"lift with your knees, atlas,
the heavens are a burden
but in the starlit ink of
constellations
you have written: endure." // ind. sel. priv. aph cyprus, written by silf
The drive from that near-perfect time capsule hidden in the mountains back to the wider Brescia area was pleasant—almost fun—for about the first hour or two. He and his precious baby brother took the trip in stride, going only as fast as Carlino's very vintage fiat would allow; content along the coastlines and through the hilly terrain, marvelling at the residual signs for the Sanremo Festival that slipped their minds; chatting about everything and nothing. That protective bubble they both entered into days and days ago still cushioned them from the return to the present, until Cici's phone started vibrating and chiming nonstop after they were due east of Genoa.
And it did. Not. Stop.
He outright refused to pick up his phone; completely rejected the idea of picking it up and scrolling through the innumerable missed calls and texts that could not get passed the 5G impenetrable walls of Carlino's castle. But after another fourty-five minutes, he had to turn it off, give his brother an unreadable expression, before deciding to slip his eyes shut for the remainder of the drive... Unfortunate that it felt like the moment everything faded to a gentle blackness, the little fiat rumbled to a trembling stop at his house. The immersion finished, bubble popped, forcibly throwing Cici and Carlino back into the present.
A heavy, heavy sigh, left his chest but he slowly made his way to his front door to unlock it, mind only focused on preparing the guest room for Carlino to stay the night. He would worry about calling Zinon, his boss, clients, and lawyer in the morning. Too bad the luxury of putting that task off would not be extended to him. Not a moment did he step foot into his house, over the threshold did his boyfriend's exceptionally angry voice startle him into yelping and dropping his keys. His head snapped upwards to Zinon, abject bewilderment and anxiety in his puffy eyes and delicate features. And then the emotion falls from his face into something neutral, something distant. He plants his small body in the middle of door frame like a buffer zone, preventing both entry and exit, before he gulps and responds to Zinon's heat with a meekness so uncharacteristic, he can't help but reach backwards for some manner of support. "...I'm sorry. I was recovering at my brother's place. I—I crashed my motorcycle and he's been helping."
「 ❊ It's a pretty drive. One of Carlino's favourites, even for someone that doesn't drive very much. The coast line feels as if it goes on forever, and Carlino lets a hand hang out the window, cigarette smoke blown into the ocean spray and the vanishing Apennines as they cruise just below the speed limit, winding further into the valley on their way back to Brescia. The last few days had been sublimely peaceful - the type of isolation that Carlino had cultivated ever so carefully over the last hundred years, and while it wasn't entirely natural to spend days with someone else, he would always make an exception for Cici. It's hypnotic, in a way - a weighted blanket that soothes the soul, and it stays tucked in tight, with a promise to try and maintain it so long as Carlino swore to go back with his brother for a few days. And it stays, until Cici's phone starts going off like the world is ending, and Carlino stills in his seat, brow creasing ever so slightly with concern.
He doesn't like it. Doesn't like the sound or the urgency - it's why his own cell phone stayed buried in a garden under heirloom tomatoes for the better part of a year. He shifts uncomfortably against the leather interior while conversation with Cici grinds to a halt, leaving only the rattling of his old, old Fiat to fill the void as they finally begin they ascent back into his brother's home.
They park, quickly and easily, and it isn't until they're at the front door does Carlino realize someone else is in Cici's home. His brother's keys hit the ground so loud Carlino practically jumps out of his skin, and he eyes the stranger with wide, glistening peridot, unsure what to do and frozen in his step. He stays outside. He hardly has a choice.
Something ugly twisted in Zinon's chest when he saw Sianos' expression fall blank and heard such blatant lies spill from his lips. As if he hadn't known Sianos for the better part of two millennia and wasn't familiar with his ways. Never did he think he'd be on the receiving end of this particular ploy and it added another insult to feed the fire burning in his chest. "Do you think I do not recognise the feigned innocence you put on when you try to manipulate people? How dare you wear the same face for me," uncharacteristically cold and angry words left him as he crossed the foyer, closing the distance between the two of them. "Do you have any idea how worried I have been?!" He then reached out, pulled his boyfriend roughly into the house, and turned his face to the light so he could see his injuries better.
His fingers dug into Sianos' jaw as he turned his face this way and that, taking in the black and blue bruising around his eyes and nose, the swollen bottom lip, and his disoriented gaze. Having once trained as a doctor, he could instantly tell what he was looking at. The hand that had a moment ago yanked Sianos inside now moved to gently push his hair off his forehead where Zinon found a scabbed over wound at his hairline, confirming his suspicions. Before retreating, the same hand ran a feather-light touch down the bridge of Sianos' nose, feeling for any bumps that shouldn't be there. Yet Zinon's eyes stayed hard and unreadable, his mouth pressed into an unhappy line as he scanned his boyfriend's face. He huffed to himself in annoyance before turning away, carding a hand through his curly hair that already looked wild from repeating the same action too many times in the last few days.
Finally, Zinon seemed to notice the third occupant in the room, his flinty yellow-green eyes nailing Carlino in place. Slowly, as it registered to him, Zinon pushed back his shoulders and straightened up to his full height, trying to pull together some semblance of his professional veneer. He switched from his native Greek to crisp British English when he spoke to the third man. "Good evening, I apologise that we are meeting under these circumstances. My name is Zinon, I am his boyfriend." He gestured briefly to Sianos by his side. Then, with a deep breath and something hardening even further in his eyes, he continued. "I know Feliciano is lying to me. He told me you are his brother, and he was recovering with you after crashing his motorcycle. I would like you to tell me what really happened."
@dietrologie (& @seborga if you want to take part in this mayhem) // starter!
The week had been rough for Zinon.
As he slouched back on Sianos' sofa, eyes staring unseeing at the wall in front of him with a cigarette burning idly between his fingers, he went over the events in his mind. The radio silence from Sianos, the unmoving GPS dot in the middle of the Ligurian mountains, and their plans for a Valentine's Day date that had been brutally dashed without an explanation. A work trip in Madrid had been cut short when his anxiety got the better of him and he had arrived in Brescia near mad with worry. He had spent the last two nights camping out on the sofa, sleepless apart from involuntary dozing off now and again, waiting for his lover to return home.
He pulled a drag from his cigarette and shakily breathed out the smoke before burying his nose in the neckline of the borrowed pink hoodie. The old man had found it from somewhere and forced it on him on the first night. And even though the hoodie was slightly too small on him - tight around his shoulders with a hem that exposed his sides every time he lifted his arms - he had to admit it was kind of nice to be surrounded by the smell of his lover. His panic had slowly given way to exhaustion and a crushing sadness in his chest... it was like his very heart was bruised and bleeding. Zinon was unused to feeling so emotionally raw and vulnerable and equally unfamiliar with receiving gentleness from the former Roman Empire, but at the moment he appreciated not having to endure his situation alone.
After countless hours of mindless reflection, his ears finally caught sounds by the door... his heart leapt almost painfully as he listened to the familiar shuffle of Sianos' footsteps. But as soon as the relief came, so did the anger. Anger, like the kind he hadn't felt in decades, rushed to his fingertips as he put out his cigarette on the ashtray that had been his constant companion the past days and stood up from the sofa, his back creaking in protest. He didn't quite feel in control of himself anymore, his footsteps heavy and a lump of coal burning brightly under his breastbone as he made his way to the front door. He laid his eyes on Sianos' bruised face but in the moment it awakened no empathy in him. "Where have you been?!"
I will update this to Zinon's bio eventually but I changed his civil job. Zinon no longer works (full-time, he still maintains an affiliation) in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and instead, he's now an auditor for some big international finance company. This means he does a lot of business travel and relocates somewhere new basically every week - currently, he's on a three-week travel sched + one week at home in Nicosia to "rest" (tho this man truly doesn't know what that means) and catch up on his nation work. How this will affect future rps is really only that it makes it easier for me to drop him in whatever location. If your muse meets him, just assume he's on a business trip in their country.
Recently I've also been thinking a lot about Zinon ft. cages, like, he has actually spent a lot of his life running away from different cages both physical and figurative. Being raised under the strict Byzantine court rules and religious teachings, being held like a prisoner by different empires and dictators, being trapped in unfortunate circumstances in life, and so on. He hasn't really had the luxury of choosing his own path and every time he's tried to fight against his fate, it's usually just landed him in more trouble and/or another, worse kind of cage. All this probably explains a lot about his restless lifestyle; one part due to being torn from his roots too many times and now having a hard time feeling at home anywhere and another part due to him seeing the bars of the cage again when he stops somewhere for too long. It's possible that he unconsciously relates staying in place with complacency. This flightiness has also earned him the petname "passerotto" ("little sparrow") from his lover.
Also talking about this relationship: yes Zinon is now in a committed relationship but unfortunately it's not going to be public information. As in, he might admit that he's taken, but the identity and especially the gender of his lover will be kept under wraps. If your muse does find out the identity of his boyfriend and asks about the relationship, Zinon might even straight up lie and deny everything out of fear. Why, you may ask? Bc Cy is actually one of the worst countries in Europe to be gay and also in his line of work homosexuality is still frowned upon and marginalised. He could easily lose his job and all his professional and social respect if his sexual orientation came out in the wrong company. That's why.
“We all spend so much time not saying what we want, because we know we can’t have it. And because it sounds ungracious, or ungrateful, or disloyal, or childish, or banal. Or because we’re so desperate to pretend that things are OK, really, that confessing to ourselves they’re not looks like a bad move. Go on, say what you want… Whatever it is, say it to yourself. The truth will set you free. Either that or it’ll get you a punch in the nose. Surviving in whatever life you’re living means lying, and lying corrodes the soul, so take a break from the lies for just one minute.”
* ☔ : action prompts inspired by FANTASY, NOBILITY, ETC. some prompts are usfw. add reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. ( adjust scenarios or specify details as needed. )
crown of dawn. sender swears their fealty to the receiver.
crown of silver. sender congratulates the receiver on their political engagement, hiding their true affection for the receiver.
crown of midnight. sender dances with the receiver at a masquerade.
crown of glass. sender meets the receiver while their true identity is concealed.
crown of shadows. sender controls the receiver through magic or blackmail, making them their pawn so they can rule from the background.
crown of ink. sender meets the receiver for the first time after they are joined in an arranged marriage.
crown of starlight. sender kneels before the receiver to receive a boon.
crown of rot. sender accuses the receiver of failing their people.
crown of sorrow. sender tells the receiver they are the new lord/queen/etc. as those ahead of them in the line of succession have died.
crown of blood. sender stands before the receiver to be judged for their crimes.
crown of lies. sender accuses the receiver of not being the true heir.
crown of thorns. sender crowns the receiver after killing the previous ruler.
crown of nightshade. sender consumes a poisoned drink meant for the receiver.
---
wand of bone. sender uses necromancy to raise the receiver's companions from to dead to aid the sender in fighting against the receiver.
wand of ivy. sender ensnares the receiver in a net of living vines.
wand of twilight. sender conjures the spirit of the receiver from the land of the dead to speak with them.
wand of clouds. sender infiltrates the receiver's dreams to learn their desires.
wand of portals. sender summons the receiver to their world.
wand of resurrection. sender brings the receiver back to life.
wand of memory. sender clouds the receiver's mind so they don't leave.
wand of blossoms. sender grows flowers in the receiver's hair.
wand of salt. sender heals the receiver's wounds.
wand of leaves. sender asks the receiver to read their fortune.
wand of lightning. sender conjures a storm to impede the receiver.
wand of masks. sender crosses paths with the receiver while disguised as them.
wand of flesh. sender wounds the receiver to fuel their blood magic.
---
sword of honor. sender challenges the receiver to a duel to decide an argument.
sword of moons. sender wakes up to discover the receiver pressing a blade against the sender's throat.
sword of sacrifice. sender takes a deadly attack meant for the receiver.
sword of wrath. sender kills the receiver's loved one(s) as they watch.
sword of loyalty. sender executes someone at the receiver's command.
sword of blessings. sender asks the receiver to bless their weapon before battle.
sword of madness. sender tries to stop the receiver's bloodthirsty rage.
sword of ruin. sender tortures the receiver for information.
sword of defeat. sender surrenders to the receiver after a hard-fought battle.
sword of ash. sender asks the receiver to kill them for failing the receiver.
sword of spite. sender twists their weapon deeper into the receiver's wound.
sword of wind. sender quickly kills an enemy before they attack the receiver.
sword of betrayal. sender stabs the receiver in the back.
---
card of misfortune. sender catches the receiver trying to pick their pocket.
card of coins. sender buys the receiver a drink at a tavern.
card of vipers. sender meets the receiver in a thieves' den.
card of fools. sender finds the receiver caught in a trap, magical or otherwise.
card of iron. sender recognizes the receiver from a wanted poster.
card of vultures. sender is caught looting a dead body by the receiver.
card of songs. sender asks a bard to sing a ballad about the receiver.
card of keys. sender picks a lock to help the receiver escape.
card of winter. sender finds the receiver dying of frostbite and gathers them in their arms to warm them.
card of dust. sender finds the receiver asleep over a book and wakes them.
card of stars. sender keeps the receiver company during first watch at camp.
card of crows. sender warns the receiver they're being followed but that the sender can protect them—for a fee.
card of twine. sender stitches a wound shut for the receiver.
---
heart of virtue. sender presses a kiss to the back of the receiver's hand.
heart of devotion. sender slips their signet ring onto the receiver's finger.
heart of roses. sender gives the receiver a token of their favor before a tourney.
heart of thrones. sender kneels before the receiver to pleasure them.
heart of destiny. sender tells the receiver they are fated or reincarnated lovers.
heart of honey. sender intimately feeds the receiver by hand.
heart of darkness. sender cloaks themselves and the receiver in shadows so they can kiss in public.
heart of stone. sender asks the receiver to be their lover as they can't marry.
heart of gold. sender renounces their title to be with the receiver.
heart of wolves. sender intimately licks blood from the receiver's body.
heart of knives. sender cuts the clothes from the receiver's body, unable to wait.
heart of dusk. sender meets the receiver in secret to be together.
heart of embers. sender initiates intimacy to keep the receiver warm.
God forbid he caught Aurelius's passing once over or Roża's lingering stare as he dragged Zinon away; nor did his ears deign to block out the pause in Meli's seemingly uninterrupted storytelling or the flash of concern across the man's features as he lead him towards the front door. None of Cici's actions were the image of surreptitiousness—no, these were the dramatic twitches of a cornered animal...
He shook his head, trying to silence the anxious catastrophizing before something slipped out that the Italian would rather not. His brain was not projecting a future sequence of events past controlling his breathing, and his thoughts fixated on ins and outs, a warm hand held his face. Soft. Gentle. Full of devotion.
The effect was instantaneous. Breath quickly shuddering in his throat, deep in his chest, Cici's eyes watered; his lip—irritated and bitten red while washing the dishes earlier—quivered. Was he feeling well? Absolutely not!! Searching Zinon's face for any indication of knowing why he wanted to pull him away to privacy and coming back with none, Cici sighed heavily as the wetness was blinked away. All the Italian could manage was a turn of his head to kiss Zinon's palm before disengaging to step back, hugging his sides in a self-soothing embrace. "Come on... I want a quiet place to—to... go. The cliffs should be this way." The fidgeting of his hands betrayed the pitiful attempt that was made to sound collected, and Cici felt like if he didn't ground himself in some way, he was going to keel over. He needed to get a grip! After a moment's hesitation, he reached out a hand to Zinon. An invitation. A plea.
His worry only deepened when he caught sight of the tears and Feliciano then pulling away from him and the comfort he tried to offer. Anxiety twisted around his gut like a thorny vine as he watched his friend hugging himself... He wanted to reach out and hold him, wanted to take away all his burdens but in the end, he fisted his hand to his chest and lowered his gaze, his palm still tingling from the touch of soft lips. He let out a small sigh. Zinon knew his feelings for his friend were unacceptable, unrequited, and useless - he would have to acquiesce himself to simply playing his role as Feliciano's friend, nothing more and nothing less. He should be perfectly happy like that.
Still, he took the hand offered to him without hesitation, putting his trust in Feliciano and letting him lead the way toward the cliffs. For a few minutes, they walked in silence, hand in hand. But Feliciano's words had set a sense of foreboding growing in the heart. He noted the grim expression on his friend's face, how Feliciano was acting like he was walking to his execution; something was clearly wrong and unease churned in Zinon's stomach. He tried to reason what Feliciano would possibly want to do on the cliffs and the conclusion he arrived at only made him more panicked.
He squeezed the smaller hand in his own to bring Feliciano's attention to himself. "Siano mou, why are we going to the cliffs?" As fear gripped him, it made his voice tremble and his tongue loose. "Please- please don't do anything drastic. Please, angele mou, tell me what is wrong. If you talk to me, I am sure we can figure this out together."
It's stupid how terribly on edge he was, the way his hands shook as he washed one of the glasses he has used day in and day out; the way his eyes bounced between the front door and the four people entering and leaving the kitchen.
Still, Cici resolved himself to this. Put the final nail in his busted up proverbial coffin and leave his heart to rest in it.
"Fuck, oh my god. Oh my god. Oh god," he moaned softly, fingers drumming rapidly against the counter. Twice. Eleven times. His breath caught in his throat hearing Zinon's voice dance through the open space, his own personal siren song, and immediately felt his stomach twist in all sort of malcontent. That delicate hand reached for the bottle of rum to quickly pour in the glass and downed it. Liquid courage can go a very long way. God's willing it would at least take him a few hundred metres from Roża's house.
Sucking in a deep breath, Cici squeezed his eyes shut and pushed himself away from the counter into the living room with the rest of his family, making a beeline towards Zinon. He places a hand around his wrist, gently—the urgency is not lost in this gesture, however—and struggled to find his voice. "Hey... can you... do you want to take a walk with me?" It cracked, fluctuating, and he visibly winced at it, but the request was a step. "Please?"
Feliciano had been acting strange for a few days. Ever since Zinon returned from his last work trip of the year to spend Christmas in Malta, he had caught his friend throwing nervous glances at him. Even when they were talking and laughing together and Feliciano tried his best to act normal with him, there was a slightly distant look in his eyes. It was all very concerning for him.
They were both good at donning masks but that also made it easy to recognise the other's game.
After the Christmas presents had been exchanged, Feliciano had disappeared to the kitchen. Zinon could see his back through the arched doorway and how the younger man was taking unusually long with the dishes. He tried to focus his attention on the conversation with the Maltese twins -- Melissa was in the middle of a story that Zinon had likely heard before but it would be rude to simply nod along -- but he couldn't help his eyes straying to the form of his friend in the kitchen. What was worse was that he could feel Rożarja's piercing eyes in the back of his head every time he turned to look. He forced himself to get a grip on his longing.
But as soon as Feliciano returned to the living room, Zinon's eyes were back on him, watching as his friend approached him. He straightened in his seat and felt sparks scattering across his skin from the point of contact when Feliciano's hand grasped his wrist. "Of course, anything for you, " he answered the desperate plea with a confidence he didn't quite feel and allowed his friend to pull him to the front door. Once he'd pulled on his coat and shoes, he reached out to Feliciano in turn, cupping his delicate cheek in his palm, his gaze resting heavily on the dear face. "Are you feeling well, agapi mou? You're looking pale."
//Apologies for the lack of activity recently, I thought I'd have time to be around in the summer but I ended up being unexpectedly busy and when I have time to be online, I'm usually too tired to write and mostly just lurk around or end up doing other stuff. And soon uni is starting again and I'll be even busier (as a fun fact, I tutor international students at my uni and the last week of August is generally when they all arrive, so basically my semester starts a week or two early as I get them all settled in)... but my goal is also to practice more mindfulness in the coming academic year so maybe I can finally find some kind of happy middle ground and time to be creative between all my other activities. (We can hope.)
Other than that, I'm also currently being victimised by tumblr's stupid new UI design, so I think I'll evacuate myself to Eiki's blog (the only one of my blogs that hasn't turned ugly yet) until I've desensitised myself enough that I can stand to look at my other blogs. Atm the new dash is genuinely giving me a headache and making me feel claustrophobic and thus I can only stay on this blog like 5-10 mins at a time. ^^" It's a shame bc I have a lot of half-finished stuff on my drafts but... I guess I'll just be slowly gnawing through those when I have a free moment.
If you want to hear more from me, feel free to hit me up on discord. The name is "silfurskin" and the code word is "the twins" if you want to make me ramble. (Mutuals only pls and thank you.)
Me @ Zinon: You need to send something gayer if you want to do well in the ESC
Zinon, laughing bitterly: That is not going to happen with my country, did you forget what happened with “El Diablo”?
ellievsbear
origamiaround
titsay
discoholicmusic
snowghoul
