hello! may i have one where reader brings home those cat cakes for hsr men/could you write their reactions? thank you!
ʚ♡ɞฺ main m.list ྀིᨯ — cw. fluff, established relationship
blade thinks its stupid. why would you want another companion when you already have him? he shrugs it off before he realizes how much of your attention is occupied by said cake.
one day you just find that he and your new buddy are having a staring contest before you set dinner down on the table. just two silent beings watching to see who's more strong.
"...are you two done yet, can we eat?" - "it has earned my respect. you may keep it."
mydei is very... very wary of the animal dessert thing. tries to intimidate it but it only gets the cat cake to like him more.
"my love, you better get this thing off of me." - "'dei... he just wants to spend time with you! he's harmless!"
he squints his eyes at the thing, and in response the small thing meows happily. you can tell he gives in by day seven when he's just lightly petting it on the head with reluctance. "i thought y-" - "shut it." it's a funny scene to see mydeimos defeated by a simple cat cake that sits upon the throne called his chest.
anaxa thinks they're ridiculous. "hah! you really think this cake deserves to live with u-" when he feels the sharp glance on his back. "that is our son, you can't be mean to him!" - "...okay."
as much as you think he might hate the little guy, he actually gets all into teaching kitty cake everything about algebra and anatomy at the same time. figures out kitty cake speaks an actual language too.
"meow!" - "very well said, son. i'm very proud." when you check back in from the kitchen, serving them new desserts you just learned how to make; "seems like you two are enjoying yourselves." - "mm. our son has learned logic."
caelus has interacted with them before, but questions how you ended up finding one and taking it home. doesn't really mind it though, just let it do what it wants, feeds it, give it water... if that's what they need.
"babe? are... oh." you walk into the the room, placing your coat on the rack nearby. taking a seat beside your boyfriend, you lean your head against his shoulder. "hey." he rings an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.
"do you wanna name her?" tossing a piece of popcorn into is mouth, he leans his head on yours too. "we could do... like, kiwi?" - "perfect."
kiwi just continue to hop around in a circle.
sunday thinks its adorable, immediately scoops it up and sits all three of you down as if to formally welcome him into the family. for a man who would usually be neutral about most matters that didn't concern your wellbeing...
"must we name the little darling?" petting the soft fluff on his head, he places a kiss on your cheek before settling down beside you on the sofa. "only if you wanna, ruan mei gave her to me as a gift." you only fell pleased seeing how well they got along <3
your favorite thing to see was how the adorable little cat dessert would be seated beside the stove while he cooked you breakfast.
ashveil is a very welcoming father, honestly has just accepted the fact that he is a father to one now, feeds the cake whatever his diet is too. you find them just relaxing on the couch together, number one dad over here...
"hey! baby, look. i got him a little suit, matches mine. you like it?" he has the little guy in his arms when he's already got him draped in a coat.
they really bond over small talk. talks to the cat cake like its an actual kid, as if it were your kid before he got with you.
you’re a mermaid in distress and he’s here to… save you? | featuring: phainon, anaxa, and mydei x mermaid!reader | fluff, alternative universe, bullet-form narration, pirate!mydei, knight!phainon, scholar!anaxa, i mean he somewhat already is, mentions of blood and wounds, fem!pronouns are used for the reader, not proofread | wc: 4.7k
note — today i had a beautiful dream of pirate mydei thus this was born, and gosh it got long my head hurts… (500 words each character, i said, it will be short, i said)
PHAINON; FREEDOM TASTES LIKE BLOOD ON YOUR LIPS
The first time he sees you, you are listless—a ghost of salt and scales drifting in a gilded cage. Your fingers press against the glass, searching for a current that isn’t there. The expression on your face is etched into his mind, haunting him like a madman on his trail. You were clearly uncomfortable, restless, unable to adapt in the new environment you were forced to be in—who would? Your glass tank was nowhere similar to your home. The water reeks of chemicals, not brine; the fake corals are a mockery of the reefs you once knew.
In this place, you were completely vulnerable and exposed to everyone. There was no place for you to hide. The decorations were not big enough to cover you up and the transparent walls allowed anyone to watch your every move—perhaps that was the intention. After all, you were captured and sold to a wealthy nobleman who was fascinated by your species and their ‘exotic beauty’.
The second time was when he was with the master, standing in front of your ‘home’, gawking at you with a grin on his face—all teeth and greed. You were still the same except much worse, lingering on the same spot he had seen you. “Pretty, isn’t she?” The master says, a sparkle in his gaze as he admires your every inch before he turns to look at the swordsman by his side. “You find her amazing, don’t you?” It seems he had mistaken Phainon’s tension for awe, and he hates it; there’s a bitter taste on his tongue and a tight feeling in his chest, especially more so when the brutish man mentions how he can’t have you.
As if you were some prized possession or doll for ownership. The thought alone angers him, his grip on the hilt of his sword never loosening.
A gem is tossed inside your tank, landing on top of your head, as the master speaks of how your species is particularly fond of such things: “Doesn’t that one make you happy?” The man croons, “So rid that ugly expression on your face. The guests wouldn’t wish to see such a depressing display.” How considerate, truly.
Phainon doesn’t even ease from where he stands, from where he watches, and it frustrates him further that he’s bound to a position where there’s nothing he can do. He hates that he feels useless, that the chains of his responsibility and status tugs tightly on his neck, rendering him unable to reach you.
But surely there should be something, right?
Later that night, unburdened by his duty, he returned to where you were. This is the third time he sees you, and yet, you remain the same. The faint moonlight dimly alights your room, the silver casting its glow right at your display case. To think that they even thought of your display and where the light will hit. You’ll see him, lingering by the doorway, seemingly hesitant but when he catches your gaze, he steels his resolve and steps forward.
Phainon’s greeting to you is returned with a curious tilt of your head—this time, something different from your usual pensiveness flickers in your expression at the sight of a cautious man who bears the wave in his eyes. At least you don’t look too wary or scared in front of him (he’d hate himself if you feared him too). He takes this as a good sign to continue… with whatever his plan is. It’s practically non-existent, he just wanted to come here and see you. At this point, he’s no less different to his master; he can’t help the sigh that escapes him.
You swim toward him—only a bit—and there’s something tentative in the way your fingers press against the glass, like you're waiting to see if he’ll hurt you too. For a few moments, the two of you have this staring contest held in pure silence, until the words come out of his mouth before it gets lost in the crevices of his mind: “Are you lonely?” And you blink; the only answer you could ever give him was a tilt of your head downwards and the faintest nod as if telling the truth was a sin itself, as if admitting to yourself and to someone that you’re lonely was a blasphemy.
And maybe that’s what does it. The softness in your response, the way you fold yourself smaller like you’re trying to disappear, like you’re tired of being seen and never known (and it’s cruel how the nobles, how these terrible humans, had never tried to know your name or see past your scales). It twists something deep in him like a scar being carved open, left bleeding on the edges.
From then on, Phainon returns—always at odd hours, always in secret. He comes with stories: half-truth about the stars, lies dressed up as tales about heroic escapades and adventures, and anecdotes about his beautiful, exceptional horse, who he claims is more honorable than most men. Other times, he just sits. Talks. Mostly about things that don’t matter like how he’s a bad swimmer, how he grew up close to the wheatfields of his hometown, and how he came to be in this state, wielding a sword to protect the very master you detest, who he also detests. There are also poorly-made jokes and horrible-executed magic tricks, but it makes you laugh anyway, bubbles spiraling up around your face, and oh, how lovely it is that he wants to make you do it again.
He brings things: little, inconsequential things he pockets from the outside world—dried seaweed snuck into your tank that he had bribed one of the servants to drop inside after seeing how poor your diet is, a smooth stone that feels like it remembers the tide, a ribbon the same color of his eyes to tie and style your hair with when you are bored. But sometimes, he comes with silence, with a solemn look on his expression, and with blood on his mouth. And in those moments, he will always ask the strangest questions but never seek for answers, only giving you the smallest of smiles.
You never ask him to stay longer, but he always does.
However, it all falls apart on the night of a gathering. Nobles had arrived in finery too expensive for their personalities—loud laughter and strong perfume that reeks in the halls. Their eyes drag over your form like it’s something they own; they found amusement in the scared expression on your face and how you got startled when one of them knocked too hard against the glass. Stationed by the door, lips pressed tight, Phainon’s hand shakes against the hilt of his sword.
The master gestures at you like you’re part of the decor: “She’s a lovely thing, making the whole room feel alive when she’s simply just swimming. Such a shame that’s all she can do.” Like a bowstring taut too far and tight, something inside of him snaps.
When the night has fallen deep and the halls are empty with the absence of people and their mockery, you hear footsteps, heavy, against the eerie quiet. Phainon appears but you can sense that there is something wrong—his boots and clothes are stained with crimson, rust-brown in streaks, and his sword, unsheathed, drips with something of the same color. His eyes, usually calm like an undisturbed lake, are stormed over. The room was still dim, moonlight draped over his surroundings like silk, casting shadows on his already dreary face.
“I couldn’t find the key,” he says, voice trembling. “So, I’m making one.” He tells you to stay back as he raises his sword and with a swing, the glass cracks once. Twice. And finally, on the third strike, it shatters completely. Water comes rushing out in a torrent, spilling like a scream, the sea reborn inside a noble manor. You’re unsure whether this is salvation or something worse, but the man kneels in front of you, wraps you in his cloak, and touches your cheek like you’re made of something holy. “Please hold on to me,” his voice is nothing but gentle and tender,
Your prison fades behind him as he runs through the darkness of the night like something possessed, arms heavy with you, but he never stops. Even if the torchlights appear and blink like the stars above you, even if the shouting grows louder in each second. And when the cliff looms ahead, he doesn’t hesitate to jump, murmuring an apology close to your ear that tangles in the wind’s roar.
(It was as if he had planned this from the very start, the route carved and drawn deep in the corners of his mind, waiting for the right moment.)
The sea swallows you whole and Phainon nearly drowns. You had to drag him to the shore, the knight—once bore glory and status, reduced to a man in drenched clothing and tarnished honor—gasped and coughs, half-conscious, bleeding from his knuckles and some parts of his skin. But he grins at you as if he had finally lost everything—except the one thing that he truly cares for. “Told you,” he rasps in broken breaths, “Protector. Occasional entertainer and magician. Bad swimmer.”
You laugh, the same one you’ve shown him, except it’s clearer and livelier compared to when you were inside your glass cage, and he feels like a little boy seeing the sun after a long time. And perhaps, it was the rising dawn on the horizon and the tide’s sweet hum, but you kiss him—like freedom on your tongue, a wind that gently caresses you, and the sea on your lips. It’s soft like a prayer; an affection that the skies would never understand.
And when you part: “Thank you,” you whisper in the language only the deep remembers and though he may not understand, he knows, and he smiles, patting your head. However, you must go now, even if it pains you to leave and forget the warmth of his skin because it is not safe here and it will never be.
This was fine, it was fine.
You’ve made a promise that you’ll come back to him, after all.
ANAXAGORAS, ALL ABOUT MERFOLK 101
Anaxa—or Anaxagoras—is a man of passion and knowledge, that is definite.
He stumbles upon you by chance, or perhaps by fate despite never believing in it, injured and unconscious by a cove he frequents during his night walks. Moonlight had fractured its surface, silvered shards dancing over your scales—each one a fleeting star in the dark. He wades in, dragging you a little deeper (you were heavy that’s for sure), so that no one else will spot you.
His fingers, ink-stained and calloused, hover above the gash in your tail, hesitant as if touching a relic. Armed with some information on basic medicine and of your species (sourced from rather not-so credible books and papers), he manages to tend to your wounds enough that it looks… somewhat acceptable-looking in a way that it will really help you heal. Though his bandaging is precise, it is inelegant—too tight here, too loose there—and he simply settles with that despite his frown suggesting otherwise. He was not a healer nor a medical student.
Not long after, you rouse from your sleep. Your vision swims as the searing pain overwhelms you. You first see a ceiling of jagged rock, the scent of salt and crushed herbs thick in the air. Then, a shadow moves from right beside you—a man, human, and you immediately panic though useless when the stranger spoke: "Do not thrash." The command is sharp, but the voice is wrong: guttural, clumsy in all its parts. "You are... safe. Ish."
Mer-tongue, but a butchered version of it as if he was chewing rocks. You’re not sure whether to be insulted with how poorly they are spoken or amazed because it’s a human speaking it.
You blink up at him—tall, seemingly gaunt like he could be blown away with a wind’s kiss (an exaggeration, but he really does look like it), and one eye hidden behind an intricately-designed patch. The other glints like a blade in the moonlight. He kneels before you, a hand held out not to touch but to display as he introduced himself: "Anaxagoras," he says, tapping his chest. Then, slower: "Ahn-ax-ah-gor-as." Like you’re the one struggling with language. You say it, syllables much clearer, flowing smoothly than his. He does not take this as an offense, but rather, he’s amused that he’s able to converse with you.
He tells you of how he simply stumbled upon you and treated your wounds, and it seems to have worked seeing that you’re not dead. “You will not die. Probably.” You wheeze—a weak laugh or a protest, even you’re not sure. Although he mistakes it for something else, a mermaid’s dying breath or whatever that made him command you: “Breathe.” It’s sharp but concern clings to it. "I do not want your corpse." Then, switching to his native tongue when Mer-words fail: "You are valuable. Alive."
You flinch and he does not notice the fear that strikes your face. His eyes narrow and he sighs, softening his words this time: “You have something that I want.” Of course. Humans always want something. Typical; you had to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes, but you did raise your eyebrow at him. “What could I possibly—”
“Information.” He cuts you off, taking out the journal he had kept hidden underneath his clothes. "Your people’s creation myths, the moment your kind first understood mortality, your understanding of time. Anything—” His voice falters and grits his teeth, as if forcing out the next words: “—to disprove the idiotic texts claiming mermaids simply weave moonlight into their songs.”
He was no linguist nor doctor, but he sure was a scholar in a mad pursuit of answers to his questions, and to disprove the narrative and lies falsely weaved into your species. You tilt your head at him, "Do humans think we’re just fish with pretty voices?" He does not entertain your question, waiting for your answer to his somewhat one-sided proposal, and you sigh. “Fine. But you bring me land-food tomorrow. The red fruit with seeds.”
And that’s where it begins—fate playing its cruel game of tangling the souls of yours and his.
You’ve established the cove as your meeting spot. It’s become some sort of your ritual—every day before the sun sets you resurface from the waters only to see him already waiting for you, idly sitting or writing down something in the same journal he uses to record everything with. You’ve joked of stealing it and dumping it into the waters once, but the look you got from him immediately shot the idea down and sealed your mouth shut.
Day one. He brought you the promised pomegranate but you ended up making a mess out of it. In your own defense, the skin of it was hard and tough, nothing like you expected. On that same day, you taught him the word for ‘sweet’. Day seven. He brings you some oranges in exchange for your beliefs, if any exists. You tell him of the moon, and scorn him for bringing you such a sour fruit. He had to bring you mangoes the next day to appease you. Day twenty-one. He brought you books, one that brings stories and illustrations. Fascinated, you sing him a song that praises the sun. And the days go on and on, until it turns into weeks, until it turns into months, and eventually a year.
Although there are some days where he ‘forgets’ his journal and spends it watching you draw on sand, listening to your voice. At those times, his inquiries are more often directed to you rather than about you.
Over the thread of time, you cannot really deny that the two of you had gotten close; from what were awkward, somewhat one-sided conversations of just him giving you something and immediately asking for knowledge in return, to this—softness laced into your banter, lingering too close to one another, the tide whispering against the rocks as if keeping your secrets, his fingers no longer hesitating before brushing against your wrist, your laughter no longer guarded but bright and unburdened, the space between your world and his shrinking with every shared moment.
“Say it, scholar.” You grin, sharp. “Or do you not know the word for ‘please’?” He clicks his tongue at you, the sound as dry as parchment. "I know many words for 'please' in dead languages. Your dialect's inflection is confusing and inconsistent."
You laugh, the sound bubbling up like seawater over stones. "Truly arrogant. For someone who still says 'hello' like he's choking on a shell, you ask such big questions, don’t you?” and you don’t fail to notice how Anaxa's jaw clenches. "This is a fair exchange. I've brought you"—he gestures to the collection on the rocks—"texts of all kinds, fruits that don't grow beneath the waves, and the coordinates of three freshwater springs that you have insisted on knowing.”
"But you’re lonely.” You say and the realization comes suddenly, but feels obvious now. "All these questions... you just want someone to talk to." I mean, what kind of man would spend nearly half of their day trying to trade knowledge, bargain about trivial things, and yaps about whatever he could think about as if you were some kind of diary, and think it’s nothing but a desire for company?
While he is studying you, learning new things about you, you, too, are doing the same.
For a moment, the only sound is the tide pulling at the shore before he scoffs at the idea you have brought to him. “Ridiculous. You must know that a claim such as yours should—” But before he even gets through halfway of his sentence, you interrupt him (and you know he hates it when he gets interrupted, but you still do anyway). “Then, do you like me?”
“That is irrelevant.” He quickly answers and you laugh: “So, you don’t deny it?”
“You’re delusional,” he says in your language, but the red that faintly dusts his ears tells otherwise. “You’ve butchered it again, geez.” And though he frowns, there's something almost pleasing in the way he scrawls your correction in the margins. Anaxa finds it that you’re the type to command rather than ask, just like right now: “Stay until the sun sets.”
He had told himself many times that it’s just curiosity—the way his pulse stutters when you mimic his laughter and teases the way he pronounces his words that it bleeds into another meaning. Not fondness. Never fondness. But he stayed even when the sun had bled red and sunk into the horizon, even when you had tugged him into the waves, even when you had dragged him deep into the depths, his lips sealed with yours.
And so the bargain continues—not as scholar and subject, but as something far simpler than the gods could ever comprehend. It endures like the silence during dawn and in how your laughter now lingers in the hollows of his ribs like a second heart.
Two souls trading whispers where the sea meets the shore, while the tides keep count of all they cannot name—the weight of his gaze when he thinks you're not looking, the way your fingers brush against one another, the unspoken promise that tomorrow, and every tomorrow after, he'll still be waiting when you surface.
MYDEIMOS; LINGER IN THE SILENCE OF FOREVER AND NOTHINGS
In the pursuit of gold, or dinner, he found a mermaid.
You were caught by mistake, getting trapped in the nets was thrown into the waters after spotting a shadowy mass beneath the waves. You thrashed in it, tangled in the ropes like a stray minnow amid the day’s pitiful haul of flounder. Above you, the crew of pirates gawked, their faces slack with disbelief.
What was thought to be something valuable—maybe a kraken (delusional), a shipwreck’s spoils (optimistic), or at least a tuna large enough to feed more than a dozen hungry pirates (desperate)—turned out to be something completely and utterly different.
One man pokes your tail with a rusty hook, yelping when you snap your teeth at him. A scrawny deckhand with a missing front tooth whistles: “We got a big catch today, boss!” He says, poking your tailfin with the toe of his boot. “Fetch a pretty price in port, eh?”
You’re trapped. You’ve got nowhere to run (literally). In their eyes, you’re practically a diamond waiting to be mined, a jewel in grubby hands.
You shouldn’t have gotten close to the water’s surface, you shouldn’t have been too curious, you should have stayed away, you begin berating yourself at the realization that you will most likely end up as a trophy or worse, soup.
“You’re scaring her.” A voice,gravel wrapped in velvet, came from behind them. The crew parted like tidewater before the moon, revealing who possibly is their captain: Mydei—you learned his name from one of the humans’ whispers—, a storm given a human shape. His presence is a brooding shadow, appearing before you clad in a mix of red, dark maroon, and gold, and his chest covered in crimson tattoos. He crouches, eye level with your trembling form.
For a moment, you expected a knife at your throat. You’ve braced for it even. But instead, he sliced the net open with a flick of his dagger. “Idiots,” he muttered under his breath as he worked on peeling the rope from your scaled hips, as he untangled you out of this mess. You’re confused, but still scared, and the group surrounding you appears to be dumbfounded. “Since when does the captain play nursemaid?” The comment does not fly past your ears and neither does for Mydei, but he ignores the gossiping lot.
This is when you see how the net’s ropes had bitten into your skin, leaving angry red lines. His touch was clinical, careful, but his thumb brushed your wrist where the fibers had bitten deepest, and you hiss.
He’ll utter an apology and the word sounds foreign in his mouth. “You’re wounded.” And that was true. Blood had streaked your scales and your tail seemed to be limp, muscles protesting at even the thought of movement. When he has asked you if you can understand what he’s saying, you nod your head and he exhales through his nose, relieved, then jerks his chin toward the horizon.
“Good. This stretch of sea is crawling with hunters. Pirates. Idiots who’d sell your teeth for a mere drink and with your state right now, you’re an easy catch for them.” His voice is low, matter-of-fact, but the truth of it coils cold in your stomach. Your kin had warned you of humans, of their dangers and how they had brought ruin to your fellowmen. “You’ll stay aboard. Until you’re not useless anymore.”
But no one had ever mentioned the ones who wear cruelty as if it were armor, only to reveal gentle hands beneath—they never spoke of storms with quiet eyes, of tempests that shelter and protect rather than bring destruction.
He lifted you—careful, slowly—into his arms, water dripping down his boots, blood staining the fabric of his clothes. The crew’s protests die mid-breath when Mydei levels them with a simple look. You were then hauled to a hastily emptied storage room, lining up a tub that was dumped with buckets of water inside. It’s cramped. Claustrophobic. A far cry from the endless blue you call home, but you bite your tongue. When the alternative is bleeding out on a pirate’s deck, you’ll take the tub.
Against your very expectations, however, the days that you have spent on this ship were not the least uncomfortable, if you put aside your cramped space. The crew members who had scared you at first were actually a bunch of nice people who often perform tricks to entertain you and make you laugh. Although you had bitten one of them when they called you ‘the captain’s pet’.
They bother you nearly every day, either barging into the room to chatter and ramble while they sit on the floor, whether drunk or not, or carrying your tub with you still in it to somewhere else in case you’re sick of seeing the empty wooden walls—so you won’t forget the sun.
They carve chess pieces of terrible forms that it’s hard to discern the rook from a pawn so you can play (you cheat; Mydei catches you and flicks your forehead). One brings a stolen mirror, fragile-looking and probably would shatter in pieces with a small drop if you’re not careful enough, to “fix your boredom, milady”—until Mydei confiscates it: “She’ll hurt herself with the damn thing”. Albeit he’ll return it to you soon after when he sees the pleading look on your face. And that’s not all as the youngest cabin boy sneaks in at dawn to whisper gossip, but flees when Mydei’s shadow darkens the doorway. “Out, it’s too early in the morning to bother her.”
It’s not hard to fall into their routine, especially that they seem to have adopted you like a stray cat.
Your moments with Mydei and him alone were never meaningless, too. And over the course of time you have spent with him as he always has, and I mean always, visit you every night, you’ve learned three things: 1.) He enjoys pomegranate juice, 2.) He knows how to braid and style hair, 3.) He’s a gentle person.
Words between you and him were scarce. Though you can understand his language, you couldn’t speak it; he couldn’t decipher your words either. But the silence between you wasn’t empty—it was full, like measuring one’s words and gestures before they’re lost to the harsh waves. When he braided your hair, his hands would often linger. When you hummed old lullabies, his shoulders relaxed. The both of you were at peace just being near each other.
But the day will fall and the night will come, and this too, must come to an end—you must return to the waters. “Go home,” Mydei had said while he watched you move your already-healed tail up and down, though struggling a little in the tight space. As an act of rebellion, you decided to sink deep into the tub, but: “You know you can’t drown, right?”
Well, he earned a glare from you when you resurfaced. “This is not your home, fishy.” You know that. You’re not stupid, especially when the evidence is in front of you, covered in scales and glistening in iridescent hues. He can sense your hesitance, sighing: “You surely are more trouble than you’re worth.”
Eventually, after much water-splashing and stubbornness, you’re now being lowered overboard with a jolly boat. The crew lingers on deck, their usual raucous chatter muted—even the deckhand you bit sniffles into his sleeve. Salt spray stings your eyes, or maybe it’s something else. The ocean stretches before you, vast and familiar, but your tail feels leaden.
Mydei sits across you and helps you return into the gentle waves that yearn for your caress. The ocean embraces you like a long-lost limb, but for some reason, regret and something heavier weighs in your chest. But Mydei, ever so attentive, sees the grimness of your expression: “This is not goodbye.” He flicks water at you—something that you often do to him. “Those idiots will miss you.” He jerks his chin toward the ship, where the crew waves exaggeratedly. “So don’t be a stranger.”
He will, too, but you don’t need to know that. And with one last look, you leave and disappear into the darkness. Mydei lingers a little longer on his spot, watching, waiting, and seemingly wanting to see you once more, but he doesn’t, and so, he finally turns away, resigned to the very fate he is forced to take from the stars.
Weeks later, with a whimsical quest for treasure and drunken bet of finding one on a rumored place, the ship will find a chest of gold, gems, and everything that screams of value precisely where there should be nothing. Along with cheers was a chorus of “See, I told you so!” and “I was right!”, but Mydei knows only one person capable of this—you, now seen perched on a rock, grinning. A ruby, the size of his fist, is thrown at him to which he catches, a smile flickering on his lips. “Show-off.”
Hello! Could I make an HSR request for Phainon and Mydei (honestly don’t know if Anaxa would even be phased in this so you can decide to add him or not) where they happen to see Reader in a wedding dress (she’s modelling for Aglaea)? This idea randomly popped into my head when I just thought about Amphoreus and Ancient Greece with its historically styled clothing.
ʚɞ Yeah, you were more than just a dream ʚɞ
Pairings: Phainon x Reader, Mydei x Reader, Anaxa x Reader
Summary: While modelling for Aglaea, they stumble into the scene of you wearing a wedding dress, how would they react?
Tags: Fluff, established relationship, implied fem!Reader
A/N: TYSM FOR THE REQ! IM BACK YAYYY 🗣️🔥, Anaxa u fake nonchalanter i saw u gaf, anyways, hope you enjoy!
⚘ Phainon:
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
He had only followed the faint sound of Aglaea’s voice, curious about what she was working on in the atelier. But when the curtain parted and you stepped out, draped in shimmering white, his jaw nearly hit the marble floor.
The dress was ancient in design—layered fabric pinned with golden brooches, threads catching the light like starlight woven into silk. A veil crowned your head, and for a heartbeat, Phainon forgot how to breathe.
His heart lurched wildly. A wedding dress.
“Y–you—!” His words tangled, his face flushing crimson. “You can’t just— walk out like—looking like that! You’ll give a guy a heart attack!”
Aglaea’s lips quirked, clearly entertained, but Phainon couldn’t care less. His eyes were locked on you, wide and awestruck, his usual golden-retriever energy now an unsteady mess.
“You’re—” He swallowed hard, then laughed nervously. “You’re beautiful. More than beautiful. I didn’t think I could picture you like that, but now I can’t stop.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck, bashful. “If I ever… if we ever… I’d want you to wear something just like that.”
The sincerity slipped out before he could stop it. His cheeks burned, but for once, he didn’t try to take it back.
⚘ Mydei:
The Kremnoan prince was not easily surprised. He had lived through war, exile, and the quiet discipline of Okhema's courts. But when he stepped into Aglaea’s workshop and saw you in that gown, even he faltered.
You turned, the white folds flowing like a tide around you, and Mydei froze where he stood. For a long moment, his sharp, warrior’s gaze softened into something else entirely—like the marble statues of Amphoreus that seemed to look past the world and into eternity.
Aglaea hummed in approval, making notes with golden thread, but Mydei hardly heard her. His throat felt tight. So this is what forever could look like.
“...It suits you,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual. But then, after a pause, he added, more softly, “Too well.”
You blinked at him, confused, but he looked away, jaw clenched, as though he had revealed more than he intended. His hands, always steady, fidgeted at his side before he crossed his arms to hide the motion.
If Aglaea noticed, she didn’t comment. She only smiled knowingly while Mydei silently swore that the image of you in white would never leave his memory.
⚘ Anaxa:
When Anaxa entered Aglaea’s atelier, it was with the calm confidence of someone who belonged wherever he stepped. He expected to find Aglaea bent over her threads, or perhaps a new sculpture in progress. What he did not expect was you, standing in the center of the room draped in ceremonial white, a veil crowning your head like moonlight caught in silk.
He stopped. His gaze swept over you once, deliberate, assessing. No widening of eyes, no stumble of breath—only a faint narrowing, as if cataloguing something that required his full attention.
“You’re wearing a wedding dress,” he said at last. His tone was flat, factual, like he was remarking on the weather.
You shifted under his stare, flustered by his lack of reaction. “Aglaea asked me to model for her latest design,” you explained, fingers brushing nervously at the fabric. “It’s not… what it looks like.”
“I see.” His words carried no judgment, and yet something about the way his gaze lingered made your throat dry.
For a long, quiet moment, he studied you. Then, as if reaching a conclusion, his expression softened just slightly. A pause—long enough for Aglaea to look up, curious, though she wisely kept silent.
“…It’s fitting,” he murmured, the barest warmth threading through his voice.
Your breath hitched, but before you could answer, Anaxa turned on his heel. His cloak flared behind him, his stride as unhurried as ever. He offered no further comment, leaving the room with the same quiet composure he had entered.
Yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had left with something far heavier than he showed—that the image of you in white would follow him, etched into his mind like a vow unspoken.
Where the chrysos heirs are assigned a seat next to a person who’s basically the exact opposite of them. + some general headcanons
Characters: Anaxa, Mydei, Phainon (GN! reader) ; Word count: 1.1k
𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐗𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐒
"𝐇𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐡𝐚" .✦ ݁˖
Terrifyingly punctual.
When Anaxa encounters a problem during class, he’s not one of those kids who would wait until class ends, he HAS to ask right away no matter how complex or time-consuming it is. He doesn’t pay a single sliver of attention to those who throw annoyed glares at him for “wasting time”.
People think he’s trying to be the ‘performative mysterious guy’ just because he’s the only person in the class that still takes notes on paper, leaves the second the bell rings (after he’s got his answers, of course), and hands in his test irritatingly early.
Honestly doesn’t pay much mind to whoever sits next to him. He often sits alone at the front of the classroom anyway (ignoring the groans coming from shorter students sitting behind him).
So imagine the look of surprise when you casually plop down on the seat next to him on the first day of your shared organic chemistry course, then proceed to, almost habitually, take out your stuff and set your desk up. Anaxa’s out here staring you down like a hissing cat with its fur all spiked up, while you’re living in your own bubble.
“So, molecular stability, huh?” You mutter as you turn your head towards Anaxa, who’s absentmindedly staring at the obnoxiously bright title slide of today’s lecture powerpoint. You decide to take his sigh as a response to your greeting.
As the lecture commences, the two of you start MULTIPLE debates on organic chemistry, out of all topics. The rest of the class, now spectating your kahoots like an audience, are comically whipping their heads back and forth every time you refute each other’s arguments. Or rather, seeing a cross-shaped vein pop out of Anaxa’s forehead as you casually propose another rebuttal to his face. His very, very red and vexed face.
Eventually, the audience gets tired and so does the professor. The emptiness of the lecture hall only gets to Anaxa after he concludes his final argument.
“You better watch out, Anaxa~ I’ll come back to the next lecture with a ten-page statement.”
He watches as you walk towards the hallway, greeting your friends along the way. He doesn’t even acknowledge the fact that you called him Anaxa. That’s how whipped he is.
You know those guys who have headphones over their hoodie and have their macbooks out during lectures? Yeah, that’s him.
It’s not like Mydei DOESN’T pay attention, he just needs some…motivation. (He and Phainon make bets on who gets a higher score. Whoever loses has to treat the other to dinner.)
His staple is wearing hoodies and it’s to the point where people don’t even know that he’s dyed the tips of his hair red. (Phainon says that he looks like the potatoes from his farm back in his hometown)
I don’t see Mydei as a lecture napper, I gotta be honest. He just seems like a zone out-er, if that makes sense. Doesn’t take notes, doesn’t ask questions, probably thinking about the pomegranate milkshake he’s gonna take to the gym later.
You are the complete OPPOSITE of that. Frantic scribbles on your ipad (I pity your screen protector), speaking at a concerningly fast pace, holding anything with caffeine in your trembling hand.
Mydei walks in the lecture hall towards his usual spot…that’s taken by your sleeping (and very much trembling) form. No biggie. He’ll just sit next to you and hope that you’re not as annoying as Phainon. (He means it endearingly)
He still has his headphones on when the professor starts the lecture. It’s Uni, nobody cares. The classmates sitting around you two don’t even quirk their eyebrows when you suddenly jolt to consciousness. What DOES make them turn their heads is the fact that THE hoodie guy has taken off his headphones to silently drop a spare carton of protein shake on your desk before putting?? His headphones???? Back on??? Like nothing??? happened???
Mydei’s very observant. He’s been noticing your leg bouncing under the desk and your fingers uncontrollably tapping on the desk like you’re typing some sort of cryptic code.
Though he’s more of a Redbull guy, the iced americano you’re holding doesn’t seem too bad.
Maybe you should ask him out on a coffee date so you can repay his favour…
Oh there’s NO way this guy doesn’t take culinary arts or PE I’ve seen so many headcanons about it
Let’s go with culinary arts, even though you don’t really get to see the traditional “lecture hall seatmates” scenario
Phainon’s one of those kids that don’t suck up to the teachers but still manage to be the teacher’s favourite.
Doesn’t really stick with a solid group for every project, likes to group up with different people from his class to see how different people’s minds work.
Same goes for individual practicals, after he’s done with his dish (because of course he gets it done early), Phainon walks around to see how other people are doing. Not in a condescending or nosy way, more of a curious puppy way.
Phainon wastes no time tying his apron up after the bell rings, signalling the start of their final assignment (which happens to be individual, much to Phainon’s dismay). The way his forearm flexes as he finishes tying his double knot earns a dramatic swoon from the girls at the stations near him, but Phainon only smiles to himself as he begins to take out his prepped ingredients from the fridge.
“That meringue is mine.”
“…?”
“Do I have to repeat myself again? Or do I have to pry it out of your hands?”
“So feisty…” Phainon thought to himself. He sheepishly rubbed the nape of his neck with a chuckle, before letting you snatch it out of his hands with a “hmph!” that he found oddly adorable.
Phainon couldn’t really focus on his assignment after his encounter with you. His mind was too preoccupied with how soft your hands felt when you snatched the bowl out of his, or how cute you looked when you were stomping back towards your station. His lemon meringue cake ended up being way more sour than the ones he made during practice sessions, maybe he’d managed to mix some of your attitude in there…
Somehow, he’s never really seen you when he interacts with your shared classmates, so he was just a liiiiiittle bit dejected (his metaphorical puppy ears are DROOPING) after you exited the kitchen without saying a word to him. But Phainon, with his connections, had managed to get your socials. Nothing special, just occasional pictures of your latest baked delicacies or stray cats.
This time, Phainon wanted to be nosy. He wanted to know more about you.
m.list
a/n: THANKS FOR READING!! I tried to make reader as gn and as self-insertable as I could, but it's kinda hard when the entire premise is "opposites attract" ykwim like...ooc HAUNTS me
Cerces longs for romance past, and now she takes Anaxa's love life into her own hands...
You've met the reason titan only once, although you didn't know, where she'd stepped forward in Anaxa's body to give your relationship with the professor a little push. You had brought coffee for the man yet again, a usual detour in your morning. Normally he would take it with a gentle "thank you," but this time, he takes it with a calm smile and sets it aside, taking your hand in his. Bringing it to his lips, he kisses the back of it reverently.
"Always so thoughtful. You're so charming..."
He says in a drawl too sensual to be his words, surely. You flush and blink at him, stunned.
"Anaxagoras? Did you... hit your head, perchance?"
That grin on his face widens, and he's covering his lips with his fingertips and a small 'fufu' laugh floats through the air. He steps closer, expression all calm, yet that smile was so self satisfied... You're really not sure what to do. He leans to your ear, words not above a breath in volume.
"Under equivalent exchange, I should really thank you for all the times before this. What would you like in return, hm?"
The words are said as he raises a hand to fleetingly brush your lips, red eye gazing down tenderly at them. You freeze up in your fluster, its just too strange, too sudden. Blinking twice, you try to search his face for something, you don't even know what, but you're staring. And that's the last time you see that forward charm because now it's gone- he startles and pulls back. Now you're concerned, "Anaxa?" You prod.
"...you infuriating woman-!" He snaps, the tips of his ears going red and he scrambles for distance.
"...huh?!" You're a bit offended, and highly confused.
"Not you. You!" He argued pointedly into the air at no one you can see. "I miss my wife. You should share yours." Cerces sighed, floating imperceivably beside him. He was sure she was eyeing you, and he snapped again, "She's not my wife!" The titan only shakes her head like her next words were truly inevitable, "She will be when I'm done with her." This only leads to an array of verbal abuse from Anaxa, and he truly seems to have lost a screw to you, so you frown, reaching forward to rest a hand on his forehead, checking his temperature.
"Please, Anaxagoras. Let's go see Hyacine..." You fret, and he quickly freezes again, insults halting abruptly. His flush deepens, and now he's protesting unconvincingly. He's not winning this, something is definitely wrong, you decide, gently dragging him away to the Twilight Courtyard. "Confounded Titan..." He muttered, with said Titan floating happily beside you.
Inspired by this text from in game:
_the Titan would eventually take over one half of his body. It happened but once- a perfect harmony. One man, one god, speaking in one breath. "Stop stepping forward at the same time as me."_
for all that anaxagoras’ students think he is a tyrant, he thinks you are the bigger menace though he would be loath to admit that to anyone. no one would believe him, anyway. you are charming and pretty, a favourite amongst all the students at the grove of epiphany.
it is only around him that your impish side begins to show. he’s asked you about it many times, and each time, your answer is the same: “you’re so prickly, anaxa. loosen up a little!”
he’s quite sure loosening up doesn’t entail you distracting him from his work. he scribbles down his notes furiously, keeping his head down and his eyes fixed firmly on the notebook in front of him. he cannot lose. he mustn’t, or whatever small thread of dignity he has left will snap—though the outcome is hardly ever something horrible. it’s the opposite, truthfully.
he mustn’t lose focus, because if he does, he’s not sure he will ever stop falling into your little trapdoor of mnestia’s creation. he wouldn’t ever want to, and that’s the biggest problem, because anaxa is greedy.
he is greedy for knowledge, and he is greedy for you. you seem to constantly take advantage of this.
if anaxa were to lift his head and tilt it to his right, he would find you leaning against his desk, a cheeky smile playing at your lips. he knows you will tempt him with those eyes of yours, always dancing about with joy, or your fingers, trailing over his arm and coming to rest on his elbow.
“are you really going to ignore me?” you whisper right by his ear.
anaxa swallows down his reply, dipping his pen into his inkwell. your answering laugh rings like a silver bell, soft and tinkling.
anaxa stiffens when he feels you press your lips to his earlobe, before you trail down and kiss the side of his jaw. your lips leave sweet blossoms in their wake, or so it feels to the researcher—especially when you dip your head and kiss his cheek next. he sets his pen down.
“i don’t have much of a choice in the matter, do i?” he mumbles.
“you don’t,” you say, laughing again. “it’s good you realised early.”
you place your hand under his chin and turn his head to the other side, where you press a kiss to his other cheek and trail down. when anaxa tries to stop your attempts by gently covering your mouth with his ink-stained fingers, you kiss his palm. he concedes defeat, and brings a hand to the back of your neck so he can kiss your lips easier.
#42. distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead. requested by anon!
request no.2: not really sure who u could do this with but like a character gets thrown into our world and is very out of place due to culture here (like that one rp we did ages ago but for hsr characters)
i'm thinking a few characters here: i would say the trailblazer cuz it would be funny, aventurine, maybe mydei, phainon, jing yuan, and anaxa. you can do one or do headcanons for all LOL you decide
໒⦂ 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐇𝐂𝐒.
notes. tenk yew for the request and tip pook, decided to do the amphoreus trio since they’re the most disconnected from our world, so hope das cool w you and uhhhh baby’s first time writing mydei and anaxa..
genre. crack + fluff + reverse isekai
ft. phainon, anaxa, mydei
gn!reader.
➫ 𝓟𝗛𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗢𝗡 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗
⌗ this is.. not a new cycle, which is the first thing he realizes upon seeing the new environment that he has found himself in. if anything, maybe he was dreaming- there was no way anywhere on amphoreus had looked like this, as far as he was concerned- not to mention the technology he's never seen before, either. but as he pinched himself.. the pain seemed to tell him otherwise
⌗ you were.. more or less asleep when it happened; let's say it was a long day, where you just laid down — and it was history from there. no dailies were done, homework / work / responsibilities were an after thought- nothing was of any relevance to you.
⌗ well, until you felt poking at your cheek. gentle prodding and calls of an all too familiar voice. you were dreaming, surely you were- there was no shot that phain shit was calling out to you from beyond the subconscious.. but he was- he very much was.
⌗ and goodness gracious you almost pissed yourself right on the spot once your eyes did open to find this guy leaning over you, raising a brow with this sheepish smile as he attempted to get some form of an answer out of you after having disrupted your rest
⌗ gosh why was he so perfect? truly, the best husband- everyone else around you paled in comparison- nobody could hold ANYTHING to this guy.. which is why this had to be a dream.
⌗ it wasn't. it really wasn't.
⌗ "my apologies- i don't mean to disrupt your rest, friend! but i.. seem to have found myself a little out of place- unless this is some part of amphoreus that i haven't gotten the chance to see.."
⌗ this man was unreal- he had to be.. and yet he wasn't. as you shot up and scooted back against your headboard on instinct, you felt a dull pain from the impact.. which should be enough to tell you that this was not in fact a dream
⌗ a normal person might have screamed or thrown stuff, saying that he should get out of your room or that the convention was elsewhere- that you weren't into roleplay.. but you answered his question with honesty.. and then bombarded him with some ones of your own- i mean come on, how often did phainon appear in your bedroom dude..
⌗ he was vague at first with his explanations, but given your honesty and what he could surmise.. it seemed like there wasn't much use in hiding if he wanted to find a way back to everyone to fulfill the prophecy- so he elaborated on what he could.
⌗ you.. pretty much knew everything already, but went along with what he said, anyway, and informed him on where he was- explaining that you were not in fact on amphoreus, and that for whatever reason that you did not manage to quite catch, he had ended up in your room
⌗ unlike the others, i feel like phainon might be a little more antsy about wanting to get back to amphoreus. he's trying his best to look for ways back, has you search through the entire game ( as you introduce it to him ) for a loophole to get him back.. but there's literally nothing- it makes no sense
⌗ you feel bad- you wish you could do more for him, but perhaps the answer was not really something to be found in the game, but maybe something that had to happen or take place between you two?
⌗ like the others- you kinda had to get him new clothes, or to at least shed some layers to pass for what society deemed as menswear- and brother.. you had to drag him away from the god damn purple and yellow combo you will NOT be seen in public with a beautiful man dressed like that.
⌗ you settle for this cute light academia kinda look, following the color palette on the clothing he wears in game- so that's cool, and he's quite happy with it too- i mean aglaea dresses him, so it's nothing new to him.. though the fashion is refreshing, so he is quite astounded by it upon initial purchase.
⌗ tho, bro's a little too comfortable with undressing around you though, like HELLO?? and offering to share a bath?? dawg- you JUST met.. but i guess stuff like that doesn't really come off to him as weird, it's a difference in culture, perhaps- which you.. tried to understand ( unless its normal in yours then uh!!! no problem at all! )
⌗ cuz you don't wanna coop him up in your room, you take him out maybe to some local shops and the weekly fresh market, which reminds him a lot of his own home- but just that he was spending this with you, which was kinda different- a good kind of different that he might have been missing out on up until now
⌗ something something karaoke?? yk phainon's theme, coronal radiance? angsty i know but the vocals in there have made me hc that it's him yknow singing the song, so i feel like bro would just have this beautiful voice oughghghg and i think that voice just gotta come out so karaoke it is.. even if he probably knows NONE of the songs you wanna sing, let alone half the choices or genres- but it was a good time, trust
⌗ the prophecy is still in the back of his mind, but it starts to dull a little, where he becomes.. conflicted, to say the least. this accident of him arriving to you was some of the nicest and most carefree days that he has spent in the longest time, where he hasn't had to worry about protecting everyone or playing the hero. it was foreign at first, naturally, but something that came to make him hesitate on his return..
⌗ moreover, being with you was like a fresh breath of air- something he could only ever dream of having because there was no shot at all of having something like this with the type of life he leads. selfishness begins to brim in him, and he's torn between giving into allowing the world to just unravel without his intervention and surrender to fate.. or return to fulfill his duties as the deliverer.
➫ 𝓐𝗡𝗔𝗫𝗔 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗
⌗ he SEEMS like he’s the calmest one about this whole occurrence. bro spawns into your room and is like huh, okay — this is unfamiliar, surely there is some sort of logical explanation for how he ended up in this new place and where it even was, but there's a little bit of excitement that he's feeling too!
⌗ so he conducts his own research with what he is given, aka your room, y'know checking things out, taking in his surroundings.. and then starts to notice the game on your setup — comrades of his that he recognizes.. and some decor that bears a striking resemblance to himself..
⌗ he questions it in his head, committing it to memory before he would eventually form a hypothesis.. until he sees his splash art with 'anaxa' written, and that's the final nail in the coffin.
⌗ whoever this person was, they fucked up.
⌗ and that person was you, i fear.. you were coming home from whatever- be it school, work or anywhere but your room ( i know, i know hermits, i hear you- maybe you were hitting up that bathroom or getting food idk ), walking through your door like it was any other day.. and suddenly you were staring down the barrel of this man's glock.
⌗ your first instinct probably should have been to scream, maybe question how the hell a cosplayer got into your home and why their prop was charging up- because that should not be real.. this man was NOT in your room right now.
⌗ so you did what you probably should not have done, and accepted that it was natural selection. your fictional crush was here to bring you death, and i guess if you were gonna die at least it might make you both into a greek tragedy or something.
⌗ except the shot never came, the firearm lowering from your face as the distance was crossed between you and the professor, aqua-magenta locking in on you- assessing. man oh man, you were fucked, weren't you?
⌗ "whoever you might be," he began, leaning into your bubble with one eye narrowed, pressing the tip of his weapon against your chest. "it's anaxagoras. get it right."
⌗ ..okay you weren't dead, but holy fuck that man could fire at any given moment, and it was all over his name. how was it your fault that the drip marketing and game itself had used 'anaxa'?! what did he expect you to do- grab a sharpie and add 'goras' to the end of his name??
⌗ honestly you were more or less baffled, and before you can begin to ask what the hell he was doing in your room, how he got there- and above all if you were tripping balls because this was too real to be a cosplayer.. he was asking you the questions. where he was, who you were, how you knew him ( because he hadn't formed a concrete response based on what he'd observed so far ) — yeah, anything and everything pretty much until he was satisfied.
⌗ you can't even remember if you got around to asking how he got there because he seemed to explain it somewhere along the way without your asking, and based on his behavior.. it was safe to assume you were met with the real deal.
⌗ it was decided ( more like asserted ) that he would be staying with you for the time being, searching for a way back while observing the new world he was thrust into, alongside the things that were new to him, and.. well, you. cuz you, too, were a subject of interest.
⌗ if you're in academics, you can bet he's helping you out at home with any work or assignments you have, blowing you away with his intelligence- but no matter how much you begged, pleaded and filled his ego.. he would not do your work for you</3 if you have a job instead or other responsibilities- he might consider sharing the latter with you, but yeah anything school or work related- that's for you, homeslice
⌗ coffee shop + bookstore + antique store outings! you feel like he might enjoy those sorts of venues, or even a planetarium visit might also do it for him- you just wanna take him around to some place you've kinda associated with him- fulfill some of those delusions a little
⌗ there are no dromas, but he spotted some dinosaur looking merch or figures / plushes and kinda had to pause to take it all in. like woah, this was not very commonly seen back home, and there were all kinds of variants- which was.. something you did have to explain to him, and clarify they no longer existed, but that a study was dedicated to them ( paleontology )
⌗ safe to say that your plushie collection may have grown, and that showing him pokemon also seemed to burn a hole through your wallet but you know what- it's fine dawg, this a once in a lifetime opportunity- you were gonna soak it up even if it meant going just a TINY bit broke
⌗ it was needless to say that you would be visiting a lot more museums with anaxa around, but it wasn't an issue- it was.. sweet to see him show this innocent side of wonder, rather than the usual demeanor he carried with himself. moreover that he was willing to share it with you.
⌗ ykw he's lowkey dripped out in star rail, i think bro would fuck with shopping for clothes. he wants to serve cunt, have you seen the way he walks? you definitely gotta get that man to a mall and THEN to the club because i think he could bust down. nobody would expect it but i feel like he got it in him. just uh.. leave the glock at home..
⌗ when the time nears to return, or i guess the thought that he had to go back to amphoreus.. he's filled with hesitance to go back. he has students that need him- his fellow chrysos heirs, too, but life here has just been so refreshing- there's so much to learn about and hardly enough time to dedicate to that. not to mention things were hitting off a little with you, and it just felt- wrong to leave you behind just like that, after this time you'd spent together. he wondered if maybe.. you might like to join him?
➫ 𝓜𝗬𝗗𝗘𝗜 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗
⌗ good grief, you have no idea how much you’re in for bro.. this man bouta turn your whole world upside down
⌗ honestly you went to the bathroom when it happened; you thought you could walk away while you left your shit on auto, thinking that would be enough to farm for whoever you were pulling next ( or had already pulled ) and then.. homeboy died
⌗ the rest of the farming must have finished without any more fallen characters, because only mydei found himself in this newfound domestic setting — comrades evidently missing, and an all too calm atmosphere.
⌗ part of him thought it to be an illusion, going as far as to call upon his powers and raw strength to shatter through the possible mirage he'd awaken in.. until the door suddenly swung open, revealing someone he had never seen before in his life
⌗ and that someone, aka you, had gone as far as to lunge right for his arm, knocking the two of you down in the process- thankfully on the bed.. but still man, little bit much for a first meeting
⌗ honestly he would have thrown you off immediately, but he was just so baffled at your display of strength ( cuz i am almost sure bro is NOT a lightweight in build ), and at the fact that you possibly knew something that he didn't about this new environment
⌗ i mean, duh, it's your room, so..
⌗ still, you can bet that once he snaps from his stupor, he'll say some shit like, "you would place your hands so casually on the crown prince of castrum kremnos?"
⌗ the answer is yes.
⌗ after questioning how he had gotten into your room and asking 392044820 times if he was there in the flesh, you had to give a long-winded explanation of where he was, who you were, and what he was allowed to do and not do in the world you lived in. because brother- the last thing you needed was to see a report on the tv, halfway into your lunch about a strawberry blond throwing hands with people in the streets.
⌗ you also had to get him some clothing that is less.. on the nose, and also a little more suitable for being seen in public with him. you insisted on a sweater or turtleneck but he didn't want anything too warm or constricting, so he settled for the fitted t-shirt and sweats combo ( SLUT )
⌗ he did start to develop a thing for alt wear though
⌗ acai bowls bro? he's fucking that shit up, especially the ones with pomegranate in them, like fah you took him to this one place that customizes them in front of you ( subway style ) and he was pleasantly surprised in how tasty the result was
⌗ he's not really used to leisure life, he's got that warrior mindset so he feels immensely disconnected to a life that centers around little to no combat and is basically just.. a slice of life, for lack of better wording, but it's not too horrible- it's just something to get used to.
⌗ i honestly see him getting into a sport maybe to keep up some form of activity; like some kinda martial arts if he wants to go for combat, or i could see him playing either soccer or basketball — idk man i feel like bro could kick / toss, tyat and there's constant movement.. although somebody might get injured tho..
⌗ for either sport, i feel like the basket or goal would bust on his first try- just shatters from the sheer impact of the dunk or score and bro.. you've never wanted the ground to swallow you up wholly or freak out so bad bc hello? that is a sexy display- aside from the destruction..
⌗ you take him to a theme park one day to get him out and about for a bit, and he's quite good at a lot of the games! you spoke absently about wanting to get prizes and having trouble doing so, which sorta pushed him to get you plushies to take home<3 he also really enjoyed the rides, they gave him the same type of rush that he gets in battle, so that definitely filled in that void he was missing
⌗ in the back of his mind, he knows this isn't entirely forever- that his people needed him, and that he had responsibilities back home, rather than this new home he had found himself growing used to, but for once.. he finds difficulty wanting to return to his life, and it definitely has something to do with you
⌗ you showed him a side to life he never really knew, and taught him all these new things either found in the world you live in, or just some things he didn't quite care to look into back on amphoreus. it felt a little.. disheartening to leave that behind- to leave you behind
⌗ some selfish part of him wanted to take you with him, to bring you back and show you of the things you'd only ever seen on screen.. but he knows it's unrealistic, and immensely unfair to you- certainly with the prophecy that has created a rather.. unsafe environment. so for now, he would opt to enjoy what he had left with you, and not think too much about the expiration date of the time you had together.
notes. dawg this virus got me battling on all fronts i want to be freed</3 anyway, i hope these hcs were good pook, tried to give a little context for each and some things they would do as well. wish i did more dialogue but i focused a little much on the details..
tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3
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