#rip elysia

[sersi]

In the end, all roads lead to me.

[rokkzalm]

Wise King Araithos

830000 / E2952F / E8DD5A / BA9924 / 9D6C1A

[godisasimp]

"Part 2" "Vita and Lambda

are «roomates» "

[like-red-lads]

The one thing that separates elysian realm animation with the other animation is how the flamechasers, easily steamrolled Hod. Where in every animation the protagonist is struggling against their enemy, here elysia is basically just humoring Hod. Just using it as the stage for the grand last act of the flamechasers. Poor Hod thought it had the upper hand not knowing it was dancing on elysia's palm the entire time. I really had to commend elysia's acting too, no wonder she and vill v got together so well birds of a feather do flock together

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

witchy bitches

[vxnuslogy]

never beating the changes layout every month allegations

[garbage-empress]

It is with a heavy heart that I must announce the passing of the world's greatest slut slug, Gigi.

This is the last picture of her taken on the morning of April 11th, 2024. I believe she passed sometime between the night of the 11th and the evening of the 12th. I didn't clean the drips off the glass for this picture, I would if I knew this would be the last time I would see her beautiful visage I would have cleaned it so good.

She appeared healthy, but I had also been noticing egg spirals on the glass for the past couple weeks.

When I looked up egg laying shapes of all the mollusks in my tank, the only one that fit perfectly was that of Elysia diomedea — the species that Gigi was. Usually Elysia species need a mate to lay eggs, and she was the sole sea slug in the tank. However, Elsyia are all simultaneous hermaphrodites, and I wonder if her species is able to self-fertilize in the absence of a mate.

This unfortunately may have been her undoing, some Elysia species die shortly after laying eggs. I couldn't find if this is true for E. diomedea, very little is known about Gigi's species. I had her for about a year and most Elysia species live 1-2 years at most. No idea how old she was when I got her.

I didn't find her body. When Elysia species die, their bodies quickly disintegrate. You can often only tell they passed by their absence - these beautiful slugs rarely ever remain out of sight due to their partially photosynthetic nature.

She lived slow and died fast, chonked up on her favorite algae. She has climbed up a tendril of bryopsis into the sky, the galaxy on her back becoming one with the stars.

RIP Gigi, I will miss your silly muppet face, gorgeous ruffles and cat-like body language and the comfort you seemed to find splayed out to the light or curled up on a chunk of your favorite meal. You brought me and many others an amazing amount of joy in your short life. If any of your veligers survive into sluglets, I will raise them to the best of my abilities. If anyone else is interested in keeping one as a pet, please do a ton of research. They have very specific needs and eat a ton of live bryopsis species algae, and very little else. They won't eat nori or microalgae.

Turns out the potassium nitrate I had as fertilizer for algae to feed my slut isn't fucking a nitrate salt at all and I am pissed

[earthtooz]

3.4 SPOILERS !!!!!!!!!!! hurt/no comfort we rip out our hearts like phainon in his ult, character death (reader), you have been warned

tripping over my own feet, scrambling to the mic to share this thought as i'm dripping in cold sweat:

Reader, who is the bearer of a coreflame in this cycle, the same one that you know Khaslana is coming for.

You stand watching over your domain from the balcony of an abandoned building, imminent doom looming overhead. You’ve been prepared for this; the lurch in your stomach, the uneasy buildup of anxiety that sit in your gut like a bottomless pit of nothingness, it all speaks volumes about how long you’ve dreaded this moment. 

You hate feeling so helpless as fate creeps closer and closer like a dark looming cloud, you hate the shake in your hands as you grip your weapon tightly, and you hate that you know this won’t end happily for you. 

Why did it come to this? When? How?

When did it go from the simpler days- times of when you were naively in love with the man you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with, to this?

You followed him like a loyal dog. Out of Aedes Elysiae, through countless city-states, journeyed with him past thick mangroves and gazed out at the vast sealine of Amphoreus together, your relationship budding into something irreplaceable, something worth being retold in myths.

Lovers so inseparable that it seems divinely ordained, lovers who were created with the other in mind, lovers who would kill for each other.

When did it go from killing for each other, to killing each other? 

The memories are fuzzy around the edges, but you had watched him descend into madness for too long, going after each coreflame and keeping them all in his own body like he was an indestructible vessel. You had watched him turn against your fellow Chrysos Heirs, slain them all like it was the ‘right path to take’, the only method of Deliverance.

You watched him take that title and run rampant, patience beginning to fray as he… turned into someone you didn’t recognise.

You knew you had to do something about it, you couldn’t keep yourself willing in his hands any longer. An anger that felt primordial, like it has been growing steadily within you for millenniums, finally erupting to drive you to do something about it.

The prophecies sing you to be the bearer of a coreflame, so you will heed the call, and stand opposing your lover. 

“This might be the hardest challenge I’ve had to face,” his words are carried to you by the wind, gentle in tone but so mellow and melancholic.

You turn to face your lover, determination burning in your soul. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“And I’ve been searching for you,” Khaslana mimics, eyes swirling with emotions you can’t read, eyebrows downturned– he looks so small, he doesn’t even have his weapon drawn, unlike you. “Y/n, please, don’t do this.”

“I know I’m no match for you, but I couldn’t stand watching you spiral any longer,” tears prick the edges of your eyes as the image of the man you love blurs. “This journey, the outcome of Deliverance you so obsessively chase, it’s not right, you’re destroying yourself.”

“I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“And what needs to be done now is to kill me, right? Tear the coreflame out of my chest? To bring the end of the Flamechase Journey… alone?”

He flinches, each word piercing through his chest deeper than the previous. Still, his will is unwavering when he answers. “Yes.”

“Why?” Your voice cracks. “Why shoulder this by yourself? Why bear the weight of a hundred million coreflames by yourself when we want to help? Why do you insist on such a cruel ending for yourself?”

Khaslana doesn’t answer, only stare at your face like it’s the last time he will see it, as if he’s etching it into memory, every line, every dimple, every imperfection, everything. 

“Because the destination is too perilous,” he mutters. “Because this is the only way to stop Era Nova, and I refuse to let any of you burn with me.” 

“Is this what you think ‘mercy’ is, Lord Khaslana?”

He nods. “It is the closest semblance of mercy I can offer.”

“Fine.” You raise your sword, steel pointed against him. “Show me this ‘mercy’ then.”

Dawnmaker materialises into his hand, and it drags on the floor behind him as he slowly steps toward you. “It doesn’t have to end like this.”

“I know.” 

It’s you who lunges first, swinging first as his larger blade clashes against yours. You can’t take him head-on, the weight of his weapon could shatter yours easily, so you have to weave around him, light on your toes like a dancer. 

You deflect more than you parry, and he stays on the defensive, watching each move keenly, refusing to hurt you. 

You don’t even realise you’re crying, the adrenaline stubbornly keeping you on your feet as you fight the love of your life. All of those sparring sessions to help each other train, to hone each other’s skills, who would have known that it would lead to this? Why is it him that has to be the one to kill you? 

Swordsmanship was a skill you honed to fight against the black tide, to stop those you love from meeting their end from those corrupt, vile creatures, so why is it being used now like this? Why is it Phainon that your blade seeks to kill? 

Why is his blade– the same one that slaughtered Mydeimos, Castorice, and Hyacinthia, the one to pierce through your stomach? 

You gasp when the pain shoots through your body, eyes widening as you feel the sharp ache. Blood rises like bile, and you cough it out, golden ichor dripping from your lips. 

When the cold steel retracts from your body, the piercing pain immobilizes you, causing you to heave as blood pools onto the tiles beneath you. It’s hard to stay upright, your strength slipping away from you as your chipped sword clangs onto stone. 

Then, your knees give out and you all but collapse.

Faintly, you hear the sound of his weapon being discarded, then he materialises beneath you to catch you before the cold, unforgiving ground can, his arms cradling you to his chest. 

He’s sobbing. Neither of you thought he could cry, yet the tears now pour out of him in endless streams, scalding droplets landing on your face while your blood soaks through his clothes, pooling around the two of you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, searching for your hand that’s already growing cold and gripping it so tightly like he’s trying to anchor the last semblances of life in your body from fading. “I’m sorry, my love, I’m sorry, forgive me, please.” 

You don’t have the strength to say anything, or even move your hand to reassure him, and it kills him because all he wants is to hear your voice one last time. 

He presses a long kiss to your temple, murmuring something that you can’t hear as your vision begins to vignette, your breathing growing more laboured as your consciousness begins to slip away.

“You’re supposed to be here with me,” he whispers. “It’s not supposed to end like this.” 

There’s a warm hand on your face, prompting you to look up at him. You try your best to smile but he only cries harder. 

“I love you. I love you so much, Y/n, I’ll be with you in the next cycle, I won’t let us end like this again, please, wait for me.” 

Despite your silence, you hope he understands that you’ll wait. You will be by his side, you will make the journey from humble Aedes Elysiae to breathtaking Okhema in every cycle, no matter what, without hesitation, without regret. 

As your last proclamation of love, the coreflame he was searching for manifests in it’s purest form, floating before the two of you, ready for him to take. His heart cracks at the sight and shatters in a million pieces when your eyes droop close, the fight finally ending.

Creatures nearby could hear the man wail loudly for hours after.

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

feel free to throw ur tomatoes at me

[yurilvr4]

phainon brain rot! cw cunnilingus cum eating semi-public sex afab!reader.

on the early days of his home village aedes elysiae, he would visit you way before he even set out to amphoreus to become a hero.

on those days, the sun isn't scorching and the wind is gentle and tender against you and phainon's skin where you both would lay sprawled on the golden wheat fields, the stems bowing beneath like a yielding embrace.

a gentle hand touched your face and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear lovingly- you smile at the small gesture and you move to kiss his mouth softly.

"do you really have to go?" you whispered into his mouth as you pulled away. he sighs and pecks your mouth once more before staring off into the distance.

you follow his gaze at the sky and he glances at you from the corner of his eye, a small giggle leaving him, "you'll survive without me..promise." a knowing smirk makes its way on his stupid lips that you've grown so fond of and because of that you scoff.

you frown a little when he chuckles and brings a hand to your neck, kissing the underside of your jaw.

"then..will you let me miss you one more time?" he says, eyes sparkling. warmth pooled your face and a nod was all he needed.

his fingers slide under your dress and slowly skimmed over the soft skin , tracing the bone of your hip before dipping his head underneath to press kisses over your belly.

your fingertips traced his soft flowy hair as he sucked small bites into your flesh, before dipping down to where you're most sensitive.

"beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that reverberated you to the core. you let out a small noise when his eyes met yours from below and peered at you through his lashes.

"please.." you hiccup, softly gripping his hair strands. with a low groan he leaned in and dragged a flat tongue along your pulsing slick folds.

"mhm fuck." phainon rips your underwear off to dive in once more and smother his face into your tight little cunt, "you taste divine..like the sweetest ambrosia."

his voice sent shivers that raced up your spine as he sealed his perfect lips over your clit, sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves and thrust his tongue into your lovely hole, fucking into your heat with only one thing in mind- to make you come hard into his greedy mouth.

his long fingers squeezed the meat of your thighs and lapped your tender flesh like a dog, you feel the tip of his nose touch the inner corner of your wet heat, your breathy moans of pleasure spurring him on.

"hah..ha..phai...non.." your sweet voice sings in his ear, his closed eyes focusing on your little mewls as he continued his delicious assault on your cunny.

he could feel the soft rocking of your hips trying to match the agonizing work of his tongue as you chase your orgasm.

phainon helps you through your haze, moaning and slinking his hands further up your body, past your ribs and over the plush of your chest.

your hands found his, placing them over his own large ones as he double tasked- cupping the swell of your breasts, rolling the hard nubs of your nipples between his fingers.

your hips stutter around his head, your body arching off the ground as he sucked harder, feeling the incoming orgasm building up. the heat pooling in your belly as you moan his name, phainon..phainon...phainon..

phainon feels your body go rigid, a soft cry leaves your throat. the wet sensation of your cum now coating his chin and dribbles past his lips.

he watches with dark and heavy-lidded eyes, tentatively licking the remaining fluids that gush down your leaking pussy and he shoves it back into you with a finger, using his tongue to swallow the rest that threatened to slip past.

"my pretty girl, coming so well on my tongue." he chuckles and blows over your oversensitive cunt which left you whining his name once more, ahh music to his ears.

he crawls over your form and kisses you, tasting yourself on his mouth made your cunt clench around nothing.

"before i leave," he curls a finger under your jaw, staring into your eyes lovingly. "i'll make sure to fill you up nice and snug around my cock." a promise.

you flush red when he presses a hand flat over the small pudge on your tummy, circling the tender skin slowly.

you love him so, so much.

[sersi]

reading a ten+ page mcu argument and not seeing eternals brought up 😌🥰

[solsyss]

adding onto "stuff i didnt expect to happen during the minecraft movie but it happened anyways"

DARK HASNT FRONTED SINCE DECEMBER AND YET HE RANDOMLY JUST ?? SHOWED UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MOVIE guys what kind of sorcery is all of this /j

okay so I'm back from the minecraft movie and then right afterwards me and my brother came out to eachother i guess silly block game causes gay rights ?!?!

[meiguicha]

Come From Way Above (to bring me life)

Yan! Phainon x AFAB! Reader

Always a part of you, always a part of me. I will never leave you.

TW: incest, implications of cucking (is it cucking if its,,, just you but not you), perceived non-con, M on F oral, F on M oral, explicit sexual content, codependence, flame reaver, character death

Note: spoilers for 3.3, phainon's backstory and upcoming "rumours". pre 3.4 please don't hurt me. no use of y/n or actual names, i prommy its still an x reader

// thank @if-loves for this absolute deranged nightmare. his greed sickens me, three instances of smut despite knowing i dont know how to write it, this is the type of greed they warn you against

Aedes Elysiae is a home that matters to no one but two.

Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, sole survivor of a great calamity and ███ of Aedes Elysiae, ████ ████████ of Aedes Elysiae. 

Children of dawn coloured wheat fields, twin offspring of Hieronymus and Audata.

Your parents once said to tear your brother from you would be like trying to rip the stars from the sky. Your mother laughed every time she talked about your birth, she said your brother came out first with only a pudgy arm left inside, dragging you out with him. He cried first, wailed until his face grew red and his lungs filled with the first few bouts of air. And yet when he noticed that you did not, he silenced for but a moment before sobbing harder. Yet still, your father would helpfully add, you would not cry until he elicited for you to. 

To those outside, it seemed like only your brother had been born and that you had never been birthed at all. 

They worried for a while, that your seeming aloofness compared to your brother’s natural curiosity would clash, but perhaps they did not expect the natural belonging that came easy to you two. For so many years, you shared a room and a wardrobe, shared soap and secrets, it was as if they had been blessed with one child. 

Silly boy, you called him, the words that fell from your lips as easily as a leaf gliding across the wind. And though he knew that perhaps it started as some insult, even then, as a child, he couldn’t help himself but preen under your attention. 

Phainon had never realised just how deep his attachment to you went. His mind at the time had always been Cyrene and the others, of thoughtless prophecy and wishes to remain here forever more. But nothing lasts forever, and as your brother, your silly brother, there was so little he could do except for curl his form over you as he swears for vengeance against that black-robed swordsman. 

It was him who took this elysium from him, from you, from the both of you. And now all he has left of that peaceful life is you. 

Though memory can very often be a balm to woes, nothing can replicate the delights of reality. 

He remembers the first time he felt your skin beneath his touch, as adolescents splashing around in cool river water until not a single piece of fabric was left dry. It is such a distinct memory, one unmarred by the claws of time. You had lost a play-fight, he remembers, climbed yourself out of the river to drag him back for another round despite your being so utterly drenched that even your hair stuck to your forehead.

‘█████! Come back here!’ Your shrill voice that had yet to truly develop is still clear, and he remembers shrieking the moment you grabbed him, unable to do anything but to cling to you then. 

You did nothing but laugh at him, whistling through your nose, called him your silly brother and carried him as if it was nothing. At the very least, you did so until someone flicked water at your face and you loosened your grip.  

He remembers how soft your skin was, like running his hands over fine silk. The smell of that day too is seared into his mind, the smell of your floral soap on your skin and the mineral-rich waters when you dropped him. 

But something is different now, he’s older, taller than you ever were. And as he trails through tall grass and wildflowers, he hears you sing in a voice much lower and familiar. So he lays his eyes upon you, bathing in the very same river of your childhood with white robes clinging to your skin. 

In this unconscionable haze of slumber and fantasy, you climb yourself out too, older and taller. Your hair is wet, sticking and coiling on your neck and chest as if a part of your skin. And when you meet his wide gaze, something plays in your eyes, a mirth he thinks. 

You gesture for him, curl your finger and urge him over. He listens, you could drag him in like you did all those years ago and he’d still let you. 

Some part of him fears you will, it worries that if you really did pull him into this river he’d drown at the sight of you. 

You don’t, thankfully you don’t. Instead, you pull yourself out to kneel in front of him. 

“You got this hard just looking at me?” Your hands dance along his thighs, nails dragging over muscle and sinew as you pillow your cheek against his thigh. When did he get so hard? Soft, your hands are so soft. Your warm breath elicits a jump in his arousal, a smile playing at your lips as you murmur, “Still so silly.”

Phainon can’t quite answer, as if cotton were lodged in his throat, and yet he rasps back, “Can you blame me?”

A laugh escapes your lips, and once more something dances in your eyes, more than mirth he realises. Without wasting a moment, your hands push past his shirt robes and fleetingly dance at his pants, the tips of your fingers playing with the waistband before pulling it down. 

He wants to be embarrassed, to have not let you have your way with him as easily as you do, but as you take him into your mouth, he finds there is nothing inside him that can let him be embarrassed in front of you. Hissing out a sharp breath, though his hands’ first instinct is to move, to grab onto something, he doesn’t. 

“Hm?” Humming around him, your eyes pour over him, narrowed as if stalking prey. 

Soft, you still feel so soft. Shakily, he tries to meet your eyes despite the way they blur. “Y-you feel so good—”

Your lips tighten around his girth before you bring yourself further in, not to the point that he can feel your nose against his pelvis– no matter how much he fantasises about that very concept– and yet as you bob your head slow and calculated, it doesn’t seem to make much difference to his addled self all the same. 

One of your hands travels closer, frigid cold against his balls almost negligible compared to the gentle touch and your persistent play. He feels his chest tighten every time your tongue would flatten over a particular vein, and he’s certain you’re getting off every broken sound he can make. 

“Please. Please don’t stop,” He begs, pleads as a hand card through your wet hair. 

The noise of your spit and his pre is all he hears, more than rushing water or whistling wind, it's so lewd, too lewd. He doesn’t want this to end, he wants to feel you suckling everything he has to give and more, he wants to feel your tongue circling his tip as he begs you to let him come to, he wants you. He wants you, he wants you, he wants you, he wants you—

You’re next to him, bathing in warm daylight and faced away from him in your shorts and slipping top. 

A dream, of course. It's impossible to return to that paradise again. 

He doesn’t have to look to see the tent in his shorts, the desires he nurtures for you is heavy without question. 

Tentatively, he calls for you, “███.” 

You don’t stir. Your chest rises and falls in slow fluctuations as your hands absentmindedly twitch at the wrinkled sheets.

Sucking in a breath, the sheets beneath your forms shift and twist upon his movement, closer to prop himself up, closer to bring himself between your legs, until he can feel the back of your cold thighs fleetingly press against his legs. It is an odd thought at times, but he has grown so used to feeling how frigid your arms feel when you wrap them around him or the coldness of your palms, that just the slightest chill against his own skin plucks at something within his veins. 

The light friction made purely from making shallow circles against your folds takes the edge off just the slightest, his mind is still blurry with the feel of your warm mouth around him. Just thinking about it, his throat seems to have dried up entirely and air comes by difficult, the soft noises you make in your sleep don’t help either, small hums and mirthful breaths that keep bringing him back to that fantasy. 

He wonders whether, even in such deep slumber, you can feel him throbbing against your core, the thin fabrics that separate the two of you do little to nothing. And as he rubs himself against you, smears more of his desire along the flimsy crotch of your shorts until it stains the cloth, only then do you shift. Nothing that implies your wake, your slumbering form merely shifts and yet such an innocent move only grinds against his aching bulge. 

It's not enough, it's not enough to just hump against you like he’s some teenage pervert. 

Carefully, he pushes your shorts aside to reveal your damp panties, years of washing them over and over again making them almost translucent. Pressing the pad of his finger against your soft folds, he can feel just how wet he’s gotten you already. His lips feel dry, and though he swipes his tongue across them in some vain attempt, he can already think of some other ways. 

Still, Phainon has never been the kind to play with his food, and he wouldn’t torture you nor himself like this any longer. 

Soft. You are so soft that he thinks he could die here, with nothing but the feeling of you and the thought of you. He hasn’t even started moving but forming sensible thoughts feels incomprehensible when you’re wrapping around him so tightly, clenching around his girth as if trying to squeeze him for all he has.  

If he starts moving, if he does anymore than this shallow grinding–

Awakening from your restful dreams, your eyes flutter open with nothing more than a soft hum from your lips. Then, as if roused by bird song and morning light, you smile at him, the birth of a laugh in your throat as you open your arms, urging him.

“█████.”

If not for the breathy lilt of your voice– lewd, too lewd to call him like that and expect him to not want to make himself yours– he might have thought you were unaffected.  

Pressing his nose against your neck, the smell of your shared soap only makes him push himself further into you. He presses open mouthed kisses across your neck, trail to your collarbone and to your chest as his hands dig marks into the flesh of your hips. And your arms that wrap around him, your soft skin and soft walls that envelope him into yourself, it's like you want him to become a part of you, to be inside of you. 

A particularly deep thrust rips a raggard sound from you, and yet that mirth of yours doesn’t die. Through your shameless whines and your clawing hands, you only sigh, “Silly b-boy– ahhh– did you have another wet dream?”

“Can you blame me?” Phainon mutters between wet kisses, his tongue peeking between his lips to circle around your hardened nipple. The flesh surrounding it is smooth, and as he takes it into his mouth, the low whimper that leaves your lips only pushes him to keep going, slam his hips against you harder to coax more of your sweet noises.  Looking at you beneath half-lidded bliss, though his vision is blurry, he can still see your bitten lips so clearly. “You’re so pretty– mmph– I want to be inside you forever…”

Your hand scrambles to cover your mouth, frantic over your own body only for him to pry it away, entwining your fingers together as your nails tear into his skin. Cold, your hand is so cold he can barely understand how his own hips can thrust harder, rut into you like he’s just some animal in heat just like that. And it hurts, he’s barely had you all to himself and now it hurts so much just to be inside you but he can’t stop, can’t even think about stopping when every time he drags himself out, you squeeze around him tighter, trying to keep him inside you despite how hard you’ve been gushing around him.  

You don’t even complain when he pushes you onto the bed proper, arching your back as you take him deeper, as you accept his other arm as comfort, as you rely on him entirely for your own pleasure. 

He could have sworn he has more stamina than this, but he can feel it, and no matter how much he wants to keep going, even the slightest graze of his tip against your walls leaves you drawing blood, still holding him closer. 

“Can I—? Can I–ahh– please?” You don’t answer him, only wrap your legs behind his back to push him further inside you. 

“Please?” He can beg, he can do anything you want but please, please, you have to tell him he can. He can’t finish if you don’t, you have to tell he can cum inside you.  

His voice cracks, embarrassingly like he’s that over-eager teen again, “Pleasepleasepleaseplease–” 

Your hands reach out to grab his face, and upon instinct he tilts his head if only to kiss you more fiercely, desperately. Snapping his hips in some odd rhythm to prod at that spot he knows makes you whine and cry his name louder, until he can feel your hip bones digging into his and his tip pressing against your cervix.  

He wishes he could say his climax comes quietly, that it doesn’t feel as if every nerve in his body isn’t set ablaze, but even as your trembling legs hold him down, hold him tight against you until he can feel his release leak out, the noise that you swallow is strangled and raggard all at once, too loud and too much. Your own is no better, barely intelligible and more spit than sound. 

It's his drool and yours that connect your mouths when he pulls away, it's sweet, so sweet. Ambrosia cannot possibly compare to you, to this taste of your pleasure.  

“Good morning,” You smile against his lips, rasped breath bringing him in for another. To deny you would be to torture no one but himself, and as the soft plush of your lips meet his once more, gentler, kinder, something in his chest curls. It is only now that some semblance of warmth courses through your veins, like rushing gold that entangles your veins ever the more. 

Remnants of your blood tinge his tongue, and as he swipes it across his lip– your lip– he wonders whether his taste just as sweet to you. “ ‘morning.”

Your hands are cold, even while basking in the Sunbearer’s light, even in his own hand. He’s used to it by now, though perhaps what he isn’t accustomed to is when they slip past his fingers, your familiar frigidity replaced by a mere absence. 

Very little captures your attention to halt you in your steps, less so that you would not join him immediately. So when he glances back to find you vehemently staring into the eyes of a certain grey-haired trailblazer, he doesn’t quite know what to think. 

Cocking your head, you tug at his sleeve the moment he returns to you. “Is that the friend you were talking about?”

“Hm? Yeah it is,” His voice pitches just the slightest higher, a notion that has you sending him a sideway glance. 

It's more than clear that your staring has attracted them, and as they approach ever closer, each step they take seems to spark an odd flame inside him. He should take you away now, he should bring you away from here and take you home, he should–

“Phainon! I didn’t think I’d see you out and about.”

They’re waving at him, excitedly, almost like an over-excited dog and in some ways, it's cute. Though, the moment they come, crinkled eyes and light stepped, you flinch back, as if burned by something. He feels your stinging cold around him once more, feel your fingers interlock his as you press yourself close to him. 

A smile pulls at his lips almost immediately at greeting, “Well, gotta have some fresh air and stretch once in a while, right?”

The trailblazer only nods, playing at mock pensiveness and contemplation before making a glance towards you. Their eyes pour over you, like they’re trying to look for something wrong about you. “And this is…?”

“███, my sister.”

Something in the trailblazer’s face shifts, a minute tensing of their brow, though they say nothing. 

You tilt your head, pulling yourself away just enough to properly greet them and yet, even an inch of your skin away from him feels odd, wrong. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Phainon has told me so much about your adventures together,” Your voice lilts higher too, though it isn’t from some mysterious origin like his. The hitch upon his ‘name’, and the dip upon the last word, vaguely sing-songed. His eyes glance at your lips, remnants of your blood still clinging to the wrinkles. He should have licked them off. “Thank you for making sure my silly brother doesn’t end up dead in some ditch, I always worry he’s going to end up dying of something stupid when he goes with Lord Mydei.”

At the mention of his friendly competition, his brows knit together as his bottom lips juts out. You don’t even pay him any mind, and he has to tug at your held hands for you to look at him. 

“I wouldn’t! If I did you wouldn’t let me live it down!”

“As I should, how would you face Ma and Pa?”

Placing a hand on your forehead, you play at a swoon as you lean against him. “Oh I left my dear ███ all alone because I decided I needed to one-up Mydei in the hot bath and lost for the final time.”

They blink, a few too many times to be normal. And yet, the laughter that erupts from their lips plays at his ears like playful bells, “You too sure are close, I wish I had a sibling I was close with.”

“Alas, all I have here is Dan Heng.” Mimicking your fake woe, they too press a hand to their chest as they look away with squeezed eyes and furrowed brows, even going so far as to sniffle fake snot. 

The sheer commitment coaxes a small laugh from you, the kind that has you whistling from your nose, the genuine kind. 

Phainon tightens his hold on you, pulls your form closer to him as he absentmindedly recalls something you told him yesterday. Was it when you were wringing your hair out of the baths, humming to him in that distrait airiness? Or was it when you were running your hands through his hair, when the low vibrations in your chest hummed by his ear?

“Ah, didn’t you say you wanted to drop by Mr. Theodoros’ place?”

You turn, eyes fully focused on him, and the weight of your gaze is comforting, no matter how light. The plush of your lips dip under the press of your finger, instinctively, he wants to look away, but the way you tilt your head and your eyes glimmer with that uncertainty, the sight of it is enrapturing.  

“Did I?” He nods, fiercer yet when your face scrunches in remembrance. When you don’t seem to quite believe him, his hand wraps around yours tighter while he pleads through lowered lashes. 

With a sigh, you only shake your head and return his grasp, bringing your other hand to wave the now very conflicted trailblazer off. It's cold. Nothing but your touch is cold. 

“Bye bye then, don’t get yourself into anything too stupid,” Smiling, the corners of your eyes crinkle together for just a moment before you reach for his face, pulling the fat of his cheeks between your fingers as a shadow of a scowl creeps upon your visage. “So pushy, when did you get so embarrassed of me that I can’t even talk to your friends now?”

You’re pulling too hard, it's like you’re trying to rip a piece of his face off of him. Murmuring through your tugging, he tries to push some tears out, tries to elicit the same fawning you always do when you get like this, “I’m nooot. You know we always spend a while with Mr. Theodoros and I know you’ll get huffy if we get home too late.”

The pinching stops, his cheek vaguely sore only to be met with a few light pats from your palm. A soft breath of mirth leaves your lips– the blood from earlier is still there– as your tongue peeks out to lick them. He can barely feel the ache in his face anymore, and as he reaches out, presses his thumb against your bloodied lip to wipe it off. Soft, so soft under his touch.

“What am I going to do with you?” Sticky sanguine stains his hands and yet you don’t question, merely sigh and pat his face again. 

You can do anything you want to him, with him, as long as you keep looking upon him with those indulgent eyes and holding him with those cold hands. He’ll do it, no matter what it is. 

If he had known that he would’ve failed so horribly, if he had known that he would’ve troubled his friends once more to pull him out– Well, there was no telling what would have happened but he should have been stronger. He should have been able to reflect upon that burning horizon without feeling every grain of sensibility slip from his fingers, should have been able to at the very least consider what would have happened if he hadn’t held himself over you that day. 

And he knew, he knew he couldn’t face it again but somehow the idea that you could have died, that your cold hand would be the last thing he had of you, that weighed heavier in his chest. Between his ribs and amidst his veins, that he would have been truly, utterly alone without the one person that shared his origin, shared his blood, he should have known. 

There is no knock at the door that precedes its opening, the slink of steps is light, almost transient as leaves falling in the wind. Bed dipping beneath the weight of two forms, he doesn’t even realise it's you until you snake your arms around him, your chest pressed against his back rising and falling in rapid pace. 

You lay your head on him, the warmth of your breath pricking hairs to stand on the back of his neck as you whisper, “There you are, silly boy.”

Carefully, slowly, as if scared that maybe if he– if he turns, the cold of your hands will slip from his grasp again– 

Without question, you bring his head into the crook of your neck as you cradle him in your arms, slowly bringing your two forms to lay against the soft sheets. Phainon returns your embrace, wrapping himself around you, entangling legs and veins, looking for your hand to hold. This too you don’t question, merely let him slip his hand into yours. 

It's still cold, but something is off. Your chest is warm, and though you still smell of gentle flowers, he has become accustomed to the nature of your scent. Heavier when you finish your warm baths, lighter as the hours pass you by.  

No matter, you’re here. That’s all he wants, all he needs. As if that child from years long past, tears dew at his lashes, falling to his cheeks and to your chest as his voice shakes, “I thought I could take it…. I thought maybe I was finally strong enough to…”

“Shhhhh.” Your chest rumbles low in his ears, he can hear your slow heart beating, second by second, the proof of your life leaks into his head. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Burying himself into your embrace, the blood you share is warm, as if maybe he could really pretend that what rushes through his isn’t molten gold but deep sanguine like yours. Warm, you’re so warm, he wishes this was a world where he could spend everyday in your warmth. 

You card your hand through his hair, push back snowy strands to reveal his forehead. Instinctively, he knows what you want, exactly what you need him to do. And so he listens, presses himself closer to you, closer to your lips so you can lay a chaste kiss upon his forehead. “You don’t have to be a hero with me.”

“But I want to be able to protect you,” Muttering against your chest, he wraps himself around you tighter, until you’re all but swallowed by his form. 

A huff of warm air escapes your nose, yet you don’t say anything. Your lips press another kiss to his burning skin, another and another, until you have left not a single inch of his face untouched, kissing away bitter tears and grief alike. The attention washes over him like cold river water, and though through glassy eyes and quivering lips, through undeserved vulnerability, he needs to keep feeling you like this.

“No matter what happens, I will always be with you.”

And for the first time in the aftermath of failure, the voices that claw and shred at the rationality of his worth are quiet. Even if it is for just a moment, even if only for a second, they can continue to tear him apart but knowing that you’re here, knowing that you can still hold him to your chest and hum, that the hand that he holds is real, it's enough. 

The hour is late when he can finally return to your home, when he can finally claw at what little time he has, careful to mind his volume as he strips himself of armour and veneer. Some part of him expects to find you slinking through the kitchen, shirt slipping off your shoulder as you blindly search for a jug of water in your drowsy haze. And yet, there is nothing. 

He doesn’t think too much about it, though his chest curls with warning, instead choosing to enter your bedroom. And so you lay, as he expected elsewise, the thin blanket he remembers helping you pick out outlining your form beneath it. Your chest rises and falls in slow rhythm as your fingers twitch against the soft sheets, hair sprawled across pillows and curling onto your chest. 

Maybe he should be embarrassed for tracing over your form like this, but the image that belies him, that thin blanket that does so little to conceal what presents to him as your bare chest and soft thighs, is tempting. He wants to be embarrassed but there’s nothing inside him that truly lets him be. 

Yet for you to be so tired that you wouldn’t even bother to find something to put on, the least he can do is let you rest undisturbed. 

Passing by your shared drawers, he notices the third cabinet just slightly ajar, enough so to garner attention. There is something thrown above neat rows of soft bras and underwear, ashy dark fabric haphazardly covering your most intimate clothes. 

Do his eyes deceive him? He can barely trust his own senses now, his own hands numb to all sensations but his own searing nerves, as though the very pads of his fingers have been burned off. 

His steps are heavy, and yet they do not wake you from your haze. Even as he throws the thin blanket off, as the weight of his form distorts the plush bed, you make not a single notion of consciousness. Phainon brings his face to your form, to lift your legs apart, to see for himself. 

In his haste, his desire to return home, he missed the smell of ash and soot that lingers in the air, on your skin. The sweat of two forms casts a soft sheen on your breasts as your legs that tremble in the aftermath reveal the dribbling remnants of the intruder. 

You’re warm, the pulse of your veins slow but rushing with boiling blood. 

A soft whine escapes your lips as he drags his tongue along the seam of your ruined folds, the taste of your own pleasure distinctly drowned out by the bitter sting of that thing’s liquids. And though he can feel you pulse beneath his tongue, can feel you tug his hair to pull him closer, can feel you squeeze his head between your thighs in want, he keeps his movements shallow. 

You’ve awoken, and through choking over your own spit and tears, the cry of his name is still clear as your fingers dig into his scalp, “█████–?”

It is the only thing he can do. Despite the way his own blood feels more like boiling gold in his veins, he still takes the time to caress your bruised thighs and kiss your puffy clit. You must have been so scared, to be all on your own when he came. But it's all right now, all that matters is that you’re alive and that he’s here. 

“I’m sorry– █████–mffh! I’m sorry–!”

“Its ‘kay, I’m here now. Let your brother take care of you, okay?” His warm breath fans over the over-sensitive bundle of nerves, and in an instant a shriek tears through your throat, your pleasure once more soaking through past crimes. Sweet, still so sweet and soft around him. 

He doesn’t have to wait for an answer, he knows what you mean, your body has always been more honest than your sweet mouth. And as your brother, as your twin brother, it's only right he does by his duty. 

His hands snake over your thighs to hold them down– to pry them open even as they quiver– as he buries his tongue inside you, lapping up every drop of soiled essence, every drop that isn’t yours. Your broken sighs only crack ever the more with each lick, soft walls tensing tighter around his tongue as if unwilling to let him go. 

The thought of that thing, of that swordsman, stealing this of you, that it too felt you tighten around it, cry and whine and beg, it burns. Even as he pulls you into his face further, even as there is nothing left of its touch beyond your swollen clit and bruised skin, even as your voice grows hoarse and all you can do is sob, nothing can erase the very fact that his own inattention caused this. 

Nothing except for his own.

Yes, it is his inattention. It always has been when it comes to you. Too late, too long, too little– 

–too late. 

Swallowing a harsh breath, he rushes past flickering stone and debris to get closer, closer to bring you to him, closer to feel your cold skin. His body instinctively expects to feel your frigid arms wrap around his neck, for your freezing fingertips to dance along his nerves like you always have. 

The calls for him to continue, to leave you here ring distantly in his ears. He should continue on, the fate of Amphoreus awaits him but you’re reaching for him, urging him. Your lips mouth words he can’t hear, but he knows, he knows what you want, what you want him to do. 

‘█████’ ‘Come’ ‘Back’ ‘Here’

You’re so, so cold despite the burning soot and blazing heat. Your eyes are blurry and you’re cold. Breathing comes scarce and no matter how much he forces himself to breath, scream, cry, anything to grasp air back into his lungs, he just can’t get himself to do anything. 

Phainon slips his hand into your weak one, you can’t even wrap your fingers around him, and the cold that greets him is emptying, absent. Dark towers spring from your chest, neither retreating or advancing, merely pulsing, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing. Slow, unhurried, as if unrushed to live. 

You hum, words rising and dropping as if your words were not coming from your own body, “I’ll always be with you… my….”

His voice is somewhere, he doesn’t know where it's coming from, why it's so warningly low. He calls for you, you have to hear him, he can’t do this if you don’t, “Don’t. ███.”

“███. Please. I’m begging you, please.” He can beg, he can do anything you want him to but please, please, please, you just have to–

Dews of tears weigh your lashes down, trail to his lips and yet he can’t taste anything. Nothing, there is nothing, emptying, absent. Just like the cold of your hand and the scent of your skin. Is he not allowed to even have something of you? Is he not allowed to feel you for the last time? 

Is he not allowed to even be able to protect you?

A squeeze, barely transient and dancing on his skin, you smile, “...silly…. boy….”

“...don’t leave me.”

You don’t stir. It pulses and pulses. Second by second, the proof of your life leaks from your chest.  

He remembers the last time he felt this emptiness inside him, as an adolescent standing amidst flame and ruins. It is his most distinct memory, the only one unmarred by time’s claws. You clung to him, he remembers, held him to your form as you hummed and silent tears trailed down your face. 

He remembers how slow your heart pulsed, unrushed and unhurried to live. The low rumble of your chest lulling him to welcoming darkness still mimicking in his heart, trying–failing– to replicate it.  

But something is different now, he’s older than he ever could be, more powerful than he ever was all those years ago. And as he trudges along the lonely path towards a new world, he hears nothing but his own breathing, shallow, laboured. 

So he arrives at the altar, and though Lygus stands just outside his perception, there is nothing here but himself. 

Trianne, Anaxa, Castorice, Aglaea, Hyacine, Cipher, Tribbie, Trinnon, Mydeimos. Every single person who sacrificed themselves for this lofty goal, they will come back. Different, yes, but return they shall. 

Everyone will return, yet he only fears he would not recognise them for who they are.

Will his parents return? His friends, his neighbours, will they too return? 

Will he open his eyes to pink hair and sky blue eyes? Will he hear Cyrene talk once more of fate and destiny? 

Your cold palms in his, your playful eyes and mirthful laughter, will he get to have that again? Would you come back to him, kiss his forehead and hold him to your chest once more? 

Can he come home to you, can he return to a home together with you again?

It is the voice of a friend long gone that forces him to look back, the visage of a person who has left this cycle of living long ago that plants doubt in his heart. 

But it is the humming of cold rivers and soft sheets that nurtures that seed. It is the rhythm of steps he recognises from kitchens and fields, the smell of floral soap and cold skin– 

There is only one survivor of the massacre of Aedes Elysiae, only one such soul who escaped the claws of violence. And yet here stands two, two souls who have felt the warm breeze of golden fields and the cold river water permeating through skin and bone, who lived to feel the light of Okhema. 

Those fingers that have never clasped around his, those hands that have never existed, reach out to him. The smile that has never formed, and that voice that has never sung to him, something–someone– in his chest curls. 

“█████, let’s go home together.”

[metaforikal]

yan! phainon

mentions of death, blood, kinda gorey if you squint? fem reader.

written on phone in one sitting, not proof-read at all, it's like 4 am here ahhh (¬_¬")

flame reaver is another version of phainon. he'd kill, rip and tear anything and everyone if it meant getting things laid out his way. of course, those dear to you were no exception.

you were just an ordinary trinket shop owner that had unfortunately caught the attention of the nameless hero from aedes elysiae, phainon. there was nothing that stood out from you in the eyes of other, except for the fact that you didn't treat him like how the other okhemans do. you didn't shower him in beautifully articulated poetry, didn't bathe him in your undivided unwavering attention, didn't look at him in reverance.

instead you treated him like how you treat your regular customers. with that gentle, welcoming smile of yours that beckoned people into coming into your humble little shop. that was how he initially came to caught the interest in you.

it frustrated him, the way that you refused to let your icy walls melt to him, to his constant pestering to get to know you better. no matter how many times he returned, hearing the soft chimes of the bell on your front door, you never faltered. polite, kind, and careful you were. always finding a way to spin the conversation, keeping him at arm-length. as expected from a shopkeeper, he mused.

he was the nameless hero, a chrysos heir, adored and loved by the locals. how could he failed each and every single attempt to worm his way into your life?

he didn't notice it at first.

his fascination towards you were initially just a curiosity, a supposedly passing interest. but somewhere along the way, this whole "interested in you" thing curdled into something darker, something obsessive.

at times, he caught himself wondering whether would you like the small gems he had collected from the titankins he had slained? would you finally look at him with adoration that he craved. but he knew you would never look at him in such a way, it was all but a distant dream.

but then again, he IS phainon.

something inside him snappedーlimit reached. the want for you to look at him the same way as he did to you turned into a need. the need turned into hunger. and at that moment, he was more that determined to make you see that you belonged in his arms.

the psychological shift from mere interest to pure mania was controlled, but still deeply unsettling.

he waited, as much as he wanted to just pounce on you and carve his name on you, he couldn't yetーhe abide by his time. he was a patient man after all, eventhough the obsession he had on you were slowly corroding his mind.

then, a golden opportunity came by, one he didn't let slip.

a boy from a neighbouring city, who was also one of your regular customer confessed to you. beneath the huge oak tree just by the edge of the okhema borders.

how dare he, putting his princess in such danger? the boy looked like a frail guy too, he couldn't possibly protect you from the titans no?

oh and phainon were correct. vicious puppets of the titan emerged, their limbs creaked by each movements.

the boy shielded you, his knees were trembling, but he tried to man up. that much phainon could respect. but still, the boy was nowhere as strong as he is.

"pathetic." cerulean eyes scanned the scene that was unfolding. you had a worried look, you kept on telling the boy to flee but he wouldn't, he refused to. phainon chuckled, a low and dark one.

because that boy would be meeting his end, whether by phainon's blade or being torn apart by the titankins.

he saw that the boy couldn't do shit, he swung his sword with little to no expertise at all. phainon couldn't stand this folly anymore, he stepped up.

unrivalled, unequalled, unparalleled.

phainon cut through the titankins with practiced ease, his sword made clean cuts of the stone-hard surface of the mobs. each strike was effortlessーhis battle prowess was at full display, he was showing off. the boy stammered when phainon rounded up, before a look of adoration painted the boy's face.

phainon barely spared him a glance, he didn't care. his eyes immediately flickered to you.

but instead of seeing a look of gratitude and thankfulness,

he saw terror in your eyes.

you had seen through him. you could read how was not just simply tearing through the puppets just because he was a chrysos heir and that was his duty and obligation. it was because you were there, you were watching him.

upon seeing the look on your face, a slow smirk tugged at phainon's lips.

the fear in your eyes should've made him hesitate, made him rethink his actions but it didn'tーinstead, it thrilled him.

phainon exhaled, making his way towards the awestruck boy.

"useless filth, you shouldn't even breath the same air as her."

with you still watching him, he drove his sword into the boy's head, cracking the skull open with a sickening crunch. your eyes widened in fear, you fell to your kneesーfear-struck, you could no longer feel your legs.

however, that wasn't enough, nowhere near to it. phainon's pent up frustration boiled over. another swift swing, precise, the cold steel carved through flesh and bones, splitting the boy open. the abdomen, now a gaping wound. viscera spilled forth, all glistening under the twilight sky. you could see how the still-warm bloodied organs fell out of it's cavities in a bunch of grotesque loops.

it pooled just right by phainon's feet.

phainon exhaled yet again, unimpressed, unbothered.

almost enthusiastically right after, his gaze searched for yoursーbe it in disgust, terror, or somehow, awe, he would take it. as long as it was directed to him, he would relish in it. because it was your attention that he wanted at the end of it all.

blood, guts, innardsーyou name it, it was there, splattered across the marred ground. heavy footsteps pressed against the sticky, wet patches of grass could be heard, making it's way to you in slow, deliberate steps.

you couldn't move, couldn't breathe. a dead body was just right infront of you before phainon loomed over you, making you feel scrutinised, trapped.

he was drenched in bloodーsoaked in brutality. blood streamed and smeared on his face, sword, hand, and his usually pristine snowy hair. and yet...

he looked eerily composed, as if he didn't just murder someone in cold blood.

as if this was inevitable. it was.

as if this had always meant for it to come like this. it had.

"shh, my love, there's no need to say anything. you're safe with me, you're safe being mine." and with that, he wrapped you in his embraced, one that was suffocating.

one knee sinked into the blood-soaked earth, his hand reached for your trembling ones, further smearing the blood on you. the other hand cupped your cheek, as if the same hand didn't just took a life away.

"don't be afraid, i won't hurt you." you couldn't tell whether that was true or not. nothing made sense anymore. he lifted your hand, he pressed your palm on his cheek, branding himself with your warmth.

"finally, no one will be in my way anymore." you swore you could see heart pupils forming in his eyes. the playful glint his eyes bore were no longer there. despite the lopsided grin he had on his face, his eyes told another story

he closed his eyes, feeling your trembling and unwilling hand on his cheek.

"p-phainon.." you squeaked out.

"shh, my love, there's no need to say anything. you're safe with me, you're safe being mine." and with that, he wrapped you in his embraced, one that was suffocatingーone that left no room for protest.

your hand gripped and twitched onto the bloodied fabric of his cloak, your mind was telling you to push him away, but you knew better. he wouldn't let you go no matter what. you had seen what he would, and could do just to have you in his arms, and aeons forbid he do something even more terrifying than that.

[foxofscadrial]

Phainon being so playful in the trailer was really surprising to me, like look at this guy

He’s having fun, messing with us and stealing our bat. He looks more firm in other trailers, yet he always has a gentle look to him.

I have a feeling Amphoreus is going to rip my heart to shreds.

Kevin was never a character I really cared about that much. Like he’s cool but Mei, Elysia, and Senti were the characters I really love. But now Phainon has my heart cause he seems to playful and friendly.

[elliscousland]

his sour expression quickly brightens when he succeeds. a twinkle of delight seizes his features & her yelp is the spark the ignites laughter in his chest. he doesn't care about his waterlogged boots anymore. her indignance is plenty to bandage his wounded pride.

she gets him with a wall of water when she splashes him, making his chuckle get lost in his throat. her ponytail whips water at him, getting him well in the face. he's still grinning, even as he palms the water from his eyes.

" you wouldn't, " ellis insists, his words soaked with sarcasm. he's betting she would. he pushes himself up from the water. he swears he can see fish in every ripple, but it's surely his imagination. his family were agents of the sea afterall. this, however, was no sea, " besides. i wouldn't dare pull the same trick on you twice. i have to get more creative, or you'll see me coming. "

Despite the fact that she should have seen this coming, Elysia was unprepared for the tug on her arm. She let out a yelp of surprise, easily tumbling down into the water and mud on top of him.

She surfaced with a gasp, scowling at him. "You asshole!" She splashed water at him, as if that would make a difference now that they were both sopping wet and covered in mud and who knew what else.

She shook her head like a dog, hoping to get him with some more water off her ponytail. "Next time, I'm just leaving you in the river." That probably wasn't true. But maybe next time she'd brace herself on the riverbank. Just in case.

[potatosaresweet]

rip phainon of aedes elysiae you and yoo joonghyuk would have loved venting to each other about everything