Intensely_Reading
@intenselyreading.bsky.social
170 followers 87 following 290 posts
AKA Moomoo❤️ | She/Her | not a minor | I write! || #moowrites Twitter: @intenselyreadin Tumblr: Intensely_Reading https://archiveofourown.org/users/Intensely_Reading https://intenselyreading.carrd.co/ https://intenselyreading.straw.page
Posts Media Videos Starter Packs
Pinned
intenselyreading.bsky.social
If we have no shippers, that means I’m dead
#phaidei #myphai
20.2k words
- idol AU
- Crack treated seriously
- Phainon runs a phaidei fan account and fails horribly
- He has never spent a single day in fandom
#moowrites

archiveofourown.org/works/69579821
Reposted by Intensely_Reading
kamiko7.bsky.social
omg leave him alone deliverer #phaidei
Reposted by Intensely_Reading
intenselyreading.bsky.social
I mean… 👀 I wouldn’t be opposed to it
intenselyreading.bsky.social
Thank you Aewin!! 🥹🥹 I can’t take credit for this idea though. A friend sent came up with the idea after I sent this art to her LOL

www.tumblr.com/moshiiaeu/78...
intenselyreading.bsky.social
Ahh thank you so much!! 🥺🥺 I’m extremely honored to hear you enjoyed this! 💜
intenselyreading.bsky.social
💜 if my friend shares an unspeakably sad idea I must share it with the rest of the world lol
intenselyreading.bsky.social
“I don’t,” Mydei admits. “I don’t remember.”

“Then what’s all this?” The words brush against Mydei’s lips, and he aches for it, for him.

“My apology”—he leans in until they’re sharing the same air, eyes half-lidded, his lungs clear—“for forgetting you.”
intenselyreading.bsky.social
And when he slips his hand around his nape and pulls, he finds they fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle.

“Phainon,” Mydei whispers against his lover’s lips. Phainon shivers. “𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘯.”

“Mydeimos.” His hands cup Mydei’s jawline. “You shouldn’t remember me.”
intenselyreading.bsky.social
“Not to me,” his lover whispers. “Never to me.”

Mydei smiles. He’s never met this man. He does not remember him. But he never forgot him. He feels he’s known him for an innumerable number of lifetimes.
intenselyreading.bsky.social
“You were always so flippant with your own life.”

He opens his eyes. His lover sits on the ground, looming over his form. His eyes are sad. He reaches out and tugs on Mydei’s braid.

“My deaths are cheap,” Mydei murmurs. He grabs his lover’s hand and holds fast.
intenselyreading.bsky.social
Anaxagoras is kinder than he lets on—he does not prolong suffering for suffering’s sake. The soul-rending ceremony is done in a garden of forget-me-nots—his most accursed flower. He asked to be wreathed in them, his gravestone a bed of them.
intenselyreading.bsky.social
“Were we lovers?” he rasps.

Cyrene’s expression falls. Her hand falls. Mydei’s throat constricts in the familiar way it does right before he’s about to suffocate on a love that shouldn’t exist.

“You were lovers in everything but name.”



His sacrifice is painful, but only for a moment.
intenselyreading.bsky.social
“You called him ‘Deliverer.’ ‘HKS.’ ‘Idiot.’ Never Phainon.”

Mydei’s chest aches. His throat constricts. He throws up flowers in full bloom. Cyrene pats his back, hand too tiny, fingers too warm. They graze over his fatal point, and it feels wrong. It makes him convulse further.
intenselyreading.bsky.social
“Phainon.” The name is foreign in his mind, but his body somehow remembers how that name tasted on his tongue—how each syllable formed on his lips. His mouth tastes bitter with forget-me-nots. “Phainon."

“You never called him that.” Cyrene smiles, a grievous little thing.
intenselyreading.bsky.social
Those dreams are the fastest to leave him when he comes back to life, drowned in a garden of forget-me-nots.



“His name is Phainon,” Cyrene says. “He was the Deliverer of Amphoreus before the Nameless.”
intenselyreading.bsky.social
It spans the right side, grazing his collarbone, peeking out from his shirt, and Mydei finds himself fond of it—of biting a mark there. He finds himself fond of a lot of things about his lover.

The dreams are the most vivid after he dies.
intenselyreading.bsky.social
His lover knows his weak spot; he cradles it like it is his duty to protect. His fingers trace the faint knob in his spine, light enough to tickle. He presses his lips there like it’s sacred.

His lover has a sun tattoo on his neck.
intenselyreading.bsky.social
The dreams are most vivid after he dies.

This is how he knows his lover is a man. His lover smiles like it hurts to frown. His lover has hands callused by a greatsword. His lover speaks softly. His lover kisses like every one is the last.

His lover knows his weak spot.
intenselyreading.bsky.social
And he will choke him with forget-me-nots, this person he can’t forget because he’s never known what it was like to remember. And he will die and come back and die and come back and never hate this ghost for leaving his marks on him, for leaving him with a bed of forget-me-nots of his own making.

intenselyreading.bsky.social
And no matter how many times Mydei tries to forget, he always comes back—gentle touches, soft laughs, warm embraces. Like they’ve been lovers since the dawn of time, will be lovers until the dusk of all they know.
intenselyreading.bsky.social
A ghost that haunts him in colors, in warmth, in a hand holding his and fingers in his hair and lips on his. The ghost lingers with a desperation that echoes in Mydei’s bones, like loss is his jilted lover. This ghost is a curse and a blessing, a beauty and a beast.
intenselyreading.bsky.social
But there are no annals in history that record this man in Mydei’s dreams. There are none who match his description: blue cape, white coat; blue eyes, white hair. And no matter how long Mydei waits, no one appears—like he’s chasing a ghost.
intenselyreading.bsky.social
No healer, far and wide, could explain why his body was this way—coughing petals for a person he doesn’t know, heartsick for a man he only sees in his dreams.

“Mnestia’s curse only afflicts couples whose love spans fate,” a priestess had told him. “This love may span time as well.”
intenselyreading.bsky.social
And every time he wakes, he feels hollowed out, chest caved in, heart carved out, and lungs full of flowers.

Every time he wakes, he wakes to a bed of forget-me-nots for a man he’s never known.



Mother and Father tell him he’s had this affliction since he was young.