✦ Welcome, starlings, to my corner of the universe~ ✦
You can call me Lorelei !! My pronouns are she/her and I'm bi. I'm a writer, reader, and professional daydreamer. You can often find me drifting between planets AO3, Wattpad, and QuoteV.
I write for multiple fandoms, all of which you can find here~!
The Milky Way can get a bit overwhelming, so I've complied star charts to help you find your way around
Thanks for stopping by my little constellation, feel free to drop a constellation you've discovered in my asks! I hope you enjoy your stay, and may the stars guide you back whenever you're looking for a new story ˙⋆✮
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You’ve returned from Penacony and you could not be more ecstatic! Sure, you’re tired, beaten down, exhausted — but your favorite Cold Dragon is waiting for you just around the corner.
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You don’t think you’ve ever been happier returning to the Astral Express.
Sure, you were a bit upset at the fact Sunday is a passenger now (sue you for being mad he tried to kill you guys), but overall you were ecstatic. Maybe it had something to do with a particular Vidyadhara residing in the archives, but who’s to say that that’s true. If you never voiced it, it wouldn’t be true.
Despite how badly you wanted to talk to him, to update him on everything that had transpired, you were tired. Turns out almost dying a couple of times will do that to you! Regardless, you dragged your feet over to the archives. Graciously, Pom Pom was letting everyone have a rest period before deciding on the next destination. You intended to take full advantage of that grace period.
You slide the door to the passenger cabin open and quickly make your way to the archives. Not bothering to knock, you open the door and head in, ignoring the catch and leaning against the shelf. You slowly slide yourself down until you’re in a sitting position with your knees against your chest.
You let a small sigh escape, attempting to push all the air out of your lungs before inhaling deeply again. This is nice. Your eyelids slowly flutter shut, heavy with the weight of exhaustion.
“You look terrible,” the tone is laced with amusement, and you don’t even have to look up to know who it is.
“Hello to you too,” you mumble, letting your head fall back against the shelf as you make eye contact with him. “Missed you.”
Dan Heng huffed, turning his body away from the shelf he was pondering over to face you fully.
“How was Penacony?” he asked, walking over to his desk. You watch as he pulls out the chair, swiveling it around to face you before he sits down. “Besides the obvious.”
“Eventful,” you sigh, your head lolling to the side. “Loud. You would’ve hated it.”
“I see.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“That’s it? No follow-up questions?”
“I assumed you’d elaborate.”
He was right. He always is.
“We were trapped in some sort of Dreamscape,” you explain, unfurling your legs from your chest, letting them lay against the ground. “It was really confusing. And Sunday was a part of it.”
“And I assume you’re not thrilled with the decision to let him stay?” It was almost scary how accurately Dan Heng could read you. You normally ignore it, chalking it up to the fact he’s who you spend most of your time with when on the Express. But it does become unsettling when he always seems to be two steps ahead of you at all times.
“I’m not ecstatic,” is your eventual answer. “I believe he had good intentions and that he can choose to be better with a bit of guidance… but it’s not like I can just forget everything, you know?”
He nods, folding his arms loosely against his chest and leaning back against the seat.
“And you’re unharmed?”
You shrug. Averting your eyes, you choose to look at the books on the shelf instead of his face.
“For the most part.”
You hear him grumble under his breath as he shifts in his chair.
“It’s nothing a bit of rest can’t fix,” you reassure him. Your words hold truth to them. You can already feel the sweet warmth of sleep and relaxation is calling out your name. It’s becoming harder and harder for you to resist.
“Don’t fall asleep here,” Dan Heng chides, having noticed your struggle to keep your eyes open. “You’re just going to wake up feeling more sore.”
“I’ll be fine,” the words are slurred out, evident of your exhaustion. “It’s comfortable down here.”
“It’s really not…”
“HEY, DAN HENG!” You groan at the intrusion, your eyes fluttering back open. Dan Heng’s eyebrows twitch a bit. You bite back a grin. “HAVE YOU SEEN-? Oh.”
“Hello, March,” your voice is dull and laced with tiredness. “I’m in here.”
March 7th leans into the doorway, her eyes widening slightly as she spots you. A knowing grin forms on her face.
“Oh,” she grins, looking between the two of you. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Yes.”
“No,” you answer at the same time as Dan Heng, your head tipping against the shelf. “Unless you count me slowly dying as something.”
“You’re not dying,” she groans exasperatedly, simultaneously stomping her foot against the floor like a sulking child.
“Sure feels like it.”
March steps into the room to walk over to stand by you. She crouches down in front of you, tilting her head as she studies your face. There’s a brief pause. It’s a rare moment where March isn’t talking. The headache you hadn’t realized was persisting relieved itself at the quiet. You should thank the Aeons for this momentary silence.
“You really do look terrible,” alas, the silence is broken.
“You’re both so kind to me,” you huff, rolling your eyes and pushing her head away with your index finger. “Truly, I feel so loved.”
Behind her, Dan Heng exhales softly. You wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already run out of patience for the two of you. All you need is for Stelle to join and then you’d get to tip him over the edge.
“That's because you decided to sleep on the floor,” he says, standing up and moving closer. “Which you're not going to do.”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
“You were about to be.”
“To-ma-to, to-mah-to.”
“Well as much fun as I am having here,” March interrupts you two. Looking away from Dan Heng, you notice her shuffling towards the door. “I’m going to be taking my leave and getting some sleep. I suggest you do the same!”
“I will,” you smile at her as she waves and skips off.
“You plan to get up anytime soon?” Dan Heng’s voice breaks the silence that had formed at March’s departure. You let out a disgruntled grunt, shaking your head.
“I can’t feel my legs.”
“Likely story.”
“It’s trueeeee,” you whine, shutting your eyes again. “I’m tired and can’t feel my legs!”
Another sigh. You’re surprised he hasn’t dragged you out of the archives by your hair yet.
“Well, you need to sleep in your bed. It’ll be more comfortable than the floor.”
You don’t answer. You know he’s right. He always is.
“Are you okay with me touching you?” The sudden question has your eyes flying open and your neck snapping so you can look at him. He’s standing next to you now, his feet in line with your thighs.
“Am I okay with you doing what?”
“Touching you,” his face remains impassive. “I’m going to carry you to your room.”
You splutter. Your eyes flitter around, looking anywhere but him as he continues to look at you. Heat rises to your cheeks and you try and will it back down.
“I’m… fine… with it,” you eventually manage to get out, clearing your throat at the end of your sentence.
“Bend your knees.”
You do as he says, bringing your knees up to your chest. As you’re doing so, he bends down, one arm sliding behind your back, and the other under your knees. He stands up quickly, causing you to throw your arms around his neck to secure yourself against him.
“Are you okay?”
You nod, opting not to trust your voice as you lean against his chest. You feel his hands tighten their grip on you as he makes his way to leave the archives, walking down the hallway to the Party Car, where your and Stelle’s room are.
You appreciated your rooms being further away from the rest of the crew; you did enjoy your privacy. But sometimes, it felt lonely. It felt empty, too far away from them. It was distant.
You have never been more thankful for the distance until now.
The more time you can spend in his arms, the better.
You rest your head more fully against him, eyes slipping shut again as the gentle sway of his steps lulls you further into that hazy in-between state of awake and asleep. Your arms loosen their grip on his neck, and you feel his grip tighten as they do.
“We’re here,” the moment ends too soon and you find yourself reluctant to let go.
Dan Heng moves to your bedside, gently laying you down on the duvet. Hesitantly, you let go of him, allowing yourself to be set down.
“Are you going to be okay with sleeping here?” He asks, standing over the side of your bed as you look up at him from your fetus position.
Your mouth dries. You don’t want him to leave. You want to spend more time with him. But you’re tired. So tired.
“Can you stay with me?” The question leaves your mouth before your mind can berate you for even thinking of such a thing. His eyes widen a bit as he looks down at you.
“I don’t think that would be a smart idea,” you choose to ignore whatever that means, your mind hazing as sleep tries to take over your body.
“Couch,” is the only word you say. He turns to look at the couch a few feet away from your bed. It’s across from your bed, so if you both lay on a certain side, you’d be facing each other.
“I suppose one night wouldn’t hurt,” is the last thing you hear before you fade out of consciousness. A light brush on your forehead displaces some of your hair before something quickly pressed against it before the sound of shuffling moves away from you.
The Astral Express is on its way to its next stop - Penacony! You are thrilled to be traveling again after your recent adventures on Xianzhou Luofu. Yet, you can't shake away this nagging feeling every time you think of what you're going to face, and who you'll be leaving behind on the Express.
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You loved the Astral Express.
The sentiment lingered in your head as you walked through the hallway, heading towards the passenger crew. Your footsteps echoed off the walls of the empty lobby. Everyone was busy in their rooms, packing their bags for the next stop on your journey – Penacony.
You should probably be doing the same thing.
Yet, you were reluctant too.
It’s not that you weren’t excited to see this new world. No, that wasn’t it. You always enjoyed adventuring and experiencing new things – “The way of a true Trailblazer” as eloquently put by Stelle.
Perhaps it would be the lack of a certain companion on this certain trip.
It probably was that, but dwelling on that possibility made you feel queasy, so it was best to choose the most logical route you could take and completely ignore it.
You loved everyone on the Express, truly, you did. You loved them all equally. But… you quickly shake the thought away once again.
You were found by Dan Heng and March 7th shortly after Stelle was on Herta’s Space Station during the Antimatter Legion’s invasion. Your origins remained a mystery, obscured behind a foggy wall in your mind. All you could remember was your name. It was speculated that you may have been connected to the Stellaron Hunters, but that was quickly dismissed upon the discovery that you held no Stellaron within your body. Regardless, the Astral Express quickly welcomed both you and Stelle as new members of their crew, and you would forever be grateful.
It didn’t take long for you to bond with the crew.
Himeko and Welt resembled parental figures, always looking out for you and the others. Himeko would always make tea for you after a particularly bad nightmare, and Welt always answered your bountiful questions about each world you visited with the patience of a saint.
You and Stelle were swift to attach yourselves to the other. Her sense of humor was appreciated, as well as the closeness from being found around the same time. She didn’t quite have a grasp on the concept of personal space, evident as she constantly draped herself onto you, but you didn’t mind. It was nice to have someone so close to you.
Being around March 7th was like being bathed in sunlight. She was impossible not to smile around. She dragged you into photos, into conversations, to vendors on the side of the streets. Her positivity was infectious. Most nights were spent in her room painting each other’s nails and doing skincare. Occasionally, you’d managed to drag Dan Heng and Stelle along, watching movie after movie until you all slowly drifted off to sleep on March’s bed. When you’d wake, limbs would be strewn across one another, with someone always managing to end up face down on the plush carpet of the floor.
Dan Heng was… different.
He was quiet, yes, but he wasn’t mean. During yours and Stelle’s first days in the Astral Express, he had kept his distance. Looking back, you couldn’t blame him. If two enigmas appeared out of nowhere in a space station you were in – one with Stellaron in her body and the other with no recollection of who they were – you would be suspicious of them too.
Eventually, he seemed to warm up to you. You started playing chess against him every Friday afternoon, that then evolved into accompanying him on supply runs and hanging out with him in the archives. He would also let you sleep in his room (the archives) after you stayed up too late, scrolling down a rabbit hole of horror and inevitably freaking yourself out.
He was easy to be around, and you found yourself growing fond of him. Too fond…
Now, as you stood in the hallway outside of the passenger cabins, the hum of the Astral Express vibrating faintly beneath your feet, that same queasy feeling twisted uncomfortably in your stomach.
Penacony.
A new world. A new adventure.
One he wouldn’t be joining.
Your hand hovered briefly near the door to your room, fingers curling slightly before falling back to your side. You could go inside. You could pack. You could shove this feeling back into the depths of your mind.
A quiet groan left you as you turned around, your feet carrying you elsewhere.
You were headed to the archives. Of course.
You knocked lightly on his door, praying he wouldn’t answer so you could turn around and get back to packing – something you desperately needed to do.
“Come in,” his voice was muffled by the closed door. You sighed, reaching back out to the door. The door slid open with a soft hiss and you stepped forward into the room. You were conscious about your decision to close the door behind you, not wishing to be interrupted by March or Stelle. Not that you were going to be doing anything worth interrupting anyways…
Dan Heng stood by a shelf, gaze fixated on a data pad. His eyebrows were furrowed, a small crease formed between them as he stared down.
“You’re not packing,” his observation broke the silence in the room. You swallowed nervously, walking to stand next to him as he looked up at you.
“Neither are you,” you smiled up at him, forcing your voice to stay steady as you tried to come off as playful, loosely crossing your arms across your chest.
“I’m not going.”
Right.
You knew this.
“I knew that,” with a huff, you look away from him, choosing to focus on the data pad. The information on it is disorientated as you’re not actually looking at it, instead looking at the reflection of the two of you on the screen
“Uh huh…” you notice him looking at you in the reflection of the screen. “Is there anything I can help you with then?”
“Not really,” you sigh, dropping your arms to hang at your sides again. You look back up at him again. “What are you working on?”
“There’s information on Penacony in the archives that may be useful to you.”
“Mm.”
You look back down at the screen, the words finally unblurring as you focus on them.
“It’s better to be prepared,” he shrugged, looking back down at the data pad.
“Yeah,” you let out a quiet chuckle. “I guess it is.”
Silence settled between the two of you again.
You should go pack. Your suitcase is desperately calling out your name.
“You’ll be fine.”
The words caught you off guard.
You looked at him properly this time.
He still wasn’t looking at you, but his eyebrows were furrowed again, his lips pursed as well.
“On Penacony,” he added quietly. “You can handle yourself.”
The queasy sensation once again returned with full force.
“I know,” you laugh breathlessly. “It’ll be fine.”
The corner of his lips twitched upwards, but he still wouldn’t meet your stare.
The heavy silence stretched on for an uncomfortably long time before he finally decided to break it.
“You should go pack,” the dismissal was evident in his words, but you couldn’t deny the truth behind them (despite how badly you didn’t want to pack).
“Yeah, I should,” you sigh, turning around and walking towards the door.
“Come back safely.”
It was quiet – barely above a whisper.
You didn’t turn around.
“I will,” you replied, just as softly.
You stepped out into the hallway, a dull ache present in your chest. The excitement of Penacony had been dimmed.
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From the excitement of chasing distant worlds to the ache of leaving familiar faces behind, you begin to realize that home isn't always a place — sometimes it's the people waiting for you when you return.
Wanderer has always been obsessed with your heartbeat.
For as long as you can remember, since you started dating, he always finds a way to feel or listen to your heartbeat.
Holding hands? His thumb is pressed against the pulse point in your wrist.
Cuddling? His ear is pressed against your chest.
Maybe it has to do with the fact that you hold the very organ he’s wished he had his whole life. You know about his origins – he had opened up to you about them a couple of months into your relationship.
You tried to ask him why he likes listening to it; that went about as well as one would assume.
“Kuni?” You had asked one night, your hands carded in his hair. His hair was always so soft and silky. It never knotted and it always stayed in perfect condition. You were a little jealous of it if you had to be honest.
“...yeah?” He murmured back, shifting his head slightly up to make eye contact from his position on your chest.
“Is there a reason you’re so insistent on listening to my heartbeat?”
You notice his eyebrows furrowing before turning away from you. You wait a minute. Two minutes pass. The rest of the night passes in silence as you play with his hair before the both of you eventually drift off to sleep. Sure, he doesn’t need sleep, but under certain circumstances he’s able to feel sleepy.
It wasn’t until a few months later you had gotten your answer.
The two of you sat under a tree, your head resting against his shoulder, a book in his lap. A small breeze drifts past the two of you every now and then, carrying the scent of flowers. You’re half-asleep, listening to the sound of pages turning.
One of your hands rests in his. Occasionally, you feel the pressure of his thumb pressing against your wrist.
“You’re doing it again,” you call out, flickering your eyes up to his face.
“Do you want me to stop?” He huffs while pressing his thumb harder into your pulse point.
“I didn’t say that,” you roll your eyes, moving to intertwine your fingers with his own. Reluctantly, he lets go of your wrist and reciprocates your movement.
Silence settles between the two of you, and you’re content to not say anything.
“When I was created…” he begins quietly, his voice not rising above a whisper. “I wasn’t given one.”
Your smile fades.
“I was made to be empty,” his grip tightens and his gaze remains fixated on where your fingers are interlocked. “I don’t need to breathe. I don’t have the need to sleep. I don’t have blood and because I don’t have a heartbeat to circulate it.”
You bite your tongue. As much as you want to reply to him, you’re scared he’ll stop talking. Despite how much improvement he’s made with communicating his emotions, it’s still a rarity when he actually does it.
“I’ve spent so long wondering what it would feel like,” his eyes finally look away from your hands, choosing to instead look at the horizon. “They say people can hear their own heart in their ears when they’re frightened. They can feel them race when they’re excited. They ache when they grieve. They calm when they take deep breaths.”
His expression softens into an expression of vulnerability.
“I’ll never get to experience that.”
Your chest tightens with something akin to pity.
“So…” he gives an almost embarrassed shrug as he runs his thumb over your wrist once more. “I borrowed yours. When I listen to it… I can pretend.”
“Pretend what?” You speak up.
“Pretend I’m real,” he finally redirects his gaze to you. “That I’m a person.”
“Oh, bullshit!” The exclamation slips from your lips before you can process it. You sit up straight to look directly at him as his eyebrow twitches.
“Excuse me?” He looks irritated at your sudden outburst. Wincing, you suppose you can’t blame him. He just opened up to you and that’s how you respond? Good job.
“Sorry, that’s not what I mean,” you apologize frantically, shaking your head. “I just mean, you are a real person. It’s idiotic that you’d think otherwise.”
Wanderer stared at you. For a few minutes, the silence stretches out, becoming increasingly awkward as he continued staring.
“Idiotic?” He repeated flatly. You rubbed the back of your neck.
“Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best word choice…”
“No, continue,” his voice had taken on that dangerously calm edge you knew all too well. He’s pissed. “I’m interested.”
“Kuni,” you sigh, taking his other hand in yours. “You get frustrated when you work on your research papers. You get sad when Durin does. You get annoyed when someone is too close to you. I’ve seen you cry and laugh. I’ve seen you care about people.”
You think of the children in Sumeru City who always seemed to wave at him first when the two of you walked past them. You think of the elderly woman he’d carried groceries home for after saying he was going the same way as her, when in fact, he was meant to be heading in the opposite direction to meet you at a cafe. You think of how Durin immediately lit up whenever he got to spend time with him. You think of how the Traveler and Paimon had sung his praises, saying they trusted him and how he had saved them.
“You worry, regret, you feel emotions,” you continue. “You chose to become someone different. You chose to repent. Do you think missing a heartbeat makes that any different?”
The breeze rustled through the branches overhead.
He doesn’t answer. So you let go of one of his hands and reach over, placing your palm against the center of his chest. It was warm.
“Being a person isn’t about what you’re made up of,” you trace the patterns that are barely visible through the translucent fabric of his shirt. “You’re a scholar. Surely you know what the five criteria for personhood are.”
“Don’t turn this into a lecture,” he replies, his eyes narrowing in faux irritation.
“Go on,” you teasingly coo.
He lets out a loud groan.
“Consciousness, reasoning, self-motivated activity and the capacity to communicate.”
“And…?” You draw out.
“...And self-awareness.”
His eyes flicker down to your hand.
“You know what I feel?”
“My chest?”
“My boyfriend.”
“You’re corny,” he clicks his tongue, making no attempt to hide the color slowly flushing his cheeks.
“I know who you were,” you correct gently. “And I know who you choose to be every day.”
Without another word, he leans sideways until his forehead rests against yours.
“I’m still going to listen to it,” he whispers, his thumb finding purchase against your wrist once again.
“I know,” you whisper back. “I just hope you won’t think less of yourself anymore.”
“I’ll try,” and for now, that’s more than enough for you.
Maybe if he had a heart he’d be able to feel it flutter. He would be able to feel what the novels describe as his heart ‘skipping a beat’. If he had a heart, he’d be able to feel it speed up past its normal pace when you first met him. His heart would’ve sped ten-fold at the first interaction. It would’ve gone past the average pace each time you kissed him, purposely avoiding his lips to leave him wanting more.
If he had a heart, you would’ve been able to feel it beating as you rested your hand against his chest when you laid next to him. You would’ve been able to feel his pulse as you rested your fingers against his wrist.
If he had a heart, he would feel a gut-wrenching ache in it whenever he saw tears fall down your face. He would feel his heart rise and get stuck in his throat as your sobs wracked from your chest. If he had a heart, maybe he would be able to spare a bit of remorse for you. Maybe if he had a heart, he’d be able to feel it ache as tears welled in his eyes as he stared at your unmoving form.
You weren’t dead. No, you were going to die though. He knew it. It was what people would describe as a ‘gut feeling’. Normally, Scaramouche wouldn’t indulge in such cliches, but that’s the only way he could describe what he felt.
He placed his hand over your still-beating heart. He knew it wouldn’t be beating for much longer. But unlike him, you wouldn’t be able to live without a heart. If he had a heart, maybe it would beat in sync with yours. If he had a heart, he’d feel it sync to the bottom of his chest as he watched you breathe as you slept.
If he had a heart, he would’ve felt it stop as he was informed of the news.
At least now your hearts would finally be in sync.
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