#astral express x reader

[ryker-others]

Mornings with them

What are mornings like with them? Do they sleep in? Are they early risers? When they wake up, how long does it take them to get out of bed? Are they grumpy waking up or playful? Only you know the answer

Characters: March 7th, Dan Heng, Welt, Himeko, Caelus, Pom-Pom (platonic)

Request rules and masterlists

March 7th:

March is definitely not an early riser

she will stay in bed as long as possible with you all cuddled up under the covers

even if she wakes up before you, she will just cuddle closer up to you before falling back asleep

you have to be the one to tell her to get out of bed

once you do, she knows it's time to get up for real

...but she's very slow to rise

for someone so energetic during the day, she's very slow and quieter in the mornings

almost like she's walking around half asleep for the first hour

she's also very clingy in the mornings

Dan Heng:

not really an early riser, not really one to sleep in late either

it's honestly up to fate which one of you wakes up first

but him and his bed is so warm and comfortable

he doesn't really cling to you like March does, but he lightly has one or both of his arms very lightly wrapped around you

Dan Heng loves to stay in bed with you for a little while before getting up

he spends most of this time just admiring you and thinking about the day ahead

if you have to get up for anything, you'll never be late this man is your personal alarm clock

he will drag you out of bed if he has too

Caelus:

he loves to sleep in with you!

seriously, you have to be the one to get up first or else you two will never get out of bed

he's such a cuddle bug too

he won't let you go in the mornings for real like he is wrapped around you

you have to pry him off if you want to get up

there's a good chance you will always wake up first

waking him up is a nightmare too like he just keeps falling asleep again and again

but when you two do get up, he can be very cuddly and will travel with you in the mornings to go get breakfast

(he'd even carry you if you asked)

Welt:

the earliest riser

what can I say? it's an old man trait

he wakes up around 5-6 in the morning

whenever Welt wakes up he always tries to avoid waking you up too

like he moves so slowly and stays as quiet as possible

still, he always spends a few moments in bed when he wakes up to admire your beauty and appreciate you

he'll place a gentle kiss on your forehead before he fully gets up

when he comes back later to wake you, he usually brings you a drink to help wake you

he's so gentle in the way he wakes you up because he's stroking your hair, giving you light kisses, and softly calling your name

Himeko:

another early riser!

she's usually up before most of the others, but she demands peace when it's early

she can get grumpy if things are too loud so early or chaotic before she's had her coffee

speaking of coffee, she will make you a cup every morning!

after she spends her time going through her morning routine and getting ready for the day, she'll wake you up

she'll help get you out of bed (she can be forceful if she needs)

Himeko insists on brushing your hair in the mornings because it's such a soft moment and it's a nice way to show her love so early

Pom-Pom:

Pom-Pom has to wake up early so they can get to work as the conductor

but if they didn't have that responsibility, you bet they would be sleeping in late

each morning they're super cuddly until they fully wake up

once they are fully woken up, they will deny being so cuddly and how cute they were during it

you get the special Pom-Pom treatment!

basically, no one is allowed to wake you and you get brought a nice breakfast! Conductor's orders!

you're the one they trust most to brush their fur or adjust their clothing

[aventurineswife]

[bloodfiendarling]

yes , you may , anon dear <3

pairing — reader x aventurine

contains — dom top reader, sub bottom aventurine, afab aventurine, cock can be read as strap, cervix fucking

just a short ..

“hellooo –? you still there, aven?”

you ask with an innocent tone, as if your cock wasn’t deep into his dripping cunt. his gummy walls squeezing against you — eyes rolled back as his hands grip against the sheets. poor baby felt like he was going to pass out..

you thrusted a little deeper to wake him, cockhead pressed up against his cervix. it earned you a cute little choked moan.

“uhgcK—! (name), (name)–” he inhaled sharply, back arching as he locked his legs onto your waist.

“your cock– ah- ah ♡ sho de–EP—!♡”

he slurred on his words, watching you pull out then thrust into him again and again. with your dick kissing aventurine’s cervix with each hard thrust — it didn’t take long for him to be cumming all over your cock once more.

hsr masterlist ♥︎

[lizdive]

based off of the leaks where it looks like sunday has the astral express ticket on his clothes — ii.

When SUNDAY boarded the express, he was not surprised at the… less than friendly welcome. The tenseness that would follow him to every room and cart that had another occupant was one that he knew would not leave him alone for a long time. Nobody really wanted to interact with him too much.

Nobody but Pom Pom — which was expected since they were the conductor — and you.

For some reason, you tended to him like you both had been friends since childhood who had just reunited. You bought him new clothes with your own credits, you forced helped him to decorate his bland room, you snuck into the archives when Dan Heng was on a mission and let him look at all the data and information he could dream of.

And overtime, SUNDAY found himself subconsciously keeping either you near him or him near you. Mostly the latter. Your presence was like reassurance humanized. Most of SUNDAY’s time was spent with you, and during those times he noticed how you picked up on his habits and mannerisms and knew what each little details about him meant.

He didn’t know if you had picked them up since Penacony or if you were just very perceptive and fast. But your knowledge on SUNDAY proves useful whenever it comes to missions or just mundane activities on the express.

If he’s struggling against conversation, if he’s trying not to stress over something he had placed and couldn’t find, if he doesn’t like the food but was trying to be polite.

"I’ll be fine, I’ll have Sunday with me," You would say whenever you would go off on a mission, effectively dragging SUNDAY with you. You initially thought he was annoyed by it, but the small smile that blooms on his face, so genuine and thankful that you pick him as your partner for the mission, always made you discard that thought.

The halovian likes to think that actions speak louder than words, so he will thank you by making sure you’re protected. He knows he’s not the strongest person on the express, but he also isn’t the weakest. He almost ascended, he’s more than capable of protecting you should the mission take a less-than-pleasant turn.

When it’s just a nice stop at a planet to explore and look around, SUNDAY acts like a bird who has just left it’s cage. If he drags you around during the little sight-seeing journey, please don’t be upset. He’s just so intrigued by how different every planet is from Penacony. He’s read of some, yes, but it’s very different when it’s in real life.

It’s still very new for him to introduce himself as a nameless, so sometimes he might pause mid-introduction to stop himself from saying the incorrect title. If you introduce him, he’d appreciate it. Just until he’s used to it.

[generalsdiary]

Sunday x gn!reader (drabble)

“I just finished a part of the renovation in my room. do you wanna see?” you stated in a simple tone to the man with tired eyes in front of you. there was sweetness in them, you knew it. and, at this time, you know he is probably feeling isolated, lonely, estranged, and perhaps very much like a newbie despite the given status remaining on the trailblazer.

Sunday gave you a small nod and quietly followed you up the stairs to your room. at the entrance, both of you put on slippers and Sunday stayed behind to take off his coat.

walking amongst some boxes and clutter, the whole space is not yet finished, you stop by your bed and sit down. he approached the bed, placing a knee on it, leaning forward; making you lay back down and push up more onto the bed until he fully laid on top of you in a warm embrace.

Sunday exhaled quietly, his eyes were shut and he held you tightly. “finally”

“some peace and quiet?” you questioned in a soft voice. your fingers moved to brush through his blueish-grey hair.

“I have always had peace and quiet. it is you, this space... the comfort your presence offers. it soothes the sore wound, of leaving my home behind.”

the outer space offered a pleasant white noise and being closer to the train's engine provided a quiet humming sound. accompanied by your breathing, in harmony with his, and your heart beating strongly in your chest, it all pulled Sunday into a feeling of hope. and perhaps a possibility of a new home.

[eternityofend]

Thinking about how if HSR had an Aeon of Unity/Creation, which would be the reader-- they'd just be GIGANTIC.

Like?? I just love it, sure they can change forms but they choose to be large. Imagine having a normal sized Trailblazer, and then a fucking 100ft tall Aeon who created the ENTIRE universe behind them, giggling like a little child as they just poke Trailblazer's cheek with their large ass finger.

And the Trailblazer we all know and love, they don't even budge, they're just enjoying the pokes while someone sane probably watches the interaction, let's say Dr. Ratio right, he's just watching and he's like "Wtf.. how is this possible?"

Like, ever played Roblox VR? There are these tiny and real humans and then YOU, big person who play with them like toys.

Imagine Aeon!Reader who accidentally squished a bug once and now you're crying because you're either disgusted, feel sorry for the bug, or you're scared of bugs, it's gotta be one of those options, unless you're an ass who did it on purpose 😭

Writers! Whoever is out there! Listen to me!! Big Aeon of Unity!Reader x SAHSRAU/SAHAU!HSR, It's a cute concept I promise 🥰

[mrpenguinpants]

Memorabilia [ Commissioned ]

— Unable to sleep, Sunday seeks help from the Astral Express's most unusual crew member. With each anecdote, he wonders if, someday, he too will have pleasant memories of companions to reminisce.

Word Count: 13k

Request: [ A platonic first encounter/found-family fic between the Astral Express and a male reader. Due to an accident, the reader is corrupted and has a "glitchy" appearance with multiple voices in their head. ] Reader is based on an OC, so there are a few extra details/lore, but no OC names or physical details are mentioned. This is still an x reader fic. [Masterlist]

Thank you so much for commissioning me and trusting me with your OC although this fic doesn't feature him specifically. I hope I did his lore and character traits justice. Regardless, I hope you like it!

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes... sometimes, the memories claw their way back into Sunday's mind, suffocating and unrelenting. They descend without warning, shadows of a past he can never escape. Images of a time when he had pinned his own wings down, seep into his consciousness like spilled ink creeping across the parchment, staining everything they touch. They are vivid, merciless, and inescapable, dragging him back to the place where ambition bled into ruin.

In these recollections, he is not a distant observer; he is the architect of every misstep, every wound, every betrayal. The walls of Penacony stretch endlessly before him, their grandeur gleaming like a lie. Marble floors echo with each step, cold and unyielding beneath his feet, while gilded walls glimmer with an opulence that now feels hollow. They form a labyrinth—beautiful, yes, but suffocating—a maze carved out of blind conviction and arrogance. He strides through them as he once did, head high and eyes forward, an Aeon in form, resplendent and untouchable. But that same pride, so intoxicating back then, now feels distant and alien, like a suit of armor he no longer fits into. The faces are always there, clearer than he’d like, sharper than he can bear. They loom in the shadows and step into the light, their expressions shifting with every memory that takes shape: admiration, fear, then quiet simmering resentment. Their eyes cut through him, piercing the illusion of grandeur he once wore like a shield. He feels their gazes heavy on his skin, weighing him down, their unspoken accusations louder than any words. He remembers the promises he made—the oaths spoken with all the fervor of someone who believed he was doing what was right. Words that once rang with purpose, gilded by his ideals, now echo hollowly in his mind, stripped of their luster. Their weight grows heavier with each repetition, each memory, pressing down like the cold hand of inevitability.

And then, the worst of it: the downfall. The moment his grand vision crumbled under the crushing weight of his own hubris. The cries of those he swore to protect tear through the air—their anger sharp as blades, their pain sharper still, like a wound that never heals. He sees their faces, once filled with hope, now twisted with betrayal. The very people he had sworn to uplift have become his accusers. The world he had built, piece by careful piece, unravels before his eyes. And he is powerless to stop it. His actions, meant to save, have instead been condemned. What he had thought was salvation—the future he had crafted with such fervor—has become nothing but ruin, a collapsing empire of promises broken. His good intentions, like poisoned arrows, strike true and deep, far deeper than he could have ever foreseen. Each one finds its mark, each one a reminder of his failure. The sting of it lingers long after the dream has faded, the weight of those choices pressing down on his chest as if the very air had thickened in the wake of his decisions. And in that moment, in the bitter silence that follows, he realizes that no matter how hard he tries, he can never escape the truth: he failed.

Sunday wakes with a start, his breath sharp and ragged, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms. The memories cling to him like a heavy fog, stubborn and suffocating, refusing to loosen their grip. His hands tremble as he sits up, the cold sweat on his skin a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed beneath him. His eyes dart around, disoriented, searching for something familiar in the dim light.

Right. He's not on Penacony anymore.

The walls are unfamiliar, not the cold, opulent marble of Penacony’s halls, but the soft, worn wood and steel of the Astral Express. His room—no, his temporary space—is simple, much like the rest of the train, but it's a world away from the grandeur he once commanded. Here, he's just a wanderer. Ordinary and even inconsequential. No longer an Aeon, no longer the ruler of a broken vision. The weight of the past, the crushing responsibility he once carried, no longer weighs on him in the same way. But the echoes of that past still haunt him, slipping into his dreams when he least expects it, reminding him of who he was. He closes his eyes briefly, willing the tremors in his hands to stop, before slowly rising from the bed. The room is quiet, save for the low hum of the train moving through the stars. No pitiful looks of betrayal, no echoes of failure—just the distant sound of a train journeying onward through the vast unknown.

These flashes of mistakes made, when Sunday dazes off unintentionally, March had dubbed it "dream paralysis." In her ever-cheerful logic, the term made perfect sense—it was like sleep paralysis, but trapped within the labyrinth of his own thoughts and dreams. A clever turn of phrase, at least in her eyes. But no matter how neatly she labeled it, the reality was far from simple. To him, it was a suffocating experience, a haunting that left behind an uncomfortable weight—a constant itch beneath his skin that couldn’t be ignored. The feeling was relentless, the sensation of being trapped in a nightmare where even waking didn’t offer escape. More often than not, it ended the same way: a desperate sprint to the bathroom in the dead of night, where he’d stand beneath scalding water, scrubbing his skin as if he could somehow scrub the discomfort away. His skin would burn, reddened, and raw, but the rashes that followed only mocked him. They were a cruel reminder of his futile attempts to cleanse himself of a discomfort that ran far deeper than his flesh. It wasn’t just his body that was being scratched at—it was something deeper, something he couldn’t reach. Despite Mr. Yang’s steady, measured advice and Miss Himeko’s gentle, empathetic suggestions, nothing seemed to ease the unease that gnawed at him. It remained stubborn and unshakable, no matter how much he wished otherwise. Yet, for all his frustration, there was no way around it... until Caelus made a suggestion. It was a well-meaning idea, of course. Caelus, always the problem-solver, had come up with something that seemed harmless enough, but to Sunday, it was nothing short of mortifying. The idea itself was simple, but the potential consequences left him flushed with embarrassment: Would it really help to let someone else know what he was going through?

Tonight, however, the remembrance come with a relentless hunger, pursuing him with unyielding force. Each time he closes his eyes, he sees her—his sister, her beautifully sad smile as they both fall from the sky, tumbling into the depths of the dreamscape. He has no wings to stop their fall and no way to save them. The weight of it drags him down, spiraling deeper into a nightmare that refuses to release its grip. Sunday is tired, truly, deeply exhausted. It’s a weariness that sinks into his bones, leaving him hollowed out, drained of energy and resolve. His eyes burn with the constant strain, the never-ending conflict between the waking world and the one that holds him captive in his sleep. His head pounds, the rhythm of two worlds pulling him in opposite directions, each tugging at him until he’s stretched too thin to bear. His gaze shifts toward the door across the room. It’s sealed tight, yet somehow, it calls to him, its pull irresistible, like a siren’s song echoing in the stillness of the night. Dangerous, but impossible to ignore. A choice looms before him, sharp and undeniable. A path he’s walked many times before, though each time feels like the first, fresh with the weight of uncertainty. With a sigh that carries the full weight of defeat, he pulls his coat over his shoulders. The fabric feels like a second skin, familiar yet stifling. His hands tremble slightly as he steps out of his temporary room, the quiet hum of the Express a constant background to his thoughts. He’s not supposed to feel like this—like he’s walking away from something important. There’s nothing shameful about leaving, about taking this moment for himself. But guilt clings to him, sticky and suffocating, like a secret he’s too tired to keep. It’s far too late to be doing this, but here he is again. Driven by something he can’t fully name, something that draws him away from the safety he’s built for himself on the ship.

Nothing has changed. Nothing ever does. And still, he keeps walking, each footfall a soft echo of a decision he’ll never be able to undo.

The warmth hits him as soon as he steps into the hallway, a sharp contrast to the chill of his temporary space. He’s always preferred the cold, finding comfort in the way it sharpens his thoughts and isolates him from the world. With each step, he tells himself it will be the last. That he will stop, turn around, and retreat back to where he started. He promises himself that this time, it will be different. He won’t dream of them—those people, those faces, those ghosts from his past that refuse to fade. But with every step he takes, the promise slips further from his grasp, a fleeting whisper drowned by the weight of his own exhaustion. Now, standing in front of an unassuming door, the warmth seems almost alien, its presence too gentle, too inviting. It’s comforting, yes—but also unsettling in its softness, as if it carries a weight of expectation he isn’t ready to face. The door itself is plain—just another identical threshold in the corridor—but it’s the small detail on the corner that catches his eye. A sticker, carelessly slapped there by March with her usual irreverence. A simple star, grinning back at him with its wide, beady eyes and too-cheerful smile. At first, it seems like nothing more than a trivial decoration, an innocent touch of whimsy. Yet, there’s something about it—something in the way those eyes seem to pierce through him, like they know more than he does, more than he’s willing to admit. The smile feels a little too knowing, a little too mocking, and for a brief moment, he wonders if it's laughing at him, at the way he feels so far removed from everything this small gesture represents. For a fleeting instant, the urge to retreat, to step back into the cool isolation of the archives, nearly overpowers him. The cold offers sanctuary, a place where he can hide from the world’s expectations and his own restless thoughts. But his feet remain rooted, unwilling to obey the instinct to flee. Instead, something inexplicable pulls him forward, toward the warmth, toward the comfort of the door. Something that feels like it’s asking him to stay, even as he longs to turn away.

He raises his arm and knocks three times, the sound sharp and purposeful in the quiet hallway. He waits, letting the silence stretch out in front of him. If you don’t respond, he’ll simply turn and return to his room—no harm done. But then, a sound breaks the stillness: a muffled voice, static, then followed by the shuffle of footsteps. The mechanical hum of the door's engine stirs to life, and with a soft whoosh, it slides open, revealing you. The Astral Express’s most enigmatic resident.

Though you’ve been traveling with the Express for months now, even before Sunday’s arrival, he doubts he’ll ever grow accustomed to your appearance. He suspects it would never feel “normal,” no matter how long he's stayed in your presence. He doesn’t know the full story—not that he feels compelled to pry—but whatever happened to you, it’s left a permanent mark. Your form glitches and flickers, a jarring patchwork of neon hues that pulse and shift like a broken screen. Bright flashes of color flare in and out of existence, twisting into shapes that defy any sense of order. If he didn’t know better, if he weren’t so attuned to the dangers of the corruption, he might be tempted to reach out—to touch the glowing lights. To see if they felt as unreal as they looked, or if they would dissolve at his touch like mist caught in a breeze. But he knows better than to test the unknown.

"Sunday?" Your voice is softer than usual, a touch deeper as if the hour has wrapped itself around your words. Do you even need to sleep anymore? In the corner of his eye, he can see your hands flicker into particles of shapes that form into gray crosses, "It’s late. What do you want?"

The words aren’t unkind, but they carry a weight that settles uneasily in Sunday’s chest. He’s caught off guard, his breath halting for a moment. There’s something about your tone, something subtle, that makes him hesitate—a pull he can’t quite name, but one he can’t ignore. Even though he knows this is the right thing to do, even though it was Caelus who suggested it, the moment feels different than he anticipated. He stands there for a beat longer than he should, battling the strange urge to turn around and leave.

"My apologies, I didn’t mean to disturb you at this hour," Sunday begins, his tone more clipped than he intends, the words leaving his mouth with a sharpness he doesn’t quite mean. He immediately regrets the faint edge in his voice, but the annoyance festering inside him makes it hard to suppress. Why is he even doing this? Of all people—of all things, it feels ridiculous. He shifts his weight impatiently, unwilling to let the awkwardness fully settle in.

"I—" He cuts himself off, irritated at how he sounds, even to his own ears. Caelus had insisted that he talk to you, someone who might understand the disorienting weight of mixed emotions, someone who’d probably dealt with more than enough confusion himself. But standing here now, the whole thing feels like a stupid idea.

“I don’t know what to do with it,” he says instead.

"That bad, huh?" you remark flippantly, leaning against the doorframe with an air of nonchalance. The words catch Sunday off guard, and for a moment, he freezes, blinking at you in surprise. He had expected the usual volatile reaction—some distorted image of yourself breaking down, maybe even spiraling into an incomprehensible mess of glitches and shadows. After all, he had heard the rumors of your unpredictable mood swings, the flashes of anger, the strange moments when you seemed to slip between states of reality sprinkled with black zigzags. But instead, you reach for him, hand faltering in the glitchy blur of your form before stabilizing, your fingers finally wrapping around the tassel of his coat with surprising precision. The motion is absurdly gentle, like a small tug on a leash, and Sunday, in spite of himself, allows you to guide him inside your room.

He hums in response, a non-committal noise. There’s an unspoken understanding aboard the Astral Express. No one presses too hard, not unless there’s harm meant. As long as your secrets won't bring any danger to any of the passengers intentionally, no one will pry. It’s an arrangement Sunday can appreciate, even if it can lead to many dangerous paths.

As you lead the way, stumbling slightly as your form blinks in and out of reality, Sunday instinctively reaches out, his hand resting gently on your shoulder to steady you. A soft curse escapes him, his fingers tips burning even through his gloves at the slightest brush of your shoulder, as he nudges you just in time to avoid crushing one of Himeko’s gadgets under your erratic foot. Your room is a curious thing, with a charm all its own. It’s not as fluffy as March’s, nor as bare as his own quarters, but it feels lived in, touched by every person who calls the Express home. The small items scattered about—the faint traces of everyone’s personalities—add warmth to the otherwise utilitarian space. He can almost sense the traces of each person’s energy here, something unique to the crew in every object. It’s not a place of perfection, but it feels like it belongs to someone. To you.

"Interested? Need a bedtime story to go to sleep?"

Sunday blinks, momentarily caught off guard, then looks up to find you smiling at him with that familiar, teasing grin. The static hum around you pulses gently, soft yellow stars twinkling across your face and words, distorting the edges of both as if the world itself was slipping between reality and dream. It’s a strange, almost hypnotic sight, something he only see in the dreamscape. He huffs softly, a small exhale of air that escapes almost involuntarily, before looking away. His gaze drifts to the side, lingering on nothing in particular as he settles on the edge of your bed. The cool, unfamiliar comfort of the moment leaves him uncertain, and he remains silent, unsure of how to respond. What could he say to something so... absurd? Something so blatantly casual that it felt almost out of place.

"Bedtime story? I haven't heard one since I was a child," he finally mutters, his voice a low murmur, clearly not sure whether you’re joking or serious. After all, this—whatever this is—isn’t normal for him.

“You know,” you begin, eyes cast downward, “the first time we saw the Astral Express… I thought we made a mistake, walking into it. Felt like we stepped into the wrong universe altogether.”

---

The moment you step into the archives, pixels, and particles following you, you know you’re not alone. The quiet hum of the Astral Express is ever-present, but there’s something sharper lingering in the air—an edge of awareness that prickles at the back of your neck. The hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, and your senses sharpen, alert to every small shift in the room. You don't need to turn around to know you're being watched. The weight of the gaze on your back is palpable, almost tangible, like a shadow that hangs too close. You pause, considering your options, but before you can make a move, something cold and unyielding presses against the side of your neck. The cold pressure against your neck tightens just slightly—enough to send a chill through your spine. Whoever is behind you is no amateur, you realize. This is someone who knows how to move in silence, how to strike without warning. Slowly, carefully, you let out a breath, knowing you need to react before the situation escalates further. The quiet hum of the ship feels distant now, swallowed by the tension building around you.

"Not here for trouble," you finally say, your voice low, but steady. "Just passing through."

The silence stretches on, thick and unyielding, as you wait for a response.

"State your intentions," the voice commands, low and steady, yet laced with a razor-sharp calm that cuts deeper than any shout ever could. The words hang in the air, each syllable calculated, each pause deliberate—an unspoken promise that any misstep would be met with swift retribution. You turn your head slightly—not enough to dislodge the weapon, but enough to catch a glimpse of its wielder. He’s tall, with piercing teal eyes that seem to see straight through you, and a faint energy radiates from the spear he’s holding against your throat. The voices in your head are thrown into a panic, mumbled words of different meanings that you can't decipher yet pound against your head. A flicker of annoyance, a burst of black zigzags, and that spear is now digging into the skin of your neck.

"You’re here to harm the Express," the man says in lieu of your response. It’s not a question. He’s sharp, this one. Smarter than he looks, and far more perceptive than you’d like. If you were a worse person, you'd bang your fist against the precious computers and send the man flying in a shower of electrical sparks. But you need him, and you need what the Express carries.

"Maybe," you admit, leaning just slightly into the cold pressure of the blade, testing him, watching for the smallest sign of hesitation. He doesn't flinch. "Or maybe we just needed a ride."

The man's teal eyes narrow, piercing into you with an intensity that feels like it could slice through steel. His grip tightens around the weapon, a subtle shift of muscle that speaks volumes about his readiness, "Then you’ll explain why we've been tracking an additional signal monitoring the train’s systems for weeks. Why your presence coincides with unusual disruptions in local Stellaron activity. And why my instincts are telling me not to trust you."

A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth, despite the palpable tension, despite the deadly situation. You can't help it—.

"Instincts, huh? You trust those over facts? Dangerous habit for someone like you," the edge in your voice is almost playful, but there's an undercurrent of challenge that hangs in the air, thickening the space between you like a storm cloud waiting to break. He doesn't respond immediately, but the subtle tension in his jaw speaks volumes. His mind is already working, piecing together fragments of information, weighing what little he knows against what he's yet to figure out.

"Listen, I have something you need. Those twins? Stelle and Caelus? We're the same," you say, your voice slipping into something quieter, a complete tonal shift that catches him off guard. "You're not wrong. We're not here entirely by coincidence. But harming the Express? That’s not our style. If we wanted to, we’d have done it already. But we will, if we need to."

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implication. For a moment, his gaze flickers—just a split-second hesitation, barely perceptible. It’s enough to make his grip loosen just a fraction, a slight shift in his stance. The crack in his armor to protect his own companions, however small, is enough for you to notice. You don’t let the opportunity slip by, "You can lower the spear, or we can stand here all day while your friends wonder why you haven’t come back yet."

The man studies you for a long, heavy moment, the tension crackling in the air between you. Finally, with deliberate slowness, he withdraws the spear, the sharp edge of the weapon no longer pressing against your skin. The atmosphere in the room doesn’t exactly lighten, but it does shift—enough to let you draw a breath without the sensation of impending danger gnawing at your chest.

"If you make one wrong move," he warns, his voice cold and unwavering, like steel on the verge of snapping, "I won’t hesitate next time."

You nod, casually brushing nonexistent dust from your jacket, the act dismissive but calculated. "Duly noted."

He takes a step back, his eyes never leaving you, still as sharp and calculating as ever. You feel the weight of his gaze, like a silent promise that he’s not done watching you. In the midst of it all, an unexpected thought crosses your mind: This man is going to be trouble for you. Smart, careful, stubborn to a fault—he’s exactly the kind of person who sees through people like you. What a bother.

---

"We were kind of a bastard back then," you admit, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Surprised Dan Heng even gave us a chance to tolerate us."

"Us?" Sunday asks, the word hanging in the air, his curiosity piqued. It’s been gnawing at him for a while now, this strange way you refer to yourself as if there’s more than one person within. You give him a half-hearted grin, it's grim, before tapping your head, then making a motion with your hand—a fluid up-and-down flick of your fingers, as if mimicking someone talking. Each finger meets its thumb in a rhythmic gesture. The understanding dawns on Sunday, a quiet realization creeping in. Some things, some details, are better left up for interpretation but never the truth.

"So," Sunday continues, shifting the conversation, "you arrived without warning, gave them every reason to be cautious, and still managed to walk away unharmed. That’s... fortunate."

It's quite frankly offensive that the same situation happened twice. If the Express keeps giving hand-outs, maybe the train will one day sputter out of fuel.

"Dan Heng could tell we weren’t there to cause trouble—at least, not immediately," You shrug nonchalantly, the motion effortless. The words are spoken with a hint of amusement, as though the whole situation had been a delicate dance, one you were somehow able to navigate without triggering the full force of suspicion.

Sunday tilts his head, his expression thoughtful, "Or perhaps he exercised more patience than most would in his position. A rare quality, considering the circumstances."

"Maybe," you admit with a faint smirk, though Sunday’s gaze remains steady, as if searching for something beneath your words.

He lets out a quiet hum, his voice softening as he speaks, "Trust isn’t something easily earned, especially with the Astral Express. It’s a privilege, not a guarantee."

Right now is his chance—his opportunity to rebuild trust that was shattered before it was ever truly given. The weight of it settles on him, heavy and undeniable. He’s not sure if he can ever fully erase the past, but this moment, this fragile opportunity is all he has left. It’s a test—a chance to prove that he can be trusted, even when everything before suggests otherwise. The quiet moment of self-reflection is broken by the jingle of keys. Sunday turns his head to see you holding up a keychain, its odd charm catching the light. It’s a trashcan, miniature, and oddly endearing. It has cartoony arms forming a thumbs up, the lid slightly opened to show the black trash bag inside. The absurdity of it makes him pause, a flicker of amusement pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Another story?" he asks, his tone light but laced with a hint of curiosity, as if he's not sure whether he wants to hear more or is merely indulging you.

---

"You two need something?"

You don’t need to turn around to know that Caelus and Stelle are lurking, their presence is as obvious as an elephant in a room. The twins are hidden behind a potted plant, doing their best to remain inconspicuous, but their attempt is about as subtle as a bull in a china shop. They peer out from either side of the skinny plant, wide-eyed and guilty, like two kids who’ve just been caught raiding the cookie jar. They don’t move, sharing some silent exchange between themselves—one of those unspoken conversations that only twins seem capable of, their eyes darting back and forth with a kind of synchronized rhythm. You don’t have to wait long before you decide to break the silence. Leaning casually against the wall, you snap your fingers with a sharp, deliberate sound. It’s a quick, attention-grabbing motion, and to anyone who might be watching, you might as well have been trying to corral a pair of raccoons. The twins, startled at first, perk up immediately. Like clockwork, they abandon their hiding spots and scurry toward you, grinning sheepishly as if they hadn’t been caught in the act at all.

"Well? You two are the most unsubtle pair of idiots we know," you say, your tone flat but with an edge of amusement. "So what were you two trying to do?"

You level them with a stare, eyes flickering with jagged, glitching teal squares that ripple beneath the surface of your corruption, catching the light like fractured glass. The momentary flashes make your gaze feel sharper, more unsettling, but the effect doesn’t seem to faze them. Stelle is the first to break the silence, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

"We were trying to scare you," she admits, her voice playful, but there’s a mischievous lilt that betrays her intent. She taps her chin thoughtfully with her thumb and index finger, adopting an exaggerated stance like some kind of inquisitive scholar. Her eyes gleam with an almost theatrical curiosity, her gaze flickering between you and Caelus. Caelus, ever the mirror to his twin, nods in agreement, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin of his own. He matches Stelle’s pose, almost to the letter, his subtle smile hinting at some shared joke. The synchrony between them is uncanny, and it’s clear they both find this moment far more amusing than it has any right to be. You raise an eyebrow, your patience thinning, waiting for them to elaborate. Stelle’s grin widens even further, and Caelus, picking up on whatever idea is dancing through her mind, mirrors her expression with a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"We’re bored," Stelle begins, her tone dripping with exaggerated seriousness as if she’s about to reveal some profound, existential truth.

"Really, really bored," Caelus chimes in, his voice practically bouncing with the energy that radiates off him. He shifts from foot to foot, practically vibrating with pent-up energy, as if he’s struggling to contain his excitement.

"We were gonna try to scare you," Stelle continues, leaning forward slightly as if sharing a great secret.

"But then you found us and spoiled it," Caelus finishes with a dramatic sigh, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. Their synchronized performance makes it hard not to smirk. The sheer childishness of their attempt, paired with their boundless energy, is somehow endearing, despite the fact that you feel like you’re dealing with two hyperactive children who think they're being clever.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. Leaning forward in mock disappointment, you raise an eyebrow, "Yup, good job. We were totally scared."

Caelus huffs indignantly at your sarcasm, his pout deepening as he crosses his arms over his chest, making a show of being offended. Stelle, never one to miss an opportunity for drama, rolls her eyes so dramatically it’s almost impressive. Then, without warning, they share a look—a silent exchange so loaded with meaning that you can practically hear the unspoken conversation between them. It’s a look that says more than words ever could. And then, just as suddenly, they launch into a silent argument, their exaggerated gestures and comically furrowed brows making the entire scene seem more like a theatrical performance than a real disagreement. You watch them, amused, for a few moments, shaking your head at their antics. And then, as if an invisible cue has been given, they stop abruptly, turning to face you with matching, exaggerated expressions of innocence.

With sudden synchrony, the two of them pull something from behind their backs. It's a keychain—strange and, to say the least, unexpected. You stare at it as Caelus hands it over, his grin widening.

“It’s for you,” he says, his voice light, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. It’s a small trashcan keychain, with a tiny, empty can dangling next to it. It's...quite ugly if you're being honest. You look up at the two racoons, your eyes screaming "seriously?" but you still take it from him. Stelle beams with pride, crossing her arms and watching you intently as if waiting for your reaction.

"It’s a symbol," she declares, as though it’s some grand gesture of deep significance. "Of our collective boredom."

You blink at the keychain, shaking your head. It’s utterly silly, but in that weird, inexplicable way, it’s perfect. It’s the kind of quirky, offbeat gesture that somehow fits this strange little crew you’ve found yourself with. Hands too wide, arms too open, and eyes far too crescent. You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips is unmistakable as you slip the keychain into your pocket.

"Thanks, you two," you mutter dryly, the glitch in your hands weirdly stable enough to not drop your new gift, "We’ll treasure it."

---

Sunday watches, his expression a mixture of restrained bemusement and reluctant fondness as you finish retelling the tale. He hasn’t had the chance to experience the twins’ antics first-hand, but from Robin’s stories and the occasional interaction, it’s clear that Caelus and Stelle are the type to act first and think later. Silly, carefree, and utterly unburdened by the weight of anything that doesn't immediately concern them. It’s almost baffling how easily they offer their trust, without a second thought, to someone like you—a stranger, someone whose past is tangled with so much uncertainty. His gaze drifts to the keychain still resting in your hand, and he suppresses a quiet sigh. A small trashcan with a gusto of positivity might have been enough to irritate him in another context. But right now, in this odd, unexpected moment, it doesn’t do what he expects. Instead of irritation, he feels something else—a strange sense of warmth. It's silly, it truly is. It reminds him of the cartoons he's indulge when Robin would tug on his sleeve to please, just for 2 minutes, watch the newest episode with her. Despite the complexities of everything else weighing on his mind, it serves as a reminder of something he’s almost forgotten.

It’s fleeting, like a brief flicker of sunlight through a cloudy sky, but it settles in his chest with an unfamiliar comfort. A quiet smile, barely perceptible, tugs at his lips. You set the keychain down on your bedside table with deliberate care, moving on to the next object. A plushie of a white ball. There are slanted blue and purple eyes stitched on with a scar going across the left eye.

"It's called a Wubbaboo. They're mischievous Astral Spirits that possess individuals and commit pranks for fun. Although they are not deadly, they have the potential to cause trouble and should be kept from breaking loose. March found it funny to compare them to us," you say, an annoyed notch in your eyebrow as you squeeze the "wubbaboo" until it's face is smushed together so close you can't see the angry eyes staring right back.

---

The neon lights of the room pulse erratically, casting every-changing glows over the crowd. March 7th bounced from one foot to the other, her bright eyes locked on the brightly lit claw machine ahead. Inside, the prize—a pink plushie with a dopy grin and pink cheeks—sat just within reach, taunting her with its unyielding proximity. Her gaze was unwavering, her fingers twitching with anticipation.

"Come on, just one more try," she muttered under her breath, digging into her pocket for the last of her coins. The weight of them, small and cold in her palm, felt like a promise she couldn’t quite break. She'd come this far—surely the next try would be the one.

Behind her, the air hummed faintly—an odd, almost imperceptible static that seemed to vibrate with a quiet energy. It was the kind of noise that made the hairs on the back of March’s neck stand on end, a discomfort she couldn’t quite place. At first, she paid it no mind, her full attention fixed on the claw machine. She slipped the last coin into the slot, her gaze narrowing with steely determination as the machine beeped, signaling the start of her next attempt. But then, from the corner of her eye, she saw it. A figure. Someone watching her. She turned instinctively, expecting to see one of the crew members, perhaps Caelus or Dan Heng, idly observing her antics. But no. The figure she locked eyes with was unfamiliar, unsettling in a way she couldn’t immediately define. Your form flickered—barely a glitch, just a brief ripple in reality, too subtle for anyone else to notice. But to her, it felt like a silent warning, a quiet anomaly that sent a shiver racing down her spine. The space around you seemed to warp for an instant, as though reality itself was struggling to contain you. March blinked, but when she looked again, you were still there—just standing, waiting, like an enigma she hadn’t figured out yet. And that strange, unsettling feeling refused to leave her.

“Oh, hey!” March called out, her usual energy slicing through the lingering unease like a burst of sunlight. “You’re here to watch me win this plushie, right?”

You didn’t respond immediately, your attention unwavering from the claw machine. There was something about the way you stood, casually leaning against the wall, that felt... off. Not the way someone would watch a simple game play out, but with an unsettling precision—like you were studying the machine’s every move. Your eyes tracked the claw with such intent, it was as though you were dissecting its every twitch, every mechanical shift, as if the game were a puzzle to be solved. March tilted her head, momentarily curious about the strange intensity radiating off you. She didn’t mind the silence—after all, who needed words when you had her enthusiasm to fill the space? But something about the way you held yourself made her feel like she was performing on a stage where you were the only audience.

“What? No encouragement? I’m about to win this thing, I can feel it!” She threw a grin over her shoulder, half expecting the same playful teasing she’d received from the others, but you didn’t flinch. No laugh, no words of support. Just your eyes, fixed and unmoving, on the claw’s next movement. It made her pause, just for a moment. But only for a moment. Her confidence bounced right back, her smile widening as she adjusted her grip on the controls. “I’m telling you, it’s happening this time. Watch and learn!”

You finally looked at her, your expression unreadable for a moment, then a flicker of something—amusement, maybe?—passed through your gaze, "If you really believe you're about to win, there’s no need for encouragement."

March raised an eyebrow, her smile fading just a little as she tried to make sense of the shift in your tone. She knows that you're quite aloof, not prickly per say, but you definitely don't indulge in the express's whims. But that's okay! Dan Heng was just like that until she managed to whittle away those iron walls.

“Uh, okay... but I still need all the luck I can get,” she said, trying to shake off the eerie undertone in your voice. She turned back to the machine, her fingers hovering over the controls, the tension of the moment stretching out.

"Luck has little to do with it," you added softly, your eyes flickering to the claw again. There was something in your tone, something that made March pause, just for a second, as she processed the weight of your words. But before she could respond, the machine gave a soft beep—your prediction, it seemed, had been right. Along with the last of her coins.

“Gah! I ran out of time! I’ve been trying to win this plushie for hours!” March whined, her voice carrying a mix of light-hearted frustration and exasperation. “The claw just doesn’t grab it! I’ve tried every angle, but it always misses. It's like the machine’s rigged!”

You simply raised an eyebrow, because obviously all the arcade machines are rigged, and take a step closer. Your fingers twitched, the subtle erratic energy that often surrounded you almost palpable, as though the air itself hummed in response. A mischievous glint flickered in your eyes, the pink diamonds trailing after you beneath the neon lights of the arcade machine shimmering more vibrantly than usual. Without a word, you slid into position next to her, your hand reaching toward the controls with an almost practiced ease. March's frown deepened in confusion, her brow furrowing as she watched you. Before she could protest, the machine seemed to shudder with a strange, low hum—a sound so faint that it barely registered at first, but enough to make her pause.

“You—what did you just do?” she asked, her voice a strange mix of awe and disbelief, as if she couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or unnerved by what had just happened. Her words seemed to hang in the air, heavy with confusion and fascination. You didn’t offer an immediate response, just watching the machine as your fingers twitched again, a barely noticeable movement that seemed to set the air vibrating with some hidden force. For a split second, the claw hung motionless, as if frozen in time. The hum of the machine stilled, and everything around you seemed to hold its breath. Then, with an almost imperceptible shudder, the claw jerked downward, the movement sharp and precise as it latched onto the plushie’s corner. The machine groaned as it whirred to life again, the claw lifting with slow, deliberate force, its grip firm yet delicate, holding the plushie aloft as it dangled precariously by a single corner, swaying ever so slightly. March’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open in utter disbelief. Her jaw dropped, her voice barely a whisper as she stared at the plushie now hanging in midair, clearly suspended by some matter. You stood there, still as ever, a subtle glint of something in your eyes—a fleeting amusement, or perhaps something more calculating, like you had known exactly what would happen all along.

"Just a little glitch here and there," you said, your voice cool, though there was a faint static buzz beneath your words, as though your presence was subtly affecting the machine's circuits. "Machines like this are predictable if you know how to... persuade them."

March stared at the plushie as it was deposited into the prize chute. She scrambled forward, pulling it free from the machine with a loud, excited gasp. "I—I can’t believe it! I actually won it!"

“Looks like you’re finally getting lucky," You watched her, your arms crossed as you leaned back against the wall, your eyes still flickering with that odd energy.

March couldn’t help but laugh, clutching the plushie tightly to her chest, "I should’ve asked you to help from the beginning! I’ve spent hours trying to get this thing. I owe you big time!"

"You’re welcome," you said, though the words were laced with a strange, robotic quality. Your eyes flickered again, as if you were seeing the world in a way no one else could, "But next time, maybe try using your own hands instead of relying on glitches. It’s better that way."

"Nah, I think I’m gonna keep asking you for help," she teased, her energy back to its usual brightness. Her grin alone would power the arcade with how brightly it was shining, “You’ve got the magic touch.”

You raised an eyebrow, pink diamonds flickering once more, but this time, you hurriedly brush them away, "Whatever you say."

As March bounced away, clutching the plushie, she suddenly stopped, eyes wide with a new idea. Without warning, she turned and grabbed your arm, tugging you toward another claw machine nearby, "Alright, you helped me get mine, now it's my turn to get you one!" she declared, practically bouncing with excitement.

"You don’t have to do that," you protest, but March was already running to the coin dispenser to buy more arcade tokens, determined as ever.

"Nonsense! You made my night, so now it’s my turn to return the favor," she said with a grin. "Besides, this one has a super rare plushie. It even looks like you! You’ve gotta have it!"

---

"It took her another two hours to win once. We could feel the voices in our head getting louder. Any longer and who knows, maybe we would have started smashing machines and gotten us all kicked out of Penacony sooner," you say, your tone light but with an undercurrent of something darker, like you might be persuaded to actually go back and cause mass property damage just for the fun of it. Although Sunday is no longer apart of running Penacony, he hopes that you keep that little side adventure sealed in a box.

"Sounds like it was... fun," he murmurs, his voice as steady and measured as ever, but there's something else—something unspoken in the way he looks at you, a subtle acknowledgment of the weight behind your words. It reminds him of Robin's not-so-subtle attempts to drag him away from his office. The puppy-eyes unbefitting her image, how she's bemoan and cry like a spoiled child despite being the most generous person he's ever known. You lean back, letting the memory of the night with March linger in the air between you both, but it’s not the laughter that stands out now. It’s the strange, almost imperceptible warmth that comes with sharing something so unremarkable, yet so anchoring.

"Yeah. I guess it was. But, you know, I don’t need any more prizes. I can't find half my things under all this fluff. Though I’ll admit, it’s nice to be a part of something so... simple for once," your words trail off while your fingers absentmindedly trace the edges of a leather-bound notebook resting nearby. It's a habitual gesture that helps you center yourself, pulling away from the chaos of your thoughts, gray crosses make their reappearance with each stroke. It’s a small thing, yet it feels oddly comforting as if you're balancing yourself to something real amidst the constant shifting of your mind. You don’t look at it directly, but the weight of it under your touch is familiar, as though it’s tied to a version of you that’s been buried, one that doesn’t need the noise or the complications of the present to feel whole.

---

The corridors of the Astral Express were unusually still that afternoon, the kind of stillness that felt more like a pause—like the entire ship was holding its breath. Welt, ever perceptive and attuned to the nuances of his crew, couldn’t ignore the subtle shift in the atmosphere. There was a hum in the air, almost imperceptible, yet it was unmistakable to someone who knew the rhythms of the train as well as he did. Something was off, and it wasn’t just the absence of the usual banter.

He found you in one of the lounge areas by the window, sitting on a plush chair, your back rigid and unmoving. Your eyes were fixed on the stars outside, yet they seemed distant, unfocused, as though you were seeing something far beyond what was visible. A flicker of tension lingered in the air around you, something that made the quiet feel unnatural. Welt’s instincts tingled, the way they always did when something wasn’t quite right. He stepped closer, careful to keep his presence subtle, but as he neared, he saw the flicker of anxiety in your movements—the twitch of your fingers, the way your gaze darted restlessly around the room, as if you were trying to catch hold of something just out of reach. Your mouth pressed into a thin, controlled line, betraying the internal struggle playing out behind your eyes. It was like a storm was brewing just beneath the surface, one he couldn’t quite read. It also didn't help the black zigzags cascading down from your head like water. The suddenness of it struck him like a spark before the crackle of thunder—quick and sharp, but brimming with an undeniable intensity. Something had changed in you, something deeper than what words could reveal. And Welt, ever the observer, felt a weight settle in his chest. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“You’re not okay,” Welt’s voice broke the stillness, soft yet firm, the kind of tone that held no room for argument but also offered a space for understanding. He knew you’d hear him, even if you weren’t ready to respond.

You didn’t answer immediately, but he could see the shift in your posture—the slight stiffening of your shoulders, the way your hands clenched and unclenched, restless, as if they were desperate for an outlet. Your eyes flickered to him, but they never fully met his. They danced around the room, unfocused, searching for something just beyond the edges of the present. And Welt knew, without needing to read further into the subtle tension in the air, that something was brewing beneath the surface. There was a storm in those eyes—wild, untamed, as if your emotions were battling each other in a silent war, and your mind was struggling to keep up. The turbulence inside you was palpable, though you made no effort to show it outwardly. But Welt, who had long learned to read the unspoken, could see it—the flicker of something, a fleeting moment of vulnerability, quickly masked by a wall of distance. He stayed quiet for a moment, letting the space between you linger, his gaze steady but patient, waiting for you to find your footing amid the chaos. He knew you didn’t need his answers or his help—not yet. What you needed was someone to acknowledge that what you were going through wasn’t something to hide, something to sweep under the rug.

“Talk to me,” he urged, his voice softening, an invitation more than a demand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Talk? Why does everyone want to talk? I'm sick of hearing other people's voices-" You spit, those same black zigzags spilling down from your mouth like tar. Your corruption flares up, lashing out towards Welt like hands if he hadn't raised his cane, the pressure of a blackhole swallowing them with one motion. Although your powers are strong, Welt has dealt with beings far more dangerous. Right now, you only look like a lost boy whose confused and anxious. You flinch away, the dark matter in Welt's cane temporarily mixing with your curse snaps you back to reality. "It’s happening again,” you murmured, the words barely a whisper, but they carried an undeniable weight that seemed to hang in the air, heavy with the force of a brewing storm. It's as close of an apology as you can say, the admission of your weakness. Your voice, strained and fragile, barely reached the space between you and Welt, but the tension it carried was palpable, suffocating the room. It was as if the words were not merely spoken, but dragged from you—born of some unseen pressure that twisted around your very being. Welt’s brow furrowed, a faint crease appearing between his eyes as the words sank in. His normally composed exterior slipped just slightly, concern flickering like a distant ember. He stepped closer, but the distance between you both felt miles apart like there was an invisible barrier keeping him from reaching you. His steady, calm demeanor remained in place, the calm before the storm, but there was no mistaking the quiet alarm in his eyes. It was the kind of concern that didn’t need to be spoken—it was in the way he watched you, the careful way he approached, as if unsure whether any sudden movement might cause the fragile equilibrium of your mind to snap. He wasn’t a stranger to the Antistar’s influence, the thing that had fused with your body somehow. Welt had witnessed it before—the way it sank its claws into people's mind, its voices echoing in their thoughts like a cacophony of distant whispers, each one dragging their host deeper into a void. He had watched the shift, the way their thoughts could become erratic, spiraling into madness. But this… this felt different. Your eyes, wide and unfocused, darted around the room like prey under a predator’s gaze. They never settled, as if your surroundings had become something foreign and threatening. There was an almost panicked quality to your movements, your hands fidgeting in agitation, fingers twitching involuntarily. Welt could see it—the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way your muscles tensed, anticipating some unseen danger. Yet you kept everything constrained under a deteriorating cracking iron fist.

“Let it out,” he said, his voice soothing, though there was a firmness to it, like he was anchoring you to the present moment. “Tell me what’s going on in your head. If you lose control, I will be here.”

You clenched your hands tightly, the fingers trembling ever so slightly. The irritation, confusion, and pain on your face were unmistakable. You weren’t ready to speak, but Welt could see the frustration in your eyes as you fought to keep control, as if you didn’t want to burden him with it.

“The voices… they’re too loud,” you muttered again, the words barely coherent, slipping from your lips like the last tether to reality was breaking. You weren’t speaking to him now, he realized. You were speaking to something else—somewhere inside yourself. Your eyes flitted around, unfocused, the flicker of your gaze darting in every direction as if trying to escape the storm inside you. But no matter how hard you looked away, the shadows seemed to follow, pressing in on you, crowding your thoughts. The chaotic whispers, fragmented and incoherent, spun like a whirlpool in your mind, each thought louder than the last, pulling you under. Welt’s hand twitched, but he held himself back, unsure if any touch would push you further away. He could feel the shift in the atmosphere—something heavy, suffocating, that seemed to darken the space between you both. It wasn’t just the usual voices. This was something deeper, something suffocating that made the air feel thick, pressing against your lungs, forcing every breath to feel like it could be your last. Your fingers twitched at your sides, and for a moment, it looked like you might collapse under the weight of it all. Something about your posture—rigid, almost as if frozen—suggested that you were fighting an unseen force, and that fight was taking all the energy you had left.

“You don’t have to hold it all in,” Welt continued, his tone never harsh, just a calm, steady presence. “You’re not alone in this, you know. We’re all here for you.”

Welt moved a little closer, sitting down beside you, not crowding you, but close enough to let you know he was there. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t expect an answer. He simply waited, letting the quiet space between you become a bridge. Slowly, you exhaled, the tension beginning to ease.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” you admitted, finally, your voice trembling, “I can’t escape it… the memories, the voices, they keep mixing together. It’s too much. It feels like… it feels like I’m breaking apart sometimes.”

The words were barely there, barely above a whisper, but they carried the weight of everything you’d been carrying—everything you didn’t know how to deal with. Welt remained silent, letting you say what you needed to, the gentle hum of the train filling the space between your words. After a moment of silence, Welt reached into his coat and pulled out a small, simple notebook. It was nothing special, just a black hardcover with blank pages inside, but there was a certain gravity in the way he offered it to you.

“I know it’s hard to sort through everything in your mind,” he said, his voice steady, “But sometimes, putting it down on paper can help. Whether you write, draw, or just let your thoughts spill out, it’s a way to process what’s going on inside. It’s yours. Whenever you feel like you need it.”

His gaze is soft and steady as he handed you the notebook, the worn leather cover catching the dim light of the train’s quiet lounge. He didn’t need to say anything more; his gesture spoke louder than words ever could. It was an offer, an invitation to channel the chaos, to make sense of the dissonance swirling in your mind, even if just for a moment. You took the notebook from him with a quiet nod, fingers brushing against the cover. It felt like a small tether, a lifeline to something that might help you regain control. There was a subtle warmth in the action, like an invisible thread connecting you to him, a silent understanding between you both. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze just yet—your eyes still too full of that swirling storm, too fragile to hold his steady, unshakable presence for long. But even so, there was a shift inside you. A tiny, almost imperceptible lightness that you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was like a small weight had been lifted, just enough to let you breathe a little easier. The thought that there might be a way to bring some order to the chaos, even if just for a fleeting moment, was oddly comforting. It wasn’t a cure, and it wasn’t a solution to everything, but it was something. And that was more than enough for now.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, the words carrying far more weight than the simplicity of their sound. They were more than just a polite acknowledgment—they were a recognition of the space he had given you, the quiet support that had anchored you in the midst of your turmoil. The storm inside you hadn’t fully passed, but the gentle pressure of the notebook in your hands and Welt's presence beside you made it feel like there was at least a small way forward. And for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.

---

Sunday’s gaze lingered on the notebook, the silence between you both stretching out, comfortable yet laden with unspoken thoughts. His eyes, usually so guarded, softened as he watched you trace the edges of the book. It was a small thing, but there was a kind of quiet understanding in the way his attention remained fixed on it—on you. He was listening, more than just hearing, letting your words settle in the space between you, weighing them with care.

"A notebook?" he asked, his voice as calm and neutral as always, but you could feel the subtle shift beneath it, the way he was registering the importance of this new detail. You nodded, a small sigh escaping you as you let your fingers graze the leather cover, feeling its familiar texture beneath your touch. Something was grounding about it, something that allowed you to breathe a little easier, even if just for a moment.

"Mr. Yang said... writing, drawing, anything—just getting it out of our- my...my head could help." The words left your mouth more easily now, a little less guarded than before. You allowed the vulnerability to show, even if only for a brief moment, “It didn’t seem like much at first, but it kind of made sense. Maybe if I put things down on paper, I could start making sense of it all.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze still on you, a steady, almost intangible presence that let you know he was fully engaged with what you were saying. The way he didn’t rush to speak, didn’t offer unsolicited advice, allowed you the space to process your own thoughts aloud. It was rare, and it felt like a small gift. He didn’t respond right away, and you could tell that he wasn’t just hearing your words—he was truly absorbing them. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but instead it was thoughtful, almost as if he was searching for the right way to acknowledge what you’d shared without diminishing it. You briefly remember that Sunday used to act as a confessional when he was still in Penacony.

"I see," His voice was quiet, but the way he said it—like the weight of your words had a place in the quiet space between you—felt like an unspoken agreement. He understood, in his own way. There was no need for further explanation, no need to fix it, because he saw what you were trying to do. Finally, you leaned forward, placing the notebook gently into his hands. His eyes widened slightly in surprise at the gesture.

"Take it," you said, your voice steady now, "Welt’s right about one thing—getting it out, even if just on paper, can help. But sometimes, it’s hard to know where to start. Maybe you could use it. I know you’ve been carrying your own things, too, and...I think it might help. If you want."

Sunday's gaze lingered on the notebook in your hands, his fingers drifting over its surface as if weighing its significance without quite touching it. There was a slight furrow in his brow, a quiet contemplation that seemed to speak volumes about the thoughts running through his mind. The air between you was thick with the stillness, the kind that held space for unspoken words, for the things that were never said but felt deeply all the same. The silence stretched, comfortable yet heavy, before his eyes finally lifted to meet yours. His expression, as always, was carefully neutral—an unreadable mask that kept his thoughts hidden from view. Yet in the soft, steady look he gave you, there was something else, something that wasn’t contained in the lines of his face or the calmness of his voice. It was gratitude—subtle but unmistakable. It was a warmth that lingered in his eyes, a quiet acknowledgment that said more than any words could.

“I appreciate it,” he said, his voice low, carrying an uncharacteristic vulnerability. The words were simple, but they felt like a rare offering from him, a small crack in the armor he wore so effortlessly. Sunday, who usually kept his emotions tucked away in the recesses of his mind, was letting a piece of himself be seen. He took a slow breath, as though trying to ground himself in the newfound realization, considering the offer you'd made with a seriousness that reflected just how much it meant to him.

“I’ll think about it,” he added quietly, his voice softer than usual, but carrying an openness that had been absent before. It wasn’t a promise, not yet—but it was a crack in the door, a willingness to entertain something different, something new. And in that moment, you knew that it wasn’t just the notebook that he was considering. It was the space you had offered him, the chance to let something out that he hadn’t known he needed to. You nodded, your heart settling a little. The connection, small as it was, felt like a shared understanding. Neither of you had to carry the weight alone, even if you both still had a long way to go. You bat the sheets, flipping them over to make room as you clumsily slip under the covers. Sparkles of pink diamonds and yellow stars dust your cheeks. You scoot over a bit, patting the empty space beside you.

"So, Sunday, the night is still young. What other stories do you wish to hear?"

---

The soft hum of the Astral Express reverberated through the still morning air, a gentle reminder of the vastness of space surrounding the train. The faint glow of the sun barely peeked over the horizon, casting the world in muted hues of gold and lavender. Himeko, having long since grown accustomed to the quiet rhythms of the morning, made her way to the kitchen with a peacefulness that seemed to come only at this hour. She savored the calm that hung in the air, as though the world outside was still asleep, cocooned in the early hours before the day fully began. No noise, no urgency, just the steady pulse of the train and the promise of a new day. With each step, the familiar scent of brewed coffee and the faint warmth of the kitchen grew stronger, tugging her further into the solace of the moment. The corridors of the Astral Express, usually bustling with the energy of the crew, now felt like a world apart, as if time had slowed in reverence to the serenity of the morning. It was in moments like this, before the demands of the day began to pile up, that Himeko felt the weight of everything that had happened in the quietest way possible. It was as if the train itself whispered secrets to her in these brief, fleeting moments of solitude. She opens the kitchen door manually, not quite ready to disturb the peaceful atmosphere, only to stumble onto an unexpected sight. You were standing alone in the kitchen, a cup of tea cupped between your hands over the sink in case you accidentally spilled it's contents, staring out the window with an air of quiet contemplation. Himeko couldn't help but notice the way the soft light from the window caught your features, highlighting the tired lines under your eyes, and the subtle shift in your posture. Teal squares just on the ends of your heels, small and insignificant. It's probably the calmest your glitches have ever been since you joined the Express.

"Good morning, is it just us today?" Himeko greeted, her voice gentle but warm as she stepped inside. You startled slightly at the sound of her voice, blinking at her with a mix of surprise. You hadn’t noticed her approach, too wrapped up in your own thoughts.

"Morning," you mumbled, your voice soft yet not quite there, "The twins and March are probably going to sleep in since the Express hasn't reached its destination. Mr. Yang mentioned that he'd be cooped up in his room since he'd had a burst of information for his animation. Dan Heng arrived earlier but slinked off like the lizard he is."

Himeko laughs, your not-so-subtly rivalry with Dan Heng is always amusing. One day she hopes that you and him will get along since your personalities are similar, yet she doesn't think that day will arrive anytime soon.

"And Sunday?" she asked, a quiet concern slipping into her tone. Although it's obvious that she's prodding at the fact you've left their newest member out of your count, your expression remains the same. You didn’t immediately respond, your gaze dropping to your hands, fingers tightening around the warm ceramic of the cup you still held.

"Sunday visited us... last night. It was," you tap your fingers lightly against your cup, the words lingering a moment before you continue, "productive."

Himeko’s soft chuckle fills the space between you, her gaze sharp and knowing as she observes the subtle shift in your posture. The way your fingers tap nervously against your cup, the faint tension in your shoulders—every detail betrays the discomfort you're trying to hide. It’s clear that something has unsettled you, and she doesn’t miss a beat. It seems that Sunday had finally decided to take Caelus’s advice, something Himeko had been quietly anticipating. She’d often wondered how many nights she would hear his pacing echo through the quiet halls, his restless steps a soft but constant reminder of his inner turmoil. It wasn’t until now, after all this time, that he had worked up the courage to knock on your door. As she watches you, a quiet satisfaction lingers in her expression. For someone like Sunday—so reserved, so distant—it was a rare and significant step, and she can’t help but wonder what this moment means for both of you.

"I didn’t know you two had gotten so close," she remarks, her voice light with curiosity, "I always thought Sunday preferred his solitude. Guess you’ve managed to break through that shell of his."

"It’s not like that," you mutter, your words a bit awkward as you try to navigate the conversation. You rub the back of your neck, the heat rising to your face as you glance briefly at Sunday, still unsure how to explain the situation, "Just... paying it forward..."

---

The train was quiet in the dead of night, save for the soft hum of the engines that kept it steady through the stars. The glow of the emergency lights created a muted, warm atmosphere in the corridors, but the calm didn’t last long. A muffled cry cut through the silence, followed by the sound of something hitting the floor. Himeko, ever attuned to the sounds of the Astral Express, immediately snapped awake, sitting up from her chair in the lounge. Her instincts told her where to go. Without hesitation, she stood and moved swiftly down the narrow hallway, her footsteps quiet but determined.

When she reached your door, she paused for a moment. The sounds of distress were unmistakable—night terrors, or something close to them. She gently pushed the door open, finding you curled up in a tangle of blankets, breathing erratically, your body still twitching from the remnants of a nightmare. Himeko’s heart softened. She had seen this before, though not in the same form. Everyone aboard the Astral Express carried their own burdens, but sometimes those burdens took the shape of dreams that could tear through the night. Without a word, she stepped inside and softly sat at the edge of your bed. Her presence was calming, like a tether to reality, something solid in the wake of your fear.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice gentle but laced with a quiet concern, waiting for you to stir. The silence stretched between you both, heavy with the unspoken understanding. When your eyes finally fluttered open, still bleary and clouded with unease, she offered a small, reassuring smile—a quiet balm for the storm inside.

"Nightmares, huh?" she asked, her tone light, but there was no mistaking the empathy in her voice. You blinked up at her, listening intently, your pulse beginning to slow as her calming presence wrapped around you. You nodded slowly, the motion almost automatic as you tried to shake off the lingering remnants of the dream that clung to your mind like shadows. Your breath was still ragged, the echoes of the nightmare pulsing in the back of your skull. Himeko didn’t rush you, her gaze soft but unyielding, the kind that could see through the cracks in even the toughest exterior. She gave you a knowing look, one of those rare expressions that only someone who had seen the weight of the universe could wear—a quiet strength that could fill any silence.

"It’s funny," Himeko said, her voice softening as she leaned back slightly, her eyes distant for a moment, as though recalling something personal, "I found that sometimes, the best way to chase away the nightmares wasn’t by fighting them head-on."

She paused, letting the words linger before she continued, her tone quieter now, as if inviting you into a shared secret, "Instead, I focused on objects. Sounds strange, doesn’t it?"

She let out a light, almost melodic chuckle, the sound warm and comforting, before brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The gesture was casual, but there was a quiet elegance in the way she carried herself, a kind of understanding that only someone who had seen the weight of the universe could possess, "But honestly, it works. You begin to connect memories to things—simple things. A chair that reminds you of a calm afternoon, a necklace that brings back the feeling of warmth from someone you care about, or even a map that shows the way to a place that feels safe. Objects like that—they become more than just things. They become anchors in the storm. They bring back something good, something peaceful when everything else feels chaotic."

"I have this feather. Although it doesn’t resemble a traditional bird's feather with its pointed tip and flared edges make it stand out, it is a feather nonetheless. The kind of thing you don't question at first glance, but once you hold it, it seems to carry a weight of its own. It used to belong to someone else, someone who, in the quiet moments, always had it with her. She would carry it everywhere, as if it were an extension of herself. Her constant companion and a token of something deeper. But when she was gone, all that remained was her feather. No explanations, no grand gestures—just this simple, delicate thing, left behind like a piece of her that couldn’t be taken away. It’s strange how something so small can carry such weight, but in its quiet presence, it holds memories, echoes of a time now past," she continued, her voice soft yet unwavering, as if the weight of her words could carry the silence between them. Though her conversation remained one-sided, she spoke as if the act of sharing brought a strange kind of comfort, "Whenever the weight of the past begins to creep up on me, I hold it in my hand. To an outsider, it's just a feather, nothing extraordinary—but when I grip it, it’s as if it anchors me, as if it has the power to guide me through the storm. Somehow, it helps me find the peace I need, even if only for a fleeting moment. There are a lot of ways to fight the darkness, you know. Sometimes, it’s about finding what makes you feel grounded. What pulls you back when it all starts spinning out of control."

You let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as her words sank in, each one settling in the quiet spaces of your mind. Her presence was a balm, softening the tension that had coiled tight within you. The storm inside, once turbulent and overwhelming, seemed to lose its force in the calm of her company. The stillness of the night, which had felt suffocating moments ago, no longer held the same threat. With her there, her voice a steady and unwavering anchor, everything seemed a little less overwhelming, as if the weight of the world could be borne, even if only for a while.

"You’re not alone in this," Himeko added, her smile soft and kind, "We all carry something heavy with us, but we don’t have to carry it alone. And when the nightmares come, don’t be afraid to reach out. We’ll get through it together."

You nodded again, a quiet sigh escaping as a sense of peace began to unfurl in your chest. The nightmare didn’t vanish entirely, but its grip had loosened, its hold no longer suffocating. Himeko’s words, simple yet profound, were like a balm, soothing the lingering traces of your fear. The storm inside you settled, its chaos quieting in the warmth of her presence. Himeko rose to her feet, her movements fluid and graceful, as if she were part of the very calm she had helped create. The soft rustle of her clothes was the only sound as she stood, poised and serene, her quiet strength radiating through the room.

"Get some rest," she said gently, her voice quiet but full of warmth. "Tomorrow is a new day. And if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to find me, alright?"

With one final smile, Himeko turned and left your room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. The quiet comfort of her words lingered in the air, and the night didn’t feel so long anymore.

---

"I never properly thanked you for that night," you say, the words leaving your mouth with a quiet weight, as if they’ve been waiting to be said for far longer than you realized. The moment feels suspended, fragile—an acknowledgment that feels both overdue and somehow vital. Your voice falters slightly, but there’s a tenderness in it, an unspoken appreciation that lingers between the lines. Himeko turns toward you, her gaze softening as she takes in your words. You already know what she's trying to say without having to hear it, she's never needed to hear your thanks because that was never the intention.

"I’m proud of you," she says instead, her voice steady and warm, the sincerity in her tone making the space between you feel more intimate, more real. It makes your hand momentarily glitch, your cup spilling momentarily before your fingers phase back into reality to catch it, "It’s not easy to open up, but you’re doing it. That’s what matters."

The simplicity of her words settles into you like sunlight breaking through clouds. You smile faintly, a quiet flicker of gratitude stirring deep inside, the kind that doesn’t need to be said out loud to be understood. The tension that had been coiled tight in your chest begins to ease, like a storm passing on the horizon. Her words, so gentle yet unyielding in their kindness, carry with them a warmth that softens the sharp edges of your past. The heaviness that had once seemed insurmountable becomes a little less oppressive, as if, for just a moment, you’re allowed to let it all go. A burst of orange circles pop from your cheeks that you hurriedly wave off but those circles, shining brighter under the light, only move to dodge your hands.

"I’m going to leave you to your morning," she says, her tone light but you can hear the underlining of laughter in her words. Her smile is a quiet promise, one that lingers even as she begins to step away, "Just remember, if you ever need anything—anything at all—you don’t have to carry it alone."

Her words settle in the air, offering you an unexpected kind of strength, a quiet reminder that you aren’t as isolated as you sometimes believe. She moves toward the door, her movements fluid and graceful, like a gentle breeze passing through a still room. As the door clicks softly behind her, the sound feels like the closing of one chapter and the quiet beginning of another.

You remain where you are for a moment, your mind still. The warmth of her presence lingers in the room like the afterglow of a setting sun, soft and comforting. The steady hum of the train continues around you, its familiar rhythm filling the silence she left behind, a constant reminder of the world that moves on. It wasn’t much, this exchange—just a few quiet words and a gesture of kindness. But in this moment, it feels like the first true step toward something you hadn’t known you needed: a reminder that you’re not as alone as you sometimes think. The weight of your thoughts, once so suffocating, seems a little lighter, and for the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to simply breathe.

---

Hi, thank you for reading! I kind of went crazy and I hope the alternating switch between past and present made sense. I'll reblog this with further writer notes but I wanted to include the research bits in order of appearance. I can't guarantee the full accuracy but I hope I didn't get anything wrong.

Also: I couldn't explore the full lore of this reader, but if you're interested in knowing more, please reach out towards the original creator: @thezboss

Colours and Shapes

Gray: Neutrality and detachment | Crosses: Balance and reflection

Black: Sadness and Fear | Zigzags: Instability and disruption

Yellow: Happiness and optimism | Stars: Aspiration and guidance

Teal: Calm and clarity | Squares: Stability and straightforwardness

Pink: Compassion and playfulness | Diamonds: Confidence and value

Circles: Unity and Harmony | Orange: Warmth and impulsiveness

Trash Can Keychain

Not an actual trash can keychain, but if you bought a full set of HSR chibi figures, you were gifted an extra figure of a trash can.

Pink Plushie

The plushy that March wanted is the pink happy face that sits on her bed inside her room. It's beside the dog plushie.

Himeko's Feather

The feather Himeko is referring to is Fu Hua's feather. Shout out to my Honkai Impact fans (I've never played the game).

[deathbxnny]

helloo sunday with an astral express member teen!reader who is scared of him (would hide behind someone or something whanever they see him) but gets used to him and sometimes even tries spending time with him and comfort him?

astral express passenger sunday

Yes, yes, yes, I love this. It's so cute.

Content: Teen reader, platonic relationships, fluff, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

He knew who you were from the time that you and your found family rammed a train right into him. So meeting you again felt rather awkward and understandably filled with deep mistrust to his intentions. Sunday had no one to blame but himself for that of course and left you alone, especially when he noticed that you were rather fearful of him. Another thing he accepted, supposing it wasn't all too surprising.

Yet despite this, he went out of his way to apologize to you formally, considering that your young age made him feel worse about potentially having hurt you too in the battle. You always hid behind the other members of the crew, however, and so it was hard to get much of a direct response from you at first that wasn't filtered through them.

Months went on this way until his patience with you eventually wore off, and you began asking him curious questions about his wings, his sister, and his current beliefs. He always answered as calmly and as age appropriately as he could, a small, serene smile on his face when you seemed childishly amazed at his answers. The other express members saw it as a good thing that you were beginning to trust him, and it made them, in turn, let their walls down around him easier. If you saw something well meaning in him, then there was nothing for them to worry about anymore.

This resulted in you including him in all of your shenanigans. Whether it was playing board games with the crew or running around a nameless planet with him in tow, he was always a step behind you now. And deep down, your presence brought him joy again, as you reminded him of his sister in their own youth. As though reborn, he sees the world through your young eyes, and despite its at times rather worrisome and reckless nature, he finds deep appreciation for it.

To thank you for your indirect yet significantly important impact on his newfound way of life, he silently vows to keep you safe and teach you whatever good thing he still knows.

And if there is a day in which your paths diverge, he hopes that what he brings you will help you become something much greater than he ever was and will be.

[kirbyfigure]

can't ship him with anyone since he doesn't even love himself yet

[mid-stars]

Self aware honkai star rail au

How long ago when you started playing this game? You don't know..

When you first entered the game it felt like destiny! The game was amazing at every single point! The story, the companionship, the characters! Just like genshin impact! You expected nothing less from hoyo!

But.. When did the voicelines get more... Unique?...You don't remember some of them in the game..

------------------------------------

Notes:

"Make sure caelus isn't eating any trash." - dan heng

"Let's take selfies together" - march 7th

"I have a feeling you'll get lucky this time" - Caelus

"I have other stuff to do." - dan heng

"Hey! We're friends aren't we?" - march

-----------------------------------

You sigh, those voicelines were definitely not in the game... You should check the informa—

WHERE ARE THE VOICELINES!?

You clicked on every other character you have and none. It's not there... No matter which character you click.. It's not there.

Phone.

Why.. Is it all just like an actual phone!? Wtf Is going on!? Wait.. What's spacegram? Uni tok? Huh!?

You are now totally insane, this is definitely just a dream and not reality! You sigh. Might as well go and fight some other random creatures at this point.

Using jing yuan, you decided to walk around xianzhou luofu. "Make sure to not make the same mistake [name]."

...

"Hell NAW!"

You left the game and freaked out silently on your bed. You don't want to be those isekai'd stories. You like those but being fr, too much for you!

You sigh..

"Not to worry [name], we won't bother you for long!"

Oh no.. Silver wolf..

[aventurineswife]

Can I request the same boys as ur cold reader fic but with a s/o who is haepaphobic (fear of touch) who allows the boys to finally hold them as they've grown confident enough to surpass their fear? Like they just go up to the boi and silently hold their hand, hug them or lay against them. How'd they react?

-🍭

Hold Me Tight

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, AE!Sunday x Reader, Comfort, Slow Burn, Overcoming Fear, Emotional Growth, Healing Touch, Gentle Romance, Trust and Vulnerability, Supportive Partner, Quiet Moments. Warnings: Mentions of past trauma (haepaphobia, fear of touch), Light emotional angst.

You’ve been sitting together on the balcony of your shared apartment, the evening air cool against your skin. As always, Aventurine's smile was playful, but there was something in his gaze that softened when he noticed the tension in your body. It had taken time for you to feel comfortable around him, but he had always respected your space. Today, however, something inside you shifted.

You approached him cautiously, heart beating faster than usual, but the air felt different. There was something unspoken between you, a promise, a trust that had taken root. Slowly, you extended your hand towards him. His eyes widened, but the smile that bloomed on his face was warm and reassuring. He didn’t say a word, letting your action speak louder than any reassurance he could give.

When your fingers brushed against his, you felt the subtle electricity of contact. And then, before you could second-guess yourself, you gently clasped his hand. It was a soft, tentative motion, but Aventurine’s reaction was anything but tentative. He leaned forward, the playful glint in his eyes turning to one of deep affection.

"You’ve made a gamble, haven’t you?" he said softly, his voice a comforting mix of teasing and tenderness. "And it seems like it’s paying off."

He didn’t pull away, didn’t hesitate. Instead, he gently squeezed your hand, his warmth grounding you in a way words couldn’t. Aventurine’s confidence was a constant, but in this moment, it was your courage that shone the brightest.

The quiet hum of the Astral Express echoed around you both as you sat next to each other in the quiet of the observation room. Dan Heng had always respected your space—he rarely initiated physical contact, understanding your fear. But tonight was different. The train felt peaceful, almost still, as if the universe had slowed just for you.

Without a word, you gently placed your hand over his, just resting it there. The warmth of his skin against yours was enough to make your heart race. Dan Heng looked down at your hand, his expression unreadable, but you could feel the shift in his energy, the way his calmness seemed to embrace your nerves.

After a long pause, he slowly wrapped his fingers around yours, his grip gentle and careful, as if he didn’t want to overwhelm you. The simple gesture made your chest tighten with a mixture of fear and relief, but it was a fear that slowly melted away under the steadiness of his touch.

“Thank you.” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you were thanking him or yourself.

Dan Heng’s voice was soft, almost imperceptible. “I’ve been waiting for this moment… waiting for you.”

In the study room filled with towering stacks of books and papers, you’d always been hesitant. Ratio, for all his brilliance and confidence, respected your space as much as anyone could, though you had seen the way his sharp eyes softened when you lingered nearby.

Today, though, there was something in the air that urged you forward. You had been reading a particularly difficult text, and as if drawn by some unseen force, you found yourself standing beside him. You looked up at him, quietly offering your hand. Your pulse quickened as you waited for him to react.

Ratio blinked, his sharp gaze flicking from your hand to your face, a hint of surprise flashing across his features. For a moment, his intellectual mind seemed to process, then slowly, ever so carefully, he placed his hand over yours. He didn’t pull away immediately, as you’d feared, instead his fingers lightly caressed yours.

“You… are bold,” he mused, his voice soft but undeniably earnest. “This… is new. But it is a challenge I will gladly accept, if you will allow me to teach you the art of trust.”

You didn’t respond verbally; instead, you squeezed his hand gently. His expression shifted from one of calculated assessment to a rare, sincere smile.

The vast expanse of the Xianzhou Luofu stretched out beyond you, but you found yourself in the quiet solace of Jing Yuan’s office. He’d always been a calming presence, the kind that never rushed or pushed you to go beyond what you were comfortable with.

Today, you didn’t want to be rushed. You didn’t want to be pushed at all.

Instead, you walked up to him slowly, your hands trembling slightly as you reached out to touch his sleeve. Jing Yuan noticed instantly, his eyes locking with yours. He didn’t move, allowing you the space to decide your next step.

Without warning, you slid your hand down to his, fingers brushing his warm skin. For a moment, you froze, waiting for his reaction. His gaze softened, and a quiet, approving smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Without a word, his hand enveloped yours, large and reassuring.

“You’ve taken a step toward me,” Jing Yuan murmured, his voice low and comforting. “And I’ll take a thousand steps toward you, if that’s what it takes.”

You laid your head on his shoulder then, resting against him. There was no pressure, no judgment—only the shared, unspoken promise that he would never push you past your limits.

The Yaoqing district was quiet, a peaceful kind of stillness that only a place of healing could offer. Jiaoqiu, ever the gentle soul, was focused on preparing his latest concoction, his attention absorbed in the delicate task before him. But you were nervous today—your heart raced in the quiet room as you approached him, feeling the weight of your fear and longing to overcome it.

Jiaoqiu looked up from his work as you silently extended your hand towards him. He didn’t move immediately, sensing your uncertainty. But then, after a moment of quiet deliberation, he slowly took your hand in his.

His touch was soft, tender, like he had all the time in the world for you to overcome this fear. Without words, he pulled you gently closer, allowing you to rest against him. His arms were steady around you, offering a sanctuary of warmth and solace.

“Fear is something you need not face alone,” Jiaoqiu whispered, his voice a balm for your restless soul. “I am here, always.”

The soft rhythm of his heartbeat against yours was enough to soothe the storm in your chest. You didn’t need to say anything more—his presence spoke for everything.

The Astral Express was unusually quiet today, the hum of the train providing a soft background to the stillness that enveloped you. Sunday, as always, sat in his usual contemplative silence. His eyes were locked onto the stars outside the window, but you could tell he had noticed your presence.

It had taken time—months, perhaps longer—but now, you were ready. You could feel the steady confidence that had grown within you. You took a step toward him, your heart racing with anticipation, and gently placed your hand on his shoulder.

He turned to you, his piercing gaze searching your face. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. But then, without hesitation, he lowered his hand to rest on top of yours, his touch both firm and gentle.

“I did not expect this,” he said, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “But I will accept it, as I accept all things from you.”

His warmth was comforting, though his words carried a tinge of something deeper—something he didn’t often reveal. Slowly, he reached up and cupped your face with both hands, pulling you into a quiet, serene hug. His embrace was surprisingly tender, an unspoken understanding flowing between you both.

“The world is harsh,” Sunday whispered, his voice soft yet resolute. “But with you, perhaps there is another way.”

And in that moment, with your body pressed gently against his, the world outside seemed a little less daunting. You were no longer alone.

[bloodfiendarling]

𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓾𝓹

— ( do note this ask was sent before my rules post was out but ill let it pass bcz it doesnt break any rules )

ah hello ! !! this is the first time im writing for jingyuan sama ..! hopefully its to your liking anon .. <:D tho i did self indulge a lil much on this ... hopefully you still like it x_x

also , yes .! i love ryona . i dig it a lot .. please dont b scared to req anything with dark themes .. i will be cheering you on !

pair — reader x jing yuan

wc — ~1k

contains — sub bottom char, dom top reader, established relationship, gn reader, possessive reader, jealousy, (false) cheating suspicions, reader is kinda fucked up in the head, size difference (smaller reader), thigh humping, dry humping, reader is pretty forceful

you couldn’t stand it.

the way he would ignore you sometimes, when you two just wouldn’t be able to have some pda for the sake of his reputation. it pissed you off.

you want to love him! show him off, maybe. hug him, kiss him, hold his hand.. all in public. but you can’t — because he has a reputation to uphold here. and what made you more mad is the fact you’d hear your own colleagues talk about him. how they want to get with him.

what pissed you off the most about today, though? you heard someone spreading rumors. dating rumors. not between you and jing yuan, no. (you would’ve appreciated that, really) it was between him and some other woman — one that he’s been working with for a good while.

you clicked your tongue, entering his office. even just from your face it was obvious you were in a horrible mood.

“oh?” he started, with that usual lazy smile of his — “my dear, something on your mind?”

he shifted in his seat, adjusting himself so you could sit yourself beside him — which, you do — letting out a tired sigh. “rumours about you again, love.” you respond.

“mm, it’s the one with that woman, i assume?”

you click your tongue again. just hearing anything related to her set you off — c’mon, now.. it’s not like they’re actually together.. your dearest would never, ever betray you in such a way.

but you see the way that woman was — how she was smiling and all. laughing those rumors off, all while clearly enjoying the attention she got. it disgusts you. it worsens your mood more and more as you thought about it.

the general could sense your frustration — almost as if he read your mind. his expression softened a little bit, this time looking at you. watching you biting on your nail, whilst the other hand was balled into a fist, resting on your thigh.

“hey,” you looked back at him. the frustration was clear in your eyes. even you, yourself didn’t get it. what were you so angry about…? you can’t help but take it out on him. “you love me, right, jing yuan?”

“of course I do.” he replies — it’s short. it’s obvious. but in your messed up little head, it felt like nothing but a lie.

“prove it.”

“wha–?”

“prove it, i said.” you lean into him, a hand against his stomach. the gold part of his belt felt cool against your palm. for a second, it gives you shivers.

“here..?” the general’s voice was filled with uncertainty. “the door is still unlo–”

“that doesn’t matter.” you interrupt, “they’re not allowed to come in, right? locked or not. just tell them to leave if someone knocks. simple.”

jing yuan gulped down, eyeing the door once more before giving in — fumbling with his belt. slowly but surely getting that corset-like piece of armor loose and discarding it completely.

he’s so obedient whenever you were mad…

“c’mere.” you pat on your thigh, inviting him to sit on it — he does, obeying you. you were upset, he didn’t want your mood to go even lower. though, due to jing yuan being bigger than you, he was quite hesitant on putting his entire weight — he knows he’s quite heavy.. but you insist he sits down properly.

he felt shy all of a sudden — putting his hands on your shoulders, nuzzling his face into your neck. you didn’t know if this shyness was a result of the position, or the fact the door was very much unlocked — maybe both.

you had a hand on his lower back, as if inviting for the white-haired general — your free hand decided to run through his hair. it’s so soft… how could you not?

jing yuan lets out a whimper, hips moving on his own. slowly but surely running them up and down your thigh. his own legs shaking. you slip your hand into the side of his pants — feeling around his waist. he jolts at your cold hands, letting out a small gasp. those hands of yours continue to trace through his body, feeling his breath grow a little faster. feeling all over his back, his hips, his waist, him. just him.

you wanted to escalate this, though, you heard something. something he feared. a knock at the door.

“jing yuan, sir?”

a voice is heard, calling to the general. you could clearly hear his breath hitch. “a– ah.. who—nnh–!”

those hands of yours continued to tease him. featherlight touches all over his body, teasing him by slipping your hands into his pants every now and then — watching your darling general explain why the person couldn’t come in — stuttering on his words, trying to reason with them..

you felt mean today. you were in a shitty mood, after all.

he lets out a sigh of release when they finally decide to go — whoever that was leaving his office alone for another time. finally, he gets to calm down.

“i love you.” you whisper into his ear suddenly, “you love me too, right? you wouldn’t go for that woman, right? right?”

why did you doubt him, even?

you don’t know, nor did you care. all you wanted to hear was an ‘i love you, too’ from the general.. your general.

his weight was kind of crushing you.. but you didn’t mind it much. you pressed a kiss onto his neck, sucking into it to form a hickey. then another… and another. it didn’t take too long for his entire neck to be covered by them. you loved it.. marking him up as yours (as if wasn’t already..)

“m’gonna–” his grinding was growing a bit more desperate — damn, already?

“go on. show me how much you love me.” — those words made him whimper, closing his eyes. you pulled on his hair, yanking his head so jing yuan was looking at you — grabbing his face with one of your hands and inviting him into a messy kiss — tongue being forcefully shoved into his mouth.

“i love you, i love you, i love you.. mmMH—!” he said between eager gasps, feeling his orgasm washing over him. you could, too — that warm feeling on your thigh.

he wraps his big arms around you, moans being muffled by the kiss. he just couldn’t get enough, can he? he wouldn’t even care anymore if someone came in and saw him this way. neither did you. at least they’d know you were his.

“i love you, darling. please ruin me..”

hsr masterlist ♥︎

[scribbless-n-stuff]

I'm here to request since I can't write shit.

Dan Heng came home unexpected and even gave me his lightcone early. I'm screaming 😭😭😭

Anyway, I really want to just coddle him up. Pepper his face with kisses, hugs, play with his cheeks, he's just too adorable I can't

This is more of a ramble sorry. I hope you can write something out of this. Thank youu

Late Night Longings

Characters

Dan Heng (IL or not, depends on your imagination <3)

Warnings/Info

FLUFF!!! INTENSE FLUFF!!!

Author’s Notes

LET’S GAURRR CONGRATS ON GETTING DAN HENG & HIS LIGHT CONE, ANON REQUESTER!!!

Oh god I’m actually tweaking over this beautiful man (I’m a lesbian)

might as well make this a Dan Heng fan acc bro

Hopefully this doesn't disappoint...

After another week-long adventure, the Astral Express team finally boards back on the train. The mission was tough, almost everyone was tired and drained, including you. The train’s doors close, leaving the train car quiet. 

Himeko, who was keeping in check of the duties inside the Express, approaches you from her seat. You feel a hand on your shoulder, “Welcome back, Y/n, how are you feeling?” the red-haired lady asks.

You let out a tired smile, “All good, just tired.. I should go and rest....” Your voice trails off, as you look around for your partner, Dan Heng. However, he was nowhere to be found. He probably went straight to his room. 

Smiling bittersweetly, You let out a heavy sigh, drooping down in fatigue. Your brain was basically falling asleep as you were standing up. 

The sound of light chuckling pulls you back to reality. “Alright, sleep well then.” Himeko withdraws her hand from your shoulder, giving you a smile. She leaves your side, to check on the others. You nod back before also turning away, to go to your room. 

The last sounds you hear, before exiting the parlor car are March’s whiney complaints about how troublesome the mission was. You fondly smile, the crew was like family to you. However, someone was missing. 

Entering your room, you sigh and discard your clothes, getting into more comfortable ones. You also go to wash your face and brush your teeth. By the time you get on your bed, you stretch out your limbs and pop your joints. 

You yawn, as your mind drifts to Dan Heng. “He’s probably tired… Might as well give him space tonight..” you think, before getting into your sheets and wrapping yourself into a blanket. However, you couldn’t help but feel a bit sad, missing the closeness of your partner. Nevertheless, you needed your rest. 

As you felt the snugness of your mattress and pillows, you fell asleep almost immediately, lightly snoring as you dreamt of nothing. That’s how you know you’re having the best sleep of your life.

...

… knock knock

The sound of knocking on your door disturbs your deep slumber, you grumble in annoyance. As you peek open your eyes, you could literally feel eyebags forming below your eyes. You turn your head over to your nightstand to look at the digital clock. 

2:43 AM. 

You squint your eyes and huff in disbelief of the current time. Ultimately, you decide to ignore the knocking. Besides, it was almost 3 AM, there was no way you were gonna be awake during witching hour.

Flopping back down, your head lays back down against the pillow, shutting your eyes back closed. As your whole body relaxes once more, your facial features relax too. Finally… sweet, sweet slumber…

…

… knock, knock, knock

Your eyes snap back open, feeling your anger flare up. Hopping out of bed, temporarily bidding goodbye to your warm blankets, you stomp towards the door of your room. You whip open your door. 

“Can’t it wait ‘til morning?” You sharply scoff, before looking up to see a pair of teal eyes. It was Dan Heng, in more casual attire. Except, you couldn’t see his clothes much because he was loosely wrapped around in his blue blanket. 

“Oh!-” Upon seeing that it was him, you immediately regretted your harsh words, just because you were tired.

“Apologies..” The poor boy mumbles sleepily. “I’ll go back to my room..” Dan Heng sniffles, because of the cold air, as he turns away. His hair was tousled up, looking absolutely adorable, which made you feel even more guilty. 

You immediately reach out to yank him back by the hand. “NOOO WAIT!” you exclaim. “I’m sorry, I was tired..” 

Dan Heng blinks at you, feeling a bit surprised by your raised voice.  “It’s fine.. I shouldn’t have knocked so late.” He mutters. 

Tugging again at his hand, “Apology accepted…” You look at him with adoration, it was truly a rare sight to see this man so vulnerable, due to his usual stoic behavior and expression. “Do you wanna come in?” You offer, feeling happier now that your partner was here, disregarding the late hour. 

The next second, you see a small smile appear on his face. 

“Yes, please..”

With this, he basically engulfed you in his arms, also wrapping you in the blanket draped around his figure. Your yelp is muffled into his torso, suddenly bearing his body’s weight. You do your best to drag him to your bed, hugging him by the waist. 

Dan Heng clumsily waddles to the bed, still holding onto you out of clinginess. Eventually, you pry yourself out of his hold, pushing him onto your bed. “Man.. you’re different when you’re sleepy.” You huff at him, as he looks up at you with a sleepy expression. He doesn’t respond.

You smile, before also getting into bed, beside him. His and your legs tangle together, as you position yourself just a bit higher than him, so that his head is around the same level as your collarbone and neck.

His eyes were already closed, falling back asleep. Poor little thing must have woken up randomly, then decided to come to you for comfort. You coo at him, cupping his face with one hand and leaning in to kiss him on the forehead. 

Dan Heng furrows his eyebrows at his, as you feel his cheeks grow warm. Upon registering this reaction, you snicker, deciding to coddle him up even more. You release your next attack on his nose, giving him a quick peck. After that, you go to both of his cheeks, giving him four kisses on each one. 

“Mmmmfff..” The boy mumbles at you, the warm fluttering feeling swelling up in his chest was feeling too strong. The combination of the late hour and his fatigue were a dangerous combination. Nevertheless, he doesn’t tell you to stop… Or maybe he’s too tired to. 

Regardless, you wouldn’t stop either way. 

“You’re sooo cute~”  Finally, you kiss his lips. Slowly and tenderly, lightly biting his lower lip to tease him. This was the last straw for him. 

“You’re waking me…” Dan Heng muffles against your lips, but you just swallow up his words, as you pull away and give him another quick peck. Ignoring him, as you repeatedly kiss his face in the same order as before, except, more aggressive and affectionate. He blushes madly as his face scrunches up in feigned discomfort, but he secretly enjoys it. 

After a bit, he’s had enough, seriously wanting to sleep now. Dan Heng uses the last of his physical strength and energy to push and roll you onto your back. He gets on top of you, mainly to pin you down and restrict you from any movement to disturb him. The comfortability and closeness were just bonus points.

“Stop. Sleep.” He muffles again, as he nestles his face against your chest. As you’re pushed down, you feel your face heating up at the change of position. Even he felt slightly flustered and embarrassed at his own boldness, but he couldn’t help himself. 

You whine a bit at the loss of control, but you sigh and give in, feeling tired too. One of your hands is brought to his back, as you run it up and down to generate warmth for him. As for your free hand, you tangle your fingers in his hair, gently massaging his scalp to further lull him to sleep. 

Dan Heng on the other hand, his arms were still wrapped around your waist from earlier, holding you against him like a needy koala. The feeling of your fingers caressing against his hair made him let out a shaky sigh. He felt so content, and so did you.

[mallleus]

Extraterrestrial Satellite Communication | Sunday

"There's always a paradise that needs to be built. That vow is like the sun in the sky — perhaps I'll melt and fall before reaching it… But some hardships I must endure."

The dream of the Order has dissipated, yet there are still those who will not give up on their original intent.

— The traveler whose wings were clipped… whereto shall his footsteps lead?

EDIT:::::BTW SOMEONE SAID HE SHOULD BE HERE AROUND DEC. 4TH WE HAVE A BIT TO SAVE UP STELLAR JADES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

[mirrology]

MUSE ❛ ❁. ━━ ( n.) a person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist.

❛ ⟡. trailblazer, dan heng, march 7th & gender neutral reader. ━━ wc: 1.1k

❛ ⟡ ━━ strictly platonic. teen reader, the reader is an artist who prefers to sketch in a sketchbook or doodle on post-it notes. Typical Astral Express shenanigans. Reader comes from a poor planet, found family astral express!! March and reader have a lot in common when it comes to capturing memories. Reader likes giving the express drawings.

To you, painting, sketching, doodling, and the like is a way to capture a moment. Just like taking a photograph, yet it takes more time, and it requires more skill. You know that it's faster with a camera. You've seen March snapping photos of the other express members in an instant.

But you take pride in your work. You won't let a camera blow out the flame of inspiration that is burning within you. That flame was the only thing you had left when you were on the streets, dressed in rags that could barely be considered clothes. As you gazed at the shining stars in the night sky from the window of the astral express, those memories resurfaced from the depth of your mind and dripped ink on the pages of your sketchbook The ink, over time, eventually became a silhouette of a child, buildings, and a city.

The piece of art was never shown to your astral express family. It was tucked away in a drawer in your room, never to see seen by eyes other than yours.

But…

There are pieces that you show your family, and all of them are gifts to preserve the memories of them and you. For one day, we will all be gone.

❛ ☆ ━━ Trailblazer

You knew their obsession with trash and trash cans, and their birthday was coming up, so you devised a plan. As an artist, art isn't just painting or drawing. It is also sculpting. The plan was… to make them a sculpture! Of what? Of them sparring with the lordly trash can, of course! So you got to work, it was many hours of grueling work, and your hands were starting to cramp up from digging them into the clay of the sculpture.

You sighed and leaned back into your seat. You stared at the finished sculpture that was sat on the table in front of you. It wasn't big, oh no, you weren't that talented, and it would be suspicious if any of the Astral Express members were to see the big statue of the trailblazer in your room.

This model can fit in your cupped hands. The details of their outfit were difficult to add, but you managed, and just in time for the big day! You turned to the cabinet that was on the side of your bed, ah! It was time! You quickly got up from your desk, grabbed the gift box that sat on your bed, and stuffed the sculpture inside. You tied the ribbon on top into a bow. You were ready! Let's hope they like it!

(And they definitely did. They thanked you almost a thousand times and declared you as their favorite)

❛ ☆ ━━ Dan Heng

You put the cap on your pen as you finished the little doodle of Dan Heng that was on a post-it note. It depicted a chibi version of Dan Heng, sitting in the archives, while reading a book. You quietly chuckled to yourself. You got up from your desk in your room and walked down the hall to the door of the archives. You switched from walking to tiptoeing once you got close, not wanting to alarm the vidyadhara that was inside the room. Just as you were about to stick the note on the door, it slid open, revealing the man in your doodle and also leaving your hand in the air, covering Dan Heng's face from your perspective.

You quickly put your hand down and beamed at the man in front of you. He only stared back with his typical poker face, although his eyes held a certain sparkle that was only reserved for you. “Dan Heng! hold your hand out.” You briefly greet him, then gesturing for him to hold his hand out for you. Dan Heng brought his hand up, and you placed the doodle of him in the middle of his palm. “That's for you! Ihopeyoulikeit,okaybyeeeeee” you blurted out and sprinted down the hallway, the embarrassment of being caught in the middle of putting a sitcky note on his door, finally caught up to you.

A dumbfounded Dan Heng stared at your running form as he awkwardly stood in the doorway. He stared down at the little art piece in the palm of his hand. Dan Heng’s lips twitched up into an amused smile. He walked back inside the archives and placed the doodle in the pile of different drawings and paintings that you had given him. Another thing to treasure.

❛ ☆ ━━ March 7th

“Ready?” March asked, her hands behind her back while a big grin was plastered on her face. “Ready.” You confirmed with a nod. Your hands were also behind your back. This was yours and March's monthly gift exchange, her's usually being photos of the express members and you. Yours being sketches of her or the both of you together, but today was different. For once, you decided to paint for her, it has been a while since you've had the motivation to paint but if it was for March you would paint a thousand paintings if it meant to preserve the memories of her and of course… to see her smile.

Little did you know Ms. March also had an extra special gift for you. March started counting down “Okay, 1… 2… 3!” At the count of three, the both of you held out your gifts. Your eyes lit up at the sight of the album that was held in the pink haired girl's hand and hers at the painting in yours. “Here.” You spoke gently and held out the covered canvas to her. She set down the album on the table beside her. March slowly took the canvas from you. She felt nervous, it wasn't every day that you painted. This must be really special.

The pink haired girl pulled down the cloth that was covering the painting. A small gasp left her mouth as she stared at the painting. It depicted you and her, with big smiles on your faces, hugging, while sitting in a field of pink carnations. A flower crown sat on your head, matching hers. March's lower lip wobbled as tears welled up in her eyes. They weren't of sadness, no. They were of joy.

March sniffled and brought you into a tight hug, startling you who was gazing at the album filled to the brim with moments of the Astral Expresses trailblazing adventures. “Thank you!” March's voice wobbled as she held you tightly. The warmth the she radiated, despite her having ice powers, was comforting and… oddly familiar.

You smiled warmly and wrapped your arms around her, hugging her back just as tightly.

“You're welcome”

[peonysgreenhouse]

-`♡´- lost signal.

summary: welt finds himself unable to contact you after your departure for amphoreus. (gn!reader x welt yang; astral express found family)

tags: 1.2k words, established relationship, fake texts, astral express family, fluff and longing, spoilers for 3.0's main quest!

“You’re worried.”

Even Himeko’s voice does little to turn his head from the window, watching as the Parlor Car trails off and away through the stars towards Amphoreus. Out of sight, out of Welt’s reach – he was never good at stepping back and letting things be. He has to keep himself from pressing his hand to the glass, from tracing his finger along each and every fleck of light you pass, as if you could somehow feel him there with you.

“Am I that obvious?” Welt asks, adjusting his glasses. He feels Himeko’s dress brush over his shoes, and still he cannot bring himself to tear his gaze away for even a second; even as the car disappears from view as it enters into Amphoreus’s orbit.

“I’m sure everything will go smoothly. You know how capable they all are.” Himeko reassures. 

Welt lets out a weary sigh. Of course knows that. You, Stelle, and Dan Heng made a formidable team. Still, the worry persists, gnawing like moths at an old dressing gown. 

“You are correct.” Welt starts, sighing again as his eyes flick to her momentarily, before looking back out the window. The stillness in the Express is disquieting; it seemed less of a home without all the noise. “But still, I worry anyways.”

Himeko gives him a knowing smile. “I’m sure you’ll hear from them soon.” She says, turning to walk back towards the door. “In the meantime, would you help me make dinner for March? She still isn’t feeling well.”

Welt softens at that, finally forcing himself to look away. He assures himself that you all would be okay, and hopes that is enough. “Of course.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Welt has done the math over and over again. He knows this planet is uncharted, but they knew the distance to the landing site, knew how strong the planet’s gravitational pull was... If things went perfectly, you all should have docked three hours ago. 

You had promised that you’d text him once you successfully made it planet-side. He rests on one of the couches in the main car, one hand resting on his cane, the other holding his phone. 

Perhaps he’s acting like a besotted old man… and a hovering parent to Stelle and Dan Heng. But still, he finds his hands itching to type out a message to check in. And so, he does:

He tries to rationalize the response (or, lack thereof) before the tide of worry can wash over him once again. It wouldn’t be surprising if it were just Stelle’s phone that had no connection – but you and Dan Heng? Neither of you would let that happen, especially at the beginning of an Expedition.

Perhaps signal didn’t reach Amphoreus. It would be the most logical answer – it was out of sight to all but the Memokeepers. Besides that, he can't help but think it's possible that you all could’ve crash landed...

Welt stands, and goes to wake Sunday.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You lean out the balcony of the private baths, your hand stretching upwards to the sky, phone in hand, as if you could reach up far enough to hand the messages to Welt. 

“That’s not how it works.” Dan Heng says, one hand behind his head as he relaxes in one of the lounge chairs. He’s watching you out of the corner of his eye, a quarter of his attention diverted from his book to make sure you don’t lose your balance and fall.

You hate that he’s right. This is all an exercise in futility, but still, it doesn't hurt to try. You hop up on the railing, carefully sitting yourself on the ledge of the balcony, stretching just a few more inches forward. Dan Heng pays a bit more attention to you.

“Dan Heng’s right.” Stelle interjects, her long silvery hair gliding on the surface of the water in the bath, sprawled out as if she had not a care in the world. “You need much longer arms.”

You huff, looking at the ‘No Signal’ message that hasn’t budged from the top of your phone’s screen since you crash landed in Amphoreus. You wish there was something you could do to reassure Welt that you would all be okay.

You imagine he’ll have a few more grey hairs when you see him next.

“You should get down from there.” Comes Dan Heng’s voice, closing the book he was skimming through. “I would prefer not to have to tell Mr. Yang that you fell to your death.”

You hear Stelle snicker, and it’s then you hop down off the railing, realizing you are supposed to be the mature one here. You turn your phone off, then go to sit on one of the empty lounge chairs, listening to the water flow as it pours into the bath. 

Welt would like it here, you think. After everything he’s done for you, for you all, he deserves a nice, warm bath. Perhaps once you've restored contact with the Express, you could convince him to relax, if for a little while.

You let that thought carry you into a fitful sleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

In your absence, Welt spends the days with Sunday, exhausting their combined contacts to try and regain communication with you all. Each day seems to drag on, and yet he never finds enough hours to do all that he needs to do to ensure your safety. 

He should’ve just joined the Expedition… Welt hated, more than anything, not knowing; questions with too many variables to act on all at once. Especially when it involved those he cared about. 

Some of your things had been left in his room; he doesn’t have the heart to move them. A half-empty cup of tea that had long gone cold, the shape of your lips outlined in chapstick around the rim. The hotel key from your room in Penacony, sandwiched between one of his books you were borrowing; a makeshift bookmark that would no doubt end up damaging the binding. A picture of you, him, and Himeko taken in the jazz bar at the Reverie. Your hand is slung around their shoulders, and you’re winking at the camera, only slightly tipsy. The memory makes him warm with longing.

He sends another few texts your way, knowing they will not reach you. Still, it is nice to think of what he might say to you if he could.

At night, he sits in March’s room, watching to make sure her condition doesn’t worsen. The cold of the six-phased ice bites even through his overcoat.

Welt folds his hands in his lap, closing his eyes for a momentary rest. Come tomorrow they would go to the Space Station to search for answers; but for now, he would be present for March. It was all he could do.