dream cosmos

"Hey deliv- uh, I mean, kiddo! I need some help deciding somethin', wanna help me out? What kinda flowers do you like? Which one's do you think are the nicest?"

QUESTIONS FOR MY MUSE AS A CHILD .

The response earns a quizzical pair of blue eyes framed in a translucent light. As if the little boy would disappear any moment from his less than opaque appearance.

" . . . flowers ? " ' The boy queries curiously, blinking and tilting his head to one side; a half-transparent hand cupping his cheek. He isn't sure he's the best source of something that pretty in a place like this, with its sand and ruins, the giant sword with the broken sun in the sky and the ground, or the sad hooded man who won't get up, the isolated statue of an unknown man in stone, reaching upwards, further down . . . It's all terribly empty, and all terribly confusing.

Flowers aren't so complicated, though. Something warm and familiar, and unfamiliar, stirs in him. Memories of flowers he's sure he has(n't)? and has seen before flicker to his shaky memory.

" Oh ! I know some ! I don't know how I know them, but I think I really like all the colors ! " Comes his earnest chirp, a peal of light in a place so devoid of life. Peering up at the cat-eared thief, his smile is bright and warm.

" I....I think people I love have those kinds of flowers. I think those were their favorites or reminded me of them. " He looks around the desolate, lonely burial ruins.

" If I list them, could you somehow make them bloom ? I think whoever they are, or um, wherever they are, they'd really like them ! " He peers at her with wonder; uncertain as to why there's a prickle of warm familiarity.

" What kind do you like ? " For some reason, her answer is very important to him.

Oh. Oh no.

oh. well, then. there's a long stretch of silence after the imperator's right hand speaks. no witty quip, no charming, gentle remark. just silence without poise and flushed, pinkening cheeks. phainon's lips set in a thin line. he opens once as if to speak, and again, nothing comes. a sharp glance around, as if darting for any overhearing, and the man politely dips his head before gesturing for them to walk into a corner.

a corner.

with a silence and awkward shift of his boot, uncharacteristic to the usual confidence he bore, the man coughs once into his hand; clearing his throat.

" lady hysilens ? may i please ask you to never call me that again ? "

' . . . my wish ? my wish is to fulfill everyone else's wishes ! and if i can't fulfill them, then 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 . '

independent & selective blog for 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎, 𝐊𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐀 or ' 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐍,' from 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋.

"It's not my fault the Chimeras prefer me." It is actually. Considering he keeps making them cookies. "Maybe they just respect royalty more." And now he's smirking. Mydeimos the lil shit, at your service.

phainon couldn't deny how it somewhat stung. no one loved the chimera cookies more than he did, at least, not that he'd met. none snuck a few fingers into a bag they shouldn't have bought after breakfast to snack on later. certainly not as a reward for surviving yet another grueling, but stimulating meeting with the ever so lovely council of elders . phainon was such a fan of the chimeras, much less their delicious fanmade treats, that he had taken a liking to one called 'vigethos', or as he enjoyed calling them, 'beagle coconut'.

no, it did not sting as a small swarm of chimeras flocked around the crown prince of kremnos; making soft 'awoos' at what he could only guess was a gesture of fondness towards him. to make matters mildly irritating, said prince was now stoically, but with every bit of a big smirk under that stoic expression, a jab about it. phainon could endure many things, loss, grief, homelessness and a bumpkin adjusting to higher levels of society while still keeping to his roots. but this? this absurdity? after all the cookies and merchandise he enjoyed while mydei soaked up their affections ? ridiculous.

thankfully his smile is perfectly intact save for an arched brow, lips curling upwards slightly in a twitch as an idea strikes him. a realization of perhaps who cooked among the chrysos heirs, much less baked. conclusions of why chimeras and other animals were fond of humans to begin with.

so that could be it, could it? interesting.

squaring his arms and crossing them over his chest, the deliverer smiles, effortless and calm. breezy, even. even if this doesn't work against mydeimos, that taunt will still land, and he doubts he isn't wrong about this. despite the prince's penchant for being good with animals, even this had a secret to it. well, he hoped anyway.

"hmm, you think so, mydeimos? i never recall royalty being something chimeras put much stock in. " his lips curve wider. "but you know what they do put more faith in? treats. especially given how skilled in the kitchen you are, " when you aren't feeding me horrible leftovers, " i can't imagine these little guys haven't sampled some of your own, what do you say? but, naturally i doubt you would use such a tactic, mydei. after all, why give yourself an unearned advantage to bribe their affections, no? surely that's what....a....hm, that word you use for me is, right ? but not you. "

" you'd never stoop to making treats to earn their favor without embarking on the regular, patient process, right, mydeimos ? " / @revokosmo

there's a long, almost languid pause.

  or would be, if not for how phainon awkwardly just . . stands there.  a singular moment of just staring blankly at a mixture of blunt and sharpened teeth lightly nibbling on his forearm. then chewing, then biting.  an arm that's still, at least the deliverer is fairly sure, covered in garments aglaea would not like being nibbled and chewed on. he wonders what's become of his companion and comrade today, and arches a pale brow well into his hairline. the citizens of the holy city are staring.

fresh faces ( hollowed from suffering and loss of home ) are wandering through the entrance by dromas carriage. coming to the only bastion of safety left to them. that and . . . well, he was going to greet them and help them find where to start easing in after a long journey, black tide not withstanding but - here he is. a chew toy.

 " mydeimos. " he says calmly, a bit too calmly; glancing at the usually austere kremnoan prince with something akin to exasperation in his schooled expression. as the stares of others continue. even some of mydei's own people are staring. it's not exactly a good look for the prince of castrum kremnos to be chewing, yes, chewing, on his equal and rival like this.

he's hygenic but surely that's not...healthy? 

 clearly, this is the black tide. or, a rare moment of playfulness he isn't sure even phainon himself thinks is appropriate right now.

 " i appreciate the...er, gesture ? well, kind of. but can you stop trying that spot on my arm, you know aglaea won't let me hear the end of it if these clothes she worked so hard on are... " he gestures a bit helplessly; as if somehow that will make his arm freed from the grip his mouth has on said limb.

" can you please stop biting me in public. if you're hungry, there's always marmoreal diner. "

someone help him, mydeimos has lost it and he needs to escort over a hundred refugees and can't do that when a certain pair of teeth are nibbling like he's a piece of jerky.  frankly the thought alone is a bit unnerving. would it ruin the peace if he shoved him off in public? yeah, probably.

 phainon's considering it anyway.

'i thought you were all about restraint ? ' oh he's definitely teasing him in between kisses; the way they bicker - one would think they never would remotely have a finger on the other's person but, he didn't call him a 'kindred spirit' in his heart for nothing . will their pride admit it? probably not.

hard to have diginity when you're sneaking around like escaping a trial a moment before parting hour and a mission.

" that wasn't very restrained, mydeimos . " phainon can't help but point out. it would sound innocent if the taller man's lips weren't swollen; if a cheeky glint wasn't in his eyes. innocent was questionable. it doesn't stop him tugging on his braid to steal another kiss, however. it's dangerous, isn't it ? there is no guarantee on the flame chase of whether either will survive and despite his own 'prophecy', phainon knows that each day is a luxury between all of them.

it's risky. it's risky because it makes the deliverer of amphoreus, the surviving child of aedes elysiae, who sought only other's wishes fulfilled, to wish for another kiss. to wish for another moment. he isn't sure he's ever had a wish before but one long, long ago that was ever like this. ever what phainon could or possibly imagine with the word 'want' much less wish.

after all, a vessel of wishes and dreams, hopes and amphoreus' future - cannot, and will not have such a thing. it's painful enough to have. something in it twists his stomach and warms his bones all at once, and that is a dangerous thing.

gently, uncharacteristically so common the witty quips and teasing jabs the other knows him most to give, calloused hands pull back from embracing the prince's frame. a lingering thumb against his cheek, an almost hesitant trail tracing equally reddened lips.

" come, " maybe there's a trace of relutance there, of resignation, of a kind of longing they both know he will never allow himself to have unless tempted, just like this, and even then....

" we have a mission to go on, don't we ? and you call me forgetful. "

a small, dry quirk of his mouth, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes before he parts. at the very least the softness of his mouth and traces of bruising tell a story in itself. a story where phainon almost remembers or perhaps learns apart from what he could do for others - the sensation of wanting, and how painful it is to even entertain it.

how good it felt all the same.

how as he tugs his hand, a small luxury he'll allow himself, a small selfishness, phainon sneaking down the halls like a guilty child unsure what to do with a hand hovering constantly over a cookie jar he never sinks into. that he wouldn't mind mydeimos kissing him again. that phainon, wouldn't mind kissing him again. any sensation of it dies in his throat, even as the pleasant tingling on his mouth remains, the pulse of his heart, vibrant, alive, the hunger, the almost-want, the conflicting feelings in his chest.

dangerous indeed.

teacher tribbie and hyacine said it was distracting and fun. well, hyacine actually looked kind of uncomfortable. like she wanted to say something but was too kind to really say it. and teacher tribbie well . . by the time she'd arranged what the trailblazer had called a 'disco ball' and turned the lights off save for a 'television' with lyrics of a song, albeit a really weird song, he had no heart to refuse them. he generally was not good at saying no to most people out of a desire to fulfill a need, and this was no different with loved comrades and familiar faces. friends beyond the sky. besides maybe it was fun !

so here he was in his mismatched pink pajamas, hair bound back and green sweater, teddy bear slippers and desperately trying to coordinate with the moves. it wasn't like he couldn't dance. he could! all the festivals he could hazily remember in eons of living through the cycles and their real time beyond in the cosmos had to mean something right? aedes elysiae didn't raise quitters, he'd danced so well back then. had the cycles taken his edge?

so phainon danced. well, tried. struggled, clumsily bouncing from aligning his moves to the lyrics, sometimes laughing, something he thought he'd forgotten and then, non-existent titans this is nothing like aedes elysiae festivals! oh who is th--

...great.

pretending his entire body hadn't jolted like the entirety of phagousa's waters hadn't spilled on his spine, the now very caught deliverer and 'nameless hero khaslana' stared as if caught with raised hands, (well they were raised, he was trying to imitate the chimeras stomping! ) staring just as deadpan. a bit miffed actually, at being ignored from what teacher tribbie had said would be a good way to unwind after .. " well, snowy, i honestly have no idea how old you are now, but you'll always be little snowy to us even if we can't count the numbers anymore ! " yeah, real comforting.

"something you want to say, mydeimos? " it's just as flat, narrowing his eyes as he, without any shame, why should he be ashamed of his adorable teddy bear slippers? his nice pink pajamas? the sweater castorice knitted for him recently that looked like the green pastures of the northern parts of aedes elysiae?

as if prepared for this, or well, grasping desperately for something to use, phainon had an idea. leverage. nothing so beautiful than that when your rival and comrade in arms was out here gloating like some over bloated cat.

he flips his thumb through his teleslate, landing on a particular video . phainon's sudden shift to something light and ominously calm can only bode trouble . if they get in trouble, mydei did it first, obviously.

" .... mind explaining this, then, mydeimos ? because i don't think you did any better. don't mind if i start playing it for us to watch. “ his smile widens into something diabolic.

"after all it's nothing you're ashamed of, right? i'd love to hear about your fun time with bubbles. “ as if you could do any better, it seems for all the man who had endured and endured...bearing both amphoreus and the universe itself all those cycles - he still had not lost that ability to be an instigator.

well, was. this situation didn't count. it was mydei's fault. clearly.

the one who disrupted and instigated trouble into his 'dance therapy' was mydeimos after all. " i think i'm sending this to the others, you wouldn't mind right ? "

dialogue prompts ; accepting . ( link )

[//: 108,646th attempt at breaching the scepter. . . . ]

how utterly frustrating this is . khaslana isn't sure if it's directed towards ' himself ' or the festivities around him . as each cycle turns, with each time another thwarted attempt, the closer this world is going to - so he thinks again.

if he entertains this thought any more he loses another foothold.

for someone with over one thousand and sixty flames of 'divinity' burning in his chest, ' phainon ' would question why the rampant flames within haven't set the entire place ablaze from that emotion resurfacing by itself. the sheer heat eroding away his body, fragile tissue and organ piece by piece, cycle by cycle in a slow rot. how long will this body hold this time?

he'll eventually need another shell. he'll have to keep passing it on. until he fulfills his promise to cyrene. until he fulfills the wishes of the chrysos heirs whose blood stains his hands long before he resets the world once more.

still. he still has such a feeling even now. frustration. it's...new. emotions tend to come and go like the tide, more often sinking into something he isn't sure how much he remembers expressing save for false masks that never look quite human anymore.

he wonders if that's even relevant for his journey; this endless road of which there is no end until dawn arrives. from the rare flicker of emotion beyond a bone-deep weariness.

no, something more ancient than that. as long as he keeps count of their lives ... as long as he keeps track of how long he tries down to the number itself . . . maybe he can remain sane for longer - stay himself. to not forget what he fights for. even if in the end, all he'll be is ash, and reason. emotion. memories. self. they'll all likely have either been forgotten in the fulfillment or blended into something khaslana won't even recognize anymore.

khaslana. it was once a name that his family and village had, as best he can recall, looked upon with great fondness. in his fading imagery, that white haired boy and voice within that never left remains innocent, pure, with that name in their hands. it shone so bright, full of dreams and brilliance like no other light in the world.

it's become such a filthy name now. neither name really belongs to him anymore, does it? but that pure name is tainted, and there is no west wind or tomorrow for him, to see it reclaimed unsullied.

and ... 'phainon the deliverer' is only a pretense. a nickname from the same bloodied tree, no different in meaning but sounding unlike the other enough to use not as a nickname among allies, but a facade among obstacles he still questions if he can change that about them or not.

he thinks this time, no, he's more than half certain at this point, that they're going to do the same things this time too.

should he even attempt to blend in? aglaea's threads are all over this meeting. he wonders what she senses with her threads about him - the first few cycles he recalls that for all her loss of self, her horror hadn't changed. and after all, he's not the one she's celebrating with. he's a stand in for the 'hero of okhema' . someone he once wanted to be, but never was meant to.

he doesn't bother recalling the other recollections, the hatred, the fear, the betrayals, the realizations, they all end too quickly by the fourty second cycle they're golden blood on his fingers. they're saturating him with unwanted heat and tears long dried out from which side, he isn't sure anymore.

he doesn't need to be anything but exist until it's finished, right ?

so he ponders his options. the destruction tries to tilt his will towards slipping further into its cruel calculations. whispers that he should just overpower them all as easily as he has before when reason did not work. tries to make him think instead of do or do without reason. right now, he still can reason with them.

even if it's in vain, khaslana still has that choice - and so do they, to predictably say 'no'. over and over and over again . . .

a long, quiet sigh that gives no change in the burning in his throat. the way it rattles in lungs he isn't sure are intact anymore after so long. it's irrelevant. he knows what's at stake, and managing his body is irrelevant. even pretenses are irrelevant, it whispers again, but khaslana simply lifts the goblet to his lips and doesn't even flinch at the pain that he can still feel going down into an empty stomach.

he hasn't eaten in hundreds of cycles. that's pointless too. maybe if he rearranges his plate -

' have you eaten anything today? '

memories resurface, albeit becoming more fragmented; like shards in his brain that don't fit as much as they should. feel as much as they should. save the owner of the voice; steady and so utterly stubborn as always. sometimes he wonders if at this point he doesn't resent that stubborness instead of admire it like he used to.

" mydeimos. "

has the name changed for him since that day ?

' phainon ' idly sets his plate down, pieces arranged just enough to look as if some had been eaten. he's done this song and dance before. with them, with him. he'll do it again. as many times as it takes until there's a single sliver of sunlight. until that pale dawn breaks.

he hasn't called him 'mydei' in a while. if he has, khaslana is losing memory of it. even if he hadn't taken a step, the image of him alone would have eyes, despite their wishes, or perhaps at this point, resignation, shifting to his uncovered spine.

his tone carries little; deep, steady and unsettling in the way that a puzzle doesn't quite fit the theme of the entire piece it's placed in. how his lips tug into something that tries to mimic a smile but isn't quite right. how the fire in his eyes burns but does not give any light to that blue glance.

" ... " that's new. hesitation. does he still have that ? he wonders as his chest begins to ache, like a stab. as his memory echoes in static but clear enough still to remember that this stubborn, foolishly proud man in front of him wished him eternal victory. how frustratingly foolish and sure he's always been.

does he still admire that? or does it fill him with bitterness that he won't hand him what would spare his life and the world his loss? of khaslana his loss? of phainon his loss? but khaslana is not a name he was ever familiar with, and even now it holds a different meaning than aedes elysiae's affections and his people's words. of him.

khaslana the executioner has butchered the boy who made it bright. it doesn't belong to him. nothing has ever belonged to him. to all of them. save the choice they make against each cycle in this twisted vision of 'fate' he'll one day burn with his sword into pieces and pieces and piecesandpieces--- the rage is growing, the fire needs feeding. it burns because it has to, after all.

he sucks in an inaudible breath; in hopes of quieting and masking the ever consuming blaze that drowns all other remaining feelings save numbness. save memories that spark either something or almost nothing or an anguish that clouds a sanity beginning to teeter.

eyes raise to the kremnoan crown prince and see only a man hanging on dawnmaker's blade in a thousand different ways. no longer friend, not quite dearest of companions, most amicable of rivals, not quite anything, but still everything. just as the others are. they are blurring, they are everything, and they are remembered by their wishes in his hollow chest and he can't let the destruction take that from him too.

his grip on his goblet falters, just once, before deft, tainted hands curl around it once more and bring it to his lips. meeting his eyes and pretending he doesn't see a corpse standing in front of him instead. that the wine tastes like nothing.

'deliverer . . . i wish you eternal victory. '

" no, i'm not. " khaslana says blankly; quickly schooling his expression into something more human and believable.

a mimicry at best of what he had been once, when they'd debated over what truly was worth the weight of the world.

" apologies, mydeimos. it looks delicious, but i'm afraid i don't really have the appetite for it. the mistake of eating before coming. " he hasn't eaten since fire replaced his stomach.

something touches his lips in a tiny, worn smile. maybe it's all he can give at this point to the shadow of the mydei he once knew, whose name hasn't changed since he mentioned it three....yes, three cycles ago.. or he surely recalls. he tries. something barely human but echoing with sentiment to the friend and dear companion he had rarely ever been on the same road with - and likely, wouldn't again.

' in the next life, i shall once again block your path. '

" i'm not hungry, but please, don't let me keep you. help yourself." a brief gesture of his hand to the table before the 'deliverer' nods his head, and the 'executioner' prepares his exit. he speaks to a stranger with the voice of a ghost that isn't but is, and steps out of his way.

how long until even this name isn't the same?

fall starters ; accepting / source.

" well, someone's excited aren't they ? " a teasing lilt to a warm voice; phainon's blue eyes crinkling with no small amount of mirth. he's starting to wonder if outworlders is going to become a common trend, torn between wonderment of it and foreboding.

this planet is no place for innocents to be near those like him, dedicated to a cause that demands everything, his life, his identity, his personhood, his future - and the future ordained that so many others will fall along the wayside. how much should he really indulge remi in their fascinations of amphoreus? this little village too familiar to his village brings up...mixed emotions. but it's rather hard to to linger for long when his hand is dragged, and no small feat to do so; given the man's strength and build.

" easy, now ! " the deliverer laughs; feeling like he's with some strange incarnation of his old, well loved dog. big snowy would surely feel competition with this canine like bard, how their ears wiggle like a child's, a puppy. he wonders where that whimsy of his went - he also knows the answer.

" we have some time, perhaps . . . " a hand teases at his chin as if stroking it in mock contemplation, baiting the other into thinking he has second thoughts. it's all well - intentioned playfulness, sky blue eyes warm on their face, crinkling into half moons with suns in the center.

" i jest, my friend. " phainon claps their shoulder, towering rather easily over the fluffy eared musician with a chuckle that hums in his throat like a breeze. "it's not often we find fertile ground not touched by the black tide . . . i suppose you're worthy of knowing some true ways to enjoy the art of leaf jumping. " he thinks of aedes elysiae, of tossing leaves on livia and piso despite being older. he thinks of his parents, shaking their heads as they combed out piles of them from his snow white hair. he thinks of galba and miss pythias, one laughing, one shaking her head with barely withheld fondness.

he thinks of cyrene, giggling in mock outrage as he dunks her with a feeding trough full of leaves. ever looking for his older friend's praise. her surprise. that whimsical joy that they both always had in common.

once, anyway - and his chest hurts, hurts like grief and ash in his throat.

remi doesn't let it hurt so deeply with their tugging though, that intense throbbing nestled between his ribs turning into something gentler, no less aching, but bearable.

the worldbearer can't really be anything but one to find everything bearable anyway, or he would not be fit nor worthy to hold up amphoreus to begin with.

tall gait catching up to them, he folds his fingers in theirs, a palm ruffling soft ears and hair similar to his own. phainon even messes it up a little; after all, it's just going to get ruined later by copious leaves this village has spread around.

he ignores, for how long? for later. it's hard to focus when someone is so cheerful, is so genuinely happy and bright about the littlest things that aren't so little.

phainon now takes the lead, a light but strong tug as big strides close in on an area riddled with leaves.

" well ? we have to make the pile first, don't we, remi ? then i'll teach you everything on how a professional does leaf jumping . you just so happend to stumble upon an expert. "

laughing, and for once his laughter doesn't hurt, the man walks past and starts arranging them with calloused hands, ignoring the flickering afterimage of wheat fields in his line of sight - no, focus on the present.

the present. remi's laughter sounds a lot like what he wants to protect. innocent wishes, wishes from others . . his childhood resolution comes to mind.

fulfilling everyone's wishes doesn't bar him from having a little fun, now does it ? he wonders if he'll ever look at something good and think he deserves it. for now, it's remi's happiness he wants to fulfill. even as silly as leaves in a village resilient while it lasts.

" remi ! i'm going to beat you at making the biggest pile at this rate if you can't keep up, you know ! or do you want to lose so badly ? " mischievous eyes twinkle as he playfully tosses a handful at their face, chuckling into his worn hand.

" come, i'll teach you. there are some tricks from my village i know. " strange, he rarely ever mentions aedes elysiae as anything to anyone. nostalgia is a strange, hopeful, cruel little thing that isn't little at all. it burns in his chest, and he smiles, something a bit sorrowful for a flicker of a second before the bright smile is back.

and for once, it is earnest and genuinely excited.

" once i'm done as your mentor, you'll be having people fall into leaf pits like it's a science, endlessly bouncing from each jump may as well propel you into the sky! need i go on ? don't get me started on the leaves hitting like arrows no one sees coming . harmless arrows, of course. oh remi, i'm about to open your world." well, phainon forgets his own strength but remi should be fine, right?

" you coming, my friend ? " he calls, and for once, sees the present, and only a flicker of the past. phainon thinks it a mercy, for once. the gold wheat can sway another time. remi's innocent, trusting eyes, demand his attention far more.

send a 💕 for me to post positivity / anonymously or not about someone ! accepting .

i wouldn't be starting this out right if i didn't go first for @revokosmo / @zelotae .

we've known each other for over a decade which uh, wow i feel old ??? you're only old once you feel it or you are a senior citizen but i hope to keep my childish whimsy for as long as possible .

there's no real way to explain how much you mean to me, both as the perfect writing partner, the yin to my yang, my partner in crime and the my.dei to my phai.non. we just get each other in a way no one else will. what started out as an internet friendship where yes, we saw each other as real people but never made it beyond writing and fun times, but through every big turmoil in my life, you've been there. you've supported me, you've always been my biggest supporter and best friend, and that doesn't do you justice.

you are so many things to me mars, and you know every single one of them, and while an entire country and ocean separates us, i always feel close to you every single day and it isn't that i don't wish you were with me, but i am always content because you are the person who understands and knows me the most. over a decade of highs and lows and wins and losses shared between us as a team and single unit taught me that.

i do not trust easily. but when you say something mars, i believe you. i always do, and given our respective lives and experiences, it is no small thing for me to trust someone implicitly despite being a generally bubbly, extroverted person. to say this is a long distance relationship is the simplified version. the honest version is there are no words and i don't know if we could ever sum up what we were to each other in a language anyone knew but us. instead people have to watch our shenanigans until tumblr burns to the ground and then you and i find new adventures because of you most likely starting it first lmao.

you are not just someone i met on the internet but someone i'm so thankful i'll know and be able to care about until i get gray hairs and wrinklies or w/e (yikes lily) and just . even if we weren't writing, even if we lost interest in some of our 99.9 shared hobbies, nothing would change. the feelings wouldn't change, the loyalty to each other, the affection, all of it.

to sum it up, i cannot accurately in a note express how much and all you mean to me, or how grateful i am, how i'm so happy i got into h.onkai star ra.il because one, i wanted to join you in your fun of it, and also it ironically brought us somehow even closer, when i didn't think we could get closer.

you're just mars, and i'm lily, and we're a package deal. i don't have a temper generally but when i do, hoo, it usually involves if i feel someone isn't great to you or anyone else i love, but if anyone was like that to you it would be a :) fun time. normally people aren't stupid enough to try and test your more fierce nature, but if they are people won't find me as gentle. we are the do not separate meme, we are the 'someone will die' (you), 'of fun' (me), shenanigans, we are the 'they share one braincell'.

we're mars and lily, and we're always going to be mars and lily, and there never won't be a moment i'm not recommending you or yapping about you to others i love.

we made something real out of what originally was just two people with shared hobbies and fandoms, and i'll never regret a second of that. i just know where i go, you do, and where you go, i follow. and that's never gonna change.

you know exactly how i feel about our bond and the experiences we share, the care we have about our mutual friends, the everything about it. and all i can say is i couldn't ask for someone better to know me as fully as you do. i'm so lucky and thankful i have you in my life, and plan to be in yours always, no matter what, good and bad times. just like we always have done it.

no matter what changes, our bond never will, and maybe that's the biggest comfort for me. your writing is impeccable, your graphics are so creative and pure art, your analyst skills are insane, your talents are amazing, your generosity, your kindness, your humor, all of it. i just feel content and you know how big a deal that is for me after all we've been through in life.

you bring so much happiness to my life more than you'll ever know. and i hope i bring the same and always want to. this wouldn't be a positivity meme if i didn't start with you first.

so here i am done with my yapping saved for those i trust, and who do i trust more than you? here's to the many, many years ahead, and all who get dragged into our shenanigans.

i never imagined we'd be here, but i couldn't ask for anything better. thanks mars, and even that feels like an understatement.

also if you're not following mars, i think you should. to those that are people we've also known for a long time, they know we're inseparable.

and despite being squeezed between sharp claws from the prince's gauntlets, phainon is none the worse for wear ! albeit a bit stretched thin, his cheeky, unfettered smile remains bright on his face; his voice even more so. almost like he's proud of himself.

" ah - ah, careful there, mydeimos . " he drawls, all the while being held like some kind of oversized, far too tall toy in his grip, that voice ever teasing, (perhaps at times infuriating) in its all too easygoing lilt.

" people might imagine you're fond of me at this rate . whatever will they think ? "

he...really should ask the trailblazer and dan heng what a 'goob' means . . it likely falls under something akin to whatever 'hks' symbolizes. for now, he'll just dangle in his grip like an oversized noodle, eyes twinkling.

softer prompts.

he says the strangest things to a woman knee deep in rice paddies. the earth dancer's worn fingers tracing the flow of runes within the fledgling stalks. to see if they prosper. her leggings will need a proper rinse; her sleeves are covered in water and soil, moisture clinging to her moonlit hair.

there's enough of a gap of time for there to be a long breath of air between them; lips parted in a quiet acknowledgement, pale lilac eyes flitting to his face as if magnetically drawn. maybe she's been this way since they were children. despite the ravages of war and suffering, subaru remains bright. ironic, given her namesake means the same yet here she finds herself marveling at how easy such words come to him - and how hard they do at the same time.

mokoshiro - woolby, seems to notice the quieted atmosphere around them. even her fellow villagers seem to be chuckling quietly to themselves as they murmur with a reverent nod, we'll let you be, kaguya-san, or some more brazen, less polite but earnest, well there, chief, i'd hate to ruin the atmosphere, some more sweet, well she is a beauty, his opinion of our earth dancer is warranted - praise that makes the tips of her ears pinken as she sheepishly bows.

yes, bows. in the middle of the rice paddies. with dampened white hair catching rays of sunlight akin to making her translucent. and wet. and a bit dirty, and not really as magical as the black dragon's former rider thinks she is.

she can almost hear woolby cackling from here ! his smaller form lies about his true nature, she swears by all the venerable gods made friend - oh.

azuma's protector hasn't said anything. beneath her farming gloves and the pail of water she uses to rinse the stalks, her scarred hands twitch as if in nervousness.

kaguya prides herself on her composure, or rather, it's natural. she's always been calm, fluid, confident and steady. like a gentle river in a stream, going where it may and leaving trails of light just enough for one to swallow, enough to digest before leaving bigger trails of it. it's a talent of hers, and perhaps a curse given she is not unaware of how some villagers speak of her, a 'beauty' . they think.

kusatsu-san even thinks she's 'gorgeous' and she's certain he's just joking, as friends do. not with her scarred body and calloused hands. her inability to communicate so whimsically as her childhood friend. her fellow dragon rider. the one who has engraved himself into the woman's heart and the very strands of her snowy hair like that promise so long ago.

inhaling a soft breath; lest she jolt at how long she's been staring with heat frustratingly gathering in her cheeks, she looks for a cloth to wipe her hands, careful to remain meticulous and methodical despite how...unseemly she looks. how subaru doesn't laugh at her. how those warm, golden eyes only speak as if it's a fact as clear as kai-san drinking sake and failing to pay yachiyo-san his tab.

she deliberates on what to say, realizing the silence is going on awkwardly long, long enough that woolby would chastise her for the lack of smooth, calm words that always fell so gently and precisely in almost every other moment. not with subaru, it seems, not after all this time, kaguya muses sheepishly.

and just as sheepishly does she tuck a strand of pale hair behind her ear; the plum blossom hair pin catching light under the morning sun.

" oh. i - i see. " she half murmurs; as if testing it on her tongue. as if with the clarity of a fumbling teenager who back then was more concerned with sword training, her dancing, and archery lessons from the very man before her. if her voice is even softer than usual, she makes no comment, certain she's made a mess, and a slight to his kind words.

you don't even realize how kind you still are, do you, subaru? how despite all you've endured, you're still the same at heart.

with pink spreading to pale skin; barely tanned by her endless days on the field abroad and near, kaguya finds her fingers still curling into her hair, nervously wondering beneath that calm, albeit flustered expression if he notices that she can't stop fiddling with it. she'd clasp her hands in front of her torso like usual in a composed, unwavering bastion. she has to be most days.

until subaru opens his mouth.

" i'm . . . half soaked in a rice paddy, subaru. " it's wry; but as warm and gentle as it always had been, the more soft spoken of the two by far. her lips twitch in a shy smile, ducking a purple gaze before lifting back to him once more. hand falling loosely to her side from fiddling with her hair.

"and...dirty. and ah, well, you know, not exactly too magical, you realize ? yet. i always know you mean what you say. you've always been like that, haven't you? " but she laughs, a soft giggle of amusement and equal measures charm, both from her and from his effect on her as she shakes her head. her eyes soften with such fondness.

"sometimes you say the silliest things. even if i know they come from your heart. even so . . . " she gestures to herself, then thinks of all of herself, scarred, burdened, tired, hopeful and resilient as iron. but not quite the same. neither are quite the same.

"thank you. it...makes me very happy. "

she can feel her ears turning from pink to red. it seems subaru's effect on her is very much the same despite everything.

how embarrassing . . . .

" is mydeimos the undying fleeing his own challenge ? " his tone is ripe with amusement despite the slight warmth to his cheeks; the hidden but tell - tale pulse of his heart. phainon grins; all white teeth in half a leer and all brilliance . no airs, no practiced smiles to deflect or to conceal the heavier parts of him. nothing but something light; like he imagines a cloud in the sky .

a lighter thing makes a lighter sun; even if it burns all the same.

" i'm taller, you know. i'll cross in record time. is there a word in the kremnoan language for chickening out after a kiss ? " he all but playfully lilts from behind. his blue eyes warm with deep amusement and equal measures a shared affection, one that often had no need for words.

it's rare to see mydei grinning with reckless abandon, even more so than him; the deliverer who uses his smile as both a balm and a shield or the smoke of a distraction. many things, but this time, it's entirely real. in this moment, they are friends, comrades - in - arms, something unspoken on the tongue while having been spoken in every other way. they are each other's equals, and to no one but the other could their back be entrusted in such a way.

he makes fast strides in his gait before amphoreus' deliverer breaks into a sprint; after all, now that the challenge has been issued, what else can phainon of aedes elysiae do but rise to meet it ?

a turn, a dip against a potted plant or slick mat on the roof and he's racing before long limbs carry him into an effortless leap, one others might consider super - human but what are chrysos heirs if not the 'ideal of the people ' ? ( and for now , perhaps it's best in the fleeting moments of joy and ignorance that they do. )

a laugh escapes his lips; unfettered and free, while mydei relied on raw strength and no defense; phainon had the upper hand he liked to believe, in speed and precision. racing after his friend, snickering like a boy about to catch his latest fixation, phainon reaches out and grabs his arm.

his lips mean to aim for the cheek, really. they do ! but instead miss and land on his own; phainon shirking off as best he can his embarrassment for the surge of triumph rushing through golden blood. the smugness of ' victory '.

he doesn't even pant, only a few breaths to catch himself before the 'hero of amphoreus' smirks; his pink - dusted cheeks betraying him, eyes crinkled with such mirth and affection that they're half moons in his face.

" i win. " he breathes; before leaning in only to shove him ever so gently. " now let me teach you how to really play tag . "

and off he runs; leaving nothing but reckless joy, wild laughter and a heart pounding far louder than he cares to admit. it must be adrenaline, surely.

" don't slack off mydeimos ! or are you ready to lose ? "

mydei: drinks a whole glass of wine and his face is already kinda red and he's swaying a lil bit and slurring his words a teeny bit before falling asleep on phainon's shoulder 🙂‍↕️

a little buzz, but that's as safe as he can play it. glancing at his companion on the other hand . . . well, phainon wonders if he should have expected this, or be baffled that mydeimos the undying is already down for the count ? his rival, his equal, dearest friend, fellow chrysos heir, the one to watch his back - literally swaying like a newborn foal instead of the mighty lion he was often compared to ?

( it's... endearing - and - funny. )

the deliverer looks at their patrons with something slightly strained in an otherwise sunny, gentle little smile; not quite moving his hands from where they rested at his side against the couch. there is a slight twitch of fingers, as if he wants to do something, but not sure what, steady him perhaps ?

" didn't exactly last past a glass did you, mydeimos ? or am i being generous ? " he murmurs to him lightly; fondly, knowing full well that the prince with no crown is out like a light. he can't really help but tease a little even if he's unconscious. maybe to distract himself from how peaceful he looks; no scowl on his face and all smooth lines; no furrowed brows or perpetual fire of preparation in his gaze. just closed lids and breathing that he'd consider peaceful, given the man most suited to inherit the strife coreflame .

( i wonder when...you ever got the chance to rest? )

he checks the time on his teleslate with a warm tumble of blond hair and cheek on his shoulder, against the curve of his neck as phainon decides not to move. it isn't to closing time yet ; and while even he wouldn't point out that he won this round of a simple contest, well, not yet anyway, he decides a little while can't hurt. a little rest. some soft breaths and hopefully some kinder dreams than blood, war and loss. pressure from a people who look to him in a similar way that the people of amphoreus look to the deliverer.

( kindred spirits . . . huh . )

if phainon of aedes elysiae quietly threads loose fingers through his hair and moves his head and frame steadier into his left side to make mydei more comfortable, then no one is the wiser.

" just sleep for now. i'll gloat later. " softly said without any real grit; more like something indecipherable in the man at times presented as an enigma. snow white hair curls back into the wall behind him as he finds his fingers twitching as if to comb through golden strands again - a dangerous game of wants and lines that he isn't allowed to have nor cross.

" rest well, mydei. "

you won't remember this anyway.