"A Happy Moment" - Anaxagorus x Astrologist! Reader
This particular track is characterized by its gentle melodies and harmonious arrangements, which together evoke feelings of tranquility and introspection. It's the kind of piece that might accompany a poignant scene between them and serve as a backdrop for moments of reflection. <3
“The Future will Understand Us”
Summary: The world roared louder when he spoke—wild, defiant, and fierce as dawn breaking through storm clouds. Before the fall of the Grove and the firestorm of accusations, Anaxagoras was a force of nature you couldn’t help but love. Together, you shared stolen nights beneath forbidden knowledge and whispered truths beneath star-studded skies. Through rebellion and broken walls, through grief and quiet moments of unexpected tenderness, your bond became an unshakable anchor. Against the cruel weight of prophecy and the gods’ gaze, you found in each other a fragile refuge. Though he died a thousand deaths before the final one, you carry his memory—defiant, brilliant, and achingly alive—in the silence between the stars.
Tags: Anaxagoras x Reader, Astrologist!Reader, Slow Burn Romance, Mutual Emotional Healing, Academic Heresy, Angst with Comfort, Tragic Past, Forbidden Knowledge, Found Family, Intimacy Through Philosophy, Memory Fragment Format (basically after Chapter 1, the other chapters are just memories of Reader with Anaxa), Soul Experiments, Tenderness in Defiance, Subtextual Devotion.
Warnings: Themes of death and grief, Implied past enslavement and emotional trauma, Religious and academic persecution, Body modification (eyepatch, tattoos from experiments), References to experimentation on the soul, Hints of war, child endangerment (non-graphic), Emotional vulnerability and intimacy, Mild language, Bittersweet ending/prelude to canon character death.
Even before the war of thoughts, before the tribunal accused him of blasphemy and treason, before the Grove collapsed under the weight of prophecy and ambition — Anaxagoras spoke like the sky breaking open at dawn. Wild. Free. Terrifying. Divine.
And you loved him for it.
You remember a night gilded by starlight, long before the fires. There had been a lecture — not one sanctioned by the Grove, of course. One of his unsanctioned symposiums deep within the library’s forbidden wing. Titan dissections diagrammed in chalk on the stone floor, soul-fusion theories sprawling across parchment.
You had entered unnoticed, your young charge asleep in your arms, until you asked him:
"What if the stars disagree with you?"
He had stopped mid-sentence.
His head tilted, ponytail shifting like silk over his shoulder, and that one visible eye — the one that still shimmered with reckless clarity — locked on yours.
"Then I shall argue with them," he said, grinning like a heretic under moonlight. "They, at least, have the decency to be brilliant in their defiance."
There was a festival once. A celestial convergence — five planets aligned perfectly in the heavens, a sight that would not return for another two centuries.
You had taken him with you, disguised among the crowd.
It was laughable, truly. Anaxagoras — the Demised Scholar, the fallen golden boy of the Grove — hiding beneath a traveler's cloak and wide-brimmed hat. Still, he complained less than expected.
"This is beneath me," he said, brushing crumbs from his lap. "That child just wiped jam on my cloak."
"You're enjoying this," you replied.
He didn’t deny it.
Later, beneath the star-kissed dome of the sky, he held your hand. Not in passion. Not in desperation. Just held it. Like it was his anchor. Like you were.
There were darker nights, too.
When they tricked you — used the child as bait to silence your rage.
You shattered three walls and bled on the temple floor before they forced your surrender.
Anaxagoras found you there, broken but breathing. He said nothing for a long while. Then he knelt and touched your hand. Not your wounds. Your hand. That was when you cried.
"They will pay," he said simply.
You knew then: he would not rest until they did.
In the observatory you built together, tucked in the ruins of a temple abandoned by gods and men, he traced constellations onto your back with ink-stained fingers.
"You’ve always been a galaxy," he murmured, voice quieter now. The bravado dulled, but not extinguished. "And I—an errant comet, foolish enough to fall in love with one."
You laughed. You kissed him.
And in the silence that followed, you allowed yourself to believe the world might allow this. That the gods wouldn’t notice. That prophecy would forget to arrive.
He died a thousand deaths before the final one.
Each theory rejected. Each student lost. Each lie he told himself.
But you—
You remember him beneath the stars. His hands cradling your cheek. His voice soft. His defiance — momentarily— at peace.
