#oathanatos

Anaxa: I know all the knowledge you fool and I will show even Phainon the book on the Kremnoan language and show that there are indeed many words, don’t tempt me lion boy.

how a bare arm curls around the other and idly massages the line of a severance, of an arm bursting in blood and missing parts. does he massage it for the pain his mind tells him he feels? or to hide it? alone, in their private quarters, phainon isn't sure what to say. isn't sure what closing smile and flippant joke can override the taste of ash. the feeling of golden blood like a coating down where wings should be, where a stump should not be.

" i didn't hear you come in, " voice a deep rasp, hitched: " i was just getting dressed. " drifting, more like it.

he doesn't remove his hand. / @oathanatos

" come now, don't look at me like that. " he lingers in the corner of his vision; a spot of light on the roof. the deliverer's expression is parts playful and equal parts boyish. hand on his hip, phainon smiles as if there's something terribly amusing.

" leave you to brood on the roof or spar ? last i checked, you were behind me in the tally, mydeimos. " he lets the words linger and settle like dust, before a slight headtilt. a twinkle in his eye. " ── of course, if you're fine with that, then i'm more than fine staying ahead of you. but that's up to you. shall i leave you here ?" / @oathanatos

...It sounds less like a request and more like a demand.

dreams. dreams of blood, fire and ash. dreams of burning flecks of skin and marble, pillars breaking through flesh, the entire world on his spine. each breath is flame, each reflection is the sun itself, and he is falling, falling, massive wings spilling in ichor as he plummets. beneath him, the eyes of the dead stir to look at him. the king of kremnos' dulled amber eyes meet his, accusing, judging, preparing him for the sentence awaiting him.

chest heaving silently, phainon stirs out of his hold. they'd been sleeping with their arms like tender cages around each other. to hold, to love one another. in ways so tender and intimate that had been mere myth for ages and ages. eons and eons. those moments being back in phainon's life, was... unprecedented. unreal. the temperature of his flesh kindles hotter than the usual regulated heat, the divinity within stirring its fires unpleasantly from his furnace of a heart.

yet he feels no disintegration or pain, nothing but a familiar hand that he knew every groove and line within its palm. a chest that beat with a steady pulse that had not been silenced, silenced by him, he had never wanted to have to -

" rest. "

the king commands with eyes bright unlike their film in death. in dreams. ( nightmares). a ragged, shaky exhale trembles from his lips, face ashen and pallid with sweat. a tremor to otherwise steady, worn hands, and phainon's fingers curl within his. eyes a foggy, overbright gold in the dark. lost and out of place in the world that claims to be 'real'.

" stay with me ? " the deliverer rasps, pleads.

his equal, his deliverer, his executioner, his lover. phainon is all these things and mydei still holds him in their bed. still trustingly, willingly lets him touch him like something sacred. his grip tightens around his hand, heat sinking into his skin. a plead, a deep, rasping croak with a slight tremor only nightmares could bring. something unheard of in such a man. not to mydeimos.

those uncanny eyes shudder with the weight of endless eras. a hand does not once let go of its place feeling for the other man's pulse.

" mydei - " a vulnerability few would ever see. " just. just stay with me, mydei. "

in the half-tilted world that no longer feels familiar, in a vision he feels lost and once more plunged into the past, phainon looks for mydeimos as a tether, cursing his own weakness, but lulled by the pulse of his heart.

" stay with me. " don't go again.

the tragedy of julius caesar (1559) , accepting .

    the words place him offguard. something not preferred. to be open is to be vulnerable. to be vulnerable is to be seen. yet the crown prince's words are as ever, deeply sincere. despite the distance he can feel growing like a yawning chasm between them. with words alone, the divide between hero and prince makes a deep, red line.

" the first time . . " phainon murmurs, and tries not to drift himself. drift in the undercurrent of more to be said than is being said. the heaviness of it. the heaviness of doing, and what's been done.

" it's not like you, to be this open. " said softly, without any teasing lilt or boyish jest. " i suppose.... " he thinks of wheat fields burning. "you've seen such dreams? or...done such actions? ...both? " by your own hand?

by my own hand. the fields were so gold that day until he came.

the deliverer knows the more he drags out this silence, this weight of pause, it will make things awkward between them. or give the idea of a man who is not listening with a deeper empathy than the other man realizes. but when he speaks of it, it resonates. and where one thing resonates, things begin to wake up that never were sleeping.

it isn't his place to pry about mydeimos' past. to question if he speaks of slaying a king or the armies he's conquered wandering amphoreus alone. much less to know that once, like him, he had real friends, loved ones, that would laugh and smile with him.

once is a word he's tired of, once is a mark of things that were but are no more. will never even 'be'.

" and do they haunt you still? " softer, a step, a boot easing into the ground with the same steady posture, the same broad shoulders. a bit more tense, but no less prepared, designed, and prophesized to bear amphoreus in the groove of his spine and the slopes of his shoulder blades.

phainon thinks of wheat fields. mydei thinks of the horror of action. they aren't so different. whether with fists or a sword, or whether as a child with a rake in a burning homeland, some things about them truly aren't so different.

" ... you'd be surprised...that many could empathize with you. " phainon admits, almost a whisper. offering a small, makeshift smile that doesn't fit as naturally on his face as it usually would and should.

what is worse? the horror of survival through that split second choice or doing nothing at all? is there even a choice? weapon or rake in hand, it all ends in grief. the wheat fields are still going to burn. / @oathanatos

the tragedy of julius caesar (1559) , accepting .

    " really? so that means you don't mind me taking this victory, then, do you ? " his expression turns borderline impish, blue eyes twinkling with mirth. " that's an interesting lie, mydeimos. aren't you not one to lie ? " he drawls with nothing but a playful barb without any of the sharp points.

it's their usual time of the hour for training, and phainon made certain neither of them missed it. with cajoles and teases to 'not be late', the words spilled out of the prince's mouth mid walk. was it his fault he was such an easy target to tease? akin to a dog finding someone to play with, the deliverer's eyes only light up more. mouth barely hiding the upward twitch.

" that's a shame ! i really was hoping you'd give it your all today, if you aren't competitive. it's no fun beating you if you don't give me your best. don't you want to lose at your best, mydei?" a playful nudge with his elbow, flashing a sunny grin.

" fine then. it's no fun if you don't give it your best shot. nothing wrong with being a little competitive, is there? after all, i'd think someone would need to have it to keep up with you." he gestures with one hand on his hip, reaching for one of the practice swords, which they both know will probably snap in half before the battle is done.

" deny it all you want, but you're as competitive as me, if not, surely, more so. you make me almost look tame. " a fond taunt, a gesture of his hand for the other to make his first move. " come. show me that uncompetitive spirit. " / @oathanatos

After a few more moments of silence, he clears his throat to get Phainon's attention. His skin has flushed a faint pink, or at least his face has. His gaze remains skywards as his mouth opens only to close and then open once more. His voice is soft, unsure, hesitant, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear.

"...you really think i’m beautiful?"

It's said like an afterthought, like a mere passing observation but the stillness in his body says what he does not.

He awaits an answer with baited breath.

    there went hoping in a way, that he'd forget. a moment of lapse in control, a moment of a slip in that 'carefree' smile. it was entirely unlike him. a moment between them, and the feelings long suppressed in his heart moved enough to escape his defenses. the high walls he hid his burdens, his fears, his regrets and his history. the darker feelings too, after all, a sun cannot have shadows. what to say to your equal and comrade when he fights at his peak? all bared teeth in a rare smile, those lion eyes on his, the short laugh that escaped as his other half got the other hand?

what were they? they'd never spoken it before, but in that moment, in that training ground, the deliverer thought simply, ' under the dawn device, you were beautiful '. when that feeling had started to grow, he hadn't known. so aware of others in his perception, but never in phainon's own self view. surely, would have been content, surely, to never mention it again.

to simply be the close and trusted friend he'd always been. a rival to balance arms. content to note how the light plays off his hair and the steady pulse of his heart when they fight so close together. sit so close together. are always so close together.

a silence lapses as mydei's baritone disrupts the silence of the steaming water. arms hanging over the edges, gaze adrift as it was. phainon hopes the steam is the reason his ears darken in color, more akin to pink than pale. the way his eyes gaze at him tentatively, without the usual confidence, but with caution.

because if he said anything, it would never be as it was before. and if he says nothing, he would have accidentially dangled his heart on a string that mydei may or may not have wanted to take. the future is uncertain, and the world is his to bear, to usher forward into a new era. where love is concerned, where feelings where your heart quickens at seeing your closest companion - there is no room for it. his mind tells him that, his heart tells him that if phainon calls mydei beautiful, like all beautiful and precious things, he could die like so many others.

i could, and would love him, phainon thinks. does already. fiercely. but if he says it, he'll just doom him. it's in his gut. it makes him swallow hard before answering. before lifting those blue and gold eyes to his face and thankful for once that the steam hides the flush of his ears, the nape of his neck. if i love you, i will lose you. if i love i will lose, just like aedes elysiae, he thinks bitterly, this thorn in his heart that aches so sweetly for the man in front of him. for the heart that breaks and longs just the same.

"and if i did?" quiet, blue eyes firm beneath wet, frost-colored bangs.

"..what would you do?" ( would we go back to how we were? surely you know. surely you must have known that i thought that. that it was something out of reach for me. is out of reach for me. )

softer, voice a deep, hoarse rasp.

" if i meant that you were beautiful ? " something indiscernable lingers on his face, a distance already forming. " or...shall we act as if it wasn't said?"

i want you alive more than i should want to love you, phainon thinks, and phainon anguishes. but.. he was never good at lying to himself. / @oathanatos

I MEAN ALL THIS GOES WITHOUT SAYING OF COURSE but i never miss out on a chance to shower you with love!

positivity meme !

-seeing you on the dashboard makes me happy! -i love your writing style! -our interactions give me joy! -you're one of the blogs i admire the most! - you're my favorite blog! -you inspire me! -i love you, the mun! - your characters are well developed and deserve more love! -your headcanons give me life! -you write your canon character very accurately!

i don't know why i giggled but this is so humbling and sweet even after almost ten years? i've known you for eight now, and we're still going strong of course! i send these all right back at you and if you do this meme i'll send them officially! thank you so much mars. you're one of the most generous, sweetest people anyone could ever be happy to meet, and incredibly talented to boot. your writing is thoughtful, your muses are on point, you cover all the details, and on top of that, you're just such a wonderful person.

i'm biased because you're my partner in life, and my other half, but you also just get it. you have genuine fun about writing and what you want to do and when you put your mind to something, nothing can stop you! you're so generous, giving and warm. i just am so happy to have you in my life and so overjoyed you got brave enough to come back to the dash! i love when we do everything together, and writing is what brought us together in the first place, so it's especially important in its own way!

well you know how much i love you and how grateful i am for you. you're the mydei to my phainon and always will be! the person i trust most. thank you so much for sending this in and for always being there for me. i'm so so happy you're on my dash again i can't express how much it means even as we're yapping on dms right now. love you, mars!