generalsdiary

[generalsdiary]

if i start writing aot smut all of a sudden, you can blame levi's insane chemistry with zeke and his marriage with erwin. thank you.

[generalsdiary]

Interwoven

Mydei x Phainon

word count: 1.9k

description: back to the future (Chapter 5)

a/n: ty to my beta readers; citrus, rice cake and Sav <2

Chapter 6: Inhale him, exhale stardust

It came in flashes.

The perfect, safe paradise falling apart. It bled through the cracks. One moment Phainon is writing at his messy table, and another, he is kneeling in his cold room in Okhema. His cheeks are wet and his vision is blurry, and before he can get a chance to adjust to the new reality, he is back in Kremnos with the most handsome man on the planet looking at him. Pools of gold he could swim in for days. The best privilege in the world is having his attention focused solely on him. The memory of the times Mydei avoided conversations with Phainon is a sting in his heart—the days Mydei would offer only one-word answers and barely look at him. Instead of lamenting the past, Phainon grounds himself in the present moment, and a lazy smile spreads across his lips.

“Will you say something, or do you plan on looking stupidly in love with me the whole time?” Mydei doesn’t hesitate to ask, gently gripping Phainon’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.

Phainon stops breathing, stuck between heartbeats, trapped between breaths. “I’m…” His words are rendered useless as Mydei leans in with a smile Phainon had never seen before, and brushes his nose against his, “M... Mydei.”

“Yes?” the single word answer brushes against Phainon’s lips in the form of a warm breath. His eyelashes flutter, but he offers no restraint to the imminent kiss. If anything, Phainon feels eager to feel it, experience it, taste him.

A moment before Phainon can meet his lips, so close he can nearly feel him—the dream, inconveniently, ends. The first crack of their reality goes unnoticed by Phainon, wrapped up in the blanket of a loving dream. To him, the flash of the new future appears as a pretend nightmare. Any pain that pierced through his temples gets tucked away in the warm duvet covering his body and the rhythmic breathing of Mydei beside him. If sleep hadn’t concealed the truth, would he have done everything the same way?

Castrum Kremnos ruled and led by King Mydeimos and Prince Phainon had already become a home to them. Apart from some odds and ends sticking out, they had no trouble adapting to it again. Coming back was akin to visiting the house of one’s grandparents, nothing could go wrong—like children without responsibility. The stakes of this reality are a laughable joke in comparison to their actual present. For the two, who usually stand, walk and fight in abnormal proximity, a situation where they’re forced to be even closer is embraced with open arms.

The habit of keeping chats of their present hushed while also having to appear in love, although there’s not much pretending to be had there, resurfaces easily. Every fool, except for Mydei, could tell how lovingly Prince Phainon looks at his husband and everyone, except for Phainon, could tell just how much King Mydeimos blushes in the presence of his other half.

With the constant goal being to have private conversations, Mydei expressed his desire to take Phainon somewhere further away, so that they might not have to whisper. 

“This is beautiful, we should do this more often,” Phainon muses, looking around to take in the scenery. A quiet river, the cleanest air filtered by the large trees surrounding them and, of course, the King of Castrum Kremnos. He could not ask for anything more.

Mydei shuffles a bit on the soft grass, “We could… probably not whenever we make it back… But I’m glad I could show you this.”

Phainon has a glint in his eyes, swiftly cooking up an idea to take Mydei’s mind off whatever may be troubling him, “I bet I could eat more peaches from this tree than you.”

His plan proves fruitful the moment Mydei meets Phainon’s eyes with a newfound fervor in them, “I eat more than you.” 

Already in a half squat, Phainon was grabbing as many peaches as he could and shoving them into his shirt, “We will see about that,” He taunted, voice thick with excitement at the premise of another competition.

Mydei groaned, succumbing to the hard-wired desire to indulge Phainon in this little game—to beat his opponent and pluck the baby pink fruit off the fragile branches faster than him. In a mere matter of moments, there were dozens of peaches on the floor around their feet. In the heat of the ongoing competition, a thought of clarity floats over to Mydeimos, “Perhaps… we shouldn’t behave in this way with food. Furthermore, this is the only peach tree here.”

“Chickening out already?” Phainon snickers, bubbling with the desire to tease Mydei.

“How about we both just enjoy a singular peach, and bring the rest back to Kremnos? As much as I love competing with you, surely we can draw a line somewhere?” In favour of ignoring Phainon’s jab, Mydeimos tilts his head.

The tension in Phainon’s back eases. As long as his so-called-husband has his mind out of the gutter, he doesn’t mind dropping the competition and settling with enjoying the presence of his counterpart. With the peaches nicely piled into an organized tower, Phainon grabs one of them, “Yeah, I can indulge in just one. Here’s to us, Mydeimos, may we always remain triumphant,” he extends it towards Mydei’s hand, to bump them as one might glasses. Mydei wordlessly nods and returns the gesture.

Past the soft fuzz of the fruit’s skin, the blend of soft red, warm yellow and hint of green breaks to reveal a bright orange flesh, spilling its juices—a cacophony of sour and sweet dancing on the men’s tongues. Mouths full, they make eye contact past the first bite, gripping the fruit and leaving no room for witty remarks or playful jokes. One may wonder… was there a matrimony ceremony in the past—or perhaps, on a completely different planet—consisting of the very action the two men find themselves in right now.

The situation is unsettling for all lovers, with Mydei being the first one to bend the knee under the severe pressure of the implied kiss across the fruit—by closing his eyes and taking another bite. Phainon holds back the urge to grab Mydei’s hand, entangle their fingers, relish in the warmth of his palm, feel the strong grip they most probably have—he is holding his hand. Phainon is… he is holding his hand. The shock in his blue eyes matches that of Mydei’s amber ones. Since their mouths are full and they’re not being observed, they let the shock go and instead, turn to ignoring the gravity of such an action.

Yet soft times like these are exactly what Mydei wanted out of his life. Simple, gentle moments that they could never get in the present. It is a small part of them, deep inside, the one that wishes to ignore all responsibilities and let go of the hero status, that wishes Caelus would catch them later rather than sooner. After finally swallowing the sweet fruit, Mydei calls out, “Phainon.”

Their eyes meet, and time nearly stops for them. Apart from the trees rustling, the creek flowing over the smooth grey rocks polished by time, and various birds chirping, time reaches its standstill. It is said that birds only sing in the areas that are safe. This picnic is a memory that one should save in a snow globe to keep it safe and sound; secure and eternal under the glass orb. Glass is crafted from the rough particles of sand; it forms the clear, firm material. However, it is fragile. One wrong swing of an arm and the snow globe falls down, plummeting to its doom and dirtying the floor with a strange liquid. All that remain are fake snowflakes and parts of what once used to be a picnic scene.

There it is again—Phainon’s knees ache and the cold from the stone seeps into his legs. This time, he gathers his surroundings a bit better; this truly is his room. The curtains are pulled away, allowing the eternal dawn to shine light onto the messy space. Phainon wipes away the oncoming, cold tears from his warm cheeks. Salt. They taste like salt. He tries to get up, but with no energy to fight left in them, his legs give out. More tears keep coming, and an ache in his chest makes him think he was stabbed. He looks down… alas, there is no wound there. The whole premise gives him a bad feeling; the wrench in his gut confirming something went terribly wrong. Part of his armor is thrown haphazardly around the room, adding to the unsettling feeling in his stomach.

Phainon reaches for his teleslate, the cold metal assuring him with the potential of clarifying information, until the sensation switches to the warmth of Mydei’s hand. 

“Mydeimos,” he gasps, squeezing the large hand in his, “Something happened, I think the reality is falling apart.”

Mydei looks equally disoriented and mimics Phainon’s gesture, “It appears our choices are changing this future… I don’t think this one is stable. I don’t know if it is safe for us to be here.”

“I doubt this has something to do with safety. Just now I was somewhere else—but it wasn’t our present. We should be safe either way, but…” Phainon shifted closer to Mydei. There’s no harm in sitting near his… husband of this future, is what he tells himself. The fear that he will lose Mydei in an unknown timeline is a thought that he buries deep inside him. He can only hope it will never see the light of the eternal dawn.

“Alright, I’ll trust your judgement this time,” Mydei nods, turning towards Phainon, “I don’t doubt your capabilities to protect yourself should it ever come to it,” his eyes fall to the long-forgotten pile of peaches, “I do wonder… What did you see in the new future?”

“Nothing new, nor out of the ordinary... Okhema, my room. I was crying, I didn’t manage to figure out why. And you?” He murmurs his words out hurriedly, and quickly poses a counter question. The last thing he wants is for Mydei to worry. It is not that he minds talking about his tears, rather that he wishes to avoid giving Mydei an excuse to not share his experience.

The worry in Mydei’s eyes confirms Phainon’s initial goal, “You were crying? It was nothing special on my end, I was—“

Surrounded by enemies. Encircled by Titankin; corrupted by the Black Tide, running along the stone tiles overgrown by grass, outside of any light sent by the Worldbearing Titan Kephale. The air’s thick with the scent of rust, a familiar smell, however only one person can bleed here and it is not any of the enemies. An ache overwhelmed his muscles with each hit he swung forward, and his armor grew heavier with every second. It made him wonder how many times he had already died and come back. The abandoned buildings of Castrum Kremnos… a sour sight to meet after holding the hand of the man he is terribly fond of in the rebuilt city.

Well… that is what he wanted to say. The final crack in the glass shattered it completely, and the future of the two loving, ruling husbands fell apart in their hands like water slipping through their fingers. That future is torn away from their grasp, never to be seen again.

Slow mornings, nights filled with the scent of lavender coming in from the balcony, shared meals, discussions over laws and the common folk inquiries. No Flame Chase journey, no impending Black Tide, no war, no internal conflict. Losing all of this… will it ever be worth the price they’ll have to pay?

[generalsdiary]

The Desecration of thy Holy Temple

Dr. Ratio x Aventurine

word count: 3.3k

description: Dr. Ratio gets sick due to overworking (or catching something from the catcakes), and Aventurine takes care of him

a/n: this was written for the Ratiorine server spring exchange 2025

Stacks of papers cover the large mahogany table, organized in neat piles and displaying different subjects and classes. The blue hologram blinks the system time, keeping Veritas painfully aware of how slowly it is passing. A sting burns his eyes; he tries to rub it away only to sigh in pain. Staring into the same exam for hours is not good for anyone. He is aware of this, yet despite that, he wanted to get all of it done in one sitting.

It has proven to be unrealistic. Veritas’ focus is dropping, the letters are turning blurry and he is lamenting the obvious need for glasses. His significant other did insist that he wears them, although he assumes it is more because of aesthetic reasons rather than the betterment of his vision. His assumption may be proved wrong.

The ergonomic chair has little effect when the seated man is hunched forward. Unlike his usual perfect posture, his spine is crying out in pain, foreshadowing the upcoming arthritis he will most likely develop as a direct consequence. After all, he is not a teenager anymore. A middle aged man like him will inevitably get a heavy ache in his lower back soon enough.

Hesitantly, he lifts up the crimson box containing the tool that might aid him. Inside are a pair of circular glasses with dark brown frames. They have barely any weight in his hands, and even less weight on his nose.

The letters on the paper and the hologram stop moving around, the duplicates unify, and he rolls his eyes. Of course, the vision aid aids him.

Veritas straightens his posture, scolding himself for succumbing to the delicious desire of being hunched over. With his now perfect posture, he furiously begins typing notes for his own improvement in the upcoming lectures. The soft clicks and clacks of his old-fashioned keyboard fill the study room. Following the learning curve of his students and their current, disappointing performance, the end goal is how much they can take in, not how much he can get across.

The occasional mistake in his grammar, the odd letter off, makes him realize he is ignoring some unrecognized need of his. But Veritas is a stubborn, stubborn man. Rather than stopping and taking a break, he diligently pushes on, past the obvious migraine and something itching in his throat.

One nod, two nods, three—he gives up. Just a moment to rest his eyes won’t hurt. Veritas lays his cheek flat on the table, only for a moment. It aches his body; the odd pose hurts his neck and numbs his jaw. Just a second of shuteye. Maybe a minute. Then he will be good to go and get his work done. He unbuttons his white dress shirt—was it him or was the room getting really warm? Veritas always leaves the same temperature… would his husband change it for a random reason? Or did one of the catcakes jump up and… He groans softly, stopping his thoughts. It doesn’t matter, he needs only a moment… One… moment…

The time glides by like a lazy river at water parks—no rush, no thoughts and no sense of obligations. A fun, upbeat song bleeds into the room when the door opens. The fun, joyful words do little to rouse Veritas from his momentary respite.

The wonderful moment is ruined by the tug on his biceps, “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m, mh, taking a moment...” Veritas completely disregards his husband’s efforts, not bothering to even open his eyes. Kakavasha takes the opportunity to glance over Veritas’ watch, stepping closer and tapping on the small smooth black screen.

“Your digital watch is claiming you have been sleeping for nearly half a system hour.” Kakavasha presses a palm against his forehead, “And you’re running a fever!” Aventurine tuts in disbelief, “That’s it, time to go to bed.” The years of kindness, mutual love and care taught the blond how to set firm boundaries and how to take care of his husband. Various times when Kakavasha had befallen to a sickness taught him firsthand how it all works. The medicine, the affection, the patience… One of the greatest gifts he could possibly receive.

“Vasha, I only closed my eyes for a moment—I am fine.” Veritas lazily raises his head, huffing as he does so, narrowing his eyes until they focus on his surroundings.

“And as handsome as you look with those glasses,” Kakavasha gently takes the glasses off Veritas’ face and places them in their box, “You won’t need your reading glasses in bed.”

The doctor is quick to object, “I am not running a fever, it is simply warm… or,” Veritas hums, rubbing his chest, “A tad cold… Fuck. I can’t afford to be sick. l—“

The blond softly chuckles, “Funny how you have such high standards for yourself, but treat others with such patience.” Kakavasha smoothly quips, gently guiding the man up on his feet. It is only when he stands up to his full height that Kakavasha is reminded of how tall the man is, and how little he can actually help with carrying him over to their bedroom.

“Beloved, you cannot possibly carry me, so I will walk by myself,” he weakly gestures, waving his hand around with his eyes barely open.

“Can I not at least hold your hand?” The blond flashes him a million credits smile and slithers his arm next to Veritas’.

Veritas doesn’t have it in him to keep up the back-and-forth conversation, such as; how obvious his intentions are, how that smile doesn’t work on him (yes it does), so on and so forth. After years of marriage, he knows better than to quip. With a small approving nod, he allows Kakavasha to lead him to bed.

The very moment his head hits the feather-filled pillow, the man is out like a light. He practically glues down onto the sheets. The heaviness of his body keeps him well under and away from the conscious land. Another hour drives by in a fever-ran dream. Shivering under the heavy covers, he pulled over his body in sleep, sweating at the same time. If the man were conscious, he would have already taken the proper medicine.

Once more, Kakavasha awakens him, this time with a bowl of warm soup.

Warm savory vegetable soup energizes him plentifully, a familiar flavor of his childhood. “You followed my father’s recipe?” Veritas recalls the red leather notebook filled with handwritten recipes, one of which is his favorite soup.

“Yes, I did. It felt safer to cook that rather than… ramen or giving you something fried…” Kakavasha smiles and hands him a wet towel, which he rejects.

Being a doctor, he starts his lecture, “Drawing out high fever or any temperature of that kind via the forehead is a slow and, simply put, bad way to do it. Warming up or cooling down is much better to be achieved differently. Primarily, to draw it through the extremities,” he leans his head back on the pillow, taking a moment to close his eyes, “such as hands, palms, wrists, and feet. It is ideal to run one’s wrists under a stream of cold water. Also, showers are helpful—“ His infodump is cut short by his own gasp, dusk colored eyes snapping open, “What are you—“

Kakavasha had taken it upon himself to put cold-soaked socks onto Veritas, using the predictable lecture as a distraction, “Moonshine-soaked socks. The most optimal solution.” Coming from a different background, Kakavasha is well versed in homemade efficient solutions to various illnesses. Such as using strong alcohol to ease a high fever.

“You— ugh… it does… make sense.” Veritas continues softly hissing. The bright orange socks send a strong whiff of alcohol his way, feet resting neatly on top of a towel to not soak the bed sheets.

Kakavasha tuts, quietly reassuring him, “You will be alright, would you like your regular vitamins?”

“I took them after lunch. Can you… I would take them myself but I am obviously going to dirty the floor if I walk now,” he narrows his eyes at his husband, obviously judging his methods but there is no bite in his gaze, “Please bring me the box of medicine we keep in the fridge.”

Kakavasha smiles, but instead of standing back up, he leans towards him and kisses his cheek, “You’ve got it, handsome.”

“Blatant flirt...” Veritas tries to frown. Such an attempt is futile, thus only end up leading to complete failure. The intense blush on his cheeks, caused by the high fever, half-closed eyes, and the tiniest scrunch of his nose makes the man look utterly adorable. Kakavasha holds back the urge to cover him with kisses.

A fresh change of socks, a semi-cold shower, and a selection of appropriate medicine later, Veritas is eating freshly cut up fruit. Moreso shoving it down his throat due to his lack of appetite, while holding a staring contest with Kakavasha.

“Food.”

“Hmph. Food,” Veritas continues chewing, obviously unhappy.

“You know it is good for you.” Kakavasha moves closer, leaning onto Veritas’ shoulder.

“You’re cool to touch… don’t move away, please.” Veritas embraces the man, switching the position to spoon him, arms tightly wrapping around his waist. “However, I’d hate to infect you…” His arms lose the grip, letting go of the smaller man. One may take care of the other; alas, if both are sick, then the situation would turn into two men struggling to get well. Drowning in tissues, half-assed meals and high fevers is not something this household, or any for that matter, needs.

“With my luck, I doubt I’d get sick from you, doctor~” Kakavasha smiles as he moves away, he follows Veritas’ wishes – not finding any amusement in pushing the man’s boundaries. His words earned only a snort from his husband.

“You’d do better to not rely on your luck for trivial things, I do not find it amusing when you gamble your health, darling,” Veritas does not allow any self-deprecating humor to fly by.

Kakavasha cutely scrunches his nose and nods, “Yes, love. I won’t, I promise. Well…maybe—“

“Kakavasha.” Veritas sternly scolds him, glaring at him.

“Fine, fine, fine—no gambling,” Kakavasha is all smiles and giggles. Both men are well aware he might joke about this same topic again in the future—lightheartedly of course.

As luck would have it, Veritas got better quickly. The only price was the pure exhaustion, equivalent to a physical worker at the end of the day. An ache pierced down to his bones, an arrow through flesh. The weakness in his bones made Veritas feel weak, utterly helpless—a man laid on his deathbed.  No fever, cough or sniffle tortured his days; in the eyes of his dear husband, Veritas was still in perfect shape for constant cuddles.

That is until he was met with the lowest act of it all—waking up in the middle of the night with a burn in his nose and an odd taste in his mouth. Stumbling towards the bathroom, his new companion: a migraine—piercing his temples. The, practically neon, bright light of the bathroom only worsens the numbness of his senses. Veritas washes his face once, twice, aimlessly staring at his reflection in the mirror in hopes he can glare the pain away. Partygoers, clubbers, or anyone who indulges in consuming alcoholic beverages must be acclimatized to such smells in dirty bathrooms. He assumes that a loss of sensation must be a common experience to them.Conversely, Veritas, the man who eats properly, sleeps appropriately and treats his body as the most sacred temple, is most definitely not used to the current predicament. 

“Veri… darling, are you okay?” Kakavasha had quietly slipped into the bathroom. The deaf hours of the night, becoming much less deaf, and the side of his bed—which had already turned cold—were certainly alarming for Veritas’ husband.

“Vasha…” Veritas coughed once. His throat tingled with a burning sensation from the lack of moisture in it, “You shouldn’t be here, the smell alone is horrendous.” He shuddered when the stench hit his nose once more.

“I grew up and lived in much worse conditions, I can handle being around my loved one. And… the bathroom smells fine?” The blond tilts his head in question.

Veritas lets his head hang above the sink—limp as a ragdoll—and heavily sighs, “Must be this ridiculous cold.”

“Let me get you some water,” Kakavasha leaves with soft steps, and with strained vocal chords, Veritas weakly shouts after him, “I told you to wear slippers!”

“I prefer to feel the ground, Veritas!” The blond yells back from the kitchen.

A few moments later, he is once again by his side. “Here, drink up,” he hands him a glass of cold water that Veritas uses to clean out his mouth before he dares swallow a sip. In the meanwhile, Kakavasha soaks a small grey towel in cold water and places it on Veritas’ nape, earning a sharp inhale and a long exhale.

“That is… Aeons , that is lovely,” the doctor muses, “Thank you.”

Kakavasha smiles, pleased with the effectiveness of his solution, “Mhm, I’ve been where you are plenty of times. Hangovers humble a man…” he gazes off into the distance, the smile slowly disappearing as he recalls the awful throbbing headaches.

“I am glad you no longer consume alcohol as much as you used to. I’m… ugh…” Veritas’ throat is painfully dry, tongue sticking uncomfortably to the roof of his mouth, “I’m surprised this cold had also included the deprivation of my senses. Preposterous that such germs would dare attack me of all people,” Veritas shakes his head and leans against the washing machine.

“Veritas… you don’t have to force yourself, in this state of all things, to make me laugh by pretending to be pretentious,” Kakavasha brushes his fingers against Veritas’ cheek. The skin is somewhat rough; the man hadn’t shaved in a few days. Short indigo hairs peek through the otherwise smooth curves of cheeks. The man leans into his touch, desperately seeking comfort. “C’mon, let’s give your—“ he snickers, throwing on the accent his husband has, “— oral cavity ” earning a soft glare from the doctor, “a new taste, and perhaps a shower. How do you feel?” Kakavasha sits down on the edge of the bathtub.

“I… cannot tell. Though, I feel… awfully weak—“ Veritas quietly answers, his eyelids droopy. There’s an underlying exhaustion in his bones, inexplicable, and Veritas cannot summon enough strength to deduce the cause. 

Kakavasha is already on his feet, opening the white marble cabinet and fetching the dark blue toothbrush from its cup, “Don’t overexert yourself,” he turns on the faucet, wets the brush, puts some spearmint toothpaste on it, wets it again and hands it to him, “We have floor heating for a reason, so don’t stress about me not wearing slippers.” He also takes the chance to smear some toothpaste on Veritas’ and his own philtrum, an easy solution to block out many unpleasant smells, including imaginary ones. That one, Kakavasha had figured out several years ago.

Veritas slowly brushes his teeth with hands heavy as lead. His head is a mess of half thoughts, hence he focuses on moving the toothbrush back and forth, making sure to give attention especially to his tongue. The thought of food goes through his mind—one should always work to replenish their lost strength—however, it could also upset his stomach. He decides that he will wait until morning to have a proper breakfast. Secretly, he hopes Kakavasha will make it. He is most proficient in cooking breakfast, and Veritas can’t deny that he loves his scrambled eggs, fried bread, the occasional pancakes, chocolate muffins, chocolate chip cookies, vegan bacon— and now he is salivating. Better focus on only brushing his teeth.

Meanwhile, Kakavasha unscrewed a plastic bottle with neon blue liquid inside and poured some in a tiny plastic cup. Their size reminds him of jell-o shots, or… regular shots for that matter. An echo of the old, infamous days which he certainly does not miss.

Veritas slowly gets up to his feet to wash out the toothpaste and clean the toothbrush, followed by gargling the—far too strong for anyone’s liking—mouthwash. “This is fucking disgusting,” he groans.

“Why do you think it’s full? Neither of us even uses it,” the blond man shrugs, “Do you think your energy levels are bed level or a nap in the bathtub level?”

A sparkle shines in Veritas’ dusk eyes. The idea of a bath soothes his soul—which is not a scientifically proven concept. “I doubt I’d have the energy to stay awake in it…” he turns to look at his beloved, “Would you… care to join me? I could rest on you in turn?”

Kakavasha’s face brightens up. Oh, how he loves seeing the life and light in those eyes, “I would love to.”

Using a bath bomb or something with too strong of a scent to it this late at night would simply upset the somewhat ill man even further. On the other hand, an empty bath is a sorry sight. Clear water and no bubbles? One might as well have had a shower. Thankfully, Veritas is prepared for even these types of situations. He pours a clear liquid into the warm water and moves his hand around to activate the formula. A white foam consisting of tiny, iridescent, scentless bubbles grows tremendously high in the perfectly warm tub. A shameless moan parts from his lips as he sinks in it.

“I can barely see where the water is, are you sure I won’t slip and fall?” Kakavasha carefully steps into the large bathtub.

“I will catch you if you do... But be careful,” his eyes snap open, unable to hide the obvious concern for the sudden worry his partner expressed. Strong hands grip Kakavasha’s waist and guide him down between Veritas’ legs.

Kakavasha’s brows furrow in confusion, “I thought you said you’d be leaning on me?”

“I can lean on you from the back too, my love,” his arms wrap around Kakavasha and he nuzzles his face into his neck. Veritas’ body turns heavy as he goes limp, nearly falling asleep in the warm water. Kakavasha follows suit and both end up napping for an hour. It is the semi cool water that wakes them up when the sun rises.

A, hopefully healthier, morning consists of a shared morning shower – Veritas was feeling far too clingy to do it alone.

A knock on the door interrupts their breakfast.

“Vasha, do you mind? I do not feel like dealing with humans this early,” Veritas mumbles between bites of wrapped crepes filled with pomegranate jam. The quieter catcake is purring nonstop on Veritas’ lap, while the other is flipping between the TV channels on the couch, its paws expertly navigating the remote as it searches for its preferred program.

“No problem~ Eat up,” the chair squeaks as Kakavasha pushes it aside and walks to the front door.

He stands on the tips of his toes to peek into the peep hole… It is only the mailman. “Good morning, yes?”

The man is holding an envelope in his hands and a small tablet, “Letter for Doctor and Mr. Ratio?”

“Mhm, I can take it,” Kakavasha quickly examines the letter, flipping it around in his hand. It has multiple different kinds of handwriting on it, and a small Pom-Pom sticker sticks the envelope in place. One of the catcakes nuzzles up curiously to his legs, meowing softly in an attempt to get his attention.

“Sign here, please,” the mailman extends the tablet and a silicon pen.

“Yep, there you go, thank you so much.” Kakavasha smiles.

The man nods, not in the mood for smiling, his eyes fall to the screen, checking if the signature matches, “No problem… Mr. Ratio, have a nice day.”

divider credit: @saradika-graphics

[generalsdiary]

blade crumbs found in a seal event

yaoi so tragic it echoes in a distant inaccessible world

[generalsdiary]

Interwoven

Mydei x Phainon

word count: 4.8k

description: catching up with the 3.1 canon events (Chapter 4)

a/n: ty to my beta readers; citrus & rice cake

Chapter 5: Guided by the Morning Star

“I can't just put Kremnoan clothes on.” Caelus gasps and crosses his arms over his chest, denying the option to cosplay. Kremnoans walk around basically shirtless—the sheer image of walking around without his jacket and shirt, wearing shorts and sandals makes him shake his head. He’s unwilling to show even a sliver of his skin. The mountains in the distance do nothing to ease his thoughts, the sight of such beauty bathed in natural sunlight doesn't earn even a glance from him. If it were a different time, a different companion with him or if he were a different version of himself, he might have stopped… and gazed at the landscape.

“Mem mem.. mem mem?” His pink companion coos in question.

“I have some scarring that would make me stand out, we have to do something else.” He rubs his chest, and Mem angles her head, curiously staring at the spot, “Mem?”

“Consequences of housing a Stellaron,” he chuckles, “sorta like being struck by lightning except it is yellow marks across my body. That glow. Sometimes. Dan Heng says they glow.” Caelus shrugs. Underneath his clothes, resembling something between cracked ice and lightning strikes, streaks of gold stretch out across his torso, arms and legs. The Vidyadhara man has made it a habit to trace them with his lips. The memory makes Caelus smile. “I’ll climb over the wall—simple!”

Alongside the bright day, fire quietly crackles as it also lights up the majestic courtyard. A clean, polished look, unlike the one Caelus has seen in the present. A breathtaking sight makes Caelus believe he is seeing a moment stolen from the past. He had walked through these halls with Castorice and Gnaeus. To think it all gets revived in the future, brought up to its old glory, is truly astounding.

A tall, gruff-looking guard threw him onto the stone tiles. “My King, we have found this intruder trying to jump over the wall. What do you want us to do with him?”

“…Caelus?” The King tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the trailblazer’s back. 

Caelus lifted his head, excitedly speaking up, “Mydei! It is an emergency—I don’t know how much longer Mem can keep us here.”

Time travelling and the etiquette for time travelers isn’t something they teach in Kremnoan school. Inopportunely, Mydeimos never went to any school - the Grove is more of an Akademiya. Dealing with someone he knows well enough, but whose relationship with him is unpredictable, makes the cogs in his head work overtime.

“Yes… uhm, of course. Do let go of him, we can… reconcile, but I am busy, I can’t spare you much time.” The rust of the wind that blows across a battlefield is vivid in his mind. He wishes he could be there, rather than taking care of a completely uncertain dynamic which is the ball of chaos in front of him. Mydei gestures with his head and the unnecessary personnel scatters, leaving the guards posted at the entrance the only ones nearby. 

“You said it was urgent. How may I help you, as the King of Kremnos?” He takes a confident stance, legs apart the width of his shoulders and crossing his arms across his chest.

“Are you the version… Mem, is he—“ Behind him, the friendly pink creature pops up, and Caelus turns around “Mem! Mem Mydei mem mem.” She nods. Caelus rubs his chin and decides to spill the beans, “If you’re wrong; they will throw me to the crazy house, here we go! I am here to get you back to the present. Please be Mydei from my time—“ “Mem!” The two start squabbling in front of a shocked Mydei. “I know you’re sure, and if he isn’t?” “Mem mem! Mem!”

“Did you just say… present?” This is their chance; they can go back. Of course he wants to go back. There’s nothing he wants more. Right? Right. “I… I must get Phainon, he should be in our room, I’ll fetch him.” A tremble travels up his body, followed by adrenaline coursing through his veins. The words Caelus speaks flow past his ears as he speed walks away. Yes, this is an oasis, and such a happy time. Alas it doesn’t cancel out that the Kremnoan people deserve better. In the end, it might be at the price of his joy.

In the end, the price will end up being much higher.

“Deliverer!” Mydei calls out when the large doors open, seeking out the young man. There’s a millisecond there where he wishes they could stay… to run away, to wait until Caelus gets pulled back into the present. That irrational thought dies down the moment it was born. “We are going back, they have sent the outlander for us, it is time.”

Phainon is stunned in place, he looks around as if he has things to pack and the sharp sword of nostalgia hits him immediately. Did he even leave a mark on this time? “Should we leave a note…or…”

“What note? We are the imposters here, let’s go while we can.” Mydei is already out of the door, while Phainon takes one last look at their chambers. Their room. The bed they shared for many nights, the bed their married counterparts sleep in and will continue to do so when they leave. The desk he got accustomed to, filling out many reports in the late evening. The balcony where they spent the deaf hours of the night whispering of the present. The closet with clothing much more akin to his tastes than the one he has. The brown carpet which kept his feet warm in the morning, unlike his Chrysos Heir room back in Okhema. The pillow that held his head and the sight that met him each morning. The tousled hair of his… of Mydeimos. An armored hand grabs his, “What are you waiting for, Deliverer? Let’s go.” Mydei pulls him away. It only took one glance at him for Phainon to notice the unspoken words in his eyes too.

This time around, there was no physical pain. Nostalgia is a pain that creeps in—it doesn’t quite make one cry. It is a deadly killer, looming in the silent shadow of the night and clenching one’s heart when there’s no one around; wishing and hoping upon the unforeseen star of the future, lamenting what could be. Seeing what will be, living in what will happen, jumping to the happy ending… sits differently in the heart. One could get hope for what is to come after living in the perfect version of the future. Unfortunately, the heavy warning dream showing a different, possible future, stalks the back of Phainon’s mind. Mydei’s resolve to attempt to change the future for the betterment of his people strengthens the demon of his nightmare even more.

The two awakened, disoriented, in hospital beds beside each other, with many onlooking Chrysos Heirs. The typical scent pinches their noses, affirming the sterile environment, before they open their eyes. There’s a stiffness in their necks from the paper thin pillows, and an ache in their bodies as if they have slept for hours on end.

Head spinning, Mydei takes the opportunity to quickly utter the location of the Death Titan, in fear that they will be ripped away before sharing it, or that they will forget what had happened.

“Snowy! De! You made us so worried!” Tribbie jumped onto Phainon’s bed and hugged him. Not wasting another second, she also hugged Mydei.

“It was, rather, disturbing. Worrying is an understatement. Losing two of our best warriors in the middle of war, not to mention two of our highly appreciated Chrysos Heirs needed for the prophecy, has taken a toll on Okhema. I do not want to rush you, however there have been severe attacks in your absence. I must urge you, Phainon, to partake in the trial for the Coreflame of Strife.” Aglaea’s sightless eyes showed no emotion—a statue would’ve provided more color to their voice. She stands at the foot of their beds, looming at them with an undeniable pressure in the air.

“Yes, of course, I will get to it—“ Phainon’s head sends a pulsating headache, accompanied with severe dizziness, through him the moment he sits up. The many onlookers in the room have their eyes set on the man, thus failing to see the painfully obvious worry in Mydei’s eyes the moment Phainon winced.

Hyacine firmly denies any forced urgency Aglaea attempted to shove down his throat, “Both of them need rest. We aren’t familiar with the artifact they had used and how it may have affected them. They need to be under observation… Or Phainon might fail the trial simply because of this, Lady Aglaea.” Her colorful eyes show resolve, overcoming her respect and devotion to Aglaea by putting the wellbeing of her patients above the woman.

Aglaea shows the tiniest bit of displeasure, one that only Tribios could catch, however she hears reason within Hyacine’s words and silently lets the matter go. Perhaps it was leftovers of the love the Romance Titan had for the Reason Titan that made her see it clearly. “Hyacine can inform you of less trivial matters. We are happy you are back with us. Priestess, a word please?” Tribbie smiles brightly at the men and leaves with Aglaea.

“Is the outlander back too? What exactly happened? How did you manage to find us?” Mydei’s eyes are closed, the bronze armor is off his hands and he is rubbing his temple. He takes notice that his armor was stripped of him some time before he woke up.

“He is fine, doing better than you two! Lady Aglaea doesn’t show it but she was as worried as the rest of us. You…” Hyacine blinks quickly a few times. Her eyes scan the two men, subtly checking their reflexes and behavior.

Phainon speaks up, “Granted, we did disappear for a period of time, I assume.”

The girl’s eyes show horror, the soft curls of her pigtails shake with head moving left and right. “You didn’t just disappear. You both… collapsed on the floor. And… Professor Anaxagoras claimed your bodies had no souls inside once he came to look at you. I was called upon immediately. You two were laying limp on the floor like corpses. Unmoving, empty human shells with no consciousness. Tribbie and Trianne cried, blaming themselves for your states.” Hyacine’s voice shook. She tried to make pauses between the words, yet sadly, it did little to calm her as she actively recalled the day. “When we tried to carry you two here… you both stopped breathing. We discovered that whatever took you away also made it lethal to both of you if you got separated. Lord Mydei died… and came back. I thank the Sky Titan every day for your immortality, Lord Mydei. We should have been more careful when we were attempting to help you.” The girl avoids eye contact, ashamed of her actions.

“Hyacine, don’t worry. We are both fine. And back.” Mydei nods, he finds himself glancing over at Phainon, an urge he used to be able to hold back.

“Yes, Hyacine, we are doing great! Except for the seasickness on dry land, but I’ll sleep it off. Do send our gratitude to the outlander. Caelus really came through for us.” Phainon smiles, rubbing the nape of his neck to soothe the relentless ache there.

“Of course, Lord Phainon. Their idea was a little away from genius and we are eternally grateful that they managed to get you back. Please, I shouldn’t be overloading you with information, allow me to escort you to your rooms and let you rest.” Despite the attempt to hide their lightheadedness, it overwhelms them and the two simply mutter in agreement.

Phainon pulls the heavy curtains over the balcony of his room. Mimicking nighttime, shielding his eyes from it. The familiar empty room greets him like it is any other day. The weeks that have passed, according to Hyacine, are not visible on the furniture in his room. No dust has fallen on it, the room does not greet him. It had only ever served him as a resting place, never a home. Phainon ignores the sofa, the armchair, the little cyan footrest next to his bed… It is just furniture – nothing more. He slumps onto the bed and passes out without a second thought.

Mydei is awakened from his deep sleep by a voice calling out for him. Even before he opens his eyes, his hands are feeling out the bed to the left of him, gripping the empty sheets. Upon finding the side of the bed vacant, he sits up looking around the room for the source of the voice. “Mydei—“

The voice gets louder, and with dust from sleep blurring his vision, he gets up, walking to the… smaller door than he had gotten used to. Forcefully he opens the door, wearing only his pajama bottoms, exclaiming in a rough voice, “Ignis, where the hell is Phainon?” The warrior is on autopilot, following the yelps that woke him up, opening the door nearby his room. The lack of a guard, nonetheless Ignis, the woman who stands the night shift in front of their room in the future, or the fact he woke up in his usual room, surpass the barely awake man. Stumbling into Phainon’s room, he trips over the footrest and quickly climbs onto the bed, “Deliverer, what is it, what happened? What are you doing here—“ Mydei’s mind finally settles down when he grips Phainon’s arms. He is in the present, in Phainon’s room.

With flushed cheeks and messy hair, Phainon naturally clings onto Mydeimos, a reassuring figure he has grown used to. “Mydei!”

The reality of their situation escapes him, the instinct to comfort Phainon overtaking his narrow sleepy focus, “Y-yes, I’m here.” Mydei finds himself embracing Phainon’s trembling body.

“A nightmare… a nightmare and… I thought I’d wake up sooner from it,” Phainon shakes his head, pushing his face further into Mydei’s neck.

Mydei swallows hard. In the previous weeks he was there to wake Phainon before the nightmares  went on as long as they did tonight. They don’t share a bed anymore. He doesn’t sleep beside him. He wasn’t there to comfort him immediately. He shushes Phainon, rubbing his back as he usually did.

Mydei sits, somewhat awkwardly, on Phainon’s bed. It is different. He can’t stay. By the time Phainon finally calmed down, his eyes are half open, tired, leaning back into sleep, and Mydeimos moves to the edge to leave.

“Don’t go.” Phainon whispers, his arm outstretched toward him. The unspoken rules are to go to sleep in his own bed. They aren’t even romantically inclined. Never kissed, they aren’t dating. Why should he stay? Because they had slept in the same bed for weeks? Months? It is wrong to act upon that assumption. There isn’t a single reason he should stay that makes sense.

“For old time’s sake. I… I sleep better beside you.” Phainon meets Mydei’s eyes and closes them, choosing to not see him leave if he decides so. Mydei averts his eyes to look at the mess of pillows and covers Phainon is resting in. Perhaps it is something about the quiet of the artificial night, their guards being lower from their sleepy states, the intimacy of the moment in the present, or the option to stay… that makes Mydei join Phainon’s side.

“So needy.” Mydei complains with a soft smile that is concealed by the darkness in the room. He crawls over Phainon’s legs to slump onto the left side of the bed. His usual side. No reasons hold any weight when all he wants is to sleep beside him. They don’t have to touch, they never have; instead, always keeping a healthy distance between their bodies on the canopy bed. Even though the two slept in the same bed, they had each other; their breathing, Phainon’s snoring, crickets buzzing…

Mydeimos settles down on his left side, facing the other man. Phainon sleepily gazes at him and shifts closer, “Good night, Mydei.” He moves completely to the other side, resting his head on Mydei’s arm and nuzzling his head into Mydei’s neck. Mydei exhales heavily, “… Good night, Phainon.” His arms wrap around Phainon, one hand straying up to the platinum locks, gently rubbing his scalp. The motion feels far too natural, and the position far too comfortable. A minute or so later, they entangle legs, like they both waited until it could be assumed they had done so naturally in their sleep.

With a groan, Mydeimos stretched his arms, “Why is it still dark, I’m sure we are oversleeping…”

Phainon stirs in his arms, moving away to also flex his legs, pushing the light blue duvet away, “Ignis can wake us up whenever…”

A familiar phone alarm makes both of them jump. A chirpy tune going off on Phainon’s teleslate makes them realize that they are not where, nor when, they thought they were.

“Ah, fuck.”

“Shit.” Mydei rubs his eyes, glancing over to the heavy curtains holding back the light of eternal morning inside.

“The trial is today. I’m sure Aglaea won’t allow another rest day.” Phainon groans, a reaction he wouldn’t show to anyone—the Hero of Amphoreus wouldn’t dare to complain or deny his orders—except in the safety of his comrade.

Mydei rubs his eyes, groaning softly into the pillow before mumbling an answer, “If anyone can do it, you can. Go on, Deliverer. Your battlefield lies elsewhere.” 

“I know your stance, but I do hope you don’t mind me asking one more time. Are you certain you’re okay with me taking the Coreflame?” Heedless of the serious nature of their conversation, their voices are soft, lazy, and not much different from an old married couple.

“I have no interest in becoming a replacement god. Furthermore, wasn’t this your sole wish?” Phainon silently nods to Mydei’s words,  “… Good luck, I don’t doubt that you will return victorious.”

The eternal morning outside burns their eyes, hence neither rush to pull the heavy curtain from the windows. 

Victory ended up being far from Phainon’s reach, having fallen in the battle. Mydeimos, due to Aglaea and Tribios’ manipulation, ran to save the man. Face to face with Nikador, who mocked him for ruining Phainon’s glory—stealing his death in battle and attempting to bring him back—Mydei went against it all to save Phainon. Ignoring the age-old Kremnoan saying, an integral part of their culture; Better to die in battle, than return even in glory.

Ruin befalling Okhema and the other remaining outskirts forced Mydeimos’ hand. If one were to ask Dan Heng about this, the Vidyadhara would call him overly hesitant. Meanwhile, Mydei tried to tie up loose ends as his fate, the one he fought tooth and nail to avoid, forced him down its path. The one who wanted not the crown has killed the king and is forced by his people to wear it. The one who never wanted the Coreflame of Strife has easily succeeded in its trial and is cursed to serve as the replacement god.

Fate has not been kind to you, Mydeimos.

Is it not said that one can alter their own fate, make their own choices? Then why has this warrior befallen into his fate despite relentless fighting against it? Fate has its tight grip on him to the point it made a deal with Death so it can never take him. Blessed to be the image of the perfect Kremnoan, cursed to see the full picture. Gifted the presents of the best warrior and leader, plagued to carry the heaviest burden. If he were any less of a man than he is, he might have screamed about it, thrown furniture, kicked and yelled. If he wasn’t who he was, he would have shouted at the skies about how unfair all of this is. 

Not to worry… one will shout at the skies in his stead.

So, Mydei ascends to godhood, gaining even more power than he had. Luckily, he always had a profound control over his battle rage, thus Nikador’s strife does not consume him. He walks through the front door to join the fight in his home city. 

Amongst the commotion and Phainon’s relieved exhale, he sees the man that killed him. Or will kill him. Or perhaps might kill him. A shiver doesn’t dare go down his spine—his step is secure and confident. Phainon watches over his back as he wins the fight against the swordmaster. Smashing that shadowed figure into blood red crystals, crushing them and holding the crystal ashes above his head, showering in the enemy’s blood. Welcome one, welcome all, the demigod Mydeimos.

Rejecting the crown was his first step, ending millenias old traditions the second. As it was prophesied, Mydei ends the dynasty of Kremnoans, having already completed the earlier two; killing the Titan of Strife and his own father. Father is too big of a title for that poor excuse for a king. He, who tried to assassinate his own son. Mydei has only ever called Eurypon that once. He wouldn’t even address him as his father simply because the man isn’t worth it. However, only a father could do the damage that man has done. Eurypon may bear that title in the highest form of shame.

The present, their reality, doesn’t treat them like the future did. It doesn’t bathe them in honeyed words, where their biggest concern was the gossip of the various workers in Kremnos. The safe cocoon it provided feels further away by the moment. That it was one day a possible future for them kept Phainon going, but alas, things change. They were forced out of their daydream, forced to spread their wings, and shoved into reality as fluttering butterflies out of their previous home. Did Mydeimos judge the new Kingdom too harshly too early on? What if he had managed to change something? No… Mydei is the man who truly thinks things through, loves reading and triple checks his facts; doubting him would be idiotic.

Natural light of their future was easy on their eyes, the plants around the city were always flourishing, the people were untroubled, happy… A slice of heaven taken away too abruptly. A future they will not live to see. Yet, there is a version of them that, at one point, lived to see it. Even them, who will not live it, have gotten a glimpse into the stolen paradise. Will they, in the last of their days or difficult times, stop and recall the honeymoon that pretending to be married was, fondly pulling at the old memories…?

Whilst the present continues beating them down, making them bend their knees to its reality, the future treated them like old lovers, showering them with praises, waking them up with the softest cheek kisses and quietest whispers, gifting them flowers and keeping them out of harm’s way. Remembering such a sweet time these days will only make the memories turn sour.

Some time, the odd hour which outsiders might call noon, Mydei bumps into Phainon outside Marmoreal market, before he had started his goodbye tour. 

“Ah, his royal majesty and grace!” Phainon beams, bending down in a mock half bow.

“Deliverer, seriously?” Mydei rolls his eyes and looks at the man through his eyebrows.

“Come on, we could afford a moment of laughter. Congratulations either way,” he nods and turns solemn, “I do understand your regrets—“

Mydei interrupts him, “This is the only path. You know I had no other choice.”

A silence surrounds them, akin to awkwardness with how it keeps flipping between sadness and the need for comedy. “At least at one point you were the King of Castrum Kremnos.” Phainon attempts a joke. It lands badly.

“Technically, I was never a King. The only King I ever was, was an Uncrowned one. Nothing more, Deliverer.” Mydei shakes his head, adamant on correcting him.

Incapable of dealing with the heaviness of the situation, Phainon continues milking the dead cow by pushing the joke further. He brings a hand to his forehead, leaning dramatically back, “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear my Prince one more time.” With Mydei’s unwavering glare he stops, “Yeah, I get it. I think I’m one of the rare ones who get it, since you took the time to explain it fully. Where we were is far from ideal for your people, but it is a good ending for you.” Married to me… he leaves the rest of the sentence in the air for Aglaea’s golden web to catch onto.

“I suppose that was one of the good things. Even if I had to bear the crown I despise.” Mydei agrees with Phainon, but the messy moment is cut short with his clothes getting caught on a nearby statue. He loses his balance, catching Phainon’s hand to not fall. The man’s laughter barely graces his ears before it is taken away by a deafening abyss. His ears are ringing, his head is spinning and his body is in a free fall. The moment it is about to become too much, his vision returns, along with the sound of his panicked heavy breathing.

Mydei is disoriented, and the semi-darkness, equal parts unfamiliar and familiar, makes him lose his balance. Phainon’s similarly agitated breathing grounds him, and Mydei turns his head to follow the noise. Color bleeds into his world, hitting him with too much information at once. The soft pillow, the canopy ceiling, the moonlit room, all of which would never be possible in the current Amphoreus… Instinctively, based on a rush of all the facts, he tugs the bed sheet covering his body with him and gets on the floor beside the bed.

“The hell, Mydeimos?” Phainon is on the edge of fuming; the man had the same idea and leapt to the other edge of the bed, kneeling on the floor, “Did you have to pull all the bedsheets with you?”

“Yes!” With wide eyes he is keeping steady eye contact with Phainon, “We… are back…?”

“And you took the bedsheets!” Phainon holds onto the fact, like a puppy with its first big bone.

A soft shade of red creeps up his neck, “Because I am naked, Deliverer!”

“So am I!” Phainon’s cheeks warm up, he diverts his eyes, “Unlike you, I have nothing to cover up with!”

They both turn around, leaning their backs against the bed frame, providing more privacy. “What were they doing for us to wake up like this? Seriously, I would put some clothes on at least…”

“Does it really need to be spelled out for you?” Mydei scoffs, silencing Phainon.

“Do you… feel sore?” Phainon questions, attempting to reveal the exact situation their bodies might have been in, seemingly a couple of hours before they got here.

Mydei softens his voice, “No. Do you feel sore?”

“I mean… a bit…?” There is a slight ache he can sense but nothing too severe. Phainon stands up, walks over to their clothes and picks up something clean. “Do you want your usual?”

“If you would be so kind, Deliverer.” Mydei ties the sheets low around his hips, and walks over to the half dressed man. Said man nearly passes out, kneels and gets a nosebleed at the sight. The dazed state of his comrade flies above Mydei’s head, as he is too focused on getting the clothes in Phainon’s hand. “Some privacy?” The words do not reach Phainon’s ears, and Mydei takes it upon himself to grip his shoulders and turn him away. Soft grunts, and the sound of clothes rustling right behind Phainon’s back does not ease his struggles one bit. “There. Now why the fuck are we back here?”

Phainon gulps, “Y-you’re done?” slowly he turns back to face Mydei, who looks right about ready to punch him or call him one of those hard-to-pronounce Kremnoan words.

Ignoring the flustered state Phainon is obviously in, Mydei continues, “I did not have the artifact on me, moreover Lady Tribios told me that it disappeared after we had used it. There is no explanation for how it happened.”

Phainon rubs his face up and down a few times, glancing around the room. A sense of relief washes over him. A part of him is happy he is back. “Since the artifact is our only lead, we might as well just continue living here the same way we did before. Although, it seems some time has passed between the last time we got here.” The two break eye contact at the reminder in which states they found their bodies.

Mydei’s fingers caress the edge of his wooden desk, “I suppose so,” he sighs, “it seems to be the middle of the night. We should go back to bed.”

Phainon hums in agreement, he easily slips into the easygoing, lazy walk back to their bed. “I wonder how much time has passed. Perhaps also a day or two… I have missed the actual night we get in this future. The eternal morning in Okhema drives me insane.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

[generalsdiary]

Interwoven

Mydei x Phainon

word count: 5.2k

description: gossip and myphai doing their best to look like the royal couple they're supposed to be (Chapter 3)

a/n: ty to my beta readers; citrus, rice cake and Sav <2

Chapter 4: Gossip of the fireflies

A hot, caffeinated drink filled the air with its bitter fumes around the three people: a cook, a swordmaster, and a guard, each with a cup in their hands and a tall circular table between them. Over the misty scent, the three fireflies share hushed words. One is standing on lookout, the other one is focused on her cup, with which she is attempting to wake herself up, and the third one is adding milk to their drink while slipping something stronger into the first one’s cup.

“I’m telling you – they have been acting differently.” Hyles, the guard, speaks up.

Erinys shook their head, “You know what I heard mountain dwellers say, Chartonus pointed it out himself.” They look over their shoulder and return the gaze to the woman, “That the prince’s sword feels as soulless as it did decades ago! Why would it switch again?”

Aelius snorted, placing her hands behind her back in a firm grasp, “Since when did you believe such stories from the dwellers? However, I have noticed some… other things.” She quirks an eyebrow, quickly catching the full attention of the cook and swordmaster.

“Speak, Aelius, what is it?” Hyles hisses quietly. A tremble in his hands reveals his eagerness, equivalent to that of an addict, making the hot drink nearly splash and burn his fingers.

“Ignis told me they have been much calmer. Their—“ Aelius leans into the table, to which the others promptly follow suit like a pair of chickens, and she whispers, “bedroom, has been deadly silent lately. Nothing. That is bloody unusual.” The woman leans back, fixing her armor in an attempt to look busy.

Erinys’ jaw is hung open and their eyes are widened, “You know what? On top of that— they are usually, always touching in some small way, but these days they just stand insanely close. And act like teenagers with crushes on each other.” They shake their head, taking a slow sip of the drink, which burns their tongue. The poor swordmaster starts blowing air, coloring their face a healthy shade of red, like a baby dragon learning how to spit fire.

Hyles purses his lips and adds, “The Prince has been leaving food on his plate that he always eats, it’s almost like his taste has changed. All of this is so strange.”

Unfortunately, fate chooses to spite them at that moment as the heavy doors open abruptly. The guard joining the outdoor conversation manages to spook the trio; they all jump, one spilling the drink on the table, the other onto the stone flooring, and the third one, the guard, squeaks and hides her face in embarrassment, “My Lords, we weren’t speaking ill of you, we wouldn’t dare, please don’t have our heads— we weren’t plotting I promise— my Lords PLEASE!!” Aelius is about to fall to her knees to plead, until the person who arrived snaps her back into reality. A feminine voice saves Aelius from further embarrassment, “Seriously? What the hell have you three mongrels been talking about to cause such a reaction?” Ignis frowns, placing the bowl of fresh cookies on the table before she bursts into laughter.

“Ignis, Kephale save us, you have scared us!” Hyles shudders as he cleans up the spilled drink on the table.

“Aelius was sharing some findings about the royal married couple, nothing else.” Erinys provides some insight to the newcomer with a heavy sigh, to which Ignis seems disinterested, yet she adds something that makes them all pause and light up, “I don’t know the last time I have seen them even kiss. It has been days.” The fireflies buzz up with gossip and speculations, and loyal Kremnoans burst into a passionate conversation and accusations. All in good faith, of course; all out of worry for their King and Prince. Their words travel on the wind, and luckily for them, they are far away from the royal couple’s balcony.

Luck also blows in another direction, towards the sneaky duo that was competing in wall squats just behind the corner of the building, who have caught every single word of it.

“It seems we will need to up our game, Mydeimos~” Phainon smirks, keeping his voice low, but the smug feeling is quickly subdued by the burn in his thighs expanding. Mydei recognizes the tremble of Phainon’s lower lip, a familiar sight from their previous spars and the battlefield. The noise which usually follows it makes Mydei automatically place his hand over the blond’s mouth in an attempt to not get discovered.

“It seems you’re losing, Deliverer.” Mydei chews on the inside of his cheek to hold back the victorious laugh that seems to be bubbling inside his throat.

“We will see about that when we need to kiss.” Phainon raises his eyebrows, words muffled behind the hand on his face, cockily denying his comrade the pleasure of victory. Phainon’s knees buckle and he is about to hit the ground, making too much noise as he does so. Mydei stops his victory lap in the wall squat to lean forward and catch the taller man. Phainon gasps and Mydei, with an arm around his waist already, flips him and slams his back into the wall, pinning him to it with the other hand still covering his mouth. The amber eyes burn bright when he scolds him, “Quiet.”

Phainon is seeing stars. An ironcad arm is firmly holding his waist, while the other is covering his mouth and he just hushed him. Mydei is standing so close that he can feel every outline of the Kremnoan’s armor against his body. The urge to be closer than they are now is tempting, making him wish that the rest of the barriers between their chests were gone, so instead, Phainon could feel Mydei’s skin on his. He wants to only breathe his air, stand and lay so close to him that he only feels their breaths mingle. The only oxygen he needs is the one that caresses Mydei’s lips too, the same oxygen that goes to his lungs. Would their noses bump if Mydeimos wasn’t covering his mouth? Would they be unable to stay away, to not meet lips?

The butterfly storm in his abdomen settles down and he is left with flower petals dancing in the wind. The fiery gold that burns in Mydei’s eyes softens to match the blue ocean swirling in Phainon’s. He grips the armored hand, slowly moving it off his face, “Mydei.”

And, by the Titans, the warrior leans in. Phainon holds his breath, stuck between a rock and a hard place, caught between two breaths. Yet… he has no desire to ever come up for air again. He’d rather stay a moment away from oxygen, decades away from his time, than let this second pass. Let him drown in this ocean, he will die happily.

Mydeimos closes his eyes and swallows hard. He lets go of Phainon and looks away. His eyes are sad and distant. Phainon resists the urge to grab his hand once more and hold it.

Possibly the best moment of his life and it has passed by. Far too short for his liking.

The two men quietly sneak away from the gossipers.

“Is this truly necessary?” Mydeimos groans, soothing the wrinkles on his forehead.

“My King, I’m—“ The elder in front of him is shocked by the half rejection he received. But alas, he presses on, despite the sweat drop rolling down the side of his face, “It is a tradition for royal couples, and you have always done it in the past with the Prince. It will also be helpful to… calm down the court.”

Mydei raises his eyebrows, straightens his back, and faces the man with narrowed eyes, “Calm down? What are you attempting to say?” His voice cuts straight through the man, and he takes a small, nervous step back.

“Nothing, my King! It is a highly praised ritual, and you have always looked forward to it in the past. To relive one good memory in your dreams was what the Prince also looked forward to as well. You, on the other hand, preferred the warning of a future event more. The land of our dreams is a blessed one, and one of the most highly secured secrets of our people. To be able to glance into the past and peer into the future, only reserved for the highest of our ranks, has won us many a great war, my King.” The elder attempts to quickly recap the ritual without sounding condescending.

Mydei furrows his eyebrows and pinches the skin of his nose. “Fine. Summon the Prince, we should do this sooner rather than later.”

“Care to explain what this is?” Phainon mumbles under his breath, holding back a sneeze. His hand and forearm are tied to Mydei’s with a yellow rope, they’re both kneeling and one of the elders is pouring ashes over their heads.

“Not the right place to explain. We have presumably done this multiple times in the past.” Mydei twitches a bit, also suppressing a sneeze tickling his nose. “I have never heard of it until today, either.”

Their conversation subsides with the interruption of one of the priests, “My Lords, we do apologize for the usual lack of fresh enemy’s blood, however, the ashes of Titankin should substitute without a hitch.”

Washed in the warm candlelight, a handful of people are inside the small windowless room, and they circle the royal couple, draping them in gold robes over the ashes covering their bodies. To both men’s surprise, a lukewarm wax drips over their joined arms and hands, solidifying their union. Strange murmurs and chants add to the mystery of the ritual, strong incense burns their nostrils, and smoke fills their vision. Phainon tightens his hold of Mydei’s hands, in an attempt to reassure himself.  Mydei’s presence is grounding, stable, constant, but he finds himself unable to look at him and share the worry he is experiencing. They must keep up appearances and act natural. Over the hardened wax, hot water is poured and both men exhale in relief. That is what the wax was for: protection of their skin. Followed by a deluge of cold water pouring over them, the priests leave, uttering, “It is done, it is done.”

The silence is deafening in the small space. Mydei slowly turns to Phainon, “I think… we are supposed to take the gold robes off each other?”

Phainon nods, and clumsily, they discard the long capes, “We look very… unappetizing.”

“Seriously, your mind is on what you will eat?” Mydei scoffs, his nose scrunching in match with his small frown.

“That is not what I was addressing.” Phainon smirks, except to no effect, because he looks like an overgrown baby that was tossed into the mud.

Mydei groans and shakes his head, jumping on the spot to get some of the ash off. He breaks the wax and untangles the wine connecting their arm, “I need to bathe.” Dragging out the last word, Mydei imagines the lukewarm water washing off the filth from his skin.

“Tell me about it,” With a cackle, Phainon quickly agrees, “I’m thinking of throwing myself into the nearby river.” He laughs again. Alas it is only an attempt to distract his mind from how empty his hand feels. 

“Basically, this ritual will give us two dreams, two nights in a row. A good memory to relive, and a future warning, or a bad dream.” Mydeimos discloses the details, brushing some of the ash off his arms.

“Ah, that’s not so bad… And you seemed worried because you have never heard of it before?” The blond questions, his eyes fixated on the broken wax, the mold of their joined hands, on the floor.

“Yes. It appears to be something meant only for the elite, and the ritual itself is of great significance. Let’s hope it will be useful to us.” Mydei exhales, shuddering like a wet dog, his previous attempt at ridding the ash having proved futile. “Deliverer, can we please go bathe now?”

Phainon’s eyebrows twitch up. Pleading? How refreshing. Perhaps they both don’t want to be without each other. “Yes, of course.”

The servants propose for them to bathe together and they barely manage to reject the thought, offering the excuse of being utterly too dirty to share it today.

“Do you think the first dream is the nice one? I’d… really like something nice.” Phainon turned to lay on his side, facing Mydei with his head resting on his propped-up hand.

Mydeimos is burning holes into the canopy bed’s ceiling with his eyes. “It is supposed to be… I suggest we do some workouts before sleeping tomorrow.”

“Hm? Why?” There’s always the sparring room and they both work out enough, even in their older bodies. Phainon fails to recognize the reason behind this request.

“The people have noticed our lack of affection.” Mydei tries to beat around the bush. 

“Well, I’m the better kisser.” Phainon cheekily comments.

“We will see about that, Deliverer.”

Phainon feels a swarm of butterflies dance around in his stomach. Of course, he wants to kiss him, however the sugary excitement quickly turns bitter on his tongue. He doesn’t want to kiss him simply because they need to keep appearances. He wishes it could be because they both want it, both yearn for it. Is it truly too much to ask for?

The subtle frown on Phainon’s thoughtful face is obvious to Mydei. He turns towards him, mirroring his body language. Mydei’s eyes soften, and he muses, “Sleep well, Phainon.” The golden eyes slowly blink once, akin to a kitten, and then he turns around to sleep on his other side. Dazed by the gentleness, Phainon’s lips part in an attempt to say something, regretfully the words are lost on his tongue. Oh, how he wishes this could be every night. “…yeah.” Phainon nods to himself, almost in affirmation, “Good night, Mydei…” Sleep pulls both of them in much faster than either of them is used to.

Mydeimos was certain he was awake and that no dream occurred. The same bed, same late hour… it must have been reality. That theory is quickly drowned when he feels a weight on his chest and looks down to see his hand in Phainon’s hair. He finds himself unable to truly control his movements, nor speak exactly what he would want. It is a confirmation that he is reliving a good memory from the past; not his past, not yet – maybe not ever if he manages to change the future.

He feels his lips press onto Phainon’s forehead, easing into a smile. “Nothing fulfills me more than every single moment in your presence, my Prince.”

Phainon smiles in turn, his lips caressing the side of his neck, pressing soft kisses up his jaw and ending with one on his chin. “Is that so?” 

They both shine with bright smiles… could they really be this happy? Mydei’s fingers continue brushing through the white locks with utmost tenderness. They are looking into each other’s eyes and existing in pure silence; they don’t need anything else. Mydei can feel his heart crack, much like a marble statue falling apart when it hits the ground. To be loved like that, to be looked at like that seems like a far too distant dream that will never happen. This Mydeimos, the King of Kremnos, has lived through this memory. Mydei allows himself a moment where he… tries this, tries to enjoy it, knowing that this may not end up being the future they will live through.

So when Phainon leans in to kiss him, he inhales softly, the scent of his future self’s partner filling his nose. He is one with this dream, moving in turn to meet those lips. Angling Phainon’s head for the best feeling, they brush noses. Phainon’s hand cups his cheek, dragging his thumb over the rough skin of his cheek and rubbing small circles on his chest. It is an old action, this body is far too attuned to it—to kissing his husband. There’s no electricity in the air, only the love of his life making his breathing light when his eyes close. Mydei can nearly feel the warmth of his lips, the taste of them as they approach each other, leaning in, succumbing to it… 

And the dream ends.

Upon waking up, he immediately sits up, a dagger in his heart, and the helpless need that burns inside him ignites and shines brighter to kiss the man he loves. His gaze turns to the still asleep Phainon. The small dumbfounded smile on the sleeping man eases the timber in Mydei’s chest. His back relaxes once more on the soft bed. His eyes return to the ceiling, closing them in an attempt to continue the dream. The Titans have no mercy for him; sleep finds him, but the dream never continues.

“Let go!” Phainon yells at the man holding his sword, “How is that fair?”

“It isn’t my problem you failed to account for my armored gloves. If I can do it, I shall. It isn’t a dirty tactic like those you use.” Mydei smirks, firmly gripping the sharp edge of the longsword with his left hand.

Phainon lets go of the sword and tackles Mydei down. They toss and turn, flipping the other one from the top until they hit a stone wall, “HAH! I have won this one, Deliverer!” Mydei smugly looks down at the defeated man and stands up. He offers a hand to Phainon, which he gladly takes, “I want a rematch, Mydeimos!” Phainon takes a moment to adjust his armor and cape.

“Sure, we can have a rematch tomorrow.” Phainon beams at Mydei’s agreement, and he finally catches onto the reality of this situation. The strong sense of déjà vu makes him aware of the dreamscape he is in. Conversely, it slips away from him, and he forgets that he is dreaming as soon as it hits him.

“Awh, surely that immortal body of yours isn’t tired yet? Fight me now, I can take it.” Phainon puts his arms in front of his chest, ready to spar once more.

“You’re that eager for a beating? It isn’t bad to meet a relentless man who can match my vigor. Fine.” Mydei smiles, opens his arms, and taunts Phainon, “Come at me, Deliverer.”

Phainon rushes at him and the dream ends. His vision is blurry when his eyes open, the early morning and the Kremnoan in the bed beside him draws him back to the present-future moment. Despite not being aware of the dream’s true nature, he is happy he got to relive it. That was the day Mydei started to treat him as something more, rather than just a stranger or a Chrysos Heir. He recalls he could barely go to sleep that night from excitement. What a delightful memory.

A voice, rougher than usual, speaks up, “What did you dream?” Mydei became quickly aware that Phainon had woken up, as expected of a warrior like him.

“One of our spars. The one you won, however.” Phainon snuggles further into his pillow, catching a few more moments of shuteye. “And you?”

“Oh. I…” Mydei takes a moment to slowly breathe through his nose, “I dreamt something this future body has lived through… Not something in my past.” Mydei sighs and turns to face Phainon who perks up at the information.

“Hm… could it have been a warning?” Hearing the man shift his position, Phainon opens his eyes a bit to look at him. Mydei shakes his head, smiling for a fraction of a second.

“No. It was a good dream. Ended far too soon.” Mydei meets Phainon’s eyes and his gaze wavers slightly lower before returning to his eyes. Yearning, holding back.

“My… mine also ended too soon. It was nice to relive it.” Silence wraps around their bodies, mimicking a warm blanket in cold areas, such as Castorice’s hometown. Birds chirp their tune, the leaves rustle in the wind, the scent of lavender blows through the open balcony, and the two gaze into each other’s eyes without a word or sense of rush. Minutes pass, and nearly an hour goes by. This land, this time, has no war and the royalty can ‘sleep’ in.

How could anyone complain that their King and Prince are staring into each other’s eyes in bed? That would be improper. They are, if anything, encouraged to appreciate each other deeply. Hence, the guards do not disturb the couple taking a bit longer to get up and start their day.

The warning dreams were not as pleasant as they might have hoped.

Mydei first sees something simple, exactly what he had expected. A statue that he accidentally knocked down is about to shatter; Phainon is already bursting with laughter at his clumsiness, and the servants gasp quietly, but before it can hit the floor, the scene before him changes. From the sunlit courtyard of a rebuilt Castrum Kremnos, filled with life and a lighthearted air, he is standing in the same spot, yet when he blinks, his eyes open to see the ruined city, overgrown with weeds and cracked walls. The same, automatic workers move the indigo crystal without a sense of time.

A dark hooded figure dashes at him, sending slashes through the air. The red crystal throne stands in the middle of the open area, and the swordmaster sends shadows of themselves at him. Adjusted to his future body and trusting his instincts as always, he is in full control of this dream, this body, this… nightmare. He can feel the power of the Lance of Fury in his body, much like he could in his future self’s body.

However, this isn’t the future he lives in at this moment.

An itch bugs him in his mind. Alas, Mydei is too focused on the fight, too focused on parrying the attacks that come his way, that he ignores it. Sending the Lance of Fury at the shadows and the main individual, Mydei forms fiery red shards around them and sends the Lance of Fury at the newly formed crystal formation. He is filled with a sense of unknown security that he will kill them.

…It was a trick of light, a mirror illusion, he tells himself. He should have seen it coming. He should have heard them coming. A pained groan falls from his lips, and he falls to his knees. No strike should be lethal to him, to his body, yet the sword pierced his back and he cannot breathe anymore. Mydei’s wounds aren’t closing and golden blood drips onto the floor, pooling around his knees. He is flipped to his back, however it is not the cold stone that meets the hollow in his spine but a warm lap and a disembodied voice he doesn’t recognize.

“I know you wanted it to be me, and there is no other way, but…” The voice breaks, they sound like they’re crying—holding back gut-wrenching sobs, “It still breaks me every time. I can’t… This is the one thing I can’t— I can’t do this, Mydeimos.” The dark claw reaches to the shadowed figure’s face and pulls off their mask. Before Mydei could see the person that ends his immortal life, his vision goes black. His ears pick up screams and curses directed at the sky, “How dare you make me do this? What have I done to deserve this?” Sobbing is the last thing echoing in his mind when he wakes up. 

Phainon’s dream starts similarly to Mydei’s. He stumbles into the bedroom he knows all too well and hiccups. His cheeks are flushed and he is smiling like a fool. Mydei rushes to him, feeling his forehead, “Are you falling ill? You feel warm to touch. And you're flushed— I can get some medicine—”

Phainon chuckles, “Darling, I am drunk.” He leans his head onto Mydei’s shoulder and hangs off it. Throwing Mydei a wink, Phainon grips his waist for balance, “I was having fun— playing that card game Aulus mentioned the other day—“

“Aulus is bad news, Phainon. You should know that you’re a lightweight—“ Mydei’s voice dissipates and Phainon is quickly sobered up by the bright light of Kephale, standing firmly on his feet just outside of Okhema. Mydei is still standing in front of him a step away, with an unhappy expression on his face—a deep-seated sadness he is fighting tooth and nail to hide.  

The sudden switch makes Phainon aware of the dream, the warning, yet the explanation is too far away and he hears Mydei interrupt his thoughts, “But… if there’s a chance in the next life, you should come visit my library.” The soft smile on the Kremnoan’s features is too sour; Phainon’s stomach twists and turns, sending a familiar sense of nausea and anxiety to the lump in his throat.

He furiously blinks a few times, unsure as to what is going on. Why does it feel like a goodbye, and why the hell can he feel his body holding back tears? He opens his mouth to ask, What? Unluckily, the dream violently rips him, before the word can spill over his lips, away from the moment. Phainon gasps for air; the familiar sight of their chambers and Mydei beside him grounds him in the now. There’s a wet sensation on his face, and he reaches up to wipe away the heavy tears that have, also,  drenched his pillowcase.

That dream, that moment… he wasn’t looking at his future husband Mydei, nor the King of Kremnos. It was a different line of future and it shook him down to his core. There is no hesitance in his decision to wake up Mydei. Immediately. With a hand on a warm shoulder, he shakes the man. “Mydei. Wake up… please.” Phainon’s voice breaks, shakingly swallowing down the mixture of emotions threatening to overflow him.

Shallow breathing turns into gasps, and Mydei awakens, his eyes wide open and unfocused. The feeling of a hand on him and the sound of Phainon’s voice falling apart makes him enter fight or flight or freeze. He focuses his lionlike gaze on the upset man, “Phainon—“ he scans the room, and upon deeming it safe, his eyes return to the man sitting up beside him; they soften, and he whispers, “Phainon.” Mydei sits up as well and embraces him, rubbing his back in a soothing manner. “You’re fine. I’m here, we are safe. Everything is okay.” Soft sobs escape Phainon’s lips and warm tears fall onto Mydei’s shoulder.

“Something— went wrong and I—“ Phainon’s voice keeps faltering, gasping for air and getting knocked back down. Mydei shushes him, “Breathe. It is gone now, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. We are safe, you’re with me, it is just a stupid ritual. No one can harm you, no one can touch us.” Mydei continues reassuring him, firmly holding Phainon and refusing to let go for even a second.

The nightmare, that serves as a dreadful warning, is tossed from Mydei’s mind as soon as he realizes to which extent Phainon’s nightmare affected him. Something that awful has to be the product of superstition placing fear into his mind and Mydei cannot allow it to influence him right now. Nor does he want to acknowledge such a foe. It mustn’t be real, it can’t be real. If it made the most precious human to him cry in his arms, then he will get his vengeance upon it by disrespecting it and spitting in its face.

Half a system hour later, Phainon calms down and Mydeimos releases him from the comforting embrace. However, he is quick to cup his face with both hands and gaze into his eyes, “Do you feel better? Have the demons of your mind finally let go of you?”

Phainon wonders for a moment if this is truly his Mydei, and not the future one. The fire that burns in his eyes screams his Mydei, and he chooses to believe his gut, “It was awful. I can’t even remember the exact details, it was just too much.” His hands fall from Phainon’s face.

Mydei nods, “Let us not dwell on it. I dreamt of something unrealistic and there’s no need to… relive the moments in our heads.” He mutters under his breath, “Stupid ritual.”

Their hands are tangled in the cream sheets, propping them up, fingers twitching to reach out and hold the other’s hand. The pleading mutual gazing is the best they dare to do. “Unrealistic?” Phainon echoes, to which Mydei shakes his head, “We are letting it go.”

Phainon agrees with this statement, until some details flash in his mind, reminding him of the shifting scenery, “I think the future may be changing. You said you want this to be different for your people, I… believe your resolve may have already affected the events that will happen. But in that future—“

“Phainon.” Mydei’s gaze is stern, unlike the soft tone of his voice, “I do not believe the things I have seen. We should let it go.”

Phainon exhales and leans forward, resting his head on Mydei’s collarbone. His breath gets stuck in his throat, and he quickly adjusts, casually embracing the man clinging to him. Mydei holds back the urge to kiss his temple, wishing for moments like this.

Beyond the intimacy of their room, a figure is stopped outside Castrum Kremnos. With a childish charm, they attempt to get inside, “I have to see the King. I know he is in there, c’mon!”

“You don’t have a permit or any form of identification on your person. We cannot allow you to go see the King of all people, kid. Scatter.” The guard firmly denies it, feeling comfortable enough to even mockingly laugh at the person.

“Yeah, yeah, but what if it is an old friend coming to visit? Huh, huh?” The person smiles and nudges the guard’s shoulder.

The guard chuckles, “The King’s friends have passed away, which one…” They lean in towards the stranger with a crooked smile, “…are you claiming to be?”

“Okay, I’m in a rush, this is time sensitive, just… tell him it is me and I’m sure he will agree to see me.” The person scratches the back of their head a bit.

��Word of your arrival won’t go beyond this point, kid.” The second guard joins the mocking of the person.

“It seems you two don’t have the authority to introduce me, bring me Krateros! He will know who I am!” They place their hands on their hips and stand proudly.

“Krateros has better business than entertaining the likes of you.”

“Ah, work with me here, hm? Please, I’m in a hurry~” The person pouts, trying every card they have in their let-me-talk-to-the-king-as-an-outsider pamphlet. Any laughter the guards have had for them has expired and they shook their heads, ready to leave and take them outside forcefully. As the two advance, the person raises their hands and steps back, “Hey, hey, let’s remain friendly, I’m friendly, I just need to see the King— it is a matter of life and death, can you please tell him—“ A guard shoves them further away from the main entrance, “Go back to the city, kid. You’re obviously not from here.”

“I will wait here, tell someone— anyone—“ The heavy doors slowly shut in their face, “—tell him it’s Caelus!”

[generalsdiary]

I have a thought before about Dr Ratio and posted on my account, it’s about Dr Ratio having a hot spring bath-

Since he takes baths regularly, what about in a hot spring bath, it would be interesting-🫢🤭

Also helping him to wash his back like-🛐🛐🛐

this ask seems to have been lost in my inbox for a while now- YES I agree wholeheartedly that it would be so fun going to a spring bath with him.

to the northern hemisphere it is still winter, and I could honestly go for a spring bath rn sighh

[generalsdiary]

so u know how some ppl keep toenail clippings in a jar?? does sunday keep his feathers? isnt it kind of the same thing

I can't say that I knew people kept nail clippings in a jar. What a disturbing image, honestly :c.

That aside, I assume you are referring to my rooming with Sunday one-shot (even if you're not; the same answer should apply). I doubt he keeps his feathers, being that they were a part of his body (as a Halovian, whose very existence is tied to the path of Harmony and the Aeon of Harmony). I believe he needs to discard of them carefully. And, no (lol), I don't think it is the same thing.

[generalsdiary]

completed work here

Aeon!reader x Sunday where Sunday is unexplainably, hopelessly in love with the reader and likewise for the reader who actually appears in person to listen to Sunday’s troubles and prayers- but it is impossible for a mortal to fall in love with an Aeon. in an attempt to find out how this is possible, the reader kisses Sunday and finds out, it is because in his future he almost fully succeeded at becoming an Aeon which made his life nonlinear and gave him the ability to fall in love with a god-like entity. but the reader leaves him upon this revelation (which they don’t share with Sunday) and doesn’t answer his prayers for the following years until Sunday fails to ascend to Aeonhood. and then when he just needs comfort while hiding in a hotel room, away from the authorities trying to punish him for his wrongdoings in Penacony, despite the years of no answer, he utters the name of the Aeon he used to pray to, the Aeon he loves in inexplicable ways, hoping to see them and… the Aeon appears in front of him once more.

thoughts?

[generalsdiary]

Interwoven

Mydei x Phainon

word count: 6k

description: our favorite couple is finally in the future at the same time and it is time to talk about what Mydei did during his time (Chapter 2)

a/n: welcome to another chapter- took a bit more time than the previous chapters, but this one is over 6k words so I guess yall stay winning lol we are sticking heavily to the canon with this one (no plot spoilers for 3.1), all the canon stuff was revealed in 3.0 via in-world books and stuff - so don't worry if you haven't played the newest main story. the only thing from 3.1 would be Mydei's pov on things ig which was spoken about in 3.0 but not in heavy detail. have a fun read!

ty to my beta readers; citrus, rice cake and Sav <2

Chapter 3: Is it written in our stars?

Silence filled the air. “Husband? Married … as in we exchanged vows, signed a parchment, and kissed?” Phainon tilts his head, bewildered by the fact.

“Yes, Deliverer, married . Do keep your voice down, we have appearances to keep.” Mydei adds in a hushed tone. This is the first time Phainon has ever heard the loud man speak so quietly, he takes a few moments to quietly process. They’re both fine, Phainon quietly thanks Kephale , both alive in the future. Moreover, that they both made it in one piece. Phainon’s eyes widen, his breathing grows shallow as panic floods him, “Is the artifact with you? If you already collected the information on Thanatos’ location, then we should head back.” Phainon gestures with his hand.

Mydei shakes his head, “The artifact isn’t with me. I only woke up in this body, nothing I had in my arms traveled with me… Much like how you only arrived days later.” Mydei’s words make sense. After all, they were separated, despite holding hands. He was holding Phainon’s hand in the last moment of the present.

Blood rushes to Phainon’s cheeks as his mind fills with various thoughts. The adrenaline of their last moment together combined with the sudden warm hand that held his reminds him that Mydei has been here for several days longer with his married counterpart. What did Mydeimos do with his future husband? Did he kiss him, hold his hand, share his bed, how far did he go—

“…and as for the Death Titan, I have gathered the only intelligence that was written here. The artifact takes priority. Deliverer, we should get this done and get back.” Mydei groaned, pinching the skin on the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t slide past this, you lived with the version of me that is… married to you. We are screwed, we should try asking Tribbie or the others—“ Phainon’s eyebrows furrowed and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, balancing two lines of conversation at once.

Mydei sighed, “Absolutely not. That would simply uncover us. Furthermore, it seems the timeline doesn’t work that way. We need to figure out how we won the war and find a way back to our time. Regarding Lady Tribios, it would only raise even more suspicion—“ 

The doors open abruptly and a clearly nervous guard barges in, interrupting their conversation, “My King, the council has started,” he looks cautiously between them,  “D-do you wish to join?” Mydei sighs and glances at Phainon with irritation in his eyes. The conversation cannot be continued; the usual obligations must be upheld. 

“We will talk later, Deli—“ he clears his throat, luckily he managed to catch himself, “my Prince.”

Phainon is somewhat shaken by the turmoil of his new reality. On top of it all, being called my prince by the man he feels so strongly for doesn’t make any of it easier to process. Without an idea of what to do next, or even the simple of how to behave, he calls out the name of one of the servants, “Aulus!”

The woman with short brown hair rushes in, “Yes, my Prince?”

“Escort me to my chambers, I’m feeling… dizzy and I’d hate to bump into a column and make the King worry.” Phainon flashes a weak smile. All he can hope is that his lie was believable enough. Aulus gave him a quick nod and slowly guided him to the large room. Stealth check successful. Or was it charisma? Phainon can’t remember, he will have to ask Caelus once he returns to the present. … If he returns to the present.

Two guards posted nearby their quarters open the large, heavy door for him and Phainon finally gets a moment to let his guard down.

His eyes scan the large room, admiring the sight. The white marble tiles are covered up by a dark brown carpet, akin to a bear’s fur. Transparent white curtains hang above the windows and the archway to a balcony. Two large tables are placed in the leftmost part of the room, opposite of each other, both messy and filled with various documents. The right side of the room is set apart with a single step and an enormous canopy bed with cream white sheets. It's fixed, pristine and crisp as if no one slept in it this morning. The bed curtains are tied up out of sight, matching in the same cream shade, with Kremnos’ signature red lining drawn through them. Phainon has been to Mydei’s room before – that man isn’t neat per se, hence he is certain the servants made the bed after his future self and his Mydei left in the morning. They’re both messy and he is certain that didn’t change, even with the years between this present and theirs.

The room feels comfortable. Safe, even. Despite that, worry fills Phainon’s mind. What if Mydei is in trouble? What if he can’t keep the act up? Nonsense, he spent days here… Still, what if something comes up? Something worse than what he had to deal with? …Like living with… his husband. Separation anxiety at its finest.

Drawn by the mess on the tables, he snoops over the parchments. Both tables offer nothing particularly interesting, various affairs, nothing personal, nothing this snooper wished to read. Not to mention some writing on both tables is in Kremnoan, making them inaccessible to him. Sitting down on the floor, he opens the drawers of what he concluded is his table, based on the handwriting, despite half of it being in Mydei’s mother tongue. Phainon’s eyes sparkled when he finally struck gold.

A small pile of letters, tied in a bunch with yellow string, catches his eye. Why would he keep government letters in colorful string in the last drawer? There's no reason for these to be personal letters when regular communication is done over teleslates. It piques his curiosity...

The fragile parchment unfolds to reveal a letter written in surprisingly neat handwriting. The loops and curves make the writer look as if they put a lot of effort into making it readable and inviting. Readable in the way Phainon finds the easiest, his mind running over the words before he can even fully comprehend them.

Beloved,

Days without you are utterly painful. No person here can even come close to presenting a challenge in a spar, nor do they dare to attempt. They would've never been a match for me even before I reached godhood.

Your side of the bed is cold. I find myself holding your pillow. As I've said, you should have taken me on your special expedition. The city can run without its King for a few days, right?

Return safely. Or else.

your husband

Phainon's jaw might as well be on the ground. He has to restrain the urge to go through Mydei's drawers in pursuit of the return letter, knowing he’s far too eager to see what his future self had written back. His mind has gone fully blank, completely and utterly unable to register the yearning and sheer neediness of his future husband.

Seeking the next letter like an eager reader flipping to the next page, screaming for the next chapter, it only bares its fangs back at him when his eyes skim over the second letter far too quickly. 

I dreamt of you last night. My fingers glided over your neck and the plush skin of your thighs. I woke up before I could lay a single kiss down. Do return sooner, the real thing is better than anything my imagination and subconscious may offer—

Phainon peeled his eyes away and closed both letters using muscle memory. “No~ nope.. nope... eh- heh. I mean yeah, yes, of course, but! not... no.. uh... whoa... maybe one more peek...”

Clumsily he opens the second letter, scanning it quickly like he will get caught reading a lewd book in the Grove by Professor Anaxagoras. 

“No— I shouldn't. It is not meant for my eyes. I should put it away~” Phainon narrates his actions, convincing himself of what he deems to be right. Devoid of any pure thoughts and completely distracted, he tries to redirect his train of thought. He’s madly clutching at straws in an attempt to find something, anything, that may distract his brain, until it lands on the way Mydeimos called him his prince . If he wasn't sitting down, his knees would have buckled at the sheer memory. Would he whisper it at night... blowing air against his ear—

“No, Phainon. Stay focused!” The Chrysos Heir shakes his head, platinum locks ruffling in turn. Coming to a decision to leave the letter behind, he heads to the wardrobe.

Phainon’s heart beats proudly at the sight of simple cotton clothing of various colors. He is quick to strip out of the armor on his body and put on comfortable clothing that reminds him of his home. He had barely put on the pants when someone barged in. He held back a squeak, arms flinging up in front of his chest, wielding an invisible sword— it could have been anyone, he doesn't know this city or its people, consumed by uncertainty and insecurity unfamiliar to him.

The familiar heavy step and clanking of armor, along with a peach gradient wavy hair puts him at ease. 

“Mydei…” Phainon smiles, shifting the warm-toned shirt in his hands before he puts it on.

Mydei waits until the doors close with a thud before he heavily exhales, “Deliverer.” He is quick to discard his forearm and hand armor, flexing his phalanges and rubbing his elbows. 

“Did something happen?” Phainon rushes to him, feeling quite light in the unexplainably cozy clothing.

“Nothing of our concern. Leading the city, laws... I see you made yourself at home. Already in pajamas.” Mydeimos quirks an eyebrow in his direction and slumps onto the bed, practically jumping onto his back with a guttural groan. His eyes closed for a few moments before he opened them to stare into the space of the canopy bed’s ceiling.

“Pajamas? I thought these were daily clothing...?” Phainon quickly examines his shirt, pulling at the seamless lining. 

“Your assumption isn't wrong, however, your future self wore them to bed. Well, except the shirt.” Mydeimos closed his eyes, rubbing his temple in circular motions. “I am still in disbelief of how my body, a few decades in the future, gets migraines post council meet-ups.”

Phainon sits down on the sofa at the foot of the canopy bed. Mydei indeed shared the bed with his future self... who only sleeps in pants. Noted... noted . Don't panic... don't get flustered~ No, no, no...

“What was your... body... doing when you... got here?” Phainon fidgets with his fingers, eyes focused on his own lap. Unlike their every conversation where they both stand tall and exchange quips and blows, having only one room, only one space where they can be themselves in this future, does make both of them let their guard down. One space where they can share their thoughts and not worry about the act they have to put on. Less space… and more wherever the other one is, is the place where they can let their guard down, the separation anxiety they both obviously have rising tremendously in turn.

“Does it matter, Deliverer?” Mydei asks softly while stretching his legs, the strong muscles flexing, shadows highlighting the curves of his quadriceps, the calves forming the letter V as he turns his hips to the side and rubs his lower back with a small groan. Phainon’s eyes did shift shamelessly to… admire the sight.

Phainon looks back to his lap, recalling the immense pain he had felt when he got here. Unlike Mydeimos, for Phainon only an hour or so had passed. “I got here through pain and deafening noises. I think I was taking a walk? I'm unsure.”

“He was out to pick pomegranates.” A simple answer to a rather complicated question. Something goes off in Phainon's head when Mydei refers to his future husband as he rather than you . Food for thought when he isn't in the middle of trying to find out information from the most unwilling man.

“And you?” Phainon’s hands still and he looks over to the heading of the bed.

“I think I was asleep. It was the middle of the night. I presume I stumbled out of bed, fell to my knees, and nearly attacked... the prince.” Mydei avoided eye contact and softly yawned. He gently rubbed his abdomen in a soothing manner and brought his free arm under his head.

Phainon’s mind took it upon itself to imagine the scene; Mydei stumbling out of bed, being comforted by his husband, confronted as to what was going on. Did Mydei just go back to bed and sleep with him ? Anxiously, he nibbled on his bottom lip and the moment he raised his head to question the older man, the paced breathing of the tired warrior made him keep his thoughts for later. A slow rise and fall of his chest revealed the sleeping state of the man who Phainon could spend hours admiring.

His fingers itched for him to reach out, feel his hair, and caress his cheek—an urge he could barely control when he was lying right there. Peaceful, undisturbed, safe… and trusting Phainon completely. He yearned for more. Yearned for Mydeimos and his attention. Phainon exhaled, which sounded more like a needy whine, and quietly left the room. Before the guards could even greet him, he whispered harshly, “The King is asleep, do not bother him at any cost. Should you need him, come to me.” The guards nodded with a slight tremble of their chins; he had played the role of his future self to the T. Phainon did assume that he would hold himself a bit taller and would respond a bit harsher from the protectiveness he already feels for Mydei. Or rather, the worry which he assumes grew into protectiveness.

The best thing to do next is revise his knowledge of Castrum Kremnos, Mydei’s history and perhaps try to sniff out any clue regarding the artifact’s possible location. 

With Castrum Kremnos revived, every hallway, room, and courtyard is safe, unlike the first time Phainon saw it; covered in vines and shrouded in shadows. Dust-filled rooms that stuck to one’s clothing and thick spider webs that would tangle in one’s hair. The heavy mist carried stories he wished he could learn, and life has presented him this chance. Although, he is approaching this studious expedition as a means to shield himself with the knowledge he would have in this position in the future.

The majestic city stood once more in its old glory. Phainon’s shoes echoed in their step along the hallway. Every entrance had a guard standing post and greeting the Prince of Castrum Kremnos. Phainon barely managed to beg his servants not to follow him on his walk. It’s just a walk is what he said, concealing his, rather exciting, tourist trip through his future self’s Kingdom. 

Along the sturdy columns, floors lined with gold, and various leafy greens decorating every possible surface, something else caught Phainon’s attention. Amethyst-like gemstones floated throughout the city. He faintly recalls Caelus mentioning seeing them everywhere, especially in Okhema, despite them not being visible to anyone else. They supposedly show scenes from the long-lost past. Being met with them himself, he believes the quirky fellow now. Fragments of Recollection, memoria residues of bygone days. Surprisingly, they were recent events, well, not recent to his lifetime, but recent enough to be relevant.

Phainon’s jaw hung open when he touched the first fragment he saw. It portrayed a mirror-like group of people and a strange setting. One of the previous Kings of Castrum Kremnos, however, that is not what caught his attention; rather, it was the fierce and ferocious woman that gave him goosebumps.

Gorgo. She stood proudly, like a tree refusing to bend in the north wind, standing relentlessly against all judgments thrown at her. Mydei’s mother, Queen of Kremnos: Queen Gorgo.

Defending her name and her right to be there, claiming she killed a lion with her bare hands and therefore named herself after the founder of Castrum Kremnos. An awe-inspiring accomplishment. Phainon knows of the story she mentioned, however, founder Gorgo had a group of people with him and they hunted the lion down. From the future queen’s words, she didn’t ambush the lion nor did she have help.

The following scene portrays Eurypon holding a sword against Gorgo’s neck and Gorgo piercing her spear through his thigh. They fought for days and nights without a victor and ended up calling for a draw. Phainon narrowed his eyes, a memory coming to the surface as he heard the next line; “Gorgo, would you wear the crown as Queen of Kremnos…” Much like Mydei’s parents fought, so too did he and Mydei; they fought for ten days and nights on end only to end up calling a draw.

Phainon gulped, the parallels were too obvious. His hand trembled as he reached up to deactivate the fragment whilst looking around to see if anyone was watching him. Alas, no one could even see the Fragments of Recollection—Caelus wasn’t here after all.

Continuing his walk, he stumbled upon more fragments. Phainon was shocked to find out Eurypon thought the world of Mydeimos—even promising to end the long line of patricide, well… before he heard of the prophecy. The traitorous excuse for a king didn’t take long to decide that he will kill his son and, through hidden schemes, poison and kill his wife.

Phainon walked around the scene that the fragment showed with tightened fists and a clenched jaw. Utter betrayal, dishonesty, and cowardice. Mydei deserved better.

As the night embraced the bustling city and a blanket of stars covered the sky, Phainon was sitting down in the library of Kremnos. Most of his armor lay shed to the side, surprisingly nicely organized. At the same time, he was surrounded by various open parchments; old, burnt, and torn. He took the ones he could read, the ones not written in Kremnoan. Alongside the yellowed paper, dark grey tablets covered in dust were tucked neatly next to his thigh.

In his left hand, he held one of those stone tablets, and in his right, a transcript which translated it into common tongue.

It was a letter Queen Gorgo wrote to Mydei. She was warning him, reassuring him, trying to tell him the truth, and still telling him that he is great and would be even greater, despite what others claimed. Her words showed her pain, her worry, and her pride.

Surrounded by the history of Kremnoans… or truthfully, by Mydei’s past, his parents and what happened, has put Phainon in a zone of pure focus. The terrific warrior became unaware of the tremor in his hands, the soft candle flame that lit up the room, making his eyes strain as he tried to read, and the tears that fell down his cheeks, landing between his crossed legs on the floor.

Thrown in the sea, left to drown. Survived and reemerged from the Sea of Souls after nine years of drifting and growing up. Phainon’s eyes kept looking over the same sentence Queen Gorgo had written to Mydei, stuck in the whirlpool of emotion and unable to swim out. Stunned into place in the mess of various reports of the past around him.

He failed to notice the sharp golden gaze from the shadows. Mydeimos was observing him rather curiously. He quietly told the archivists to leave, with a gesture of his hand as soon as he came. His brows furrowed in confusion, wondering what could Phainon be reading that would make him cry that much and be unable to move on. Mydeimos stepped closer, the heaviness of his armor echoing in the large room as he approached his comrade. He felt uncertain about what he should say, how to comfort him, or even what to ask. “Deliverer, I see you’re burning the midnight oil. I didn’t know you had such an interest in the history of Castrum Kremnos.”

Phainon looks up, surprised by the sudden intrusion, he quickly smiled brightly and wiped his tears away. “I was refreshing some facts, plus being in the future and a prince~ Well, I should know things to avoid being caught as an imposter.” His smile stayed perfect and it icked Mydeimos. The words to call him out and confront him were dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“It is getting late, you should be going to sleep, Deliverer.” Mydeimos, the unlikely coward he was, decided not to speak up on it. He leaned towards Phainon and offered him his hand. “Leave it. The archivists will organize it in the morning.” Phainon accepted his hand, and Mydei pulled him up to his feet and out of the pile of documents. Their sudden proximity left little room for Mydeimos’s usual overthinking, and he blurted out the words on his mind before he could stop them…maybe he didn’t even want to stop them, “What facts about Kremnos have made you cry and look like someone killed your significant other?”

Phainon’s smile fell, they were standing too close, the privacy of the room and the silent curtain of the night which made men more honest kept him away from empty lies. “Your past. Your parents, and everything that had happened, I never knew the details and—“ Phainon’s voice breaks and he looks away.

Mydeimos cursed at his choice of words when it ended up being about him. Then as he heard the rest, he slowly inhaled. He looked up at the ceiling and nodded. “It is… rather grotesque. Why would you want to read about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It is about you .” Phainon looked at him with a determined gaze, which sent a shiver down Mydeimos’ spine.

“I could have told you— you should have asked me.” Mydeimos shook his head gently.

“You already have. Everything about you and who you are screams it. Remember what you say to me when you lose our spars? There’s no shame in losing to those who conspire and plot in secret. A blunt man like you doesn’t say such things easily or jokingly, you’re never thoughtless. I have read… how your mother lost that duel for you. It all makes sense.” Phainon looks down and shakes his head, “You wear it all on your sleeve. Your pride, your traditions, your culture, your past , and everything you have been through. It is all there with you, and to an observing eye it is obvious.” He turns his head towards Mydeimos, “The way you carry yourself, the way you talk and how you judge things, you carry everything with you. Yes, your past has made you who you are, just as it does everyone else. However, I can see it, every single detail, it is written along every line of your body and face, every flaw and every virtue. You’re an open book, and I… have learned how to read the language you’re written in.”

Mydeimos is left speechless. For once he is seen, observed with a non-judgmental eye, from the one he… cares about the most. The tears he hates—for they remind him of the waves he drifted in—prick at his eyes, but he blinks them away. He stands firmly in front of Phainon, not budging or showing any weakness, glaring at him as if he is his prey. A lion watching an antelope.

Phainon turns completely towards Mydeimos now and steps closer, unwavering in his gaze, unapologetically observing the Kremnoan, standing his ground and not turning back. Mydeimos realizes this man was never his prey but rather what he always saw him to be, his equal.

A lion was being glared at by another lion. Phainon dares to stand tall and puff his chest out, all-knowing and undefeated, roaring at Mydeimos, unafraid of the consequences. And Mydeimos… falters . He opens his mouth to speak and yet his voice is far from how he looks like, only a broken murmur spoken like the most treasured secret in the comfort of the night; “Phainon.”

Phainon’s eyes fill with tears for a moment and he swallows them away, the very first time Mydei called him by his name and it tugs at his heart. 

Like an orange cut open in half and left on the table, both of them stand vulnerable and raw. The flesh uncovered, left exposed to the elements of the world, filling the space with a crisp orange scent. The cards; though not all of them, are laid out on the table and both men struggle to say more. Minutes pass in silence, looking into each other’s eyes like lovers, unrushed and seeking comfort neither of them dares to give yet.

“It is late. Let us go to our chambers.” Mydei is the first one to whisper, to which Phainon nods and they leave the Archive.

The walk back is slow, with each step they both walk even slower, prolonging the heavy silence and personal time for as long as they can.

Entering their shared chambers, Mydeimos glances at the bed and walks past it. He slips off the bronze gloves of his hands and sets them aside. Stopping under the arch leading to the open balcony, his eyes lazily look over the red moon and the golden moon, basking in their glow, seeking their guidance. Sleep isn’t calling him and too many worries weigh on his mind.

Phainon follows suit, taking off some of his armor, and steps a few paces behind Mydei. The silence stretches out, seemingly something they both need.

“… this isn’t what I wanted for Kremnos,” Mydeimos utters breathlessly, Phainon barely hears the whispered words against the crown.

“It’s not?” Phainon answers in the same hushed tone and steps closer. Despite it being a private conversation, it is regarding the very city they’re residing in the current future. Blasphemous words like that should not be heard by any eavesdropper.

“No.” The Kremnoan shakes his head gently. “The glorious traditions that went on for two millennia, the blood, the needless sacrifice—“ Phainon listens attentively, as he always does. He knows how proudly and defensively Mydei speaks of his culture and people, yet he tilts his head curiously at the word needless . “—living just to die on the battlefield, valuing life less than bread and disrespecting death itself. I refuse to let such a bloody tradition continue.” Mydeimos sighs, his hands come to rest on his hips and his head dips down. Crickets fill the silence of the warm night.

“Don’t the Kremnoan people deserve better? A chance to live – they might be alive, but they aren’t living. How much more innocent blood must be spilled for the sake of glory, how many unnecessary sacrifices were made in the name of honor, how many people rushed to die in battle so they might not need to experience the shame of a happy or sorrowful return?” Mydeimos’ voice is filled with pain and defeat. He is far from defeated, but upon seeing this future he hopes he can still somewhat change it. Kremnoans deserve better.

“What would you change? How would you change the future? I am sorry, I do not know what advice I could offer…” Phainon looks into the distance, beyond the lookout onto the balcony. “It isn’t my place to butt in my opinion.”

Mydeimos keeps one thought hidden. Perhaps this is the only version of the future where they end up happily together. Maybe changing the future for something better for his people means no Phainon by his side. A reality too painful to bear, he buries those thoughts deep inside. Sadly… his people take priority.

“And about the Titan Nikador, I know who I am, I know how people perceive me and I am well aware of…what I present. Moreover, I bear no affections for the kingdom.” The words slip off his lips heavily, hushed, undaring to be spoken loudly. Only existing to flow through the air to the ears of the man standing behind him.

The undying immortal, undefeated warrior, everything every Kremnoan wishes they could be is Mydeimos, here in the flesh. Yet he goes above and beyond, wise and collected, intelligent and thought-out, seeing further than what he was presented with. Asking questions that no one dares to ask, even when he is met with the human equivalent of a wall for an answer. 

“I don’t want to be what I am perfect for. I don’t want to sit in the mold fate has prepared for me. I fit in it more than I fit anywhere else. I was shaped and molded for it.” Mydeimos speaks almost every thought that weighs on his heart and mind, and Phainon… listens.

“This is why you refused to take the Coreflame? I will take the trial for the Coreflame of Strife, do not worry, Mydei.” Phainon attempts to reassure him. Mydeimos does not feel reassured. Despite the trust he places in Phainon, he is painfully aware of the bigger picture.

“I hope you can succeed in the trial.” He raises his head and looks back at Phainon—the last hope he has to change his fate, the last straw. If Phainon fails, he doesn’t know how he may help his people and change where fate seems to obviously be pushing him into.

“The perfect warrior, the perfect soldier wants nothing with any of it. I don’t want to be nobody’s soldier.” Mydeimos exhales heavily.

Phainon smiles, “Well, you’re not that perfect if you see beyond the commands and seek to disobey them.” He nudges Mydei with his shoulder.

Mydei smiles, chuckling dryly at the tease, “Deliverer, you truly hold different perspectives.”

A cough beyond their room interrupts the intimate conversation. Both men stiffen, and Phainon fixes his posture. “Best to go to sleep, roomie.” Mydeimos glances at Phainon, wary of the noise from the guards. “I know a spot outside the city where we will have enough privacy to talk about this. We can leave in the morning.”

On the fifth night, he sleeps beside his Phainon, yet not in his arms. Maybe one day he will, or perhaps the only chance to do so was with the future Phainon. Will he one day regret dodging the kiss and avoiding affection? It keeps him awake for another hour, the worry and regret. Until he hears Phainon softly snore, he smiles. But he doesn't dare to turn around and look at his peaceful form next to him. The snoring provides a safe cocoon and white noise for him to be lulled into sleep.

Salt fills Phainon’s nostrils, and the rustle of dried leaves on the tree branches, along with the crushing of the waves against the sharp rocks, provide a pleasant cacophony to his ears. “We are far enough, wouldn’t you say?”

“Almost there. Don’t complain, Deliverer, we barely lost the guards. They are truly persistent.” Mydeimos huffs and continues on down the cliff and towards the rocky beach. It has been years since he emerged from these waters. Years of drifting among them made him detest the same waves that kept him afloat.

“Ah, I understand now, the sea will snuff out any noise if someone had managed to follow us, and not get caught by us.” Phainon triumphantly shares his discovery as Mydeimos comes to a stop.

“This is the place where I swam out, and the place where I first died. When my father threw me off that cliff.” Mydei simply adds, gesturing with his chin towards the cliff, as if he said the sky is blue.

“I see. We could’ve gone anywhere else, Mydeimos.” Phainon looks at him with a pleading look, swallowing hard to ignore the churning feeling in his gut. 

“No need, this will do fine.” The water sprinkles Mydei’s body with each wave and he sharply inhales, a bitter nostalgia fills him when faced with the hell he grew up in. Living in it for so long makes one unable to recognize the awful living conditions; even hell gets comfortable when one gets used to it. Yes, there was pain and death, but he got used to it. Used to the routine and suffering, so comfortable that change was terrifying.

“You will succeed in the trial, and regarding my people… they still want a king. I am the successor to the throne. The last crown prince.” Mydeimos speaks loudly against the waves, matching the turmoil inside him that he can finally tell someone. Someone, who feels much like him in comparison to his own people—an outsider.

“You are the King, Mydeimos—“ Phainon smiles, proud of the title Mydei has. However, it only rouses the man.

“I am… but the King who has never claimed his throne.” He counteracts with gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t more change occur if you sat on the throne? Or do you claim changing their ways isn’t something you would be able to achieve? Perhaps, it is truly more complicated than it seems.” Phainon falls into deep thought and is quickly snapped out of it by the sharp words Mydeimos shouts against the sea.

“I never wanted the throne!” He brings his hands up to rub his face and shakes his head more, “I only sought revenge for my mother, my friends in arms— I never wanted the crown.” 

Phainon’s heart drops and his breath gets stuck in his throat. Fate has written out the road for him and forced him to walk down it. Death won’t take him, and there is no means of escape. “Mydeimos…” Phainon stills his hands, smoothing out the fabric on his thighs as he steps closer.

Mydei gestures with his hands, firm and stable. Shaking his head, “I’ve lost so many. I have buried too many people with my own hands. This war should be enough, even without this bloodied tradition.” He looks at Phainon. Pain is written out on his face from the years of suffering and fighting. “Something needs to change.” His gaze hardens, the glint of the tears passed by, and the air of a warrior's back.

The sweat on his brow coupled with the lion-like piercing gaze shake Phainon to the bone. He looks just like his mother. The calm but cut-to-the-throat tone of voice, the choice of words, the way he holds himself, and the things he has pride over—it all screams Queen Gorgo. And specifically, the words she said;

“If there is no Kremnos without the crown… then I shall seize the crown and smash it to pieces to bring the people to their senses.”

Phainon has seen many Fragments of Recollection, and read far too many parchments throughout Kremnos; the man before him is truly the son of Gorgo. Yet, he is probably unaware of how much he is like his mother. Phainon feels proud in his stead, to be like the one he never met, yet respects the most—truly an achievement only Mydeimos could accomplish.

Phainon’s hands shake, so he curls them into fists, “I will pass the trial for the Coreflame of Strife. I will bear the duty of the God of Strife, and you will have an easier time figuring out how to help your people in the present, past… our present.”

“If anyone is fit for that, it is you, Deliverer.” Mydei nods and steps away from the growing waves.

“Aww, is it going to rain? I have received praise from the last Crown Prince himself~” Phainon is quick to smirk and jab at the taller man, attempting to ease the air.

“Hmph. Do not get blinded by glory.” Mydei snorts.

Phainon smiles, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and swaying his shoulders, “I sense a need for a spar~ shall we see whose future body has gotten stronger? Perhaps we are no longer equals~”

“In your dreams, Deliverer. We can go to the sparring room—“ Mydeimos turns on his heel, ready to head back and eager to get some of this frustration out in a physical manner as well.

“Sparring room? When has the location ever stopped you from sparring?” Phainon stands in place, the cocky smirk on his face making Mydeimos narrow his eyes and his chest fills with excitement. Phainon truly knows his partner well.

“You asked for it.” The undying warrior doesn’t even try to hide his smile before he lunges at Phainon.

divider cr: @saradika-graphics

[generalsdiary]

I know people are still on the high from the patch and logically holding back on spoilers for everyone, but like, someone's going to have to be the one to write the essay about how Hoyo's queer-coding crossed a bridge with Phainon and Mydei and reached a level where there is no longer any plausible deniability.

You can argue that they won't become canon, but you literally cannot argue that the dev team didn't intentionally queer-code virtually every one of their scenes in 3.1.

After that patch, Phainon and Mydei might single-handedly be the most ship-baited male characters in Honkai Star Rail and Genshin combined, and even more than that, 3.1 all by itself basically made it impossible for deniers to still hold the stance that Hoyo isn't purposefully including gay elements in their stories. There isn't any way to interpret the framing of that bath scene other than "The devs intended this to be suggestive."

More than just for Phainon and Mydei, I'm excited to see how this level of "fujo bait" will go over with audiences, particularly in China. If this level of queer-coding makes it past with no calls for censorship and with general audience support for the characters, then the door is open to continue bringing their queer subtext closer and closer to just main text.

As we revel in the romantic melodrama that was 3.1, it's worth keeping in mind that this patch genuinely pushed the envelope on Hoyo's modern queer-coding for male characters. The devs are getting bolder.

Time for me to reward their choices with lots and lots of pulls on Mydei and Phainon. 😂

[generalsdiary]

fellas is it gay to be pierced by your comrade's sword and then clasp your hands over his while smiling and say "found you" ?

[generalsdiary]

Interwoven - series

Chapter 1 - In the shadow of the Sun

Chapter 2 - Hidden from the moonlight

Chapter 3 - Is it written in our stars?

Chapter 4 - Gossip of the fireflies

Chapter 5 - Guided by the Morning Star

Chapter 6 - Inhale him, exhale stardust

[generalsdiary]

Interwoven

Mydei x Phainon

word count: 3.4k

description: the premise switches to Mydei's pov and his earlier arrival in the future (Chapter 1)

a/n: ty to my beta readers; citrus and rice cake <2

Chapter 2: Hidden from the moonlight

Mydeimos only saw black. Engulfed in darkness that swallowed him whole, he aimlessly moved his body. Whatever it hit, he couldn’t differentiate, only sensing a subtle tingle in the muscles that interacted with a solid object. He clenched his jaw, a bitter metallic taste danced on his tongue, and a tight rope strangled him—constricting his breathing, making him grab at his neck, scratching at the skin in desperation; unable to feel his own touch.

He could imagine that he fell to his knees. Mydeimos is dying. He knows the feeling all too well. Whatever this is, he will awaken soon enough once it kills him. A shiver ran up his scalp, claws running through it, splitting his skull open, making him groan in pain – a sound which he couldn’t hear.

“—dei!” A voice in this nightmare, in this terror of his newfound reality. Could this voice be his saving grace? …No. He is not the type of man to rely on a savior. To allow himself to be saved.

May this horror take him. He will rise again stronger.

A deafening sound rings, making his eardrums burst before all turns silent. The void behind his eyes turns bloody red and he can see once more.

A brown carpet laid over the white tiles, the comforting shine of the stars and a dim light of a quiet night. A sweet scent filled his nostrils. It is nostalgic. He hasn’t smelled those flowers in decades. Decades ago, before Castrum Kremnos fell. And they only grew there, in his homeland. It can’t possibly be…

A hand gripped his biceps and he curled his fingers into an animalistic shape, ready to attack; only to realize he wasn’t wearing his armor. Mydeimos was wearing… plain cotton shorts. It made him scoff as he looked up to see who was holding him.

“Mydei, please, what is it? Talk to me,” Phainon, only wearing pants as well, was bent over, and staring at him with the most worried look in his eyes that Mydeimos has ever seen. What is going on? Why was he touching him, looking at him like, like… like that.

“I am fine— let go of me—“ Mydei shook him off and stood up.

“Mydei, stop the pretense. You looked like you were dying in front of my eyes. You promised you’d be careful about this. About dying. You know how much it worries me.” Mydeimos was taken off guard by the softness in his voice, the care. They aren’t like this. Did the artifact work? If yes, why… no, what was going on?

“Mydei, please, talk to me—“ Phainon’s words were interrupted by a knock and a loud voice barging in.

“My King, my Prince, are you alright— is something happening?” The guard unsheathed her weapon and prepared for an attack.

“We are fine. Mydei— he—“ Phainon sighed, “We will be okay, you can go back to your post, Ignis.”

“Should I get the doctor, my Prince? Is there any way I can be of assistance?” The soldier put her weapon back and stood at attention.

“No, leave us. What we need is privacy.” Phainon clenched his jaw, his patience running visibly thin. Alas, no one likes being woken up in the middle of the night.

“Yes, my Prince. Your wellbeing is our main concern. I apologize for the intrusion.” Ignis tilted her head in Mydei’s direction and she continued, “Are you certain the King doesn’t need any help—“

“Soldier, I am perfectly capable of taking care of my husband. Leave. You’re doing more harm than good by staying.” The guard left with a half bow.

Mydeimos was frozen in place. The stature of the soldier, the armor, the callout to him as king and… Phainon as prince that can only mean— wait, what did he just call… “Husband?”

“I’m here. I’m here.” Phainon stepped forward. Mydeimos felt surprised by how well adjusted Phainon was to his needs and preferences, how defensive and especially how firm he sounded. It was attractive and exposing. He felt vulnerable.

Husband?! Mydeimos might end it all right here and now. He married his well hidden crush. In the distant future. Why isn’t his Phainon with him? Mydeimos knows this isn’t his Phainon. The love in this one’s eyes, the care, the understanding, the patience… It is very unlike the puppy eyed curious man his Phainon is, the unwavering loyalty and undying persistence that Mydeimos is very fond of.

“Let’s go back to bed. I’ll hold you. Whatever… nightmare, this was, I will be with you.” The kindness, the consideration… it choked him. Phainon was already walking back to the bed and tugging Mydeimos along with him.

The timeline is fragile, he shouldn’t do anything to give himself away.

As he lays in bed, with Phainon’s arms around him, his mind only runs to wonder what happened to his Phainon and if he is alive. Silently wishing he could feel this embrace and have the deeper emotions with all the history this Phainon seems to have lived through.

This embrace? It is not meant for him.

The all too familiar morning sun burns through the light curtains stirring Mydeimos from his slumber. A shiver goes down his spine—he is being observed. He opens his eyes and finds Phainon, resting his head on a propped up hand and gazing.

“I don’t remember the last time I woke up before you. I couldn’t resist enjoying the sight.” Phainon reaches out to brush the strawberry blond hair out of his face. It burns. Such a soft touch, too caring for Mydeimos to handle. Mydeimos spent years yearning, wishing for such affection, such attention, the one he has never received; to the point he is starved for it. And like a starved man craving it, getting it now makes him sick to his stomach. Unable to handle it, unable to feel the enjoyment in it. The nauseous feeling makes him sit up.

This Phainon shouldn’t touch him in this way. He hasn’t earned it. Neither of them have. Mydeimos doesn’t deserve it, and Phainon should not do it.

“Mh, grumpy as usual. I miss the days you’d wake up before me and stay in bed to wake me up. With your…” Phainon smiles. There’s a rosy blush on his cheeks, and Mydeimos assumes that must be how he looks when he wakes up… A sight he’d love to get used to. He shakes his head slightly, shooing those thoughts away. “...Kisses. I miss that. You always wake up so early for your runs~” Phainon groans into his pillow and sits up as well.

“Y-yeah, I’ll go on a run.” Overwhelmed by reality and the future, the secret feelings he is expected to act upon now make him rush out.

Finding the necessary information, the information both of them came here for—although only Mydeimos made it through—is easy.

Fragile parchment dulled the sensation in his fingertips; he spread open hundreds of scrolls. Asking Phainon, any of the servants, soldiers, or calling out to any of the Chrysos Heirs would have drawn too much attention. The laws of time and how they work are unknown to him, hence treading with utter caution is what seems to be the best option. Which meant no contact with the other Heirs, and instead, reading through countless scrolls. History must have been written down somewhere, even if it was recent. And if those subtle wrinkles around Phainon’s eyes spoke of anything, despite being demigods in this time and semi-immortal, fine lines that formed showed a few decades had passed. Gracing his features with stories Mydeimos has yet to live, decorating his face in the ways he wishes to one day love and cherish. And it made him look even more handsome.

How could age and experience not look good on the one he harbors feelings for?

Finally, a newer looking parchment had one line on it. The exact location of where Thanatos, the Death Titan was found. The only problem poses itself if the Titan would still be in that location if they are to arrive there early. The parchment offered no date or year. Mydeimos rolled up the documents and signaled to the librarian to organize them; he would probably ruin the system if he tried to do it himself.

Now the pressing matter was how he will get back. Mydeimos slipped his bronze gloves back on and walked out. The artifact didn’t travel with him to the future. He could only move with his, now older, body. Sticking to the shadows and keeping his ear to the ground might help him. He chooses not to panic too early on. If a week goes by, he will panic.

Sticking to the shadows proves futile the moment a guard bows down and greets him, “My King.”

Mydeimos gestures to the guard to move on. The King cannot stick to the shadows, not when he is meant to shine like the sun and illuminate the path forward for his people. The people he helped run away from this very city, costing them their traditions and his pride. Escaping from the Black Tide has turned into something they’re not, and now, not only does he sit upon his… throne, he—by some sheer miracle—has also somehow rebuilt the whole city. Revived his nation, his culture, his people. It makes his heart beat proudly. As for the question of how, Mydeimos himself refuses to seek it out. It is dishonest and cheating. Spoilers.

“Mydei— Perfect! I have been looking everywhere for you! Do you still wish to spar later today, or shall we have a late lunch?” Phainon interrupts his thoughts, and his ‘shadowy’ walk, which was actually angry stomping he hadn’t realized he was doing out of a feeling of helplessness.

“Sparring is fine, Deliverer. As long as you don’t succumb to those petty tricks of yours.” Mydeimos grunts, frowning until his eyes meet the blue ones. The care he looks at him with is a tight fist with which someone clenches his heart. Undeserving. Undeserving of it. That look isn’t his to claim.

Phainon laughs warmly, “Deliverer? You haven’t called me that in decades!”

Fuck.

“Call me by my name, darling.” Phainon muses, tilting his head to the side. Horror unfolds in front of his very eyes. Mydeimos could never do that. He can’t do that. He cannot call this future version by his name when he has yet to utter the name of his Phainon to his face. He has yet to whisper it, to see how his face changes, the delight, or joy, or relief, or shock. The reactions that are his to reap and the word that is not meant for this Phainon. This Phainon isn’t his—… not his Phainon.

However, not humoring the husband of his future self would only bring forth suspicions and eyebrow raisers. Phainon isn’t dumb. On the contrary, he’d pick up on it quickly. Moreover, Mydeimos has seen how well the man knows him. He is already dancing on a thin rope.

The bright blue eyes melt, gazing ever so lovingly into his, with only a hint of mischief. He can’t handle it. He refuses to lie. The predicament he found himself in is rather unfortunate. Mydeimos closes his eyes, imagining in turn, the bright blue eyes with a boyish charm in them, the innocence, the curiosity, eagerness to get to know him, complete newfound trust and he whispers his name in the way that only breaks his own heart. It is meant for his Phainon.

“Phainon.”

“Everything alright, my darling?” The warm hand cups his cheek. His eyes flutter open, and when they do, Mydeimos is fighting back tears. Will his life be this? The emotions he kept so well hidden from anyone, even himself,  are being dragged out by the scruff of their neck like a kitten.

Please do not touch me like this, for I am unworthy of it. Please do not touch me as softly as you do, when you look and sound like him but you’re not him.

Mydeimos exhaled a shaky breath, swallowing the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “I’m fine.” 

“In that case, spar or lunch?” Phainon’s hand leaves his cheek.

Mydei meets his gaze once more, suppressing his tears, hiding them from anyone’s sight. “We can do both.”

“Both it is.” Phainon flashes him a smile and moves past him.

Meals, sparring, talking about idle topics, it all felt regular. Something he can easily fake and live through. Being a King proved to be challenging since he is unfamiliar with how he—no, his future self has ruled thus far.

Phainon’s gaze across the long table sends shivers down his spine. How dare he look at him like that? Like he knows every corner of his mind and has explored every inch of his body. It is unraveling.

“Stop staring.” Mydeimos shakes his head and takes another sip of pomegranate juice.

“Hahaha, can I not revel in the sight of my husband?” Phainon laughs at him with a big smile.

Mydeimos sighs, “If you must. It is impolite.” He adds under his breath.

“I don’t care. You’re mine to enjoy, mine to glare at. A walking art piece I get to appreciate and worship, Mydei.”

What foul language, direct and flustering. A rose tinted blush brushes his cheeks. This has been getting too hard for the successor of Kremnos to deal with. In the feeling of bashfulness, he fails to notice Phainon getting up and approaching his side of the table. It is nearly too late when a finger hooks under Mydeimos’ chin, tilting it up. Phainon bends, leaning in to kiss him. Mydeimos’ breath hitches in the back of his throat and he dodges. He’d sooner cut his arm off at the shoulder than have this moment happen with someone who isn’t his. Not truly. 

Quick on his feet he blurts out, “I was just recalling my late mother.”

“Ah. Queen Gorgo,” Phainon leans back against the table, “We can talk about her, relive the written memories. Would that help?” Phainon crosses his arms across his chest and nods, seemingly recalling some facts and stories.

Mydeimos tilts his head, following Phainon walking back to his chair. Being this appreciative and patient, is this truly what awaits him? Is it not a dream he is stuck in, while tangled in the red sheets of his chambers in the present?

Mydeimos clears his throat, “That would be perfect. Thank you… prince.”

Phainon raises his cup of wine and begins, “To Queen Gorgo, the mother of my husband and greatest ruler of Kremnos! May the valley provide her a safe rest, for she died on the battlefield.” The cup is then emptied, and Mydeimos follows suit, surprised by the knowledge Phainon has of the Kremnoan customs.

The rest of the evening Phainon retells the stories he read about Mydeimos’ mother and Mydeimos joins in. To be this close with him, to share happiness and also sorrows is truly a dream he can only hope one day becomes a reality.

Dinners every night become a habit he grows used to too quickly. Five days is all it took. Well, four nights and the fifth one planned out.

“I’m in the mood for fresh pomegranates,” Phainon smiles, admiring his freshly sharpened sword and practicing certain moves with it to check its weight and balance. A single gram of metal less on the sword makes a world of difference to an experienced warrior.

“I assume you wish to pick them yourself.” Mydeimos is looking through the list of the day’s obligations as the King. A lengthy paper lists out far too many items that require his attention and plenty of people that need his advice. Mundane. Boring.

The immortal warrior finds himself missing the war, the blood and stone, ash and dust, too used to the battlefield and to pain; hypervigilance, and no rest. The cushy lifestyle isn’t to his preference, though perhaps in the future it might be. However, as the child of war and ill harm thrown upon him since he was a babe, he is ill-equipped to live like this. Mydeimos has always thought that the people of Kremnos deserve better than just living as warriors whose only wish is to die on the battlefield. The only problem is that his own mind and body are unable to flip to the easy lifestyle and a different pace of breathing.

Alas, his war is not yet done. The Black Tide remains the ever emerging issue. The present he left is still his present, even if it seems that he is stuck here.

“I do~ I won’t take too long, we have to go to the peach tree today. It is our first date anniversary, remember?” Phainon’s voice echoed through the walls as he headed towards the exit.

Peach tree. The small dried tree with pink leaves and juicy fruit on its fragile branches. The same one he had imagined he would have taken Phainon to. Mydeimos has never uttered a word of it to anyone or written it down anywhere. It seems he truly did what he only ever dared to dream of. Or, will do in the future of his present and current past. Mydeimos scoffs, “First date— how do you even recall such things?”

“Teleslate. And how could I ever forget that? It is by far one of my favorite outings with you. I will be back soon, I’ll bring some pomegranates for you, dear.” With that, he is gone, leaving Mydeimos alone with his thoughts.

Five days is far too much; the artifact is bound to be somewhere. He has waited idly enough, he must go out and seek it out, go back to the past – his present — and give the intel.

Hopefully, his Phainon is safe and sound.

The rush of a servant, minutes after Phainon left, activates his every sleeping instinct. War? Yes, please, the peace is suffocating him.

“…the Prince has experienced…” The word of Phainon being unwell makes him see red. Every emotion bubbles up at once and he growls at the servant without true intention of harming the poor person.

“Mydei! A sight for sore eyes, we need to talk. Can we go somewhere private?” Mydeimos narrows his eyes at Phainon, he is looking around as if he hasn’t seen it all before. Could it be…

Feeling bold and having a role to play, Mydeimos is quick to display affection by cupping his cheek, “Are you alright, my Prince?”

The reaction is obvious in Phainon’s eyes, nervousness, eagerness, fear, and excitement. This isn’t his future self’s husband. However, better to be certain than completely wrong and screw the whole thing up.

Mydeimos sends the order to others to leave and the hall falls silent. Removing his hand and turning away from Phainon, he prepares to question this Phainon carefully.

“What is the last thing you said to me?” Shouldn’t be too hard, it has only been a few minutes. Please be mine, my Phainon, my Phainon, my Phainon…

The avoidance in Phainon’s words tenses Mydeimos’ shoulders, perhaps it isn’t even his Phainon, he could easily be an imposter or a form of sickness, a way to infiltrate his court—

“I… what if there is nothing?”

Those words have been etched in his brain since the moment he heard them. Repeating them in his mind before falling asleep just so he doesn’t forget them.

At last, it is him. Relief washes over his body, and any pretense and lies he had to say go down the drain with them, 

“Finally. I have been here for days.” Days of avoiding your touch, avoiding your praise, dodging your lips and running away from your love.

Dealing with the surprise of his fellow in arms has been the most he has felt at home in days. This is his home. The flustered, panicked man in front of him is his home. Even if they don’t make it back to the present, he will be fine as long as he has Phainon by his side.

“… Wait. If I came after you… who was here before me?” Mydeimos doesn’t want to recall it. However, the truth is of high importance.

“The future version of you. The prince of Castrum Kremnos. My husband.” Phainon gulped and Mydeimos held back a smile. He missed him.

Is it possible to miss someone after only five days apart? To miss this teasing man who loves poking at the sleeping lion? If his heart, which sped up, were to speak, it would say yes.

divider cr: @saradika-graphics

[generalsdiary]

Interwoven

Mydei x Phainon

word count: 2.9k

description: Phainon and Mydei, through a powerful Oronyx's artifact, end up in the bodies of their future selves who have managed to end the war, revive Castrum Kremnos, and get married. They are left to deal with their suppressed feelings while trying to keep appearances about being married, learning how to lead the major city of Castrum Kremnos, and making notes of how they achieved all of this. While trying to figure out a way back home.

a/n: inspired by @starcurtain 's post on Mydei/Phainon fics they want to read (prompt 5)

ty to my beta readers; citrus, rice cake and v.ertias_ (on discord) <2

Chapter 1: In the shadow of the Sun

„What are you doing?“ A rough voice interrupts Phainon’s peace. 

Phainon is standing in his personal quarters, holding up a pair of scissors and cutting into what used to be an ochre dress. Shapeless, flowy, plum-colored pants that are too long for him cover his feet. And due to them not originally being pants, they leave little to the imagination. The cotton dress in his hands is being massacred by the dull scissors in his hand and soon put over his head as a shirt, covering his chiseled body upon the intrusion of his…fellow Chrysos Heir.

“I am—uh… Well, is it not obvious? I am making clothes for myself.” Phainon stumbles around his words, Mydei’s presence wasn’t unwelcome despite the surprise.

“You.” Mydei pinches the bridge of his nose,“ Aglaea can make any clothing for you— or just buy new ones if you dislike the ones you own.” He spoke through strained teeth.

“Aglaea only makes specific clothing she likes, not the ones I wish to wear— moreover! I am off the clock right now and I want to rest in what I find comfortable.” Phainon passionately counteracts.

“You look like a broke villager, and your capabilities are a far cry from a craftsman.” Mydei judged the homemade clothes. Phainon either looks homeless, or like a little kid who got ahold of their parents’ clothes and went to town with them.

“What does it matter? I’m in my room, and I—“ Phainon stops himself, his gaze dropping to the floor. Regret and nostalgia for his home fill him once more. He aches to be comfortable, to wear the colors he used to wear, terrible taste aside; he wishes to feel the way he used to before he was draped in the snowy whites, brilliant golds, and ocean blues adorned on his cape. He wishes to go back to a time before he was dressed up like a doll and praised like a hero. It all felt like a false charade he couldn’t bear to keep up every hour of every day. And if it meant cutting up clothes to create something old, something new, familiar; then that’s what he would do.

Mydeimos, the heir to the throne, the Crown Prince with noble upbringing and golden blood in his veins, son of Gorgo, and king of Castrum Kremnos with royal etiquette ingrained in him, silently cringed. The distant look in Phainon's eyes did not escape him.

“Er, Aglaea needs us. Tribios and her have stumbled upon something that appears to be groundbreaking. The meeting is in half an hour. Try not to be late, Deliverer.” Mydei lingers, if only for a moment. 

To speak, to share, to indulge. 

Phainon looks at him, perhaps a hope glimmers in his eyes, a wish to be heard and to speak of the things that weigh on his mind and heart, to connect with the only one he feels would understand.

He cannot explain it. He cannot fully fathom the connection he feels to Mydei, despite the two lacking a history of any deeper personal conversations.

A need, a desire of a thirsty man as his eyes fall upon a river. The painful burn in his muscles as he is running up to the body of water, falling on his knees with a heavy thud which hurts his knees, leaning towards it until he freezes. His hands hover above the icy water. Sprinkles of it burn his hands, and he can almost feel how it would taste to quench his thirst.

It makes him nauseous. 

His fingers tremble with fear, and he leans back on the cold, dark earth, once more digging his hands into the dirt.

Regrettably, neither of them are that close, nor that honest with each other. Phainon feels choked out by the need to cling to the warrior in his room, to scream after him, to keep him near. As if a part of him doesn’t stay inside him when Mydei leaves, it runs off and escapes with the Crown Prince. It is a feeling he cannot grasp or explain. A deep rooted desire to stay close, to talk, to exchange stories, share secrets, and entangle his life with Mydei’s in a way that would keep them connected forever.

Mydei exhales and turns around. The door gently closes to signify that Phainon is alone once more.

Phainon strips out of the messy excuse for clothes and puts on the usual work outfit. The clothes of a hero.

“Perfect as ever, Phainon.” The mask of the hero of Amphoreus gets heavier each time he puts it on.  Consequently, it also gets harder to take it off after each day too. He sighs at his reflection in the bath water.

“This is dependent on who is going. Castorice would not be ideal in this situation – Snowy!” Tribbie beams at Phainon’s appearance, turning to face the man with a big smile. “You made it!” 

Phainon returns the smile and adjusts his sleeves, “Yes, Mydei informed me, what is this about?” 

Castorice lingers further away from the group, standing beside the elevator. Her lilac fingers flip a dried flower petal in her hand. Perhaps it, too, shared the purple hue before the death touch of the Chrysos Heir. Mydei stood in one of the shallow baths, picking at a grapefruit, easily ignoring the Aglaea’s sharp glare at his active appetite.

“I do agree, despite our end goal, Castorice would be safe, but alas, it is a wrong option.” Aglaea agrees with Tribbie, gesturing with her hand. The clear polish on her nails reflects in the artificial light as she feels out the gold strings.

Feeling somewhat left out, Phainon attempts to get a recap of the situation at hand, he butts in, “Might I ask for context?” 

“We discovered an artifact with an immense amount of Oronyx’s power left inside it. Upon closer inspection, we came to a conclusion that it could be used to travel to the future. And, possibly, figure out the location of the Death Titan for Castorice, and any other information that can be gathered. It would be best to travel far ahead, hopefully past the point of the war.” Trinnon nods as she speaks, opening up her palms to reveal a floating item resembling a brown leather pouch.

“Why would Castorice be a bad option?” Phainon narrows his eyes at the floating pouch and glances back to Aglaea.

“Castorice’s future might clash with the goal. Although it would be safer for her, since any one of us could awaken in a shallow grave, I am one to hope that we are all fine in the future,” Aglaea muses, she purses her lips and closes her eyes for a few moments.

“Which is why, we believe, it would be best for De to go and for someone to join him.” Tribbie excitedly adds but not before, very obviously, looking at Phainon.

Mydei clenches his jaw, not particularly happy with the choices made in his place; however having arrived late, Phainon missed out on the part where he disagreed and argued his case.

“Who will go with him?” Castorice softly poses a question, pulling her gaze away from the dead life in her hands.

“Given Anaxagoras’ status as a Sage, he is unavailable for such an experimental mission. Tribbie, Trinnon, and Trianne are vital to stay here with me. Okhema will not be defenseless for the sake of this.”  Aglaea’s glance moves to her nails, adding an air of casualness and leaving no room for complaints. “Which only leaves you, Phainon. We do not know how the artifact works, but I am confident in your capabilities.” Aglaea feels satisfied with her recap, so she gracefully sits down and crosses her legs. 

Phainon exhales, he gestures with his hand, “I am merely evaluating the possibilities—“ 

Phainon shuffles a bit, shifting the weight from one leg to the other. Could this prove fatal? Dangerous to execute? Meant to fail?

His thoughts get interrupted by Mydei’s rough voice, “Will you continue overthinking or can we get this over with, Deliverer?”

Trianne interrupts the bickering, “The artifact is wavering. We can feel Oronyx’s power fading, you have to go! Now!”

Phainon couldn’t feel Mydei’s hand in his anymore.

In a flash Mydei runs up to Phainon, grabbing the artifact from Tribios. Mydei grabs Phainon’s unusually cold hand. The chill of his skin makes his hidden nervousness apparent. Tribios surround the boys and whisper chants of an old era.

Phainon looked at Mydei with panic in his eyes, “What if we won’t be near each other— what if there is nothing—“ Mydei’s gaze looked unruly as ever, but despite that, Phainon could tell the worry concealed behind it was mutual. Phainon’s questions are left unfinished, cut off by a loud thunder strike and a white flash that blinds his vision.

The first thing he felt was the burn in his eyes. He instinctively closed them, stumbling forward and bending over slightly. A loud ringing in his ears blurred out any noise he might’ve heard in the moment.

However, there were good things. His body feels fine in this future, or rather, this version of the future. And there is firm ground under his feet. The pain overwhelmed him, and he groaned, falling to one knee.

“…—nce!” Echoes of something that sounded like it was miles away tickled his ears. Gentle hands gripped his arms to help him up, but he shrugged them off. With the immense disorientation and a fear of the unknown, he instinctively refused any help.

Phainon feels a gentle breeze brush his cheek and a bird sing. He opens his eyes to be faced with the warm light of a new day and a cliff right in front of him. Still somewhat disoriented, his attempts at figuring out where he was were interrupted by the three people beside him, gripping his arms and helping him up.

“…ince-! … elp… you— pleas—“ The ringing got louder and the echoes closer. Phainon’s chest tightened, forcing himself to sharply inhale and exhale air that slashed his lungs and cut at his throat. Phainon’s mind collapsed in on itself; memories he couldn’t see, couldn’t grasp, running away from him because they weren’t his own. Not now, not here, not yet.

The darkness beyond his mind choked him, flooding his senses with everything and nothing all at once, driving him to the brink of death and— it stopped.

“Prince, please, let us help you!” The shorter one urges as they guide the man to his feet.

“Someone go fetch the King. Aulus, go.” The taller one speaks in a hushed voice to the woman beside him.

“A ridiculous matter such as this wouldn’t be the bother of the King, Hyles—“ The woman answered in a harsh whisper, only to be interrupted by the tall man.

“Do you wish to deal with the wrath of the king if we don’t tell him that the Prince is unwell?” Hyles, supposedly, quipped back and left quickly thereafter.

The commotion between the… servants, Phainon assumes, ended there. The taller one, Hyles, slipped away and Phainon finally turned to face them properly. Before he could ask who they were, the breath was stolen out of his lungs by the sight of Castrum Kremnos. Which stood before him in its full glory.

Mydei was right, seeing it fallen apart doesn’t do it true justice. When was it all rebuilt? Or is this truly just the past instead of the future?

Wait… did they travel to the past by accident? No… No matter if it’s the past or the future he should be careful to behave as this version of him usually would.

“My apologies, I got… dizzy. That’s all. Probably my blood pressure acting up. I get like this when I eat too many sweets.” Phainon chuckles and glances at the two servants.

“Prince Phainon, we should get you back inside, perhaps even call upon a doctor—“ Aulus urges with shaky pupils, worry, and almost fear…?

“No. Please, there’s no need, Aulus.” He glances at the two, hoping and praying he is making himself sound natural while using the name he just heard.

The shorter one speaks up, gently shaking their head, “Prince, please, let us escort you to your chambers, rest is necessary.”

With the persistence of the two, he slowly walked towards the magnificent structure, trying his best to hide his awe and admiration. The enormous columns that supported the building looked refreshed, however he lacked the knowledge to conclude whether this was a scene from the past or the future. And most importantly, how he fits in all of this. Blood red flags decorate the beige stone, signifying the major city of which Phainon only remembers the destroyed version of.

Trying his best to keep himself distracted from the worry of the true identity of the King. The constant stream of thoughts and anxiety about the timelines threaten to overwhelm him.

…And why is he a prince?

“My King, the Prince has experienced the same condition that you had a few days ago in your chambers, he couldn’t hear us at first and fell to his knees—“ Hyles calmly reports to the King.

“Where is he?” The King growls at the servant, the court echoing from the volume of his voice.

“T-the others are walking him to his chambers as we speak, I am certain of this—“

“That’s not good enough! Where is he?!” The marble walls shook in fear of the anger, the Strife from the defeated Titan resembling within their King. Pride and unease resonated within the stone.

“My King, he is alright now, he is stable, I’m sure—“ Hyles fought for his life and luckily the heavy doors opened with a creek, offering a glimpse of hope to the shivering servant, “Ah, there, this must be the Prince coming.” Hyles mumbles prayers as turns to face the doors. 

Phainon walks in slowly and relief washes over his body the moment his eyes fall on Mydei.

“Mydei! A sight for sore eyes! We need to talk. Can we go somewhere private?” Phainon approaches him, hoping this is his Mydei, from his time. He is unable to control the pleading look in his eyes.

Mydei moves towards him with a heavy step. Thud, thud. He slips off the bronze glove and cups his cheek. “Are you alright, my Prince?”

A shiver travels down Phainon’s spine and he freezes in place. Every dream, hidden fantasy, secret thought, all of them resurfaced in a burst of desperation. Phainon turns into a puddle under his touch. It felt grounding, comforting, everything he needed from Mydei.

Mydei brushes his thumb against Phainon’s cheek and utters, “Leave us.”

The people left the premise with rushed steps and whispers of ‘My King, my Prince’.

Finding his voice again, Phainon breathlessly speaks up, “Mydei?”

“What is the last thing you said to me?” Mydei lets go of his cheek and takes a step back, he turns away and looks at the statue of a lion in the middle of the court.

Phainon chuckled, uncertain of this whole situation. “Last thing? Uh. You can’t possibly expect me to remember every sentence I speak to you?” Why is he a prince, and is Mydei the king? It made sense but; are they married? 

“Do not avoid my question. Just answer.” Mydei groans, folding his arms across his chiseled chest.

Mydei raises his head and heavily exhales. The drawn-out pause makes the hair on the back of Phainon’s neck rise.

“I.” Phainon cannot find it in him to lie, so he weighs out his options. If this is his Mydei, then he is safe to tell the truth. If this is… King Mydei, the future version, it could screw things up on a whole other level. He hopes he can fix the situation even if his tongue slips.

Phainon opts out for the truth.

“…what if there is nothing.” He whispers, eyes trained on the well-defined back muscles of his fellow Chrysos Heir. 

Mydei faces Phainon once more. “Finally. I have been here… for days.”

“Mydei?!” Recognition flashes in his eyes and he rushes closer, “You— it is you— my Mydei— I mean— Mydei from my time, our time?”

“Yes, yes, it’s me, Deliverer. Like I said, I arrived days before you. Thankfully, I have managed to gather the situation. Took you long enough.” Mydei obviously holds back an eye roll.

Phainon scoffs, “Took me long enough? I’m lucky I didn’t die!”

“You’re a demigod, I doubt you would have died.” Mydei snorts and provides a piece of information. If Phainon is a demigod, then this must be the future.

Phainon rubs his chin, analyzing the facts he has gathered so far. “Care to explain what is going on?”

“Do I really have to paint the picture for you? Has the trip to the future affected your intelligence in any way?” Mydei narrows his eyes, and Phainon feels right at home. The usual back and forth he has gotten used to over the years secures him in the present, or rather the future, making him feel like he can solve anything with his fellow Chrysos Heir by his side.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it from you, since you’ve been here for some time.” Phainon is already well aware of how untalkative his fellow Chrysos Heir can be. Whilst he thinks of prospective follow-up questions, he tilts his head, lips naturally curving downwards. As he ponders, his brows furrow slightly. Something doesn’t add up. Mydei arrived… days earlier than him.

“… Wait. If I came after you… who was here before me?” Phainon raises his chin, posing the burning question regarding the titles he has heard thus far.

Mydei swallows, exhales, and answers factually.

“The future version of you, the Prince of Castrum Kremnos. My husband.”

divider cr: @saradika-graphics

[generalsdiary]

I've written number 5 on the list! ty for inspiring this, it's gonna be a long slow burn fam (I gave you credit btw)

More Phaidei Fics I Want to Read

1. Obligatory "fish out of water" fic (mostly AU because the timeline would probably not match canon, but we do what we want here!), taking place after Mydei and the Kremnoans first make it to Okhema. Okhema is already harsh on outsiders, let alone on a conquering "barbarian" tribe infamous for bringing strife to so many other city states. Mydei doesn't know the local customs at all, and while he doesn't care the slightest about how these pathetic Okhemans see him, the trouble he keeps getting into is affecting the reputations of innocent Kremnoans too. He's got to find a way to blend in, at least enough to stop costing his fellows any chance of finding paid work... Too bad the only person who is willing (and has time) to help is Phainon (who isn't native to Okhema either but done a much better job of learning to get along with the locals). The guy thinks he's the Titans' gift to Amphoreus just because he beat Mydei in a duel once. It was only once! And why does it matter whether we eat standing up or lying down? What are you laughing at, Savior Complex?! Or, tl;dr: The culture clash comedy one where Phainon and Mydei teach each other entirely opposing sets of manners, and come to learn a lot more about one another in the process.

2. Also obligatory omegaverse where Mydei is an omega born with a unique constitution: he's built like an alpha, snarls like an alpha, and dominates his opponents like an alpha. He even smells like an alpha, especially when he's in heat, so the only people who ever figured out his secondary gender were his doctor and his parents, all of whom are dead now. The whole world thinks Mydei is an alpha, and his reputation as an indomitable warrior prince pretty much hinges on people continuing to believe that. The problem is, Mydei wouldn't actually mind getting to live an omega's life, at least the part about finding a mate and starting a family. Only, who in the world would want him for a mate? Any alpha hunting for an actual omega would never think to look in Mydei's direction, betas would just be confused, and even those few alphas who are attracted to other alphas would only end up disappointed after discovering Mydei isn't one. He's nobody's ideal partner, and he'd mostly made peace with that--until Phainon. Until that upstart alpha from the middle of nowhere knocked Mydei down in a brutal spar and then pulled him up with the gentlest hand, and suddenly it mattered that no one would ever want Mydei. It mattered a lot. (Of course, the long and short of it is that Mydei is the man of Phainon's dreams, and after a series of setbacks and miscommunications and lots of silly angst, they'll find their way to a happy ending.)

3. After discovering Mydei's weakness for sweets and cute things like pink pomegranate juice, Phainon decides to engage in a bit of light-hearted teasing: He starts sending Mydei exceedingly adorable gifts and fancy candies under the guise of a "secret admirer." The joke is on Phainon, however, when it turns out Mydei finds the gifts quite charming and is determined to discover the identity of the mysterious gift giver. A reasonable person would quickly give up on the joke to avoid getting caught, but Phainon has always been weak to chasing thrills--and maybe this whole thing about being Mydei's "secret admirer" isn't too far off after all... (The real joke is that Mydei, realizing immediately who the gifts were from, invented an entire "hunting my admirer down" story just for the fun of watching Phainon squirm--and, well, because keeping the whole thing going, being showered with attention by his rival, doesn't feel too bad at all.)

4. The opposite fic: The one where Mydei's completely mismatched online personality accidentally catfishes Phainon and causes some very silly drama. Mydei's (anonymous) teletweet account is full of cutesy chimera kitten memes, aesthetic pictures of food, heart emojis, and overly punctuated (with exclamation points) recaps of shopping trips in Okhema's market... Can anyone blame Phainon for thinking this is the account of a cute girl who is refreshingly earnest about her love for chubby seals and pink milk tea? But as Phainon becomes closer and closer to "Fig Stew" online, things get more and more complicated--because he's also been getting closer and closer to his real world companion Mydeimos lately. Both Fig and Mydei are wonderful, and Phainon can barely bear the thought of losing either of them in his life. Trying to get closer to them both would be way too dishonest, but choosing one over the other... What should he do? Meanwhile, Mydei is in trouble. He wasn't planning to set up some secret identity or anything; it's not his fault Phainon mistook him for a girl online! There's nothing weird about dudes posting sparkling kitten gifs, godsdammit!! But now the charade's gone on way too long to come clean, especially since Phainon seems so invested, and... well, can you blame Mydei for not wanting to give up on the closest thing to a relationship he's ever managed to start? tl;dr: Online mistaken identity hijinks fic.

5. The required-in-every-fandom time travel fic (with bonus fake dating)! Through an outpouring of Oronyx's power, Mydei and Phainon end up in the bodies of their future selves, who, it turns out, have not only managed to end Amphoreus' war and revive Castrum Kremnos, but... appear to have also... gotten married?!! Now Mydei and Phainon have to not only find out exactly how their future selves managed to save the world (so they can accomplish the same task) then look for a way back to their own time--they've got to do all of that while also pretending to be a happily wedded pair of rulers to avoid raising everyone's suspicions. This would be a whole lot easier if either of them knew the first thing about being actual kings... or about relationships. The slightest slip up could create ripple effects that change the entire timeline permanently, but--no matter how nerve-wracking it might be to admit, after seeing the future in store for them together--there's nothing Phainon (and Mydei) won't do to make sure things go exactly as they should.

[generalsdiary]

guys he is piercing him

this is the same shot as renheng help