marimossball

[marimossball]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ IN WHICH mydei has been acting more suspicious lately, and the chrysos heirs are determined to get to the bottom of it.

content. fluff + crack! not proofread and probably ooc. happy valentines! 🫶

mydei is acting strange today.

it hasn't just been today, but the past few weeks that he's been off in his own head — mydei, who's known for bringing havoc wherever he steps, has been mysteriously off the grid.

he's only present in meetings in a physical sense, his mind obviously filled with thoughts about other matters unrelated to his job — he's not even present in the non-mandatory meetings (even though he always used to), nor does he bathe and cleanse in the palace's hero pools.

aglaea thinks a trial of judgement might have to be made, trianne thinks he's just homesick, but ultimately, the heirs decide that it's best for phainon to figure out what's going on with him.

so, he does.

mydei is always up before the sun begins to rise (that part hasn't changed for some reason, much to phainon's dismay), so he starts to tail him before it gets bright, hiding behind the tree bark as mydei gets ready for the new day, stepping out of his home and walking straight into the plaza.

things feel normal for the first few hours — his rival is meticulous in his work, so he oversees their small military force with great care, even if he looks a little out of it sometimes. phainon doesn't usually spend the day staring him down every second, so he chalks it up to the man taking small breaks when no one's watching.

the first alarm bells ring when mydei finishes work far faster than usual, and takes off as fast as he can.

the deliverer decides that a bird's eye view would be best to keep a keen eye on the warrior who seems to be in a rush to go somewhere.

he finds out two things in the five minutes he sprints after mydei: one, that running after him puts all of his other workouts to shame, and two, the place that he's so keen on going to is a chocolate store.

phainon stops in his tracks immediately, skidding on the wooden rooftop he was running on.

he takes the moment to catch his breath, huffs of air escaping his lips as he wonders what insane titan possessed mydeimos "health nut" the undying, who refused to drink sparkling water a week ago, to willingly step into and out of a sweets store of all places.

hurriedly, he pulls out his teleslate.

Phainon: He just walked out with like two boxes of chocolates

Castorice: are you sure that's the same mydei

Phainon: Trust me, I wouldn't believe it if I didn't see it either

Aglaea: Chocolates? Is he alright?

Tribbie: maybe he's just feeling sad ☹️ get better mydei!

Castorice: we're rooting for you, mydei!

unless it's to check up on his people and buy local cuisines and ingredients from kremnos, mydei rarely lets his presence made known in public, especially in the local markets where citizens are constantly crowding the booths.

that's why the second alarm bell rings when he not only confidently enters the market, but peruses the selection carefully.

mydei walks around, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes intense like a man on a mission as he glances over flowers, rings, stuffed dromas, and golden scarabs, before stopping at a second-rate shop.

phainon doesn't mean to assume, he really doesn't, but the shop looks unkempt at best, and suspicious at worst — a ratted purple tent covering the objects inside, the market is too open for him to move and find a different view, so he stays planted, crouching lower out of mydei's field of vision.

he watches with bated breath as an elderly man comes out, greeting mydei with a smile. the warrior gives him a polite one in return, bending down to whisper something in the man's ear.

phainon's too far away to hear the conversation, but the elder visibly stiffens when mydei speaks to him, immediately rushing back into the shop to grab a small box, and placing it into mydei's open palms.

mydei's gleeful smile almost looks evil when he clasps onto the box, patting the trembling man on the shoulder before heading on his way right back out.

for the second time, phainon reaches for his teleslate.

Phainon: I think he just robbed someone in the market

Aglaea: What?

Castorice: what

Tribbie: WHAT

Phainon: Should I confirm with the man or keep following him?

Aglaea: Keep following him. I'll send someone to the market, keep us updated.

Castorice: we're rooting for you, phainon!

putting the teleslate back in his pocket, he sighs, getting rather weary of mydei's incessant energy.

it's his duty as a chrysos heir to make sure another one isn't doing anything suspicious, though, so he'll honor it, even if it means stalking the man through the holy city until it's sunset.

he follows mydei right up to the edges of okhema, and the final alarm bell rings when he turns around, his eyes scanning everything on ground level as if to make sure there's no one to follow him, before slinking off into a back alley.

phainon thinks he might be going crazy. there's no way mydei of all people would be doing something shady, and much less illegal, would he?

a squeal echoes off the walls of the dark alleyway, interrupting his doubts.

he jumps into action imediately, jumping over a planter pot or two to get to the cry for help faster, his breath quickening as he sees a figure standing close to the heir. phainon automatically reaches for his claymore, his fingers itching and ready to protect an innocent before he hears the figure laugh.

it's a familiar laugh, he realizes, it's you, the regular he often sees at the baths.

he inches closer, peeking his head down past the rooftop, finding mydei opening the box of chocolates for you, an uncharacteristically soft smile playing on his features.

"mydei," you frown, "i thought we said we didn't want to do anything special for valentines."

"i wanted to surprise you," he inches it closer to you, "don't be foolish, take a bite."

"i can't!" a small whine enters your protest, "I didn't get you anything, how could i—?"

"take it," he insists. he drops his voice lower, a softer question escaping his lips, "for me?"

you feel your face heat up at the request. how could you say no to a face like that?

you pluck a chocolate heart from the box, pointing to it's twin that lives on the other side with your pinky finger, gesturing for mydei to pick it up. "c'mon, loverboy. only if you do too."

he rolls his eyes, picking up the heart.

phainon stares in abject horror as you feed the man the chocolate, pushing the sugar against his lips as he does the same to you. you end the exchange with another excited squeal, flinging yourself haphazardly into mydei's arms — he stumbles back just a little bit, small bars of chocolate littering the streets as he stabilizes himself against the stone, one arm wrapped around yours.

phainon's teleslate buzzes (has it been buzzing this entire time?), and he gets momentarily distracted from the scene below him to find castorice sending in another message.

Tribbie: i just checked with the man, he gave him a gift for his child! i think it was handmade by mydei, and he was refining it or something

Aglaea: Oh, that's quite sweet, actually.

Castorice: aww that's so cute!

Aglaea: Any news, Phainon?

Tribbie: i think he's ignoring us ☹️

Aglaea: He wouldn't dare.

Castorice: phainon, are you there?

he moves to respond, before glancing down at you once more. you're still hugging mydei, your face buried into his chest as you mumble something under your breath. the problem isn't you, no, but the man you have your arms wrapped around making direct eye-contact with phainon.

his eyes flicker from phainon's to yours, before he delicately pushes you off his body, his expression morphing into a kinder one.

"i still have another present for you," he presses a tender kiss to your forehead, "let's leave all the single people here and go somewhere else."

"hm, what people—?"

"ugly ones." he grabs your hand, cocking his head farther down the alleyway, "c'mon, there's a way out back this way."

you agree easily, following him without a care in the world — you don't really care where you go with mydei, as long as you get to be with him.

unbeknownst to you, mydei looks back to phainon —a rival, but a friend and confidant nonetheless, someone he could always rely on in the heat of battle — with a shit-eating grin on his face, the type of smug look that only a mother (and you, apparently) could love.

single, and ugly.

phainon's eye twitches.

Phainon: It's an imposter. I'll bring you his head, Aglaea.

the teleslate buzzes once more while he readies his claymore to demolish the man that can't be more than a few blocks down — the man probably laughing his ass off with you, and doing other couple stuff that phainon couldn't even dream about.

as far as he's concerned, though, love dies today.

Castorice: we're rooting for you, phainon!

i am so tired goodnight ueueueue will be dreaming about my phainon/mydei polycule 🙏🙏🙏

divider by @/enchanthings!!

[marimossball]

[marimossball]

modern au for hsr men again, anaxa edition!

once you guys get married, there's no stopping here.

"my spouse—" "my partner—" "oh. you know (s/o) does that exact same thing." "that reminds me, my (s/o) also does that."

anaxagoras xenidis, who took pride in speaking his name aloud, is now as proud to say your name beside his last name, becoming yours too.

he couldn't lie, he's always thought (s/o) sounded a lot better with xenidis anyway,

not to mention the subtle flexes he makes out of the oh-so-expensive gold-adorned diamond wedding band on the left hand he always leaned his cheek on.

sighing as he says how much he misses his significant other, please his coworkers could probably tell you about yourself just as much as anaxa does!

but it also rang like wedding bells in his ears whenever he heard the cashier register say "mister xenidis, and mx. xenidis? your table is ready." or maybe it was the first time hearing others call out your full name as a joke, and hear his last name. it was satisfying. very satisfying.

and it only would get more annoying to the people around him whenever anyone brought up interests you had. or habits you had. or even things you mentioned before, never ever EVER let this man hear that you found interest in flowers.

next day in bed, your nightstand had a bouquet of those flora you had previously mentioned. a true yearner I feel.

anaxa loves hi s/o sososososo much it annoys his students

[marimossball]

strife's embrace

tags: mydei x gn! reader, 3.1 spoilers, angst? with comfort?, what happens when you give me enough motivation and media literacy, i promise i'll learn how to tag properly give me time

a/n: hello hi taps mic is anybody there.... i finally got around to posting my first ever fic after months of procrastinating! i was planning for my first fic to be an old raturine fic i had sitting in my docs but then i saw mydei's trailer. the devil works hard but i work harder for manifestation. may mydei wanters be mydei havers (~▽~＠)♪♪♪

wc: 298 words

divider by @saradika-graphics !!

Strife's embrace was unlike his mother's. It was merciless, suffocating, threatening to wring the essence of his very soul from his battered body. Mydei pushes on however, but he knows little of the reason why. He doesn't choose to believe that he's doing this solely for his people.

I'll support you no matter what path you walk, you had said to him one simple day. One of the few who had been so understanding about his plight, Mydei had learnt not to take your words for granted. Little had been so receptive to his decision not to ascend the throne.

There is no word for love in Kremnoan, yet for you, who was willing to treat the son of Gorgo with so much care and reverence, he'd break down the doors of libraries and rewrite the entire language if he had to. There is no word for the way your touch dances over his body so naturally, soothing the very turmoil that eats away at his gut for eons.

Kremnoans don't do kindness, they don't do gentleness, every action ends with the bloodshed of victory. Oftentimes he'd even wonder if you'd consider someone as barbaric as him. Mydei most certainly wouldn't sing hymns about you, or handpick the most delicate bouquet of flowers as a gift. Mydei was no caring lover, as many would be led to believe. Though the way he holds you ever so carefully in his arms at dusk — like he'd crush you if he so much as squeezed too hard — or how he'd insist on carrying your groceries despite only purchasing a few fruits from the market, he placates your worries just fine.

Kremnoans may not do love, but unlike Strife, he'd gladly die to your hands if it ever came down to it.

[marimossball]

3.2 trailer spoilers(?)

i spent so long trying to write an anaxa fic with death flags that shaoji beat me to it in the 3.2 trailer

anaxa nation we can't catch a break

[marimossball]

LIFE IS GOOD AGAIN I WON 5050

[marimossball]

LIFE IS GOOD AGAIN I WON 5050

[marimossball]

pulled a legendary card on my friend's pokemon tcg account.... and mydei's banner is tmr.... chat am i cooked

[marimossball]

the bellpeppper has invaded my aquarium....

[marimossball]

the whole of amphoreus will be mine....

[marimossball]

antimony's collapse

tags: technically ratiorine x gn!reader but mostly ratio with one mention of aventurine, this was written pre 2.2 before mr gambler here decided to live, yes this is old writing no i do not care, angst with minimal comfort

a/n: what do you mean this is just a redited self indulgent oc drabble i wrote a year ago noooooo it isn't hahahaha. anyways this pair of losers consumed every fibre of my being in the past and still continue to do so and i believe in the gift of giving so im sharing my brainworms. enjoy!

wc: 300~

divider by @saradika-graphics

Fingers ghost around the dips of your collarbone, tracing its silhouette lightly, almost like you were another one of his masterpieces. Yet, unlike his paintings which received bold, confident strokes of the brush, this felt stiff, awkward, hesitant to indulge in a breath of comfort.

His name sits on your tongue in question, and he draws his touch back rather shamefully.

To any other person, they would assume his trip to Penacony was of little importance — his words cold and biting, stare harsh and unforgiving — he was all the same professor that they've grown to avoid subconsciously. To you, however, the change in Veritas after his return was like night and day.

You don’t miss the way he paces in circles around your lab, rambling about Aeon knows what project this time. He claims that his lab was in no condition to conduct his research at the moment which — with the way he cleans the surface of his beloved books obsessively, ensuring not a single speck of dust remained on the cover — was the worst excuse you’ve ever heard from him by far. The old Veritas would've deemed lingering in your ‘subservient’ lab a crass way to burn precious research time.

A hesitant hand brushes against yours once more, breaking your train of thought. You cant your head to meet his eyes, and he tears his gaze downwards to the table in favour of ignoring yours, almost.

Nimble fingers running through his hair still his movement, and where he'd once complain about you messing up his perfect up-do, he chooses now to sit in silence and let you do as you please. Or rather, ‘letting you’ was a light way of phrasing the situation. His brows would still furrow, and a string of complaints would leave his lips as usual, though he harboured no resistance to your actions like he would've in the past.

You pull him into a gentle embrace, and he lets you.

You could only assume — with the shards of a broken promise wrapped in cloth — that he wasn't faring any better than you were.

[marimossball]

taps mic to my one (1) follower u know who u are thank u for putting up with my word vomit even if you aren't playing anymore

[marimossball]

strife's embrace

tags: mydei x gn! reader, 3.1 spoilers, angst? with comfort?, what happens when you give me enough motivation and media literacy, i promise i'll learn how to tag properly give me time

a/n: hello hi taps mic is anybody there.... i finally got around to posting my first ever fic after months of procrastinating! i was planning for my first fic to be an old raturine fic i had sitting in my docs but then i saw mydei's trailer. the devil works hard but i work harder for manifestation. may mydei wanters be mydei havers (~▽~＠)♪♪♪

wc: 298 words

divider by @saradika-graphics !!

Strife's embrace was unlike his mother's. It was merciless, suffocating, threatening to wring the essence of his very soul from his battered body. Mydei pushes on however, but he knows little of the reason why. He doesn't choose to believe that he's doing this solely for his people.

I'll support you no matter what path you walk, you had said to him one simple day. One of the few who had been so understanding about his plight, Mydei had learnt not to take your words for granted. Little had been so receptive to his decision not to ascend the throne.

There is no word for love in Kremnoan, yet for you, who was willing to treat the son of Gorgo with so much care and reverence, he'd break down the doors of libraries and rewrite the entire language if he had to. There is no word for the way your touch dances over his body so naturally, soothing the very turmoil that eats away at his gut for eons.

Kremnoans don't do kindness, they don't do gentleness, every action ends with the bloodshed of victory. Oftentimes he'd even wonder if you'd consider someone as barbaric as him. Mydei most certainly wouldn't sing hymns about you, or handpick the most delicate bouquet of flowers as a gift. Mydei was no caring lover, as many would be led to believe. Though the way he holds you ever so carefully in his arms at dusk — like he'd crush you if he so much as squeezed too hard — or how he'd insist on carrying your groceries despite only purchasing a few fruits from the market, he placates your worries just fine.

Kremnoans may not do love, but unlike Strife, he'd gladly die to your hands if it ever came down to it.

[marimossball]

STAR-SHAPED BRUISES ✦ he who once felt the cold touch of death before, so why did it matter if he risked it again? Only that it did matter, to you, and your yearnings for him felt so warm it almost made him want to be selfish.

anaxagoras x gn!reader. angst? & fluff! content. hurt with comfort (?) tensions and arguments. yearning and hidden pining. cerces playing matchmaker. might be ooc + anaxa character study. written before 3.2 and spoilers for the 3.1 story! [2.4k wc]

tagging @rainswept @eterjie @kazucee !!

“You seem troubled today, more than usual.”

The thin-layer of soundlessness is quickly replaced by the tamed billow of Anaxa’s tone, one that seems like he’s questioning for the sake of curiosity and not because of empathy. Looking up at how busy he looked, his eyes maintained upon his alembic that bubbled a violent cyan-gold hue, any second and you’re sure it’s gonna fulminate from the vessel.

You shift from your seat, feigning skittish. “Did my morose pique the curiosity of the grand performer? Or are you simply worried?”

“Neither.”

“What a benumbed reaction, Anaxa—“

“—goras.” He finishes for you. Usually, whenever he’d add on your behalf, you’d combat it with a snide but today, he’s left with nothing but silence. This made him look up from his instruments and papers, your lack of reactions made him forgo his current experiment.

It made him almost worry, almost.

He sighs instead. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter.”

“You’re quick to lie to me,” Anaxagoras is now facing you, laying a hand on his hip. “That seems like something.”

The way he conducts his questions is making you want to be defensive with your petulant behavior. “Even if something is on my mind, I don’t see why I should be telling you about it.”

“Maybe you should, because if I can find some way to help, your mood would lift, no?”

“Since when have you cared about my moods?”

Silence then.

“Are you aware of what the principle of correspondence is?” Anaxa mutters out and you have the urge to exhale.

“Please spare me a lecture…”

“As above, so below, as within so without.” The professor starts nonetheless. “Everything around us is a mirror that reflects a projection on both our inner and outer manners, think of the relationships as interconnected roots of trees or simply dendrites. It’s the simple work of magic tricks—human behaviors more so than divinity at play.” Anaxagoras approaches you, the chains of his eyepatch filling the slowness of the room.

He levels his face with yours and from your position, you can clearly anatomize the fullness of his eye from here—the hollow of mint with a cut of boysenberry in the center, glowing beneath long lashes.

He continues, “even if I’m half-dead as what that titan said, I can still feel your vibrations and stress, an internal conflict, it’s making shoddy trembles of my glass flasks on that desk.”

“How does that even—“

“Your feet.” Anaxa finally says. “You were unconsciously tapping your feet.”

Oh.

You lay your palms flat on your knees, an unconscious manner.

“I apologize.”

“So you have the decency to apologize and yet not speak your mind further?”

The silence is indefinite yet present. It shallows over at every retort that spills in between both your stubborn tongues.

You shake your head. “You’re difficult.”

His eyes narrow. “You are the one being difficult, actually. I offered help, you refused, I asked about your well-being, you dismissed me.”

“You should consider how your candidness makes it exceptionally hard for me to be open to you, maybe think about that.” You bite back at him, the tension threatening to spill over. “You’re the last person I’d want to go to whenever I have worries, so just simply drop it for today. I’d have to apologize for my lackings, I'll provide you with better companionship and arguments when I’m feeling well.”

“…Truly, I didn’t mean to come off as heartless—“ but you’d already brush past his shoulder before he can fully explain himself like he’d always have, leaving Anaxa to his bubbling vessels, untidy scrolls and a heavy sigh.

Much to his dismay instead of the privacy that he wishes after that argument, Cerces appears just as you vanish from his sight, a liquidy chuckle slipping past their lips. “Sometimes, I even wonder if your heart died along with you, child of humanity.”

“I’d rather you keep silent while I work.” Anaxagoras distastefully returns back to his apparatuses, more quiet and solemn than before.

“You should give chase.” Cerces suggested instead. “That child was simply worried.”

“Worried?” He finds the titan’s words as credulous. “Did you not see the flush of anger directed at me? Besides, I’m preoccupied right now.”

“You say you’re preoccupied and yet it’s you who seem quite distracted. Are you curious about their source of trouble?”

“It’s nothing new, arguments like that. We’ve known each other long before you ever knew me on my deathbed so back off.”

When he’d state his intentions clear, the Titan of Reason—unfazed in their countenance—leaves the professor to his own bearings and he finally has room to breathe.

Your relationship with him has always been rocky. Arguments and walking outs weren’t new, you used to debate about claims and theories a multitude of times back in the Grove, it was part of your dynamic, but every time he realizes belatedly how his string of words had cut you deep beyond the usual shallow jabs thrown on a daily, Anaxagoras cannot help but feel like his hollow chest is being twisted upside down.

In some way, maybe it mattered because despite the clashes and quarrels, you’d stay. You’ve stayed by him for years even after he was ridiculed as a blasphemous fool or a heretic—you’d stay even longer, waiting for him to finish lectern speeches or classes without so much as an ounce of complaint. A simple gesture that he’d been grateful of and even he admits to himself that seeing you being upset with him and his words were the least satisfying things to behold.

It did bother him but admitting that aloud to that titan was the last thing he’d want.

So after an hour or two after he knew you’d calm down, the professor drops his vials and walks down the distasteful and boisterous streets of Okhema in search of you—or more specifically, cruising over to Hyacine and asking for your whereabouts to save him the trouble of turning the Holy City upside down.

It was tempting, for the sake of bringing an irate reaction out of that woman and her golden threads, but his sick body and rational mind stopped him so.

“You are here.”

Anaxagoras has finally found you in some remote corner of the city, you were sitting shiftless above limestone, carving names upon ordinary stones. There was a spare moment in which his dull eyes sought down to you—he’d noticed how your hair is wind-swept and how strands of it stick to your forehead and the skin of your neck. The leaves of your collar are strewn as well, showing the barest hint of collarbones and almost immediately Anaxa shifts his eyes away, he’d asked what you were doing to distract himself from his own keen observations.

“Nobody will remember each scholar that perished fighting the Black tide. I’m merely writing companions I remember that I used to do thesis with, those that don’t have families here in Okhema to remember them…”

Anaxa observes you again, then after a long silence you feel him approaching closer, his shadow stretching before you. Your mind stirs in alertness, noticing what he’s up to—but Anaxa is always two steps ahead of you, before you can cease the pen laid by your side, he has already swiped it. You tried your best to wrestle it from him but Anaxa held it out of reach from you, causing you to sneer.

“Give that back. I forbid you to write your own epitaph!”

“And why not? I’ve done it once in the Grove—“

“Well, this isn’t the Grove—!“ You've paused quickly, noticing that you interrupted him. You waited for an ire to come throttling down at you but when you gaze back at him, Anaxagoras merely raises a brow at you, a faint sheet of amusement in his expression.

“Give me a stone.” He’d ask.

“No—“

“Stone.”

Your shoulders deflate at his tight tone, accepting defeat with petulance and a huff.

Stubborn man, you curse in your head. Stubborn and hard-headed and mean…You digress, ending up giving him one, laying the stone harsher onto his open palm than you intended but his expression remained amused.

When a balance of tamed silence settles, Anaxagoras is the first to speak again after writing an elegy onto the stone, changing the subject with ease.

“It's getting late, you should retire for today.”

And in response, you turn away with a quiet huff of breath. “I‘m…still not used to the Holy City's constant daylights, and I should be saying that to you, the moment you were given apparatuses to quell your complaints, you’ve been doing nothing but your experiments since you’ve arrived from your fight in Castrum Kremnos.”

“Well, thanks to your concern this ill-stricken body has been recovering. Besides, I have nothing much to do, especially when that woman’s threads are all over the place.”

“You almost died.” Your statement held more bite than necessary. For you it showed him your true feelings and for Anaxa—the answer to today’s dismay.

A laugh breaks from his lips.

“Is this why you’re upset?” There’s a hint of mirth in his tone. “You’re upset that I got hurt back at the Grove.”

You rise from your seat, meeting him tooth for tooth, jab for jab. “Is it truly hard for you to comprehend that there are people that care whether or not you’re doing well—?”

Despite your anger, Anaxa is distracted for a moment, watching the sneer on your lips shaping vowels and long consonants, almost as if you're baring his teeth at him. The sudden urge to lean down, kiss you quiet and taste those angry syllables on his teeth stirs in his mind.

The Nousporist sage is anything but a romantic, but temptation truly is a humanistic sin, what is he to be shameful for such selfishness?

“It’s not that.” He answers your spite with dullness. “My field of study has made it easy to forget about one's well-being. You of all people know that very well.”

“Anaxagoras, you could’ve died again and—“

He never wanted for you to concern yourself with him like this. Anaxagoras knew he was risking himself, the nuances of alchemy and the splitting of his soul. So how come—observing the way your expression creases with a certain type of pain that makes it seem like you were the one that felt it, not him.

“If you continue like this, I would go through the same grief of losing you like I did the first time around.”

“Don’t say that, as a Chrysos heir it’s bound to—“ Anaxa is surprised when you reach out to touch him, to dare touch him so freely and yet rebuttals fall flat on his heavy tongue. The warmth of your fingertips that brush over the coolness of his own palm, you bring his hand up to cradle your cheek with utter delicacy like you’re holding glass, it makes his mind go numb.

He is aware of the way his skin dances with the plush warmth of your cheek, strands of your hair he wishes to tangle between his long fingers—to give into temptation and drag his hand slowly down your jaw, the expanse of your neck, down your arms…

“You really should start taking care of yourself more.” Your lips murmur onto his open palm. “Maybe not for yourself, but for me and Hyacine.”

He swallows. ”…I cannot keep promises.”

And you’d feel a faint tug on his end—and that fissures the tension. You let go and he quickly lets his own arm fall back to his side immediately. There’s a part of you that was terrified at the thought of offending him, you never got into Anaxagoras’ bubble without permission, your relationship stayed at a mere arm’s length. Only quirked lips with tongues of appraisals and maybe the occasional longing stares from across large rooms were exchanged between the two of you, no shoulder brushing, hand-holding, breaths upon goosebumped necks—this was your first time ever touching him, his numbed, cold skin against your own.

Maybe your sudden approach shocked him from his nonchalance and arrogance, you’d know because for the first time since you’ve known him, Anaxagoras’ frown is an inch too deep and there’s a concerned fold on his brow.

He clears his throat, his eye looking anywhere but at you. “I need to go, I have to meet with the other Chrysos heirs at the baths today.”

Anaxa looked quite adamant to join the meeting, despite his distaste of the baths and Chrysos heir meetings.

He spares you one last look, “after you’re done with your business, you really should try to rest.”

You frown at his dismissive behavior, nodding your head nonetheless. “Alright, best of luck then.”

He’d merely nod stiffly at your reply and quickly turn on his heel. You would have let out a heavy exhale and scold yourself for touching him without prior permission—if it weren't for a certain titan that appeared before you, their brown curls turning gold under Kephale’s dawn.

“He’s quite provocative, that Nousporist sage, don't you think so too?” Cerces spares you conversation, their voice honeyed with light teasing.

“Anaxagoras’ probably born to be spiteful, so I cannot fault him for such a character flaw, we all have one.”

“You’re fond of him, aren’t you?” Cerces states and heat furnaces upon your cheek at their bold claim. Before you can find some excuse to defend yourself, they spoke again.

“So is he to you. I’ve noticed that whenever you’re around, he’s reduced to a passive child. His tongue is barely glib when you try to put him in his place and the way those sharp eyes soften, oh it reminds me of my lover all too much. It’s an endearing exchange.”

Cerces spoke their affections and you could do nothing but listen to them with a credulous expression. Anaxagoras being endeared by you? You’d try to wrack your mind of instances where you capture such a manner, but all you can remember of him was his sassiness, his dullness, his casual dismissiveness. There was no softness, endearments, fondness.

Despite being called the Titan of reason, you find their reasoning hard to comprehend.

You wouldn’t have believed them, that is until you gaze back at Anaxagoras’ retreating form in the distance and watch him closely, and closely you watch when you catch him moving his hand that you held so closely,

Observing how he flexes his fingers by his side.

[marimossball]

☙•°•❥ about me

back to pinned | rules | masterlist

helloo! as said in pinned you can call me mari or my full government (fake) name marimo! i'm 18+ and go by she/her pronouns and i play on asia server! my favourites are basically all the men (i'm constantly coping with powercreep) but more specifically aventurine, anaxa, mydei, jiaoqiu, moze and phainon! please feel free to ask for my uid or send yours, i’d love to add you ingame!

aside from hsr i love listening to music and playing my funny little rythmn games! yes i play pjsk. no i can't write about them im sorry i don't pay attention to the story. i love love love making ocs (that never get fully developed but it's the enthusiasm that counts) do feel free to ask about them or share yours i'd love to torment others with my silly little gut wrenching headcanons (*^▽^)/★*☆♪

my inbox is always open to chat! i hope we can all get along <3

[marimossball]

☙•°•❥ marimo care instructions | rules & character list

back to pinned | about me | masterlist

rules:

a little fishie (@powderbeelue) told me i can steal their rules list so here's credits to an equally deeply unserious individual

1. this blog is purely sfw! i will not be accepting requests involving explicit or dark content. mentions of/requests involving suggestive things are alright, but please nothing further than that!

2. this is purely an x reader blog. please don’t send me requests about canon x canon or oc x canon! (but i’d really love to see your ocs please) canon x canon will only be permitted if its canon x reader x canon but even then it'll be on a case-by-case basis based on how comfortable i am to write for them! i am a novice writer and i don't want to get the dynamics wrong so please spare me

3. unless otherwise stated, i will always be writing with a gender-neutral reader in mind. it also goes without saying that i will not be accepting any requests involving the younger characters (hook, bailu, clara, huohuo, etc) in any romantic context. this is non-negotiable.

4. do feel free to send in asks to chat whenever, i’d love to get to know you better! i am a humble moss ball i do not bite!

5. i will be accepting a maximum of three characters per request, for both drabbles and headcanons. also, i’d like to request for a bit of moderation in your requests - please don’t be too vague, but please don’t be so specific that there’s no wiggle room for me to write!

6. i reserve the right to deny requests for any reason - this might be because i’m not comfortable writing it, because i feel like i won’t do it justice, and the like. please don’t take it personally if i don’t write your request!

7. this also extends to any hate comments/slurs which will not be tolerated under any circumstances. i am just a little moss ball and i shrivel up at the sight of any unwarranted hate. also you'll be blocked/your ask will be deleted if on anon so now none of us are happy.

8. please remember that posts may be largely sporadic! i'm a university student and get swamped with work fairly often, so i don't usually have a lot of time to devote to writing. please keep this in mind, and thank you in advance for your patience!

character list:

i'm most comfortable writing for the men, though i will try my best to write for the women as well! please spare my head if they're extremely ooc im trying my best (´；ω；`)

minor characters are also available for requests, though they're once again strictly platonic/familial/non-romantic (bailu, tribbie etc.)

[marimossball]

☙•°•❥ marimo's masterlist

back to pinned | about me | rules

headcanons:

drabbles:

strife's embrace | mydei x gn!reader

antimony's collapse | ratiorine x gn!reader

full fics: