavy has entered the scene.
âIâll give you one chance to take that back.â
The voice is low, deliberate. Not loud, but heavy with promise. You and the nobleman both turn. Mydei stands at the edge of the courtyard, backlit by the cold radiance of the Dawn Device. His armor catches the light like forged fire, making his presence all the more unmistakable. There is no rage in his face, only clarity. The kind that makes cowards remember their manners.
âPrince Mydei,â Aeson stammers, dipping into a mock-bow. âIâm afraid I didnât see you there.â
âNo,â Mydei replies. âYou only saw who you thought you could speak over.â
He draws up beside you, a hand hoveringânot touchingâbut near enough that you feel it like heat through fabric. Similarly to how you did with Nikolas, however you did that to prevent. Mydei does so to protect. âYou said too much,â Mydei says, voice iron-flat. âAnd the next time you think of talking to a woman like that, remember this moment.â
A pause. You don't think you remember how to breathe, not in the face of Mydei's quiet fury. Then, as sharp as a blade, he grates out,
âLeave.â
Aeson recoilsâstammers something too low to hearâthen stumbles back into the crowd, his velvet trailing like a cloak of rot. You follow his hunched form until he disappears completely out of view. Only then does the tension in your shoulders ebb away. Nikolas looks between you and Mydei, uncertain.
âWas that one of the cityâs... uh, patrons?â he mutters.
You exhale slowly, shaking off the sting. âYou could say that.â
Mydeiâs eyes donât leave your face. Not even as Nikolas tries to catch his attention with a look. You donât meet his gaze, but you feel itâthe weight of what he didnât say. The rage he carried in like a blade still sheathed. âOld men like that never forget a girl they once thought they owned,â you say softly, reassuring Nikolas with a smile that takes more out of you than you thought. âDoesnât mean they matter.â
âYou matter,â Mydei says, quiet but unflinching. It startles you only because you didnât expect for him to put in another word. âThey just donât know what that means yet.â And for a breath, the city stills around you. Not in reverence, nor silence. But in recognition. âThank you,â you whisper, not knowing what else to say. âNik and I will be off now.â
The princeâs gaze doesnât shift. His hand lingers near yours, and when you hesitate, he takes a half-step closer. His voice is firm, though his tone softens just slightly. âIâll walk you back to the undercity.â
You open your mouth to refuse, but the remnants of the encounter with Aeson hang over you like a heavy fog, and the words fall flat in your throat. Thereâs a pull in your chestâa need for distance from everything that just transpiredâand you find yourself nodding before you can think better of it.
âAlright,â you murmur.
Nikolas watches the exchange quietly, still unsure of the silent tension between the two of you, but he follows nonetheless, his footsteps light against the cobblestones. Mydei falls in step beside you, his presence unyielding but steady, like the silent promise of protection. The city stretches out before you, its lights distant and hollow beneath the unblinking gaze of the Dawn Device. The hum of Okhema fades into the background as you walk.Â
You donât speak, but you donât need to. His proximity alone quells any lingering fear, and you find comfort in the silence that comes with it.
Since that day in the courtyard, walking home together just started...happening.Â
Mydei never asked. He simply waited outside the gates of the Academy, where the marble gave way to cracked stone and the air grew thick with real life. Nikolas would spot him first, sometimes with a grin, sometimes pretending he hadnât been looking for him. It was a strange little ritual, but one that settled into place before you realized it. Nikolas walking beside one of his instructors like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you beside them both, listening, nodding, adding the occasional remark when Nikolas recounted the latest training mishap or philosophical disagreement with a teacher.
It wasnât how these things were supposed to goânot a prince, not a prostitute, not a boy from nowhereâbut it worked.
And then, over time, Mydeiâs steps carried him a little farther. Past the alleys you knew like breath, and the entrance to the undercity that you insisted was far enough for a chaperone.Â
Today is one of the two rest days that Nikolas has within a school week, and you spend a chunk of your time helping around The House. It always feels different on slower days like this. Softer, almost. Less like a cage and more like a secret place between worldsâwhere laughter could still echo against peeling walls, and perfume hung in the air like memory. You hear the rustling of his armor before you see himâfamiliar now, no longer something that makes the girls stiffen or reach for the knives tucked beneath silk pillows. Just outside, the lanterns have begun to glow gold, and from the hallway, a voice calls out:
âThalia, your knightâs here again!â
You roll your eyes as you round the corner, but you canât stop the smile that forms at the sight of him. Mydei stands in the foyer with a small basket of fruit in one handâdates, you guess, or maybe honeyed apricots from the upper district market. He's still donned in his armor, though heâs unstrapped the shoulder pauldrons. Less imposing that way. Still unmistakable.
âI wasnât sure if youâd be busy,â he says, a touch uncertain, as if his presence might overstep.
âPenelopeâs braiding Irisâ hair,â you reply. âThe rest are pretending not to peek.â
As if on cue, the door behind you creaks. Penelope leans out, a wry grin curling at her lips while Iris stammers out apology after apology for eavesdropping.Â
âThalia, really,â Penelope says, mock-scolding. âYou keep bringing in decent men and setting the bar too high for the rest of us.â
You snort, and even Mydeiâs mouth twitches in something thatâs not quite a smileâbut itâs close. âI can leave the fruit and go,â he offers.
âNo,â you say too quickly. Then, gentler, âStay. They like you here now, but donât let it go to your head. Elenaâs already figured out how to turn your visits into good business.â
Mydei nods with half a smile gracing his face. He steps further in, letting the warmth of The House wrap around him. One of the younger girls, quiet Calliope, flits by and steals an apricot from the basket. He lets her.Â
Later, you find him sitting cross-legged on the floor while Penelope retells some outlandish story about a drunk client who mistook her for a goddess. Mydei doesnât laugh, not loudlyâbut thereâs light in his eyes. One you donât often see up in the sanctified marble of Okhemaâs spires. And maybeâjust maybeâThe House feels a little safer with him in it.
The following morning, the sky in the overworld is bleached bone-white. The unsetting sun hums high above, softened by distance and with it, Okhema shines, immaculate and hollow. Despite your more frequent visits due to your new job as Nikolas' guardian, you haven't grown to like it much. Too polished. Too sanctified. But today youâre not alone.
Mydei walks beside you, his long stride unhurried, matching yours. He carries your satchel without needing to be asked. Youâve got a listâwritten in Alexandriaâs looping handâand a basket slung over your arm. Thereâs something gently absurd about it all. You, running errands in the overworld. Choosing peaches. Haggling for bath oil. The sort of thing the other girls usually do. But today, you offered.
Youâre not sure whatâs more startling: that no one questioned you, or that you meant it.
The Marmoreal Market is alive. Vendors cry out over pyramids of citrus and hanging lanterns of glass. Incense smoke curls in lazy spirals above marbled stalls. A bard plays something languid on a flute near the olive barrels. The air tastes of brine and roasted almonds. It should be overwhelming. Once, it might have been. But today you just walk. Mydei doesnât fill the silence. He lets it breathe between you like he always does. You pause to examine a twist of lavender soap. He waits patiently while you hold it to your nose, frown, and mutter, âToo much oil, not enough flower.â
When you change directions suddenly to get to the honeyed fig vendorâthe fig vendor, the only one who doesnât cheat the glaze with sugar waterâhe follows without question. You almost feel normal. Not broken. Not fallen. Just here.
âThalia?â
You turn. And itâs like the sun tilts sideways. Daphne.
She looks... different. Or maybe not. Maybe youâre the one whoâs changed. Her hair is coiled into a gold-pin bun, her robes the sort nobles wear when they want to look effortless. Thereâs a softness around her nowâa shine to her skin, a plumpness to her face, like love and safety have filled her out. Her bracelets tinkle when she steps closer.
âGods,â she breathes, laughing. âI almost didnât recognize you. You look... good! Healthier than I remember. And your hairâstill doing that wave in front, huh? I always said it made you look like one of those Lethean sirens.â
You manage a thin smile. âItâs you.â
She steps in like she might kiss your cheek, and you let her, though every inch of you braces like it's being touched with salt. âItâs been whatâtwo years? Maybe more? I kept asking Elena about you, but she always just smiled and changed the subject.â Daphneâs eyes flick to Mydei, then back to you with a teasing grin. âAnd here I thought I was the only one who came out of that place lucky.â
She twirls a lock of hair around her finger, feigning modesty. âDid I tell you? No, of course I didnâtâyouâve been hiding down in the bones of the city. Well, you remember Heron, donât you? The grain magnate with the crooked teeth and all the rings? Turns out he wasnât just talk. Married me proper.â She lifts her hand, lets you see the band. âIâve got a little garden now. A cook. Weâre thinking of getting a dromas of our own, but I thought that would be a bit too much!â
You say something. You think you do. It sounds like âThatâs nice,â but your mouth feels numb. Daphne laughs again, easy and breezy as a woman whoâs forgotten how deep The House used to cut.
âI still remember how Agamemnon used to spoil you, you know. Oh, donât look at me like thatâitâs not jealousy. I used to think, âShe must have Lethean blood in her veins to bring a man like that to his knees.ââ She tilts her head, studying you. âFunny how things turn out, huh?â
Your grip on the basket tightens. Mydei hasnât moved. You donât have to look to know heâs watching her. Watching you. You lift your chin. Even if you know the man keeping you company is more than capable of stepping in like a guard dog, you don't let him. There are some things in this world that you'd rather not rely on Mydei for.
âI should get going,â you say, and your voice doesnât crack. âWeâve got things to pick up.â Daphne blinks, surprised. âOh. Of course. I didnât mean toâwell. You look well, Thalia. Really. I mean that.â
You nod once and turn. Mydei doesnât speak until the crowd swallows her up behind you. His voice is quiet, but certain.
âAre you all right?â
You keep your eyes forward. âShe didnât mean it cruelly.â
âNo,â he agrees. âBut she still cut you.â
The fig vendor appears ahead. You make a beeline for it, needing something solid to do with your hands. Something to hold onto. Mydei doesnât press. He stands beside you as you weigh fruit and speak numbers and pretend the world didnât just tilt under your feet. And when you walk away, his hand grazes yours again. Not demanding, but simply offering.
It pains you to pull awayâto refuse something he's always given freelyâbut you avoid his hand altogether. You turn the corner, pushing through the crowd, trying to breathe again. The air feels tight, sharp, as though the weight of everything that just shifted in your chest is pressing down on you. Daphne. A wife. Sheâs happy now. And yetâsomething about herâsomething about the way she carries herself now, so light, so untetheredâbothers you.
The House. Agamemnon. The way the air used to feel thick, like every breath was a crime, and the walls hummed with all the things people would never say. Did the time away make her forget the way he used to drag you through rooms like cattle, like property? The way sheâd walk in and out of those same halls, always knowing the price of every touch, the cost of every whispered word?
You shake your head. Itâs not her fault, you remind yourself. Daphneâs not the one who held your body hostage, not the one who let it break beneath the weight of his need. But...why does it feel like sheâs forgotten? A soft laugh. A garden. A gods damned dromas. And in her voice, in her smile, you hear the echo of a life away from all of that. As though the past was just something easily shaken off. It gnaws at you, that inconsistency. The way she walks with easeâlike she didnât have to bleed for it, didnât have to drown in every unspoken rule of The House, its suffocating power, its price.
You feel it again, in your chest. A tightness, a rawness. And as you push your hand against the basket's rim, trying to steady yourself, the question lingers, still unanswered:
Did Daphne truly forget? Or is it just that sheâs moved on, and you... youâre still here, carrying pieces of it, like shards of glass you canât pull from your skin? You donât realize how tight your gripâs gotten on the basket until Mydei speaksâsoftly, like the sound might startle you if it were any louder. It didn't occur to you that even if you evade him, he'll follow you like a shadow either way.Â
âDo you want to go home?â
You glance at him, caught between the din of the market and the roaring in your own head. His eyes are steady. Not prying. Just there. Like a door already open, waiting for you to step through. He takes the basket from your hands without asking. The tension eases just enough for your fingers to ache. He doesnât rush you. He stays close as you weave through the crowd, his presence a quiet shield against the glances, the voices, the past. He doesnât say anything about Daphne. Doesnât ask what she meant or what it meant to you. And thatâs what makes you want to cry.
Not because he doesnât care, but because he doesâand he knows better than to pick at a wound that's still bleeding.
By the time you make it back to The House, the light above has cooled to its twilight hueâsoft gold thinning into rose where it filters through the grates. The sun doesnât set in Okhema. It only shifts, like a watchful eye half-closing. The undercity glows beneath it, wrapped in the kind of light that feels like the end of a long breath.
Inside, things are loud again. Familiar. One of the girls calls out about a client who tried to pay with temple scrip. Someone else has braided jasmine into the worn curtain rods, and the scent clings stubbornly to the air. You smile when you need to, nod when you must, and brush off any lingering edges from earlier like itâs routine. Because it is. No one notices the way your shoulders hitch too quickly when you laugh. Or the way you avoid the looking glass near the stairs. No one, except the man whoâs still standing by the door like he doesnât quite belongâbut doesnât want to leave just yet.
Mydei shifts slightly, readying himself to depart, the way he always does once youâre safely home. But something in you rebels at the thought.
âIf youâre not busy,â you say, quieter than you intend, âcould you stay? Just for a little while.â
He pauses, brows rising ever so slightly. âYou want me to?â
You nod. âOnly if you want to.â
A beat of stillness. Then: âThen Iâll stay.â
You turn before your face gives you away. You donât lead him to the front parlors where guests are meant to lounge. You donât steer him toward the back alcoves where girls entertain more private company. Instead, you climb the stairs. Past chipped paint and perfumed cloth. Past laughter behind closed doors and one girl humming a tune you havenât heard since Lethe. You walk until you reach your room.
Your room.
Youâve never brought anyone here apart from your sisters and Nikolas. Phainonâs the only outsider whoâs ever crossed its threshold, and even then, only when you couldnât stand to be alone. This room is yours. A sanctuary carved from hand-me-downs and half-stolen quiet. The walls are soft with age, the bedding faded but clean. Thereâs a tiny dish of dried figs near the window, even though you'll never finish them. They don't taste the way they do back at Lethe.
There are no doors to your room. Only a curtain of seashellsâbright, iridescent, strung together in delicate strands. A gift from Elena, thoughtful as she is. It reminds you of home, of the sea, of the ebb and flow of tides. Itâs not a door, not really, but itâs enough to separate your space from the rest of the world.
You open the curtain, casting a sidelong glance at Mydei in a quiet invitation. He hesitates only briefly as his eyes scan the room before he steps inside. The prince says nothing. Doesn't gawk or wander. He simply stands in the middle of there like someone waiting for permission. You amble across the wooden floor, the tension finally unspooling from your spine. Mydei stays closeâbut not too closeâand it strikes you again, how careful he always is with you. Not delicate. JustâŠrespectful and measured.
âNot what you expected?â you ask, gesturing vaguely at the modest space.
âI wasnât expecting anything,â he says softly. âBut it suits you.â
You look down at your hands, then up at him. âI didnât want to be alone,â you say. The words fall like something confessional.
âIâm glad you called for me,â Mydei tells you, honesty bleeding into his voice, and thereâs something in it that makes you look at him again.
In the silence, you walk over to a shelf in the far end, one that the prince has been eyeing since he stepped inside. A small, eclectic collection of trinkets are lined up together on its surface. You can feel his gaze touch each item, but thereâs no judgment in itâonly quiet wonder.
âThese are the pieces I kept,â you murmur, and his eyes flick to you as if waiting for a story, a reason.
A small glass vial, still corked, filled with syrupy red wine the color of dusk. âFrom the lushest vineyard in the entire island. I stole it,â you say with a faint smile. âRan all the way down the hills with red hands and a mouth stained purple.â Beside it, a faded ribbon, sea salt-blue and frayed at the edges, tied in a lazy bow. âFor the dances,â you murmur. âWe wore them on our wrists, so even the shy ones could be pulled into the revelry.â
Next, a small, tarnished fluteâits surface dulled by time, but the carvings of swirling waves and grapevines still visible. âIt only plays when the wind is right,â you say, lifting it briefly to your lips. A single note spills out, thin and wandering. âMy mother bought it for me. Said no Lethean should be without music.â
There are seashells, of courseâreal ones, not like the ones strung in your curtain, but pale and pink and lavender, collected from the shallows. One of them still smells faintly of brine when warmed by your palm. Another is cracked down the middle, but you never threw it away. âThe ugly ones are often the ones that lived longest,â you explain, as if it matters.
And then, near the end of the shelf, sits a delicate pendant, the size of a coin, fashioned from mother-of-pearl and set in brass. Its surface has worn smooth from years of handling, but if the light catches just right, the faint outline of a chalice brimming with waves and fruit still glimmersâthe old symbol of Phagousa, the Titan of Plenty. You used to wear it around your neck. Now it just rests there, like something left at an altar. You donât explain that one.
Mydei is silent, not out of discomfort. He watches you with a strange, quiet intensity, as though your memories hold a significance beyond words. His hand brushes lightly across the ribbon, then rests on the shelfâs edge.
âYou brought Lethe with you,â he says, almost to himself.
You nod, slowly. âI didnât want to forget. Even if everyone already did.â
In that moment, everything floods back. The deal you made with Agamemnon. How you packed what little you could into a single satchel and left behind the life you knew. How you walked away from the island you once called home without so much as a goodbye to your mother. But it doesnât matter now. Agamemnon is dead, and Lethe is gone. Not wanting to spiral back into what Mydei did his best to haul you out of, you walk towards your bed, patting the space beside you. Oddly enough, he joins you without complaint. Not touching. But close enough that if you shifted an inch, you would. You both sit in silence, the air between you warm, but not heavy. The soft flicker of twilight outside dances across the walls, casting long shadows that stretch with time. The quiet is comforting. It doesnât feel like the heavy silence of distance, but something closer, like the stillness of two souls finally aligning.
Mydeiâs presence in the room feels different now. Less like a visitor and more like someone who belongs here, who fits with the gentle rhythm of your life. His armor clinks softly as he shifts to make himself more comfortable, but thereâs nothing forced about the movement. You look up at him, your gaze tracing the familiar red markings on his arms and chestâhis half-worn robes draped in a way that speaks of battles fought and distances traveled.Â
He doesnât try to hide anything, not the weight of what heâs carried, not the quiet strength that lingers in every measured movement. His stillness is calm, but you sense the storm just beneath it, the tumult that never fully goes away.
You can feel the question in the airâthe unspoken one, hanging between you, something about where this moment will lead. But neither of you needs to speak it. Youâve crossed unspoken lines before, danced on edges, and tonight, the edge feels softer, more accepting. You shift a little, a quiet invitationâyour leg brushes his, just enough to send a ripple through the calm.Â
Mydei doesnât pull away.Â
Instead, his hand shifts to the space beside you, fingers barely grazing the fabric of your bedding, as if this is something heâs always respected. Your eyes meet, and thereâs a quiet understanding there, a promise wrapped in the kind of intimacy that doesnât demand. He moves slowly yet deliberately. When his hand finally meets yours, itâs as if the world outside this room falls away, and all thatâs left is the soft brush of skin against skin, the way your breath hitches when his thumb runs over your knuckles, grounding you in the here and now.
The space between you disappears with that small touch.
Mydei doesnât rush. Thereâs no hunger, no desperationâonly the kind of stillness that comes after a long journey. You feel it in the way his fingers thread through yours, slow and certain, like he's holding something precious. Like heâs afraid if he holds too tightly, youâll vanish. Your other hand lifts without thinking, drawn to him as if by instinct, fingertips brushing the line of his jaw. He leans into it, and you can feel the weight he carries, heavy beneath his skin, and still he lets himself soften here, with you.
His forehead presses against yours. Neither of you speak. His warm breath fanning against your face tells you enough. The silence between you isnât emptyâitâs full. Full of the things neither of you could say before. Of every stolen glance. Every almost. Every ache that built into this moment. When he kisses you, itâs not a question. Itâs an answer. Warm, unhurried, and steady. His lips taste like memory and promise all at once. And when Mydei pulls you closerâcloser stillâitâs not possession. Itâs presence. Itâs the quiet vow that, here in this moment, he is entirely yours.
You fall into him like tide to shore. And for the first time in a long time, you donât feel like something adrift. You feel found.
Sounds of lovemaking fill your room in a way that has never happened before. It's a given that privacy in The House is close to none, but all the girls who managed to catch you bringing your fiery-haired lover into your sacred space knew better than to intrude. They also told the others that upstairs is off-limits until either you or Mydei emerged again. What they don't know is that with Mydei, sex takes a very good while.
He starts the way all men usually doâmissionary. Simple, straight to the point. But where you'd often just lie there and let your patrons take you sloppily, Mydei grounds you beneath his weight like he wants you to remember the moment. He doesn't piston his hips with the intent of chasing after his own sweet release. But lets that gaze of molten fire seep into your very bones, his girth spreading your aching walls far apart with each thrust.
You moan his name like you're stringing a litany of prayers. Mydei is all too happy to heed each desperate plea. He hoists one of your legs over his shoulder, tilting your body just several degrees sideways. The angle confuses your brain for a moment, unused to being positioned in such a way. But your thoughts are eventually lost to pleasure when his cock breaches your wet heat once moreâbullying past gummy walls that yield all too easily to his touch alone.
"More, more, more," you dole out mindlessly, tears catching in the corners of your eyes. "I need you more."
You're not sure if any of your words even make sense, but Mydei reads between the lines anyways. He slants your lips together, like stars melting into each other. His kiss swallows your cries, tender and consuming all at onceâlike heâs trying to hold you together with his mouth alone. His hips roll deeper still but slower now, savoring the tremble in your thighs, the desperate way your fingers clutch at his back.
âIâm here,â he murmurs against your lips, voice frayed with restraint. âIâm always here.â
The words break something in you. Maybe itâs the past youâve tried so hard to outgrow, or the girl who once believed no one would ever stay. Either way, she shattersâand in her place is a woman who is being seen, held, loved in a way that feels like becoming. Mydei presses his forehead to yours, breath uneven. The rhythm of your bodies is a language now, spoken in heat and motion, in the slick slide of skin and the muffled gasps you share like secrets.Â
And when you come undone, it isnât with fireworksâitâs with something quieter. A tremble. A sigh. A sense that, for once, the ache inside you has been met with something that understands it.
He's carrying you by your thighs before you can even form another thought. You think you bleat out a weak protest but Mydei presses your back against the nearest wall like he didn't hear a thing. You feel something dig into your spine, but the pain is eclipsed by raw ecstasy when he slots himself inside you againâa shuddering gasp stolen from his chest while he noses at the crook of your neck. Your nerves are still burning with sensation, but the slide of his cock makes you want him more. Desire him deeper. You're past the point of caring whether or not he'll break you, because you know he will and he'll do it deliciously.Â
"You're more than what your past made you out to be," he huffs hoarsely, teeth scraping across sweat-slicked skin. "You're more than just some dead monster's favorite."
Your breath catches as his words sink into the tenderest part of you, far deeper than where his body touches. It makes your pulse throb in places untouched, makes your body arch for more of him, for all of him. Ever since the first time, Mydei has never made you feel like some sort of commodity.Â
He makes you feel human. Always.Â
His hands are rough where they grip your thighs, but thereâs reverence in the way he holds you open, like youâre nothing short of a miracle even now, especially now. His pace slows, deepens. Not to teaseâno, itâs devotion. Every thrust says, I see you. Every breath he steals from your lungs is a promise that heâs not here to use youâhe's here to worship what's been denied worship for far too long.
"I donât care what they called you,â he murmurs, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours as if he needs to feel your thoughts against his. âYou're mine now. If youâll have me.â
And gods, you do.
You meet him stroke for stroke, mouth chasing his with a hunger that borders on holy. Thereâs nothing soft left in the roomânot the air, not the wall, not your shared breathingâbut there is something real, raw, and rising fast. Like the sea in a storm. Like love, if you're brave enough to call it that. His lips find your throat, trailing heat and tremble in their wake. He doesn't kiss you like you're fragile. He kisses you like you're fireâmeant to be burned by. Tongue and teeth dragging along the slick curve of your collarbone, he groans your name like itâs some sort of invocation heâll never stop repeating.
âYou take me so well,â he breathes. âEvery time.â
And Titans, you doâgreedy and trembling and insatiable, taking all of him because you can, because you want to. Because his desire doesnât just touch your bodyâit drenches it, floods it, marks you in places no one else has ever dared to reach. The rhythm builds again, languid and punishing in its control. He doesnât fuck like a man trying to get offâhe moves like heâs trying to memorize you from the inside out. Etching himself into your marrow, into every twitch and gasp and please. He cups your face with one hand, forcing your eyes to meet his. The look in them nearly undoes you.
âYouâre not allowed to forget,â he growls, lips brushing yours with maddening restraint. âNot how this feels. Not what you are to me.â
You nod before you can speak, the sound caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. But he sees it. He feels it in the desperate flex of your hips, the trembling grip on his shoulders, the way your mouth parts for his without needing words. You donât forgetâhow could you, when heâs everywhere? Inside you, around you, underneath your skin?
His kiss turns hungry again, all heat and tongue, no gentleness this time. Just raw needâhis and yours, tangled and indistinguishable. You drink each other in like youâll never have another chance. His thrusts deepen, rougher now, but still preciseâhis cock dragging just the right way, hitting every spot that makes your eyes roll back and your breath shatter in your chest. Your thighs start to shake around him, and he feels it, curses low under his breath as shifts your weight to tether further against the wall. One of his hands slips between your bodies, fingers finding that slick bundle of nerves already pulsing.
âCome for me,â he murmurs, and itâs not a request. Itâs a command, one laced with reverence and heat and a promise that heâs going with you.
The pleasure rips through youâwhite-hot and blinding. You shatter around him, trembling and crying out, clinging to him like heâs the only real thing left in a world gone molten. He follows with a broken sound, burying himself to the hilt, forehead pressed hard to yours as he spills into you with a groan that sounds like itâs been clawed from his soul.
For a long moment, all you can do is breathe together, chests rising and falling in the same rhythm. Your skin sticks where it touches, but you donât pull away. He doesnât either. Mydei's thumb brushes your cheek, catching a tear you didnât know you shed.
âI meant what I said,â he whispers. âYouâre more than what they made you believe. So much more.â
And somehow, in the quiet between heartbeats and aftershocks, you believe him.
The morning carries a softness that feels borrowedâlike it wasnât meant to belong here, but slipped through anyway. At breakfast, the House begins to stir fully, louder with each passing minute. Girls laughing down the hall. Doors creaking open and shut. Water being drawn. Someone tuning a string instrument with off-key determination.
And Mydei is still here.
You spot him in the tiny galley kitchen, sleeves rolled up, red markings stark against the pale curve of his forearms as he folds dough with a focus that borders on reverence. His half-worn robes are still askew from the night before, hair tousled but face composed. You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as he flips a pan with entirely too much grace for someone who used to command legions.
âDidnât think youâd stay,â you murmur.
âI said I would,â he says, not looking up. âBesides, Elena refused to take any money as payment for...â
He pauses, face flushing only for a moment. You feel like he's embarrassed by the prospect of paying for what you suppose was a rendered service, but you're past the point of caring about those little nuances. Elena clucks approvingly as she bustles by, balancing a tray of sweet tea. âThis oneâs more helpful than half the men whoâve ever darkened our doorstep,â she says. âYou sure youâre not already married, Mydei?â
He almost smiles. âWouldnât want to subject anyone to that.â
Calliope, who's lounged in a chair with her legs over the armrest, perks up. âI heard a rumor once,â she says, grinning, âthat the Crown Prince of Kremnos has a secret love of cooking and baking. Thought it was ridiculous, butâŠâ She gestures at the evidence: golden pastries cooling by the window.
âIt wasnât a secret,â he says, quietly. âJust not something I could do often. Before.â
The mood shifts for a moment. A faint shadow touches the edge of his voice. But itâs gone as quickly as it came. Shortly after your sisters and Nikolas have helped themselves to Mydei's surprisingly good cooking, you find two clay cups. Inside, you pour the pomegranate juice from the jug Elena leaves on the counter before offering one to Mydei. He takes it and raises a brow when you offer him a pitcher of milk.
âTry it,â you say, smirking. âIt cuts the tartness.â
He mixes the two with a flick of his wrist and takes a cautious sip. Blinks. ââŠBetter than I thought.â
That draws a laugh from you. âFunnily enough, there's actually a story about that.â
He glances over curiously as you cradle your cup in your palms, leaning against the counter. âThe legend says Phagousa offered pomegranate juice to Nikador after he emerged from the battlefield drunk on the blood of his enemies. Said it would calm the fire in himâmake him less likely to kill the wrong people. He took it. Said it tasted like war and sweetness in equal measure.â
Mydei is quiet. He drinks again. âA Lethean offering peace to a Kremnoan,â he says after a pause. âFitting.â
You smile around the rim of your cup. âAnd did it work?â
âFor Nikador?â He shrugs, then looks at you. âMaybe not. But I think itâs working on me.â
You donât say anything, just nudge your foot against his under the table. Youâre still smiling when the kitchen curtain rustlesâand someone stumbles in, awkwardly frozen mid-step. A young man, clearly from Kremnos by the style of his cloak and the glint of bronze on his collar. His gaze darts from Mydei to you, then back again. His face drains a shade paler.
âMyâuhâMaster Mydei. Sir.â He clears his throat, eyes flicking quickly away from your legs, bare beneath a short sleeping tunic. âIâI didnât realize you were⊠here.â
âYou are?â Mydei asks, calm as ever.
âAndreas, sir,â the man says too quickly. âI-I'm a patron here. Not often. JustâŠsometimes.â
You exchange a look with Mydei. He doesnât smirk, but his silence feels like one. The soldier straightens with a snap. âA-Also, General Krateros is looking for you, sir. Told the entire battalion to let you know it was urgent if we ran into you.â
Mydei nods once. âTell him Iâll be there.â
The man retreats in a flurry of embarrassment and half-bowed apologies. You and Mydei are left alone again, the moment suddenly fragile with the knowledge that itâs ending.
He sets his cup down. Then, without ceremony, leans in and kisses you. Not a lingering promiseâjust enough to make you feel like youâre being remembered. When he pulls back, you catch the brief return of that storm behind his eyes.
âIâll see you soon,â the prince says.
You nod, but your gut twists. Youâve seen too many men vanish behind words like that. And this time⊠something in the air tastes different.
Like milk stirred into blood.
They meet in the outer sanctum beneath the Marmoreal Palace, where gold and obsidian twist in solemn pillars, and the air always tastes like old fire. Mydei stands alone, back turned, watching the Dawn Device cast long beams across the chamber floor.
âYouâve been difficult to find,â Krateros says, voice echoing off stone. No preamble. Just that.
Mydei doesnât turn. âYou found me.â
Krateros crosses the room in measured steps. His armor creaks with each movementâclean, precise, like the man himself. âThatâs not an answer.â
âYou vanish for days at a time,â Krateros continues, quieter now. âAnd when you return, you say little. No reports. No council. Youâve always kept things close to your chest, but thisâŠâ He trails off, the restraint in his voice pulling taut.
Still, Mydei says nothing.
Krateros studies him. The faint burn of the Dawn Device catches the edges of Mydeiâs profileâthe worn robes, the exposed red markings pulsing like coals. He looks less like a prince, more like a relic. A weapon waiting to be wielded.
âI know what youâre doing,â Krateros says. âI know where youâve been.â
Now Mydei turns. Thereâs no guilt in his expression, only that cold, unreadable stillness he wears when heâs weighing whether or not to unsheathe something sharp. Krateros doesnât flinch.
âIâm not here to scold you,â he says. âBut you are a Chrysos Heir. The last son of Kremnos. You carry the blood of kings and the fire of a dying god in your chest. You donât get to drift like this.â
A pause. Then:
âDistractions,â he says, âwill cost us more than time. You know this.â
Mydeiâs gaze narrows, unreadable. âAnd what would you call your lectures, Krateros, if not a distraction?â
âI call them necessary,â Krateros replies, jaw tightening. âYou think I donât understand? That I havenât been tempted to take some warmth where I can find it? But we donât have the luxury of choosing comfort over cause. Not with the Coreflame waiting. Not with the Black Tide pressing in on all sides.â
He steps closer now, not as a soldier, but as something olderâfriend, brother-in-arms, the last remnant of a broken home trying to hold whatâs left together. âYou led us here,â he says. âWe followed you. Through fire. Through exile. Through the death of everything we once knew. Donât let your crown slip now, Mydeimos.â
Thereâs a long, brittle silence. Mydeiâs jaw ticks, something flaring behind his eyesâanger, maybe, or something far more human. And when he speaks, his voice is low and measured.
âI havenât forgotten who I am,â Mydei answers, low and steady.
Krateros watches him. âYet you act otherwise.â
A beat passes, and he feels like the entire world has tilted several degrees off its axis. âI donât begrudge you wanting something thatâs yours,â his general adds, quieter now. âBut you donât get to lose yourself in it. Not when all of Amphoreus is watching.â
For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then Mydei lifts his chin, that same old stubborn steel in his voice. âI know what Iâm doing.â
Krateros stares at him for a long moment, then nods once. âThen donât make the rest of us pay for it if youâre wrong.â
And with that, he turns and walks awayâboots echoing through the temple like the sound of time running out.
When you go to pick up Nikolas with the intent on celebrating his first quarter at The Academy, he tells you something unusual.Â
âMaster Mydei wasnât there today,â the boy says, even before you can ask how his lessons went.
You pause, blinking. âNo drills?â
Nikolas shakes his head, scuffing the ground with his heel. âHe hasnât been there all week. The other instructors are taking over, but itâs not the same. Master Mydei made the exercises feel like... like they mattered.â
He says it lightly, already moving on to recount how one of the boys tripped over his spear and brought the whole line down with him. You smile when he looks up at you, but your thoughts lag behind. You try to brush it off. Itâs not like Mydeiâs vanishedâhe still comes to The House often enough. Still lingers in the quiet hours when the world outside feels far away. But⊠you realize that it's been a while since he last walked the two of you home. Since you last saw him leaning against the sun-drenched pillars while waiting for Nikolas' day to end.
You tell yourself itâs nothing. Heâs a Chrysos Heir. Of course he has other things to tend toâgreater things, things that were always meant to take him elsewhere. And yet, a small, unwelcome unease begins to settle just behind your ribs. Not loud, not sharp. Just there. Your fingers curl a little tighter around the strap of Nikolasâs satchel as you walk, listening to him talk and laugh beside you.
Something had shifted. You just donât know what yet. And itâs not just at the Academy.
Mydei still visits The Houseâbut not like before. The frequency of it has thinned, like footsteps fading further down a hall. And when he does come, he doesnât stay long. Sometimes, he barely speaks. Sometimes, he stands in your doorway for all of two minutes before offering some small, unreadable look and leaving again. He doesnât touch you anymore. Not like he used to. Not with that quiet hunger that made him feel almost human. He doesnât reach for you in the way a man reaches when heâs afraid he might fall apart if he doesnât. He used to take comfort in the simple closenessâin being held, in pressing his brow to your shoulder and saying nothing at all. Now he barely lingers long enough to sit.
You try to rationalize it. Maybe heâs tired. Maybe heâs too burdened, too pulled in a dozen different directions to find room for softness. You tell yourself that. Again and again. But the warmth is waning, and with it, something unnamed and precious slips quietly from between your fingers. That golden silhouette in the Sea of Souls has begun to plague your dreams again, despite having nothing but peaceful sleep weeks before. And day by day, it's slowly beginning to resemble Mydeiâdrifting further and further from the shore.Â
You're still lost in that thought when the sound of soft footsteps pulls you back. Elena approaches you at the foyer, her gaze steady as ever, but softer than most get to see.
âCome,â she says gently, placing a hand at your back. âLet Iris fetch Nikolas today.â
You open your mouth to protest, but she shakes her headâjust once. âYou need a moment,â she adds, lower now. âDonât pretend you donât.â
You donât argue.
You let Elena guide you, her hand steady between your shoulder blades. She doesnât speak again as she leads you through the quieter halls, past the small garden and into the corridor at the back of the Houseâthe part that used to feel off-limits, even if no one ever said so aloud. She opens the door without ceremony. You realize where you are only once you're inside.
Agamemnonâs old quarters.
NoâElenaâs room now. The heavy furnishings are gone, replaced by soft lamplight and shelves lined with small comforts: books, folded blankets, glass jars of dried herbs and sealed ink pots. The walls still wear the same paint, but the presence in the room is wholly different. The old chill that once haunted it is gone. She took it back. Firmly. Like reclaiming stolen ground.
She gestures to a cushioned seat in the corner, and you sink into it, your limbs suddenly heavier than they ought to be. She doesnât sitânot yet. She pours a bit of warm tea into a cup and sets it on the table near your elbow. âYouâve always been good at reading people,â she says, tone gentle but without pity. âBut you never let anyone read you.â
You donât respond right away. The room smells faintly of citrus peel and ink. You stare into the steam curling from the tea. âThereâs nothing to read,â you murmur.
Elena lets out a quiet, unimpressed sound. âThen you wonât mind if I guess anyway.â
You almost smile. Almost. She finally settles across from you, folding her legs beneath her like she has all the time in the world.
âItâs about him,â she says. Not a question.
You close your eyes. âHe still visits.â
âMhm.â
âBut itâs different. He barely stays. Doesnât evenââ You stop yourself. The words catch on something sharp. âHe used to reach for me like he was trying to stay tethered. Now he comes and goes like... like itâs a task.â Elena doesnât answer right away. Her fingers drum once against the arm of her chair. âItâs always hardest to hold onto something when it stops reaching back,â she says finally.
You nod, just once. You canât bring yourself to say more than that. âI donât think itâs because he doesnât care,â Elena adds. âBut whatever path heâs on now⊠itâs pulling him somewhere you canât follow.â
You stare down at your hands. âI know. But it still feels like losing something.â She leans forward, brushing her thumb briefly over the back of your handâa rare gesture of softness from her. âThen mourn it,â she says. âAnd if it comes back to you, youâll meet it where you stand. Not where youâve been.â
You donât cry. Not here. Not in this room reclaimed by strength and memory. But you let yourself be still for a while, with Elena beside you, the tea growing cold between you, and the truth settling like dust in the warm silence.
No matter how much you hoped, the distance just widensâslowly, then all at once.
At first, itâs just a missed day. Then two. Then a week, and another. Until eventually, Mydei stops coming to The House altogether. No familiar footfall. No pause outside your curtain. No voice saying your name in that low, quiet way that once felt like it belonged only to you. You try not to let it bother you. You tell yourself heâs busy. That heâs important. That you were foolish to expect anything different.
There, you try to return to old rhythmsâtake patrons again, smile when you need to, pretend your body is yours to give rather than a thing left behind like an empty shell. You let your sisters dress you up in gold and laughter, let yourself be seen again, touched again, admired again. But nothing fits quite right anymore. None of them are him. None of them have his silence, his gravity, the way he made you feel like you were the one thing in the room that mattered.
You shouldâve known better. Heâs a Chrysos Heir. The future of Okhema. He carries burdens most men would shatter under. You had no business placing your heart in hands already full with destiny. Mydei is not like the othersâyou know that. He didnât use you. He didnât forget you. He just⊠had somewhere else to be. Something bigger than you to answer to. But that doesnât make the ache any smaller.
In a moment of foolish desperation, you even try to reach out to Phainon. You think maybe heâll know something. Maybe heâll tell you what happened. Maybe heâll offer some sliver of truth that makes it easier to bear. But Phainon, too, is gone. Not a whisper of either Chrysos Heir's presence left to trail after. And for the first time in a long while, you start to wonder if you're the one being left behindânot because you were unworthy, but because some things arenât meant to stay.
Just like that, youâve slipped back into your old life.
The one you had before Mydei ever crossed The Houseâs doorway. Silk draped over your shoulders, bracelets tinkling at your wrists, voice low and teasing when it needs to be. You smile the way youâre meant to, laugh when itâs expected. To anyone watching, youâve returned to formâgraceful, poised, untouched by the ache he left behind. But in private, you still let the pain simmer.
You still wake in the middle of the night, clutching your sheets, heart thrumming with the echo of dreams you canât fully name. Always the same: a golden silhouette adrift in the Sea of Souls. Always just out of reach. Always walking away. And still, you go on.
Tonight is no different. One of your regulars has come byâa young man, handsome in that polished, golden-boy way. Elena says he likes you. Really likes you. She catches the way he watches you like youâre more than just a passing indulgence, like he wants something real. Something lasting. But youâve already gone down that road. You know better now. You light the lamp. Offer him wine. Let your fingers graze his shoulder as you guide him down the hallwayânot to your room, never your roomâbut to one of the Houseâs standard chambers. Comfortable, detached, forgettable. Just how it should be.
Youâre halfway through undoing the knot at your shoulder when the front door slams open. Not gently. Not cautiously. Itâs the kind of sound that slices through everythingâthrough music, through laughter, through the sighs of someone trying to forget. It echoes down the halls, startling a few girls into silence. The hush that follows isnât just surprise. Itâs recognition.
You barely hear Elenaâs voice from beyond the corridor, sharp and uncertain: âThalia.â
You pause. The young man on the couch shifts, half-rising, brows furrowed. You donât give him a word of explanation. Just press your robe back into place, step out into the hall, and follow the tension crawling down your spine. You round the corner. And there he is.
Youâve seen him in lamplight before, cloaked in shadows and quiet rage. But this timeâthis time he looks like something pulled from another realm entirely. His hair has grown longer, burnished gold streaked with fire, one side neatly braided, the other loose and tangled like he hasnât slept for days. His skin is dusted in sweat and ash, and the red markings on his arms burn brighter now, like veins of molten ore running beneath his flesh. His eyes find you. And gods, theyâre tired. Not in the way of men worn down by time, but of someone who has looked too long into a fire he could not escape. Thereâs distance in them now. Not coldnessâbut something deeper. Like heâs gone someplace you canât reach, and left the door half-open behind him. He doesnât say your name. Doesnât need to. Because standing there in the House's low flickering light, Mydei looks nothing like the man who used to listen to your stories in the quiet after midnight.
And yet, for one awful, aching second, you wish he did. You donât know what heâs lost. What heâs won. Only that whatever road brought him here, it was not kind. You want nothing more than to throw yourself into his arms. To forget the silence. The ache. The long, hollow stretch of nights he wasnât there. But time has carved you into someone sharper. Someone careful. And when you finally speak, your voice is cold enough to frost over the doorway. Whatever softness once lived in you for him has learned to hold its breath. Youâve patched yourself up too many times to tear open at the seams now.
So when you speak, it isnât tender. âWhat are you doing here?â Your voice echoes in the narrow hall, too poised for how fast your heart is beating. You donât give him time to answer. You straighten your shoulders, glance behind you at the door you just stepped out of. âIâm busy tonight. With a patron.â
The words taste sour, but you say them anyway. You watch the shift in his face, subtle but unmistakable. His gaze hardens, jaw tightening like heâs biting something back. Thereâs a fire in himâthere always wasâbut now it crackles at the edges, no longer tempered by gentleness. Not rage, not quite. But something close. Still, you hold your ground. You wonât let him look at you like that. Like he still has the right. Youâve taken yourself apart piece by piece to survive without him, and now he shows upâunannounced, unchanged in all the ways that still hurt. You clench your fingers in your robe, exhale through your nose. âYou donât get to come back and expect everything to be the same,â you say, quieter this time.
He doesnât respond. Just watches you with eyes that have seen too much, and a silence that says he knows it. But youâre not ready. Not yet.
For several days, Mydei attempts to reach out, and for several days, you refuse him.Â
Elena constantly tells him that he's the last person you need to see. But Mydei has Kremnoan blood running through his veinsâstubborn, unyielding, relentless. He doesn't take no for an answer. His presence lingers like a shadow, and it becomes a silent war of wills. Finally, Iris, sweet, gentle Iris, whoâs always been the heart of this place, is the one to snap. You hear it from the hallâa raised voice, sharp with frustration, followed by silence. The next thing you know, Iris is standing between Mydei and the door, her face flushed with the strain of trying to be firm.
âIf you donât leave now,â she warns, voice trembling with quiet fury, âIâll call the guards.â
Itâs a rare thing to see Iris so resolute. But you know sheâs doing it for you, for the pieces of you that have been broken and scattered too many times. Later, you overhear the girls talking, gathered in hushed voices. You stand just out of sight, pretending to be absorbed in something else, but the words sink into you like a slow poison.
âI never wanted to turn him away,â Iris whispers, the sound of her voice raw with something you canât quite place. âBut... If he left and vanished without a trace, maybe... maybe that would be better for her. He was the one who made her happy once. I havenât forgotten that. But now...â Her voice cracks. âNow, heâs the reason sheâs in so much pain.â
You feel the weight of her words like a stone in your chest. And for the first time in days, you allow yourself to feel the ache of it allâthe loss, the betrayal, the gaping hole that used to be filled with his presence.
Is this all that's left between the two of you after all?
The next morning, The House is quieter than usual. Even the laughter from the girls seems dulled, as if they, too, are caught in the fog of yesterdayâs storm. You wake early, before the sun has fully risen, and the weight in your chest hasnât left. If anything, it has settled deeper. The ache is no longer sharp. It's something quieter now. Constant. You leave without telling anyone. No makeup. No disguise. Just a long shawl draped over your shoulders and sandaled feet slapping against cold stone. You don't know where you're going until you're already there.
The Marmoreal Palace gleams under the light of the Dawn Device, pristine and untouched. Here, the world feels distantâlike something imagined rather than lived. Inside, the air is warm and still, a mix of sea-salt and something floral you canât place. Steam curls in lazy tendrils around the painted columns. You disrobe in silence and slide into the water with only the barest splash, letting it cradle you like a memory you canât shake. The baths are quieter than you expected. Until they arenât.
âYouâre here,â comes a familiar voice.
You flinch, not because youâre afraid, but because you werenât prepared to hear him. Phainon stands at the edge of the pool, looking only mildly surprised to find you already there. His long white hair is damp at the ends, his robe half-slipped from his shoulders. He hasnât changed, not muchâbut your heart clenches anyway.
You narrow your eyes. âYou disappeared too.â He blinks at you, as though he hadnât expected that to be the first thing youâd say. âI did,â he admits, quiet and unapologetic. âI had to.â
âOf course you did,â you murmur, sinking further into the water. âEveryone has to.â
A silence stretches between you. Youâre too tired to keep the edge in your voice, but itâs there nonetheless. The warmth of the bath does little to ease it. Phainon doesn't enter the water right away. He sets his robe aside and sits on the poolâs edge, feet dipping into the blessed waters. âI go here a lot when I need to get something off my mind,â he says instead of answering. âI suppose the same is true for you as well?â
You donât respond. You don't trust your voice not to break. He doesnât look at you when he speaks again. âThe Black Tide started rising faster than any of us expected. We had no choice but to actâquickly.â You shift, water rippling around your shoulders. âSo you just vanished.â
âI told him we should say goodbye to you first,â he says softly, finally looking at you. âHe wanted to. But there was no time. We left at dawn the next day.â You donât realize youâve curled your fingers into fists until your nails bite your palms beneath the surface. âSo where did you go?â
Phainon exhales. âCastrum Kremnos.â
Your gaze snaps to him. He continues, slowly, like the words are stones he must carry across a river. âMydei needed to reclaim something that was lost. Something his people had forgotten. Nikadorâs Coreflame. The power that was once theirs before the Titan fell into madness.â
âHe fought for it. We all did. The Coreflame is back where it belongs now, in the Vortex of Genesis. Waiting for someone worthy to take it up.â You look away. Your voice is thin when it finally comes. âSo thatâs why he left.â
âHeâs not just trying to be a prince anymore,â Phainon says. âHeâs preparing to become something else. A protector. A demigod. The Bastion of Okhema.â You close your eyes, letting the steam soften your expression, though it can't quite dull the ache in your chest. âAnd you?â you ask. âAre you becoming something too?â
Phainon smiles faintly. âIâve always been someone in the background. That hasnât changed.â
That's not an answer. You want to laugh. Or cry. Or both. Sensing your unease, he leans forward slightly, voice lower now. âI just didnât want you to keep waiting in the dark, thinking he abandoned you. He didnât. Not really.â
You donât respond right away. Youâre still trying to fit all the pieces together. The silence stretches againâonly this time, it doesnât feel so lonely. Outside, the golden light deepens, catching the mist like spun thread. You donât feel lighter, not yet. But at least now you understand what happened. The mist swirls around you both, catching golden in the morning light. For a long time, you say nothing. Just the sound of water, soft and steady, and the occasional hush of distant footsteps echoing in the marble halls. Then, finally, you speakâyour voice low, but clear.
âI was cruel to him.â
âI didnât see him,â you go on. âNot once. Not when he knocked. Not when he waited in the hall. I made my sisters turn him away. I let Elena speak for me. I didnât even... I didnât even ask why he left.â Your voice catches. âI didnât want to hear it. I was too angry. Too hurt.â Phainon looks at you, not with pity, but with something gentler. Something like understanding. You draw in a breath, steadying yourself. âHe tried. And IâI let my silence answer him. I thought it would protect me. I thought... if I didnât open the door, it wouldnât hurt as much when he disappeared again.â
âBut it still did,â Phainon says softly.
You nod, just once. âAnd now I donât know if Iâll ever get the chance to say anything to him again.â Phainonâs expression is hard to read. The bathwater reflects golden across his features, giving him a soft, solemn glow. âHe wouldnât fault you for it,â he says at last. âHe doesnât carry anger the way most people do. But he does carry weight. The kind that never really leaves you.â
You let the silence stretch again, letting his words settle in the spaces your regret has carved out. âI thought he was choosing something else over me,â you admit, your voice almost a whisper. âBut it was never about that, was it?â
âNo,â Phainon murmurs. âIt was about all of you. All of us. The people of this city. The ones who still believe in something better.â
You lean back against the stone, letting the warmth seep into your bones. The water may have been blessed by a goddess, but it canât wash away everything. Still, it helps. âI think,â you say after a moment, âI just wanted to feel like I mattered. Like I was worth saying goodbye to.â
âYou were,â he says simply. âYou are.â
You donât thank him for the words. But you donât argue either. Phainon stretches his legs out into the water, letting the silence settle between you again. Thereâs something almost peaceful about it nowâlike the ache has found room to breathe. Then, casually, as if heâs commenting on the weather, he says, âIf you ever want to get away from the city... thereâs a spot by the eastern slopes. Hardly anyone goes there. You can see all of Okhema from up top. Even the Dawn Device looks small from there.â
You glance at him, narrowing your eyes slightly. âThat sounds oddly specific.â He just shrugs, the corner of his mouth curving. âJust thought youâd like the view.â
Thereâs something veiled beneath the wordsâsomething left unsaid. But Phainon is too practiced at deflection. You donât press him, but the suggestion lingers in your mind like a note in a half-finished song. One you intend to see through until the end.
Later that afternoon, after making Phainon swear he won't disappear without a trace again, you leave the marble gates behind. The route he mentioned winds through the less-traveled parts of the cityâstone paths lined with ivy, stairways sun-bleached and cracked, quiet courtyards where birdsong carries between empty alcoves. The air feels different here. Less ostentatious. More honest. The slope rises slowly, and the buildings thin out. Eventually, you're left with wildflowers brushing your ankles, old roots breaking through forgotten stones, and a sky that feels far too big.
And then you see it.
Tucked into the edge of a cliff, half-forgotten by time, is a small, crumbling terrace. Vines have crept through broken latticework, and moss clings to the faded stones. There are remnants of garden bedsâempty, but outlined lovingly, like someone had once planned to grow something beautiful here. It wouldâve made a lovely garden. And standing at its edge, back turned, bathed in gold and shadow, is Mydei.
Heâs not in armor. Just loose robes, wind-tossed, the markings on his skin catching the light in flickers of red and copper. Thereâs a weight to his stanceâheavy, as if he might as well replace the Titan who bears the world on his back. But there's also a quiet sort of anticipation lingering there. As if heâs been waiting. You stop. The wind carries the scent of dried leaves. And in that instant, all the breath youâd held over these past weeks escapes you.
He turnsâslowly, carefully, like the world might shift beneath him if he moves too fast. And when his eyes find yours, they soften. He looks like someone whoâs walked through fire just to make it here. Someone who never stopped hoping you would come. You donât say anything, but your feet carry you forward. Because heâs here. And somehow, so are you.
He watches you approach. Still, unmovingâas if the moment might scatter like birds startled from branches. But you've committed enough mistakes to know when you're supposed to make up for them.Â
âMydei,â you breathe, unsure if you even want to say his name. It tastes like salt and grief on your tongue.
His eyes meet yours, steady. He doesn't address you with Thalia like the rest of the world, but with a name you trust only his voice to say. The sound of it makes warmth simmer beneath your skin, slipping into the cracks that time has broken into your soul. You stop a few steps away. Mydei doesn't come closer. He just stands there, hands at his sides, waiting. You try to hold it in, all of itâthe storm, the ache, the betrayal you swore you'd buried. But it frays at the seams. And once it starts, it doesnât stop.
âI was cruel,â you say. The words come through clenched teeth, tears spilling even as you try to swallow them. âYou tried to see me. I wouldnât even look at you. I didnât let you speak. And nowâŠâ Now youâre the one standing here, hoping heâll listen to what you have to say. âI thought you left me,â you whisper. âNot just me. Everyone. But especially me.â
It sounds selfish, yet he doesn't deny it. He doesnât make excuses. He just lowers his gaze, jaw tightening for a breath before he says, quiet as dusk, âI shouldâve told you.â
You shake your head hard. âI didnât make it easy.â
âThatâs not why.â He looks up again. âThere wasnât time. It all happened fast. The Coreflame⊠Castrum KremnosâŠâ His fingers curl slightly at his sides, like heâs reliving it. âI didnât want to go without saying anything. But I had to.â
Your chest caves, air escaping you like a punctured wineskin. âAnd when you came backâŠâ
âI didnât know where to start,â he says, and his voice carries the sort of quiet that borders on sadness. âYou looked at me like I was a stranger.â
âBecause you were.â
He accepts that. Just nods, slow and quiet. You glance around the terrace, at the garden-that-never-was, and back at him. âThis is where youâve been?â
He gives a small nod. âThereâs a place just down the slope. An old house where itâs quiet enough for me to hear my own thoughts.â He looks out toward the city. âI didnât want to stay in the Marmoreal Palace. Itâs⊠easier to think here.â
You wipe at your face again, suddenly self-conscious about how much youâre crying and how dry his eyes are.
âSo youâve been alone all this time?â
His voice is soft. âNot really.â
You look at him again, confused. Finally, Mydei steps forwardânot all the way, just close enough that you can hear the breath he takes before he says, âYou were always with me. Even when you hated me.â Your mouth trembles from his honesty, and you don't know what to make of it. He challenged a god and won, yet his thoughts still drift to you?
âThat doesnât make this hurt less,â you whisper.
âI know.â
In the silence, he doesnât ask if you want to come with him. Mydei just starts walking down the slope, and when you donât stop him, when your steps fall in beside his, itâs enough. Your footsteps fall quietly along the worn path. Behind you, Okhema glows with its usual lightâsoft and steady, as it always is. The sun never sets here, but the city feels quieter now, like it knows to dim its voice when the world needs rest.
The place he stays in is small. Unremarkable. Worn wood creaks beneath your feet, and the stone floors have seen better days, their surface chipped and cracked in places. The room is sparsely furnished, without any of the pomp you might expect of someone of his lineage.
There are no guards. No banners. Just a kettle by the hearth, a narrow bed with a folded blanket, and a half-finished meal on a plain wooden table. It feels like a room for someone who wants to be forgotten. Or perhaps just needs the space to remember.
He pours you water from a ceramic jug and offers it to you wordlessly. Your eyes catch the bottle of wine sitting beside his bedâan afterthought, a companion for moments too heavy to be filled with words. You take it, uncork it with a quick twist, and drink. The liquid is sharp, its warmth moving down your throat like a slow burn. Mydei doesnât comment.
His gaze lingers on you, and in the quiet of the room, it feels heavier than any words could be. You sit on the edge of his bed, and itâs strange, the intimacy of it. The way it feels small beneath you. The way his presence feels familiar enough that it cuts deep. He stays standing at first, watching you for a beat too long, before slowly sitting beside you.Â
"Phainon told me about the trial," you say, your voice unsteady, more vulnerable than you mean it to be. Your fingers curl around the neck of the bottle, your eyes still not meeting his. "Nikadorâs Coreflame. That youâre going to take it."
He nods, barely a movement. âI am.â
âWhen?â
A long pause hangs between you, thick with things neither of you can say.
âTomorrow.â
Your chest tightens. You close your eyes for a moment, as if trying to gather the pieces of yourself back together. âOf course.â
It should have been easy to accept. Yet you swallow hard, the words tasting like ash in your mouth, and your hands tremble slightly as you take another drink from the bottle. He watches you quietly, and for a long moment, you just sit there, caught between the past and the future, each breath heavy with things you wish you'd said earlier.
"It wasnât supposed to be like this,â Mydei murmurs, his voice heavy with the weight of all the things heâs already lost.
You laugh, but it's bitter, a raw sound that catches in your throat. "It never was, but we're here anyway." The wine burns as it slides down, but it feels like nothing compared to the burn in your chest, the ache thatâs been there since the first time you pushed him away. The silence between you isnât sharp anymore. Itâs softened, worn, tired. And you know itâs not just the long day thatâs tired. Itâs you. Itâs him. Itâs everything in between.
âYou know," you begin, your voice quiet now, more frayed than angry, "we couldâve had more time. All those days you waited outside, and Iââ Your voice cracks on the last words. "I thought pushing you away would make it easier. But it didnât. I just...wasted what little we had left."
His eyes are soft when they meet yours, as always, thereâs no judgment in them. Just understanding. And maybe thatâs worse. Because understanding makes the hurt feel heavier.
âI wouldâve waited as long as it took,â he says, and his voice breaks, just a little. Itâs the quietest thing, like heâs afraid you might shatter if he speaks too loudly.
You meet his gaze, and for a moment, you forget how heavy it all feels. The reality of what you both are about to face. The gravity of your mistakes. You look at him, really look at him. Not the demigod. Not the prince. Just Mydei. The man sitting right next to you, exhausted and hurting, full of things heâs never said, and so much heâll never get to. And then, almost without thinking, you cross the space between you.
The distance doesnât feel right. It never does. So you reach out and kiss him. Not out of desperation. Not even out of need. Just out of acknowledgement. Of everything you were. Of everything you are. And everything youâll never get to be.
The kiss is tender, slow, like youâre both trying to savor it before it slips through your fingers. His hands come to rest on your back like heâs afraid youâll vanish if he lets go. Your fingers tangle in the fabric over his shoulders, and you feel the rough texture of the red markings beneath your touch.
His body is warm, solid against yours, like the only thing holding you together in the midst of the unraveling. But in spite of it all, you climb on top of his lap and his hands meander to your hips like clockwork. Mydei breathes out your name againâyour real nameâand it takes every ounce of self-control to not unceremoniously spear yourself on his hard, leaking cock.
Instead, you hold on to the tenderness in his voice, guiding his length slowly into you as you sink yourself inch by inch. His golden eyes observe in quiet rapture as you envelop him in the heat of your cunt. And for a moment, time stills. It's only you and him in this world. No higher calling. No inescapable destiny.
Just two lovers entangled in each other's embrace.Â
You both linger not because you have toâbut because neither of you can bear to end it. When you kiss him again, his mouth tastes like grief and gratitude, like unspoken apologies and quiet forgiveness. When you finally part, itâs not with a gasp, but a breath.
âI shouldâve told you sooner,â you whisper, your voice shaking against his skin. âThat it wasnât just comfort. It wasnât justâjust survival. I chose you. Even when I pretended I didnât.â Mydei lets out a quiet exhale, one that sounds like itâs been locked in his chest for too long. âI know,â he murmurs. âAnd I chose you too. Every time.â
You swallow hard, and it burns. Like all the things youâll never get to say are rising up at once. âBut you have to go,â you say, and you hate how much it sounds like youâre trying to convince yourself.
The prince nods. Not because he wants to. But because he has to. Thereâs no anger in it, no bitternessâjust that quiet, devastating calm he always wears when the world asks too much of him. And this time, itâs asking for everything.
He brushes his knuckles along your cheek, trailing them down to your jaw, memorizing the shape of you like it might be the last time. Maybe it is. âIâll come back,â he says, softly, reverently. âEven if Iâm not the same. Even if I come back a god, or a shadow of oneâIâll still find a way to be yours.â
You shake your headâwanting to refuse, wanting to insist that he shouldn't choose you over the rest of the world. But your voice fails you when you bring your hips down once more and the tip of him kisses a spot inside you that makes you see stars.
âJust⊠donât forget this,â you manage, struggling with sincerity when your mind is overloaded with pleasure. âDonât forget who you were before.â
His lips press to your browâfirm, steady, lingeringâand the warmth of it spreads like a vow youâll carry in your bones.
âI wonât,â he says, a shadow of regret already flitting to the surface. âBecause youâll be the part I remember most.â
You want to say more. You want to tell him that remembering wonât be enough. That memory is fragile, easily rewritten by divinity or time or duty. But instead, you stay there, wrapped in him, letting the silence fall like a shroud around your tangled limbs. Words feel too small now, and besidesâheâs still human. For just a little longer.
You lie against him in the quiet, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, his warmth grounding you. The world outside doesnât shiftâthereâs no setting sun, no stars to blink into view. Just the bright, aching stillness of Okhema, stretching on like it always has.
Mydei shifts slightly beneath you, his voice low and gravelly. âWhat do you want most in the world?â
You blink, not expecting the question. The wine dulls the edges of your thoughts, but not enough to soften the truth. You tilt your head up, looking at him. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes search yours like he needs an answerâone that matters.
âIn this moment?â you whisper. He nods once. You swallow. The answer feels foolish, but itâs the only one that comes.
âYou.â
Something flickers across his faceâregret, maybe. Longing. Love, too, but buried beneath it all is something heavier. Something finite.
He shakes his head slowly, gently. âThatâs not something I can give.â
It doesnât feel cruel. Just honest. You exhale, the breath shaky, and let your gaze wander to the walls, the table, the pale jug on the hearth. The silence presses in again, not oppressive but inevitable, and you dig past the ache, the wanting, to something deeper.
So, softer now, more to yourself than to him, you say,
âA fig tree.â
Mydei's golden eyes startle as he tilts his head. âA fig tree?â
âMm,â you nod, eyes still on the ceiling. âA big one. Sweet fruit, low branches. Shade so thick, you could sleep under it all day and no one would find you. And itâd be mine. Just mine. Not in someone elseâs garden. No clients, no watchers, no debts.â You smile, but it barely lifts your lips. âIâd name it something stupid. Figgy, or Kephaleâs Ass.â
That gets a laugh from himâlow and surprised. But when you glance his way, heâs already watching you differently. Like heâs trying to memorize the shape of the wish beneath your joke.
âYouâre serious,â he says.
You shrug. âIâm tired of wanting things that cost too much.â
He doesnât answer. Just reaches for your hand where it rests between the folds of the blanket, his fingers brushing yoursâtentative, warm. You donât pull away. And in the silence that follows, you both know: heâll claim Strife's Coreflame tomorrow, and youâll remain here with thisâthis moment, this ache, this impossible tree blooming behind your ribs.
You close your eyes. And when you finally sleep, itâs not peace that cradles youâitâs the ache of knowing morning always comes. Because when it does, nothing will be the same.
News of a new demigod spreads like wildfire.
Trumpets blare from the upper terraces, their notes caught and carried by the ever-blazing sun. Laurel garlands are tossed from balconies. The Kremnoans, long-suffering and scattered, gather in droves across the plaza steps of the Marmoreal Palace, crying and singing in a tongue most in Okhema donât understand. But you recognize the shape of itâreverence. Relief. Rapture.
Their king has risen.
The rest of the city does what it always does when faced with something greater than itself: it hopes. Whispers pass from market stalls to sun-washed colonnades. Heâll stop the Black Tide. He has to. He has the strength now. Maybe the nightmares will end. Maybe the tide will be driven back into the deep where it came from.
But you donât go aboveground to hear any of it.
For a long time, you donât leave the undercity at all. The lamps still flicker, The House still bustles, Alexandria still braids jasmine into the curtain rods. Everything is exactly the same. Except it isnât.
You donât read the news scrolls. Donât look at the mural of the Dawn Device glowing gold above. You pass the stairs leading up without a glance. And when others mention the name Mydei, you simply excuse yourself, as if youâve grown bored of the story.
But Elena notices. She always has. The way you pause by the seashell curtain longer than you mean to. The way your makeup is lighter these days, your smile more practiced. How you move through the House like youâre carrying something delicate and heavy all at once.
She doesnât say anything, but the tea she leaves by your bedside is your favorite kind. The chores she assigns are quieter, further from the crowd. On days when the sun feels too loud, she dims the lanterns near your corner without a word. Nothing big. Nothing obvious. Just the kind of help that doesnât ask you to admit you need it.
And then, one day, Phainon comes.
He doesnât knockâjust waits outside your curtain, patient as ever. When you finally let him in, he looks older than you remember, like something behind his eyes has sunk deeper into itself. You sit on the floor. He doesnât offer pleasantries, nor does he mention the revels or the rumors.
âMydeiâs gone,â he simply tells you straight away.
You say nothing.
âHe left this morning. Headed east, back to Castrum Kremnos. There are reports of the Tide breaching the mountain passes. Heâs going to defend the border.â
Still, the silence persists.
âHe didnât tell me where exactly. Didnât tell anyone, really. Just said it was time.â
Itâs that last part that does it.
Something in your chestâfragile and waterlogged for daysâsplits down the middle. The breath you pull in is shuddering, tight, and the laugh that escapes you is barely a sound at all. You press the back of your hand to your mouth like you can stop it from coming, but you canât. Phainon stays with you. He doesnât try to stop you from crying, nor comfort you with false words. He just sits there as you fold in on yourself, as your body heaves with the grief of it, the hollow and the heat of it. The kind of grief you only feel when you lose something you were never meant to keep.
He reaches over, quietly, and squeezes your shoulder. In the distance, the bells of the Palace ring again. Not for you. Not for him.
For the god they now call Strife Incarnate.
For the man you loved.
And ultimately lost.
Years pass in the blink of an eye.
Okhema, still burning beneath the tireless light of the Dawn Device, becomes a sanctuary for the displaced. City-states once proud and untouched by ruin collapse beneath the weight of the Black Tide. Their people arrive in drovesâhaunted, half-starved, wide-eyed with griefâand the city takes them in. The sanctity of its alabaster spires strains under the weight, but it does not break.
Mydei and the other Chrysos Heirs push back with fire and fury, golden shields against a growing sea of death. They are everywhere and nowhereâalways spoken of, rarely seen. Even when they stem the tide in one corner of the continent, it seeps through another. Victory comes in fragments. Defeat is slower, quieter.
But still, life goes on.
Nikolas has grown into adulthood. Taller. Sharper. These days, he wears the armor of one of Okhemaâs elite guardsâthe kind that gleams like polished sunstone. These days, he's too busy to live anywhere other than his company's assigned barracks. But he brings gifts sometimesâcandied nuts, new thread, secondhand books for the girls. He doesnât linger long, but when he sees you, his expression softens. He bows his head, always. Not with ceremony, but with something gentler. Something that says: I remember where I came from.
Down to the undercity. To the House.
The House that is much different now. No longer a brothel, but a resting place for the weary. At the start of the exciting change, Penelope asked, why didn't we turn this into an Inn the moment that old bastard died? A sentiment echoed by yourself and your other sisters. Elena answers simply.
"Because I wanted us to start, not from the wealth Agamemnon made off of our suffering, but with the money we all earned on our own terms."Â
Rooms that once held secrets now hold stories. Travelers sleep beneath patched roofs, fed by kind hands that ask nothing in return. You stayed through every change. Through every wave of newcomers. Through every whispered prayer sent up toward the unblinking sky.
You havenât heard from Phainon in years. The last thing you received was a letter, edges sun-bleached and curling. He didnât say muchâbut what he did say stayed with you. That it was no small thing, to keep a soft heart in a world that rewarded hardness. That kindness, in hands like yours, meant more than most people would ever understand.
At the end of the letter, he told you: If you ever need a breath, a moment, a sliver of peaceâgo back to the eastern slope. The place where the light hits just right. Where hearts had once been laid bare.
You hadnât thought of it in a long time. But today, while clearing out a drawer, you find it again. The edges of the paper are curled. The ink faded in places. But the words remain. You read it three times before setting it down. Then you pack a small bag with water, a slice of flatbread, and nothing else.
The walk is longer than you rememberânot because the distance has changed, but because the world has. This part of the city, once overgrown and forgotten, is no longer deserted. Homes have been built into old stone. Children run barefoot down winding paths. Lanterns hang from beams softened by age, and laughter drifts like wind through the open spaces.
You almost turn back, unsure if this place remembers you.
âAre you lost?â a voice calls from the side of the path.
You turn. An older man with silver in his beard and a scar across his brow stands beside a cart of firewood. His sleeves are rolled up, arms weathered from work. Not a soldier anymore, but something about his posture says he once was.
âIâm looking for an old terrace,â you say. âThe one that looks over the eastern rise.â
He studies you. Something flickers in his expressionârecognition, maybe, though you donât recognize him. Still, he nods and sets down the bundle he carries.
âThis way,â the man says, ushering you further.
You follow him in silence. Through quiet lanes. Past gardens planted with practiced care. The city didnât build these homesâpeople did. Survivors. Settlers. Refugees who carved something that's now theirs from the wreckage.
âThe people of Castrum Kremnos live here now,â the man says, almost offhand. âMost of us settled after the last wave several years ago.â He glances back at you. Slows. âRumor has it that this is where Mydeimos spent his last days as a man. Before he crossed the threshold into divinity.â
You say nothing, despite that same exact scene flashing behind your eyes, but the bitter memory is cut short the moment your eyes find the once-abandoned terrace.
The garden plot is still thereâbut itâs not wild anymore. It's thriving. Every inch of soil breathes with care, with memory. Herbs spill over low stone borders, blossoms lean into the sun, and trailing vines curl like quiet laughter around hand-hewn posts. It doesnât shout its beautyâit hums with it, steady and sure.
And at the heart of it all stands a fig tree.
Tall and deeply rooted, its bark dark and knotted with age, its limbs outstretched like open arms. The leaves catch the wind with a soft rustle, and from its branches hang ripe fruitâheavy, sweet, and low enough to reach.
A big one. Sweet fruit, low branches. Shade so thick, you could sleep under it all day and no one would find you.
And itâd be mine. Just mine.
The man slows beside you. âThat treeâs been here a while now. We were told to plant it. Given seeds and a spot. It was the prince's final order before leaving for Castrum Kremnos.â
You look at him. âHe⊠Mydei asked for it?â
He nods. âDidnât say why. Only that it had to grow. That it mattered because it belonged to someone important.â
You step closer to the tree, fingertips brushing the bark. You recount the past several years, where it always felt as if you were wading through a sea of mist. You would even think to yourself that maybe you're becoming one of those wandering souls in your dreams. But this very tree that was planted here on the whims of a man who still thought of you even past his divine countenance.
It mattered...Â
Even after all this time. Even after he became something more than mortal. This fig treeâthis patch of earthâtells you he remembered. That part of him stayed.
You stand beneath its branches, and for a long while, you say nothing at all. The wind rustles the leaves above you. The figs hang heavy in the warm lightâsweet and low.
Here, at last, something is yours.
Something he left behind.
When you return to The House, the sun is still high above Okhema, as it always is. The basket in your armsâgiven by that kind old stranger who you know now as Kraterosâis heavier than you remembered, brimming with ripe figs, their skin warm from the walk.
Nikolas is the first to spot you. He bounds over, looking like he was still fourteen despite being in full uniform, and snatches one from the top before you can say a word. âThese are real?â he says, mouth already full. âWhereâd you get âem?â
Your other sisters drift into the foyer like petals on a breeze, drawn by the smell, the sight, the rare smile tugging at your lips. They ask what the occasion is. You shrug, setting the basket down where everyone can reach.
âNo occasion,â you say softly. âJust⊠felt like it was time.â
You donât tell them about the eastern slopes. Or the fig tree. Or the man who once stood beneath that sky beside you, heavy with a goodbye neither of you could speak. You donât need to. Because for the first time in your life, you are not looking back.
You're no longer the girl from the sea, from an island long lost to time. The one who only lived out of fear and anger at the city who made her the way she was. You like to think it was Mydei's presence who made you realize all the things you're not, but part of you knows he would say something along the lines of, No. This was all you.Â
And it was.Â
You sit among your sisters and the boy you all raised together, the sweet taste of fruit on your tongue, and let the moment hold youânot as someone who was left behind, but as someone who still remains.
And in the warmth and laughter around you, you begin to understand:
Some loves donât end.
They simply grow roots in the quiet parts of you.
...and keep on living.
© cryoculus | kaientai â§Â all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my work on other platforms.
#mydei x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#mydei smut#honkai star rail smut#hsr smut#mydei x you#honkai star rail x you#hsr x you#cryoculus
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OK I HAVE NO TIME CAUSE I'M PREPPING FOR ART MARKET
HOWEVER.
You know what time it is. I need to do this quick because otherwise I'll explode if I don't know what's going on. You know the drill! Thought's under the cut:
GIRL ME TOO WHEN SOMEONE TRIES TO FLIRT WITH ME
stop looking at people with those huge wet stupid eyes
"we can't fix the hopper because you wanted to download a show"
I'M FUCKING SOBBING HOLY SHIT GO OFF MENSAH THAT ENTIRE CONVERSATION WAS PHENOMENAL THE WRITING AHAHAHA
THE WAY SHE JUST SUDDENLY REALISES AFTER ALL THE TIMES IT'S BEEN COLD, TERRIFYING, UNCOMFORTABLE THAT IT'S JUST HOARDING SHOWS IN ITS HARD MEMORY AND SHE'S JUST SO FUCKING DISSAPOINTED GNOANHGEGJRNIJGERIOGHNE
both of them just have such good fucking expression acting I'm dead I love them both sm
Interesting. Very. Interesting.
It's like she's bouncing between very targeted information gathering and suddenly being very boundary pushing.
Bharadwaj I love you I love you I love you you are SO funny and SO wonderfull (ALSO GURATHIN'S FACE MY MAN'S JUST TRYING TO GET WORK DONE AND NOT THINK ABOUT SECUNIT PENIS GRAFTING)
"Can't you print new wiring?"
"Oh."
LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE the way it's now completely mask off. This is its real genuine personality on display. Mensah is experiencing the actual true face of this thing and how it thinks and feels and operates and it's fucking delightful to see the complete shift in tone, body language, the OPENNESS of it's self expression.
"sit on this bunker"
"YOU SIT"
sobbing. I'm sobbing-
"Sanctuary. Fucking. Moon,"
THE WAY MY JAW FUCKING HIT THE FLOOR ON THIS LINE DELIVERY I AM GOING TO DIE THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY
MENSAH'S JUST LIKE ME FOR REAL I GET SO ANGRY WHEN I'M PANICKING AND SOMEONE DOES THIS -- but it's the initial pain response. This hurts to watch because I'm Mensah. I've been Mensah.
"DON'T TOUCH"
SCREAMS
this entire conversation is utterly brutal and so, so, so fascinating
Once again: I love her and she feels like she keeps bouncing between saying something very genuine "I want to have kids" and something very REHEARSED - the maps.
"Why dont you tell me what you saw?"
"I think I'd rather not"
GURATHIN'S ONTO HER YESSSSSSS MY MAN YESSSSSSSSS
YEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS HAHAHAHAA YEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS I LOVE AN EVIL WOMAN YEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
they use cloned neural tissue in transport vehicles!!!!!!!!!????????
ALSO HELLO THIS SCENE HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO
IT USING DIALOG FROM MED CENTRE ARGALA I'M CRYING
"i'm a vegetarian"
"you dont have to eat me, just cut me"
"scalpel"
"wrench"
THIS IS THE BEST SCENE IN THE WHOLE FUCKING SHOW THIS IS THE EBST TV IVE WATCHED IN YEARS
OH MY GOD THIS WAS BEAUTIFULL
THE WAY ITS WALKING AROUND WITH ITS ENTIRE BACK EXPOSED LIKE THAT PUT THAT AWAY YOU SL-
god
THIS SHOW IS SO SNAPPY AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH IT WASTES NO FUCKING TIME
finally we get Murderbot murdering someone on screen!!!!
THE GUTS ABSOLUTELY SMOTHERING EVERYONE IN THE ROOM
OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
"but then I exploded Leebeebee's head. And that. Felt good."
WHAT A WAY TO END THE EPISODE HOLY FUCK
The prexaux team finally get to see MB for who it truly is and MB also gets to do some self discovery of a very cursed variety but there's so much undercurrent of internal conflict there. Like yeah buddy I'm sure it felt good to obliterate her, she came onto you, said some rancid depersonalizing thing's about your body and penis grafting, and endangered your entire crew which you keep trying to convince yourself you don't care about in the way that you clearly do.
Why else would you have felt that bad when Mensah scolded you. Why else would you work so hard to not be the monster when you were almost taken over by hostile code. Why else would you work so hard to keep them all safe even when you didn't ever need to, when you could half half assed it and gotten away with it too.
#OH LORDY CHAT IT MIGHTBE MY NEW FAVOURITE EPISODE#HOLY FUCK#murderbot#murderbot tv#mbtv#shy liveblogs
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Chapter 96 of human Bill Cipher kinda just vibing in the Mystery Shack with Mabel at this point: the girls interrogate Bill about his love life; Bill emotionally bonds with... *spins a wheel* ...Grenda; Bill and Ford have a moment that means a lot more to Bill than Ford realizes; and a monster comes to town.
The girls had taken a snack break in between movies; and Bill had left them in the living room singing "I Love 2 Believe U Believe N Our Love" while he went into the kitchen to grab a drink.
He longingly eyed the cider six-pack he was currently working on. This was about the time of night he usually ran out of distractions and energy and resorted to drinking himself past the nighttime racing thoughts, and his body knew it. The mug he'd had at Skull Fracture had barely given him a buzz that had already faded. He was itching for another drink. It didn't help that last night he'd missed his usual dose of medicine, what with dealing with Powers...
With a sigh, he passed it over. He was already sleep deprived; if he wanted to keep up with these kids, he had to have a sharp mind tonight. Instead he picked up the coffee pot, chugged the stale dregs at the bottom, squeezed a packet of soy sauce down his throat as a chaser, and headed back into the living room.
As he came in, Grenda was saying, "Oh, Marius? Yeah, it's going alright! We talked about how clingy he is, it's cool now. He's taking me skiing in August!"
"I am full of envy," Candy sighed, draped tragically off the edge of the sofa. "Does Marius have any cute single prince friends?"
"I don't know! I can ask!"
Candy raised her fists in the air. "Yesss."
"Hey Mabel," Grenda asked. "Do you want a blind date with a hot European prince too?"
Mabel sighed deeply. She was laying flat on the floor, one hand absentmindedly scratching Waddles's head. "I don't know," she said. "I'd like a date. Seeing the people around me find love makes me want that, too. But I spent all last summer trying to get a boyfriend and all I got was disappointment. And you guys know all about that thing with the robot and the Sadie Hawkins dance..."
Candy and Grenda nodded sympathetically.
"I think that was my last straw."
(Bill quietly died inside as he realized he had no idea what she was talking about, but he couldn't ask without revealing he didn't know something that big about the timeline Mabel was on. He'd only missed a few months of earth timeâno big deal if you were an all-powerful all-seeing eyeâbut what a difference it made if you were stuck as a human.)
"Aw, c'mon, Mabel," Grenda said. "Don't be like that. You're too young and beautiful to give up on love!"
"I know, I know. I haven't given up, I just... think I might've been chasing love too hard? Maybe I'll try again if the perfect guy just falls out of the sky and crashes into my window! Buuut i'm not wasting my time looking anymore. From now on, the boys have to come to me." She sat up to flop on Waddles's back. "This is the only boy I need!" Waddles snorted in his sleep.
"Smart," Candy said. "You are a catch! Any boy who won't chase you isn't worth your time!"
"Exactly!" Mabel said. "Until then, I'm focused on matchmaking other people." She sat up. "Speaking of which..."
All three girls turned to grin evilly at Bill.
Bill perched uncomfortably on the edge of a sofa cushion and wondered if he should be trying to escape the room before it was too late.
"Soo-oo-oo," Grenda said, eyebrows waggling.Â
This was it, the interrogation over Bloody Mary. He prepared to bolt from the room. "What."
"How about that secret agent?"
"Oh!" Not quite as bad as he'd been expecting. When had Mabel told them about that? Bill laughed nervously. "That was just a job! I'm not interested in the agent."
"Yeah, but you got along, riiight?" Candy crossed her legs, propped her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, and leaned into Bill's personal space bubble. "Did you kiiiss?"
He wasn't about to tell them just how far they'd left kissing in the dust. "Uh, yeah, butâ"
Mabel shoved straight past the personal space bubble and propped her elbows on Bill's knees. "Would you see him again?!"
"No way!"
"Aw, c'mon!"
Grenda said, "Aren't you on the run for war crimes or something? That'd make dating a secret agent super dangerous."
"Way more romantic though," Candy said.
Grenda nodded, "Way more!"
"Look look look," Bill said. "I can appreciate the noir star-crossed femme fatale narrative you kids are trying to write for me. But it's not gonna happen. He's not my type. We don't even agree on politics!"
"What politics do you disagree on?" Candy asked.
"He thinks President Trembley is a raving lunaticâbut in a bad way. IÂ think he's a genius visionary whose policies are centuries ahead of his time." Which was why he'd slipped Trembley a little dream tip to preserve himself until the rest of the world was ready for his brilliance. The peanut brittle, however, had been entirely Trembley's own idea. "That's a total dealbreaker!"
"Aw, whaaat?" Mabel scrunched up her face. "Trembley's awesome, who could hate him!"
"I know!" Bill poked Mabel's nose. "You're breathing my air, kid. Get your own."
Mabel got out of Bill's face and flopped on Waddles again. "So if Agent Powers isn't your type... what is? I bet we could find somebody in town for you! No dodging the question this time!"
Candy said, "You're surrounded and outnumbered!"
"This is a sleepover so you can't leave!" Grenda jumped up and blocked the doorway with her arms outstretched. "You've gotta answer!"
"You can't make me do anything! I plead the fifth! I know my rights!"
Candy narrowed her eyes. "Maybe we can guess what you're into. We know it includes Bloody Mary."
He should've made a run for it while he had a chance.
"Yeah!" Mabel said. "What's with that? What's the story there?"
"Nothing! I shouldn't have called her my ex, she's not my ex. In fact, we barely know each other. We just hang out in the same social circles sometimes. I don't even know her last name."
"Yeah right," Candy said. "Okay, soâare you into long, straight hair?"
"And skinny girls," Mabel added. "Super skinny! Bony! Literally just bones!"
"And he said he likes her dress," Grenda said. "I don't actually remember what her dress looked like! I was busy staring at the blood!"
Loudly, Bill said, "You're all ice cold! Not even close!"
"Is it her personality?" Candy asked. "What's her personality like?"
Mabel said, "We can compare and contrast his exes! He told me what his last girlfriend was like." A thoughtful look crossed her face as she began to put two and two together. "And... wasn't there a president that youâ"
"All right fine I'll talk," Bill said quickly. "I surrender. You girls are persistent!"
The girls crowded around him. "Spill," Candy commanded.
"You said you like freaks, right?" Mabel asked.
"No I didn't. When did I say that?"
"I dunno, a while ago."
Huh. Well, it was true, so he must have. "Yeah, that's pretty high up on my criteria. Freaks and weirdos! They've gotta lean into it, though. If they spend all their time trying to be normal, they're more boring than the normies they're imitating."
"What kind of freaks," Mabel asked. "Like, people with antlers?"
"Sure, I'd give 'em a shot!"
Candy asked, "Tattooed ladies?"
"Absolutely! There's nothing better than a self-made freak."
"What do you think about bearded ladies?" Grenda asked carefully.
Bill grimaced and tried to picture it. Seemed pretty normal to him. Sometimes he forgot which humans were supposed to have what facial hair. "I'm gonna be frank, that doesn't even register as freaky to me. But, sure, beards are fine." Humans had such a bizarre fur patternâa fluffy little puff on top, an optional fluffy little puff on the chin, a few strips over the eyes and under the arms and between the legs, a sparse covering that served little practical purpose spread in patches everywhere elseâit was hilarious to look at. Made humans cute, in a sort of pathetic way. Like a poorly-shaved poodle.
Grenda seemed relieved at the answer.
Candy threw in, "What about piano-playing contortionists who can put their feet on top of the piano while they play?"
"Oho! If you know one, get me their number!"
Mabel said, "Okay, so what else besides freaks?"
"Pff..." He rolled his eye up as he thought. "Oh, you know, other kinds of nonconformists. Criminals, psych ward escapeesânever date in the ward though, d'you know how wolves in captivity will go full Lord of the Flies on each other and start fighting over who's king?âuhh, psychics, wanna-be prophets, those nuts who put off college to go backpacking across a continent..."
"Poets?" Grenda asked.
"Only if their poetry doesn't suck."
Candy asked, "Anime fans?"
"Never," Bill said. "Oh, and I need someone who's fun enough to keep up with my lifestyle. I'm a hard partier, they've gotta match my energy. And they've got to be ready to spend some serious moolah on me. I'm not a cheap date! Plus they need to worship the ground I walk on, do anything I want, and believe everything I say."
The girls nodded along to his list. "That sounds reasonable," Candy said. Grenda agreed, "Respect and trust is important!"
"Right?! If more of my exes understood that, we wouldn't need to have this conversation! Speaking ofâI've got a reputation. I'm something of a bad boy! Whoever I'm with has gotta be 100% okay with eyeballs-to-the-walls crazy..."
####
"...preferably somebody bright enough that talking to them is more intellectually stimulating than talking to myselfâwhich is a high standard! I can be friends with an idiot, and I can be fffphysical buddies with an idiot, but I can't date an idiot. Unless they're a really, really rich idiot." Bill was laying on his back, legs over the sofa armrest, talking toward the ceiling: "And it doesn't hurt if they're the tortured artist type. I'm a complete sucker for a tortured artist! It's my only weakness. If somebody with a GöthhĂ€us band shirt and haunted look in their eye asks to draw me, pffft, that's it, I'm done for. I'll do anything they want!"
"Good to know, good to know..." Mabel was furiously taking notes. She'd filled up six pages and was working on a seventh.
"But most importantly: I need somebody who gets me. That'sâthat's a lot rarer than you think. Nobody can truly understand me unless they've been through what I've been through." He squinted mysteriously toward the ceiling. "I've lived a complicated life."
The girls absorbed this in thoughtful silence, contemplating the depths of their mysterious friend's unfathomable history.
Then Mabel chucked the seventh page aside, grabbed another, and asked, "So what do you want your dream partner to look like!"
"Oh, well," Bill said, "pretty eyes are the most important thingâthe more, the betterâbut that's easy, every species on this planet has pretty eyes. Love vivid coloration; extra points for iridescence, multiple hues, or color changing. Not a big fan of people with heads. Venoms and poisons are always a sexy little bonus, but not the numbing kind, it's gotta really sting."
Mabel stopped writing, staring at Bill.
Candy said, "That... opens up some options."
Mabel nodded slowly. "Thanks for the info! Don't worry, I'll find you your dream guy. Or girl. Or... monster or whatever. I'm on the case!"
Bill asked, "Kid, why are you so determined to set me up with someone anyway? It's not like I've said I'm looking for love. Are you just trying to keep me away from other prey, or...?"
Mabel looked Bill in the eye and said solemnly, "I think love would fix you."
"Ha! Okay, sure!" It had never "fixed" him before, but who was he to argue with the power of love and Mabel.
####
"You're sleeping through the best part of the movie," Mabel complained. "You're missing the whole dance battle for the fate of the world!"
"I'm not asleep," Bill said, laying on the sofa with his eyes shut, sound asleep. "I'm just appreciating the sound design."
"Yeah, right." Mabel poked his arm. He poked her head.
As the credits rolled, Candy jumped to her feet and ran from the room. "BRB, toilet break! Don't start the next movie without me!"
"Oh, me too!" Mabel ran after her.
Grenda waited until they were gone; then crouched next to the couch and poked Bill herself. "Hey. Gold-o. Are you awake?"
"Yes," Bill lied.
"Can I ask you some stuff?"
Sounded like he needed to be awake for this. He cracked open an eye; the dim views from his other eyes around the shack fizzled out. "What kind of stuff?"
"Like, uh..." Grenda sat back, wrapping her arms around her knees. "You're a guy, right?"
Was that what he'd told them last time? He didn't remember. It sounded likely, though. "More or less, sure."
"But you have boobs," Grenda said.
Astute observation. No no, no getting sarcastic with Mabel's friends, keep that one to yourself. "Sure do!"
"So... um... do you have, like..." Grenda lowered her voice, awkwardly fiddling with the hem of her nightgown, "a hormone problem, or..."
Aha. Grenda was looking for common ground. She was going through those awkward body changes pubescent humans had and grappling with the fact that hers were awkward in a way none of her peers' were. Bill might not have cared about who had what facial hair, but he knew the humans did, and sometimes they could be so uptight about their reproductive binary.
Bill sat upâhe probably wouldn't be getting back to sleep for a while. He mentally flipped through the potential realities he could invent, and thenâwhy not?âhe settled on the one that had the best odds of winning this kid's loyalty for life. He could always use more devotees who looked at him like he'd hung the stars in the sky. "Nail on the head, Grend-o." It wasn't entirely untrue. He did have a hormone problem. His problem was that he was in a body with hormones.
A relieved smile broke out across Grenda's face. "Cool!" she said. "I mean not cool. It's the worst! But I have one, too!"
"Wow, you don't say," said Bill, who was fully aware of the medical history of Grenda, Grenda's mom, and Grenda's grandmother.
"I hate it," Grenda said. "When the other girls at school started growing boobs, I started growing a mustache! Any time somebody looks at my face, I'm afraid they're gonna notice and start making fun of me!" She clapped her hands over her mouth and cheeks, as though she was afraid somebody might be staring at her right now. "Even when I shave I'm afraid everybody will see my stubble!"
"You've got nothing to worry about," Bill said. "It's unnoticeable." (He noticed, but that was the All-Seeing Eye's job.)
"That's what my mom says." By her tone, she didn't find it very convincing when her mom said it, either. She gave Bill a big-eyed, hopeful look. "Are you worried people will make fun of you for having boobs?"
"Eh," Bill spread his hands apathetically, "I'm fat enough to get away with it. People expect that." He'd actually had a pretty remarkable success rate with getting people in town to view him as male with only a little promptingâthough part of that was probably the culture in town.
But Grenda was still looking at him hopefully. She didn't want to hear that everything was great and he was doing just fine. She wanted somebody who could empathize with her.
"Buuut it was harder when I was younger." Bill pulled up a mental list of human puberty side effects in case she needed any made-up symptoms to solidify his credentials as a kindred spirit. "And I don't exactly spend all my time in a hoodie because I like people looking at my body." (That was true.)
"Ugh, yeah! Tight clothes make me feel weird. Puberty! I hate it!" Grenda flopped back on the ground. "My mom and my friends and Marius tell me I'm pretty, but..."
"But it doesn't help, does it."
Grenda shook her head.
"Now, me? I'm gorgeous," Bill said. "9 out of 10. I'm just about as handsome as a human can get."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Sure I do."
"Hmm." Grenda stared at the ceiling thoughtfully.
"And I still hate this body."
And he had Grenda's attention again. She sat up to look at him.
"Who cares if this body looks pretty if it doesn't look like me," Bill said, smiling bitterly. "Everyone on the planet could call me good-lookingâand they'd be right!âbut it feels like they're complimenting a stranger and I'm getting the credit. Worse, they're complimenting me for something I don't want to be!"
"Yeah!" Grenda blinked heavily. "Yeah, I-I don't want everyone to tell me I'm pretty! I just wanna look different! I wanna be less hairy and I wanna have smaller shoulders and I wanna be skinny and I want my old voice back andâand..." Her voice cracked. She furiously rubbed her eyes against the back of her arm.
Ah, heck, he'd made a kid cry. Hopefully it was one of those catharsis things and he wouldn't get in trouble for this, but he'd just doubled the amount of effort he had to put into this conversation. All right, buckle up Cipher, time to dust off the compassionate mentor act again.
"Hey. Hey, c'mon. It's not that bad." He slid off the sofa, sat by Grenda, and slid an arm around her shoulder. This was always the worst part of dealing with emotionally unstable humans he wasn't personally invested in.
Voice thick, Grenda asked, "How do you deal with it?"
Haha. How did he deal with it? Drank away the urge to claw off his own skin. Hid his depressingly alien shape under baggy clothes. Burned off his hair. Regrew his hair. Covered the mirrors. Dreamed he was a triangle.
He was taking too long to answer. He searched for a response that wouldn't get his sleepover privileges revoked if Grenda repeated what he said to an adult. He didn't want to say I don't know, he didn't want to say badlyâhe wasn't about to admit that to anyone, much less a half-grown human on the cusp of looking up to him. He was tough, he was a champion, he had all the answers. What would somebody who'd already solved this problem say?
"Nobody's gonna tell you this, but loving your body is optional. It's good enough just to get along with it." The words rang false in his mouth. He was picking and choosing advice he'd overheard humans give each other back when he had trillions of eyes to spy on their conversations, but he couldn't imagine getting along with the body he was in. He soldiered on anyway: "Just... don't worry about how it looks. Let it look however it wants to look, who cares! Focus on what it does for you that's useful."
Grenda sniffled and nodded. "What do you focus on?"
Ouch, way to put him on the spot. His honest answer was that this body was a downgrade from his true form in just about every conceivable way; the few genuine positives (he did like binocular vision and the ability to physically interact with Dimension 46'\) would just bring up more questions; and he went blank on lies (believable lies, anywayâno way he'd convince her that he'd gone to the Olympics). He grasped for something else. "Me? I like dancing!"
Grenda nodded; then she flung her arms around Bill, hugging him tight enough to squeeze the breath out of his lungs. "Thanks."
Right answer. He'd won this kid's loyalty for life, and he was guaranteed to get another gold star from Mabel for being so nice to one of her friends. Not bad for a night's work. "And if that doesn't work, there's always plan B: makeup, hormones, and plastic surgery!"
Grenda laughed weakly. "Mom says we're gonna talk about hormones at my next doctor's appointment."
"See? You're just going through an awkward phase. Sure, it's more awkward than most kids', but you'll come out of the other side of it just fine, guaranteed!"
Bill, on the other hand, was uncomfortably aware of his stretchy skin and his awkward bones and all the slippery pulsing meat in between.
He wasn't getting out of his awkward phase until he got out of this body.
####
After anime night, when Soos had parked his truck at the shack and everyone had climbed out, Ford immediately headed inside; but Melody and Soos lingered outside. "So, uh..." Soos pointed toward Melody's car, which she'd parked at the shack that morning for work. "Gonna head back to your aunt's?" The implicit follow-up: or, do you want to stay over?
Leaving had been the plan; since Bill had started haunting the shack and Soos's bedroom had stopped being a safe refuge from Melody's sleep paralysis nightmares, she'd started staying with her aunt the way she had last summer.
But if she was gonna get sleep paralysis no matter what, she'd rather wake up next to her fiancé than alone. She missed Soos. Tonight, she missed Soos more than she feared Bill.
"You knowâit really is late," Melody said. "It's probably best if I don't try to drive at this hour."
Soos's face lit up. "You sure?"
"Sure I'm sure." She wrapped her arms around Soos and pecked his lips. "BesidesâI like my blanket here better than the one at my aunt's."
"Oh, really? It's just a tiger stripe blanket I got cuz it makes me think of Tiger Fist, I was actually thinking about upgrading... to..." Soos trailed off. "Oh wait. You meant I'm your blanket."
Melody laughed. "I totally meant you." They headed in together, arms wrapped around each other's waists. "What would you upgrade that blanket to?"
"I was thinking about getting an official Tiger Fist blanket."
"Sounds perfect. We could get orange bed sheets too."
"Nice, color coordination!"
She froze in the entryway, making Soos stop with her.
Mabel and her friends were asleep in the living room with the lights still on, splayed over various pieces of furniture.
But Bill wasn't with them. He was sitting on the bottom stair, leaning against the wall, just outside the light cast from the living room.
Soos whispered, "I think he's asleep. He does that on the stairs sometimes?"
Melody nodded. It was fine. He was just a human now. She walked carefully to the stairs, trying to avoid any creaking boards.
She'd barely set her foot on the bottom step when Bill's eyes flew open. "Need me to moveâ?"
Melody squeaked, reflexively kicked Bill, and bolted halfway up the stairs. Bill parried her kick with one arm, laughing shrilly.
"I'm so sorry I didn't mean to kick youâ" Melody caught her breath. "Hey! Did you do that on purpose?!"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Bill said unconvincingly. "All IÂ did was ask if you want me to move! I'm trying to be helpful!"
Sure he was. Melody gave him a dark look; but stomped upstairs rather than get into a fight.
Soos stopped next to Bill, gave him his most disapproving and disappointed, "Dude," and then hurried after Melody.
Ruffled two birds' feathers with one stone. Bill smirked up after them; then settled back against the wall to sleep again.
And immediately opened his eye back up when he heard someone approaching. He turned his body to looked up at Ford. "Can I help you?"
"I heard a scream."
Bill pointed up the stairs with his thumb. "Melody didn't notice me on the stairs until she nearly stepped on me."
"Ah." Ford surveyed the scene. Light from the living room, Bill in the shadowsâsure, maybe her eyes weren't adjusted to the dark to see Bill. Story checked out as plausible enough not to question. "You really shouldn't sleep on the stairs like that."
"M'keeping my eye on the kids." Bill yawned. "What's that look for?"
"What look?"
"You keep looking me up and down."
Ford flinched. Oh. He supposed he had been. "You, erâI just noticed that you... turned your whole torso toward me to talk."
"Yeah?" Bill said. "So?"
"Most humans would only turn their heads."
"Yeah? So?"
"Ah." Ford self-consciously stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I... suppose you turn your torso because you didn't have a neck to turn for most of your existence. It justâstands out to me. That your body language sometimes still reflects your..." he bobbed his head, trying to think of a fitting word. "Your... triangularity?"
"Oh." Bill's face was blank in the shadows. "Wellâsure! I've never been a fan of necks anyway."
"No?" Weird thing to say. (Weird if Bill had been a human, anyway.) "Are they... What, is it something about the anatomy?"
"Just an aesthetic preference! I think they look goofy." Bill spread his hands dismissively. "A torso with a head always looks to me like a cell halfway through lopsided mitosis. It makes me wanna help out and pinch the head off!"
"There, you did it again."
"What?"
"You tend to shrug with your hands and arms instead of your shoulders. You move them like..." He copied Bill's dismissive gesture, felt foolish, and stuffed his hands back in his pockets. "Why am I telling you how you move. Sorry. I know better than to call attention to someone for, ahâlooking weird."
"Weird's just another word for interesting, Sixer!" Bill stretched out, propping an elbow on a higher stair step, his cheek against his hand, and his other hand on his hip. "Feel free to observe me any time you want, o scientist. For a human, you always make such interesting observations."
"Is that just another word for 'weird observations'?"
"All the most interesting observations are!"
Ford huffed, shook his head, and headed back to the guest room.
And Bill leaned against the wall again, thoughtfully. His body language "reflected his triangularity," huh. Maybe the ghost was still in the machine. It was reassuring to think it was.
Reassuring that Ford was still looking for it, rather than seeing Bill as a human.
####
Melody woke in the middle of the night.
She felt trapped beneath Soos's tiger stripe blanket, like it was too heavy to move, smothering her skin. It was too heavy for her to lift her lungs. The bed was too soft; she was sinking into it like quicksand. She couldn't climb out.
Bill Cipherâhis shape triangular and sharpened like the knapped edges of an arrowhead, his yellow flesh textured like the mushy skin of an overripe bananaâclung with black branch limbs to the ceiling above her like a spider, eye wide and bloodshot.
Melody was getting really tired of the latest form her sleep paralysis nightmares were taking.
It dropped at her face. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, refusing to look at it until she could move again. She heard its hissing breath in her ear, felt it reaching through the blanket like a ghost to claw at her armsâ
Then nothing.
She sat bolt upright with a gasp. The dream was gone, as it always was. Nothing on the ceiling. No scratches on her arms. She sighed.
If she went back to sleep, though, she'd fall right back into the same dream, and she'd spend an unpleasant half hour yo-yoing back and forth between half-asleep and half-awake. She had to keep herself awake long enough for the remaining dream gunk to clear out of her head before she could go back to sleep... by which time she'd be fully awake and it would take her another hour to fall back asleep.
Soos stirred beside her. "Mmwussup?"
"Sorry," Melody sighed. "Sleep paralysis."
"Again?" He rolled over and wrapped his arms around her.
"Yeah. Third time this week." And two of those times while spending the night at the Mystery Shack. "I haven't had sleep paralysis this bad since college."
She'd been majoring in folklore, in her third year, and gearing up for a big research project in her fourth year; she'd chosen to study the evolution of unicorn legends after the Renaissance. But shortly after choosing her topic and going into finals season, the stress of her college workload had caught up to herâshe'd started waking up from nightmares multiple times a week and could barely function in class. She'd missed one final paper and flunked one final exam before she realized there was no salvaging this semester and withdrew on mental health grounds.
Her family concluded she must've been burnt outâher mom suffered from sleep paralysis too, the family was old hat at using poor sleep to gauge subconscious stressâso Melody took a semester off. But when she tried to register for the next semester her nightmares came back and her anxiety flared back up; so she'd taken the full year off, gone to visit her aunt in Gravity Falls for a summer to see if getting out of the city and clearing her head helped, and here she was.
The idle sleepless year she'd spent trying to recover from burnout had been the worst of her life, and the year she'd spent in Gravity Falls with Soos had been the best. She didn't want her mental health to backslide because of Bill.
"If this keeps up, I... might have to stop spending the night here," Melody said. "I'm sorry, Soos. I don't want to stop coming, but I can't keep going without sleep."
Sadly, Soos said, "My protective cuddly aura... is failing..."
"Shhh, Soos." Melody chuckled tiredly. "It's not your fault."
"I know. I just wish I could, like..." Soos shadowboxed vaguely into the air. "Punch your bad dreams for you. You know? I hate not being able to help."
"Thanks." Melody kissed him lightly. "You're helping just by being here."
All the same, Melody wished Soos could punch her sleep paralysis nightmares, too. It was too bad they were just figments of her subconscious.
####
Coffee had been a bad idea. Now that the girls had conked out, Bill was the only one still up, dozing but not sleeping. A can of cider couldn't hurtânobody would get on his case for drinking at a sleepover after the kids were asleep, right?
He was standing in the kitchen and halfway through a can when he heard something wrong.
He peered into the entryway. "Yello?" There was no answer. Just an ominous, hair-raising scraping that cut through the silence. It was coming from above.
Bill crept out of the kitchen, looking up the stairs, keeping close to the wallâputting himself in between the staircase and the living room doorway. "Hellooo?" He peered up into the dark.
There was something slender and misshapen up on the landing. Just around the corner, stiff body tilting out into view at an angle that defied gravity, head cocked unnaturally so only one wide unblinking eye was visible.
Bill met its gaze with a single open eye. He said, with the voice of a burnt-out minimum-wage shelf-stocker who'd just caught a customer in the staff room and who was on his last day at this job and consequently feared no god nor customer: "'Scuse me, can I help you?"
In a flash, the thing stagger-lurched on all fours down the stairs, torso twisted and limbs akimbo in all the wrong directions, and jerked upright in front of Bill, face far too long and head tilted, one wide icy eye staring into Bill's from beneath long limp tangled bangs, letting out a deathly wheeze like a strangled train whistleâ
Bill immediately grinned in relief, as though the customer in the staff room had turned around and he'd recognized them as a new hire with a name tag on. "Ohh! Oh, you're a nightmare! Haha, sorry pal, at first glance I thought you were some ghost squatter trying to move in! Either that or this tokoloshe I oweâ Well, point is, there are too many people under this roof already and we do not need another roommate." He waved off the nightmare and leaned against the wall. "Didn't realize you were here for work! Don't let me get in your way, buddy."
The nightmare stared silently at him.
"Ohâif you're after one of the Pines, lemme know. I've been in most of their dreams, I know what really haunts 'em." He gestured toward the three girls in the living room. "Not that Pines, though. She's under my protection." He tipped back his cider can to drain it, wheeling around to head back into the kitchen as he did. He held the empty can over the trash, let go; the can hovered in the air, twisted itself up and crushed down into a flat disk, and dropped.
The nightmare stared at this human who moved with strange slightly-inhuman jerks, elbows held out to the side in an unnatural way, moving through total darkness completely unhindered, one eye shut and the other reflecting the dim lightâfully awake, yet able to see the nightmare. Voice raspy, it cautiously asked, "Whatâare you?"
"Someone in a similar line of work." Bill's smile was wide enough to show off his fae tooth.
Not breaking eye contact, the nightmare's features melted off as it backed away from the human, leaving only impenetrable shadow and bright red pinprick eyes; it sank into the house's shadows and slunk out beneath the door. It was creeped out. This human was creepy.
Not a very social guy, was it? Now that Bill thought about it, it was probably just here for Melody. Wellâif that was the case, he was sure he'd see it around again.
####
(The mentions of Bloody Mary were added post-TBOB. And I rewrote the paragraph where Bill talks about being attracted to outsiders to specify "criminals and psych ward escapees" since in TBOB he makes a point of how those are the people he helped set free after he took over the Nightmare Realm.
The next plot arc we're moving into is about the sleep paralysis nightmare! Without giving any spoilers, I'm gonna say up front: you're gonna read it and think the lore was inspired by details from TBOB. It was not. I came up with my lore a year ago; and TBOB matched it, so I slid TBOB in as supporting details to what I had already plotted. I'll explain in more depth once y'all get a chance to see what I mean.)
#bill cipher#human bill cipher#grenda grendinator#(<- she gets an important scene in this chapter so she can get a tag)#gravity falls#gravity falls fic#gravity falls fanart#fanart#my art#my writing#bill goldilocks cipher
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ă
ăăđ đđđđđ on đŹreating your first mÍaÍzÍeÍ ÍrÍuÍnÍnÍeÍrÍ reality ăă ă written by a sixteen year old who ăăăăwanted to shift to TMR when she was twelve
ăă
ăwell i sure do wonder why you're reading this , is it perhaps because you want to shift to the maze runner reality ? or is it because you are sooo bored that you will ready anything that is given to you right now ? well , if it's either of the above , or even a secret third option , i'm glad you're here ! enjoy the guide !
ăi. ă faqă
ăăwhat even is the maze runner ? if i shift here , what can i expect ? is it more on the dangerous side ? do i have to be a boy to shift to the maze runner ?
ăăhmm good questions ! first of all , i'd like to mention something before we start . a little synopsis on the maze runner if you will . basically , thomas wakes up in the box , almost gets killed by ben ( who was a runner who got stung by a griever ) , teresa comes up in the box , chaos happens , maze doors don't close , grievers raid the glade , people die , the gladers escape the maze , and other background details that i definitely glossed over !
ăăi guess that knocked out the first question , right ? anyways , moving on !
ăăwhat can you expect if you shift here : danger , friendship , hard work , passion , and whatever your heart desires ! it's your dr , do what you want with it ! but please , please , PLEASE make sure you know what you're getting yourself into when you shift here . this . will . be . YOUR . life . this won't be the books or the movies , this will be your LIFE .
ăăand do you have to be a boy when you shift ? that is such a silly question to ask , i'm sorry . but yeah , you do NOT have to be a boy when you shift . remember teresa from above ? yeah , she's not a boy . there's some ideas below for what you can do with your drs , if you need some brainstorming juice .
ăii. ă warnings , bright red warningsă
ăăthis is an emphasis on the bolded words from the section above . no matter how much you alter your reality , this is the maze runner . you're stuck in a place with a bunch of strangers , no memories , four walls trapping you in . there are monsters , evil , vile , vain monsters out there . ones you hope you don't cross paths with . you will see things you don't want to see , hear things you don't want to hear , and oh my god , you WILL smell things you wish you never smelt .
ăăokay , this might have been an overdramatic emphasis , but seriously . please . know . what . you . are . getting . yourself . into . this isn't a fanfic on wattpad or a blurb on tumblr , ok ? understood ? good ! let's continue .
ăiii. ă slang . terminology . shank ??ă
ăăwhen you wake up with no memories of your past life and only basic facts , you will create your own slang . introducing you , to the glader's slang and other terminology that would be helpful to be aware of !
ăăGÍLÍAÍDÍEÍRÍ ÍSÍLÍAÍNÍGÍ
ăăăăklunk - crap ăăăăshank - friend ăăăăslim it - shut up ăăăăgreenbean/greenie - new arrival in the glade ăăăăjacked - messed up in the head ăăăăkeepers - leaders of a particular job
ăăMÍIÍSÍCÍ
ăăăăglade A - the ' boys ' group ăăăăglade B - the ' girls ' group ăăăăthe flare - the disease spread over the world ăăăăthe cure - cure for the disease ăăăăW.C.K.D / WICKED - organization who put the kids in the glade ăăăăcranks - people who are infected by the flare ăăăăgrievers - monsters in the maze
ăiv. ă ( key ) locations in the gladeă
ăăthey don't provide you with a map and a flask of hot tea when you show up to the glade . no , honestly ? they just leave you be as long as you don't act up . but me ? i'll give you the locations , your welcome ! or well , at least the key areas .
ăăfirst , we have the box . the box is where the greenie of the month is sent up . it's a compartment in the floor and it makes the loudest noise ever .
ăăand then we come to the gardens . the gardens . . . are the gardens ? this is where the crops and produce are grown in the glade !
ăăokay , actually you know what ? i'm gonna speed run the locations . the homestead is where the keepers sleep , ONLY the keepers , first in command , second in command . the blood house is where the butcher stuff happens with the animals , the medjack hut is basically a hospital for the gladers . the deadheads is the woods but it has a graveyard in it . the map room is where the runners discuss and has all their resources . the slammer is basically the jail cell or the glader's version of the timeout corner . the kitchens is the . . . kitchen ! done !
ăv. ă rule #1 , everyone plays a partă
ăăi probably mentioned random words above that made zero sense because there were no definitions on them in section three . well , here they are ! the definitions and job information .
ăăfirst in command - leader of the wholeee glade ăăsecond in command - co leader , if that makes sense ? ăăkeeper - leader of the specific job
ăărunner - only people allowed in the maze , trying to find a way out ăămedjack - doctors ăăslicer - butchers ăăcook - cooks ăătrack-hoes - gardeners ăăbuilder - builders ăăbagger - deal with dead bodies ăăsloppers - cleaners , other tasks people wouldn't want to do ăămap-makers - create the maps for the maze
ăvi. ă idea4uă
ăălet's be so for real , it's sometimes hard to come up with who you are and what you want to be in a reality . lucky for you , i'm here ! haha , hey .
ăăidea a .ăăfollow the plotline of the book / movies ! you're the first girl in the glade , or the first boy in glade b .
ăăidea b .ăăyou were sent by W.C.K.D as a warning . the gladers do NOT trust you whatsoever . or they do ! your choice .
ăăidea c .ăăyou're the first person ever to show up in the glade .
ăăidea d .ăăyou were found by the runners in the maze instead of the box , how did you get there ?
ăăidea e .ăăscientist from W.C.K.D sent to the glade , kind of like teresa
ăăidea f .ăăyou've never been in the maze , but the one time you did enter , the grievers seemed to be scared of you instead ?
ăvii. ă misc scriptă
ăă-ăăeveryone has good hygiene ăă-ăăthere are good toiletries in the glade ăă-ăăthe box sends up period supplies every month ăă-ăăthe clothing is comfortable ăă-ăăno bugs ăă-ăăthe food is delicious ăă-ăăif you're immune to the flare or not ăă-ăăyour code ( like newt's is A5 ) ăă-ăăthere are private spots in the glade that's just not the deadheads ăă-ăăyou don't get random illnesses ăă-ăăyou don't get hurt a lot
ăăăăăăăăăăăăă đđ¶đđ”đčđđ â¶ đđČđ»đđ
#withluvvenus#maze runner dr#tmr dr#shifting realities#shifting reality#reality shifting#shiftblr#shifting community#desired reality#shifting blog#reality shifter#reality shift#shifting#shifting antis dni#loa tumblr#loassblog#loassumption#shifting motivation#anti shifters dni#shifters
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I use it/its exclusively.
In queer spaces, more precisely, more "general" trans spaces, I get misgendered constantly, either they/them or he/him or she/her, depends on how I'm perceived.
I'm never called it/its, I correct people, and they brush me off and call me they/them. Some say that I'm very obliviously "more of trans man/woman" to justify using he/him or she/her, even after knowing I use it/its. Sometimes after correcting them, they start using they/them instead of he/him or she/her, never it/its.
Also, I'm quite often told that my pronouns gives the person I'm talking to flashbacks about being called it/its, and that I'm a terrible monster for asking them to use it/its for me because I "should know better", even though we had just met. I've been told to put a trigger warning on my bio because I say to use it/it's for me, and that it very likely could trigger another trans person. I've been told that I caused someone to have an anxiety attack, and that I was a narcissistic asshole for "torturing" this person with their trauma, all I had said so far was: "hi, I'm [name] and I use it/its, what about y'all?".
Do people use it/its to make fun of trans people? Yes. Does that mean I'm an asshole for wanting people to use it/its to refer to me because they're my pronouns? No!
If me using it/its triggers you so badly, then just don't interact with me or even block me. I don't care if you do, in fact I'd appreciate it if you did, you're not the kind of person I'd wanna be around. Stop making this my problem.
(by "you" I mean those people, not you, you're great and I love your blog)
this is exorsexism.
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đđ
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being itoshi rin's publicist is no easy feat.
itoshi rin x reader ïŸ sfw ïŸ fluff ïŸ pro athlete!rin ïŸ publicist!reader ïŸ thinly veiled feelings lol :3
âJeez, Rin, youâve really done it this time.â You click your tongue and close your laptop, setting it beside you on the couch. The sun has barely risen and you can already feel a headache coming on. The catalyst for it seems entirely unbothered, turquoise eyes closed, limbs stretched purposefully out on his yoga mat thatâs situated on the floor.
His utter indifference toward the matter (despite his silence, youâre positive he knows what youâre referring to)Â is almost enough to make you laugh. For as long as youâve known him, perhaps you should have seen this coming.Â
An event Rinâs entire team was set to attend took place last night, and, as his publicist, it was your job to make sure he looked good. An amazing stylist handled his attire and you were sure you did your part well too, preparing a date to accompany him for the night. An up-and-coming model with promising prospects, you believed that the two would make an ideal pairing, at the least for the duration of the event.Â
You turned away for one second, which was seemingly more than enough time for Rin to go against all the advice youâve spent who knows how long drilling into his head for these occasions. The moment happened with your back turnedâthe womanâs hands had clasped around Rinâs, nothing out of the ordinary for what anyone would expect of a date. Though, Rin has never been too keen on physicality off the field and he made that much known when he snatched his hand back.
He made the incident out to be minor when he recounted it to you after you pestered him for details on the commotion and just why his date became so distant. Only after seeing the video of it do you realize how bad it really looked.
âYou couldnât play nice for one night? Every media outlet with that clip is painting you out to be some cold, unloving monster now.â You stretch your leg out to nudge his shoulder with your foot, a show of your disapproval. Whether itâs that or your words, something seems to have finally caught Rinâs attention, coaxing him to open his eyes and turn to face you.
âShe touched me. You know I donât like being touched.â
You do know that. Itâs something you make sure to mention to all of his datesâyou just never thought heâd have such a visceral reaction. Watching the video back made it seem like he touched a hot stove with his bare hand. Heâs never acted that way with you.
âI get it, but itâs not a good look, Rinâdifferent dates to every event, barely making eye contact with them.â No one can deny his talent on the field and, in that aspect, heâs quite likable. Though, outside of his athletic prowess, the name Itoshi Rin doesnât conjure pleasant and positive thoughts. You know him better than most people, maybe better than anyone, and all you want is for people to see him the way you do. Heâs not a bad guy; you wouldnât have stuck by his side for so long if he was. âIsnât there someone you have at least a little bit of interest in? Someone you wouldnât mind talking to every now and then? Say the name and Iâll make it happen.â
His gaze is locked onto yours, and itâs almost hard to believe that he was barely paying you any attention just a moment ago. âCanât you just come to this sort of stuff with me?â
âYour first choice is your publicist?â You know that, outside of work, Rin doesnât foster many relationships, platonic or romantic. Still, the fact that he didnât even hesitate to mention you makes you wonder just how few connections heâs made on his own. âThatâs sad, Rin.â
You donât miss the way he rolls his eyes at that. Itâs almost like when youâd poke fun at him in high school for not asking anyone to the dance, for practically darting your way whenever a partner project was introduced. Dots start to connect in your mind as you think back on the past, painting a picture thatâs just now becoming clear. Youâve always been his first choice.
âBefore youâre my publicist, youâre my friend,â he tells you, eyes still locked onto yours. The intensity in his stare convinces you that he means it, but you never doubted that. âBesides, you said name anyone.â
âI did, but donât you think you should at least try to explore your options?â Youâre sure that if Rin allowed anyone to get to know him, theyâd like him just as much as you do. You donât want to be the reason heâs so closed offâunwilling to look at someone and see a friendship or something more. âI donât want to be someone whoâs holding you back.â
âYou arenât holding me back,â he assures you, leaning forward on his mat, fingers stretching to reach for his toes. He pauses, and silence envelops the room for a few seconds, only the chirping of the birds outside audible before he speaks up again. His voice feels quieter, softer, a bit more distant. âYouâre more than enough for me.â
More than he deserves, he thinks to himself.
He can feel your gaze practically burning a hole into his back, so sharp that he simply canât bring himself to meet it. He clears his throat and closes his eyes like they had been earlier. âItâs either you or no one.â
You chuckle, leaning back against the couch cushion. Itâs not often that Rin gets pushy with this kind of stuff, demanding over work matters. Itâs oddly refreshing to see him opinionated about something that he usually tasks you with handling. And maybe, youâre the tiniest bit flattered that, even after all these years, youâre still his person.
A smile lingers in your voice with your next words. âYou got it, boss.â
Itâs muffled, but you can hear Rin scoff from his folded position on the floor. âI told you not to call me that.â
âFine, fine.â You should leave him aloneâwork talk this early in the morning annoys the man and youâre sure that your teasing isnât helping much either. Despite that, you canât help but fit one more jab in before breakfast. âYouâre not going to freak out if I try to hold your hand, are you?â
He clicks his tongue in annoyance. âNo.â
Not in the way youâre implying, anyway.

manon here ( â§áâŠ) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!
#scribbles á°.á#itoshi rin x reader#rin x reader#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#rin fluff#bllk fluff#rin x you#bllk x you#rin drabble#blue lock drabbles#â blue lock.
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"LISTEN CAREFULLY, LOVE"
I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH REMMICK
I hope you like it! đđ€

In the middle of the fight between the vampires and the humans (of which you belonged), one of the vampires attacked you, severing one of your main arteries.
You lay on the floor, trying to process the fact that you were going to die at any moment.
Then you saw him.
He appeared in your field of vision in a blur, as if instead of God, the devil were after your soul.
And maybe he was.
When he loomed over you, his glowing red eyes stared at you, and you thought it was truly the end, that he would sink his long claws into your throat and end your suffering, but instead, he did something you hadn't expected.
He brought his own wrist to his mouth and bit himself, causing his blood to begin to stain the floorboards below beside your head.
He watched you for a few moments before placing his hand against your lips.
"Drink if you want to live," he murmured near your ear, and that's what you did.
You drank until he thought it was enough.
He picked you up in his arms and quickly carried you out of there.
After that, you didn't remember anything else.
When you woke up, your joints felt numb and your headache was pounding.
You looked around, trying to figure out where you were.
You glanced around the room, finally settling on the figure sitting in the semidarkness in a reclining chair.
"Who are you?" you asked, your voice trembling. "What have you done to me? Where am I?"
"Each question in its own time, darling," he whispered, revealing himself in the reflected moonlight. "How are you feeling?"
"As if I'd died and been reborn," you replied, earning a smile from him.
"That's exactly what you've done." He raised his hands on either side of him. "You've been reborn, like so many others have done before you."
When he said it, you realized what it meant: you were now one of them.
"Why�" You cleared your throat, trying to find your voice. "Why did you save me?"
"You were too valuable to let you go so soon," he replied, pointing at you with his index finger. "Your voice," he added, "has something special," he whispered. "I heard you sing before, you know? Before your friends decided we were a threat to be eliminated," he murmured. "You have a beautiful voice, totally out of the ordinary." He smiled. "We're going to do extraordinary things together."
"What makes you think I will?" you questioned. "I've become a monster, you've killed my friends, and you expect me to pretend nothing has happened?"
âListen to me carefully, love,â he murmured, moving quickly to stand in front of you. âThose people you call friends were going to let you die in that squalid den as if their lives were the only ones worth saving.â He pointed to his chest. âI freed you, I brought you back, I gave you a purpose.â
âWhat purpose?â you asked in a whisper. âTo make your voice reach every corner of this vast world,â he said. âThe deal is simple: I will protect you, in exchange for you singing.â He shrugged, an amused smile on his lips. âSeems like a fair deal, right?â
âSeems like it,â you conceded. âAnd the fine print?â
âThereâs no fine print; what you see is what you get,â he said. âSo⊠do you accept?â
âAs long as you donât force me to drink your blood again.â You made a face of disgust that made him laugh.
âDeal.â
#byvoice#writters on tumblr#writterscommunity#my fic writing#sinners#remmick x reader#remmick x you#jack o'connell
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â 03. ANATOMY OF LOVE !
‷ ANGST ïč« michael kaiser x fem!reader ïč« I love angst so bad guys itâs not healthy anymore.
â ïž angst, heavy mental health struggles (kaiser), PTSD (kaiser), insults .á.á
Kaiser had always thought love was a fable.
Not the kind told at bedtime by mothers with warm voices and softer eyes, but the kind whispered between bleeding mouths and clenched teethâa myth, twisted and fantastical. A word too sweet for the world he came from. Where love meant bruises hidden under school uniforms, silence at dinner tables, and the heavy, choking stench of fear disguised as obedience.
He had learned early on that people only got close enough to hurt you. That affection was conditional. That kindness was currency. And he never had enough of it.
So he became beautiful. He made himself golden, magnetic, cruel when needed. He climbed through the mud wearing a crown of thorns he forged himself, teeth bared, never looking back. The world praised him for it. For the shine. For the swagger. For the calculated charm. But beneath it all was rot. Something broken and trembling.
And thenâ
You.
You, with your laugh that didnât sound like it was practiced. You, who looked at him not like he was a god or a ghost, but a person. Someone real.
He hated that.
He hated how you saw him.
He hated how your eyes lingered on the pieces he tried to buryâthe trembling hands when the crowd got too loud, the way he flinched at sudden noises, the exhaustion in his smile when the cameras turned off. You saw those things. You noticed. And you didnât turn away.
No one had ever stayed when they saw him like that.
He remembered the first time you touched his face gently, like he wasnât made of war. Your palm on his cheek, thumb brushing over the scar no one else mentioned. Heâd frozen. Not because he didnât want it, but because he didnât understand it. And he remembered the way you said, âYou donât have to be anything with me.â
And he believed you.
God, he wished he didnât. But he did.
That night, after you fell asleep in his arms, he whispered an apology into your hair. He didnât know what it was forâmaybe for letting you love something so wrecked. Maybe because, for once, he wanted to believe he was more than just damage with a smile.
But the sickness came back.
He didnât understand how to hold something soft without breaking it. He didnât know how to be loved without sabotaging it. So he tested you. In little ways, at firstâcold words, late replies, sharp sarcasm. He waited for you to leave. He wanted you to. It would be easier if you did.
You didnât.
So he pushed harder. Cancelled plans. Didnât say âI love youâ back. Picked fights over nothing. Tried to become unbearable. Because a part of himâtoo loud, too cruelâkept screaming:
âYou donât deserve this. Youâre filth. Youâre fucked up. Youâre nothing but your fatherâs son.â
âYouâre a pretty face with a rotted soul. And she will see it. She will leave. Let her leave.â
But you didnât.
You stood in the doorway of his penthouse after another one of his episodes, eyes filled not with anger, but something worseâcompassion.
âWhy are you doing this?â you whispered.
And Kaiser, who had faced thousands, who had stood untouched beneath stadium lights, who had smiled through agony and danced with demons, crumbled like a boy. He sank to his knees in front of you, hands shaking like leaves in winter, and finally told you the truth:
âBecause I donât know how to be loved.â
You knelt with him. You took his face in your hands. And you cried.
Not because he was brokenâbut because heâd been made to believe that was all he was.
âI love you,â you said, again and again, like it was a prayer. Like if you said it enough, it could stitch him back together. âI love you even when you hate yourself. Especially then.â
He tried to shake his head. âYou shouldnât. Iâm notâfuckâIâm not human. Iâm a monster in disguise. I manipulate. I lie. I donât even know who I am when Iâm not pretending to be someone else.â
But you held him tighter. âYouâre mine. And I see you.â
And for the first time in his life, he let someone hold all of him.
The darkness. The boy who used to cry himself to sleep. The man who turned fear into arrogance. The heart he thought had died a long time ago.
You loved him through every terrible version of himself.
And he loved you for itâtoo much, almost. Like worship. Like madness. Like a man clinging to a lifeline he never thought heâd find. He memorized the curve of your lips, the sound of your heartbeat when you fell asleep on his chest. He began to believe that maybeâjust maybeâthere was a version of him worth loving.
But the guilt never left.
Even on the happiest daysâwhen you laughed with him, when you whispered dreams into his skinâhe would catch himself thinking: I donât deserve this.
He would sit alone sometimes, long after you were asleep, whispering to the dark:
âIâm sorry I exist. Iâm sorry I ruined you. Iâm sorry I canât be better.â
But you never let go.
Even when he gave you every reason to.
Even when he screamed. Even when he cried. Even when he tried to disappear behind the armor he had worn for years.
You held on.
You loved him not because he was easy to loveâbut because you saw the boy inside the monster. Because you knew love was not something earned, but something given. Freely. Fiercely.
And heâ
He would burn the world to keep you warm.
He loved you with the desperation of a drowning man, with the reverence of someone who had never known what it felt like to be held without bruises.
You became his home.
The only one heâd ever known.
And even on the days when he still hated himself, when the ghosts were too loud and the pain too sharp, heâd look at you and remember:
That once upon a time, someone saw him not as broken, but as human.
And that, maybe, was enough to keep going.
Even if he cried for it.
Even if it hurt to believe.
Because loving you was the first beautiful thing he ever did.
And being loved by youâ
Was the only miracle heâd ever known.
#ââ°âïž kieâs writes#bllk#bllk fanart#bllk x reader#bllk x you#blue lock#blue lock x female reader#bllk kaiser#blue lock michael kaiser#kaiser x y/n#kaiser x you#blue lock kaiser#kaiser michael#kaiser x reader#michael kaiser#michael kaiser x reader#bllk angst#blue lock x you#blue lock x reader#blue lock angst#angst#kaiser psychology#michael x reader#michael bllk#bllk michael kaiser#blue lock michael
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Spellbound - D.W
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
Pairing - Dean Winchester/Reader
Summary - After five years hunting supernatural creatures alongside the Winchester brothers, you find yourself caught in a witchâs trapâand cursed with a dangerous lust spell.
Rating: Mature 18+
Word Count: 4k
A/N - Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the mix of heat and heart in this one. More to come soonâstay tuned!
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
Five years.
Five years Iâve been hunting monsters, demons, and all the things that go bump in the night with Dean and Sam Winchester. Iâm not just their partner â Samâs like a brother to me. Thereâs a steady calm to him, a gentleness that cuts through the madness. Weâve saved each other more times than I can count, and thereâs a trust between us thatâs unbreakable.
Dean⊠Deanâs something else entirely. Grumpy as hell, always barking orders or shooting me looks like Iâm a kid who wandered into a war zone by mistake.
âYouâre too young for this,â he says every damn day. âYou donât know what youâre getting yourself into.â
He shouts at me when I flirt with other men â as if the thought of me with anyone else is a personal affront. God, heâs a pain in my ass.
But once⊠once, I liked him. Really liked him. More than I shouldâve, probably. I wanted him. I wanted him in ways I didnât even fully understand.
Would I drop everything for him? Without hesitation.
Would I take him if he said he loved me? In a heartbeat.
Would it happen? No. Not ever.
Dean Winchester doesnât love people. He protects them, keeps them at armâs length, watches them walk away and pretends it doesnât destroy him. Thatâs who he is. Thatâs who heâll always be.
And Iâve spent five years pretending thatâs fine.
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
The hunt started simple. A couple of bodies drained dry, some talk of strange lights in the woods, and symbols etched into tree bark that even Sam didnât recognize off the bat. Thatâs always a bad sign.
We were supposed to split up for recon. Sam took the morgue. Dean headed to the rangerâs station. I was supposed to stay in the motel and ânot touch anything,â as Dean so kindly put it.
His exact words:Â âYou stay put. Weâll circle back in a few hours. Donât go full cowboy on this one.â
I rolled my eyes at him. âIâm not twelve, Dean.â
He just grunted. âCouldâve fooled me.â
That was this morningâŠ
Now it was past sunset, and Iâd followed a trail of sulfur into the woods behind the motel, because apparently I am twelve and incapable of listening to orders. But the signs were all there â the broken branches, the scorch marks, the silence so deep it made my skin crawl. Something was here.
I didnât think Iâd get grabbed.
Didnât think Iâd get caught.
The cabin just came out of nowhere.
Half-sunken into the ground, covered in creeping ivy and rot, it looked like it had grown out of the earth instead of being built. The windows were dark. No birds. No breeze. Just that heavy, choking silence pressing in on all sides.
My boots crunched over dead leaves as I stepped closer. The air was thick with sulfur and something sweetâtoo sweetâlike overripe fruit left out in the sun. Wrong. All of it felt wrong.
I shouldâve turned back.
Shouldâve called Dean. Or Sam. Or literally done anything other than creep up to the door like a horror movie clichĂ©.
But I couldnât help it. Something was pulling me forward. A whisper under my skin, soft and seductive. Goosebumps rose along my arms. My heart thudded.
I reached for the doorknob.
It opened before I touched it.
That was the only warning I got.
A blur of movement. The door slammed open, and before I could scream or reach for my knife, I was yanked inside by something stronger than it looked. I hit the floor hardâwind knocked out of me, head ringing. Hands like steel clamped around my wrists. A voice cooed in my ear, low and smug.
âWell, well. What do we have here?â
I thrashed, kicking out. âGet off me, bitchââ
But the ropes were already binding. Scratchy hemp soaked in something that made my skin sting. I hissed through my teeth as she crouched in front of me, her smile wide and her eyes all pupil.
âBrave little hunter,â she said, dragging a nail down my cheek. âBut very, very stupid.â
She didnât chant. Didnât wave her hands or light candles.
She just leaned in close, close enough for her breath to hit my mouthâand whispered a single word I didnât understand.
It hit me like a jolt of electricity. My back arched. The ropes tightened. Heat exploded under my skinâliquid and searing and slow, crawling through every nerve.
was barely catching my breath when voicesâloud, urgentâechoed outside the cabin.
âY/N! Where the hell are you?â
Dean.
âY/N! Answer me!â
Samâs voice was right behind him, close and desperate.
The door creaked open.
âOh, well, well,â the witchâs voice purred, stepping into the dim light, eyes gleaming like dark jewels.
âMore guests. How exciting.â
Dean didnât hesitate. He pulled his gun, aimed straight at her. âBack off,â he growled.
But before he could fire, a flicker of dark energy crackled in the airâand the gun was knocked from his hand with a sharp clang, spinning across the floor.
âThatâs not very friendly, is it?â the witch said, voice smooth as silk.
She stepped forward, circling me like a predator. Her hand reached out and stroked my cheek. I flinched, muscles twitching against her touch.
âPlus,â she said, voice low and cruel, âyour little hunter here? Sheâs going to need all the help she can get, with what I just did to her.â
Deanâs eyes locked on mine, dark and fierce. âWhat the fuck did you do?â
Her smile twisted, knowing and wicked. âYouâll soon find out. Iâd get her home if I were youâthe next few hours wonât be pretty.â
Sam moved, but she raised a hand, and a sharp pulse knocked him back into the wall. Dean caught himself just in time, fists clenched.
I wanted to screamâwarn themâbut the heat inside me was overwhelming, twisting thoughts into something raw and desperate.
Dean stepped forward, voice steady but tight. âWeâre getting you out of here.â
The witch laughed, a chilling sound that echoed in the cramped cabin.
âOh, youâll get her out. But she wonât be the same.â
She vanished into smoke, leaving a trail of cold air and dread.
Dean helped me up, his grip firm and steady despite the tremors in my limbs.
âLetâs go. Weâll deal with this,â he said, voice low and sharp.
I wanted to believe him.
I wanted to believe anything but the fire burning under my skinâand the dark promise it carried.
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
The Impalaâs engine hummed low as Dean drove fast, eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror. I sat in the back seat, my body twisting and turning, heat crawling under my skin like wildfire.
âItâs⊠itâs really hot in here,â I gasped, voice shaky. âLike, really fucking hot.â
Dean glanced back, frowning. âWhat do you mean? It isnât hot at all in here, youâre just panicking.â
âNo Dean. This isnât just nerves. Itâs likeâlike someone has turned up the heat really hot like every part of my body is aching for something.â
Sam shifted in the passenger seat, already pulling out his phone. âOkay, that is not normal.â
He was already dialing.
âRowena?â Samâs voice was tense but controlled. âItâs her. Sheâs been hit with a spell. Something⊠intense.â
I pressed my hand to my forehead, feeling the sweat trickle down.
Sam turned around sharply. âI donâtââ His words cut off when he caught sight of me.
I was halfway through pulling my shoes off, panting. My white vest, stained faintly pink from earlier, was next. I shimmied out of my jeans slowly, every movement a struggle to keep control.
âI donât know, Rowena,â Sam said into the phone, voice edged with panic. âIt was pinkâsome kind of glow. And nowânow sheâs stripping nakedâ
My breath hitched as I let the vest drop onto the floor, skin slick with sweat, my moans low and helpless.
Deanâs jaw tightened, eyes never leaving the mirror. âGoddamn it, Y/N.â
I swallowed hard, heat roaring in my veins. âGuys, seriouslyâtoo hot.â
Samâs voice was frantic on the other end. âRowena, please, anything to help her. We donât have time.â
The backseat felt smaller, tighter. The spell was doing something to meâsomething dangerous.
The Impala rolled up the gravel driveway to the bunker, headlights cutting through the dark like knives. Sam was still on the phone, voice low and urgent, words swirling in my head but only half registering through the heat pounding in my veins.
Deanâs hand snapped around my waist, yanking me out of the car before I could protest.
âCâmon, Y/N,â he grunted, pulling me toward the door.
I smirked, voice low and sultry despite the fire crawling under my skin. âTouch me like that again, Dean, and I wonât be the only one in my underwear,â I purred, tugging at the collar of his jacket.
Dean froze, eyes flicking to Sam, who had turned toward us, phone still pressed to his ear.
âUh⊠SammyâŠâ Dean started, voice dry.
Sam spun fully around, exasperated. âOkay, well, sheâs hitting on Dean now. Does that help?â
I heard Samâs voice fading behind me, muttering, âThereâs nothing we can do other than thatâŠâ
Deanâs expression hardened as I kept closing the space between us, heat thick in my voice.
âSammy, what is it?â Dean asked sharply, but his hand pushed me back just enough, firm but hesitant.
I stayed locked on his eyes, breath shallow, the spell twisting us all tighter.
ââââââââââââ
Dean and Sam werenât messing around. The moment we stepped inside the bunker, Dean grabbed my arm with a firm grip, practically hauling me toward the bathroom.
âGet in the shower. Now,â Dean ordered, his voice clipped but with that underlying edge of concern.
âOnly if you come too babyâ i say biting my lip and looking up at him.
ââY/N shower nowââ Dean orders
I tried to protest, but Samâs steady eyes and Deanâs no-nonsense glare shut me down before I could even start.
I pout at them âLike thatâs gonna fix anything,â I muttered under my breath, but I didnât have the energy or will to fight.
The bathroom was steamy before I even turned on the water. Hot water gushed from the showerhead, mist swirling in the air, fogging up the mirror. I peeled off my clothes, the wet fabric sticking to my skin as I stepped under the spray.
The heat hit me like a waveâhot water cascading down my scalp, tracing slow lines along my neck and shoulders. My skin prickled, but not from cold. The heat inside me was different, wild, almost uncontrollable.
My hands moved instinctively, fingers trailing along my collarbone, down my arms, the touch igniting a flicker of something deeper. I swallowed hard as a low, involuntary moan escaped my lips.
This was wrong. So wrong. And yetâ
It felt so damn good.
I closed my eyes, leaning into the warmth, letting the water wash over me like it could rinse away the fire simmering beneath my skin. My mind driftedâdangerouslyâto Dean, to the sharp way his eyes had darkened when heâd caught me a little too close, the way his voice softened whenever he barked orders my way.
Outside the bathroom door, muffled voices filtered in.
Samâs quiet, urgent tone cut through the steam-filled room.
âDean, itâs not just any spell. Itâs tapping into her deepest desires. Itâs got to be you. She hasnât tried this with me once.â
Dean was about to answer, voice low and sharp, but before he could say a word, moansâmy moansâescaped through the closed door, vibrating in the tight space.
The silence on the other side was immediate.
Then Deanâs voice, rough and tight with something like disbelief or frustration.
âShit.â
The water kept pounding down, hot and relentless, but the heat inside me was something else entirelyâraw, almost unbearable. My hands slid over my skin again, slower this time, trembling just a little as the spell twisted my senses.
âY/N?â Deanâs voice was softer now, tinged with worry, coming from just outside the door.
I swallowed, voice thick and breathy. âItâs... itâs not stopping, Dean.â
The door creaked as it cracked open just a fraction. I peeked through the mist, saw his silhouette framed in the doorwayâjaw clenched tight, eyes shadowed with frustration and something else, something deeper I couldnât name.
Dean steps into the bathroom, the steam enveloping him as he closes the door behind him. His eyes lock onto mine, and I can see the conflict and concern swirling in their depths. He grabs a towel from the rack and wraps it around me, his hands lingering on my shoulders, his touch both gentle and firm.
I stare up at him, my eyes filled with pure desire, my body aching with need. I can smell him, every inch of himâthe scent of leather, gun oil, and something uniquely Dean. It's intoxicating, driving me wild with desire.
My voice, a low moan, "Dean, I can literally smell you."
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, his voice low and gravelly, "You've been hit with a strong spell, Y/N. It makes you desire the thing you want most. And if you don't get it, it's deadly."
I shake my head, my voice trembling, "Dean, no. I can't want you. I'm notâyou're not who Iâ"
He cuts me off, his lips crashing down onto mine in a passionate, desperate kiss. His hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel his arousal, hard and insistent, pressing against my stomach. The heat that had been consuming me begins to ebb, replaced by a different kind of fireâa fire that only Dean can quench.
I moan into his mouth, my hands gripping his shoulders, my nails digging into his flesh. He deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth, tasting, teasing, claiming. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
He walks me backward until I'm pressed against the cool tiles of the shower wall, the contrast to his hot body sending shivers down my spine. His lips trail down my neck, his teeth nipping, his tongue soothing, leaving a path of fire in their wake.
"Why didn't you tell me you felt this way?" he asks, his voice a low murmur against my skin, his hands roaming my body, exploring, gripping, possessing. He tears the towel from my body, his eyes dark with desire as he takes in my naked form.
My voice, soft and hesitant, "I didn't tell you, I was scared. Scared of you not wanting me back. Scared of ruining everything."
He looks into my eyes, his expression softening as he cups my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears I didn't even realize had fallen.
His voice, gentle but firm, "You're scared of me?"
I shake my head, my voice barely a whisper, "Scared of you not wanting me back."
A slow smile spreads across his face, and he leans in, his forehead resting against mine.
His voice, a low murmur, "Y/N, you have no idea how much I want you."
Before I can respond, he sweeps me up into his arms, carrying me out of the bathroom and down the hall to his room. He kicks the door shut behind us, not breaking the kiss as he lays me down on the bed. His body covers mine, his weight pressing me into the mattress, and I can feel his arousal, hard and insistent, pressing against my core.
He pulls back just enough to remove his own clothes, his eyes never leaving mine. I watch as he discards his shirt, his jeans, his boxers, until he's as naked as I am. He leans down, capturing my lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth, tasting, teasing, claiming.
His hands roam my body, touching me everywhere, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin that send shivers down my spine. He nibbles on my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, his tongue soothing the sting. He sucks on my skin, leaving marks that I know will be there tomorrow, a claim that I am his.
"You're mine, Y/N. Always have been."
The burning sensation that had been consuming me slowly fades, replaced by a different kind of heatâa heat that comes from within, a heat that is pure desire and love. I arch into his touch, my body begging for more, needing more.
He obliges, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of me, his touch setting me on fire. I moan and squirm beneath him, my body aching with need, my mind focused solely on him, on us, on the love that has been building between us for years.
 "I've wanted you for so long, Y/N. So fucking long."
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, wanting to feel all of him, wanting to be filled by him. He obliges, his hands gripping my thighs, his touch firm and possessive. He trails kisses down my neck, his stubble rough against my sensitive skin, sending shivers down my spine.
He moves lower, his lips and tongue exploring my collarbone, my breasts, my nipples, making me arch and moan. He takes his time, his touch slow and deliberate, building the tension, the need, the ache. His hands roam my body, gripping, squeezing, possessing, his fingers digging into my flesh, marking me as his.
He moves lower still, his tongue tracing a path down my stomach, dipping into my belly button, making me squirm. When he reaches my most sensitive area, he takes a moment, his breath hot against my skin, his eyes locked onto mine.
 "You taste so fucking good, Y/N."
He starts, his tongue and fingers working in unison, driving me wild, making me cry out, my body convulsing with pleasure. He brings me to the brink, then backs off, his touch gentle, his lips soft, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I want to hear you come for me, Y/N.''
He builds me up again, his touch more insistent, his lips more demanding, his fingers curling inside me, hitting that spot that makes me see stars. I cry out, my body tensing, my inner muscles clenching, my orgasm ripping through me, leaving me breathless and boneless.
But he doesn't stop there. He moves up my body, his lips capturing mine in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth, tasting, teasing, claiming. I can feel his arousal, hard and insistent, pressing against my core. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, wanting more.
"I need to feel you, Dean"
He enters me slowly, filling me completely, his eyes locked onto mine. We both moan, the sound echoing in the room. Our bodies move in sync, a dance as old as time, our breaths coming in ragged gasps, our moans filling the air. He reaches between us, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing it in slow circles, sending me spiraling over the edge again.
 "Come for me, baby. Let me feel you come undone."
With a final, powerful thrust, he joins me in ecstasy, his body shaking with the force of his release. We collapse together, our bodies slick with sweat, our hearts pounding in unison, our breaths slowly returning to normal.
After the heat and tension between us had settled into something quieter, something softer, Deanâs hand brushed gently against my arm as I caught my breath.
He looked at me, eyes searchingâsofter now, less guarded. âYou okay?â
I met his gaze, still flushed but steady. âYeah,â I whispered, voice low and honest. âBetter than okay.â
He let out a slow breath, relief mixing with something unreadable flickering in his eyes. âGood. Because Iâm not letting anything happen to you. Not ever.â
I smiled, the weight between us shifting just a little, fragile but real. âI know, Dean.â
And just like that, for the first time in a long time, the silence between us felt less like a wall and more like a promise.
âââââââââââ
Not one, not two, not threeâbut four fucking times later, I finally haul myself out of bed, muscles pleasantly aching, skin still flushed with heat and sweat. Every nerve feels alive, buzzing from the aftermath of what just happened. Dean is right behind me, his arms sliding around my waist with that effortless, possessive hold he always has. The warmth of his body presses against my back, steady and grounding.
âFeeling okay?â His voice is low, rough with something like concernâbut it makes my pulse spike all over again.
I tilt my head back, catching his breath on my neck, and canât stop the soft giggle that escapes me. âBetter than okay,â I murmur, breathless and still riding the edge of that crazy spellâs aftermath. âHonestly, Dean... amazing.â
He chuckles, a slow, satisfied sound that vibrates right through me. His fingers trace lazy patterns along my ribs, light but certain. âYou sure about that?â
âAbsolutely.â I lean back into him, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath my palm as I close my eyes for a moment. âThank you... for getting that damn witchâs spell off me. I thought I was going to lose my mind.â
Deanâs arms tighten just a bit. âWouldâve done it twice if I had to. Hell, ten times.â
I glance over my shoulder, flashing him a grin. âThat so?â
He smirks, eyes darkening with that signature Dean mix of mischief and something softerâsomething that always leaves me breathless. Before I can say another word, his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, pulling me closer with a sudden, urgent force.
His mouth crashes onto mine, fierce and hungry, heat rolling off him in waves. Thereâs no teasing, no slow buildâjust raw, desperate need that matches the way my heart is pounding in my chest. I donât fight it. I lean in, matching his kiss with everything Iâve got, fingers tangling in the back of his jacket as his hand slides up my side, pulling me impossibly close.
The world shrinks to just usâthe taste of him, the rough scrape of his stubble, the fire burning behind his eyes. Itâs a kiss that says more than words ever could, filled with promises and something dangerously like hope.
When we finally break apart, Iâm gasping for breath, my cheeks flushed and my body buzzing. Dean just grins, that wicked glint never leaving his eyes.
âHell yeah, we both know itâs happening again with or without the witch spell,â he repeats, his voice low and rough.
We wander into the kitchen, the quiet hum of the bunker settling around us like a familiar blanket. Sam is already there, holding two steaming cups of coffee, eyes flicking between us with that half-amused, half-exasperated look only he can master.
âSheâs alive⊠barely,â Sam says dryly, nodding toward me with a smirk.
I shoot him a mock glare, then laugh, the sound light and free for the first time in hours. âOh, come on, Sam. Like Iâm gonna keel over from a little witchâs magic.â
Dean laughs too, the sound warm and genuine, as he keeps his arms wrapped around me, holding me close. âYouâre damn lucky we got you back before it got any worse.â
âLucky and absolutely wrecked,â I say, shaking my head with a tired smile. âNever want to feel that âspell effectâ again.â
Sam shrugs, clearly happy to see me back to my usual sarcastic self. âIâll leave you two lovebirds to your... recovery.â
Dean presses a soft kiss to my temple, his breath warm against my skin. I turn in his arms and meet his gaze, the room shrinking until it feels like itâs just the two of us, wrapped up in this small moment.
Our eyes lock, and I see that flicker of somethingâmaybe relief, maybe something moreâin his usually guarded expression. I reach up, brushing my fingers over his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble, the slight curve of his jaw.
He leans in, capturing my lips in a slow, lingering kiss. Itâs gentle, but full of all the fire that still simmers beneath the surface.
When we pull apart, I grin. âRecovery, huh?â
Dean smirks back, a playful glint lighting his eyes. âMore like a reboot. You ready for round five?â
I laugh, shaking my head, but I canât hide the spark of something wild in my chest. âBring it on.â
#supernatural#slow burn#jensen ackles#the winchester brothers#jared and jensen#sam winchester#jared padalecki#dean winchester#smut#relationship
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Poll Results are in!
Read the Fine Print
Date with a Werewolf
Part 1 here
It had been weeks since you downloaded that stupid DRD and your excitement had all but dies out. You had just gotten home from work and was pouring yourself a nice heafty glass of wine when your phone pinged not once but twice.
You put the bottle down and grabbed for your phone, expecting it to be nothing of importance. Unlocking your phone you froze.
You have 2 notifications!
Both are from DRD and the other from Sensational Simulations. Quickly you opened them.
Dear y/n
Your request had been accepted. Emrys has provided his availability, and Sensational Simulations will be contacting you shortly with a schedule. Once you select your preferred meeting date, a contract will be emailed to you. Please read carefully and sign.
We sincerely hope that your match goes well and you consider using our services again soon.
Enjoy!
DRD Associate
The next email as stated, was a calendar with dates and the earliest possible one was tonight at 10pm.. the next being a week away! That just wouldn't do.
Excitement filled your gut as you looked at the time. Sensational was about 45 minutes away. It was only 8:13âŠâI can make this work if I get ready now.â
So you clicked on today's date. Another ping sounded and you groaned. âshit I forgot about the contract.â You opened the email and it was FIFTEEN PAGES! There was no way you would get through all of them and manage to look decent in time.
So you did what any desperate women going to meet some strange monster would doâŠSkimmed thru it and signed. You even added a few hearts after one to give off the illusion you read them. Surely you can look back through them later. Right?
_____
You pulled up to the front for Sensational Simulations around 9:48 pm after checking that they had Valet parking. How you managed not to get a ticket was beyond you but Hey! At least you looked good.
The place was just as beautiful as you remembered before. The entrance and a huge modern open floor plan and busy with the buzz of other clients chatting amongst each other.
In the center of the room was a receptionist desk where a blonde woman with cherry red lipstick waved you over. You smiled nervously at her and made your way over.
âWelcome to Sensational Simulations y/n! I am Olivia and I will be your host today.â Her voice was very trained almost computer like.â
âHi.â you replied, feeling the nerves in your gut turn to butterflies.
âSo we've received your contracts, and everything is already settled. All there is to do now is take you to your location.â
âSounds good. Any kind of payments on my part?"
She shook her head. "All taken care of." She looked down at the stuff you held. I'll take your phone and things to lock away in a safe during your stay."
âwait why can't I have my phone?â
âIt can interfere with the Simulations sometimes. So to be safe we lock them away. But no need to worry. Each host is readily available in case there are any emergencies.â
âAre there usually any?â
âVery rarely. Follow me.â
You were escorted by Olivia to the main elevators. âEach floor is its own world. Some have multiple patrons in them or are rented out for certain blocks of time. Your's however has been rented for 24 hours. So there is no rush or anyone toâŠruin the mood."
â24 hours is a long time for a date isn't it?â You asked as you thought about having to work tomorrow. You also couldn't wait to fill your coworker in.
Oliva smiled at you. âSome people book slots for extended days at a time. Itâs part of the experience..No distractions from the outside world to break the illusion that the app puts in place. Its why its becoming so popular now. We will have to open a second location soon.â
âI had no clue. Thats amazing!.â You said as the elevator stopped finally.â
A breeze softly drifted through the closed doors before you. Smelling slightly earthy.
âThis room is one of our newest and most realistic. The reviews have been great so far.â She swept a key card.
The doors opened and your mouth hit the floor. It was like stepping into a whole new world. You were in the middle of a forest. The sounds of insects and the wind through the trees made it feel so life-like. Even the dirt on the ground looked real.
âWow!.â
âNice isn't it?â
âyes! How amazing.â
âWell this is where we part ways.â
âokay thank you.â
âEnjoy.â She said as she scanned her key card on the door. âIll be around if you need me.â
Once inside the door and the wall behind you faded leaving only miles of forest. You went to press your hand on the wall to reassure you that this was just a room but there was nothing but air there instead. How?
âThat's not alarming at all.â You mumbled as you turned and started to follow the trail deeper into the trees. Even though it was dark out. The full moon above lit the path well enough for you to follow.
This was a date right? So maybe there was a cabin nearby. Maybe a picnic or something like that. You always wanted to have a cabin getaway in the fall. This could be it.
The Trail was thinning. You were not wearing the right shoes for a deep woods hikeâŠ.Did the contract possibly say something about wearing comfortable shoes? Maybe it had information on what kind of âmonsterâ You were meeting too. Probably shouldnât have rushed through it.
Just as you reached the end of the trail, a howl sounded in the distance answering your inner thoughts. Your monster was infactâŠA Werewolf.
But shouldn't he be âŠ.you knowâŠIn human shaped? How were the two of you going to talk or share dinner?
Rustling came from a nearby brush behind you. Hoping that the howl you heard was just part of the simulation, you turned around to inspected the sound. What you saw instead startled a scream of terror out of you.
Rising from the bushes was a giant creature caught between the shape of a man and part wolf. Like a B rated movie shift gone wrong..Without a second thought you turned and ranâŠ.Bad Idea!
The thing behind you howled its hunting song and gave chase.
Surly there had to be an emergency button somewhere right? you wondered as you tripped and stumbled on raised roots and rock. Your shoes making it harder for you to gain ground. Dirt now stained your dress and you were pretty sure your ankle was sprained.
âOlivia!â You screamed hoping she would put a stop to this chase. But you were answered with silence.
Something furry and twice your size landed on you, You screamed as the two of you crashed into the soil below, halting your escape. You struggled to get free as a mouth closed around your thigh and pulled you to it. Its teeth leaving marks on your skin.
Your underwear was then torn away and you're eyes went wide as a new panic settled in. Just what the hell was he going to do to you? You surely didnât sign up for this! Not with thisâŠ.Thing!
âNo! WaitâŠHelpâŠSomeone! I didn't agree to this!!â
The monster behind you halted as a tune sounded. âYour contract has no limits. No violations have occurred or been detected.â Olivia's too cheery voice sounded. âYou may proceedâ Very fucking helpful Olivia!!!
Understanding that, the wolf still holding you down, lowered his head behind you and ran a very big and textured tongue through your folds. You gasped in shock at the friction against your sensitive flesh. It's width ensuring nothing went untouched. Every single hole.
You moaned again as it came back to lick again and again until you were a whimpering mess trying not to submit. Each time, your willpower and fight lessened and left you soaking wet. Especially when he started to fuck your tight hole with it. That was a new experience in itself.
It was like nothing you've ever felt before and even though his tongue didn't go deep, it still had you rocking your hips now begging for release instead of escape.
Sensing your approaching orgasm. The wolf pulled his tongue out and went back to focusing on your clit. Lapping away still holding you as you thrashed and jerked against the overwhelming sensation till you couldn't take it anymore.
You screamed as you came. The sound echoing through the forest as Emrys kept at the bulb a little longer. Enjoying the sounds you made for him as you struggled to evade it. You couldnt. You were at his mercy and he was going to prove it.
His tongue slowed and did one last long lick as he crawled up the length of your body. His partly shifted hands pulled your hips up and before you know itâŠ.You were being pressed into. His huge cock stretching you and going deeper than any regular man had ever managed.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he pounded into you with no restraint from behind. Moaning as he massaged the walls deep inside you. His breath thick and hot on the back of your neck as sweatâŠor his saliva, dripped on to it. You were so lost in your pleasure you didn't care.
You were just trying to find your own rhythm. Wiggling your hips slightly, you pushed back. Squeezing as you did so earning yourself a deep throaty moan that sounded more man than wolf grunts now.
He thrusts started to change after a moment and before you knew it you were rolled on to your back legs amost pressed into your shoulders as he tried to bury himself deeper inside youâŠThen you felt a different pressureâŠWhat was thatâŠIt felt thicker...harder.
Emrys jerked his hips and howled as you cried out at the sudden pain from something slipping inside of you. Locking your bodies together and sending you into an instant orgasm that brought the stars in the sky above much closer. He thrusted a few more times limited by what felt like a knot till he himself came as well.
âFuckâ He growled now mostly human. His gray eyes hooded from being drunk on pleasure. âThat was amazing.â
âChasing a helpless woman in the woods and taking advantage of her?â You asked teasingly. You were far from mad nowâŠyou didn't even think you were afraid either come to think of it. You had never been fucked so good before.
âIt was part of my package. You should have read that in your contract.â His deep voice said as he leaned down and kissed your neck softly. âI've always wanted to fuck a prey as the wolfâŠ.maybe next I will shift all the way.â
âNext?â
âYes my preyâŠYou're now mine until our time is up, and I plan to use that to my full advantage."
Your gut tightened with anticipation and slight fear. "But I need to work in the morning. So I should probably go soon."
"Olivia read term 34 page 7"
A tune chimed in.
"Attendee must stay for the full duration of the event or until they are released from said obligation. Each event duration will be in 24 hour incerment. That of which the Attendee is at the full disposal of the contract holder."
Your mouth fell open.
"And did y/n agree to this term." Emrys asked
"Yes."
"Thanks Olivia."
"My pleasure."
Grey eyes looked into yours..."You know.."He thrusted slightly his body still attached to yours. "You really should read what you sign."
No Shit..
Which explains how you ended up spending the next 24 hours as a werewolf's test sex toy...
Thanks for Voting!! Hope you all like it.
Next up Dragon
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i do absolutely think Levi having some sort of sexual trauma has been built upon over the years. Thereâs just so many small things that point to that kind of trauma, and Bad Boy just compounds on those things.
his aversion to sleep has always been very strange to me, he doesnât even lay down to do so and only ever gets a few hours. it could just be a general unease/feeling a lack of safety but Levi isnât exactly an outwardly anxious person. im sure his ability to sustain himself on only a few hours of sleep has something to do with his Ackerman power, but he almost seems to have a tendency to avoid laying in beds as a whole. iâm not sure we ever see him in one (perhaps the barracks in No Regrets?) outside of his major injury towards the end.
honestly even though his obsession with cleanliness can be associated with growing up in a dirty environment like the underground (very common IRL w people who grow up in poverty or hoarding etc) something about it always raised an eyebrow to me. feeling somehow âfilthyâ in a way that is difficult to shake is a very common trauma response for SA victims. Heâs also particular with human gore in a way he isnât with Titan gore. to be fair Titan blood literally steams off, but idk the elaborate get up in the torture scene stick with me, why is a guy who constantly cuts down giant meat monsters full of blood and sinew suiting up with an apron and rubber gloves to punch a human?
When Kenny finds him with Kuchelâs body heâs only wearing of one of her old shirts (if i remember right) which could also be just associated with the neglect he faced as Kuchelâs health declined and she wasnât able to keep working, but it could absolutely have much worse implications. heâs surely under-clothed for a child that age.
and speaking of Hange i think this is also a huge indicator of how important their friendship w Levi was. i think the âLevi has to knock Hange out to bathe themâ lore was mostly a joke, but i absolutely believe that Hange would have a knack for working themselves into exhaustion and neglecting their personal hygiene and the fact that Levi, who is adverse to dirtiness and probably physical touch, would still be willing to help Hange take care of themselves on that level is very important to me.
idk, again thereâs just so many small things that compound. i think ppl who refuse to even consider that possibility are ignoring a huge subtext in his writing.
the writing in Bad Boy reminds me a lot of an RPG character from Dragon Age called Zevran, who has a very similar backstory (prostitute mother, grew up in a brothel after she died giving birth) and SA/sex trafficking is a huge part of his writing, itâs never explicitly said but he gets incredibly close to saying it multiple times.
Absolutely, anon, I'm really glad you brought this up. I agree with you. Your observations are thoughtful and deeply grounded in the subtle, but persistent, cues throughout Leviâs characterization. Thereâs a strong case to be made that Leviâs childhood experiences, especially as hinted in Bad Boy, suggest sexual trauma as part of his backstory, and I agree that this thread has been quietly but consistently built over time across multiple Attack on Titan texts, including the main canon itself, Bad Boy, and the A Choice with No Regrets manga and OVA.
Iâll be honest, though; I sat on this ask for a little while. Not because I disagreed, but because Iâve grown cautious about diving back into this particular conversation, lol. I hope you're still around to read my response! Thereâs been pushback in the past, and itâs easy to get worn down by the defensiveness and bad-faith interpretations that inevitably come with it. But ultimately, I donât want fear of fandom backlash to silence a valid reading of the text.
Just to be clear, Iâm not saying thereâs any explicit confirmation that Levi was sexually abused. What I am saying is that there is a consistent body of subtextâtextual, visual, and behavioralâthat makes this interpretation both plausible and worth discussing. Itâs one lens among many, and itâs one that aligns with real-world trauma responses in a way that deserves thoughtful attention.
For anyone curious and looking to read more on this topic, including some of my older posts and othersâ contributions, here are a few links:
To actually address your message and your points, anon:
When Kenny first discovers Levi, the imagery is haunting. Levi appears severely malnourished, neglected, and ghost-like. Heâs wearing only a shirt, which not only suggests poverty but also emphasizes how profoundly vulnerable he is. While itâs never confirmed whether the shirt belonged to Kuchel, the idea that it might have is a valid and plausible headcanon. What is confirmed is that Levi is shown curled up on the floor in the same room as her decomposing body, completely alone. In the context of a brothelâwhere Kuchel worked as a sex worker and where strangers would have regularly entered and exited the spaceâLeviâs state of undress takes on more disturbing implications. We never learn who had access to that room after Kuchelâs death, nor how long Levi was left to fend for himself there. And as you pointed out, for a child that age to be so underclothed in such a setting is more than just a sign of deprivationâit casts a shadow over the kind of dangers he may have been exposed to during that time.
Now, Iâm aware thereâs some debate in the fandom about whether Levi and Kuchel actually lived in the brothel where she worked. Personally, I do believe they did. But even if they didnât, Kuchelâs notoriety as "Olympia"âa well-known prostituteâmeans that clients familiar with her could very well have come looking. Regardless of the precise location, the threat would have remained the same.
Itâs also important to consider how the Attack on Titan universe establishes the Underground as a site of rampant exploitation, especially sexual violence and trafficking. In "Chapter 6: The World that the Girl Saw", we learn that Mikasa, who lived on the surface, was nearly trafficked into sexual slavery. The traffickers planned to sell her specifically to the Underground, where such exploitation was evidently common and profitable. If that was the fate planned for a surface child, it paints a grim picture of what life must have been like for children born in the Underground. Levi wasnât just born thereâhe was the son of a sex worker, raised alone in a brothel after her death. In Bad Boy, we see that even as a child, Levi was almost sold into the same system by thugs looking to profit off him. On top of that, he was well-known locally as a âwhoreâs son,â a stigma that would have marked him as vulnerable. Given this context, and considering how openly the narrative depicts trafficking as a real danger even for children with more protection than Levi had, itâs tragically plausible that Levi endured violations that the text never directly names. Whether or not his trauma is ever confirmed in explicit terms, the setting, circumstances, and behavioral cues all suggest that he was not spared from the kind of exploitation that was normalized in the world he grew up in.
A Choice with No Regrets further deepens this portrait of Levi. As an adult in the Underground, heâs strikingly hyper-independent, emotionally guarded, and instinctively distrustful. His stoicism goes far beyond what would be considered adaptive for someone in a harsh environmentâit reads instead as the psychological armor of someone who learned, early and brutally, that vulnerability is dangerous. Whatâs telling is how this contrasts with Furlan and Isabel, who also grew up in the Underground but retain a more open emotional register. Levi, by contrast, keeps himself closed offâeven from those he clearly cares about. Another subtle but telling detail is his relationship to sleep. As you noted, Levi rarely lays down to rest. Even after Return to Shiganshina, when heâs critically injured, we only see him in bed when heâs completely incapacitated. His irregular sleep habits suggest that restâand the vulnerability it entailsâis something he instinctively avoids. Itâs also worth noting that Isayama has confirmed in interviews that Levi typically sleeps in a chair. That choice feels significant: what is it about beds, specifically, that feel unsafe to him? Itâs a small detail, but one that subtly reinforces the idea that Levi's avoidance of rest is tied not just to environmental danger, but to deeper psychological trauma.
One moment from A Choice with No Regrets that I think is often overlookedâor, worse, completely misreadâis the scene in the manga where Levi kills Isabelâs attacker. Thereâs a strong implication that the man had either raped or was planning to rape her. Isabel returns visibly shaken, and the fact that her hair was forcibly cutâwhile some try to minimize thisâis itself a physical violation. That kind of act doesnât happen without bodily restraint, humiliation, and intent to dehumanize. Leviâs reaction isnât casual vengeance or impulsive rage. Itâs swift, cold, and deliberate. And it stands out all the more because Levi is consistently portrayed as someone who does not enjoy killing, especially when it comes to other humans. He doesnât take satisfaction in it, and heâs shown to feel the weight of taking lives. But in this moment, he kills with no hesitation. Thatâs not just about protecting Isabel; itâs also about what that kind of violation represents to him. This scene adds another layer to the subtext that Levi may have experienced sexual trauma himself. His actions suggest not just outrage on her behalf, but a deep, visceral recognition of what was done to her. When you consider his backgroundâbeing raised in a brothel, growing up in a community where sexual violence was commonplace, and being personally threatened with itâhis response in this scene becomes far more layered. It's not about bloodlust; it's about survival and protection.
As for his obsession with cleanliness, I completely agree that it likely stems from both his impoverished upbringing and something deeper. Like you stated, the trauma of feeling âuncleanâ in a psychological sense is a known marker in many survivors of sexual abuse. Levi doesnât just value hygieneâheâs almost compulsive about it. In chapter 15, when he enters Trost HQ, his first instinct is to clean, even in the midst of military chaos. Itâs a trait that speaks to more than just surface disgust; it feels ritualistic, like heâs trying to scrub away something intangible. We also know from the Smartpass AU Levi Close-up Report that part of the reason Levi cares so much about cleanliness is because he associates filth with disease. That alone demonstrates that the cleaning is a coping mechanism for something greater.
The A Choice with No Regrets OVA also contributes to this subtext in a subtle but unsettling way. In one sequence, a group of thugs corner Isabel, and after she bites one of them, he implies he wants to assault herâsaying, âSheâll pay for bitinâ me. Lemme have some fun with her before we do anything else, âkay?â Levi isnât present for that threat, but it establishes that these men are sexual predators and underscores how normalized sexual violence is in the Underground. Shortly afterward, when Levi confronts the same group, one of the thugs touches the collar of Leviâs shirt. Levi immediately recoils and snaps, âKeep your filthy hands off me. I donât want you smudging my shirt.â His tone is cold and sharpâdisproportionately intense for such a minor touch, unless read through the lens of trauma. Whatâs especially notable is how Furlan quickly intervenes, almost too casually, saying, âSorry, 'bout that. We're clean freaks here. You prob'ly shouldn't come back, but if ya do, be sure to wash your hands first.â Itâs a strangely timed comment, bringing up hygiene in the middle of a tense confrontation, and it reads more like a deflection than comic relief, at least to me. Furlanâs response seems like a practiced redirection, as if heâs accustomed to covering for Levi in moments like this, aware that Leviâs aversion to touch and obsession with cleanliness may stem from something deeper. The way Levi reacts to even an incidental touch, especially from a man he clearly perceives as threatening (and was established as a sexual predator earlier), raises red flags. Within the broader context of the Underground, where exploitation is rampant and children are especially vulnerable, this interaction adds another layer to the growing subtext that Leviâs boundaries around touch arenât just about personal preference, but about learned survival.
A common counter-argument Iâve seen is that Levi couldnât have experienced sexual abuse because, in Bad Boy, when the thugs threaten to sell him into sexual slavery, he awakens his Ackerman powers and kills them. But I think this interpretation misreads both the mechanics of his awakening and the emotional weight of that scene. Levi doesnât react violently when the men first threaten to traffic him. In fact, he stays relatively passive through much of the assault, even as they kick him and beat him down. What ultimately triggers his Ackerman powers isnât the threat of trafficking aloneâitâs a combination of two far more visceral elements: first, the insult to his mother (âwhoreâs sonâ), which cuts directly at the only attachment and source of comfort heâs ever known; and second, the imminent threat to his life. When the men begin slamming his head into the ground, itâs not just brutalâit would have been fatal. That moment of near-death, combined with emotional provocation, is what pushes him to awaken. This is consistent with how Ackerman power is described elsewhere in canon: itâs often activated in a life-or-death situation.
Importantly, most sexual trauma, especially in childhood, is not marked by that same level of immediate physical lethality. Itâs often coercive or normalized within the environment, particularly when it occurs repeatedly over time. If Levi had experienced prior instances of sexual trauma, thereâs no reason to assume his powers would have activated. The context simply wouldnât have matched the threshold required. What Bad Boy shows us, in fact, is how long Levi endures violence without fighting back. His gentle, quiet demeanor in that scene says a lot; heâs not someone who reacts with aggression instinctively. He internalizes pain. He withdraws. And that, in itself, is a trauma response. The idea that Levi could only have been victimized if he had physically fought back or "activated" sooner misunderstands both trauma and how the Ackerman lineage functions in canon.
And yes, the way Levi interacts with Hange is one of the clearest examples of how touch and boundaries operate differently for him with people he trusts. The oft-joked âLevi knocking Hange out to bathe themâ anecdote, while humorous in fandom circles, does imply a certain level of trust and care on his part that cuts directly against his usual physical avoidance and aversion to filth. If you believe Levi is touch-averse because of trauma, then the fact that heâll tend to someone elseâs bodyâgrime, sweat, and allâspeaks volumes. It reflects a profound emotional bond.
Btw, I've never played Dragon Age, but I agree that the situation with Zevran sounds similar to the situation with Levi. Isayama never explicitly states that Levi was sexually abusedâbut neither does he shy away from leaving the space open.
The resistance from some parts of the fandom to even consider this reading is telling. It reveals discomfort not just with the possibility of Levi being a victim, but with the idea that masculinity and vulnerability can coexist. For some, Levi must remain a stoic archetype of masculinity, not someone whose past might include being violated or exploited. But the reality is that Attack on Titan is saturated with trauma, and Leviâs trauma is one of the most underexplored and underacknowledged parts of the narrative, precisely because itâs so coded in subtext.
In short, the subtext is there. The behavioral patterns are consistent. And your instinct to read between the lines is absolutely justified. Bad Boy doesnât explicitly confirm that Levi was sexually abused, but it significantly strengthens the already persistent implication. Acknowledging that possibility isnât reachingâitâs a valid interpretation of the character and the narrative choices surrounding him.
Thanks for the ask, anon! I hope my answer was interesting to read.
#attack on titan#levi ackerman#shingeki no kyojin#shingeki no kyoujin#aot#snk#aot meta#snk meta#levi#captain levi#aot levi#levi aot#aot.meta#meta.levi#c: levi ackerman#my thoughts#it's kind of sad I felt the need to add so many disclaimers to this post lol#but I'm very wary after all the fandom discourse on this subject in the past
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Lemme get uhhhh #12 with gamer Rain and a side of too-horny-to-ignore Bug pls.
You see, I WAS going to write porn. I swear. But I got very caught up in rain and pervert phantom banter and I didnât want this to be a 2k thing (unless people want a 2k thing) but. Have 600 words of raintom banter
â
ââââ±àŒșâŻâ°âŻàŒ»â°ââââ
Rain barely moved as his door creaked open, already rolling his eyes as he saw shaggy black and white hair from the corner of his vision. It wasn't that phantom was annoying- well. It wasn't that he was always annoying. But more often than not when he darken rains door, he just wanted a quick fuck or was sent to bother him by Swiss. Either way, rain didn't have time for it.
"Whatcha playing?" Phantom said casually, leaning on the door as it clicked into the lock. Rain still didn't look at him, laying on his stomach on the bed with his lip worried between his teeth. The furious clack of buttons did nothing to deter phantom from whatever his goal was.
"Bioshock"
"Whoa. How shocked are they?" Phantom cocked his head at the tv, watching some robot thing shoot at a monster.
"What?"
"The bios. How shocked are they"
Rain didn't even dignify the comment with a response, though it was a bit funny how amused phantom was with himself. Giggling as he sat on the bed next to him.
"Are you here for a reason or have you not met you daily quota for being annoying?" The volume on the tv was turned up as he asked, whatever answer phantom had was already the wrong on considering he was even in rains room to begin with. He hoped the sound of guns and enemies groaning would be enough to drown out phantom enough that he would leave. Though rain knew this was more than wishful thinking.
"Thought we could have some fun. Swiss is busy and mountain is mean, and Aurora already said no" phantom laid his hand on rains ass, kneading at it through the thin fabric of his sweatpants.
"Am I not mean as well or do I need to start trying harder"
"Yeah but your pretty enough to ignore it"
"Flattery will get you nowhere if I lose this fight bug"
He didn't let up, phantom was used to rain giving him to real reaction. Playing hard to get and acting annoyed while phantom tried to butter him up with sweet words and ass grabs. It usually worked with time. Hands working over his sides and playing the hem of his sweats, doesn't even feel the lines usually beneath from his underwear.
"Forget something today rainy?"
"Yeah I forgot to lock my door"
Fingers dipped beneath to feel smooth skin and nothing else. Easy access, truly rain must have been just waiting for someone to find out. Even for comforts sake rain was not usually one to pass up the opportunity, despite the protests. Maybe he's just calling him a slut. Suits him anyways.
"Wanted it didn't you? I know how much you like it when I feel you up, nice of you to make this easier for me" phantom whispered lowly in rains ear. The hot breath on rains neck gave him goosebump but he showed no other signs of even recognizing that phantom was in the room.
"Or it was just more comfortable. I know you don't know much about doing laundry but-"
"I know you have a nice little collection, you could've worn underwear if you wanted to"
Rain let out a loud sigh, slamming his head on the bed between his arms. A nice fuck would sound good if he wasn't in the middle of a game. Or if phantom was any less âŠ.. well, phantom.
"And your point?"
"My point is that I think you'd be in a much better mood with a cock in your cunt, just gotta give me the green light"
"If you'd stop talking for 10 seconds you'd realize I haven't told you no"
#I love raintom so much LMAOOO#if people want more I will write more but#tried to make this a ficlet#theyâre dumb <3#the band ghost#ghost#nameless ghouls#ghost bc#fanfic#wrath writes#rain ghoul#phantom ghoul
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The Internet Gaslit Me About John Walker: A Marvel Rant
Hey quick thing here but, uh, well, John Walker isn't and was never a meant to seen as a villain.
Ever since Falcon & Winter Soldier, when people get online and act like he's some persecuted saint or martyr, some part of me dies inside because they always fundamentally ignore or misconstrue the way the story (mostly Falcon & Winter Soldier, Thunderbolts is another rant entirely) treats him in favor of being contrarians and saying, "Well actually, I like this guy a lot despite what the writers did to him."
No, you don't. You like John Walker because of what the writers did for him. Walker being sympathetic is not an unintended flaw. It's a feature of his character that was deliberately portrayed time and again. It's not particularly unique to look at him and feel bad or sympathize with him--both Falcon & Winter Soldier and the Thunderbolts go out of their way to make you feel for him.
In Falcon & Winter Soldier, he wasn't portrayed as an enemy or a monster. He was a decorated veteran thrust into the spotlight by the United States government, asked to take up one of the most esteemed mantles in the world during an extremely turbulent time. He was trying his best to live up to the massive expectations thrust on him.
Bucky and Sam hating him isn't some sign of the writers forgetting their core personality traits. Sam worked with veterans, yeah, so what? He's automatically a saint walking, someone perfectly amiable and accepting even he's angry or afraid or slighted? He'd see Walker and salute him with a smile? Try to be nice even as he sees Steve in every movement Walker makes wearing that shield? Stop it.
They would have disdain for anyone picking up the mantle that wasn't Steve Rogers. Their closest friend died and this new guy comes in and takes his shield and starts trying to be friendly with them and you expect them to what, be on board with it? Be nice and friendly and calm? Be professional to what they consider a grave insult to the dead?
Their disdain for Walker might seem unjustified from an outside standpoint but the fun thing about emotions is that they don't need to need justification. Believe it or not, it's not bad writing for characters to be just be legitimately terrible to someone.
Sam hated the idea of a Captain America that's not Steve Rogers and Bucky hated the idea of Captain America that wasn't Steve or the one guy who Steve wanted to be Captain America.
Putting that aside, Walker himself is obviously meant to be sympathetic because the story goes out of its way time and again to make him appear that way. We see his friends, his family, his hesitation and indecision and his sense of inferiority. We see him try to justify himself, be affirmed by his best friend, be comforted by his lover. We see him at his darkest points, and we might be horrified or we might feel pity, but we're not meant to feel enmity for John Walker.
When he gives into his darkest urges and kills the terrorist, it's because his friend, the guy who understood him best, just died violently. And guess what? The United States government does not care at all that he killed the guy. Val literally says it. Why would America care about the life of a terrorist? The point is that it was a terrible look, savagely bludgeoning an unarmed and afraid man in the middle of broad daylight after he'd lost the will to fight. A PR and soft power disaster.
They throw Walker out like he's nothing. After they put the burden of the world on his shoulders. After they propped him up and praised him and fawned over him, they yanked the floor out from under him and acted like he's a madman who they never had anything to do with. It's unfair, and it's meant to be that way. He's obviously been slighted and spurned for one bad moment.
John Walker is good soldier. A great one. He follows orders and executes directives. He does not ask questions. He does not ponder the morals of his actions. He does not seek to understand the motivations or nuances of his enemies. He dispatches threats as he's directed.
Between him and Sam, he's the better soldier, which is exactly why he's the worse Captain America. Sam Wilson questions why the terrorist is doing what she's doing. He tries to engage the root problem and stop the discontent at its root source. John Walker walks in with a pistol and handcuffs and sorts things out the only way he knows how to.
The two are foils. John Walker is America. Violent and dangerous, shooting first, asking questions later. Subjugating his enemies with overwhelming force as he's directed. Steel and gunpowder to solve every problem.
Sam Wilson is what America wants to be. Idealistic, peace-making, solving issues through empathy and understanding. Violence as a recourse, rather than the first and only option. Negotiation, diplomacy, and kindness. Offering second chances, offering olive branches, espousing the ideals of freedom and equality that this country so thoroughly wants to believe that it embodies.
John Walker is not Sam Wilson's enemy or his villain. He's not a dark reflection of Sam, or Steve. He's a man who tried to represent a country as it is instead of what it wants to believe that it is.
He's a victim as much as he is a victimizer. He was meant to be that way. He has issues, and they're well-known. It's not that the writers don't know they're doing or that they treat him badly or that the people around him don't give him enough respect. In Falcon & The Winter Soldier he deals with people who are angry and grieving, and in Thunderbolts he deals with anti-social loners who couldn't care less about dignifying who he is or who he used to be.
No, John Walker is not misunderstood. He's a victim of a system that has well-documented tendencies of victimizing people. He's sympathetic by design, not flaw, and the way that people champion him is precisely because the writers did a fantastic job of creating a good character.
Kay, rant over, bye.
#marvel#avenger#falcon and the winter soldier#writing#john walker#sam wilson#captain america#rant post#complaining#thunderbolts
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The Mariachi Uso - Jhea
Peopleâ id sing BeyoncĂ© for: @spiicii @maineventabbey @acknowledge-reigns @xxwhatcouldhavebeenxx @love4brutality @isabella-2025 @minteagalaxea @cheappop
Jey wasnât eavesdropping on purpose.
He was just vibing, humming âPlay That Funky Musicâ to himself, ice bucket in hand⊠until he heard Domâs stupid little whisper-voice echoing from around the corner.
âYeah, bro. I hired the band already. She loves Selena. Iâm having them do âI Could Fall In Love.â Itâs gonna be so romantic.â
Jey froze mid-step.
Dom kept going.
âIâm setting them up right outside her hotel window. Like old-school. Notebook vibes. I think after this, sheâs gonna see me differently.â
Jeyâs brain short-circuited. He dropped the ice bucket. Ice scattered across the carpet like emotional shrapnel.
Notebook vibes?!
Mariachi band?!
SELENA?!
That was a bold choice. Selena was sacred. That was power-move-tier music. That was not for a man with a rat tail and no beard.
Jey ducked back around the corner and yanked out his phone with trembling fingers.
THE BLOODLINEđ©ž
Jey: emergency
Jey: CODE RED
Jey: DOM IS SERENADING RHEA
Jey: A MARIACHI BAND
Jey: HEâS DOING SELENA
Jimmy: bro what
Sami: you okay??
Solo: tf kind of sidequest is that
Jey: heâs doing âI COULD FALL IN LOVEâ OUTSIDE HER WINDOW
Roman: why do you care
Jey: because sheâs MY girl
Roman: didnât she hook up with you at her birthday party?
Jimmy: yeah u said she rode you like a monster truck
Sami: that was a direct quote
Solo: you made us high-five you
Jey: THATâS NOT THE POINT
Jey: dom thinks he still has a chance
Jey: he still looks at her like sheâs his soulmate and I canât take that risk
Jey: HEâS USING SELENA. THIS IS WAR.
Jey: we canât let this happen
Jey: if he wins emotionally he wins sexually! I canât let that happen! She sucked the soul out of my dickâŠ
Roman: tf do you need from us then
Jey: something that will make me do your laundry for a YEAR
Jimmy: hold up
Jimmy: like my sweaty gear bags??
Jey: yes
Jimmy: my fish taco socks??
Jey: YES
Solo: Iâm listening
Sami: you donât even do your own laundry
Jey: thatâs why itâs a BIG OFFER
Roman: u better be dying
Jey: I AM. HEARTBREAK IS DEATH
Roman: whatâs the plan
Jey: WE STEAL THE BAND
Solo: you want us toâŠ
Jimmy: hijack a live mariachi band
Jey: YES. intercept them BEFORE they get to Rheaâs room. put on the outfits.
Jey: Iâll take lead. Sami sings. Solo holds the trumpet. Roman just stand there. intimidating. sexy.
Roman: u lucky Iâm bored
Jimmy: Mariachi Uso boutta go platinum
Sami: I hope you know âI Could Fall In Loveâ has falsetto
Jey: Iâve BEEN in falsetto since Dom said âNotebook vibesâ
â
8:37 PM
The van door slid open and five mariachi musicians stepped out, dressed to slay, instruments shining under the streetlights.
Jey adjusted his hoodie and stepped forward, nervous.
Before he could even open his mouthâ
One of the band members gasped and shouted:
âÂĄROMĂN REIGNS!â
The whole band lost it.
The violinist grabbed his phone. The trumpet guy dropped his mouthpiece. One of them literally pointed at Roman like he was seeing Cher and the Pope at the same time.
âEl Jefe Tribal!â
âEl CampeĂłn mĂĄs sexy!â
âDios mĂo, es EL REIGNS.â
Roman blinked. âWhat the fuck?â
Jey whispered, âUce⊠youâre over in Mexico.â
The leader of the band stepped forward, breathless.
âFor you, Señor Reigns? We give you everything. Our jackets. Our instruments. Our souls.â
Roman shrugged. âCool.â
Ten minutes later: Costumes exchanged. Guitars tuned. The real band is chilling in catering with backstage passes and a gift bag of Bloodline merch.
Jimmy was holding a vihuela like it was a baby.
Solo kept plucking one string and nodding like he understood music theory.
Sami was standing beside a man named Ernesto, getting a crash course in how to seduce vocally in A minor.
âBreathe like you love her,â Ernesto whispered, clutching Samiâs chest.
âI donât love her,â Sami said.
âThen fake it, gringo.â
Meanwhile, Jey stood in front of the mirror of a parked SUV, adjusting the tight mariachi blazer over his chest.
âOkay,â one of the musicians asked, âwhat song do you want to perform?â
Jey didnât hesitate.
âYoung Forever. BeyoncĂ© and Jay-Z.â
Jimmy choked. âUce⊠thatâs not even Mexican.â
Roman blinked. âThatâs not even MARIAââ
âTRUST ME.â
Jey looked up at the hotel, wind hitting his mullet dramatically.
âThis is about legacy. About love. About showing up and showing out.â
He held the mic like it was a promise and whispered:
âIâm Jay-Z. Sheâs BeyoncĂ©. Dom is just a fan.â
â
Dom perked up, grinning like a kid who just got his Hogwarts letter, listening to the distant music,
âHey⊠sounds like someone got you something.â
Rhea looked up from her phone, visibly annoyed. âHuh?â
âOutside. Thatâs probably the mariachi band I⊠a friend set up for you.â
She raised an eyebrow. âYou got me a band?â
Dom sat up straighter, puffing his chest. âYou know⊠I mean⊠yeah.â
Rhea, already losing interest by the second, sighed and walked to the window. She cracked it open.
The sound hit instantly:
âLetâs dance in style,
Letâs dance for a whileâŠâ
Rhea squinted. ââŠis that BeyoncĂ© ?â
Dom frowned. âWhat the fuck..â
He leaned over her shoulder.
âHeaven can wait, weâre only watching the skies
Hoping for the best but expecting the worst
Are you gonna drop the bomb or not?â
Jey, in a tight-ass mariachi jacket, was singing his heart out like he was fighting demons on the X Factor stage. Voice wobbling. Notes crumbling. Emotions high. It was the kind of performance that made you wince and root for him.
Domâs face dropped. âThatâs⊠thatâs not my bandâŠâ
Rhea covered her mouth.
Not from emotion.
From laughter.
Because this was deranged.
Because Jey sounded like he was being waterboarded in falsetto.
Because she was obsessed.
And thenâ
âLet us die young or let us live forever
We donât have the power, but we never say never
Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip
The musicâs for the sad manâŠâ
Thatâs when the rest of the Bloodline joined in:
âFOREVER YOUNG!!
I WANNA BEâŠ
FOREVER YOUNG!!
DO YOU REALLY WANT TO LIVE FOREVER?!
FOREVER!
AND EVERRRR!!â
Jimmy doing backup vocals with too much hip.
Solo hitting wrong notes but full commitment.
Sami attempting to do an interpretive dance.
Roman in sunglasses, arms crossed, mouthing the words with zero passion but god-tier intimidation.
Dom stepped back from the window like heâd just watched his dreams get dropkicked by his own father.
âHe⊠he STOLE my serenade!!!â
Rhea leaned further out the window.
âI think I like this version better.â
Domâs face was stuck between shock, rage, and total public humiliation. He backed away from the window slowly.
âNo. No no no. He did not just BeyoncĂ©-block me with a mariachi remix.â
Rhea turned slightly. âI donât remember asking you to do anything, Dom.â
That was the final nail.
Dom pulled out his phone, shaking with anger.
âFinn. JD. Damian. You at the gym?â He whispered angrily.
âYeah?â
âTheyâre here. Outside Rheaâs window. The Bloodline. Playing music. Wearing mariachi suits. I need backup. Take them out.â Dom ordered silently.
ââŠbe there in 3.â
Dom stormed out of the room like a man possessed. He didnât even close the door behind him.
â
Jey was glowing. Sweating. His jacket was two buttons away from exploding off his chest. The crowd of random hotel guests that had formed on the lawn were cheering. He looked up at Rhea.
âDid you like it?â he called out breathlessly.
She smiled, leaning on the windowsill like goth version of Juliet in fishnets.
âYou sounded like you were being choked by love⊠but yeah. I liked it.â
Jey clutched his chest. âMami. I meant every word.â
And just as he opened his mouth to finally say itâ
BANG.
The gym doors behind them flew open.
Damian Priest, Finn BĂĄlor, and JD McDonagh stormed the courtyard like it was WarGames.
Finn pointed. âYou stole our performance at her birthday!â
JD: âNow youâre ruining Domâs chances.â
Jimmy: âOh shit.â
Solo: âTheyâre in gym shorts. That means theyâre serious.â
Jey turned to the others. âUceâwe got incoming.â
Sami ripped off his mariachi sash. âBattle-ready.â
Roman sighed. âShouldâve stayed inside.â
The Judgment Day charged.
Jey turned to Rhea one last time.
Breathless. Glowing. Finally brave.
âI LOVE YOU. I BEEN IN LOVE WITH YOU. I FELL IN LOVE WHEN YOU HIT ME WITH THE BRIEFCASE ON ACCIDENT. IâD LET YOU DO IT AGAIN. OKAY BYEââ
And then he dropkicked JD straight into the violin stand.
The first dive was done by Solo, naturally.
He didnât hesitate. No warning. Just sprinted toward Damian and shoulder-tackled him into the decorative fountain like a linebacker with anger issues.
SPLASH.
Damian came up soaked, mascara running, screaming in rage like an angry raccoon.
âYOU RUINED MY EYE LINER!â
From there?
All hell broke loose.
Jimmy picked up a mariachi guitar, screamed âTHIS IS FOR SELENAâ and smashed it over JDâs back, sending splinters everywhere. JD yelled in Irish and tried to suplex him into a bush.
Sami used a tambourine as a shield while Finn swung at him with a busted trumpet. Every time Sami blocked, it jingled like a Christmas fight scene.
âYOU STOLE OUR BAND!â
âYOU STOLE HIS GIRL!â
âWELL SHE STOLE MY HEART!!â Sami shouted, ducking a punch and spinning.
Roman just stood there, watching, sipping from someoneâs left-behind mimosa, not even trying.
A little girl watching from a balcony whispered, âThatâs the boss.â
Jey and Dom circled each other like two guys about to slapbox in a Walmart parking lot.
Dom yelled, âYou always ruin everything for me!â
Jey yelled back, âYOU WERE GONNA RUIN SELENA!â
Then Dom lungedâand Jey tripped him with a trumpet case.
Dom went flying. Hit the fountain.
Landed on top of Damian.
Who screamed again.
âGET YOUR SOGGY ASS OFF ME!â
Meanwhile, Rhea watched from her window like a goth goddess surveying the fall of Rome.
She sipped her drink. âIdiots.â
A hotel manager stood below her window looking pale. âMaâam⊠do you⊠know them?â
She nodded. âBiblically.â
The man walked away.
A tourist couple filmed everything on their iPad.
âIs this a flash mob?â
âNo, I think itâs performance art.â
Eventually, the police showed up.
And then the fire department.
Rhea came downstairs.
In slippers. Hoodie. No makeup. Still the hottest person alive.
Everyone froze.
The Bloodline paused mid-fight.
Judgment Day groaned in defeat.
She walked up to Jeyânow holding a mic stand like a battle spearâand kissed him.
Right there. In front of everyone.
Even Roman blinked.
Rhea pulled away and said: âThat was the worst singing Iâve ever heard. I loved it.â
Jey beamed. âSo uh⊠are we dating now?â
âShut up before I change my mind.â
#Spotify#wwe#wwe raw#wwe smackdown#fanfiction#jey uso#fanfic#rhea ripley#yeet#rhea and jey#the judgement day#jey and jimmy uso#wwe jhea fanfiction#jhea smut#jhea wwe#jhea crumbs#wwe jhea#SoundCloud
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spuffy in s4 are actually so special to me. the petty jealousy in The Harsh Light Of The Day, borderlinling with weird familiarity of knowing about each other's previous lovers, the raw playful necessity to poke fingers in open wounds. and then reluctant compromising in Pangs, bruised egos have been shoved aside, cause okay it's the truce and we done it like one and half time before. what the worst can happen? and then it's the beginning of Something Blue and they've been in a close proximity and at each other's throats longer than ever before. but the spell hits and oh, we gonna keep arguing actually. we gonna keep bringing up our exes and making fun at each other's names. no pink glasses here, actually. but also what if we suck faces a little and that will successfully end any conflict we face during that night? what if all that cravings of a good fight is in our tongues now? wouldn't that be a good alternative to punches and kickings? what if nothing changes except hate is love and violence is sex? wait, the spell is over? yeah it wasn't nice at all. not like we both ever thought it could possibly be nice. oh, a cookie.
and then they're trying so hard not show that things changed for the rest of the season, just to fail miserably. he's always in the corner of the room with the rest of the group, rarely talks to her personally as if cautious, but is marginally pulling her hair with words as much as he can. my nemesis wants to stake himself? idk go ahead, babe. not so much keen to do the job myself, I guess. so my nemesis won't come to see me move into a new cool crypt? rude. Giles needs help in New Man , Spike will help, but never crosses paths with Buffy who's actively seeking Giles at the same time. Anya brings Spike to a party, Buffy is trapped in an endless sex dream upstairs. oh well, he wants to help her? oh wait, he doesn't care. really, he doesn't. he's just being a little shit, look at him not caring like a pro, laughing off a nobility nobody believes in a first place. he meets Buffy at the club and she acts horny and provocative. weird I guess, but actually that what she's always does, isn't she just a sodding tease? someday, we gonna have a confrontation. the Jonathan's spell covered the town, but those two worsties will be totally normal about each other. his hands in her hair, on her cheek, her chest. she will allow it. maybe lean to it a little. something is deeply wrong with the world tonight, so glad to let you know that we still gonna have a confrontation one day. a confronting thought. a sensual grounding touch of an enemy. he can't fucking wait. will make an alliance with a psychotic Frankenstein monster build by a military organization that castrated him. the world (that he actually quite likes) can burn, but he will get the chip out of his head and kick Buffy's ass. maybe she will ride him till she breaks him at first. it's negotiable. meanwhile Buffy looks at his traitorous face and once again chooses not to stake him. cause whatever. it's just Spike. his plans never works. not on her. not like he caused a lot of damage, more like provoked a friend group therapy session. not like he put his heart into this scheme. he can annoy her a little longer. she got used to it anyways.
they start season with The Harsh Light Of The Day and by the end of it, in a harsh light of the day, in front of other people, they're kids at the playground. but whenever they're in shadows, more or less alone, they're two tigers circling around each other, knowing now that they both too unpredictable for the fight not take some truly wild turns.
#also crazy parallels to s6 when at the beginning they had a great dynamic and blooming friendship#but then something romantic happens to them under some magic influence and they decided to never process feelings in a healthy way that yea#btvs#buffy x spike#spuffy#buffy the vampire slayer
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So, idea: Celeste, but sheâs going through her goth phase. She refuses to wear anything other than black and is embarrassed that Lux is her dad (because heâs a cartoon and sheâs ânot a baby anymoreâ)

Celeste has reached that angsty teenager part of her life. Poor Lux has been dreading this, flipping through every book on raising children to look for ways to avoid this phase. Though it seems his overbearing desire to keep her as the happy smiley child he'd known her as has only made it worse.
Most of the time she's home, she sits in her room, listening to all the songs that make her dad wince. He'd tried to convince her to branch out her music taste, bringing in the God of Music to help his case. That.. didn't go according to plan. Maestro wasn't at all concerned by Celesteâs choice in music. âI am all music, Lux! It doesn't matter what kind, I enjoy all of them!â Suffice to say, they weren't much help to the God of Light. Though there was one piece of advice spoken just before they left. âShe is your child, but she is growing into her own person, Lux. You can't force her to be someone she isn't.â Of course, that seems to have been forgotten.
âHey Cel, why don't I teach ya some more about manipulating light? Could have people thinking you're some big scary monster!â She's just come home from school and Lux is already on her case, wanting to play with her like they did when she was younger.
She walks right through the living room, her head down. âLike people don't already think that.â It's mumbled under her breath, but since she passes close by you as she says it, you hear her. You watch as your loverâs antennae droop. Celeste has been distancing herself from her dad a lot recently, turning him down whenever he wanted to watch TV with her (He always tries the old cartoons she liked when she was younger, getting the response of âI'm not a baby anymore.â) or teach her more about their abilities. It's starting to wear him down, they barely speak to each other these days, Celeste enjoys the company of the other Gods more than her own father. To be fair, they actually treat your daughter as the teenager she is, instead of the baby they'd been introduced to at the beginning.
You sit down next to Lux, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He leans into your embrace, uncharacteristically silent. âLet me speak to her, hun. I think this is a job for the human side of her family.â With a kiss on his head, you get up and head to your daughterâs room. You had your own unique knock so she knows who's at her door, unsurprisingly she lets you right in.
She's on her bed, headphones on, though they're quickly removed as you enter the room. âHi mom! What's up?â There's the happy girl that you know and love. Thinking of Luxâs sad little face when she ignored him makes your smile drop, however.
âHey sweetpea..â You sit down next to her, looking in her direction but not turning your entire body to her. Sometimes eye contact was a struggle for Celeste, so you've gotten used to giving her the opportunity to look away from your eyes. âI think we need to have a talk.. about you and Lux.â Just as you expected, she turns to sit perpendicular to you. When she doesn't say anything, you continue. âI know he can be overbearing, but he doesn't realise that. All he knows is, you're ignoring him whenever he speaks to you. I understand why, Celly, but it's really upsetting him. Do you think you could speak to him about it, please? I don't want this rift between the two of you to get any worse.â
For a short while, she sits there silently. You turn to face the same direction she is, letting her gather her thoughts without someone staring right at her. Then she shuffles over to you, close enough that you can hear the music she's been listening to from her headphones. âOk.. I just hate the way he still treats me like a kid! I'm nearly grown up!â
With an empathetic smile you hug her to your side. âI know dear. We still see you as that smiley little baby, you're our daughter after all. Plus I imagine Gods age a little slower, so he probably views you as still in the little baby stage of your life.â As you gently pinch her cheek, Celeste playfully swats your hand away. âYou go talk to him. I'll make you your favourite for dinner.â That has her off the bed. She pauses her music and leaves her headphones on the desk in the room, leading the way out to the living room where Lux is still sitting. You head into the kitchen to give them some time to themselves, knowing it'll be easier on your daughter without someone eavesdropping.
Celeste sits down on the couch her dad is on, eyes fixed on the TV while she works up the motivation to speak. Lux looks up at her, clearly itching to say something, but he keeps silent as his gaze goes back to the screen. âDad..?â His antennae perk up as he looks back at her. âCan you show me how to do that light manipulation? I wanna prank the kids at school with it.â Those little gold eyes of his are practically sparkling.
âAy, don't tell your mom about that part. Come on!â He's off the couch and heading towards the back yard. âWe're gonna need a lot of light for this!â Celeste quickly catches up, the walk to the outside turning into a race, their laughter reaching your ears as you get everything needed for dinner ready. Though you're interrupted by your short little lover dashing in. âYou wanna watch, angel? She's working on making herself invisible!â He looks so proud already. You giggle and follow him outside, monitoring his teachings of their power. It wasn't the interaction you had initially asked for, but it was a step in the right direction. For now, you're happy watching them finally talking to each other again.
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