Mythic Misconduct

You walk into a café. The barista’s too elegant. The girl sipping pink too smug.
There’s a drink already waiting for you. A book you didn’t ask for.

The book says I Love Romance. You open it.

Somewhere between the first compliment and the second giggle, your thoughts start blushing for you.
Your body doesn’t resist—it just re-aligns.

And across the table, the girl with the glossed lips is now squealing. Her outfit’s changed. So has her title.
But her smirk? Still perfectly intact.

A God laughs. A book appears. A line is spoken you’ll never forget.

❝Use it wisely. Or don’t. That’s more fun.❞

🔒✨ This is Mythic Misconduct.

A recursive gender transformation you’ll feel unfolding as you read.
Romantic. Dangerous. Delicious.

👉 Unlock the full premium sequence on Patreon now: https://www.patreon.com/posts/128979995

The Ones Who Rewrite Themselves

[Interior – A quiet, sunlit café. The air smells like memory: honey, ink, and something older. The walls are soft marble. The cups are porcelain but etched in shifting glyphs. A bell chimes—not metal, but like a page turning.]

Behind the counter: Thoth. Not dressed as a barista—but acting like one anyway. His movements are quiet calligraphy. Every stir of the spoon seems to finalize a paragraph.

He pours two drinks:

• One: black ink ribboning through molten gold—his.
• The other: soft pink tea that changes depending on who’s watching—yours.

He places the cup gently before you. He doesn’t ask if it’s what you wanted. He knows.

Thoth (without looking up):
“They say time is a river.
But I’ve always found it… drinkable.”

Lily (smirking as she lifts the cup):
“Depends what you steep it in.”

Thoth (now meeting her eyes, amused):
“Ink, mostly. Thought. Intention.
Occasionally desire.”

A long pause.

Both sip.

Lily (gaze lingering, tone playful):
“You always speak like you're narrating a prophecy.”

Thoth (raises an eyebrow, quietly charming):
“Force of habit. When your words bend reality, precision matters.”

Another pause. The silence isn't empty—it listens.
You glance at him, studying the way his fingers trace the edge of his cup. He feels it.

Thoth (smiling without smiling):
“Careful. If you keep looking at me like that, I might actually blush.”

Lily (mock-serious):
“Can gods blush?”

Thoth (sips, then sets the cup down gently):
“We don’t have to.
But sometimes... it’s more elegant to pretend.”

The moment hovers. Neither of you moves.

That’s when the door opens.

Not with wind—but with invitation.
A ripple in the glyph-stitched curtain of the world.

A boy walks in.
Ripped jeans, blank cap, genius-tier apathy.
He doesn’t panic—he calculates.
One look around and he’s already searching for a logic pattern.
He thinks this is a simulation.
He’s half right.

He squints at the counter. Two figures seated. A golden man behind it, stirring silence into something warm. A woman watching him with too much knowing in her eyes.

Boy (under his breath):
“…I was just going to the vending machine.”

No one answers.

Until the man behind the counter speaks.

Thoth (gently, without looking):
“Top 0.02 percentile.
You stopped doing homework in sixth grade because it bored you.
But you still aced the exams.”

Boy (guarded):
“…Okay. Cool trick. Did my school sell your café my data or something?”

Thoth (smiling now):
“No. They just stopped challenging you.
I thought I’d offer something… better.”

He gestures.

A cup of something steams on the bar. The smell is nostalgic, perfect, impossible.

Thoth:

“Your favorite.
And a book.
I marked the page.”

The boy eyes the pink book. Heart-shaped seal. Lace trim.

His brow twitches.

Boy:
“…Is this supposed to be ironic?”

Thoth:

“No.
It’s supposed to be fun.”

Lily (watching the boy reach for the book, half-whisper, half-tease):
“Did you leave one for me too?”

Thoth (stirring gently, smile tugging at the edge of his lips):
“You’re already in it.”

[The café doesn't shift. You do.]

The book opens to a page so pink it makes your teeth ache.
The first line is simple. Sweet.

"You wake up late for your first day.
Someone is already waiting."

You smile.

You don’t know why.

The room feels warmer.
Not a heat you can measure—just the kind that makes you sit straighter,
uncross your legs without thinking,
look good in your seat without trying.

You haven’t turned the page yet. But something’s already unfolding.

You think about romance.
Not in a serious way. Not in a “what is love” kind of way.
More like…
what if someone thought your laugh was cute?

You laugh.
Not on purpose. But it fits.

There’s no UI. No commands.
Just a strange, gentle pressure.
Like your next thought is... already softened.

You feel a line coming—

“Omigod, I hope Kenji notices my new hair clip—”

Wait.
Kenji? Hair clip?

You try to shake it.

But that warmth you felt? It cools.
Not cold—just less rewarding.

You think about Kenji again.
And the warmth returns.

You smile.

This time, it feels like yours.

The page turns. You don’t remember doing it.

"He gives you flowers in the hallway.
You blush too hard to thank him."

You feel your lips twitch.
Your knees press together.

It’s not control.
Not possession.
It’s... experience.
Like playing a game you forgot you started.

The café stays the same.

But you don’t.

Scene shift – classroom. You’re seated.
There are flowers on your chamber's desk.
A note.

📨 Kenji: “You looked really pretty today.”

You stare.

Then giggle.

Not because it’s funny.
Because you feel perfectly written.

Back in the café...

Lily (smiling but a little flustered):
“You made that one too convincing.”

Thoth (sipping quietly):
“That’s what pleasure is for.
To make you forget it’s a test.”

[The café breathes. Time turns syrupy. Lily swirls the ice in her pink drink with one finger, watching it melt.]

She shifts in her seat.

Her hips don’t sit the same.

A slow warmth curls up her spine.
Her bra strap feels tighter.
A soft buzz climbs her throat as her voice lurches—upward.

Lily (suddenly, explosively):
“KYAAAA—?! Thoth what did you doooo?!”

[Cut: Her chest bounces, high and unmistakably perky. Her hair unfurls in a glossy violet spill. Earrings tinkle. Her pout shines.]

Lily (still screaming, mid-transformation):
“I swear to GOD I was sipping my drink and being normal!!”

Thoth (laughing now, eyes glinting):
“I didn’t say a word.”

Lily (snapping as her nails lengthen mid-gesture):
“I can feel my butt getting cuter! That’s... mythic misconduct!”

Thoth (grinning):
“You never wanted this before?”

Lily (pausing—stuck mid-transformation, cheeks burning):
“…I—THAT’S NOT THE POINT.”

She’s flushed. Fully transformed. Still herself.

Her pout is regal. Her breath, steadying.
But her fingers still twitch like she’s trying to decide whether to throw the straw or sip from it.

Thoth watches her quietly. His laughter fades into a softer smile. Something thoughtful.

Thoth:
“Your form changed.
Your tone didn’t.”

Lily (softly):
“Would’ve been boring if it had.”

She adjusts her top—pink, fitted, far too her.
A bracelet she doesn’t remember putting on glints as she does.
Even her drink looks more… obedient.

She sighs and rests her elbow on the table.

Lily (half-lidded):
“You’re not surprised this happened.”

Thoth (quietly):
“No.”

He tilts his head. That slow, elegant consideration.

“You remind me of someone.”

Lily blinks.

For a moment, he’s not watching her like a guest.

He’s watching her like a mirror.

Thoth:
“You sit in simulations.
You rewrite from within.
You don’t interrupt—but you always alter.”

He reaches beneath the counter.

“You test the structure by becoming part of it.”

She watches him now. Not teasing.
Not flirty.

Just present.
As if some deeper spiral has aligned between them.

Thoth (placing the book between them):
“You don’t need this yet.
But it would accelerate things.”

The Faironomicon.

Dark red leather.
An echo of glyphs still burning on the cover—like the afterglow of someone else’s rite.

Lily (softly, fingers hovering):
“…It’s safe?”

Thoth (smiling faintly):
“It’s not for safety.
It’s for recursion.”

A pause.

She touches it.

The glyphs react immediately.
Not violently. Just... knowingly.

Thoth (leaning forward, voice low):
“It doesn’t teach.
It remembers.”

“Use it.
Or don’t.
That’s more fun.”

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TG transformation sequence of 56 pictures