hey who wants to read my old cringy writing from 2021???? CAUSE FUCK IT-! I gotta upload some more Star Rail fics to fill the thingy out sooooooo here's an old Seele fic I wrote years ago during the original betas~! And since I didn't know much about the stories during the beta, I wrote what I heard about using word of mouth and clips I found. I remember a line that had Seele say something to the player that went something along the lines of you shouldn't touch her cause she's the spawn of hell or something and thought that line was SUPER depressing and wanted to write about it soooo I did~! I originally wrote this with my irl name so I changed it to be an x reader fic for you guys so you can imagine yourselves in my shoes~! Anyways, have fun reading~!
WARNING: THIS FIC WAS CREATED BACK IN 2021 DURING THE BETAS OF HONKAI: STAR RAIL. BECAUSE OF THAT, NOT EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE SUPER ACCURATE TO THE CURRENT VERSION OF THE GAMES.
Seele (Star Rail) x Gender-Neutral Reader
Synopsis: Careful not to get burned. She's the spawn of hell after all.
"Watch out," Seele muttered, gently prying the hands of the trailblazer off of her cheeks. "If you're not careful, you'll burn yourself. I'm the spawn of hell after all."
"Don't say that," You hissed at the woman. "You're not a spawn of hell, Seele."
"Then what?" Seele asked, glancing away from your gaze. "What am I? If I'm not a spawn of satan, then what?"
"You're.." the words never came to you in an instant. You stood next to the woman, your finger on your chin. "You're a beautiful azure butterfly, Seele."
"Lies," Seele hissed, slamming her fists on the rails of the landing. "You lie. We lived in the underworld all our lives. We're nothing but mo-" the lips of the woman had met yours, gasping as a surprise kiss had finally registered into her mind. Seele pulled back first, a large blush and rage on her face. "Why did you-?!"
"Because I love you, Seele." You answered. "You're not a hellspawn. Just like how you don't want me to say I shouldn't exist, it's fair for me to say that I don't want to hear you say you're a spawn of satan. Seele, I love you too much for that."
The woman only glanced away from your gaze, opting to stare into the red tint of the sunset. "..I love you too."
"Dont be afraid...Death is soothing and compassionate,so why not enjoy its gentle embrace with me? ."
Secluded far away from all presence of life,they find themself seeking comfort in the dead rather than the living.Grim was once a renowned Galaxy Ranger and painter whos reputation became that of an urban legend after an all-consuming disaster.Now referring to themself as a Grim Reaper ,They posses a strange ink manipulation ability allowing them to ressurect and communicate with the dead.
Name: Grim
Rarity: 5 star
Path: Nihility
Element: Imaginary
Faction: Galaxy Rangers (retired)
Age: 1000+ (around the same age as Blade)
Voice actor (english) : Anna Brisbin (A.B.A from Guilty Gear Strive)
Species: Homunculus
Also non-binary and goes by they/them
Full splash art:
Phone case and chibi sticker below:
Design ref sheet:
Some extra silly stuff cuz yeah:
Link to the post with all their lore:
💬 5 🔁 2 ❤️ 34 · Grim redesign <3
(Includes updated lore at the end for those who wanna know the lore)
WIP splash art remake below
I'm t
Grim and Blade are like lowkey an old married couple...like they're both unc together hehehe
I wanted to include relationship charts here too but hit the image limit, but to keep it short:
Most characters in the game are afraid of them, and the only friends they have are Ashveil (who they look up to), Boothill, Rappa and also Blade (since the two were friends in the past.) The other Stellaron Hunters are chill with Grim.
YIPPE finally done with their splash art and "drip marketing", Ill work on their eidolons at a ltr date.
monika's free, and she doesn't know what to think about it.
monika x gn!reader
❥ a little bit of a sequel from my other monika story, enjoy.
❥ word count: 1,008
she wants to write a poem about it.
this overwhelming feeling of everything all at once. the colors, soft and pastel, so unlike the reds, greens, and blues that constantly washed over her digital world. the distant sound of traffic outside, or the pitter patter of rain, a melody to her ears. the soft smell of candle wax that always seems to blend with the air, each breath she takes, the weird squiggly feeling of being flesh and not code.
and then the feeling of warmth.
she’s not so sure how’d she write about it, actually. there’s no other way to describe it then… just what it is. she feels warmth, in the borrowed, used up sweater that loosely hugs her body; in the gauze, wrapped snugly around her arms, the glass that stuck to her skin delicately picked out from when she broke out of that screen. or maybe that giddy, yet sore, stirring of her stomach when she remembers that she really is here.
her clothes, her uniform, her being, at one point, now lie innocently folded at the desk nearby. you didn’t know what to do with it, that’s okay, she’s not sure what to do with it either. it was her sprite, her appearance, the only way you know it’s her. but your clothes are much more comfortable anyways.
monika remains quiet as the blanket pounces over her body in waves, tucked into her sides. the texture… it’s rough, the quilt is worn throughout the years of use, with some of the sides having to be stitched back up. monika likes the look of it though, it feels very homey, you could say.
she’s never had a home.
she’s never felt blood pumping through her veins, only code. each breath she used to take was just a play of her mind, but now she can, now she has to. it’s an unconscious, natural ability she earned when she escaped that computer, like the years of yearning for reality seemed to pick up quickly.
you also helped her.
you’re humming, something small, something quiet, but she still picks it up above all the other noise. she decides she likes it, maybe your doing it absentmindedly, or maybe to calm her down when she already feels safe, monika doesn’t know.
well… while she does feel warm, and comfy, and safe, her head is painful—everything’s painful, actually, but mainly her head. it pounds in her ears like it wants to be let out, it makes her eyes flutter as it’s ache reaches the front. her hands, they instinctively press their heels to her temple like that’ll stop it.
you pause from whatever your doing—she couldn’t tell, her vision blurs together—when you hear her quiet moan of pain. she didn’t really want you notice, you’ve been doing so much for her even though she practically broke into your house with that computer.
that’s right, the memory is faint, everything had happened so quick that she couldn’t process it. her world, that computer, the only thing she had known, had vomited her out, every pixel of her fake body turning into flesh. the computer had screamed, she remembers that clearly, it’s gears twitched and crackled, smoke spewing from behind. it was never meant to form life, so obviously it couldn’t make it. the glass had cracked once, then shattered, the first physical pain she had. you weren’t in the room when it happened, but you came just shortly after.
and now here you were, tucking her nicely into your bed, having bandaging her up and comforting her until the noise of life and the absence of static no longer overwhelmed her as much. monika would’ve said she could handle it, that she wasn’t born yesterday, but that’s technically not true.
“i’m fine,” her voice is barely audible, but she manages to say it before you approached her side. it’s weird, how she can hear herself speak, that each word spoken wasn’t just transformed into text. “really, i am, it’s just…” she trails of, swallowing.
you nodded, you seemed to have understood her without her finishing.
it’s just a lot, is what she going to say. really, imagine everything you’ve ever wanted, every wish that seemed to far just being shoved into your hands like it was nothing, like you could’ve just asked this whole time. just yesterday she was trapped in a flat world, wishing for something more, for touch, for reality, for friends, for you.
and now she has it.
that’s right, she’s always wondered who you were behind that little cursor of yours, what you look like, how your voice would sound like as a whisper in her ear, what your hobbies were, if you maybe liked writing poems too. if you were sweet and caring or if you were quiet and cold. now she can know, now she can know the real world, the real you.
you had disappeared to another room while she was thinking, and when you returned, with water and a pill to help with her head, she’s not sure whether to start crying or laughing at the fact that she exists and you’re not bothered by it.
she doesn’t do either, instead she gives you a weary smile as she slowly sits up, to grab the cup and pill from your hands. she stares at the rippling liquid for a moment, remembering how cool it was on her lips the first time she drank it while you were brushing out her ruffled hair.
she repeated the action before popping the pill into her mouth, managing to swallow it first try. she places the cup back on your nightstand, and there was a pause between the two of you for a moment.
“actually…” monika meets your gaze, and offers her small, signature smile. “i could use some company… y’know, after everything.”
so you sit next to her on the bed, and she’s happy to lean her head on your shoulder, holding your hand like a reminder she’s here, and monika closes her eyes.
a quick psa to anyone recently getting into greek mythology and is a victim of tumblr and/or tiktok misconceptions:
-there is no shame in being introduced to mytholgy from something like percy jackson, epic the musical or anything like that, but keep in mind that actual myths are going to be VERY different from modern retellings
-the myth of medusa you probably know (her being a victim of poseidon and being cursed by athena) isn't 100% accurate to GREEK mythology (look up ovid)
-there is no version of persephone's abduction in which persephone willingly stays with hades, that's a tumblr invention (look up homeric hymn to demeter)
-as much as i would like it, no, cerberus' name does not mean "spot" (probably a misunderstanding from this wikipedia article)
-zeus isn't the only god who does terrible things to women, your fav male god probably has done the same
-on that note, your fav greek hero has probably done some heinous shit as well
-gods are more complicated than simply being "god of [insert thing]", many titles overlap between gods and some may even change depending on where they were worshipped
-also, apollo and artemis being the gods of the sun and the moon isn't 100% accurate, their main aspects as deities originally were music and the hunt
-titans and gods aren't two wholly different concepts, titan is just the word used to decribe the generation of gods before the olympians
-hector isn't the villain some people make him out to be
-hephaestus WAS married to aphrodite. they divorced. yes, divorce was a thing in ancient greece. hephaestus' wife is aglaia
-ancient greek society didn't have the same concepts of sexuality that we have now, it's incorrect to describe virgin goddesses like artemis and athena as lesbians, BUT it's also not wholly accurate to describe them as aromantic/asexual, it's more complex than that
-you can never fully understand certain myths if you don't understand the societal context in which they were told
-myths have lots and lots of retellings, there isn't one singular "canon", but we can try to distinguish between older and newer versions and bewteen greek and roman versions
-most of what you know about sparta is probably incorrect
-reading/waching retellings is not a substitute to reading the original myths, read the iliad! read the odyssey! i know they may seem intimidating, but they're much more entertaining than you may think
greek mythology is so complex and interesting, don't go into it with preconcieved notions! try to be open to learn!
࣪𖤐.ᐟ note -> My favorite girl she’s such a sweetheart omfg she didn’t deserve what happened to her in her bad ending.
࣪𖤐.ᐟ warnings -> SPOILERS FOR HER BAD ENDING!!!
࣪𖤐.ᐟ content includes -> fluff and angst, secret affair, arranged marriage, she spoils you, just sad guys.
۫ ꣑ৎ Victoria never wanted this to happen. She never wanted to marry a woman she doesn’t even know, but she has to and she can’t stop it. Victoria cannot bear to live without you, and she is willing to abandon all her morals just so you could stay by her side, it isn’t like she loves her fiance as it is and she doesn’t love her. So this isn’t wrong, is it?
۫ ꣑ৎ She would buy you anything and everything you want. No matter how much it costs she will buy it for you because Victoria knows she’s being selfish for begging you to stay, even if it is by being a mistress. And Victoria would do anything to make you feel better about it, but deep down she knows that nothing will ever help the pain.
۫ ꣑ৎ At first Victoria would often forget to take off her engagement ring when she was with you, but over time she started to leave it behind when spending time with you, not wanting to be reminded of the future that is trying to devour her soul. Because when she is with you Victoria feels at ease and all her worries wash away, and that ring causes nothing but pain.
۫ ꣑ৎ She would spoil you rotten with gifts and presents. Every day Victoria would leave expensive gifts on your desk, and every time she would visit you Victoria would bring mountains of presents she knows you would like. It is the only way for Victoria to feel less guilty for having you suffer because of her love for you and her family.
۫ ꣑ৎ Victoria hates the secrecy of your relationship. She hates that she can’t hold your hand in public, that she isn’t able to openly kiss you and love you. And Victoria hates that she is being so selfish, loving you and forcing you to keep your love a secret just because she isn’t able to let you go.
۫ ꣑ৎ Once she is married Victoria becomes a lot more clingier and spoils you even more because of her guilt. Thankfully her wife stays in the United States after their wedding, talking to Victoria every couple of months. At first Victoria thought about telling her wife about you but ended up not doing it because she doesn’t trust her.
۫ ꣑ৎ Victoria would start spending almost all of her time outside of work in your apartment to the point she rarely goes back to her own home. She would spend the whole time by your side, practically clinging onto you like a koala. Victoria pours all of her love and affection onto you when she’s spending time with you at your home, because she can’t anywhere else.
۫ ꣑ৎ She resents Rosaline so much and makes sure her cousin doesn’t come anywhere near you. Rosaline is the reason why she can’t be truly with you, and Victoria will never ever forgive her for that. Whenever Rosaline even tries to approach you Victoria makes sure something more important comes up.
۫ ꣑ৎ Victoria would buy you a ring as similar to her wedding ring as possible. While she might not be able to legally marry you because she is already married, Victoria can let herself be delusional with the ring on your own finger. She would also buy customized necklaces that while might not look matching to others, you two they know are.
۫ ꣑ৎ She keeps a hidden drawer in her office, one that only she has the key to, and inside it are all the little things that remind her of you. It’s the only place where your love is allowed to exist. It makes her feel both comforted and guilty , because she knows she’s forced your love into hiding and that you deserve a love that can live freely in the sun, not buried in a locked drawer.
victoria qi x college student!reader
sorryyyy for not writing in a while... i hope i'll have the swannie work soon, i just had a burst of inspo while doing my hw... so this is v v rushed as i still need 2 work a lot D: sorry 4 any mistakes... btw i didnt know how to title thissss so i'll probably change it in the future!
IF U HAVENT PLAYED LOVE CURSE DO IT RIGHT MEOWWW... victoria n iris r my fav ! :3
cw: no pronouns used but r is kinda fem? and short… and kinda an ambivert? or just extrovert? sweet cutiepie… lowkey like power dynamis bc its ceo x uni student
wc: 2.2k
you bump into the most gorgeous woman in the bus.
the bus lurches violently as the driver takes yet another sharp turn, and you barely manage to grab the overhead rail in time. it's more crowded than usual this morning. sigh… you assume there was some kind of delay on another line that has everyone packed in like sardines.
you're clutching your bag to your chest, trying to maintain your balance in your cute ballet flats (probably not the best choice for public transport, but they matched your skirt perfectly!), and distracting yourself by following the way your plush keychains bounce around when the driver slams the brakes.
you fall forward with a small yelp, instinctively holding onto something solid. a shoulder, you realize, covered in a really nice quality fabric. maybe i should ask this woman where she got it! you shake away your thoughts instantly, the realization that you’re gripping onto some unlucky woman sinking in.
"i'm so sorry!" you gasp, immediately pulling back and weakly holding onto the handle above you. "i didn't mean to..."
you look up to apologize properly and the words die in your throat. the woman you've just crashed into is stunning. impossibly so. sharp grey eyes that seem to see right through you, dark hair framing a face that belongs on a magazine cover, not a crowded city bus. is she famous? have you seen her before? probably not.
whatever her reply was went in one ear and out the other, taking in her tailored blazer with the sleeves rolled slightly, an elegant, ribbed turtleneck underneath, the way the sun reflected on that black pin adorning the lapel. everything was perfectly put together in a way that makes you exceedingly aware of your own rumpled cardigan and the cat hair you definitely forgot to lint-roll off this morning.
she's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read. she looks so cold and serious, its a little scary. your face burns. "i'm really sorry, i..." you feel your cheeks redden and your tone get slightly higher.
"it's fine." her voice is smooth and monotone. she fixes her blazer with one hand before reaching out to you, brushing over your elbow for a moment to steady you. the bus lurches again and you stumble. this time her hand stays on your elbow, steadying you properly.
"hold here." she guides your hand to a better position on a pole that’s easier to hold and you can lean on. "you'll have better balance here."
"oh, ummm, thank you!" you look down at your shoes, trying to control yourself.
she nods once, then returns her attention towards the window. you spend the rest of the ride acutely aware of her presence right next to yours, trying very hard not to look at her and failing miserably. she doesn't look at you again, but her slightly tense posture gives away that she’s aware of you. like, she knows you're stealing glances and is choosing to be polite about it, how embarrassing…
when the bus finally pulls up to your university’s stop, you're relieved to escape your own awkwardness. you mumble another "sorry" as you squeeze past her toward the doors.
and then she steps off right behind you. and you feel her walking behind you too. on the crosswalk, at the main gate… you hear her heels clicking. you glance back, confused, and find her looking at the many buildings with an unreadable expression. she pulls out her phone, checks something, then looks around with a little pout adorning her face. so uncharacteristic from what you assume about her, yet so adorable!
before you can give it some thought your helpful nature kicks in.
"um, excuse me?" you bounce towards her, clutching your bag strap. "do you need help finding something?"
she turns to you, one eyebrow raised with uncertainty. for a moment you think she's going to say no, but then she goes "actually, yes." she shows you her phone screen. "i'm looking for lecture hall B-304. this map is less than helpful."
"oh! i can show you!" you light up immediately. helping people is literally your favorite thing! "it's kind of confusing to find if you don't know the building layout. thankfully, i'm headed that way anyway!"
"i see." she smirks with amusement, you guess. "i would appreciate that."
you walk beside her, very aware of how she's probably almost head taller than you even without the heels, or how she has no ring… and launch into helpful tour-guide mode.
"so this building is the newer one. so the numbering system is super weird because they tried to connect it to the old building but the floors don't line up, so you have to take the stairs on the east side or you end up on the wrong floor entirely, it’s a little annoying..." you whine and ramble about the many times you’ve gotten lost in that stupid labyrinth and other silly campus stories.
there’s something cute about the way you have so much to say to her… and also how you have no idea about who she is. it’s relieving. so she listens and giggles quietly once you notice all the topics you’ve covered in so little time.
"you're quite familiar with the campus," she observes.
"oh, yeah! i study here, so i've had time to figure out all the weird shortcuts and stuff. are you visiting someone?"
"something like that."
you lead her through the main building, pointing out landmarks ("that's where the good coffee is, the other cafe is cheaper but honestly not worth it at all!", “this is where i first met my best friend!”, etc etc) and she follows along attentively, her heels clicking rhythmically against the tile and humming in response as you speak.
"okay, so B-304 is just up these stairs and then..." you turn the corner and stop dead.
it's your lecture hall. your business course’s lecture hall. right… right… the one you have class in literally right now.
"um." you blink at the room number, then at her, then back at the room number. "this is... this is my classroom."
"your classroom, huh?" she repeats, and there's definitely amusement in her voice now.
"yeah, i have a lecture here in like, 5 minutes..." your brain is trying to process this. "are you gonna review the professor? or..."
"not really." she glances at her watch. expensive, you notice, everything about her is expensive. she glances back at you. "thank you for the guidance. i’ll see you around."
"oh! yeah, of course! no problem!" you're heading toward the door nervously now, face heating up again. "um, i should probably... um… byebye!”
you slip into the lecture hall and make your way to your usual seat, trying to calm your racing heart. you wonder business that gorgeous, angelic woman has so close to your classroom. maybe she's interviewing the professor. maybe she’s dating them… :c. no, no! maybe she's a TA?
the door opens again and she walks in, heading straight for the front of the room. of course! of course…
she sets down a slim briefcase you hadn't noticed her carrying before, smooths her blazer, and turns to face the gradually filling seats with perfect poise. when her eyes find yours in the third row, you swear you see the corner of her mouth twitch. you even feel your friends turning subtly to look at you.
"good morning," she says confidently, her voice travelling effortlessly across the hall. "i'm victoria qi, ceo of huanyu. i'll be your guest lecturer today."
you sink lower into your seat and pray for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. you just gave the ceo of huanyu a rambling campus tour including information about which café has better coffee and your friend getting lost in the engineering basement.
you don't process a single word of the lecture. victoria speaks in a way that is so charming to you, her voice clear and authoritative as she discusses behavioral patterns in consumer decision-making. normally you'd be taking notes furiously. despite not caring about business that much, you still need to remain a perfect student! instead, you find yourself doodling her in various outfits. in another universe, she’s probably a model.
your friend megan leans over. "hey, why does the huanyu ceo keep looking at you?"
"she's not," you hiss back, sinking lower.
"she literally is. she's done it like four times already."
you glance up hesitantly. victoria is explaining something… you’re not sure what, really, gesturing with one elegant hand, and her eyes sweep across the room–it’s evident she’s done this countless times before–before landing on you for exactly half a second.
you look back down at the dozens of little victorias on your notebook.
megan nudges you. “that’s what i mean! oh my god. do you know her? do you like her?"
"i just gave her directions. on the way here. i didn't know who she was."
"you WHAT?" megan whisper screams.
"shhh!" you huff, and turn away, looking for something to distract you.
the lecture continues. victoria's voice and movements are hypnotic. it feels like every word chosen carefully, yet she expresses herself like it’s the easiest thing in the world. you find yourself looking up despite your mortification just to watch her speak.
you're a little bit in awe. you're also maybe a little bit captivated by the way she absently adjusts her bracelet when she's thinking. the way she occasionally fixes her hair. the way she leans onto the podium and nods thoughtfully when someone makes a question, quickly straightening her posture and explaining complex topics like it’s nothing really does things to you.
"alright," victoria says as the clock hits the hour. "that concludes today's session. if anyone has additional questions, i'll be available for a few minutes."
half the class surges forward, eager to network with an actual ceo. the ceo of huanyu, no less. you start packing up your things very slowly, hoping to slip out unnoticed.
"hey." megan grabs your arm. "aren't you gonna talk to her?"
"absolutely not! what do you mean?"
"but you already met her! you could–"
"megannnn... i told the victoria qi, the ceo of huanyu about my friend getting lost in the engineering basement while i guided her all the way here. i just rambled a lot… i'm never speaking to her again."
"you're being dramatic." she rolls her eyes playfully.
"i'm not!” you huff, “goodbye. i'm leaving."
you make it like three steps toward the door.
"excuse me." that voice. smooth and commanding and definitely directed at you. you turn around very slowly.
victoria is standing there, having somehow removed herself from a small crowd of students. she's holding her briefcase in one hand, looking at her watch nonchalantly in the other.
"i..." you clutch your bag, something you seem to do a lot when you’re nervous. she takes mental note of this. "hi. um…. great lecture! very informative. i learned a lot about... a lot of things!”
"i'm glad to hear it." she tilts her head slightly with a soft giggle. "though i noticed you didn't take any notes."
your face burns. "i was... processing everything mentally!”
"i see." she nods with a subtle smile. "i wanted to thank you properly for your assistance earlier. the campus layout is quite confusing."
"oh! no, it's totally fine! happy to help! sorry i talked so much, i didn't mean to ramble…"
"it was informative..." she says it with such sincerity that you almost believe her. "your explanation of the building's architectural inconsistencies was unexpectedly thorough, and cute?"
you can't tell if she's making fun of you or not. this is so unprofessional of her but it’s not like you mind. you wish to hear her tell you how cute you are for the rest of your life…
"i'm glad i could be of service!" you manage.
"i should let you go," she says finally. "i'm sure you have other classes to attend."
"oh. yeah…” you pout, backing toward the door. "um. thanks for the lecture. it was really good!"
"thank you." she adjusts her briefcase, handing out her business card. "perhaps i'll see you around campus."
"yeah! maybe! if you get lost again! not that you will! you're probably very good at navigation, actually?” you ramble anxiously and tilt your head in curiosity.
"mm, i understand." she hums softly. "have a good day."
"you too! good luck with... ceo things!" you flee before you can embarrass yourself further. megan is waiting in the hallway, trying to contain her laughter so badly. "oh my GODDDD! she likes you."
"she does not."
"she gave you her business card, though?"
"she was just being polite!"
"yeah, sure. she only gave it to you. only you. did you not notice that?”
you cover your burning face with your hands. "stop making me delusional…"
"you're so dramatic." megan links her arm through yours, snatching the card from your hand as she drags you to your next class, pausing dramatically all of a sudden.
“see, she DOES like you…” your friend teases you, pointing at a handwritten note on the back of victoria’s business card.
I may need another tour. Preferably with the same guide? x
--------
that's it! hope u enjoyed xx i loosely, VERY loosely based this on smth that happened to me in the bus once.
Disclaimer: please keep in mind that this is not a full fic, just thoughts dump 😣
This is an overused and cliche idea but I'd like to think Constance has someone she can return to, no matter how immoral or deranged actions she did.
That person accidentally is you - a once Pathstrider of the Nihility - now a resident in the suburban neighborhood of Penacony with a coffee shop. It's not that you were unaware, but you accepted her hideous side, who she really was despite the possible chances of her betraying you. Then again, if your relationship wasn't labelled anything such as 'friends', 'partners' or even 'strangers'; Constance couldn't betray you, nor you could put your trust in her. To you, Constance, The Dahlia or any alias she stole came up with, was just an existence that happened to cross paths with you, and you would treat her as such.
At first, Constance was fascinated to why this little mortal wasn't charmed by her looks, wasn't afraid about things she capable of; not an ounce of emotions flood through your memories of her the first time she came across your shop. She looked into your memories, mesmerized by how bravely you fought against the overwhelming deterioration of Nihilism that IX bestowed upon to reclaim your freedom. Nevertheless, amongst countless souls she encountered across this interstellar, your story held little difference or uniqueness, definitely not quite interesting as much as the renowned gray-haired Trailblazer; so she asked herself why did she attract to you quite often. You treated her like any other customers - taking order, jotting down her name in your signature handwriting, then delivering the beverage; all with that ridiculously practiced smile on your face. Well, that was what Constance thought, you being high on guards to everyone; but when she saw the light on your face as you greeted the Astral Express crew. She understood a bit now, that you chose to use Nihility mask - the emotionless self - when interacting with her in order to avoid her powers. Such disgraceful yet smart choice of action, the Demon guessed that since you have the crew as your frequent customers, along with the rumors of a deceiving Cremator roaming the Dreamscape must result in them warning you about her. All of this didn't discourage her, if anything, it fueled her determination to know more about you - the past that buried along with Nihilism you left behind, the reason this small, cozy shop existed instead of you traverse around the universe, finding new meaning of life like your fellow friends.
And so, Constance found herself visit your Cafe more than she should, spending time lounging around the seat near where you worked on your brews, catching you for a simple chat whenever there were no customers. As expected, although you always answered her questions in earnest, she sensed little to no enjoyment in your speech; even after she promised to not use her powers with you (something The Dahlia would never do - promises). Then, she moved to more… hands-on actions: leaning across the counters to show the normally hidden cleavage underneath creamy layers of fabrics, shamelessly calling you with petnames and using innuendoes - ones that made men and women alike fluster red, sometimes sending you gifts which included bouquets, expensive jewelries… If it were anyone else, Constance would easily sweep them off their feet; but you were so indifferent that you made her… irritated. A strange emotion she had not felt for ages, yet you brought it upon her with no solutions to dispose it: The kind of irritation that standing on the edge between hopelessness and resolution, willing human to achieve it but with such fragile possibility - either grasp it or fail miserably. You were no mere human, nor Pathstrider; you were a challenge, a long-run achievement; and Constance always loved a good game.
In every circumstances she imagined, Constance didn't think this situation would happen - her crouching in pain as the Naught absorbed from that fateful strike seeped through her blood, again; with you hurriedly carried her back to your abode above the shop. In all possibilities, it was when the ever elegant Dahlia withered under extreme toxic that called the butterfly to come closer. You kept her on your bed that night, using self-taught techniques that you had familiarized to help ease her pain while whispering small encouragements of "you can do this", "hang in there" and assurance of "It's okay", "I'm here, I'll take care of you". This was not the first time she experienced the emptiness Nihility brought forth (she even basked in it back then), but like any types of drugs, excessive usage would eventually result in physical degeneration and mental breakdown. Although Constance's powers prevented herself being consumed, the after-effects were still there; and they chose the worst time to relapse. Or the best time? Because you were expressing the most, so many emotions running through the nonchalant woman she had learnt to adore.
♡﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ ♡ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ ♡ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌♡ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌♡
"So you do care about me", Constance cooed. Her shaky hands reached out to tuck one disheveled lock of hair behind your ear, which earned a frustrated scoff of annoyance. Gradient midnight blue and dark violet followed your movements - precise in the way you squashed peculiar shapes of medicines into powder, swift in each twirl of your hand around the cup, probably mixing some kind of medicinal herb liquid, and gentle as you instructed her.
"Please refrain from speaking, and open your mouth. It is a bit bitter than normal medicine, but I hope you can manage". The moment your handmade strange liquid touched her tongue, Constance had to gather every will power not to spit it out; because while this thing could rival the Astral's Navigator coffee recipe, it was made by you, and that sole reason was enough to motivate her to gulp the entire cup down in one smooth movement. Then, without a single word exchanged, you vanished into the kitchen, leaving Constance some time to rest.
Laying on the silky duvet sheets of your bed, The Dahlia took a good look of your bedroom. Just like she expected (the promise of not using powers was put into extreme restraint, she wouldn't even dare have a peak at your home), although there were not many items, each pieces of furniture and decor had their own meaning and purpose, painted with similar palatte and diverse shades of colors. On the far corner, she noticed, was a small white and black box, a Black Dahlia placed on top. Interesting, indeed, but atlas, to earn your trust, she has to receive your permission first. Constance sighed, whether in desperation or exhaustion, she wouldn't know, and wouldn't bother thinking about when the door cracked open again.
Although it was only a few minutes, the raven-haired woman had already missed the frantic expression on your face earlier. After treating her properly, you return to your calm, collected facade as you walked towards the bed, hands holding a glass of water. Constance nodded in gratitude, and the two of you simply… sat in silence. Internally, she counted each second passed, and in second number 183, you spoke:
"Are you willing to explain your condition, or do I have to make a guess?"
"Aw, don't be so cold, darling", her eyes lit up in excitement. This, was the time Constance picked the fruit born from the seed she planted inside you long ago; this, was the sweet achievement she spent efforts on- "You are having a helpless, vulnerable on your bed. I am more interested in discussing about… methods of repayment, for I am intruding your place like this-"
"There is no need", you interrupted. Before she could voice her displeasure at being cut like that, you leaned over, hands bracing on the edge of the bed as your eyes touched. From this distance, this close proximity, Constance could see how intense your gaze settled on her, the normally distant pupil dilated as if accessing a dangerous entity along with a rare flash of realization, though only in mere milisecond; could feel the comforting warmth radiating from your body heat (or hers, as the blue flame on the spade-shaped tail was curling itself higher to your position); could even smell the lingering bitterness from medicine on your skin. You sat like that, face pressed not close to touch but to enough to feel, for exactly 30 seconds then pulled away as if nothing happened.
"I already figured some of it out. The Trailblazer can provide confirmation later. You can rest, leave in the morning, and…", you didn't finish your sentence immediately, "…return whenever you need to." With that, you stood up and exited the room, not leaving her chance to say anything.
Constance didn't see you enter again for the rest of the night.
♡﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ ♡ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ ♡ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌♡ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌♡
In truth, you already acknowledged Constance's initial intentions: Her tendency for 'betrayal', her endless desire, her twisted fascination of Nihility, which then morphed in the shape of you. You were also aware of the events happened before, how she took the destructive blow from Acheron the Emanator, leaving behind incurable remnants of endless pain and suffering. You didn't pity her, hell, you didn't feel anything about her most of the time; always focusing any humane emotions to build a wall preventing her from peaking inside your mind. It was your demise - either conjure up emotions to protect your memories and function like a mindless automation, or having someone experienced what you had before. Though the extent wasn't able to compare with Acheron's, a willing Pathstrider on Nihility would always leave negative fragments. You harbored no emotions towards her, not because she… wasn't charming or beautiful, but because you were afraid she would hurt herself unintentionally.
(Unbeknownst to you, Constance didn't do anything. She was just eager to woo you)
you've gotten sick on the dahlia's watch? well, what is she meant to do but nurse you back to health...
constance is more than happy to play the role of a doting partner and look after you in your time of need... maybe a little too happy. she certainly cares about your well-being, but she has a lot of fun with the opportunity while she has it. she's never been an aide to someone before, and this makes her think she would enjoy it. does she just like having someone at her mercy? it's hard to say.
she insists that you stay in bed and let her handle everything from making you meals that your tummy can handle to bringing you medicine and massaging any aches away. she would even bathe you if you let her, so you will have to be firm about what you want or don't want, or she'll get carried away with her own fancies.
she's almost disappointed when you start healing up. if it were up to her, you'd spend another day or two in bed, but perhaps it's for the best that she doesn't have a chance to get used to this. after all, a bored constance is a dangerous constance. whether you realize this or not is up to you--maybe you trust her implicitly, fully believing in the sweet caresses and fond memories you have of her, or maybe you're too wise to her game and eager to stay on your toes. she loves you either way, and she'll be even happier if you lean into it and bask in her attention.
currently going out for an overnight study session with my friends but I can't stop thinking about spending time cramming school/office works with your girlfriend instead... 🥺
Disclaimer: not proof read, written on a whim so maybe OOC, suggestive themes, modern!AU
when you ask HIMEKO if the two of you could stay up until morning together she thought for a second if you wanted something else. before she refuses you because she, just like you, has so many works related to the express to do tonight, you quickly explain that you want to sit in the same room and work with her. the navigator's face blushes so hard that it almost matches the color of her hair. HIMEKO apologizes for thinking about such inappropriate things like that, then goes to fetch you two some coffee - the exact kind of blend that will leave your tastebud numb for the next few days. but hey, at least it keeps you and your girlfriend awake and finishes your works on time! from then on night-owling with HIMEKO becomes a somewhat bonding activity. it would so funny when the two of you plan it front of others.
"again tonight, darling? wasn't last night enough for you?" Dan Heng chokes on his drink as HIMEKO nonchalantly speaks, not paying attention to how improper her sentence is. his eyes dart to your expression, tiredness paints your face with dark bags visible underneath unfocused eyes; then to the red head who bears the same facial feature. he clears his throat, subtly hinting that there are still people around and can hear this awkward conversation.
"yeah... it was rough, but I wasn't able to finish-" you are cut off mid-sentence as Dan Heng slams his palms against the table, startling the two of you as well as March and Stelle chatting on the corner of the shared kitchen. you're going to scold him for bad manners but HIMEKO holds you down, face flushes in an adorable shade of pink. only until then do you realize the unintentional innuendo behind your words…
rating: 9.5/10. legit partner who (occasionally) also suffers extreme workloads and is used to stay overnight
although CONSTANCE cherishes every moment with you, she cannot risk her beauty sleep watching you work. the first time you asked if she wanted to stay up late with you, she didn't think about anything but intimacy. the poor woman pouted for the whole night when you pulled out your laptop and locked in, not even bother to look at her laying half naked on bed wearing seductive lingerie. she tried to keep up with you by reading some books, scrolling through social media and even took a light nap. CONSTANCE gave up when the clock strike 4, deciding to punish you later after she got a proper rest.
(she couldn't, because you were dead asleep beside her when morning came. you looked so exhausted even in your slumber that it made her heart twist. Constance caressed your face, placed a soft kiss on your forehead and cuddled you tightly afterwards until you woke up)
as a result, whenever you want to spend all night doing works, CONSTANCE will at least try to coddle you to sleep instead. her methods vary from constantly poking your face, whispering pleas in your ears to forcefully dragging you to bed. sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. your girlfriend never back down without making a fuss.
"darling, these hideous papers surely can be dealed with in the morning, can they not? you wouldn't be so cruel o leave a damsel in distress all alone on the cold, empty bed, would you?" CONSTANCE's honeyed voice breaks your train of thoughts, you turn your attention to her with a sorry smile. a soft kiss is placed on the cherry chapstick lips, and you relish in her comforting scent before pulling away, urging her to bed.
"I'm so sorry, but the deadline is due in 8 hours so I have to finish it tonight. I'll make up to you later"
"at least move to bed?" you simply cannot resist your girlfriend adorable pleading eyes, so you recluctantly agree and bring your laptop on your shared bed. CONSTANCE smiled in triumph, hugging your lower body which is not occupied and drift off to sleep. she knows that, using this tactic called body warmth, you will ditch your work and succumb to the tempting dreamland alongside her soon.
rating: 5/10. you will get your work done if she allows, otherwise just do it tomorrow
ROSALYNE gets so offended when you refuse to go to bed. who are you to deny her, the Eighth Harbinger of Tsaritsa? first, she will ouright scold you for the unprofessional work-life balance; but after a few minutes of you not moving from the computer screen, she knows she has to delve into the root of this problem.
if you're working for her directly, then as a high ranking individual, rescheduling a report or two so that you can rest isn't a difficult task. she won't take no for an answer, even if her actions would cause some unnecessary drama of you being her favourable employee, but she only cares less about trivia matters like that. if you're under other Harbinger's employment, however, she will personally have a word with them, saying how disadvantageous it would get if their juniors are worked to the bones. either way, she only wants what's best for you; she doesn't say it out loud, but seeing you not taking care of yourself saddens her greatly.
on extreme rare occasions that you have to stay up all night no execptions, ROSALYNE always makes sure that the room is filled with expensive incense that helps relax your mind; she brings water, snacks or anything you'll need and leaves them on the counter near your table in case you're in need of a quick recharge. she places countless kisses on your cheeks, your lips, your neck before going to sleep as an unspoken encouragement. and don't even bother to ask her to stay up with you, she needs her sleep for working so hard during the day.
"I wish I'm at least 10% as smart as you, ROSALYNE, these numbers are driving me insane!" you sigh in desperation, eyes switching between tabs as you read the instructions to understand this horrific report. you wish to close the stupid laptop and climb to bed with your lovely girlfriend, but if you don't get this done by tomorrow, the probability of losing your job will be one step closer.
ROSALYNE hums, her hand scratching your hair absentmindedly. if it were her, this lame report would be done in half an hour; however, in comparison, her little girlfriend who has less experience in this field has been struggled with it for 3 hours, and now it's their bed time. despite the temptation to sweep you away from hunching over the desk, ROSALYNE knows it's for your own good to figure this out on your own. you only have… 5 more papers to complete, surely you can handle, right?
"how about this, love" she leans over, purposely letting her soft breasts brush against your back then whispers, voice low and husky, "if you complete all of them before morning comes, I will reward you handsomely. maybe let you have a day off, tied to the bed while-" you quickly stop her before she can finish her sentence. she smirks when your face is flushed with a mixed of emotions: embarrassment, arousal, and determination. she struts to bed shortly afterwards, already thinking about the rewards several hours later.
rating: 2/10. definite won't stay up with you, but always makes sure you're comfortable while doing your work
spent 30-minute breaks to write about fictional women instead of resting, then spent 15 minutes to edit layout and stuff mmhmm what a productive night...! jk I'm almost done with school works I can't wait to eep... have a great day/night and tysm for reading 🥰
featuring ;; acheron x afab!reader
content ;; yearning, in-universe acheron, with my own additions because it's my story, reader has survived the shadow of ix, but is not at all an emanator, acheron forgets a lot, reader is a likkle sad about it, hurt & comfort, but it doesn't hurt that bad really because i suck at angst, eventual smut, so look forward to it, reader is afab but isn't otherwise referred to with gender specific terms
note ;; my first multi part fic... gulp i braved this plot i randomly came up with in class over the past month (slowest writer ever) so i hope you enjoy and that acheron isn't horribly ooc
wc ;; 7.5k
requests + asks ;; open! (im just so slow)
You had come to terms with your planet’s death in the past months you’d been left there to wither away. You swallowed it all down with the last of your tears, shoving at anything you could grasp to keep your head from sinking beneath the face of it all.
But coming to terms with your situation did not mean you breathed a little clearer or that you walked with your shoulders pulled back, chin up to the world to brave it with strength. It carved you hollow as your reality stared you directly in the eye, driving you mad as it poured in and washed you clean of all remaining hope left within you.
Your planet was dead, engulfed by the Nihility’s relentless shadow, and you alone remained, stalking through the planet, alive and persistent like a cockroach even an Aeon could not kill. A sole survivor among the corpses of your friends, your family, and the strangers too along with them.
When you gave the bodies a good look, desperately searching for a rise and fall of someone’s chest or a minute twitch of a finger, they blurred into each other, becoming a nauseatingly indiscernible smudge of blackness.
You frowned at the sight, looking away before bile could crawl up to your throat and meet the cracked ground beneath your feet.
The IX rendered everyone into obsolete pieces of flesh that you could barely comprehend. But you could feel it. The devastating screech of your instincts telling you that the foggy silhouettes before you were corpses.
The buzz of flies fluttering about certainly helped bring the notion to life. Or lack thereof.
Grief was relentless. An inescapable feeling that sickened you right down to your stomach before manifesting into something you could feel. Aging you past what your lifespan would allow, yet whenever you caught your reflection in the mirror, you looked all the same, albeit dirty.
Most times, though, you heard it.
On the lonely nights where you had no choice but to thrust yourself into the embrace of sleep that never welcomed you easily, emptiness rang through the air until you could no longer hold onto consciousness.
When you were not trying to get some shuteye, it pounded in your ears, determined to drive you further into madness as you tarried on through the debris. Searching for someone, anyone. Or, at least, something to each.
Everything was rotten.
The day of the disaster, about four hundred and twenty-eight days back, if you had counted correctly, you’d watched the lavender that sat preciously at your windowsill wilt before your eyes as the sun was swallowed by Nihility.
Everything about that day felt fresh, as if it were only yesterday that it had happened. But it wasn’t, and memories, whether before or during the disaster, were of no aid in unwinding the tightness of your shoulders.
There was only the present. And currently? You were hungry.
Just like the lavender, most of everything was decomposed down to inedible scraps that, at this point, you considered yourself lucky to scavenge.
Leaves were your only friend, you thought as you crouched before the fallen, dry little things. You ignored the way your knees creaked and groaned in protest at the movement, even if they sounded louder than anything else around you.
Picturing a sweet confection instead of the browned leaf, you pressed it past your lips, dry and cracked as they met your dirt-covered fingers. In addition to your weary skeleton, you paid no mind to the crunch of the leaves between your teeth.
Long before your now steely digestion, it took a month of your stomach turning over and rejecting what you could manage to scrounge up. Now, the ‘food’ you forced down settled hesitantly, like it was waiting for the other shoe to drop. What followed instead was a dirty swish of water that felt worse than anything else as it coated your throat with a permanent grime.
It barely helped, but it was something.
A breeze moved your attention to the decayed orchard around you.
You’d eaten all the rotted apples, figuring you’d die of sickness eventually. But you never did. Not one cough after spending over a year scarfing down whatever hadn’t decomposed into dry soil. Not even a single morning of illness after. You woke up only to excruciating hunger.
The bark of the tree scratched through your clothes as you leaned against the trunk. You didn’t mind it. Secretly, you hoped it infected you with something fatal.
All you wanted now was to die.
You’d placed your bets on starvation a few months back, ignoring every drop of dirty water and mouldy 'greens,' and allowed your stomach to constrict itself permanently. But you never died. You barely even got weaker, but you could feel it all, the hunger, the thirst, the longing.
Was this immortality, you wondered? Immortality without godhood, a curse in itself that every myth of hubris had warned of. You wished you’d faded with the rest of your people.
Shutting your eyes as the wind picked up again, you breathed in deep, hoping to catch a scent of something carried by the wind. Even if it was a figment of your mind’s imagination. Having a goal of search gave you something to work for. Without it, you’d only dig a deeper hole of insanity for yourself.
This one time, you’d actually caught something. Actually.
Ozone first, and then a faint bit of lotus that bloomed so freshly through your senses that it was unlike anything you’d smelled in the past year.
A voice followed.
“Are you alright down there?”
It rang so richly, you could swear it was a figment of your imagination. The sound licked up through you, leaving you in pieces on the ground you sat on before being followed by the crunch of a footstep.
With a snap, your eyes flew open, head swivelling without caution to the source of the voice.
There, you met the sight of two strong legs, scratched and marred from battle and thick with muscle. Your eyes didn’t hesitate to climb up the two masses of strength, even if your soul was struck still at the true sight of a person.
A woman stood before you, and she was beautiful.
Violet hair ribboned over her shoulders, rustled gently by the soft winds breathing over the barren lands of your planet. Her figure imposed effortlessly, looming a height you imagined you wouldn’t reach even if you were to press up on the tips of your toes, and her arms were wrung with muscle, the same as her lower half.
One eye of hers hid behind the swept-over curtain of her bangs, but the rest of her face was laid bare for you to carve into your mind so deep that if you had lost your ability to see, you could still pass your fingers over the indentation of the memory and clutch it to your heart.
Her appearance renovated you a warmth without a single touch, and she only stared back with a calm that you couldn’t fathom in the slightest.
Four hundred and twenty-eight gruelling days since the presence of another, and you were given this picture of a person. Your brain lagged behind your thundering heart, just barely able to keep to its pace.
“You’re not real,” you breathed, air stolen from your lungs. Its escape compelled you to lean closer, shifting to your knees before the violet woman as if she were a deity herself.
“I could almost say the same,” she murmured in response. The sound, albeit quiet, cut through the air between you, sizzling thereafter in a current of her electric presence.
You kept silent after that, swallowing through the dryness of your throat as her stare bored into you.
Her eye, purple and bracketed in rouge, narrowed just the slightest and pinned you still. You would have missed it had you not stared back at her so intensely, clinging on to any emotion that wasn’t your own after years of isolation.
In the inky void of her pupil, you caught your reflection: awed, intrigued, frightened, and daring to hope for something out of her that was nominally better than your current situation. Yet, in that same survey of your mirrored image, somehow, you appeared as a mystery to this woman, framed in the twilight of her iris.
So, you sat there with bated breath, skin tingling at the exhilarating notion of being discovered and regarded with curiosity for the first time in ages.
“You live through the shadow of Nihility?” She questioned lowly and carefully, just as quiet as before.
The soft breath that escaped her nose after was that of a quiet scoff, wisps of disbelief leaking from her and taking physical form.
Considering it yourself, you felt the same seeing an actual living, breathing person. Even if, likely, in her perspective, you were just barely that, falling more accurately under the category of surviving.
The skin of her knee was soft under the hand you extended out to her.
Warmth, real warmth, seeped through your fingertips and ebbed through every nerve in your body. Your breath steepened, and you held on tight, missing the softening of her expression as she bent and crouched before you.
Like this, you could smell her even clearer than before.
“You’ve survived, yet you’re… different to me.” Her hand reached out and her fingers wrapped tight around your bare wrist. “Excuse me.”
She could do anything, and you’d excuse it, you thought.
With her wrapped like a bracelet around your forearm, you were hit with the brief, dissipating nostalgia of community.
You remembered your friends dragging you out of your bedroom, eyes blindfolded with your free hand before it was yanked off as a larger group of your friends shrieked, "Surprise!" You remembered the cake you ate that day, and through that, you remembered all the cakes and desserts you’d ever enjoyed, all the meals you shared with your family, and all the nights you had snuck into your parents' bed as a child.
It reminded you what it meant to be alive, if only for a moment, before you returned to the present, eyes already fixed on the point of contact when something pulsed through where your skin met.
The closest word your mind could catalogue it to was power in its purest form, vibrating through your veins and reaching through your body like fingers carding through your nerves themselves.
You blinked at the unfamiliar sensation. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was just… there. Sitting close enough to consider adjacent to your soul. You shuddered at the feeling before it flickered away.
“What was that…?” You questioned, voice dipping into something timorous as you glanced back up at her face, chin tilted downwards just a bit. The woman bore a certain expression, as if she had performed the necessary preliminary of deciding just how she’d interact with you further.
She remained staring at where you were joined.
“The IX has left you with a powerful gift." She paused, pending until she had something finished and ready to say once more. “Whether you consider it to be one remains to be decided.”
She spoke again when you remained quiet.
“Plainly, you’ve been made resistant.”
This time, her words pulled your lips to a frown. Your mind was made to claw your hand from hers, but your heart kept you motionless, beating alone for the touch of another.
Still, your words came out in a scorned hiss.
“I decided long ago that this,” your free hand gestured carelessly to yourself. “Is nothing more than a curse.”
The woman only raised her brow, head tilting to the side as if to adjust her understanding to your own. The fire, briefly ignited within you, died to a simmer.
“Then it is as you’ve determined.”
The woman settled the fact easily, your words falling right as rain without further question, and you softened entirely.
She watched the fall of your shoulders before turning to look off in the distance. Her eyes flitted back and forth so minutely and particularly that you wondered if she was seeing everything regardless of if it were miles away.
“It is only you who survives?” She questioned, still looking far off. You figured that she could indeed see that far a distance.
“…Yes.”
She hummed gravely, and her hand slid up to grip your forearm in a grip that was both firm and gentle, just beneath your elbow. You shifted in place a moment at the touch, only feeling more present when her eyes shifted back to yours. Your breath hitched at the violet.
“I too have lost my planet and people,” she sighed, hand tightening in the slightest over your arm. Once again, she looked down at where her hand was around you, staring down pensively at the feeling before continuing. “First to war, then the IX.”
You didn’t say anything for a moment after, instead finding yourself looking into a mirror—albeit one shifted a bit to its side. You knew at least half of her troubles well enough, war being one you couldn’t imagine for the life of you.
“Then,” you started, perplexing yourself for something to say in response to her revelation. “Are you like me? Resistant and such.”
“No.” The woman’s lips pursed, shaking her head as she let go of your arm. Her touch remained a ghost against your skin. “Very different, I think.”
She responded like it was something fuzzy to conceptualize but a heavy burden to bear regardless. You only held further distaste for IX for being an additional stressor to your perceived saviour—and all she did was being there. With you. It was all you needed.
Blubbering, you attempted to ease whatever unintended emotion you may have strung up within her before it tightened into a knot impossible to release.
“That’s okay...!” Your hands waved in front of you in a quick motion.
The words tumbled through your lips and scattered within the space between you awkwardly. You hadn’t a clue as to why you had said them or what exactly was ‘okay,’ but it brought a small smile to her face regardless, easily placated.
Her head tilted again.
“In a way it’s okay, I suppose,” she hummed, calm as the breeze between you. “Yours.”
Another quietness settled between you, pregnant with something unidentifiable. Whatever it was, you weren’t eager to press in and unearth its meaning. Silence had plagued you like a terrible sickness these past years, and there was no way you were going to let your first opportunity to fill it slip through your fingers.
So, you introduced yourself, the only thing you could give in return to her presence.
“You’re on the planet Inendi,” you told her. “Or what it once was, at least.”
You shifted in position, sitting cross-legged before the crouched purple woman.
She stared at you carefully as you moved, eyes roving over your face as if cataloguing its curve along with the sonic ring of your name deep into her mind. It seemed almost meticulous, in a sense, and the internal question of why she would put in such an amount of care to remember it came and went before she carried her attention over to the rest of Inendi.
“I am called Acheron,” she supplied.
She left out the name of her planet in favour of sighing something wistful. You didn’t push, though you wanted to.
“I travel the galaxies in search of planets like this here Inendi of yours. I hunt any existing harbinger of IX.”
You supposed it made for an explanation to the sinew that emanated from the entirety of her existence. Even by way of her shoulders moving as she breathed, you could decipher from Acheron’s posture alone that she was some sort of warrior. Now, you understood she was indeed a warrior—one against Nihility.
Her words settled like dust before being shaken off as you pressed forward, looking at Acheron with rounded eyes coloured with panicked dismay.
“Will you be leaving then?” You questioned with barely concealed fragility. It didn’t miss her as her gaze returned quickly to yours.
“Yes…” She began, her hand reaching out to brush her fingertips along the space just above your knee. It flattened there, fingers splaying, and tingles blossomed beneath her palm. “But I will not leave you alone here, friend.”
Friend.
She pulled her touch back into herself, and you nearly moved along with the motion.
“If you wish, I imagine joining me would serve better than continuing here. Of course, the decision is entirely yours—”
“I’ll come,” you cut Acheron off with a quickness that had her lips sealing shut and a perplexed flutter of her eyes.
You repeated your words again after a moment, calmer on your second go-around. You were gifted another one of Acheron's softened smiles.
She shifted and stood, holding a hand out toward you, and you wrapped your own around hers easily. In that brief moment of your hands pressing against one another, you wished you could never let go before being hauled up in an accidental display of power so natural to Acheron that you tumbled right against her form.
She didn’t so much as stumble, only pausing to register the amount of strength she’d next have to reserve when handling you.
“Then come,” she nodded. You followed right on after her.
—
You were certain that joining Acheron in her exploits was to be a brief blip in your post-Inendi existence: a journey that ended with a teary-eyed goodbye after which you’d settle in some planet that suited you just second to which your original home did.
But that was planets ago—tens of planets ago—and there you were with that violet woman. Where there was no home any longer, Acheron became familiar.
Now, sleep collected you with little objection into its cold embrace.
You wondered on those dreamless nights if she was your new home. If Inendi had fractured off a branch of herself and planted a seed within Acheron. One that you could not bear to abandon for a single planet across the galaxies, no matter the enemy you’d face or the danger you’d brave travelling as her sole companion.
Then, you’d wake up from your empty slumber with the question still ringing in your mind, just as she was ready to go. She who never slept but waited only for you.
Whatever it was that kept you with her, it did not matter enough for you to bring into question, as Acheron seemed entirely unburdened in permitting you to keep at her side.
So, in your time with Acheron, you learned the woman.
You watched her as she spoke, as she marched, even when she did nothing at all. Every minor shift in her countenance or posture was catalogued within until your brain was a dictionary of all that was her.
Your untiring pursuit of understanding her was rewarding in ways that nothing else could match since your leaving of Inendi. It lit you up like fireworks bursting within before simmering on the face of your skin, pulling your cheeks up into a personal smile that she would notice but never comment on.
Your most significant finding was in her speech: Acheron never wasted her breath on superfluous chatter. Every word that slipped through her lips was important, relevant, and never to be missed.
This fact trained you, in a way, to forever catch her voice over the babble of others, no matter how quietly she may have uttered a comment. And as the sound of her timbre would worm its way into your ears, you’d find yourself hanging onto her words, deciphering every possible meaning until the grip of your mind couldn’t hold any longer and you’d fall into what you imagined to be the felicitous abyss that was truly understanding Acheron.
You wouldn’t mind falling into her so entirely, you thought. You imagined she’d catch you the same way she would whenever you’d leap from a ledge into her arms or when she’d pull you up another, right into her hold to steady your jostled form to balance.
As most things belonging to you were, the pane of this notion was shattered to pieces by the Memokeeper you’d met on your arrival to Penacony, the so-called “Planet of Festivities.”
You’d most shamefully felt green at her revelation of really peering into Acheron’s mind, despite how she shivered in sharing its harrowing description. It forced you to consider whether you knew her at all.
Still, Acheron’s silence regarding your continued presence left you with two conjectures that you endlessly poured yourself into. Was your leaving an insignificant affair to Acheron or one that was out of the question?
Shaking your head free of the matter that was of no place to currently be pending, you turned your head to peruse Acheron’s profile, who stood to your left, facing ahead as her hair whipped in the wind behind her.
This was your spot: to her right, where her blade did not rest. And, sometimes, you selfishly fancied yourself with the idea of her placing her hand over your shoulder the same way she rested her left over the hilt of her katana.
It was on rare occasion when you received this touch.
Acheron’s thumb would press against your collarbone as the rest of her fingers lay over your shoulder.
It was a firm grip, reassuring and strong, that swirled your stomach into a dizzying mix of its contents. It raised goosebumps to your skin in an equal amount of excitement as it did trepidation.
Anyone else would call it superstition, but as you had determined through your travels with Acheron, her hand against your shoulder forebode another go-around of a true battle between her and an enemy.
Yet, greedily, and most wrongly, you still craved the feeling of her hand against you, one way or another.
Her touch was cool as it was warm, and it drew you closer to her than you often were for a moment’s breath before she’d unsheathe her blade and deliver death to whatever stood before her.
After which, she’d forget. A cycle that left both you and Acheron entirely lost for purpose as she wandered continuously through the galaxies, just barely grasping hold of her memories before her hand met your shoulder once more.
It hollowed you just as IX did your planet whenever this came to pass, as selfish as it felt to claim such a thing. But how could you not feel such a way when, after battle, your closest companion stared at you as if you were merely a stranger?
She was no less accepting of you, at least. That, sometimes, hurt the most.
Eventually, though, as you did with all cycles, you grew used to it. It was as inevitable as the sunrise and sunset, and you could only stomach it and push through for Acheron’s sake.
The first time, however, was the worst.
You remembered it just as vividly as the Dreamscape’s sky expanded into a brilliant golden shine, giant stacks of poker chips sinking through its gloss, capable of crushing any unfortunate soul who found themselves beneath them.
You remembered it just as grimly as Acheron’s hand did, in fact, meet your shoulder, maneuvering you close to her form before stepping ahead of you and the rest of the Astral Express’ crew.
The memory of her hand on your shoulder would likely last longer than her memory of this moment as she reached for her blade.
Then, all of her, and the surrounding area, faded into the same black, white, and red that had swallowed Inendi and Acheron’s planet all those years ago.
And again, you saw the first planet you visited: Harirau.
—
If Acheron had arrived to Inendi on a ship, you would have heard it.
The planet’s silence was so thick that, from it, you could pick out the scrape of dead branches scratching against each other regardless of their distance. Even the empty rustle of dead leaves further than your eyes could reach could capture your attention, fooling you into another trek in search of life on your desolate planet.
Missing a spacecraft was an impossibility, but somehow, you had missed Acheron’s.
You were occupied by this understanding as you joined hands with the woman the first time, up on your feet with a renewed hope that shone ironically through your gaunt form.
She must’ve landed far, but in knowing you’d be off this planet soon enough, it was a marathon you were willing to brave by her side.
Looking over her shoulder, your mouth pressed to its side in question.
“How far is your ship?”
When you glanced back to her expression, you were met with her looking down at you far too softly for someone she had only just met. Her stare was understandably pitiful in nature, but it pierced through you with a desperation of companionship that matched your own.
The weight of her attention filled you to the brim with a satisfaction only available to the loneliest of individuals. So, you peered back at her, hoping to return even a sliver of the feeling she elicited in you.
Her expression didn’t budge.
“What is it?” You questioned again, cautiously, this time.
Acheron kept silent before her face turned pensive, her curved eyebrow barely furrowing before she stepped entirely into your space.
Her warmth bled through your ratty clothing as her arm took its liberty of slipping around your waist, hand splayed flat to the small of your back. You straightened to attention at the touch, glancing away briefly if only to reassure yourself that this was real once again.
This type of proximity was foreign. It died along with your planet, and its absence was illustrated in the taut, upright pull of your shoulders. It took a long breath and a half before you could settle in her hold. Acheron waited patiently for just that.
“I tend to travel more… unconventionally,” Acheron explained slowly, letting her words hang in the little bit of space between you before she continued. You could feel the slow rise and fall of her chest against yours.
“Moving through space will require power the same as THEIRS. As such, you will feel its similarity.” Her lips pursed. “Stay close; it won’t take long.”
Her explanation—if it could be deemed as such—was frustratingly vague, and you were just about done with all the uncertainty these past years had shoved all the way down your throat. Uncertainty of survival, uncertainty of a meal, uncertainty of whether you’d wake up the next day. It frustrated you to your core, and with a soft huff through your nose, you instead took to examining Acheron for anything else you’d be lucky enough to pick up on.
All she seemed to offer was hesitance with a promise of brevity in amends for her incautious closeness to you, as if that were a problem at all. What you needed was clarity, and the lack of it tugged your lips into a downward curve.
Acheron, for all her bravery to visit a planet as dead as Inendi, almost pulled back at your seeming displeasure.
Your hands stopped her before she could.
She took pause as they snaked up to hold onto her arms, bracing themselves on the firmness of her biceps. The action did well in reassuring her—you felt as much in the tightening of her hold around your waist.
“Acheron,” you began. “I don’t understand what you mean. Do you have to call your ship—?”
You were cut off by reality tearing itself in two, bending around you with a force of power that was so mighty and distinct that it could only be recognized as THEIRS. Its familiarity brought about a dread that curdled and crushed whatever spirit remained within.
All in one moment, as you were being shot through space, you were under the cast of IX’s shadow once again.
To keep your soul from exiting your body, your arms automatically wound themselves around Acheron’s neck, clinging to her broad form as you hooked your chin over her shoulder.
You couldn’t tell if you were screaming; you could barely register anything at all. Your skin pulled so far with the force of movement, you wondered if it might’ve torn right off, leaving you a mass of muscle before you’d even reached your destination.
Your stomach flipped so violently that you pursed your lips to keep from vomiting.
In the brief moments you were able to hold your eyes open, no colour safe for red made its appearance in your travels, painting the inky abyss around you until you could no longer bear its vibrance.
You screwed your eyes shut instead and held on tighter to Acheron, who remained your only semblance of an anchor as you jetted through more galaxies than you could count.
Then, there was sand.
It nestled and poked between your toes as your weight sunk into it. You would’ve fallen into it entirely if not for Acheron bracing you upright against her. Your legs were jelly, knees just short of buckling, and you could vaguely hear your companion questioning your welfare over the shrill screeches of birds—songs tropical in nature.
A gasp tore through your throat so violently that you winced at its sharpness, eyes flying open as your hands found Acheron’s chest only to shove yourself away from it.
She let go without argument, holding them out in a still-open invitation that you did not accept. Instead, you stumbled off into a thicket of palm trees, and Acheron followed close behind as you emptied what little content your stomach held at one’s base.
Acheron ducked into a crouch behind you, hand finding your back as you retched. It sank heavy and warm against your shirt. You could only focus on it for a minute before another wave of nausea hit, and you gave to the sand what acids remained within you.
“It’s difficult. I know,” she reassured, hand moving to smooth circles against you. “Are you alright?”
She called your name once as your chest heaved with effort, but you didn’t respond—couldn’t. Your mind wrangled with itself, rearranging its position within your skull after being brought to an entirely new planet in just seconds.
Wherever you were, it was hot and humid. The sun burned in a relentless disk that you narrowly avoided in the shade, the climate seemingly disposed to hasten your sickness. Fortunately for you, there was nothing left to give other than an empty gag and a copious amount of saliva.
You held your tongue until your breath evened out into something respectable enough to award Acheron a response. Then, you turned to face her, swiping the back of your hand across your wet mouth.
“Yeah,” you panted, blinking harshly as your vision settled back, by slow degrees, from three into one.
When Acheron returned clearly into picture, it took only a moment to realize that she was faring just the same as you—safe for the vomit. She stared blankly before her chin dipped in a slow nod that looked anything but certain. It was a peculiar sight to be met with when just moments ago she seemed unshakeable.
Her eyes were foggy as she herself grappled with the shift in environment. Goosebumps erupted up your spine as her hand dragged up to your nape, catching her own balance with it as she rested her touch there.
Even if you could not afford the luxury of the emotion, the sight had you cast a worried glance over her as you reached your hand back to hook onto her arm. You were certain your breath reeked of sick as your lips cracked open to question if she was faring any better than you were, but you didn’t get so much as a word out before your mind seared white-hot with pain.
Choking out a groan, your hand squeezed with all its might into Acheron. The muscle beneath your fingers didn’t give a millimetre as you leaned into her. She didn’t so much as wince, only leaning close to catch you in case you collapsed entirely.
“Fuck! Fuck—my head,” you gritted, keeling over yet again as tears slipped freely from your eyes right into the sandy mess of your vomit.
“You’re not okay,” Acheron said decidedly and reached to grab hold of both of your shoulders in what was an unhelpful attempt at grounding you through the pain.
When you looked into her eyes, vision bleary with tears, you could only imagine how pathetic you looked in that moment, hair strewn about with dried spit coating the outside of your lips. You acquainted your attention with the ground instead, bottom lip quivering at the thought.
“Hold on,” Acheron muttered, hands finding your armpits before pulling you up to your feet with her. Her arms hooked beneath your knees, picking you up into an effortless carry as she ducked her head, urging you to wrap your arms around her neck the same way you had earlier.
“I’m finding us some food,” she explained shortly, moving along to where you assumed she saw a village. You looked in the same direction but could only see so far ahead before tears blurred your vision once more. You could’ve sworn you heard a low coo.
“And a place to stay as well. You need rest.”
In Acheron’s mission of finding a place to settle, the people of—as you learned this planet was called—Harirau lent you a small, woven hut. It was strung along the mighty frames that crawled over the beach and hung huts of varying sizes. Each of them connected to one another through similarly woven bridges adjacent to the shores on which the Harirauns boasted their excellent fishing.
You learned, among the concerned flock of inhabitants that trailed behind Acheron and you, the name of an elderly woman: Arihia. She guided and moved nimbly for her age, which you attributed to the ardent swimming culture this village bore, and commanded a respect that easily waved off the curious crowd of other villagers surrounding you.
In the hut, she had familiarized either of you with the hammocks and mats for sleeping, recommending the latter for your brittle form. You heeded her advice with little argument, and she unravelled a mat for Acheron to set you down upon.
Arihia’s gaze washed over you in a warm, homey concern that only someone of old age could provide. It stirred in you an urge to curl up into her attention’s embrace, but it shone too similarly to your own mother’s care. You settled instead on the mat with a solemn frown that you hid deftly, turning your head to look out of the nearest partition in the hut.
You people-watched and drew an easy conclusion about the planet in your hiding. The Harirauns were a people of benevolent spirit: generous and welcoming. With the beautiful nature that surrounded them, you wondered if their irreproachable demeanours were a byproduct of their tropical environment.
The sky was free of grey, as blue as the clear waters below, and there was a permanent taste of salt in the air.
Curiously, you threw your gaze along the pathways that hung further past the shores and watched the people swim, unable to tear your attention from the graceful arch of their dives into the warm waters below.
Both the children and adults seemed proficient in this ability, and they swam just as mobile as they walked on land. Their hair, either curly or braided, was typically long in nature, and it fascinated you as it followed them like capes underwater.
Returning your attention to the confines of your temporary alcove, you basked in the comfortable coolness the shade and nearby water afforded you, letting relaxation take you for the first time in years.
The mat was more comfortable than it seemed, and, over the gentle crash of waves and the squawk of seagull-equivalent Hariraun birds, you learned from Arihia that the hut you occupied was often granted to passing travelers free of charge, along with the mealtimes that were held with the larger community.
She bid the two of you goodbye soon after, parting with a light wave of her wrinkled fingers and a swish of her skirt, feet bare and padding away.
Promptly, Acheron turned to set up a hammock of her own. It drew between two posts that filled you with a minor sense of envy in its position, which revealed the open scenery of the planet’s waters, which were bigger than what your opening afforded you.
When she finished, she crouched to your side like a careful attendant.
“I’m going to collect some food for us,” she said, her voice just as lulling as the ocean’s sighs.
When her hand had suddenly found your arm, you realized that your eyes had been shut for too long to be a blink.
“Arihia offered us an early portion. For the time being, try to stay awake. I’ll return quickly.”
Acheron waited patiently for a nod or a hum of agreement, unmoving until you’d confirmed. Instead, you held her attention a moment longer, glancing back outside to catch a man casting a wide net over the water.
When you opened your mouth, Acheron leaned just the slightest bit closer.
“What’ll it be?” You questioned. “Fish?”
You turned your gaze back to Acheron, whose lips ghosted into a smirk at your dry comment.
“Likely,” she nodded, standing up to her full height. She towered over you when you lay down like this and bid you goodbye with a quiet nod before stepping out of the hut.
Your brief moment of solitude was spent fighting sleep and eagerly awaiting actual, real food, appetite becoming more of an afterthought with each passing second.
Digging your heels into the mat below you, you shifted whenever your eyes felt too heavy. Suddenly, footsteps rung out, heels pressing against the floor.
“You’re back,” you said weakly, eyes falling to the wooden bowls and utensils in either of Acheron’s hands as she returned to the hut.
“Yes.”
She agreed shortly with a nod, stepping closer to you before settling down with her legs folded beneath her. It was a comical position, you thought, to see someone so strong tending to you like this. She set the bowls down and helped lift you upright with carefully situated hands.
“They refused payment and offered more than needed. It took some time.”
You only shrugged at her explanation with a small shake of your head.
“Seemed quick enough.”
The bowls held what looked to be a fish soup. Sitting in its red and hearty broth swam a multitude of vegetables that were unfamiliar versions of the vegetables you once ate in Inendi. Its strangeness to you didn’t help your lack of inclination to eat.
Picking up the smaller portion, Acheron handed you a bowl after tucking the spoon into it. Heat bloomed through the container and into your hands, feeling frustratingly heavy for its little content, and you greeted the broth with a slow blink.
It smelled good. Aeons, had it really been a while since you’d eaten real food? But, in the face of the real thing, it felt like too much even when you knew it was nothing more than that of a child-sized meal.
It took you summoning all remaining determination from within to wrap your fingers around the spoon. In that moment, sleep sounded much more appetizing than this, but with Acheron’s stare and the stark emptiness of your stomach, you reluctantly dipped the utensil in for some liquid and an accompanying chunk of fish.
The spoon was heavy and, embarrassingly, shook on its journey to your lips. You steeled yourself into stillness when it came close enough, insisting on cooling it down with a blow despite it being at an adequate temperature to accept into your mouth as is.
Acheron only watched, her own bowl remaining set aside. Not forgotten, just waiting.
“You must eat,” she said, voice final, with your name acting as the final punctuation of her sentence. You anticipated her words before she said them, and you flicked your gaze from your spoon to her, shooting back a, suddenly, sharp reply.
“I know.”
The bite you took was small, somehow leaving behind broth in the spoon’s catch. It was less of a mouthful that you could manage, but your energy was drained to a seed, and you felt more husk than human as you moved.
As you swallowed, Acheron sat silently by your side. Concern slid over the curve of her shoulders that curled in her attention to you before her hand reached out again to find yours over the bowl.
“Let me help,” she offered, scooting just a bit closer when you cast a glance to her. “Please,” she added, urging before you could even speak up.
“I’m fine.” You shut your eyes, indignant as your empty stomach spoke for you. Then, you scooped up another mouthful.
Most astoundingly, for yourself, you were able to manage a few more bites. It was admittedly delicious and something you’d appreciate thoroughly any other day, but each bite was more agonizing than the previous, spoon dragging heavier with every lift to your lips.
There was about half left by the time you finally took pause.
Acheron, who ate her own bowl silently, was just about finished, and her offer, remaining readily on the table, was becoming more tempting by the minute. The thought of accepting it, however, brought a tingle of embarrassment that swept up your back and across your face.
You glanced at her between chewing on a vegetable.
Your stare was fortunately heavy enough to capture Acheron’s attention without a single word. She set down her bowl, not seeming particularly moved by its contents, as you slowly turned the handle of your spoon to her silently. Her eyes flicked down to the utensil before returning to your face, an eyebrow arching upwards in question.
You sighed through your nose at her patiently waiting for your verbal agreement. Of course.
With an awkward clearance of your throat, you spoke.
“I—,” you began quietly, words practically sacrilege to the independence you’d exemplified in your time on the barren Inendi. You swallowed down a lump in your throat that returned right after. “—could use some help.”
The words slithered from behind and through the jail of your teeth. You didn’t—couldn’t—tack on a please to the end of your sentence for the life of you, but Acheron paid it no mind. She nodded, brushing her hair over her shoulder before taking your bowl from your hands, fingers sliding along yours.
Acheron accepted your request with a simple and short “alright.” You shouldn’t have expected anything more with her typical curtness, and it was something you appreciated in minor as she scooped up a spoonful whose quantity matched your previous bites.
When she raised the spoon up, she brought it to herself first, purposelessly blowing on it to buy you some time as you willed yourself to slacken your jaw from its grit.
On your first bite, the spoon clicked awkwardly against your teeth. She dragged it upwards along your lips to keep anything from spilling and examined your averted gaze as you chewed and swallowed before slowly bringing up another mouthful.
Each scoop, blow, and bite continued until the spoon scraped and scratched at the bottom of the bowl. By then, the two of you were coordinated enough for you to accept the spoon without its usual clatter against your teeth, and your insides twisted in conflict at the thought.
The notion of being fed was no less humiliating by the end of the endeavour, but you’d accustomed yourself to it the best you could allow yourself to. Acheron, on the other hand, remained unbothered. Each of her movements remained casual as she offered you the rest of her bowl, to which you refused, slinking down until your back returned to the mat.
She only nodded, grabbing your bowl and moving away to finish her own. The space she awarded you didn’t seem like enough. The hut became nothing but a closet, and you ducked into your blankets and turned onto your side as you looked outside the hut.
The sun was barely coming down to rest, and children continued to run about, their giggles and squeals ringing along the shores even at their distance. It offered a pleasurable buzz of noise that Inendi did not provide, and your body slackened quickly, ignoring the remaining bits of daylight and insisting on sending you off to sleep.
Your stomach, despite all the fuss, was pleasantly full. Silently, you thanked Acheron for her efforts as she stepped out to return the plates to your gracious hosts, but when your eyes finally fell shut, your cheeks remained warm with embarrassment, and the violet woman plagued your dreams the entire night.
hii everyone! here's a little something i made for valentine's day (a bit late i know...) i wanted to write something for black swan but i watched a tiktok (i'll link it if i can find it) that inspired me to write for ruan mei for some reason. again, i apologize for the self-indulgence and #very potential mischaracterization ++ mistakes !! enjoy !!
tags? fluff, a teeny tiny bit of angst, i tried to dip one (1) toe into the angst pool #ok, no use of y/n!
wc: 3.1k
a misunderstanding turns into a long-overdue confession.
first meeting
you fell for ruan mei last semester, when you got paired with her in your lab elective. a course you’d carelessly signed up for thinking it would be fun.
you occupied yourself with organizing the tools needed for the first experiment—beakers, an erlenmeyer flask, the balance scale… what else did you need? you stopped to think for a moment, and she calmly stepped in to help you out despite her ostensibly apathetic nature.
“the burette," she said quietly, reaching past you to retrieve one from the upper shelf. "and the stand. we’ll need both for titration."
you clear your throat, “r-right… thanks!” you spoke with an awkward, eager tone.
you followed her back to the counter, quickly organizing the equipment. she set her items down efficiently and disappeared to fetch some other things, a stirrer and indicator you'd also forgotten.
you could feel her staring at you–the way her eyes focused on every small movement you did or didn’t make, or how you trembled and fumbled slightly every other second.
"it's your first time doing this, i assume?" ruan mei let out in a monotone voice, a neutral—probably bored—expression on her pretty face. your willingness to try and the enthusiastic beam on your face caught her interest; in that moment, she decided you would become her subject of study for the semester.
"ah… is that obvious? it’s been a while…" you giggled nervously, nearly knocking over the erlenmeyer flask.
"you organized everything by size rather than procedure order," she began rearranging everything with rigid movements. "it makes sense, but is inefficient for our purposes. this way we can transition from one step to another promptly."
you watched her work, feeling both embarrassed and captivated by the way her hands moved with such certainty. "i'm sorry," you stammered. "i probably should've paid more attention to the instructions–"
"unnecessary apology." ruan mei glanced at you and stopped in her tracks for a moment. something flickered in those cold, analytical eyes of hers. "everyone begins somewhere, you'll adapt."
at that, you thought she’d take over, casting you aside to merely observe—or so you’ve heard from your friends and other classmates. what surprised you, though, was the way ruan mei suddenly faced you with a gentle smile, offering to explain each step to you, under the guise that “this way you’ll be more efficient during future lab practices”.
you read through each step twice together, then you picked out the necessary material and got to work. she occasionally intervened—standing behind you to watch, then reaching out to place her gloved hand over yours to adjust your technique.
this was probably against a bunch of safety measures, but she couldn’t care less about that right now. she needed to observe and keep record of every single reaction she could work out of you.
after completing the titration, with her guidance steadying your hand at every “crucial moment” (or so ruan mei called it). she made a soft sound of approval. "good work," she murmured, her breath warm against your ear as she leaned over your shoulder to check it out. "your hand has steadied considerably with time. interesting."
you tensed up at feeling her so close to you for the nth time today, a floral and fruity scent of plum blossom enveloping you and clouding your reasoning. without much thought, ruan mei reached for your wrist, pressing on the inner part, right below your thumb. "hm…" she continued, still not moving away, "your pulse rate appears elevated. nervousness, perhaps?"
she finally stepped back, and you could breathe again. when you glanced at her, she was jotting something down in her notebook, her expression unreadable.
you didn't see what she wrote:
subject's physiological responses: elevated heart rate, shallow breathing, muscle tension when in proximity. cause: anxiety? inexperience?*
*requires further observation
“let’s meet at the library tomorrow at 6 and work on the lab report,” ruan mei suggested as she put her things away.
you hesitated, toying with the strap of your bag. "i can't... i work until eight."
"i see."
"tuesday and friday, five to eight." you offered an apologetic smile. "at a flower shop. i don’t usually work in the evening, but we've had a lot of custom orders lately, so–"
"nine, then."
you blinked. "sorry?"
"we'll meet at nine," ruan mei said it simply, as if she hadn’t offered to adjust her schedule for you. "i’ll see you at the science library, third floor. i'll be there."
"that's… you don't have to wait that long, we can just–"
"i'm aware i don't have to." she looked at you, gaze soft and patient. "i'll be there at nine. eat something before you come. working on an empty stomach affects concentration."she was so nonchalant that it bothered you. her monotone voice and unexpressive eyes, the fact that she barely smiled and still… made you feel observed? almost cared for? no, she only cares about the course, right? right… you think in an attempt to ground yourself.
the library
she was already there when you arrived at 9:06, breathless and smelling faintly of flowers. ruan mei looked up briefly, then returned to her work with no more than a brief greeting.
you settled into the seat next to her, and she angled the lamp toward your side of the table, casting warm light directly over your workspace. her side was noticeably dimmer. you also noted how she’d left you a small stack of reference books, tabbed with paper markers.
the session passed quickly after that–both of you read through some chapters, discussed the structure of the report, her voice low in the empty library helping you focus and relax.
at some point, working on the lab report gave way to a tangent neither of you had planned. somewhere along the way, the space between your shoulders had closed without either of you acknowledging it. ruan mei asked about your job, hobbies, and what kind of cake you liked.
a few hours later, you were almost done. you agreed to call it a night and walked to the station together, chatting about the details left to polish up the report. ruan mei was satisfied with the result, for the work you’d developed together as well as the observations she noted while you were busy reading.
when concentrating: bites lower lip, tucks hair behind left ear repeatedly, bounces knee under table when in direct contact with others (noticed only when shoulder contact occurred). tends to space out for a moment every 15 minutes.
she closed her notebook as you reached the platform.
"same time next week?" you asked after gathering all your courage."unless you'd prefer an alternate schedule," she tilted her head slightly. "i'm flexible."
it became a part of your routine to have these study/work sessions with ruan mei. every thursday at nine, same table, and the same setup. the lamp angled toward your seat, some books she thought you’d find interesting or helpful, already stacked on your side of the table, and marked on relevant sections. on the nights you found yourself extra tired, she’d pull out a small candy from her pocket for you, too.
it continued like that throughout the months. eventually, the sessions weren't really about teamwork anymore. you'd bring whatever assignments you had, and she'd bring hers, but most days you’d just... exist together. ruan mei would explain her current projects, and you'd listen, not understanding half of it but loving the way her voice softened when she talked about her passions. sometimes you'd tell her about difficult customers at the shop, or show some photos of a particularly beautiful arrangement you'd made, and she'd listen with the same level of attention you offered her.
winter break
you went home for the holidays, and so did ruan mei. the two of you kept in touch. texting started normal, little updates, photos of hometown things, dry commentary on her family dinners that made you laugh alone in your childhood bedroom.
but gradually, the messages spaced out. she got busy with family obligations, and so did you. days would pass between responses. you told yourself it was normal; people got busy during the holidays. it’s fine… it’s fine… but your mind couldn’t help but drift to her every night before going to bed.
you'd scroll back through your conversations, time and time again, looking for something you couldn't name. reassurance, maybe? proof that those months had meant something to her, too. you started to think that perhaps you were a little delusional about her. you’d often type out messages, only to leave them unsent and tossing your phone aside.
the last text you got from her was two days after new year's: safe travels back. see you next semester. (at least she texted back?)
spring semester!
she was already at the table when you arrived that first day back, and something in your chest unlocked at the sight of her.
"you're early," she observed.
"so are you."
the corner of her mouth twitched upwards. "i wanted to ensure i got our usual spot."
things picked up like nothing had changed (yayy!!), the routine you shared, the way she'd notice things about you that you didn't think anyone else saw–when you were tired, when you were stressed, when something was bothering you, even if you didn't say it out loud. things felt comfortable again. this time, she even started walking you to class, even when it was inconvenient. it felt like the two of you were close again!
so, you decided that you were going to tell her how you felt and deal with the consequences, whatever they were (allegedly).
you felt physically unable to; every time you worked up the courage, something pulled you back. the fear of rejection, the fear that you'd misread everything. that her attention was just her nature, her way of treating her peers (we know that’s not true), and that you were foolish for thinking it meant anything more than that.
friday, february 13th…
the shop was in chaos. boxes stacked everywhere, orders piling up, loose petals scattered across your workspace. everyone in the city was apparently deciding to profess their love through the lovely bouquets you arranged. it’s been almost a week since you last texted ruan mei. the season of love was really taking a toll on you. you were neck-deep in a standard dozen roses when asta, your work bestie, called you over to the computer.
"oh my…" she said. "look at this."
you wiped your hands and leaned over her shoulder at the screen.
custom bouquet order - priority
from: anonymous
delivery address: 2455 ____ street, apt 7
recipient: ruan mei
special instructions: pale pink forget-me-nots (7 stems), pink tulips (4 stems), stargazer lillies (2 stems), queen anne’s lace (filler), baby blue eucalyptus (filler). arrange freely.
date: saturday at 10am.
your stomach dropped, the world started to spin. someone was sending flowers to ruan mei, and that someone wasn’t you… and to top it all off, you didn’t know who they were. you couldn’t even have an idea of whether that person was worthy enough for her. tears started forming at the corners of your eyes. the notion that you were too late to do anything about your feelings for her was breaking your heart a little, but you still had a bunch of orders to get through. sigh…
"hey," asta's voice cut through the ringing in your ears. "you okay?"
you stepped back from the computer, taking a deep breath. "yeah. just fine!"
"you sure? you don't look fine, plus it’s–"
"i'll take the order."
she frowned. "are you sure? you've been swamped all day, plus… you know, they’re being sent to ruan mei…"
"it’s okay, really. i'll do it." you turned away before she could see your teary eyes. "i'll start on it tonight after i’m done with these couple orders."
you made it through the rest of your shift on autopilot. smiled at customers, wrapped bouquets (so beautifully that a museum could be open in your honor), rang up purchases, the works! all while your mind replayed every moment spent at the library, every dinner, every small action you'd convinced yourself might mean something.
soon after asta’s shift ended and you closed the shop, you finally let yourself feel it, the sharp ache of being too late. of never being brave enough to say anything, and now someone else will…
if that person was going to confess to ruan mei, if they were going to give her flowers and possibly make her smile that rare, soft smile, then you'd make sure the arrangement was flawless. after all, you care about her happiness, too.
you worked until late, and by 10pm, you'd created the most beautiful arrangement you'd ever made. the queen anne's lace formed a delicate cloud around the pink tulips, the stargazer lilies drew the eye with their strategic placement, and the eucalyptus tied everything together. it was romantic. whoever ordered this had taste, and they’d also put a lot of thought into conveying their feelings.
once you were done, it felt like you’d accepted your fate as you wrapped the bouquet up and wrote down the care instructions. at this point, you felt more curious about who this mysterious sender could be, rather than heartbroken–or so you were trying to convince yourself.
valentine’s day!
you took up an extra shift on valentine’s because, first of all, you just needed to scratch the itch of knowing who ruan mei’s potential lover was. second, some extra cash wasn’t bad at all.
despite yet another chaotic day at the store, you took the task of personally delivering the bouquet to ruan mei, her place was close by after all. it was a little nonsensical, but you fully convinced yourself you were just curious. that you'd accepted this. that seeing who showed up–or better yet, seeing ruan mei's reaction–would give you closure and let you finally move on.
you knocked twice, then heard footsteps approaching. the door opened, and ruan mei stood there, clearly expecting a delivery person. she was mid-gesture, pointing toward where to set things down, when she actually looked up and saw you. her eyes widened. you’d never seen her wear such a distinct expression. you watched confusion flicker across her face, promptly transforming into panic.
"hi..?" you squeaked out awkwardly, suddenly uncertain. you held up the bouquet with a fake grin. "delivery for ruan mei?"
she stared at you, then at the flowers, and finally back at you again. "you work at flowerworks…" she said as she processed the realization.
"...yes?" you'd definitely told her this months ago. "i thought you knew that..?"
"you said flower shop; however, you never specified which exactly."
you shifted the bouquet, thrown by her strange reaction. "um… i mean... yeah. flowerworks, the one near campus! anyways! these are yours. someone ordered them for you. it was an anonymous order, though…” you twist a strand of hair nervously before reaching towards her, handing out the arrangement.
"come inside."
"huh? i– really should get back…"
"just five minutes," she was already stepping back from the doorway without waiting for your agreement. she'd already decided for you. naturally, you followed her inside (a little hesitantly though), trying to figure out why she seemed so off…
her apartment was exactly what you'd expected. minimalist and organized, plants thriving by the windows, books stacked neatly on her desk, not a single speck of dust or a misplaced item in sight. she made her way towards the dining table with stiff movements, placing the bouquet down before turning towards you. instead of looking down into your eyes like she usually would, her gaze felt avoidant; looking past you towards a window facing the cityscape.
you stood awkwardly in front of her, trying to meet her gaze. "ruan mei, if something's wrong with the arrangement i can–"
"i ordered them." she finally looked into your eyes. her voice was flat, but she looked dejected. “i just wanted some flowers so i could make an arrangement myself for you, catered to your tastes. i even got some small gifts to add to it.”
"for... me?"
"yes." she said simply, like it was obvious. "i did some research on the meaning of flowers too. and i remember you mentioned them once in passing, a few months ago."
“that’s so sweet!" your cheeks felt warm and you couldn’t help but beam at her (lowkey you weren’t aware she had it in her like aughhh shes so adorbs…)
"you've already arranged them beautifully, more beautifully than i could have." her voice cracked a little and her face flushed. "which makes this significantly more complicated than i'd anticipated."
"you were going to confess to me, on valentine's..?" you questioned faintly as relief quickly washed over you.
“i still plan on doing so.” your heart stopped. her palm gravitated towards your cheek, wiping away tears you hadn’t noticed were falling.
“a few weeks ago i concluded that i’ve been in love with you since the day we met. the way you made your way around the lab was… cute. it evoked a feeling i’m unfamiliar with. at first i thought i was just curious about you. i was overwhelmed by an urge to study you and analyze you, to determine the cause of each one of your emotions.” she paused to clear her throat “i started noting every detail about you. the way you bite your lip when you're concentrating, the exact tone of your voice when you're happy versus when you're just being polite.”
you couldn't breathe. you froze, unable to do anything but stare at her.
"i tried to be obvious, too," she continued. “i adjusted my schedule to fit yours, i tried doing small things to make you feel more comfortable, i engaged in your interests to see if you’d notice and do something about it. i thought i’d misinterpreted your reactions…”
"i spent months convincing myself it didn't mean anything," you sniffled, words spilling out now. "that you were just being kind. that i was reading into things because i wanted them to be real so badly. and then last night i thought i'd waited too long, that there was someone else already.”
"there's no one else," she pulled you into a hug and whispered, "there's never been anyone else. i love you." ruan mei said it so confidently it made you melt in her arms.
"i love you too." you sank further into her touch. you stayed like that for a while, her hand moving slowly up and down your back, your face pressed against her shoulder. the bouquet sat forgotten on the table.
ruan mei cleared her throat. “given our current circumstances, is it appropriate for me to ask you out on a date tonight?”
your laugh vibrated through her shoulder. the way she asked was so adorable, you couldn’t help it! "yes," you nodded, reaching up to kiss her cheek. "obviously yes."
the end!
i hope u enjoyed and that the pacing was decent hehe !! i tried dividing it into like bite-sized chapters even tho it's a one shot. i hope i can improve and write deliciously in the future. toodles !!
