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@valourbled
# 𝖁𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖚𝖗𝕭𝖑𝖊𝖉 a private and selective interpretation of 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐍 from 𝙷𝙾𝙽𝙺𝙰𝙸 : 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁 𝚁𝙰𝙸𝙻. headcanon based / potentially canon divergent and not spoiler free. highly unaffiliated with the fandom as a whole. 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 : @mydeii. 𝐈. 𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖇𝖔𝖆𝖗𝖉. 𝐈𝐈. 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙.
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if mydei were so easily deceived, he would not have survived as long as he has. it’s an amusing notion, considering his immortality should make him impervious to death’s reach. yet, mydei’s belief in his own survival stems not from the blessing of eternal life but from his unwavering confidence in his abilities — his strength, his resolve, and the sheer force of will that has carried him through countless trials. intelligence plays no small role in this equation either, and mydei is far from ignorant when it comes to the finer points of survival and strategy. to operate as effectively as he does, he must possess sharp critical thinking, the patience to strategize and wait for the perfect moment, and the discipline to immerse himself entirely in his goals. observing, studying, and adapting are second nature to him. phainon, on the other hand, can appear almost careless in comparison, especially when he puts on that all-knowing smile to veil what is hidden.
of course, mydei notices when something is amiss. he doesn’t need anything to be overtly wrong, even the faintest sense of imbalance or unease in the air is enough to set off his instincts. phainon might attempt to conceal his feelings, but mydei is too perceptive sometimes, too attuned to the nuances of their bond, to overlook such things. yet, for all his insight, prying does not come naturally to him. he struggles with asking the right questions, with peeling back the layers of another’s thoughts and feelings. it’s not his nature to push, to dig when the answers aren’t freely offered. unless, of course, he is forcing the words out of another's mouth. still, he resolves to try gentler. perhaps later, if the unsettled flicker in phainon’s gaze remains, mydei will find the right moment to ask again. for now, he observes, silent and watchful, waiting for the threads of the moment to unravel just enough to reveal the truth beneath.
over the years, many have crossed mydei’s path — warriors hardened by battle, gods shrouded in power, and kings burdened with crowns. they were formidable adversaries, fleeting allies, and, on occasion, companions worthy of trust. yet, none of them hold a candle to what phainon has become. phainon is different, singular in a way that defies easy explanation. he carries himself with an air of unbothered ease, the persona of a man who seems effortlessly carefree. he never hesitates to lift the spirits of those around him, his presence as light as it is infectious. phainon breathes life into every room he enters, every conversation he touches, like a gust of warm wind in an otherwise cold expanse.
for all his guardedness, mydei willingly gives phainon something he withholds from almost everyone else: his time. time is precious, and mydei, who guards it with the ferocity of a warrior protecting his strongest weapon, finds himself offering it freely when it’s phainon who asks. why give it to others when he could save it for this? for the fleeting hours in which he can exist beside phainon without the weight of the world pressing so heavily against him. phainon’s body is a refuge, a sanctuary where mydei discovers moments of respite. a shelter and a safehouse far away from the battlefield. temporary though it may be, its significance is far from diminished. it is a rare and quiet solace, the closest he has ever come to feeling truly comfortable. and yet, for all the safety phainon provides, it is never an anchor. it cannot be. mydei knows that their time together, however good, is destined to be brief. they will separate, as they always do. it is inevitable. they will drift to their respective paths, their lives divided by space and duty, reduced to no more than a call away yet feeling as though they inhabit entirely different worlds. even this, even phainon, is something he cannot hold onto forever.
❝ have i been evading you ? oh, how dramatic you are. ❞ mydei has always prided himself on being good at keeping others at arm’s length, at maintaining a carefully curated distance. or so he thought, until phainon came along. phainon, who apparently refuses to let go when others would have turned away long ago. it’s not something mydei resents. in fact, he couldn’t be ungrateful even if he tried. there’s a kind of undeniable comfort in being truly seen, in having someone persistently push past the barriers and still choose to stay. to be known, even in fragments, is a feeling mydei hadn’t realized he needed until phainon offered it in his way. the connection doesn’t demand perfection or complete understanding. mydei doesn’t pretend to know every facet of phainon’s being, nor does he expect phainon to claim the same about him. there’s an unspoken agreement between them, an acceptance of the mysteries they each hold close. mydei often finds himself drawn to the enigma that is phainon, the depths of those lake-blue eyes concealing a thousand secrets he may never fully uncover. yet he doesn’t feel the need to dive headlong into those alluring, blue depths — not yet, anyway. instead, he chooses to remain beside phainon, embarking on a journey that will surely take time, one step and one discovery at a time. and perhaps that journey doesn’t have to begin with grand revelations or profound exchanges. maybe it starts with something simpler, something playful — a bite here, a claiming nip there. because with phainon, even the smallest gestures feel like an invitation to something deeper.
❝ perhaps you are already dead and this is not real. tell me, phainon, how do we know that we are alive ? ❞ this could all be a dream — a fleeting illusion from another realm where even lifeless souls are not spared the capacity to dream. mydei allows the thought to linger only briefly before dismissing it, already leaning in with purpose. he shifts to claim more space, his movements deliberate, as he goes in for a second bite. this one lands on phainon’s shoulder, bolder and more stubborn in its aim to elicit a stronger reaction. an arm slides around phainon’s waist, though the gesture is loose and fleeting, a transient embrace meant either to draw him closer or to prevent him from retreating. mydei isn’t entirely sure which it is — perhaps a bit of both. with phainon held within reach, he takes another taste, this time sinking his teeth into the firmness of his bicep. the pressure is enough to leave another mark, an unmistakable imprint of mydei’s presence, as though each bite is a quiet declaration of intent. he doesn’t need words when actions speak louder, and for now, this is how he claims his space, his closeness, his understanding of phainon. ❝ better yet, show me. ❞
Phainon had curated this sense of careless ease with the diligence of someone who understood its inherent worth. Conversations often reaped benefits that could not be seized by other, less philanthropic means. Having risen from the despondent ashes of his past, his muscles mutinous and his knees buckling pitifully, inferred that this phainon, who differentiated himself from that past by adhering to the path of valour, might not have always been so refined in his gallantry. Once, long ago he had idled amongst those somnolent hours right before dusk and said with utter conviction that he only wanted to ever be a hero for those closest to him. Back then it had only extended to the boundaries of that secluded village now effaced from time itself. Now, however, his purview has expanded, encompassing a path so vast that the past’s significance became dull before it. Their flame-chase was an all encompassing ambition, one they were not fortuitously chosen for but fated to endure, subsuming that purpose into himself had given him the capacity to become somewhat convincing, even when it came to himself.
He still finds himself preferring this, circling one another with renewed fervor. How could it feel anything but gratifying to know someone as strong and competent as Mydei had chosen him as a rival; witnessing his fortitude and deciding it was equal to his own. Mydei has never tried to exhume the specifics of his past and in return Phainon does not impudently demand he unveil his. For those two it did not matter, so entrenched in the present, committed to the battles they might face and the critical junctures in history they were to form that the present held more importance that what had led them to it. That was how Phainon felt, atleast. Even if it was partially to severe himself from the past and tenaciously seize the ambition fate had chosen for him, claiming accolades by circumventing the calamity their world was hurtling towards. Although — he has yet to banish the thought that the man before him was more deserving of that devastating flame, vowing to govern their ascension. Perhaps it is this which troubles him the most, unable to accept the next development and acknowledge fully that his efforts had not been in vain with the promise of godhood lurking upon the horizon. It was part of that fervent ambition to accomplish this goal so he has yet to comprehend the reluctance that clung to him so stubbornly.
Phainon had once believed he was rather competent when it came to revealing only what he desired but Mydei’s shrewd gaze penetrates deep, unearthing all that was furtively kept with but a cursory glance. It was because he knew where to look, never needing to bother himself with prying in order to discern how his comrade felt, whether he was at ease or plagued by disquiet, it was all the same. He cannot bring himself to abhor it, despite all of the effort he had exhausted in order to become a convincing half-truth he has found that when he finally is allowed to relent that there was relief shrouded within it. These are the moments where he feels profoundly seen by him, divesting him of that veneer of geniality. It felt so aberrant, so beyond his control, that he cannot quite resist the urge to tease in order to disperse it. Only when he was prepared, truly prepared, did he think he might muster the mettle needed to speak it aloud. It was shameful to act so intentionally evasive, especially when Phainon strove to be a steadfast companion, an ally any would be honoured to campaign beside. So he settles for this, leaving this moment unchanged despite his reservations, if Mydei was going to proffer him the oblation of his time it seemed only equitable that he reciprocate with something of equal value. He could feel the insurmountable weight of it settle in his hands, refuting the urge to return to carefully fortifying himself, as if consolidating his defences might rectify that vulnerability. All of his audaciously infectious mirth seems to become malleable when it is contorted by the hands of his most revered rival, a man so dauntless that he knows, without room for uncertainty, that he would not balk before any truth laid before him. In the end there was no other he would rather be upon this journey with, standing before the encroaching catastrophe without feeling even a slither of trepidation. ❝— do you hate that side of me so ? ❞ he teases gently, wanting nothing more than to remain transfixed by his unyielding stare. That molten, aureate gaze serves as a polarity to his own, compelling the placid waters of enigmatic blue to churn under their oppressive intensity. To reveal so much without the necessity of redundant words, accepting this perilous undertaking whilst turning his bare palms to the heavens in offering. It was a silent invitation, asking only the Mydei choose how he wishes to witness him, unimpeded by anything else. Vulnerable not despite but because they are not facing adversity. Vulnerable because they remain side by side like this, intercepting one another with ripostes that came oh so effortlessly. Vulnerable because there seemed to be less of an exigent need to conceal things when they came together.
❝ So, it is also you that shall escort my soul into the afterlife ? ❞ the curvature of his mouth is more genuine now, as if the absurdity of someone was distinguished as Mydei descending to shepherd his soul was terribly amusing. ❝ To be fortunate enough to not only have you as my ally but my guide ? oh, the envy this will invite. ❞ if this was an illustory realm, nothing more than an interlude between the shedding of blood and heaving in breaths of hopeless, arid air, then his gratitude seems only proper before that act of unbridled compassion. Mydei responds in kind, dismissing it whilst ruthlessly brandishing his own intent. The second bite is a commandment, denying him the privilege of repudiation because it was him, them, stubborn and bold and — unspeakably hungry. It is with that imperious undertone that he speaks now, having tasted and savoured the salt of his skin until he was satisfied. Uttering anything feels inane when his lips and tongue convey all that is necessary, his supple skin an unspoken invitation, requesting that his shameless mouth leave evidence of its claim in lurid contusions rather than a mere transient imprint of his teeth. Absently Phainon’s hand drifts down, tentatively grazing the back of his hand before seizing it, not as a deterrent but to become a guide, imploring him to ascend further, to firmly press the swells of his fingers into the irresistible skin separating his touch from the turbulent thrumming of his heart. ❝ If we were dead there is no way I would be so responsive, right ? ❞ he laughs incredulously despite how the other warrior’s teeth are still buried resolutely in his skin. He has tasted death on numerous occasions, stood vigil alongside the tenuous boundary between life and what came after, so he knows this is not quite that, its allure is different, more parlous. He urges him to drag his fingers through that negligible barrier of clothing and to truly feel the thunderous cadence he has elicited with such puerile acts of possessiveness. Phainon was not innocent in this, if anything, he seeks fervently to exacerbate the predacious shadow that paces restlessly behind the prince’s ribs. ❝ have you been shown to your satisfaction ? ❞ he offers with all the graciousness this charged atmosphere could possess, his mouth an impression of amiability as it verged into something sharper, more sincere. ❝ or was his highness hoping for something more specific ? ❞
“We’ll never be those kids again.”
— Frank Ocean; Ivy
@mydeii. They are driven to vigilance for this world of theirs is tumultuous even when quelled to silence, phainon has grown accustomed to filling the apertures of it with the mirthful quarrelling of friends, lest it grow to become cavernous — insatiable. It’s an inferred kindness that requires no true explanation, mydei knows him intimately enough to recognize the way his ambling words carry themselves, even if he is only to tersely intervene should he become too insolent for his own good. It is a disparate tension that simmers between them now, an indistinct whisper that refuses to be silenced. His smile has yet to show reluctance, balking before ally or adversary merely wasn’t tolerated, the imperviousness mydei adorned for battle comparable to his geniality, unmoved by outside influence. Yet it does not go unnoticed, for as astute as the other’s gaze was when sweeping across the battlefield, detecting weakness, formulating strategies, is he just as discerning when it comes to phainon’s inscrutable expression. Well, he had thought it inscrutable, now he was not quite as certain. “ Ah, nothing goes undetected before you, does it ?” the unyielding grip of his gauntlet is not unkind, if anything, this was the only sort of generosity mydei could offer him. The fabric contorts around the impression of his fingers, pressing divots into the pliant skin beneath, knowing the restraint required for such a feat — for his strength was indeed formidable, is enough to urge him to take a step away from his own troubled thoughts. to be so profoundly known was a vulnerability he did not think himself entirely prepared for, perhaps that is why his mouth curls at the corners into an apologetic smile. nothing was owed and there was no imperious demand for candour only this moment, where the weight of his commentary is so immense that it could tear all things before it asunder. yet he doesn’t, it is a choice to remain poised, an incarnation of violence that inflicts not even the shallowest of wounds.
Each footstep is measured, from the proud breadth of his shoulders that nurture a similar burden to the way he seemingly relies on instinct, moving to reclaim some distance between them. It is a contradiction of things, he thinks, to be so calculated yet seem governed by impulse, it is because he knows him, recognizes what dwells within him, that he understands how all of these can coexist in harmony. The tacit invitation comes as he is allowed to stand behind him, a hand idly falling from his shoulder and then retreating. because a warrior knows not to allow just anyone to remain outside of their line of sight, there was so much vulnerability imbued in what should have been a relatively standard interaction. he hasn’t, however, moved beyond his purview. there’s an alleviation that comes from basking in his presence and somehow, inexplicably, he is less conflicted than when he arrived. Yet they still decide it is better to remain on the periphery of that conversation, that the precarious depths of what could be cultivated between them were only to be acknowledged through cursory glances. Phainon, having long since become familiar with the nuances of the battlefield, knows that despite their valour there will always be some things that are even beyond the capabilities of even the most competent warrior. He does not resent it for what it is, unable to be felled by the precise downward arch of a blade, nor dispelled with the confidence that was infused with each of their strides forward, chasing those elusive flames. He cannot help but wonder what sort of injuries would either sport should they become so brazen as to tread those perilous paths, meeting each other’s gaze and refusing to be the first to blink. It doesn’t prevent the disquiet, knowing that there was something yearning to be spoken aloud that was being repressed, because he cannot truly banish it, the envisioned likeness of that immortal body bleeding from a wound he had inflicted. As they have both faced adversity head-on for so long he doesn’t fear it, not the sanguinary sprays of blood, nor the ghostly pallor of death, only that it might be his visage accompanying it. So he settles on the boundary between straying precariously close and preserving a respectable distance, depending on banter they have long since memorized and the terse utterances that often come fervently, as if they had grown sick of the waiting.
Phainon welcomes his chin as it settles beside his pauldron, indolence etched into the lineaments of his countenance, his resolute gaze intensified by the lowering of gilded lashes, seeking and extracting the most reasonable question. “ Hm, you still won’t consider it ? I cannot compensate for what you lack if you continue to evade me.” he answers with a cordial smile, dispersing some of the tension that had been mounting between them in that tangible silence. Because he knows he won’t willingly impart his weakness, it would be so utterly incongruous to the pride he harbored to be so cooperative. despite how some might view those attributes it was something that he respected. It was his earnest pursuit of his ambitions that delineated him as a worthy rival and someone who phainon only ever glimpsed with quiet reverence. The bite comes suddenly, without forewarning, banishing all of the restless anticipation that had seethed between them. Phainon’s expelled breath verges upon incredulity, to find himself seized by the jaws of a lion and yet not entirely devoured, it’s an unprecedented act of unyielding self-control. “ resorting to biting ? ” amusement loosely wreathes through his inquiry, it could have become reprimand were it not for the unbridled mirth that glittered in his gaze. “ I had never thought I would live to see such a sight.”
from.
𝗥𝗣 𝗠𝗘𝗠𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗗
( + reverse ) to reverse roles
for when they’re feeling violent
[ BELT ] for your muse to use their belt as a weapon
[ BETRAY ] for your muse to reveal to my muse they’re not who they think they are
[ BLEED ] for your muse to make mine bleed
[ BOOT ] for your muse to press their boot against my muse’s mouth
[ BRUISE ] for your muse to purposely hold my muse hard enough to bruise
[ CHOKE ] for your muse to hold mine by the throat, either with the hand or forearm
[ DENIAL ] for your muse to angrily deny something my muse is calling them out on
[ FIRE ] for your muse to threaten my muse with fire
[ GRAPPLE ] for your muse to wrestle mine down to the floor or against the wall
[ HAIR ] for your muse to pull my muse’s hair
[ KICK ] for your muse to kick my muse ( can specify where )
[ KNEE ] for your muse to knee mine in the stomach or groin
[ KNIFE ] for your muse to hold a knife to my muse’s throat
[ LAUGH ] for your muse to laugh at my muse for being pathetic
[ LIAR ] for your muse to call mine a liar
[ MOUTH ] for your muse to put their hand over my muse’s mouth
[ PANIC ] for your muse to find my muse panicking after they’ve done impulsive or dangerous
[ REGRET ] for your muse to immediately regret hurting my muse
[ SLAP ] for your muse to slap my muse in the face
[ SLEEP ] for your muse to approach my muse while they’re sleeping
[ SPIT ] for your muse to spit at my muse
[ STAB ] for your muse to stab my muse ( specify where )
[ STEP ] for your muse to step on my muse while they’re down
[ SHOOT ] for your muse to shoot at my muse ( specify where )
[ STRONGARM ] for your muse to use force to make my muse do something
[ TANTRUM ] for your muse to throw a temper tantrum that my muse gets caught / hurt in
[ TEAR ] for your muse to tear clothing off of my muse
[ TEETH ] for your muse to bite my muse ( specify where )
[ THREAT ] for your muse to threaten my muse / specify threat
for when they’re feeling soft
[ BOOP ] for your muse to bump their nose against my muse’s nose
[ BREAK ] for your muse to know that my muse is about to break up with them
[ CALM ] for your muse to calm my muse down from a moment of anger
[ COUCH ] for our muses to cuddle on the couch
[ DANCE ] for your muse to take my muse’s hand and start dancing with them
[ EYES ] for your muse to send bedroom eyes at my muse
[ FEED ] for your muse to feed my muse something ( can specify what )
[ HAND ] for your muse to slip their hand into my muse’s hand
[ HICKEY ] for you muse to give my muse a hickey ( specify where )
[ HUG ] for your muse to hug my muse
[ INTERRUPT ] for your muse to interrupt my muse talking by kissing them
[ KISS ] for your muse to kiss my muse
[ LICK ] for you muse to lick my muse
[ PATTER ] for our muses to have a conversation in the car while the rain patters down around them
[ PLAY ] for your muse to play a musical instrument for my muse
[ PICNIC ] for our muses to go on a picnic
[ RAIN ] for our muses to dance in the rain / kiss in the rain
[ RIVER ] for our muses to jump in the river together / or for one to push the other in
[ SING ] for your muse to sing to my muse / song or lullaby
[ SNEAK ] for your muse to sneak a touch under my muse’s clothing
[ SPOON ] for your muse to big spoon my muse
[ STARE ] for your muse to be caught staring affectionately at mine
[ STROKE ] for your muse to play with my muse’s hair
[ SWEATER ] for your muse to be found in my muse’s sweater or hoodie
[ TOUCH ] for your muse to softly touch my muse ( specify where )
[ WARM ] for your muse to put their jacket around my muse’s shoulders
[ WATCH ] for your muse to watch my muse sleep
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talking about phai and.
i’m stronger than this. i have to be stronger than this. there is no room for weakness, not here, not anywhere.
Gods descended into madness, and mortals turned their weapons on one another. Yet still, there are heroes who chase the flames, leading the way in the grand undertaking of creation. Most 'Hero's Journeys' in the universe are just dice tosses THEY threw on a whim... Will your answer be any different, Amphoreus?
golden epic trailer ✧ “amphoreus' saga of heroes”
mydei would never easily confess to having been outdone, it’s as if such an conviction is woven into the very fabric of his being, something so intrinsic that it refuses to be washed away or softened with the passage of time. his stubbornness, another trait he would vehemently deny ( especially to phainon ), makes him an infamously poor choice of opponent when it comes to casual games or friendly wagers. yet somehow, in this instance, phainon has managed to best him. mydei now finds himself flat on his back, staring up at the endless expanse of blue sky — until it’s abruptly eclipsed by the figure of none other than phainon himself. “ haven’t i entertained you enough for one day ? ” his voice carries an unmistakable seriousness, yet his gaze remains gentle, devoid of any true sign of annoyance. when phainon extends a hand to help him up, mydei accepts, but not without a foul trick of his own. with a sharp tug, he pulls phainon down beside him, leveling the playing field in his own ( still stubborn ) way. his hand then lingers against phainon’s wrist, now without the iron claws he wears most days. “ it seems we’ve tied again, deliverer. now, are you satisfied ? ”
Each participant of fervent conviction knows this legendary tale, as if it were etched into the diaphanous fabric of time. Warriors stand both in unity and vehement competition, the clashing of strident weapons and the cacophony of the corrupt linger like acrid death in the air, adrenaline surging through the veins of their chosen as they rise to the challenge again, again and again. It mattered not if the intentions were amicable for his opponent is driven by the fervid fires of conquest, it compels him to devote himself in correspondence lest he find himself bested and facing imperious beration. It is a tacit understanding, that whilst this is but a personal conflict neither would be grateful for leniency. When he does arise the victor, perspiration slicking hair to his forehead, his breath coming in irregular gasps, his gaze befalls his fallen comrade, splayed amongst the verdant strands of grass and delineated as something utterly resplendent. It seems inequitable that he be the only one to behold him like this, his tousled hair glittering and gilded beneath the warmth of the sun and his eyes serenely closed if only to endure his defeat. ❝ it was a battle well fought. ❞ he muses, not to placate mydei’s belligerence but because they had both incessantly crusaded until exhaustion drove them to their knees. courteously phainon extends his hand. was he expecting him to graciously accept, stubbornly refuse, or ── this third, unanticipated outcome. It is with the same dexterity he campaigned against their adversaries that he tows him down, the shuddering grass beckoning him as the world surges slantwise and he soon finds himself unceremoniously descending to the ground below. He can but laugh, a delighted ── or thwarted sound, the other’s competitiveness urging him to take such drastic measures, it was something to be engraved deep so that time itself would not forget his grudge. ❝ i didn’t expect you would take it so personally. ❞ this time the teasing is more evident within his tone, the press of those bare fingers into his skin revealing the way his heart grew erratic with the abruptness of it. their eyes meet and his smile is a contagious malady, the sort of satisfaction that can only be derived from moments as charged as this. ❝ satisfied ? ❞ he relays it back as if it were peculiar, eyes flitting down to the resolute grip mydei has on his wrist. ❝ not quite but a draw is a draw, next time i assure you i won’t go so easy on you. ❞
stinky.
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ok now i can close my eyes oh my god i have to make tags.
test.
