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eowynstwin · 2 months ago

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peristalsis - v

selkie!soap x reader. depression. strangers to "lovers." shower sex. cunnilingus. smut. manipulative soap. oysters as an aphrodisiac. unstable narrator. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

You watch him over an open book.

It’s an old romance, something from the eighties. Classic bodice ripper, billowing sleeves, tight corsets, mullets and heaving bosoms and all. Naturally, it’s set on a pirate ship, the heroine as the unlucky spoils of a merchant ship raid and the hero a lusty captain able to pierce her virgin’s desire for sexual depravity.

It could only have been more pointed at you if it had been set in the North Atlantic—it isn’t—but you glare at Soap’s back anyway.

He must be able to feel it, because he stands straight at the wheel, shoulders thrown back, occasionally flexing.

The freak.

You’d realized the joke he’d been making, once your heartbeat had slowed. Hiding the pelt somewhere obvious enough for you to see it. You live in the age of the internet—you know what it’s supposed to mean.

And you kind of hate him for it. Now, post-coitus, you can’t shove it away into a box—he is the most attractive man you’ve ever encountered. Rugged and handsome, competent at everything you’ve seen him do, seemingly at home wherever he finds himself. Everything makes him smile. Nothing seems to disconcert him.

And a nice big cock he actually knows how to use. Certainly the best lay you’ve ever had.

What every woman traveling solo, you think, longs to encounter on a solo trip across the world, but will never acknowledge looking for. An answer to an unaddressed desire; proof that satisfaction is out there to find, if it’s searched for.

A lover with no conditions. Someone willing to strip your inhibitions away, knowing your protests are only token.

You had not been searching. You’d given up searching.

And now he mocks you—with every satisfied glance he throws over his shoulder.

“Good book?” he asks, all casual and pleased. “S’ one a’my favorites. Tell me when you get to the naval battle.”

You frown. “You haven’t read this.”

He gives a little huff of amusement. “Read all of ‘em, bonnie.”

No, this is where you draw the line. A good cook, a good fuck, and a romance reader? No. No, you absolutely will not take this.

“Sure you have, Johnny,” you grouse, “you read every single stupid book on that shelf. Sure. Hell, you’ve read books that aren’t on that shelf. You’ve read every new release from the last six months, even. Why not.”

He looks at you again over his shoulder, mouth curled. “Aye. Needed ideas, once a’knew you were comin.’”

He says it matter-of-factly, with only a little bit of pride. As if it was a natural step in the process of getting ready for your arrival—renovate the croft. Stock the fridge and pantry. Plan some island excursions.

Study the erotic mind of the average woman to divine how best to seduce her.

Your frown deepens, and you lift the book higher, making it a barrier between you and him. Loser. Couldn’t he just go to the mainland for a few days if he wanted pussy? Not like it would be hard to find, for him.

You resolve to ignore him for the rest of the trip. A petty endeavor, maybe, but it’s the only one you can make.

But six hours is six hours, and you can’t read the whole time. Periodically you have to get up to stretch your legs, and the windows wrapping around the bridge draw your attention to the sea outside.

Johnny drives the trawler at a remove along the coastline, keeping close enough to the islands for easy viewing. The denizens of the Hebrides are out en masse, enjoying the clear weather, joyfully populating the land- and seascape in the absence of human interlopers.

Porpoises, so much smaller than you might have expected, periodically catch the wake of the boat, swimming alongside, playful and curious. Gulls loop in the air above the dunes, fronds of grass fluttering in the breeze. Gannets, stark white, arrow down into the waves, wings folded back pin-straight as they spear their quarry—silvery fish that boil the surface of the water in their frenzy.

Some removed part of you enjoys their pleasure secondhand. The normally-grey ocean is vibrant in the sunlight, crystalline and sparkling and as blue as Johnny’s eyes.

He seems to be in a good mood, too, although that could just be because you let him fuck you. You feel his eyes on you even as you refuse to look at him, dancing along the curves of your body the same way his fingertips might.

At one point—“Bonnie, I know you’re sulking an’ all, but c’mere.”

He gestures you over to the cockpit, and—embarrassed at being called out—you join him. He brings a hand to the small of your back, stepping behind you and pointing over your shoulder.

A gray wall of passing cliffs, and crags of rock jutting up from the churn at their base. You see ten or twelve grey-and-white seals lounging across every available flat surface, some cuddled in groups of three or four, apparently unbothered by the periodic spray of breaking waves.

“No’ where I’d choose to have a kip, personally,” Johnny says, sounding amused.

You turn your head to look at him, hard. His eyes soften when they meet yours, and he tilts his head to kiss you, undeterred even when you flinch away from it.

His hand tightens across your back, fingers digging in. He sucks your bottom lip between his and caresses it with his tongue, as he edges beneath the hem of your shirt to spread his hand across the warming skin of your back.

“I’m mad for ya,” he murmurs when he pulls away, blush high on his cheeks.

“It’s been two days,” you deadpan.

He presses up behind you, open hand sliding around to press into the low part of your belly, right at the sensitive crest of your mons; you can’t help your gasp when, at the same time, his erection nestles into the cleft of your ass.

“No’ to this,” he purrs in your ear. “Feels like it’s been forever, for this.”

When his fingers start making their way beneath the waistband of your pants, you grab his hand and wrench it away, scoffing.

“You’re just a fucking horndog,” you sneer, betrayed by the heat spilling through your core.

“Aw, you break my heart, bonnie,” Johnny simpers, but there’s a mocking edge to it. As if he knows exactly what you’re hiding.

You step away from him, folding your arms across your chest and staring out at the basking seals instead. Then—

“There’s one in the water,” you say.

A few meters away from the rocks, a round head pokes up from the surface, bobbing with the rise and fall of the waves. Its eyes are slitted closed, nostrils dilating.

“Aw, he’s bottling,” Johnny says affectionately, when he comes over to look. “Look at his wee face.”

You remember suddenly your encounter of the previous day—another lone seal, resting apart from its fellows.

“I saw one on the beach,�� you say, “yesterday, after you dropped me off. A big one. You didn’t say they might show up.”

“Male?” he asks, and you nod. “Peripheral male, then. I’m no’ surprised.”

You sigh. “And that is…”

As if magnetized, his hands find you again, this time settling on your waist. It seems that Johnny’s touch is something impossible to escape, in his vicinity. He drags them down over your hips and back up almost idly, as if he’s not even thinking about doing it.

“There’s dominant males, and then there’s the rest of ‘em. Only the dominant ones get to breed at the rookeries, see? And the rest of ‘em have to wait around for the females to leave to have their chance.”

He leans into you from behind, nose in your hair, and you hear him inhale as his hands tighten.

“Once a peripheral male finds a female alone, separated from the colony, ready to go back out to sea—well, that’s his chance to pounce.”

You frown, mostly to yourself. “No matter how the female feels about it.”

“We’ve been over this,” he chides.

He brings his lips to the curve of one ear, then the soft spot behind it. His nose finds the juncture of your neck and shoulder, where the capillaries that he broke with his teeth still throb whenever you press your fingers to them. He inhales again, deeply.

“Why do you do that?” you grouse, unwilling to give him the win.

“Like how you smell,” he says, doing it again.

His tongue caresses the bruise before he closes his mouth over it—but he goes no further than to kiss your neck twice more before returning to the wheel. It leaves you reeling, half-dizzy with arousal, and when you stomp back to your seat with a frustrated growl, he only glances over at you, smirking, and laughs.

He finds a berth in the early evening to park the trawler, and at that point you’re thankful for any kind of solid ground to set your feet on, as well as enough open air to disperse whatever pheromones have saturated the enclosed space of the bridge.

You’ve been half-tempted the whole time to make him drop anchor and drag him belowdeck toward the nearest flat surface big enough for the two of you to share; as it is, you’ve simply stewed in your own juices instead, hot with angry arousal and ignoring the slick pooling in the gusset of your underwear.

Johnny steps out into the cooling air in his usual kilt and sweater, and you once again huddle in his jacket, aromatic with his musk, as he leads you onward. This time, unlike the last excursion, he insists upon holding your hand the whole way, callused fingers worming their way between yours, the captured air hot and humid between your palms.

Callanish turns out to be a henge of standing stones.

Meters-tall megaliths, squarish and narrow like broken teeth, surrounding a burial site and extending in two directions as if lining a road. Inevitably evocative of its cousin Stonehenge, with the notable exception that you are allowed to go up and touch the stones with your bare hands.

“They used ‘em for that TV show,” Johnny informs you as the two of you circuit the main ring. “Well, no’ these, they probably had styrofoam for that, but they got the idea from these.”

You lay your free hand on the nearest stone; it’s cold, and rough to the touch, a day’s worth of sunlight evidently not sufficient to warm it. Tiny spots of moss and lichen cling to the old stone, green and eggshell white.

“Why are we allowed to touch them?” you say. You think of bronze statues, rubbed to a golden gleam by millions of tourist hands.

“That’s Lewisian gneiss, bonnie,” says Johnny, laying his hand, much larger, next to yours. His thumb teases the side of your pinky. “Doubt you could make much of a mark on it. This rock here? Three billion years old.”

You look at him, seeing his profile. The expression on his face is soft—not unlike the way he looked at you earlier, on the way here. He spreads his fingers over the stone, tendons furrowing down the back of his sun-weathered hand.

“No’ just older than us,” he continues. “Older than what we used to be, a’fore we were us. Was there when we first made fire. Was there when we came down th’ trees. Was there all the way back when we left the ocean for the first time—”

He looks at you, then. The setting sun catches in the dips of his irises, setting jewel blue aflame.

“An’ it’ll be there, bonnie, when we go back.”

The wind curls around the stones with the chill of the oncoming night. Even despite the jacket, despite the walk up to the site—you feel it penetrate beneath your skin, deep into your bones.

You choose derision, to reject the shiver.

“And you have this all memorized,” you say.

Johnny doesn’t respond. He continues to stare at you, mouth in a relaxed, but inscrutable line.

You suddenly remember that you do not know this man; though he’s told you enough about himself to fill out his background—you don’t know him. You don’t know how he feels about most things, what’s important to him, why he may find one thing or another meaningful. Not the way you’d have to, in order to understand why the gaze he fixes on you feels so significant.

Whatever you’re supposed to understand in the way he looks at you now, you don’t have the ability to discern. The only thing that occurs to you is that, perhaps, you’ve finally managed to offend him.

It does not satisfy you as much as you might have imagined—

In fact, the thought drops through your belly like a rock.

Again. You did it again.

In the one place you thought you’d never have to face this—you did it again. Here is someone who seems to like even the worst of you, and you somehow found an even uglier side of yourself to show him, a squirming thing that cannot help but sling itself around with no heed for the damage it can cause.

But when you open your mouth to say something reparatory, something that certainly won’t fix what you’ve broken no matter what he might say, his expression softens into something thoughtful.

“Visited when I first came here,” he says. Completely unbothered. “After the discharge an’ all.”

You blink. Sharp heat and the numbness of cold, warring across your face.

“Why?” you ask.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, and lifts his hand from the stone, smiling ruefully. “I was a bastard back then. Didnae wan’ anything’ to do with anyone anymore. Mad at the world, a’was.”

Shucked like an oyster; scaled like a fish. Heat wins out, even in the growing chill. Tender skin scalding itself.

“And what,” you say, reflexively nasty, panic whirring up behind your breastbone, “you thought—you’d get some sort of, magical insight here?”

Johnny laughs. “Naw, a’was just pissing my money away, bonnie. Thought I’d come up here an’ try t’ knock one over.”

Tight chest. Can’t breathe. You step away from him, far away, hide it like you’re looking at another of the standing stones, but a stabbing pain spears upward through your diaphragm.

In—count—hold—out—

“Could you?” you ask, wringing something like a normal tone out of your voice.

“Nope. Paid for it later, though.”

He says it casually. He hasn’t noticed. You reach out to the new stone, drag your fingers overtop of the rough surface, imagine every little bump flipping the friction ridges of each print like pages of a book. Cold—the rock is cold. The wind is cold, and sharp with the smell of rain. The jacket is heavy on your shoulders.

The jacket smells like Johnny.

“I’m sure the park wardens weren’t happy,” you say, feeling your heart slow in your chest.

“No,” he says, and—with the silence of a lightning strike—“I drowned, afterwords, first time I went to sea.”

You look back at him. The wind picks up, ruffling the ends of his mohawk; on the horizon, a rind of darkness splits the clouds from the earth.

“You drowned?” you repeat.

The hem of his kilt flutters and dances. His gaze is intense—the angle of his brow unreadable.

“Aye, bonnie. I did.”

Your ears begin ringing—as you stare at him, you get the sense of dreaming. There’s a distinction to Johnny that contrasts the landscape framing him, a sharpness so focused that everything else lenses around him.

“Why—why are you here?” you find yourself asking, though you’re not entirely sure why. The question leaves you as if surfacing on its own power.

The corners of his mouth quirk—although for once, he doesn’t smirk at you, the way he always does.

“You tell me,” he murmurs.

He holds you in the tilt of his head; in the depths of his eyes, currents pulling you downward. You inhale, and expect, for some reason, water to pour into your lungs.

Then a gust of wind buffets the two of you. Johnny turns, surveying the sky. Breaking the spell, he says, “Come on, let’s get back. I don’ like the look a’that storm.”

Halfway back down the path, the front overtakes you; rain begins sheeting down, ice cold, needle-precise into your hair and down your collar. Johnny grabs your hand again even as you start worrying about slipping, and though the torrent veils the way, the both of you make it back to the trawler in one piece.

Back on the bridge, a red light blinks on the panel by the wheel. While Johnny attends to it, flipping a switch and bringing a microphone on a curly wire to his mouth, you squeeze your hair out over the sink nearby.

“This is Soap on the vessel Sea Ghost,” he says, and waits for a response.

“Soap. Drop anchor somewhere. Looks like a storm’s coming in,” a gruff voice comes in.

“Yeah, Cap, we noticed,” Johnny says with a laugh, turning and smiling at you. “We’re moored, dinna fash.”

“Good. Looks like it’s just for the night. Clear enough in the morning.”

“Barry. You got everything? Shops’ closed tomorrow.”

“Never will understand why. But yes.”

“It’s a holy day, Captain,” Johnny says pleasantly.

Price grumbles something about damn Catholics and their damn rules, which just makes Johnny laugh.

Then, “Gaz is here. Made it in after you left.”

Johnny’s posture shifts. Similar to a dog hearing the turning of a doorknob; amorphous attention coalescing, finding a target to point at. Anticipatory. Tail twitching, winding up to wag.

It’s a new reaction, to you—you’ve never seen it before.

Johnny lifts the transmitter to his mouth. He holds it there for a silent moment, before saying, “And Simon?”

No response from the other end of the line, pulled taut, as if snagged. Then Price responds “Haven’t heard yet.”

Something passes over Johnny’s face. Some flex of the muscle in his jaw. An expression held in check.

That’s—

That’s familiar.

“Alright. Back tomorrow then.”

“See you.”

He replaces the mic on its hook.

Thunder claps somewhere over the distant, open ocean. The trawler creaks and groans as the wind swirls around it. Yellow lamps illuminate the warm, wooden space, but are unable to penetrate the lowering blackness outside.

Tension—you can feel it drawing tight, see his shoulder blades shifting closer together. It aches in the muscles of your own back. He faces away from you, like you’re not there—

He turns to look at you. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t look quite real. As if he’s forcing the expression on his face.

“Poor bonnie,” he croons, looking you up and down. The tenor of his voice is saccharin-sweet and thick. “How’s a hot shower sound to warm up, hmm?”

Your belly pinches. “Sure.”

He leads you down a steep flight of stairs into the stomach of the boat, showing you into a single bedroom. The space is cramped, wedge-shaped—barely enough room for the double bed shoved into the middle of it, sheets and blankets gathered in rumples across the top. The unique musk of its occupant wars with the smell of lacquer; the walls are lined with orangey planks, evoking the sailing ships of old.

Directly to the left of the entrance, an open door leads into a small bathroom, into which Johnny guides you, hands on your hips.

“Go’ plenty a’ drinking water stored upstairs so take all the time you like,” he says. “Here, lemme show you how the taps work.”

You half-expect him, after the instruction, to stand there and watch, waiting until you undress. And he does hesitate for a moment, hovering in the threshold, before giving you a practiced grin, telling you to enjoy yourself, a closing the door behind him.

You stand in the middle of the tiny room for an uncertain heartbeat. Assumptions lurching. Almost—hoping.

His heavy footsteps climb back up the stairs.

So, you peel off your damp clothes and drop them into a pile on the floor, stepping naked into the shower. It’s far less mildewed than you might have worried of a single man living alone. Hot water chases cold out of your hair, streaming with pressure far superior to the cottage’s installment.

You realize your toiletries are still above deck, in your bag, beneath the two paperbacks Johnny packed that you haven’t gotten to just yet. You could step out after him—

You don’t do that anymore. You promised yourself.

The floor sways as the shifting sea rocks the trawler in its berth. You reach for the bar on the wall to steady yourself.

One version of yourself is sometimes able to fool the other. The truth is, you could have told him to stop at any time. Put your foot down, hard. Just because he owns the house you’re staying in doesn’t mean he gets to decide what your entire vacation is going to look like.

You scoff at yourself, without any humor. Vacation. Like you’d ever believed this was anything more than self-imposed exile.

The truth is, water takes the shape of the container it fills.

There’s a chill still present in your hair follicles. Impossible for you to identify until now; live with an ache long enough and it stops registering, until it’s balmed with a moment of relief. This is where the addicts begin; experiencing, for the first time, a complete absence of pain, as if it had never been there in the first place, and, once that pain is restored, the ruthless pursuit of its elimination.

Cold rain outside, warm rain within. You stand in the flow, listless. Steam rapidly clouds the empty spaces around you, gathering in droplets on the wall, drizzling down again.

That’s where the mistake is. Pain is never defeated—only deferred. Its panacea provides only diminishing returns, until it’s useless. Until you might as well be swallowing sugar pills or drinking seawater to assuage your thirst.

But you keep doing it. You remember too well how it felt. You chase it down because now you know how it feels.

At some point you have to understand that it always ends poorly.

The bathroom door opens again, and then the shower door, spilling yellow light into the shadowed recess—

Johnny.

The expression on his face is inscrutable; mysterious, as his gaze moves down your body, following the streaming water. Your arms curl around your chest in a perfunctory attempt to conceal yourself, even despite the futility of the effort.

He’s naked, and half-hard, a refrain on the previous night. One hand holds the travel-size soaps and gels that he must have dug out from your bag. He steps in behind you—enclosing the two of you in together.

“Sorry, bonnie,” he murmurs soothingly in your ear. “Had t’make sure we were tied up for the storm.”

The space is not even suggestive of being big enough for two people. You hear the squeak of the shower wall against his shifting back, hot skin slipping against yours as his hands draw you back against him by the hips.

“Dinnae want you t’slip an’ hit your head,” he murmurs, massaging the fat of your pelvis, as if there’s any reason to make excuses for what he’s doing.

Half-raised hackles petted down too easily. You relax into his touch, even as you disdain it. Your heart tremors in your chest.

“What’s going on tomorrow?” you finally ask. “Who’s Simon?”

Pathetic. A jealous lover, after less than forty-eight hours.

“Old task force,” he answers, kissing the back of your head. “Little reunion, food an’ beer, mostly.”

You half-expect him to go immediately for your breasts, or maybe your pussy. His cock is stiffening against the small of your back. But instead, he opens one of your bottles, squirts some pearly body wash into the palm of his hand. Rubbing a little to lather it, he puts his hands back on your hips, and begins massaging it into your skin.

Inward, up your stomach. Pressing into the soft parts of it, with the water slicking his way. His mouth touches the back of your neck—softly. Tenderly. With all of the languor you rejected the previous night, and not enough space for you to slap it away again.

His lips press inward, looking for the bite he left, which he lays his tongue on as if in contrition, licking it like a dog with a wound. The comfortable warmth of the shower swelters with his added body heat; the steam pulses in time with the heavy beats of your heart.

One hand slides up your body, fording your thoracic arch, the wedge of his hand ascending the length of your breastbone. He cups your jaw, bubbles between his fingers, one of your breasts nestling between his bicep and forearm.

He tilts your head to the side as he cranes his head further into your neck, lipping at the space behind your ear, kissing delicate, sensitive skin, as his other hand drags soap around your ribs, beneath and over both breasts, up into your pits and back down again.

A doll in his hands, bent along the shape of his will. He shifts his hips, frotting his erection against you.

“Johnny,” you breathe. “Johnny, this isn’t anything. This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Aye, bonnie,” he hums. “Whatever you say.”

He licks a hollow in your throat.

His other hand dips lower, sweeping down into the crease of one thigh to round the lower swell of your hip; then back up again, fingers spreading.

The stall compresses your arms close against you; the only space you have available to lay your useless hands is on his arms. The dark hair you find with your fingertips is coarse, wiry, plastered to hot skin with water. The spray seeps between the both of you, streams in the runnels of flesh pressed together.

Between your legs, your clitoris heats, awakening even though untouched. You give a small whine, and Johnny huffs a little chuckle in your ear, suckling your neck as his fingers make the descent back, rinsed in the falling water, teasing your pubic hair before nudging your folds apart.

He finds you slick and aching. He only dips lower briefly to wet his fingers, and then, as he settles a light touch over where you’re most desperate for it, relief razes through your nerves in a sudden wash.

You search for the back of his head, slotting your fingers into the ends of his mohawk at the nape of his neck. He hums against you, hand dropping down from your jaw to cup one breast in his palm, weighing it, thumb flicking around the pert nipple in the same tight circle he draws around your clitoris.

Orgasm, usually so obvious on approach, sneaks up on you, quick and quiet, but when it takes you it floods you, rather than knocking you down. You tremble all over, the follicles on your scalp standing on end, the nerves down your back and sides bending like dune grass to a wind.

Your long, breathy cry reverberates against the shower walls, and you lean heavily back against Johnny’s body, grip tightening where you have your hands on him.

He twitches against your back, but he makes no move to chase his own climax. He only turns you carefully, when you recover, and lays his hot, open mouth on yours, tugging your hips close enough to trap his cock against your belly. This time, the wall is cool at your back, the crown of your head moving against it as Johnny angles himself deeper, sliding his tongue between your lips.

“C’mon,” he says, when he finally pulls away. His pupils are huge, black dilation swallowing the blue. The spray fills the empty spaces between the strands of his mohawk, fluffing the hair a little as it courses down the shaved sides of his scalp. “Need to get my mouth on you again, bonnie.”

This time, when he eats you out, he does it at his leisure. Licking honey off a spoon. So lightly that you whine at him, find the energy to bitch at him to do it like he means it, but tonight he does not indulge you.

No—he mouths at you, eyes closed, curly lashes against his cheek as you lay belly-up on the rumpled sheets of his bed. The heat of his tongue in your cleft is the only source of warmth you have as the rain lashes at the outside of the trawler, but the hot shower still lingers in your skin—

Humid. Sticky. Sweat gathering beneath Johnny’s palms where he holds your thighs to his ears, as if mimicking the way your sex will clutch around him when he enters you. Slick and tight and viscous.

When he crawls up your body—nosing at your belly, your breasts, inhaling as if your musk is something he’s trying to get drunk on—he fucks you slow and deep. You stop being able to tell if it’s the storm rocking the boat, or the weight of his hips rolling against yours, one of his hands on the headboard for leverage and the other on your mons, pressing down with the heel of his hand to feel the head of his cock moving in you.

Tacky skin catching on the grind; heart speeding up as he grins at you from above, thumb tapping your clitoris. Enough to wind you up. You reach for his hips with your clawed hands, digging your nails into the meat of his ass—firm, muscle tensed, twitching every time he bottoms out.

“Johnny,” you finally beg, on the edge of a sob, “please, Johnny, please—”

Breath leaves him like a steam valve turned, pressure carrying an uninhibited moan. He ignores your plea, hips rolling slow, forcing you to feel every inch of him in and out of you, every ridge—every vein pulsing on the surface of his cock.

His eyes are closed still; when the widest part of him catches the rim of you around him again, his mouth drops open, lips pink and bitten.

Lost—he’s lost in pleasure, in the feeling of you around him, pulling him in. You watch his chest as it heaves, the flex of his stomach as it tightens—the twitch in the muscles of his arms as the impact of each thrust ripples up his body.

Look at me, you want to say. Look at me. I’m right here. Look at me.

“Again,” he groans, choked, restrained, hands gripping your hips. “Say it again, bonnie—”

“Please—” you whine, on the edge of a sob, “please, please, please—”

Thumb metronoming at a quick tempo where you need it—you seize, back arching, tightening around him so narrowly you could force him out—

He snarls, sharp and hard, thrusting into the resistance, hands falling to fist in the mattress. Breath coming rough and fast, sweat dripping from his forehead into the cups of your collarbones and down between your breasts. Hard and fast now, pushing in as far as your body will let him, and a final, long moan tears from his parted lips, liquid heat flooding you as Johnny goes rigid with a climax following only moments after your own.

Pelvis flush with your thighs. He doesn’t let a drop escape, pushing against you, lifting your hips from the bed.

“Tha’s right,” he slurs, eyes hazy when they open. “Tha’s right, that’s where it belongs.”

He collapses on top of you, almost crushing you with his weight, as he seeks your mouth out with his. He moves his hips against yours with shallow thrusts, whining in his throat.

“Didn’t you—” you pull your lips away, too hot, too cold, buzzing and exhausted, “didn’t you just finish?”

He tongues at your cheek instead, and then down your neck. “Doesnae matter, is no’ enough. C’mon, bonnie, wrap your legs aroun’ me, please…”

After he is finally spent—long after you’ve had enough energy to do more than lay beneath him and let him use you as he pleases—Johnny diverts briefly to the galley, bringing back with him a plate of oysters and a pry knife. It’s his bed, so you don’t complain about shell fragments, but you resolve to make him change the sheets anyway, shifting uncomfortably to find a spot that isn’t soaked.

“Was on this boat,” Johnny says, as if picking up the thread of a conversation only recently dropped. He picks up one of the oysters and shucks it open. “When I drowned.”

The way he says it, you’d think it was a casual thing, something he barely thought about anymore, but the line of his brow is low and serious.

He hands you one half; you bring the shell to your lips and tip it upward. Brine slides across your tongue, flesh smooth and buttery. Johnny watches you with soft eyes before having his own.

“Price was with me. I told him to fuck off, but he said he wasnae gonna let me take it out alone the first time ever. I was a bastard back then, I told ya. We went out in a storm, like this one, even though any eedjit could take a look outside and know it’d kill him.”

You flick at the edge of the shell with your fingernail, looking down at your hands. “Why’d you do it?”

“Dunno. Had somethin’ to prove, I guess.”

“That you could still do stuff like that?”

He doesn’t respond, so you look back up at him. He angles his gaze toward the mess of your hair—the new hickies he’s left on your neck—the bead of your nipples in the cold. The hard angles of his face soften.

“All my life,” he says, measuredly, “all I wanted to be was a soldier. An’ I couldnae anymore. Even though I was better. Hell, I was better than better. But I couldnae go back. That was it. It all wen’ on withou’ me.”

He breaks open more oysters as he talks, hands steady and deft around shells and knife. When he finishes, he slides the plate into your lap, and reclines to face you on his side, propping his head up with his hand.

“We wen’ out when the waves were as tall as a man, an’ us hangin’ onto the railing for dear fuckin’ life,” he continues. There’s a faraway quality to the tone of his voice. “Only life wasnae so fuckin’ dear, was it? I could’ve held on tighter, I think. I fell off.”

“And Price pulled you out?”

That feeling again, meeting his gaze; caught in the arms of a whirlpool, being dragged down. A vial in a centrifuge, constituent parts separating.

“No,” he says, “he didnae.”

“Then…”

“Eat, bonnie.”

There’s a stillness to him that feels unnatural. Johnny is a man who should be constantly in motion, gesturing with his hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet, tapping any available surface with rolling fingertips. Instead, here in front of you, he’s still as a statue. Chest softly rising and falling, but otherwise completely placid.

He gazes steadily at you, down at the plate, and then back up. You sigh, and pick up another shell.

“I don’t remember exactly what happened. I remember getting pushed down deep, real deep, then getting forced up again, on a current or something. Not far enough to get any air, mind. I thought, I’m gonna die out here, an’ I didnae want to.”

He shifts then, a little forward toward you.

“That seemed important, you know? I didnae want to die. Dinna think the sea would’ve given me up f’ I did. It knows. Sometimes it doesnae care. But I guess that time, it did, ‘cause after I blacked out, next thing I know I’m wakin’ up on the shore.”

Something hard shifts in your belly.

“Cap found me a bit later, bringin’ the boat in. Gave him a real scare. Think it turned some of his hair gray overnight. After that…a’was no’ the same. How could y’be, after that?”

You—you don’t want to know any of this. You don’t care. You didn’t ask. His story drops expectation on your shoulders, heavy, custom-tailored, laden with understanding that sands your abraded nerves.

All of this is too much. The damp sheets beneath you, the food, the sex. The fact that you picked the last place in the world thought you could ever meet anyone, let alone someone who—

“And now you have a seal fetish,” you sneer.

Who understands.

Indulgent. This is indulgent, reckless, idiotic in the extreme.

Soap reaches out, and wraps a large, sun-brown hand around your wrist, the one still holding the oyster. Pulling it towards him, he opens his mouth and then tips the flesh from the shell. He slurps it down, noisily, mimicking the sound of his mouth and tongue on your pussy.

“Something like that,” he says, with a sharp, cocky grin.

He changes the sheets. Dims the lights. Plasters himself around you as the storm blows itself out, arm heavy over your waist, thigh and knee nested inside yours.

He’s warm at your back, musky with the mingling aroma of dried sex and sweat.

Sturdy. More real than anything that’s ever put its hands on you.

Johnny, who the sea loved so much it spat him back out. So treasured by the world that a bullet to the brain couldn’t even take him away from it.

Who, by the sound of it, means so much to the people in his life that they would follow him to the middle of nowhere just to keep an eye on him.

Bile churns in your stomach.

next chapter early access

a/n: two chapters left!

#soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #john soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish x reader #soap mctavish #john soap mactavish #mwritessoap #madi writes #selkie soap #peristalsis #'i'm going to write shorter chapters' writes this monstrosity #i am so not happy with this but we forge ahead nonetheless #hopefully I can get 6 up in EA next week. maaaaybe a double posting since the epilogue won't take long to edit. i think.

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starcurtain · 20 days ago

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Some Notes on Mydei's Characterization (Part 1)

I'm already tired of seeing Mydei slander (if I have to read "He's a brawn over brains berserker who just cares about fighting" one more time, I might actually die), so I thought I'd put together some quick notes on what canon has to say about Mydei's character. Please note this post contains only my own interpretations of canon material; not everyone will interpret scenes in the same manner.

Starting with some of the most off-base stuff I've seen first:

1. Being Capable of Violence is Not the Same as Being Violent

Mydei's trailer and his role in the story both confirm that he is capable of extreme acts of violence. When it comes to battle, multiple people--Eurypon and Phainon, for example--refer to Mydei specifically as a "beast," rather than a person. In his character stories, we're told that he was such a ferocious predator in the Sea of Souls that even monsters stopped coming near him, and in another of his character stories, he's described as tearing the throat out of an opposing enemy who had an army a thousand men strong. It is a basic and unavoidable fact of Mydei's character that he is capable not only of killing but of killing in egregiously brutal ways, literally tearing his enemies apart with his bare hands.

Mydei will fight, he will cause harm, and he will kill--whenever it is necessary to do so.

But there is an extreme world of difference between being capable of violence and actually being a violent person, and Mydei has shown, in both word and deed, that he is an inherently gentle character who, if given the option, would prefer to choose the path of least harm.

Over and over, the devs hit us players with the idea that Mydei's actual nature is one that abhors needless violence. We see this from his first character story, where Mydei--despite being thrown into the Sea of Souls as an infant, despite fighting every single day of his childhood just to survive--is described as saving drowning fishermen with no reward. Even the author of the legend points out the incongruity of this choice, saying "Why would a Kremnoan ever bother to save others?"

Remember that this is a Mydei who has had literally no human contact. He has no frame of reference for even the concept of generosity. If we take his story seriously, then despite being effectively feral at this point in time, his innate reaction to seeing others in danger was simply to provide aid. Even when his own survival was the only thing he had experience with, he still chose to selflessly save others, with no motivation other than the fact that benevolence appears to be his core nature.

Reinforcing this idea that Mydei is an inherently gentle person, there's the memory in Castrum Kremnos where an unknown someone asks Mydei what his dream is, with the only acceptable options being different combat roles. But Mydei's answers are charmingly abstract instead--young Mydei doesn't want to be a soldier and bring harm to others, he wants to be a wanderer or even a "beam of light."

(Saw some interesting talk linking this "beam of light" with Kephale recently too. I'm very interested to see whether the upcoming patches will tie these connections together or if we're all just reading too much into things lolol.)

3.0's plot hammered this home as well, with Mydei continually disputing Aglaea's mission requests; Aglaea says that sending too many Chrysos Heirs to fight Nikador would be a waste (in case they end up dying), to which Mydei responds that there's no point in needlessly risking people's lives.

Even the 3.0 side quests repeat this message, with one Kremnoan NPC, Aelius, noting that an assassin tried to murder him on his first day in Okhema. Instead of responding with force, as might be justified by the severity of the crime, Mydei--brand-new to Okhema and their ways himself!--still chose diplomacy, and went to the Council of Okhema to legally ensure the Kremnoan people's safety, instead of directly seeking vengeance.

Even a small scene in Kremnos's ruins gives the devs an opportunity to show that Mydei prefers to exhibit aggression only when threatened first: As the Trailblazer and Co. wander through the Soul-Forging Zone, the group meets a half-crazed titankin. Obviously it poses a danger and could become a more serious threat in an instant, but Mydei doesn't offer it any resistance. It isn't violent with him, so he has no reason or motivation to be violent with it... as opposed to Phainon, whose first reaction is immediately to attack.

(If you choose to kill it, by the way, Mydei scolds Phainon and the Trailblazer, effectively calling them bloodthirsty executioners...)

When Krateros attempts to manipulate Mydei using Mydei's mother's wishes, urging him to continue the cycle of domination in Kremnos, Mydei stops him cold by pointing out that (like Mydei who inherited her beliefs) he knows Gorgo was opposed to violence for violence's sake:

Then, of course, there's the entire deal about refusing the crown of Kremnos, breaking his people's endless cycle of violent lives and even more violent deaths and repeatedly refusing Nikador's power because Mydei had no desire to become Strife. Despite revering his people's god for what Nikador was supposed to be--the guardian who sacrificed everything to protect Amphoreus--the game repeatedly tells us that Mydei sees Kremnos's cultural tradition of conquest as a meaningless waste of life, glorifying cruelty for no reason and bringing nothing but harm to the Kremnoans and Amphoreus as a whole.

Mydei fought hard to not become the demigod of Strife. At every turn, he was pressured and manipulated by others against his expressly stated wishes, and ultimately was left with no choice but to accept the destiny forced upon him despite clearly longing for a different, gentler life. Although I'll talk more about this later, the fact that Mydei even went so far as to change his name among the Chrysos Heirs shows us just how intensely he was trying to separate himself from his own past and from Kremnos's bloody history. Mydei wanted to be a person, yet in the end, he was forced back into being a beast, into becoming the symbol of violence, the very thing that took everything good from his life.

(This isn't a shipping post, but Phainon's efforts to take on Nikador's coreflame can be read to at least some extent as a rescue attempt--despite himself believing that Mydei was the better fit for Strife, Phainon saw how sincerely Mydei did not want to take the coreflame trial, and at least in small part, Phainon did take on the trial to spare Mydei from that inevitability. Personally, I think this failure will eventually be one of the linchpins that brings Amphoreus crumbling down, because Phainon was supposed to be everyone's hero, but just like Cyrene, he failed to save Mydei.)

I've seen some people debating this idea that Mydei is not a violent person by pointing out that Phainon calls him "reckless when he gets the urge to kill." In 3.0, Phainon implies that Mydei could even hurt other people with his recklessness in battle. But... we have never seen Mydei ever bring any harm in battle to someone he didn't intend to hurt. No one innocent ever gets injured in-game by Mydei (at least so far...), and we have no indications at any point that Mydei would intentionally endanger others out of recklessness. In fact, even in their first scene, it's Mydei who scolds Phainon for being careless during battle.

For example, Mydei's first reaction to confronting Nikador was to immediately remove Phainon and the Trailblazer from the fight so that they wouldn't come to harm. Even inside the coreflame trial, while the power of Strife was driving Phainon mad, Mydei was still level-headed enough to rally the Trailblazer and Dan Heng and get Phainon out safe. Mydei was still rational enough to even recognize the Okhemans inside the illusion and say "This isn't who these people really are; they're being twisted by Nikador."

Is this really the behavior of a reckless person who loses his sense of reason in battle?

To be honest, players should take most of what Phainon actually says about Mydei with a grain of salt. Phainon, especially during 3.0, doesn't actually know Mydei's whole story (for one, he has a foot in mouth moment in 3.0 where he tells Mydei to make more friends, only to then find out in 3.1 that Mydei had more friends; they just all died), and we know that Phainon often exaggerates Mydei in many ways when talking to others. Mydei may be reckless in battle--but his recklessness almost certainly centers on himself, being willing to risk his own life, rather than others'. This is echoed again in his "Keeping Up With Star Rail" video, where Phainon comments on Mydei's complete lack of self-defense once he enters battle. While Phainon might think Mydei's lack of attention to his own pain is worth calling out, it isn't a sign that Mydei is genuinely a mindless berserker.

I've also seen people debating this point by saying that Mydei appears to go "crazy" in battle and starts grinning when he gets a battle high. But as for Mydei's smiling in battle, we really only see it three times: 1) When Phainon first returns to Okhema, 2) When Mydei finally engages in solo combat with Nikador, and 3) When engaged in solo combat after all his allies in the coreflame trial already "died."

Again, this isn't a shipping post, so write the first smile for Phainon off as you choose--maybe Mydei's just excited to have the opportunity to flex in front of his "rival." The other two smiles are admittedly a bit unhinged, but I'd argue that neither of these moments represents actual enjoyment of battle. Instead, both of these smiles occur only inside the overwhelming pall of Nikador's power, which we're told canonically infects the mind with a desire for bloodshed. More importantly, both of these instances also take place when Mydei is only fighting titankin, not human opponents, and only after Mydei has been left entirely alone, when he is certain that the only person at risk in the fight is himself. When Mydei can confirm that there's no one left to defend (or left for him to lose!), then and only then does he give in to Nikador's violence for violence's sake and engage in battle whole-heartedly.

tl;dr: Mydei was the crowned leader of a culture that glorified cruelty, death, and mindless brutality. He was forced into a life of violence where he had to fight tooth and nail for survival from virtually the moment of his birth. Everyone he ever loved died worshiping a god that used their souls as nothing but fodder for further meaningless destruction. Yet Mydei was doing everything he could to rise above that life, and to help others also rise above that life. Of course he fights when he must, but reveling in it? I don't really see the evidence.

My man did not tear down a dynasty, breaking a thousand years' cycle of pointless strife, to get hit with the "He's a battle junkie" allegations. I swear to god I will bite the next person who says it--

2. His Reputation as Quick-Tempered is a Front

While it's typically not Mydei's fans going around saying Mydei's just another "battle-obsessed manly man," there is a different stereotype I actually do see being perpetrated by self-proclaimed Mydei fans: It seems to be a common trend in fanfics and fanarts to write Mydei with a strong temper, showing him becoming very aggressive when annoyed and suggesting that his first resort in difficult situations is brute force.

To be fair, I think this is influenced by a number of factors, not the least of which is the game itself playing with this idea as a joke. In Mydei's "Keeping Up With Star Rail" video, Phainon playfully reduces Mydei to the quick-tempered brute stereotype, saying things like:

Phainon also brings this up at other points, such as suggesting that Mydei would only need one try to solve the puzzle in Janusopolis because his method of solving it would be... to just punch his way through.

But again, please take the things Phainon says about Mydei with a grain of salt. Roasting your friends for fun is simply a given, and I think that Phainon's comments about Mydei are meant to be understood as playful banter about his "rival," not serious analysis of Mydei's temperament (which really doesn't align with the stereotype of a hot-head at all).

Complicating this whole situation is the English voiceover, where it is clear the voice director encouraged Mydei's English VA to portray Mydei as particularly gruff and worked up in many of his lines. I have nothing against the English VA at all, but the voice direction of the English version clearly missed the mark on Mydei's character and went for a more aggressive vibe than any of the game's other languages. (The whole thing reminds of me Ray Chase not being given proper direction on Neuvillette's character at first and dramatically changing his voice acting over the course of Fontaine's patches.) I don't mean that English Mydei is never gentle, but that many of the lines are delivered with a level of vitriol that is not suited to the scene at all nor present in other languages. (Compare this line delivery in English with the same line in Chinese, for just one example.) The English interpretation of the character is strongly colored by this strange directing decision ("Mydei should be actively angry in many of his scenes"), unfortunately.

Complicating the whole situation even further is fandom's habit of reducing characters to flat caricatures because making funny meme art and exaggerating character traits for comedic effect is so common. (And enjoyable, don't get me wrong lol.) There is a well-loved relationship dynamic of "the grumpy one with the sunshine one," and I think unfortunately Mydei and Phainon are getting this treatment in fandom quite a bit: Phainon is depicted as the exuberant, happy puppy, while Mydei is the angry, bristling cat. It just makes sense when we consider cliches, right? The muscle-bound warrior dude will obviously be a cranky, easily angered hot-head, no? To a certain extent, I understand why fans jump to that conclusion and take that route in their fanworks; it's definitely easier to depict the characters with these kinds of shorthand tropes than to encompass their complicated personalities in every art or fic.

But the problem is... in-game Mydei is really not much like fanon Mydei, at least where tempers are concerned.

Repeatedly, the game tells us that Mydei keeps a level head even in situations of extreme pressure, and that he prefers to use communication, rather than force, to try to resolve the conflicts he encounters. Going back to some examples I've already mentioned: In the ruins of Kremnos, he's the first to suggest communicating with the titankin and the first to suggest that there's no reason to use violence against them. In 3.0, a scene lots of people say shows Mydei's "bloodlust," where he confronts Nikador and claims he has an intent to kill, actually starts with the line: "All that anger and regret I feel right now, I've learned to control them".

In Okhema, when the Kremnoans were facing assassination attempts, Mydei handled the situation legally, within the confines of Okhema's clearly ridiculous bureaucracy, to ensure that the Kremnoan people would be able to live within the city. In 3.1, when Krateros wants to lose the Okheman guards that are trailing them, Mydei defers to Krateros's lead, asking him if they should use force on the guards and only complying when he says yes.

In fanarts, it's common to draw Phainon doing something silly, with a 💢grumpy Mydei💢 barely tolerating it. But... in game, Mydei actually tends to weather Phainon's teasing without that much issue, often playing along readily and teasing back or simply not rising to the bait at all, sometimes giving him a flat response that actually irritates Phainon instead.

Even when Phainon lobbies some of his snappiest jests (the line about Mydei not being able to write comes to mind), Mydei's strongest reaction is usually "Why are you stupid?" and then he moves on. He's not out here roaring like an angry lion or flipping a table every time someone is a bit obnoxious in his general vicinity. Mydei's mostly chill with the silliness, guys. He's sometimes silly back.

And even in the moments where he should be his angriest, such as the day he avenged his mother by killing his father, Mydei tends to respond to pressure and even cruel provocation with level-headed answers, coldly telling Eurypon just how pointless the entire crown of Kremnos was. Krateros insults Mydei specifically for choosing communication as his conflict resolution strategy. Like, how did people decide Mydei would be an easily provoked hot-head when his own mentor insults him for trying to solve Kremnos's problems using words instead of action?

Perhaps one of the only occasions in the game where we actually see Mydei genuinely lash out in anger is the moment with Tribbie, where she tells him not to worry for Phainon. Mydei responds harshly--but then immediately walks his words back, explicitly notes that his single sharp answer was rude, and apologizes.

But what I haven't seen anyone discuss is that fact that Mydei had every right to be angry at Tribbie here. In the prior scene, Aglaea literally belittled and pressured him into taking on the Strife coreflame following Phainon's failure, and Mydei knew in this scene that Tribbie was fully aware of Aglaea's plan to manipulate Mydei using Phainon.

Again, not a shipping post, but Tribbie daring to go "Aw, don't be worried" rightttt after that concern for his friend was weaponized against Mydei to deny him his agency? A direct slap in the face. Aglaea--with Tribbie as her willing accomplice--knowingly put Phainon's very life at risk to entrap Mydei and force him to take on a role he was rejecting with every fiber of his being. After deliberately using Phainon--and Mydei's concern for Phainon!--as a tool, for Tribbie to have the audacity to say "You shouldn't worry about him" was actually pretty vile.

And yet it's Mydei who apologizes. It's Mydei who reins in any hint of frustration and tries to approach the situation politely, as if the person he is talking to hadn't literally just doomed him to an entire future of misery by using the safety of one of his only remaining friends as leverage. The achievement you get just before this moment, "Sing, O Goddess, of His Rage," suggests that Mydei truly is rightfully furious about this situation--but in the end, Mydei still forgives both Tribbie and Aglaea without hesitation, because he knows the importance of the Flame-Chase Journey and of following the prophecy at all cost.

Does this really strike us as someone who flies off the handle at minor annoyances, someone who is brash or easily riled up, someone who resorts to punching his way through all his problems?

Despite appearances, I think it would be more accurate to say that Mydei's temper runs pretty even and that he is actually difficult to provoke to genuine anger. There are times where we see him truly furious (when he confronts Nikador about the honorless scheme to attack Okhema, when he confronts his father, etc.), but in every situation where Mydei is angry, it's because the anger is absolutely justified, because something truly unforgivable is happening to him or those he's sworn to protect.

Mydei's suffered just about every manner of injustice it is possible for a person to suffer, and yet he soldiers on without making his suffering other people's concern. He apologizes for even minor outbursts, despite his feelings of outrage clearly being righteous. In some cases, we might even read him as a little passive aggressive instead--the fact that Phainon's food is nasty whenever he really annoys Mydei and yet he has no idea why the food is bad is a hilarious hint that Mydei's definitely more of a "revenge is a dish best served cold" kind of person than a hot-head.

So what about that moment early on, where Mydei uses the threat of violence to silence Verax Leo?

Well, no Verax Leos were harmed, so? Ha, being serious, I actually think this moment should be better understood as the player's first real insight into Mydei's character, separate from Phainon's colorful commentary.

This moment tells us one thing really clearly about Mydei: He's self-aware. Mydei knows the Verax Leos are literally cowardly lions, and he knows they think he's scary. He's aware of his own reputation as a "beast," and he isn't above utilizing that reputation to achieve a goal if doing so will produce a greater good for others. Without even needing to resort to any actual attack, Mydei is able to silence the Verax Leo's rumor-mongering using just the threat of his capacity for violence.

This suggests to the player that Mydei is actually discerning, straight to the point but intelligent enough to tailor his actions to the level of response that is appropriate for a given situation. He's not a "go in fists blazing right from the start" kind of guy when that's not what's needed. He could easily just punch the lion off the wall--but he doesn't. He lets his words doing the threatening, instead of his fists. (The fact that this particular Verax Leo was apparently helping to slander Kremnoans the week before and still lived to spread rumors about March tells us how disinclined Mydei is to solve his daily problems with actual violence.)

The takeaway is that Mydei's angry reputation among Okhemans, but hell, also among players(!), is largely fueled by stereotypes more than by any real actions on Mydei's part. People expect him to a quick-tempered brute, so that's what they see, even when Mydei's real actions don't lend themselves to that cliche much.

Yet Mydei is also self-aware enough to know that same crude reputation is a powerful tool. It benefits him for certain groups to be very afraid of him, and this leads to an interesting conflict in the character: On the one hand, Mydei wants to distance himself from Kremnos's violence. He renames himself, swears allegiance to Aglaea's cause of hope, and spends his free time in Okhema doing gentle things like taking part in cooking competitions, playing house with kids, and judging drama festivals. More on this in a bit, but I think it's very interesting that not a single one of his marketing or promotional materials--nor any of his scenes in the game itself--show him willingly spending his free time on martial pursuits. (The animation they gave us was Mydei playing with children, not sparring with Phainon or even training with his dedicated warrior brothers-in-arms.) Mydei clearly wants to be seen and relate to others as a person separate from his bloodstained past.

On the other hand, his reputation as a terrifying warrior is one of the only things allowing him to live his current life. It's only as the to-be "blood-crowned" king of Kremnos that the Kremnoans willingly follow him and respect what he has to say. His ability to decide their futures hinges on them continuing to perceive him as Mydeimos, their undying lion of conquest. His only use to Aglaea and the Flame-Chase Journey is as the future manifestation of Strife or as an expendable resource that can be thrown single-handedly at enemies because he's the only one that can take their punishment and keep kicking. His place in Okhema is only secure so long as the Okhemans continue to fear his might, their discrimination kept at bay only by the knowledge that none of them can come close to defeating the Kremnoans if it came to blows. His reputation in Okhema is secure only so long as he can continue to cow the Verax Leos into silence with threats of retaliation.

Mydei doesn't have any attachment to his image as a monster--and yet his situation will not allow him to let it go. As much as he would like to live a different life, the view that others have of him--that he is an angry, savage person who is barely restraining an innate violent nature--is a shield locked in his hand, protecting him and making it possible to keep going--even when all he really wants to do is stop.

So, long story longer: I don't think Mydei has an especially hot temper at all; he's lived an incredibly hard life and had every one of his hopes and dreams systemically stripped away from him. He's under constant and immense pressure and feels entirely alone in bearing his burdens. His frustration occasionally bubbling to the surface--for which he apologizes--is not only justified but honestly still shockingly under-stated. If I was in his situation, a whole lot more heads would have rolled.

And now, a few less important notes to round this post out because I can already tell I'm going to hit tumblr's image limit before I run out of things to say about Mydei, so:

3. He's Not a Dumb Jock or Actually that Fitness Obsessed

This one is kind of annoying because Mydei's marketing materials like to play with the "dumb jock" trope as a joke. As mentioned before, we have Phainon's humorous "If you want wisdom, he's got might" line, Mydei being terrible at math (to the point even the Trailblazer assumes they'd be better at math than Mydei), the implication that Mydei is so straightforward he would miss deceptions from those speaking in ill faith (like during the Verax Leo's riddles), and of course, the overwhelmingly common stereotype of gym bros caring more about their muscles than their brains...

But the game also goes out of its way, repeatedly, to emphasize that just as Mydei doesn't fit the stereotype of the savage warrior, he also doesn't fit the stereotype of brawn over brains, of focusing more on physical prowess than thought.

Mydei being bad at math is played for laughs, sure, but in the same breath we're also told that he's a better student of history than Phainon is (which loops back into ironic when you remember that Phainon loves history and clearly wants to be good at it).

Mydei is one of the game's only confirmed bilingual characters outside of the Genius Society, despite the fact that, if his backstory is to be believed, he would have spent the most formative years of his childhood entirely language-less, and even after leaving the Sea of Souls, would likely not have attended any form of formal schooling until he went to the Grove as an adult. He's capable not only of speaking and reading in multiple languages, but also of translating even archaic variations of his native tongue, enough so that (according to his marketing), being an archaic Kremnoan language mentor is one of his official titles.

He's also one of the characters most strongly associated with reading in the entire game, via the library, his canonically stated ability to interpret poetry, his character stories all being texts... All the other characters associated as strongly with reading as Mydei in the game are regarded as "nerds": Ratio, Dan Heng, Pela... Somehow critical portions of Mydei's character can be oriented around literature and he still gets hit with the dumb jock label???

He's also an accomplished military strategist capable of commanding the respect of seasoned veterans as well as waging effective war campaigns against enemy nations with a marginal, aging army and virtually no resources... He's capable of playing Aglaea's and Okhema's political games, despite having obvious disdain for such things... In fact, in Mydei's goodbye to Aglaea, he speaks to her as one nation's leader to another, remarking on how he's learned valuable lessons in managing his people from her, and specifically highlighting that her trait he most admires--what is missing from his own people's history--is her ability to instill genuine hope in others.

But yeah, Mydei is dumb muscle because it's funny, I guess.

What makes the whole "jock" thing loop around into doubly ironic (and also sad) is that although Mydei's character does involve a strong emphasis on health and fitness, the way it's framed in his marketing versus his actual in-game character is extremely different. Mydei's marketing is all about combat, how he's a "fitness ambassador," and "performance enhancers aren't in the Kremnoan language."

But in game Mydei...?

He doesn't have anything particularly unique to teach Phainon. There isn't any special "extreme Mydei training regimen" above what the other Kremnoan soldiers do, a fact we can confirm with the bath NPC Peleus, who tells us that Mydei has taught him his training regimen, and it's just the "Kremnoan traditional exercises" (the high-altitude shuttle run, firewalking, etc.). This idea that Mydei isn't devoting himself to constantly improving his ~super special combat capability~ is also reiterated in Mydei's marketing when someone tries to scam Okhemans by selling a secret "Mydei combat move" and Mydei is just like "There's no such thing..."

Yes, this is me telling you that the fanon thing where Mydei is all about hitting the arena to beat the crap out of challengers every single day is probably not that lore accurate. Yes, of course Mydei spars and keeps up with his strict exercise routine, but combat training doesn't actually seem to be his favorite hobby. In the game, Phainon is definitely worked up about wanting to spar and practice together, but Mydei's attitude to the idea of training with Phainon seems closer to "Please... be more chill..."

Just as an example, at possibly the most plot relevant time ever to suggest a spirit-raising spar with his "bro," the ideas that instead come to Mydei's mind for working out Phainon's disappointment are...

All gentle socializing.

In fact, although Mydei's marketing hyper-emphasized the "fitness" shtick, we never actually see Mydei sparring or training with anyone in any of his mainstream marketing materials or in game. (I'd say we don't even see him fitness training at all, but hey, they did add one chat sticker where he has a weight lol.)

Although we're informed repeatedly that Mydei's a fitness junkie, what his marketing and in-game free time scenes actually show us are, uhhhh *checks notes* sleeping in, taking long baths, eating pancakes, singing around the campfire with his band of bros, people watching, and babysitting? It's the life he truly deserves.

Again, this isn't to say Mydei doesn't train (obviously you don't look like that without putting in massive effort!), but both promotional materials and the scenes chosen for characters in game are deliberately designed to highlight the most integral aspects of characters' personalities. Mydei surely is exercising hard to keep up his health off-screen--but by de-emphasizing that in what the game actually visually shows us players, the only obvious conclusion is that other things (food, playing with children, spending time with comrades) are much more important to Mydei than just getting swole. Out of the "warrior" type characters we have in Star Rail, Mydei is one of the least pumped up about sparring that we've seen. From what we're actually given in game, Yanqing is infinitely more gung-ho about combat training than Mydei is.

In fact, rather than exercise itself, I'd say more of Mydei's "fitness" focus in game comes from his connection to food, and--perhaps this is me reading into things a bit too much (but that's my job, you know)--I'd argue that Mydei's repeated emphasis on eating healthy is actually a thinly-veiled trauma response to his childhood experiences with starvation.

We're told that, in the Sea of Souls, he fed on the raw flesh and bone of the abyssal monsters he fought--literally eat or be eaten--and could really only hold off the feeling of starving on the rare times that the tides were low and he could catch live shrimp instead. He also closely associates the Kremnoan Detachment, his only refuge, with the notion of comfort food.

And every time food is discussed, he's quick to tell others, even the Trailblazer, exactly what to add in order to make sure they're not only full but also eating a balanced meal that will keep them hale and whole. More than a gym bro, I think Mydei missed his calling as a nutritionist.

Long story longer, Mydei has never had a time where he could go without fighting. For virtually all of his life, at least until he reached Okhema, fighting was all he ever knew. Would he even really need much extra fitness training when his entire existence is a constant stream of battles, of pushing his body to its limits over and over again? He's been "working out" since he was literally an infant, with no down time, and even in relatively peaceful Okhema, a Chrysos Heir's duty to battle never ends.

This is just my personal take on it, but I'm inclined to think that when he finds rare moments of peace, Mydei would probably prefer to do things other than fight, especially if it's something that allows him to provide for himself and others, helping his friends stay well, such as through cooking.

I think the in-game material does a great job of emphasizing that Mydei's definition of "fitness" doesn't necessarily focus foremost on being a gym bro/jock who hits the training field every five minutes--his definition of "health" and "wellness" have a lot to do with nourishing the spirit at the same time.

4. Mydei is Significantly Less Impulsive than Phainon

Okay, I can hear you--if Mydei's not a brute, and he's not a fiery temper, and he's not much of an actual gym bro, what is he?

Well, unfortunately I'm just here to tell you another thing he's not: He's not actually that proactive of a rival either.

Aglaea is quick to call Mydei and Phainon "impulsive youths," putting them on the same level in terms of childishness, but actuallyyy...

Despite the fact that Phainon likes to claim Mydei "taunts him every time they meet", every single actual competition we've ever seen between Mydei and Phainon was initiated 100% by Phainon, with Mydei just sort of getting swept up in Phainon's antics.

In their joint lightcone, it's Phainon who calls for the contest of speed. In Kremnos, it's Phainon who proposes the titankin killing competition. After the coreflame trial, it's Phainon who demands the hot bath challenge (and then lies and blames Mydei lol), and it's even Phainon who turns taking home the other affected bath patrons into a competition too, one in which Mydei flat out claims he wasn't even competing:

We're given several hints, particularly throughout 3.0, that Mydei and Phainon's prior missions were largely characterized by Phainon coming up with ridiculous plans, and Mydei mostly going "Welp, that sounds like it's going to get us killed, but okay I guess."

While Phainon is ready to go "Fuck it, we ball" and fight a titan to the death all by himself, Mydei spends the entire first part of 3.0 going "Hey, so, like, fighting Nikador without an army is a really dumbass decision, and we should probably not be attempting this."

(This moment is kind of less funny in retrospect when you rewatch it with the knowledge that Mydei knew they couldn't handle the fight, but Phainon was like "No, we totally got this, trust me bro!" Spoiler Alert: They did not have it. Literally all of Mydei's deaths in 3.0 happened because of his crippling inability to say no to Phainon. But this is not a shipping post. I promise.)

Anyway, in one of the only examples we have of Mydei possibly being impulsive on his own, the note from the bath manager that reports someone charging into the baths to ask who the strongest warrior in Okhema is, the actual implication is that Mydei had no idea how poorly the Okhemans would take that (nor their obsession with debate which would be sparked), and his faux pas comes less from being immature and more from the cultural discrepancy between Okhema and Kremnos, as the Kremnoan in the note finds Mydei's behavior perfectly normal.

In fact, instead of being an unruly youth, Mydei is criticized by other characters several times in the story specifically for choosing to hold back and think things through before committing himself to a decision. If anything, he's closer to indecisive (or at least slow to decide) than he is to impulsive.

Now, don't get me wrong. The game tells us repeatedly that Mydei does get competitive as hell once Phainon actually manages to convince him to join in on the shenanigans. Of course Mydei likes to win. But the notion that Mydei is Phainon's equally impulsive rival, actively issuing his own challenges, goading his frenemy into new contests, and particularly motivated to keep one-upping Phainon? It's really more of an informed trait and a fandom cliche (red and blue rivals, the people cannot resist) than anything actually shown in the game.

At the risk of perhaps inserting too much of my own interpretation here, I'm inclined to say that Mydei's willingness to engage in Phainon's dumb competitions is less brash rivalry and much closer to "Guy who never had the chance to be an impulsive youth cautiously allowing himself the privilege of feeling carefree for ten minutes or so."

It's not that Mydei is actually that driven to assert his dominance or is particularly impetuous when left to his own devices--it's that he never before had a long enough period of peace where he was safe enough to act childish. If he ever had competitions in his past, they almost certainly would have been like "Who can murder the most enemy soldiers with their bare hands today?" In Okhema, Mydei can participate in sauna-offs.

Mydei isn't as (deliberately performatively) silly as Phainon. He's nowhere near as impulsive as Phainon is. He's not really that fixated on being a rival. But he is a pretty great partner in crime. He does allow himself to be drawn into Phainon's schemes over and over, because well... they're obviously fun for him. He gets into the competitions once they're motion, even if he complains about them at the start. Mydei's life has been criminally devoid of light-hearted joys and normalcy, and being led into trouble that doesn't result in people literally dying on him--harmless trouble--is probably an extreme novelty for Mydei. Basically what I'm saying is, he isn't going to propose the Jackass competition, but he is going to fold like paper the moment said competition is suggested.

Case in point: In 3.0, there's a second where you can actually hear him regretting his life choices, trying so hard to convince himself that he is above Phainon's weird antics, but... in the end, he can't help himself. When Phainon starts LARPing with the Trailblazer during the titankin competition, Mydei's first reaction is essentially "Oh my god, this is so cringe," but just two lines later... look who joins the LARPing.

This nerddddd.

When left alone, Mydei withdraws from the world. Trailblazer typically finds him locked in silent contemplation, rejecting visitors, up on his own private corner of the rooftops. On his own, Mydei is significantly less likely to seek out trouble, cause public disturbances, or become a (usually accidental) nuisance compared to half the other Chrysos Heirs.

But when the company around him makes him feel comfortable, he is willing to engage with life in the childish ways he was never free to before. His "rivalry" with Phainon is better understood not as a macho dude-bro need to assert superiority, but as just one of the most obvious manifestations of Mydei's desire to experience the life he never got to live, to let himself be the kind of person who can just do silly things and cause dumb messes.

Mydei isn't a particularly impulsive person--but sometimes he lets himself try it out. As a treat.

Okay, last note for now:

5. Mind Your Manners

While it might be tempting to see Phainon and Mydei's competitions as the peak of Mydei's comedic contribution in the story, I think the actual funniest aspect of Mydei's character is the game's running gag about his manners.

Yes, Castrum Kremnos is a savage nation that revels in death and is rumored to drink the blood of their enemies--but they still keep it classy, damn it! Sure Mydei might have grown up as a half-feral sea beast and then a homeless, wandering exile subsisting off the land, but sometimes he literally can't help it--the aristocracy just jumps right out of him.

No, I'm not joking. Mydei really does have the prim and proper manners of a blue-blooded royal.

We see this from his first appearance in the game. A character's first scene is generally their establishing moment, the devs' chance to give players a strong starting impression--which makes it so telling that one of the first things out of Mydei's mouth is a insult to Phainon's manners.

This is a direct and pointed critique, suggesting Phainon has neglected his duties as a host by relying on his "guests" as back up in the battle. In the context of Amphoreus's historical inspirations, this is actually a very serious scolding: hospitality was a big, big deal in ancient Greece, and the idea of forcing foreign guests into serving you before affording them proper welcome and rest, let alone actively endangering them, would literally be considered an affront to the gods.

With this one short line, the devs are impressing the extreme difference in social status between Mydei and Phainon: Phainon is effectively a "country bumpkin," a member of a lower class who doesn't know how to (or perhaps just doesn't care to?) properly practice the civil gestures of the upper rungs of Amphorean society. Mydei, on the other hand, not only knows the proper rituals of etiquette but expects those rituals to be upheld by others. He's basically calling Phainon a mannerless peasant in one of his first lines of dialogue, which is why Phainon gets so grumpy for the rest of the conversation lol.

We see Mydei's inclination towards proper decorum in several other places as well. As a prince, he's entitled to respect and deference, and while we might be inclined to say "Mydei isn't the type to enforce his royal status over others," the game itself shows us that... Mydei kind of does expect people to treat him differently.

Just as one small starting example, I know it's somewhat popular to have Mydei deny his royal status in fanfics, such as telling people not to call him by his titles or acting as if he has no connection to the upper class, but this doesn't actually happen in the game. Mydei introduces himself to the Trailblazer from the start as Castrum Kremnos's crown prince, consistently thinks of himself (such as in mission journal text) as a prince, and is largely referred to as "the crown prince" or "your highness" by everyone outside the Chrysos Heirs, including all of the Okhemans:

In fact, I'd go so far as to argue that Mydei takes his role as a prince very seriously and does not remotely deny the responsibility he bears toward his people. It's important to him to fulfill his duty to the Kremnoans, so rather than downplaying his role as their prince, he seems to acknowledge it freely, working to serve as a principled leader as best he can.

In short, Mydei is aware of his status--and he expects everyone else will be aware of it too.

I don't mean this in a bad way at all; he's not rude or pompous about it--rather, I think this is a subconscious aspect of his character. Mydei has spent many of his formative years with his people putting him on a ridiculously tall pedestal. He's spent at least a decade as the leader of a group that basically worships the ground he walks on; the Kremnoans obviously aggressively follow the social protocols of their very traditional culture, which seems to include somewhat blind adoration of their kings. Even if Mydei wanted the Kremnoans to treat him as "just another one of the people," there's almost zero chance they would do so. It would likely go against their nature to even ask that of them. Ergo, Mydei's almost certainly spent his entire adult life as the recipient of his people's extreme respect--and their strict adherence to proper social protocols around their prince.

Because of this, Mydei does have specific (if likely subconscious) expectations for "how people will behave around me," and we players get to see several humorous moments where other characters in the story violate Mydei's understanding of how princes should be treated:

In a particularly infamous memory crystal, we see one of Phainon and Mydei's early interactions, with Phainon inserting himself in Mydei's presence and starting up a conversation Mydei obviously did not expect. This is such a faux pas that only someone like Phainon could have had the audacity to thoughtlessly do it; he basically hop-skip-jumped about twelve rungs on the social ladder to waylay a royal without seeking an audience--and Mydei is clearly taken aback to be approached so casually and without preamble. Although Mydei doesn't actually say it (because doing so would be rude, of course), Phainon himself awkwardly ends up acknowledging that Mydei is trying hard to end their conversation:

It's not because Mydei dislikes Phainon already, but because the act of walking up on a stranger--especially a stranger who is a prince!--and assuming such a degree of familiarity as to comment on his body of all things would be so beyond the pale of appropriate social behavior that even Mydei hardly seems to know how to respond at first.

We see this same completely (or perhaps willfully) oblivious to social protocol behavior from Phainon numerous times throughout the 3.0 and 3.1 quests, and Mydei's affronted reactions are always pretty priceless. You can almost hear him thinking "The audacity!"

The exact same face my conservative grandma makes when I accidentally drop an F bomb in front of her.

Blatantly asking a prince to praise you? Scandalous.

But Phainon isn't the only person who can provoke these offended responses from Mydei while pushing the prince's boundaries with bad manners. Trailblazer hilariously earns themself a few critiques about their lack of courtesy too:

And even Aglaea triggers a haughty response???

(Sure, we could give Mydei the benefit of the doubt here and say he's talking about himself and Phainon, but honestly? I think this English translation at least could lend itself to a different take as well: Bro got so embarrassed over being caught acting a fool that THE ROYAL "WE" just burst straight out of him lmaoooo.)

In another humorous example, in the animation where Mydei plays with children, the "princess" in the play criticizes Mydei for not being very good at princely behaviors like Okheman waltzing, which immediately results in... Mydei seeking dance lessons from Tribbie so he can improve himself. Princes can't be caught slacking!

(But hilariously enough, as a sidenote, Mydei's dance ability seems to be another case of culture gap: One of the other children in Okhema, the one who was taught about Kremnoan traditions by Mydei, is actually quick to inform us that Mydei may not be familiar with Okheman dances--but he does know all about Anastenaria dancing!)

(Mydei might not fit the standards for an Okheman prince, but he's killing it as a Kremnoan one!)

Anyway, being serious again: Although it's quite funny the dev team insists so much that Mydei, despite being prince of a nation of savage warriors, is nonetheless a prince, with all the trappings of prim and proper etiquette, I think it also says a lot about Mydei's character that he does try to follow social protocols so closely. He apologizes for rudeness. He minds how he speaks to others. He is precise and forthright and always honors his word. Hell, he even politely makes prior arrangements if he knows he's going to be late to an event.

Mydei is self-aware enough to know his status. He knows the weight of that status, and he knows what his status means to his people. He takes the responsibility seriously and bears the role to the best of his ability, striving to meet the Kremnoans' expectations of a "crown prince" even as he can't bring himself to truly align with their core beliefs. He is trying his best to carry himself as a leader should, complete with his commitment to honor the traditional expectations and social class systems of both Kremnos and Okhema.

Despite his rough start in life, Mydei has accepted his people's intense respect and adapted himself to become someone worthy of commanding that respect. Social graces may not have come naturally to him after a childhood completely outside of humanity's reach, but Mydei nevertheless has worked hard to become a cultured person who embodies the demeanor and decorum of a sole surviving prince.

Although it's played for laughs, it's also played quite straight throughout Amphoreus's story: Manners matter to Mydei--both in himself and in others.

Anyway, since I still have more notes I jotted down about Mydei's characterization, here is some other stuff:

Part 2, over here ->

#honkai star rail #mydei #mydeimos #hsr meta #character analysis #this post is kinda still #phaidei #coded even though I tried to tone it down #tagging ship mostly so people who have phaidei blocked won't have to see it #I will eat the next person who tells me Mydei is an aggressive battle junkie #it's been a long time since I've seen a character whose actual story is so overt #like the game could not hit you harder over the head with the idea #that Mydei longs for a gentler kinder world where violence isn't necessary #but who still somehow gets slapped with so many obvious stereotypes #apparently if you take a male character's shirt off #he becomes contractually obligated to be a tempermental dude bro #I also think Mydei is a fantastic case in point #for fandoms (or readers/players/viewers in general) having extreme difficulty #with grasping characters who have contradictory personality traits #on the one hand we have Mydei's blood-soaked SUPER MANLY trailer #on the other hand... we have his animation playing pretend with elementary schoolers #rather than being able to accept that Mydei embodies both of those extreme poles #fandom just sort of picks one side and runs with it #he can rip Nikador's head off AND want to never fight again in his life #I PROMISE #Mydei is really a refreshing example of a character that DOESN'T fit common tropes/character cliches #but alas #I'm not sure all his fans have actually embraced that #I'm proud of this one so I'm gonna pin it!

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