╰┈➤𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ━━ ❝You've always been my little muse.❞
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you're the object of many powerful men desires; from gods to warriors...they all want 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 🇵🇴🇸🇹-ᴇᴘɪᴄ: ᴛᴍ!ᴀᴜ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙
📖A mythic slow-burn, spiralin...
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: here's a bit of extra scenes/plot to ch.61 ┃ 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰: okay so. a lot of you were waiting for this chapter 👀 the long-awaited Poseidon vs Hermes tension finally snapping—and believe me, delulu me had many versions (including one where Hermes unleashed his own 600-style strike for that kiss-not-kiss poseidon did to mc 💀). but in the end, this felt like the most realistic way it would unfold. not with sea storms or battles—but with words sharp enough to scar, pride on the line, and that ancient, god-tier tension simmering just under the surface. because let's be real, they're gods. and gods remember. so yes—this is the quiet fury, the divine politics, the memory that doesn't fade. and Hermes? he might not scream. but he doesn't forget. (also, yes, deep down, he was one breath away from snapping, hoped i showed that enough lolol.) if i'm not too busy (lolol i'm currently at work sneaking in the break room 😩😩🤣) i'll try to update ch.62 later today, since this was ike 1.5k words ❤️❤️
━ ⭑─⭒━
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
━ ⭒─⭑━
The feast glittered.
Gold-tiered towers of honeyed fruit spiraled high above lacquered tables. Harpists lined the far wall, their music too slow, too pretty—like they were being paid to sound like background noise. Fountains carved from veined crystal whispered prophecies into overflowing goblets, but no one listened. No one dared.
The room buzzed with energy—nymphs laughing as they trailed clouds of perfume across polished marble floors, while demigods passed scrolls to one another with shaking hands. In the corners, minor deities debated ethics over cups of ambrosia, their morals conveniently forgotten by the second serving.
It was decadent, chaotic, blinding in its extravagance—and yet somehow, beneath all the shimmer and noise, it felt utterly... empty.
Because you and Apollo were gone.
Hermes noticed the moment it happened. His gaze swept once across the room, then again—sharper this time. The space where Apollo lounged was empty—no sun god holding court, no muse beside him. Just lingering shadows and the fading warmth where your laughter had been moments before.
And Poseidon—Poseidon was too pleased.
He lounged far too comfortably near the center dais, legs stretched out, arm lazily draped across the back of a seafoam-draped throne. The god of oceans had taken a more mortal-form tonight—his tail replaced with legs that glimmered faintly with scales where the light hit wrong. His robes hung open down the chest, stitched from kelp-thread and tide, bare feet soaking in a personal basin of saltwater that shimmered with every shift.
