#lads lore deep dive

[linkons-most-wanted]

Death and Rebirth chaotic thoughts!

Spoilers below the cut. Hopefully mobile Tumblr won't troll anyone.

SPOILERS BELOW HERE

I will be doing more structured things with these thoughts but I gotta ramble now that I've finished the new main story content! Still drooling at the event tho, we're gonna get even more little reveals I'm sure...

In no particular order:

We got explicit confirmation that Philos's iterations in the myths are parallel potential versions of the same planet! In a GORGEOUS cinematic, at that. I think I might have to screen cap that so I can attach it to a post where I talk about Philos lore. We also know that every version of Philos eventually dies (as all planets do). This actually also creates the possibility that not all versions of Philos started as Earth--that's actually only referenced in Xavier's Where Shooting Stars Fall anecdote, and we see graphics of other versions of Philos that are whole planets (not with the shattered plates) covered in sad (as in Rafayel's Philos myth) or fire (as in Beyond Cloudfall). It also means that Earth can have futures in which it doesn't become Philos--like Dawnbreaker's future. It's maybe a little anticlimactic that they're all parallel? But at the same time a relief to my lore brain because it means I can stop looking for clues about how they're supposed to reconcile. Head-canon wise I still like the idea of certain overlaps between the various timelines, such as Xavier and Sylus recognizing some of the same Philosian tech.

EVER CAUSED THE CHRONORIFT CATASTROPHE BY FUCKING WITH MC, I am SO proud of myself for piecing this together before from the timing, and I even have receipts! I had my suspicions that she was "created" rather than born (since she's elsewhere described as being born from the planet's core) so getting the confirmation that she's "from Deepspace" is extremely exciting.

And on that note, SYLUS SAVED BABY MC. 😭 I am going to be chewing on the bars of my enclosure for more details about that in the event, I hope we get more tidbits... if not you can count on me for a Sylus PoV with head canon to fill it all in 😂 I think what I'm gonna do is add alt chapters to Cosmic Interlude so the current chapters will still be there, but there'll be alternate/additional chapters with the updated canon. My secondary goal with Cosmic Interlude was always to provide a streamlined/clarified version of what we know from canon (partly so I can keep it straight myself) so I def want it to be able to still do that. Folks can then skip the "old" chapters if they want, or read them all for ideas on different ways things could have gone (and we know this game loves branching timelines). And speaking of timelines...

We get an even more primordial origin story for Sylus x MC???? 🥹 Two cosmic beings, forced together because only they could match the other's strength, destined for one to kill the other, but they escape and reshape the destiny of the entire universe 🥹🥹🥹 I'm sure it's partly my bias but Sylus backstory just hits different. I wonder if we'll get a myth from that setting!!???

And that makes me wonder--how does Sylus know about this past life? Did he fall to Philos like a shooting star and wind up amongst the dragons? Did their consciousness energy disperse into the cosmos, and then manifest again on that version of Philos and he's managed to maintain one stream of consciousness since then? If so, when did those memories return to him? Perhaps in dreams, perhaps in the Deepspace Tunnel... so many yummy options... Speaking of delicious, the way he knew RIGHT AWAY that she'd "eaten" the spatium core, and how tempting it must smell... 😋 there will be smut about it.

Switching gears to Zayne, my poor baby. He's going THROUGH IT. And we are finally getting some reveals to all these things that have been foreshadowed. I saw some people expressing confusion that "Dawnbreaker" doesn't remember MC, but I think it's important to realize that the "Dawnbreaker" that manifests isn't necessarily the same one we see in the Anecdotes--Zayne's whole thing is "yin and yang", so I think we're seeing a more "primordial" Dawnbreaker, the ur-yin of Zayne, if you will. The inevitability of death given physical form. The Still in Dark anecdote demonstrates that even this side of Zayne is capable of compassion--through accessing the "energy" of Dr Zayne's yang. Likewise, Dr Zayne is capable of cold utilitarianism through the "energy" of Dawnbreaker's yin. I'm sure we'll get lots of layers here, my gut says trust the writers.

Also, I'm pretty sure we did not successfully destroy the energy core?? I'll look extra carefully when I go through and annotate everything (the results of which will land here) but I do believe that core remains a loose thread, though the press conference was still successfully delayed.

Zayne attempting to disappear at the end is SO him (they have made this a pillar of his personality to the point that it was a key event in the Tomorrow's Catch 22 AU, even) and also so infuriating. I'm so glad we found him before they closed out the chapter, even if it ended on a tense note! I'd say odds are very high we'll get something at the start of the next main story content (whenever that happens) that's like "Zayne was kind of distant and then after his leave he returned to the hospital as if nothing had happened" since episodic universes like this one need that kind of reset. But we'll see.

The reveal that Benedict is basically a shapeshifting Wanderer is FASCINATING, and I think it's implied he was originally "created" at Mt Eternal? Is he the Wanderer that Zayne kept going back to re-freeze, maybe? (as we saw in Snowy Serenity) And now he's escaped? That could explain why Zayne didn't immediately recognize him and how he knew about William. I also think it's interesting how Benedict said, of killing William, "Even I would have hesitated" and we know that Zayne actually did hesitate. So I think we see how easily provoked Zayne's guilt is here--and/or the implication that Zayne was indeed "possessed" by Dawnbreaker in order to kill William, as some have suggested.

I'm also glad we FINALLY have clarity that Zayne was 12 during the Chronorift Catastrophe and those events happened after he met MC, because there's a few errors in his timeline that made it hard for me to pin down whether his dreams began during the catastrophe or whether they were prophetic. I think we'll get a bit more clarity in the event content, too.

I'm also really going to be chewing on the part where he ended up needing to restrain MC (other than that it's hot, okay, idk, it's the second time the Zayne writers have tied someone up and injected them and we're into it) because she was "too strong"--I'm really curious how this manifested, and whether it contributed to that flicker of murderous intent from Dawnbreaker later. The natural assumption is to assume she was just sort of mindlessly flailing to escape--but what if what she experienced as unconsciousness was something more akin to possession? Or her new powers spiraling out of control like Zayne's Evol does? Aaaaah I want answerssss

Last thoughts for now are that I find the contrast between Sylus and Zayne so interesting, especially since they're my two favorite LIs. Sylus is a creature who defies fate, whereas Zayne is bound by it. Sylus's desires influence him (as when he needs to distract himself from the smell of the spatium core from MC) but do not control him. Whereas as Zayne tries desperately to keep everything under control, those desires inevitably end up controlling him. More of the conflict in Sylus's chapters is external (things he and MC need to react to) whereas more of the conflict in Zayne's chapter is internal (decisions he has to make, concerns about his state/motives, etc).

The actual last thing I'll add her (if you read this far, ilu) is that I'll continue updating my lore project GitHub with all the new content. If you've got even a small amount of coding experience, you should find GitHub desktop and Obsidian pretty approachable if you want to explore the project with all the links intact! So so so so so much was foreshadowed and I'm going to be geeking out going through all of it. I'll probably also post some summaries to this blog as well!

[peascrabbles]

Swear I'm not exaggerating when I say I wanna holler at everyone from the mountaintops to go read this fic a billion times.

Myself I'm already partway through my third. That first read experience is unforgettable though. You gave me an experience of being in Sylus's headspace - capturing every facet of him so completely - and I went through that wonderful separation between reality and fiction where you took me into the world created, into the textures of the space that exists between reader & him here.

Going to quote everything I loved here, gods this work was amazing. This is the one.

(this space is a work in progress hahaha planning to cobble it together in between other things I need to do today)

I love the tone of this entire work - really do not have the repertoire to articulate it here which is so annoying to me - but the rhythm of your prose makes it so that each movement and action flows so nicely. Just like the dance motif that shows up throughout.

His pain is a privilege that belongs to you alone.

The succinct way you articulate these aspects of his character - I could hear this whole fic in his voice.

Sylus watches, mesmerized. Turned on. He remembers to close his mouth.

I might try to collect more instances of this, but the straightforward expression of lust and bodily response makes it hit so much harder for me.

The yearn is sooo apparent in every single word. Man, I'm rereading, trying to pick out particular parts to highlight - but where do I start when I love the whole thing so much?

The river and the stars. Reflected in your eyes they lose their indifferent coldness; as long as Sylus knows you're at the other end of them he can bear even their silence. When it comes to you he thinks he can bear anything. … He thinks of the pain on your face when his hand closed around your neck, and this is nothing. He remembers the years spent in a vast, endless river of stars, alone, and this is nothing. He's had worse. Everything, until you showed up, was worse.

Love the callback and insinuation to him spending an eternity lost in space.

My thoughts are still all over the floor, but just know - I am so in love with this work and it's incredibly inspirational to me when it comes to learning how to dissect a moment, atomise it into segments, with no shortage of emotional depth as well. You've inspired me to keep striving to be a better writer.

third tempo

tags: yearning, handjob, unprotected piv sex, sylus gets shot (he's fine), physical hurt/comfort, alcohol mention

The bows trill low; the waltz begins. 

Tonight is balmy, early summer, and the darkening sky still has violet curled around its edges. There are no clouds tonight; instead the air is filled with snatches of music drifting out of an open window. Above, stars gaze down at this world with their cold, impenetrable silence. 

Sylus would know. He's spent a lot of time up there with them. But although he traversed them extensively, plundering the worlds surrounding them left and right, they never told him what he really wanted to know. What he was really looking for. They just blinked at him, silent. Those stars became his ever-present company as he travelled in his stolen space ships, one even lonelier than the company filling the ballroom below him. 

Sylus surveys the scene under the chandeliers and thinks of that distant past. 

If he squints his eyes just so the golden lacquer coating the pillars rising to support the upper balcony look like a mountain of coins; the people twirling around in ornate dresses and glittering suits become the gems, ever-shifting in the flickering candlelight. Plush armchairs, sofas, paintings in gilded frames. The eye jumps from one treasure to the other, and that's not counting the jewelry adorning necks, fingers, and wrists. 

Your presence completes the scene, and there Sylus doesn't want his vision to blur anymore. He intends to drink his fill of you whenever he is able. 

And you look especially beautiful tonight, here under the gleam of the chandeliers. The open-back dress you're wearing accentuates your figure perfectly, as he knew it would. Whenever you move your muscles shift, throwing soft shadows on the planes of your back, and Sylus isn't the only one who looks at you tonight. 

It's the price he must pay in order for you to accept his gifts. If it's for a job, a mission, a deal, you'll wear the dresses he sends you, the heels he wishes he could put on for you, gems around your neck that he'd like to see you keep on while wearing nothing else. On any other occasion you refuse his presents. 

You have plenty of excuses; you don't want to be indebted to him any more than you are, you can't accept such extravaganza from anyone, you dislike wasting money on pretty things that serve no real purpose. As if you deserve anything but beautiful things to surround yourself with. As if Sylus ever expects anything in return for his gifts save for the pleasure of giving them to you. 

But that's not the real reason. Sylus has been watching you very carefully, trying to untangle this new beloved version of you. He can feel you skirting around the truth. If you don't want to tell him, that's fine. He'll find out one way or another eventually. 

For now, it means that he's resigned himself to sharing the vision of your naked back with the undeserving public. 

The song ends. The dancers scatter to the sidelines, helping themselves to expensive champagne and finger-food. You mingle with the crowd, slowly making your way to the stairs and then, finally, you look up at him and catch his eye. 

Sylus tilts his head, one eyebrow raised. You give him a nod, then move up until you reach the upper floor. Sylus is already there, waiting, one hand outstretched for you to take. 

“I don't think anyone saw me,” you tell him, fingers curling in his. “I left it where you told me.” 

“Good,” says Sylus. He checks his watch; old, vintage, a hobby project gifted by the twins. Five to midnight. Kieran and Luke are positioned outside, ready to quietly follow the tracker's signal as soon as it starts moving. A little treasure hunt—and Sylus does so love treasure. Especially so when it comes with the added bonus of ridding the world of another miserable sack of shit.  

He reaches for a glass and presents it to you; you accept it with a half-smile.  “What now? Are we leaving?” 

“Would you like to?” 

You take a sip of your champagne. “I'm not tired, if that's what you're asking. Either way is fine.” 

“Then would you like to dance?” 

“In these heels?” You laugh a little, but when Sylus coaxes you with him to where the upper balcony leads to an outside one, removed from the immediate vicinity of the degenerates below dressed up in their pretty suits, you don't resist. 

You let him take your hand and place it on his shoulder—then flinch when his other hand touches the bare skin of your back. 

A step forward, a step back. There is an invisible line. He knows it's there. He wants to cross it. Some days he thinks you'll let him, and then, suddenly, you pull away. He never knows just what spooks you, what causes you to flinch, to hesitate, to hover, warily. Ill at ease. 

Sylus works very hard to keep from frowning. His hand hovers just over your back, close but not touching. He looks at you. Waiting. 

You reward his patience. You swallow, and your shoulders untense. You lean back a little, pressing into his hand lightly, and Sylus exhales. His thumb strokes carefully, gently, over your spine, and then he starts swaying. 

One, two, three; front, side, back. The balcony doors are wide open, letting through enough of the music to keep an easy pace. You were the one who introduced this pastime to him, so long ago. Now it's Sylus who takes the lead; when he lifts his arm you go with him, stepping, then spinning, and back again. Front, side, back. 

These rare, precious instances of happiness, of wholeness, of the past repeating the present repeating the past, are ones where Sylus feels—in so long—content. No matter the skittish look you gave him last week. No matter the invitations you sometimes accept, sometimes refuse. No matter that you avert your eyes when he holds your gaze for a little too long. You're smiling, now, and the world is good. When you stumble—these heels , Sylus—you do so into his chest, and Sylus holds you against him longer than necessary. 

“Steady now, kitten,” he teases. “Have you forgotten how to land on all fours?” 

You huff, squeezing down on his shoulder. “I think you can be a little more generous given how you've handicapped me tonight.” 

Sylus' brow creases. “Are the shoes not to your liking? You said they felt comfortable when you put them on.” 

“That's because they're made for looking pretty, not for sneaking around backdoors of secret crime syndicates.” When you see the face he's making you smile a little. “Don't worry. They're not hurting me.” 

Sylus nods, but internally the brand name of your heels has already been crossed out on the list and replaced by another, one that will be subjected to even greater scrutiny when browsing online reviews. 

“Sylus.” 

“Hm?” 

“Come on,” you tug at his hand when he starts slowing down. “Why are you stopping? Aren't you always the one telling me I can take it?” 

He does, it's true. His adoration for you couples with unshakeable belief that you can do anything. Accomplish anything. Whatever you desire, he believes you will find a way to get it. You're so strong, and so smart, and so beautiful. There's no reason for him to ever doubt your abilities. 

But that doesn't mean he will ever allow you to hurt. Even by something as innocuous as the glittering heels on your feet. 

He looks at his watch again. The twins have sent him the OK; they're on the move.  

“Let's call it a night, sweetie.” 

Your anticipatory smile falters, and you look away, letting go of his hand. A step back, again. Sylus lets you, mourning the loss of your closeness like he does every time you pull away. Had you really wanted to dance more? If so, you deserve to have a much nicer scene next time. Without the guise of a mission he'll dance with you as long as you desire, in comfortable shoes you pick out yourself. 

You don't protest when he offers his arm to escort you outside. Perhaps you really are more fatigued than you let on; perhaps you're relieved tonight is over. Perhaps you'll let him take your heels off for you when he takes you back to the base, his fingers wrapping around your ankle, thumb pressing into your sole— 

Sylus quickly tamps down the thoughts that immediately follow this last one. 

He walks slowly, measuring his steps to yours down the stairs, through the doorway, over the crunch of the gravel path, all the way to his car. 

Here, in the cool night air, away from the busy murmur of the party, he breathes. The music follows you outside, curling around your feet as though reluctant to see you go. When he gets home he knows just the vinyl he'll play. Something soft and melodic, so that if you want to sway with him again you can. On bare feet, on slippers, on top of his shoes... 

He allows himself to get distracted in these plans. Tonight, by all measures, was a success. You wore the dress he bought for you, you smiled at him, and you danced with him. The tracker chip is secured. Soon enough the host of tonight's extravaganza will cease to be, and Sylus will get to see you and your fellow Hunters clean up the blood he leaves in his wake. A win-win-win all around. 

Really—up until someone tries to assassinate him Sylus is having a great night. 

He senses their presence, of course. But there's lots of people here, and you and him aren't the only ones outside. Also, he's busy. You're allowing him to stroke his hand along your back, to open the car door for you, to lean down and inhale the scent of your shampoo. 

Besides—who would hurt him? Who can hurt him, apart from you? His pain is a privilege that belongs to you alone. 

And so when a shadow passes behind his back he thinks nothing of it. He thinks nothing of it until your eyes widen and you shove him aside, violently, and he has to catch his balance on the car roof, turning around just in time to see you kick a man in the stomach. Hard. 

Not hard enough: the man stumbles but doesn't lose his footing and, wheezing, lunges for you again. There's a glint of something sharp, cold and biting and not allowed anywhere near you, and Sylus’ Evol reaches out to stop it—but finds his assistance is not necessary. You wrest the knife-hand away and grab the man by the collar, forcing his face down while your knee comes up with a crunch and a cry of pain. 

The man's hand instinctively flies to his face, but you don't let him recover. You have a blade of your own, tucked away against your leg in the holster Sylus had made for you, and you rip it over his throat. 

The man gurgles, arms flailing, then slumps to the ground. Your hairdo has come loose, and you throw it over your shoulder with a flick of your head, catching your breath. There's blood smeared on your hands. 

Sylus watches, mesmerized. Turned on.  

He remembers to close his mouth. 

“Ruined my dress. Asshole,” you bite at the soon-to-be corpse at your feet. Then you look up with wide eyes, like you're remembering Sylus is there, too. “Are you okay?” 

“What sharp claws you have,” he murmurs, adoring. “I'm fine.”  

You relax at his assurance and reach for the knife the assailant dropped. “Don't touch that,” Sylus says sharply, and grabs your wrist. He takes it with his Evol instead; through it, he can feel the poison coating the blade. It's a step up from bullets and the occasional grenade, but it appears his opponents continue to be horribly misinformed. 

Good. 

Sylus examines your hands carefully for cuts, but aside from drying blood he finds none. He thumbs over your calluses, then places a kiss on your knuckles. 

“Let's get you cleaned up at home,” he says. When you stay quiet, looking at your hand in his, he gently squeezes your fingers. “Kitten?” You jerk and blink up at him, eyes coming back from somewhere far away. Now worried, Sylus frowns and asks, “Did you get cut? Are you hurt?” 

“No,” you shake your head. “No, just thinking. Sorry. Let's go.” 

Sylus looks at you for a beat longer and then releases you. He drives slowly on the way home; you're quiet, head turned away from him to look out the window into the dark. He can't see your expression. 

He lets you have your silence until you get back to the base. The first thing he does is click a medical bracelet on your wrist and start a full body scan. The poison knife is put away securely to be tested later; Sylus would love to know what new concoction they've come up with to try and kill him this time. 

But right now there are more pressing matters at hand. You sit down on the sofa with that same glum look on your face, and Sylus won't have any more of it. 

“Tell me what's wrong.” 

“Are you angry that I killed him?” you ask, eyes downcast. 

Sylus blinks. It baffles him to think why you would come to such a conclusion. “Have I ever truly been angry at you?” he counters. 

You shrug a little. “Just... you know. If he was still alive you could've asked him who sent him. Maybe he had valuable info.” 

Sylus sinks down next to you, offering a blanket you can drape over your shoulders. He checks the bracelet; loading at 60 percent, no anomalies so far. “People like him know as little as possible to get the job done precisely to avoid situations like that. Besides,” he says, “I already have an idea who sent him.” 

You nod, but you don't look entirely convinced. Or rather, you still look sad, and just like when you flinch from him there is this feeling of something-else. Sylus thinks of his hand, waiting at your back for you to press into. Of that split second where he's afraid you might leave him there, pulling away from him entirely. Disappearing. Again. 

“What are you thinking?” he murmurs, half a question, half not. It’s something he wonders often. The few times you've resonated he can feel your trepidation, the tensing up of someone who's readying themselves for the incoming hurt. 

He thought it was because of how he reacted to first seeing you again. His hands around your throat, the barrel of your gun against his heart. He scared you. He hurt you. He regrets it, deeply. 

He has since given you space, time, holding out his hand, patiently, waiting and waiting and waiting until you're brave enough, curious enough, comfortable enough to sniff his fingers. Hoping that one day you'll climb into his lap of your own accord. To let him stroke you and pet you and kiss you like he's wanted to for so long. (So long.) 

But even though you've let him come closer and closer the tension remains. You keep it tucked tightly against yourself, behind thick walls he doesn't try to pierce through. He won't force you again. But he feels enough, sees enough, to sense your conflict. To go or not to go? To say yes? No? Maybe so? 

“I'm angry,” you say finally, and this makes Sylus look up from where he's absentmindedly taken your hand in his lap. “That this kind of thing happens. That this is your life. But then I—” 

You fall silent, and Sylus squeezes your hand encouragingly. “Then you?” 

“I don't know,” you mumble, faltering. You duck your head to avoid his eyes. 

“Are you angry on my behalf, kitten?” Sylus says, and he smiles slightly. “I’m honoured. I was very impressed with how you slit my assailant's throat.” 

You nod along with his words, but you're clearly not convinced. “Sorry, um. For being so violent.” Sylus blinks, and then he laughs—hearty and low. You're finally looking up at him, part relieved and part offended at his amusement. “It's not funny,” you protest. 

Sylus wants to kiss you so badly his body hurts with it. “Sweetie,” he says, thoroughly enjoying the flush rising on your cheeks, “Why are you apologising? I'm finally starting to rub off on you.” 

It's only fair. You've shaped his entire heart. His soul. He wants to—needs to—leave a mark in return. He tucks your hair behind your ear, eyes lingering on a particular spot on your neck. 

“You sound way too happy about that,” you mutter. 

“Do you dislike it?” 

He would understand, if you said yes. This you is so different, changed by time and pain and circumstance. You don't enjoy killing. You criticise his work, heavily, even when you come back to him again and again. But your occupation isn't all sunshine and rainbows either. He knows this. He knows you've killed before, that tonight wasn't your first. 

He wishes it had been. He wishes he could have witnessed that first death and held you in his arms after. Whether you were sad or angry or proud, whatever you wanted, whatever you needed. He hopes that you didn't suffer by yourself when he wasn't there. That you never had to suffer anything while he was still looking for you. 

“No,” you say carefully. “But I don't like feeling like that.” 

“Tell me.” 

“Like...” You've clasped your hands on your lap. The bracelet beeps at 100 percent; no injuries, no poison detected. Sylus can breathe again. After this, a shower. The blood smears on your skin are bothering him. “Being so angry, I guess. He tried to kill you, and I wanted him dead. I wanted to kill him.” 

Sylus’ heart swells with something like hope. “It won't be the last time,” he says gently. “After all, you're keeping company with a bad man like me.” 

He watches you cautiously. He's leaving the door wide open for you. You can come and go as you please. He'll do anything in his power to keep you returning, but ultimately, you'll have to step through the door on your own feet. One, two, three. 

“But you're not,” you say simply. 

“You're full of surprises tonight,” he says, one corner of his mouth lifting.  

“Okay, well. I did think that you were bad at one point. Which, by the way, that was kind of on you.” You give him a pointed look and Sylus smiles, even though you might as well have driven a knife in him. He knows. It hurts to remember what he did. He'll take this pain along with everything else you're willing to give him. “But I haven't thought that way for a long time. I thought you knew that.” 

“I didn't dare presume.” 

“You can dare to presume a little.” 

“Don't you think that's a little dangerous?” he asks, voice low. “I'd rather you tell me, instead.” 

You pull the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders. “I thought you could read minds. What do you need me to tell you anything for?” 

You mean his eye? “I can only see so much,” he says. “Desire. Lies. Definitely not every passing thought.” And he would never use it on you again, anyhow. 

Your eyes flick to his, down to his mouth, then up again. You wrinkle your nose, frowning, and turn away with pursed lips. “Maybe you should see an optometrist,” you mutter. Then, at normal volume, “Is it okay if I wash up here? The blood is starting to feel icky.” 

“Of course,” Sylus says immediately. “You know where to find clothes.” 

You unclasp your heels and leave him there, sitting on his sofa. Listening to the shower water run. 

You decline his offer to stay the night. You have yet to say yes, but he keeps trying. He tells himself they're little reminders for you, just so you know that the offer still stands. That it always stands. Yes—reminders. Not his own desperation surging up his throat and spilling out over your feet. 

The dance continues. 

Sometimes a step forward, sometimes a step back. You disappear for a while after that night, and so Sylus has to content himself with watching you through Mephisto with steepled fingers pressed to his lips. He watches you work, eat, come home, and then the curtains are drawn shut. The line, materialised. 

Sylus waits with hand outstretched. And every now and then, he holds out a treat. 

He sends you flowers, balm for your aching feet, and an invitation to attend an orchestra performing Tchaikovsky. It's old music, fancy and obscure, a private performance for rich music snobs like Sylus except they don't have a private booth reserved year-round with the best seats in the house, and he does. 

“Will there be any dancing?”  

“No dancing,” Sylus tells you through the phone. “But if you want, we can dance after. They'll play a song I think you'll like—I have it on vinyl. The Waltz of Flowers.” 

“Are we the flowers dancing to the music? When did your roots grow legs?”  

“Just a few days ago,” Sylus says. “Since you've been so busy recently I had no choice but to grow legs so I could come see you.” 

You laugh, and Sylus closes his eyes so he can better imagine the way your lips part when you do. “It sounds like you went through a lot of effort. You're making it difficult for me to say no.”  

“So you'll come?” Sylus asks eagerly. 

“Hmm. Should I?” you ask, but you're teasing him. You're not hiding the smile in your voice, and Sylus feels his heart lighten.  

“Yes. You should. Or I'll have to do something more drastic. Perhaps I'll grow wings next.” 

A beat, and then: “Alright. I'll come. I'll feel lonely if you fly away by yourself.”  

Your tone has shifted a little, just enough for Sylus to pick it up over the poor reception ever-present in the N109 zone but not quite enough to place it. Surely you don't really believe he'd have any interest in flying if it meant parting from you? “Good. I'll pick you up so you can get dressed here. I ordered a dress for you. And new shoes—I had them custom fitted for your size this time.” 

This time there's a longer silence. Sylus resists the urge to tap into Mephisto's channel so he can see your face. “You don't have to do that every time,” you say finally. “I have dresses of my own, you know.”  

“You should wear whatever you like,” Sylus agrees. “I just want you to have options.” 

“And if I show up in a suit? What'll you do then?”  

“Then I'll make sure we match.” 

“Mr. Qin, you really have an answer to every question,” you say with resigned amusement. “Okay. I'll be waiting for you.”  

“So will I,” Sylus mumbles once the line goes dead. 

When the day of the concert rolls around Sylus picks you up at the agreed time and, once you're back at the base, shows you the things he's prepared for you tonight: a dark dress that glitters like the river reflecting the night sky, with shoes and accessories to match. He's pleased to see your lips part in quiet delight once you set eyes on it. 

“Do I want to know how much this cost?” you ask, then shake your head before Sylus can answer. “Actually, no, I don't want to know. I'd be too scared to wear it if you told me.” 

Sylus tuts. “A few numbers are enough to scare you? Where's that famous Hunter courage I've heard so much about?” 

You carefully remove the dress from the hanger, running your fingers over the silky fabric. “Strange rich men with their strange rich hobbies have no business judging people working normal nine-to-fives.” 

Sylus arches a brow. “Strange rich—?” 

But you're already stalking to the bathroom, and the door clicks shut behind you before he can finish his mock-offense. He takes the time to put on his own clothes; a simple suit with dark accents matching yours. The river and the stars. Reflected in your eyes they lose their indifferent coldness; as long as Sylus knows you're at the other end of them he can bear even their silence. When it comes to you he thinks he can bear anything. 

“Um. Sylus?” You poke your head around the doorframe, cheeks slightly flushed. “Can you... Sorry. I can't get the zipper all the way up.” 

...Alright, so maybe there are some things that are a little harder to bear than others. 

Sylus ignores the discomfort in his too-tight pants and steps forward, gesturing for you to come closer. You do, gingerly holding the front pressed against your chest so the fabric doesn't slip. It's a sleeveless design that shows off your shoulders and arms; when you turn around Sylus sees the zipper is stuck just at your lower back. 

His fingertips brush over your skin briefly, and you fail to suppress a shiver. His eyes dilate at the expanse of smooth skin before him. The soft valleys and ridges of your spine are begging him to leave behind marks. His teeth ache with want. 

The zzzip is very loud in the quiet room. 

“Thanks,” you say, a little breathlessly, and turn around. “Okay... Shoes. Where—?” 

Sylus procures them silently, and you slip into them. “How do they feel?” 

You take a few steps, testing your balance. “I think they can handle a Sylus mission or two.” 

“Only two?” Sylus says, one corner of his lips curling up. “You're hard to please, kitten.” 

He holds out his arm for you to take, and you squeeze down briefly. “You're so eager to find fault with the other,” you complain. “You should reflect on what this says about your lifestyle instead.” 

There's something wrong with her.  

Do you think about those words still? He hopes not. He fears yes. Sylus continues walking and holds open the door for you to step through. “I don't see the problem. You always keep up with me, after all.” 

“That would be because it's do or die with you,” you say, ducking your head to get in his car. Sylus fastens your seatbelt for you, then gets in on the other side. He doesn't turn his keys yet, however. 

“I don't die easily. And I won't let you, either. So doesn't that mean, as long as it's us—” Sylus reaches his arm out across the console, brushing his knuckles gently over your cheek, “we'll always make it through?” 

A deep flush spreads from where he touched all the way down to your neck, and you quickly turn away from him under the guise of readjusting your seatbelt. “...You should start driving or we'll be late.” 

Sylus pulls away with a hum, pleased, and drives you to the concert hall. The ride there is smooth, and soon Sylus is opening the car door for you again and helping you step out. The evening sky is starting to dim; faintly between the purples and blues Sylus can spot stars starting to peek out. Normally, on days where he doesn't see you, this is around where he wakes. 

Just a little to your right is the concert hall, its evening lights washing the building in warm golden hues. 

“Ready?” he asks, smiling.  

When you open your mouth to answer him a gunshot rings out across the parking lot. 

Sylus grunts in surprise and pain, abdomen tensing against the foreign object trying to pierce through flesh, and he pulls you away from the direction of the shooter, low to the ground, while the tendrils of his Evol shoot out to find whoever just fucking shot him. 

Maybe he should reflect on his lifestyle. Or rather, maybe he should reflect on his tunnel vision whenever you're involved. He's never thought of himself as reckless; he's daring, yes, takes risks, loves the thrill, loves to play the stakes, but every move is thought through. Calculated. He plans— 

—but you have a way of surprising him. One, two, three, and the cards reshuffle. 

He's always had shit luck. 

“Sylus," you say, voice high, "you're bleeding.” You rip off your gloves, pressing them firmly against where a bloodstain is very rapidly forming against his nice blouse. 

“I'll be fine,” Sylus says, though he can feel the sweat collecting at his nape. It hurts. It always does. His body is already reacting, mending the torn muscles, urging the blood to clot and sending through new blood cells to stimulate the repair process. It pushes against the bullet lodged in his side, making the pain flare up and out like a flame licking over flesh. He grits his teeth. 

Crack! A dent sizzles in his car door, way too close to your heads for comfort. You need to move. “Come,” Sylus says urgently. He half-crouches, half-runs with you to the other side of the car, shielding your body with his bigger one. Another bullet zips past him, grazing his cheek. Good aim. Shame they're using their skills for the last time today. 

His Evol has found the shit responsible for ruining his very nice evening with you and quietly snaps their neck. He's not in the mood for theatrics today. He'll page the twins to pick up the body and find out who it was this time that wanted him dead so badly later. 

And more importantly, how they knew where he'd be. Where he'd be with you, no less. The last thing he needs is for you to become their next target, because that would mean they've found the one way to actually hurt him. 

“Get in,” Sylus urges you. He's panting; his body is working overtime, heart thundering to support the extra flow of oxygen to his wound. He needs to get the bullet out. 

You climb in, knees knocking painfully against the console as you shift over to the shotgun seat to make room for him, and Sylus quickly follows. The car tires screech against the asphalt when he makes a fast turn, forcing the car into high gear to speed away. Where there's one, there's more, and he doesn't want to take any chances with you here. 

“Sylus, oh my god,” you say, aghast. “At least let me drive!” 

Sylus’ Evol pushes you back against the seat so it can click the belt in place, and then Sylus steps on the gas for real. “You can drive,” he says. “Once we're somewhere safe.” His voice is strained; it feels like his body's regeneration is both pushing the bullet out and pulling it back in, trying to recreate life around the metal in a way that is starting to hurt really fucking bad. 

“You just got shot. Are you trying to bleed out behind the wheel? ”  

“No, which is why I'll be needing a nurse in a moment. First aid kit in the glove compartment.” 

You click it open and take the kit out after putting aside sunglasses, mints, two glocks, and several ammo casings. “I'm not a nurse, Sylus.” 

“But you've got plenty of experience, haven't you?” 

“Thanks to you, yeah,” you mutter. 

Sylus presses the comm interface while he drives, eyes darting over the road to see if there's any other fools that want to die tonight. Luke picks up after one ring. 

“Boss?”  

“Ran into trouble. On the way out now, but I need eyes on this place.” Sylus sends the twins his coordinates and changes lanes; if there's still someone following you he wants to shake them before changing course and heading to one of his safehouses nearby. 

“Got it. We'll be there.”  

The line goes dead. “Pull over,” you say firmly. “ Now. I swear to God, if you pass out while driving and crash the car with us in it—” 

“As you wish.” It should be fine—Sylus doesn't see or sense anyone following. He retracts his Evol with no small amount of relief and slows the car, pulling into one of the abandoned warehouses at the side of the road. The N109 Zone is riddled with these. They're wonderfully useful for all sorts of things; Sylus himself is partial to using them as smuggling sites, torture grounds, and, just like right now, temporary hiding places. 

He exhales when the engine goes dead. The brief adrenaline rush ebbs away, leaving more pain in its wake, and it's now that he's starting to realise that the bullet in his body isn't a standard one. This one comes in the fun grappling hook edition, where once it finds purchase in the body it lodges itself in there with mean little pegs that dig into the flesh. No wonder his regeneration can't get it out. You're going to have to cut him open again, and something tells him you're not going to be any happier about it than you already are. 

You're unbuckling your belt the second the car stops, leaning over and pulling on the pin that reclines Sylus’ seat with a jerk so it can serve as makeshift operating table. He grunts, eyes squeezing shut briefly. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you say hastily. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to hurt. Hold still, okay?Gonna touch you now.” 

Sylus turns his head and watches you cut through the blood-soaked fabric with scissors, ripping it open further when you can see the entry wound. “The bullet has hooks,” he says hoarsely. “You'll have to cut it out.” 

You let out a shaky exhale. “Wonderful.” 

“I trust you.” 

“Please tell me you have more than just painkillers in here.” 

Sylus smiles a little, though it comes through more as a grimace. “I'm afraid you'll have to improvise.” 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. You soak wipes in disinfectant and try to clean the bloodied area as gently as possible, but Sylus still hisses at the sting. “It's going to hurt a lot worse than this,” you warn, and he nods. 

“I know. It's okay.” 

“It's not fucking okay,” you snap, and Sylus closes his mouth. Then you deflate, sighing. “Just—here, bite on this. Tell me if I need to stop.” You tug his belt free and offer it to him. Sylus bites down on the leather. It tastes bitter. 

The bullet isn't deep, but the knife cutting through his flesh is agony. Your brow is furrowed in concentration, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Sylus tries not to think of a time where he was the one holding the knife, clutching at his skull as broken pieces of himself grew back despite his best efforts. 

“Almost there.”  

Sylus breathes hard, nostrils flaring when you start to tug at the bullet. He can take it. This is nothing. He thinks of the pain on your face when his hand closed around your neck, and this is nothing. He remembers the years spent in a vast, endless river of stars, alone, and this is nothing. He's had worse. Everything, until you showed up, was worse. 

The relief when the bullet is finally tugged free is so intense his eyes sting. There's blood absolutely everywhere, soaking your hands, his pants, the seat, the console. Courtesy of his body working overtime to supply the constant loss. His head feels dizzy. His jaw aches; you have to dislodge the belt by cradling his cheek, tugging the leather free with your hands. It comes out with deep, sharp teeth indents coated with saliva. 

You hand him a bottle of water and painkillers, and Sylus drinks it down greedily. He's parched. 

“Thank you,” he says once he's swallowed the last drop in the bottle. His body is exhausted, and he focuses his remaining energy on patching up the re-opened wound. The offending bullet is tossed carelessly to the side, and you bandage him with careful fingers. When you're done you slump back against your seat. 

“Kitten?” he asks when you stay like that, silent, eyes closed. 

Your eyes open slowly. There's blood smeared on your cheek. His. This time it doesn't bother him so much. “Don't make me do this again.” 

Sylus looks at you, your beautiful, tired face framed by messy hair. The flutter of your lashes, the downward slant of your mouth. His beloved is upset. “Do you hate it that much?” 

“No. Just don't get hurt.” You press your hands against your face. “I don't want to see get hurt.”  

Your voice is tight, and Sylus’ heart squeezes. “I'll be as good as new in a few days,” he promises. 

You lower your hands just enough that he can see your eyes. They're tinged red. “Does that make it hurt less?” 

He deliberates his answer, but eventually, as always, settles on the truth: “No.” 

You close your eyes again, hiding them behind your hands. When you remove them it's to wipe at your cheeks, and Sylus belatedly realises through the haze of painkillers and blood loss that you're crying. 

“Sweetheart?” he asks, alarmed. 

"I'm fine,” you say thickly. “I'm going to call Kieran to pick us up.” 

Sylus watches you dial the twins silently. Your voice is quiet and tense, though no longer as frantic as when you were trying to press down on his side to keep him from bleeding out. Neither of you says anything while you wait, though Sylus doesn't take his eyes off you.  

This is the first time you've shown him your tears. He wants to understand them. Stress? Shock? But you're used to this. You've been trained to be used to this—and this is hardly the first time you've played nurse for him. Anger he can understand; it's an emotion as familiar to him as breathing. And you are angry, he thinks—there's also just that elusive something-else. A smile that falters. A step back. Eyes tinged red, averted. 

Sylus keeps mulling over it until Kieran arrives. He's feeling much better, if more fatigued, and he could probably make it home himself by now. You refuse. You tell him that if he dies after your hard work you'll resent him for the rest of eternity. Also you prefer riding in a car that isn't splattered with his blood.  

Kieran serenely twirls his car keys around his finger, leaning against the hood while his boss and his boss’ beloved argue. 

It doesn't take long for Sylus to give in. Not because your threat scares him; you'll already haunt him for the rest of eternity whether he dies or not. He just feels sorry for the night you've had so far, and guilty for the tears you shed over him. As Kieran helps him into the back he resolves to plan things more carefully next time. He'll take you somewhere remote for your next outings, places his adversaries don't know to look for. You told him not to make you do this again. He'll do what he can to make your wish come true.  

To his surprise you climb in the back with him, holding out an arm for him to lean into. “Lie down,” you say. You sound tired. “You should rest.” 

Sylus wordlessly complies. You don't protest when he puts his weight on you a little more heavily than he normally would, and you don't say anything when he takes your hand and laces your fingers together. If you'd asked, he'd have told you it helps with the pain. 

The quiet hum of the car is peaceful. Kieran asks you if you need anything and you shake your head, and after that no one speaks until you return to the base.  

Sylus realises barely two hours have passed since you left. It feels like much longer. His body is heavy, but he declines Kieran's offer to support him as he walks. You'll feel better seeing him on his feet by himself. 

“You wanna go home after this? I can take you,” Kieran says. You glance at Sylus. 

“Thanks, but I've got a patient to look after.” 

“Okie-doke. Let me know if you change your mind. Luke's on his way back, by the way,” Kieran adds, jerking his chin at Sylus. “Got the guy. Didn't find anyone else there, but we'll keep looking.” 

Sylus nods. “Page me with updates.” 

Kieran salutes, then turns around on his heel and marches off, humming to himself as he does. Just another day on the job. 

“You should lie down,” you tell Sylus once the two of you have watched Kieran disappear through the door. “You lost a lot of blood... Don't you have IVs here somewhere? I'll—” 

Sylus stops you by taking your hand. “Stay with me,” he says. 

You consider his demand. “I will if you lie down.” 

Easily done. Sylus walks to his bedroom, your hand still in his, and carefully lies down on the bed. When he tries to pull you down with him you swiftly slip out of his grasp and instead start to unbutton his blouse. “You're getting blood on everything, you know.” 

“Doesn't matter. I'll just replace it later.” 

“Wasteful,” you tsk. Your eyes have gone dark again, quiet and thoughtful as your fingers slip the last button through its hole. You lightly fan your fingers over his naked skin. “It's so easy for you to discard things.”  

Your mouth sets, suddenly bitter, and your touch disappears. Sylus watches you closely. Are you coming closer, or are you backing away? You're off-tempo, moving along to a rhythm he can't follow. “I just know how to distinguish between what's important and what isn't.” 

Your gaze flits up to his for a moment, and then away again. What little he can glimpse is unknown to him. “Do you need help getting clean? Or do you want something to drink?” 

“I want you to tell me why you cried earlier,” he says. 

“You're a very demanding patient.” 

“Well?” 

You sigh. “The average person doesn't enjoy being shot at and then having to cut through someone's abdomen to fish out bullets in a car. Seriously, and you ask me to work for you. I'd quit after a day.” 

"Does that mean you're still considering my offer?” Sylus asks, lips curling up. 

You shake your head. “Didn't you hear what I just said?” 

What Sylus hears is the bluster of a kitten caught in a corner, and none of it is an answer to his original question. He considers what you've told him so far. You don't want to see him get hurt. You wanted to kill the person that tried this stunt on him previously. You did kill him, in fact, and you're angry.  

“Sylus.” He blinks out of his thoughts when you call his name, and he looks at you. You’re wary again. He wishes he knew why. “Did you know this would happen?” 

He didn't expect this question; his brows rise, then furrow. “I didn't. I suspected there was a leak somewhere,” he says, “and tonight confirmed that. The good thing is that we can now trace who it is, and after that they'll be no more.” He takes the hand you pulled away, and you let him. “But I didn't know it would happen tonight.” 

He does his best to sound sincere because he is, and he doesn't want you to think that he'd go through the trouble of involving you just for tonight to end the way it did. You're silent for a while, studying the hand holding your own. “You must have really rotten luck, then.” 

He smiles. “You think so? Then what should we do? Will you share your good luck with me?” 

“You can have all of it if it means people stop trying to kill you.” 

Sylus’ breath stops for a moment. Your eyes are downcast, still on his hand cradling yours. Both are smeared with red. A blood pact. 

As long as he's alive, this is one of the few things he can't promise you. There will always be people hunting him, and he takes this in stride. This is just his life. The bullet-proof windows, the base that is really more like a fortress, with locks and cameras and double walls and secret exits. The gun on his nightstand. Do you hate it? 

“I'll start to think you care about me when you say things like that,” he says softly. 

“I told you,” you say. Your voice is trembling a little. A step forward. “You can dare to presume a little.” 

Sylus laughs—then winces, because ouch; the pain in his abdomen flares. He doesn't let it deter him. “Only a little? What else will you let me do?” 

You open your mouth, then close it. You shake your head, already turning your body away from him, getting ready stand up, to leave. “We should talk about this some other time. Right now, you need—” 

No, no. No. His hand waiting at your back. Your fingers digging into his flesh. You can't leave him now. Sylus tightens his grip on you. “Right now I need you. Tell me what you were going to say.” 

“There's—I don't know,” you protest. But you don't tug free from him. “Sylus...” 

“How else will I know?” he asks. “Tell me. Please.” 

Tell me I can touch you. Tell me I can kiss you. Tell me I can take your shoes off for you, take your clothes off for you, tell me I can love you with my heart and my hands and my body.  

“I already gave you all of my luck,” you chide. “And you still want more? You really are a greedy man.” You push the hair that’s fallen over his brow away with gentle fingers, and your voice softens. “Why are you asking me things you already know?” 

He doesn't know. Or rather, he dreams. He hopes. He wants; a delirious, despairing desire. He's afraid. Terribly so. If he's too forceful, if it's too soon, too heavy, too much, you'll leave again. You won't pick up his calls, won't answer his texts. You'll disappear again, wink out like the stars glimmering on your bloodied dress. 

You spare him from answering you by lifting his hand and pressing it against your cheek. It's the first time you've invited his touch, and Sylus burns with it. He dares to thumb over your lower lip, and you part them for him. 

“Come here,” he says, low and beckoning and desperate, and then he waits. He waits then for your eyes to search his, waits for you to hesitate, to weigh your own stakes, and he waits for your lashes to flutter as you lean down, guided by his hand, and press your lips against his. 

You're so very soft. 

A groan rises in Sylus’ throat. You kiss him so, so gently. Your hand mirrors his, on his cheek, stroking so carefully over his jaw. Like he's precious. Like he's something to be cherished. You pull away much too soon and Sylus chases you, lifting himself from his lying-down position. You deny him by placing a hand on his chest. “Your wound—” 

“Is fine,” he supplies, and tries again. You push down a little harder. 

“No,” you say firmly, though the effect is greatly diminished by the flush on your cheeks. “Rest first. Please?” 

Ah. The trump card. 

Sylus sinks back into the mattress with an unhappy frown. “For how long?” How much longer must he wait? He has you here, now, and his side is mending up nicely now that the bullet is out. He could fuck you like this, if you'd let him. 

The corner of your mouth ticks up. “Until you're all better.” 

“My love,” he complains. “Must you torture me like this?” He expects a laugh; a teasing remark. You'll tell him that he likes it. That he deserves it. That it's your job to torture him, because who else will take him down a peg. That you're the only one who can do this. That you're the only one. 

Why does he keep being surprised when you don't act the way he thinks you will? 

You don't smile, and you don't tease. You lean down to press your forehead against his, eyes closed; your breath is warm against his lips. 

“I was scared for you,” you say quietly. “And angry. I'm still angry. And that kind of scares me, too.” 

He thinks he understands. “There's nothing to be afraid of,” Sylus says gently. “We're here together.” 

You draw back far enough to look into his eyes. He looks back into yours. Then, finally—a smile. 

“Okay.” 

Sylus relaxes. “Kiss me again,” he says. He tucks your hair behind your ear, stroking gently over your head, your ear, the back of your neck. This is torture, too. Having you hover so close, noses brushing, breaths mingling. The sweetest kind. When he reads the hesitation on your face he adds: “I won't move.” Then once more: “Please.” 

You oblige. You kiss him with your soft lips and your sweet breath and a shiver when you sigh into his mouth. Sylus does as he promised and stays still, although his hand presses gently against the back of your skull to keep you from pulling away just yet.  

When he bites at your lip you make a little noise that has his cock twitching and he presses you into him a little harder, coaxing your mouth open with his, giving you his tongue and inviting yours in return. You whine, a high, needy sound he files away carefully, and he digs his fingers harder into your hair.  

“Sylus—” you try to say against his mouth. He swallows the words and pulls you into another kiss. He's breathing hard; so are you. You've fisted your hands in his ripped-apart blouse, fabric bunching between your fingers. 

“Wait, wait,” you say, and this time he reluctantly lets you go. “We should—slow down.” 

“Do you want to?” he asks. He enjoys the way your eyes drift down his neck as he speaks, his Adam's apple bobbing around the words. 

You push yourself upright from where you'd been leaning over him. “It's not about wanting. It's about not hurting you.” 

“I'm feeling great,” he says with no small amount of cheek, because he is feeling great. This night is working out wonderfully for him. No matter the blood, or the bullet, or the ruined date. Who cares about a concert when he can hear you making sounds straight out of his dreams? “I'm sure I'd feel even better if you kept going.” 

You laugh and poke his cheek. “Why are you making me be the responsible one here? Is this what blood loss does to people?” 

“No,” he sighs. “This is just what you do to me.” 

You shake your head, smiling. “We should get cleaned up first. And change clothes. And sheets, probably. Also, you need an IV, like, yesterday. I'm worried your wound will get infected.” 

“Then at least stay until I recover fully.” 

You give him a look. “You know I have work, Sylus.” 

“Not tomorrow you don't. And may I just say that Onychinus offers excellent work hours? Very flexible. Working remotely is an option, too—” 

Exasperated, you clap a hand over his mouth, but you can't stop the smile from tugging at your lips. “Okay, okay. Enough. I'll stay.” 

Satisfied, Sylus licks your palm and laughs when you yelp and snatch it away. 

You clean each other up. 

It's foreign and a little odd, to be cared for like this. To have you peel off his socks while he lies on his bed, skin damp from the rag you used to clean the blood away. You help him into clean, comfortable clothes, and then do the same for yourself. Sylus watches with dark eyes as you turn your back to him, unzipping your dress and letting it pool at your feet. He traces the curve of your ass, your thighs, and thinks of his big hand splaying out over your flesh. Squeezing. Holding. All his. 

It takes a little more coaxing for you to sleep next to him, but Sylus is quickly finding out that he's not the only one with weaknesses. You falter when he says my love. Your mouth softens when he says I need you beside me. You stroke your fingers through his hair when he asks you to touch him, and you curl up like a kitten at his good side when he dims the lights. 

“I'm not hurting you, am I?” your voice says in the dark. 

“Quite the opposite.” 

It's quiet for a while, then. Sylus lets himself drift comfortably, anchored to you where his fingers lace through yours. Your warmth presses against him like a perfect puzzle piece. 

He is content like this. Watching your breath even out, chest rising and falling slowly. You've put on one his shirts, much too big for you, and it slips over one of your shoulders. He ignores the way his cock stirs at the sight. There'll be many more nights like this, many more opportunities to have you here every which way in his bed wearing things he's carefully collected in a locked dresser.  

He slips in and out of dreams, of memories, of wants and needs. In between that line of waking and sleeping he'll feel for you, squeezing your hand, assuring himself you're still there, and then his body's fatigue pulls him under again. 

When he wakes for real he's dismayed to find the bed empty. 

Sylus pushes himself upright. His side throbs, but it's muted. He knew you'd do a good job. He stretches to test his range of motion and flexes his fingers, Evol dancing forth with a crackle. His reserves aren't back up to full yet, but what has been restored is buzzing, new and alive and impatient to move. To be used. 

He's just about to swing his legs over the side of the bed when the door opens, and you step through holding a glass of water and a bowl of something that smells warm and sweet. 

“Good morning,” he says. 

You still in surprise, lips parting, and then you're hurrying over to him. The bowl and glass are placed on his nightstand, and you push against his shoulders. “You shouldn't be up yet,” you frown. “Lie down. Rest some more.” 

Sylus goes with your touch, but not without pulling you onto his lap. You flail, hands and knees pressing into the mattress so you don't put your weight on him. 

“Sylus—” 

“Is that for me?” he asks, glancing at the dishware. 

You settle for placing your palms on his shoulders, looking down at him from your seat. “Maybe. Only obedient patients who listen and rest when they're told get my special recovery oatmeal.” 

Sylus laughs. It doesn't hurt much anymore; just a dull throb. He drags his hands up your bare legs and squeezes at your hips. “Really? Then tell me. Have I been a good boy?” 

You flush. “Let me check your injury first.” 

Sylus gestures with his hand. “Be my guest,” he says, amused. He already knows what you'll find, and then you'll tell him what he wants to hear. One way or another. You shuffle back on your knees and peel away the bandages, chewing at your lip. Your gaze darts up when Sylus brushes a thumb over it. “Don't bite,” he says. “That's mine.” 

You sputter, half-heartedly smacking his hand away. “That's—well—stop that. Let me focus.” 

The blush has spread from your cheeks to your ears, but otherwise you make a valiant attempt at appearing unruffled as you inspect the entry wound. You keep your teeth from your lip. 

“...Your body really is remarkable,” you say. You gaze at Sylus’ skin, looking fresh and new and pink. On his side sits a puckered scar that on any other person would have taken several weeks to form; tomorrow, there will be no trace left that it was ever there. “Does it hurt?” 

“Barely.” 

Your shoulders relax, and you give Sylus a real smile. He drinks it in greedily. “Good. I'm glad.” 

“So?” Sylus asks. “Am I your good boy?” 

You laugh a little, hands fanning out over his chest. It feels so incredibly good to have you touch him. “Yeah,” you say, amused. “You're a good boy, Sylus.” 

Sylus’ hips buck up instinctively; he can't help it. A groan is trapped behind his teeth. “Then give me my reward,” he demands. 

You look down at him, cheeks flushed, smile fading into surprise and arousal. “The oatmeal? Let me—” 

“Forget the food,” Sylus says impatiently. “I want you. Kiss me. Touch me.” 

For a moment you look like you want to argue with him, but then you lean down with a shaky exhale and press your lips to his. He bites down on them like he said he would, and you make a needy sound that immediately has him doing it again. You taste so sweet, lips sliding over his own, letting him palm your skull to kiss you deeper. You're still hovering over him, so his hands move to your hips, lifting you over his clothed cock and pressing down. 

You gasp into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “I don't know if—I don't want your wound to reopen.” 

“Is that the only reason?” 

You breathe out a shaky laugh. “You're overestimating my self-restraint.” You lean down and kiss the corner of his mouth. “If I didn't have to be so worried about you I'd let you do whatever you want. But I am worried. So...” 

Whatever he wants. Sylus is going to make good on that promise to the fullest extent possible. Your concern is endearing, but it seems like you're the one who's overestimating his self-restraint if you keep saying things like that. If he can take whatever he wants he'll take it all. Everything. 

“Doesn't hurt,” Sylus says, voice rough. He bucks his hips up again and groans when your nails dig into his chest. “I'll tell you. Trust me?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, and finally you stop resisting when he coaxes you down again. “I do.” 

Sylus hums into the kiss. It's a pure sound, a relief, a want, an invitation. This is what he needed. This is what he's been needing for lifetimes.  

He palms your thighs, digs his fingers in your flesh when you rock against him, and drinks from you. You shudder against him, making wanton little sounds in the back of your throat that encourage him to press harder, kiss deeper. The shlick of spit against spit is loud and wet in his ears; the good kind of drowning. His cock aches, the friction of your clothed cunt against his sweatpants sending little zaps of pleasure through his body. You said whatever he wanted. He wants more. 

He slips his hands under your—his—shirt and groans when he realises you're wearing nothing under it. Your skin is hot to the touch, soft and toned. His strong Hunter. He runs his hand over your naked back, and you don't flinch from him. He presses his fingers against your spine, swipes down, and you arch against him when he grips the fat on your hips. 

You break the kiss, saliva clinging to your lips, and press your forehead against his shoulder. His name, moaned softly in his ear. You rock against each other while your wet little mouth slides over his neck. He hisses in pleasure when he feels teeth against his pulse. “Yes,” he rasps. He threads his fingers through your hair, pulling you against him. “Again. Harder.” 

You bite down and Sylus shudders on a gasp turned moan. His other hand roughly palms your ass. He's leaking, rock-hard and aching, and he breathes your name when you nip his ear. 

“Still okay?” you ask breathlessly. You push yourself up, resting your weight on your forearms. 

He laughs. His pupils have dilated fully, and his teeth feel sharper than normal. Your scent, your arousal, is thick in his nose. “More than okay.” He dips both hands back under your shirt. “Can I take this off?” 

You lift your arms in silent assent, and Sylus sighs when your skin is bared before him. Yes. Finally. Everything. He tugs at your shorts. “This too.” 

You have to sit back for that one, swinging your legs over his for a moment to shimmy it off. You hesitate when it's just your panties left, eyes flicking to his, and then, cheeks burning, you slide those off too. You hold his gaze while you do, and Sylus swallows. 

“Yes,” he says. 

Yes. Everything. 

His Evol neatly catches your underwear when you drop it, tucking it away somewhere you can't see. You crawl back over him fully naked, a little shyly now, like he isn't about to bust with just the sight of you on hands and knees over him. He moans when he feels you settle back into his lap. You're wet enough he can feel it through the dark spot on his sweats, and his cock twitches again when he wonders how much of that is yours and how much is his.  

He kisses you again, palming your breasts, and he marvels at their softness, how perfectly they fit into his hands. You mirror him, hands traveling over his chest, down his stomach, fingers playing with the faint white hair trailing down his pelvis as they go. You pause when you reach his waistband. “I want to touch you, too,” you murmur. “Can I?” 

Sylus lifts his hips, and you help him slide down the clothes you put on him just hours ago. You sit there on your knees in front of him, gazing down with dark eyes. Your hand reaches out tentatively, feather-light, and you stroke over his leg. 

“Acceptable?” he asks, lips curling up. 

You smile, too, face soft and open, and a weight swings loose in Sylus’ chest. You could ask him for anything right now. His money, his men, his bike, his card. The world. His eye. You could take a knife and cut out his heart and hold it in your hands, and it would only be right. 

“Do you really need me to tell you? You know what you look like.” 

“I want to know. Tell me what you see, when you look at me.” 

You lean down and kiss his abdomen, carefully, just a little to the side of his entry wound scar. “I see someone who is strong and proud and beautiful,” you say against his skin. “On the outside, too. Every part of you is.” 

Sylus brushes the hair out your face, tucking it behind your ear. “Come,” he says softly. “Come here.” 

You go, settling yourself across his lap as you were before. The silken heat of you right on top of his most sensitive parts is divine. He watches you open your mouth, spit in your hand, and wrap it around his cock, and that's about where the hindbrain takes over the wheels and he stops thinking about anything else. 

Your hand is warm, callused, wet. You work him slowly, squeezing down gently while you swallow down his ragged breaths with wet kisses until he has to clamp down on your wrist to stop from coming. 

“I want to feel you,” he rasps. “Can I? Inside?” 

You whine against his mouth. “I want to. I want to, just—don't wanna hurt you. Don't want you to hurt.” 

“I know,” Sylus says roughly. “I know. My sweet girl. You're not hurting me. Really. I promised you.” 

“Okay,” you say, finally, a whisper against his cheek. “Okay, Sylus. I want you.” 

That's all he needs. Sylus reaches down and works his fingers in you, curling and stretching and languishing in that wet heat, burning with the anticipation of feeling it elsewhere. Of being inside you, of sharing himself with you as deeply as possible. To become one being with you again, two halves of the whole, for a little while. 

You tremble above him, fingers digging into his hair, rocking your hips against his touch. “Good,” he encourages. “Good girl. Perfect for me. Shall I make you come like this? Just like this, on my fingers? I can feel how tight you're getting. Just a little more. Good, yes, just like that...” 

Your body gives out on you with a choked moan. You collapse on top of him, pulsing around his fingers, and Sylus works you through it until you go limp and swat at his arm for him to stop. He puts his arms around and squeezes tight enough for his side to hurt. 

“More?” he noses against your hair.  

He can feel your laugh more than he hears it. “Impatient,” you tease, and Sylus snorts. Can you really blame him? He's waited so, so long, and he's been so good all this time. He thinks he's allowed to be a little impatient. 

You push yourself up with still-trembling arms and reach behind you, line his cock up with your sex, and then you sink down slowly. Sylus’ fingers squeeze your thighs hard enough to bruise. He grits his teeth. It's like sinking into a hot bath, wet and warm and welcoming, except this bath squeezes down on him like a tight little vice and pulses against his cock when he shifts. He wants to roll you over and mount you, fucking you into the bed until you forget everything but his name, but you told him he's a good boy. He'll stay like he is now, indulging your worries and your concerns. He'll make you come on his cock as many times as you let him to make up for it. 

“Doing okay, sweetie?” he manages, brushing over your cheek. You're panting, eyes gone a little glassy, and his hips buck without thinking. You whimper when he does, eyes squeezing shut. 

“'M okay. You're just— ah. You're huge, holy shit, give me a minute—” 

Sylus would laugh, but it's all he can do to keep from fucking up into you. Instead he circles his thumb over your clit to encourage you to take him deeper until you finally sit down on him fully. His head nudges against your deepest spot, and every time you so much as breathe it sends pleasure up his spine like lightning. 

You start moving, slowly at first, then faster, aided by his hands and his hips. He kisses you messily, hungrily, biting down on your neck, your shoulder, right over that little spot that's always been his alone to have. He claims what is new and reclaims what was lost. Everything that's his will always be his. He'll never let you go after this. He's never losing anything ever again. 

He keeps touching you, stroking your sides, your breasts, your hips; your clit, too, until you begin to shake and your movements start to falter. “Sylus,” you moan against him, sweaty forehead pressed against sweaty forehead. “I need—please, little more? Feels so good, you feel so good—” 

Sylus wraps his arms around you and presses you flush against him, drawing up his knees. He moves his hips again to fuck you for real, now, the slap of flesh against flesh loud and wet. He grows rougher as his pleasure builds, teeth sinking into your skin, eyes wild, a low rumble in his chest. His side throbs as an afterthought, but it's washed away by the feeling of your body curling around him, clenching, straining, that soft heat burning through his restraint until he's coming with a desperate whine high in his throat. He rolls his hips without thought, reduced to the animal want of release. He buries it deep inside you until eventually his breath evens and you slump into the sheets, together.  

Sated. 

Sylus breathes. He turns his head and presses kisses where he can reach: your hair, your temple, your nose when you lift your head to look at him. You kiss him, too, gently on his lips, then his cheek, down to his neck where he asked you to bite him. His marks match your own, a trail of teeth down your neck, your shoulder, and your chest. 

“My love,” he murmurs. 

“Was that okay?” you ask him. “How does your side feel?” 

“Perfect. Let's do it again.” 

You laugh and quickly slip away from him before he can try to roll you over. And let your oatmeal get cold? Absolutely not, you tease him.  

He eats; you clean up. He coaxes you back into bed; you agree, as long as he holds you and you get to pick what you watch. 

You never have made him an offer he can refuse. 

The bows trill low; the flowers dance. 

Sylus gently releases the tonearm. The flutes pick up with a slight crackle through his record player; then they're carried away by the violins. He hums along with first notes, off-key, then turns around to hold his hand out for you. 

“I like it. Is this what you were taking me to hear at the concert?” You put your wine glass down on the table and drift over to him, placing your hand in his. You're barefoot, wearing his shirt again, and it keeps sliding off the shoulder no matter how many times you readjust it. You've refused offers of other (appropriately sized) sleepwear. 

Sylus draws you closer, placing one hand on your lower back and dipping his head down for a kiss. It's impossible to stop doing it now that he can. “Correct. Though you are by far the loveliest flower partaking in this particular waltz.” 

You laugh, resting your head against his shoulder while you sway together. One, two, three, slowly and off-beat.  

“I couldn't let you be the only one who grew legs out of roots. I have to keep up with you somehow.” 

Sylus hums. “I'd never go without you, beloved. We dance together or not at all.” 

You curl your hand over his heart. “...It's going to take some time for me to get used to you calling me that.” 

“That's alright,” Sylus murmurs. “I've got time.” As much of it as you like. Everything you can't accept yet will be here waiting for you until you do. 

He, too, can wait. As long as you let him hold you like this in the meantime he thinks he can bear a little more patience. And then, when you're ready, he'll tell you how much he adores you. How much he needs you. He thinks you already know, but he also knows his kitten is skittish.  

That's alright, too. He's happy to keep holding out his hand and let you come to him. He'll show you over and over that you don't need to flinch from him. That for all the violence and anger that soak his hands red he will still cradle you in them gently.  

You stay there, swaying together in the dim evening light, long after the waltz has ended.

[minxipinxi]

🎮 Love & Deepspace – One Year Later: A Deep Dive into Achievements, Controversies, and Future Hopes 🎮

Since its launch, Love & Deepspace (LADS) has evolved significantly, introducing new features, quality-of-life improvements, and (of course) sparking debates about monetization. Here's a comprehensive, detailed look at what the game has accomplished, where it shines, and where it could do better.

🌟 Major Improvements & New Features

1. Lunar Shop Overhaul 🌙

Before:

Ranking up 5★ memories only gave 50 Lunar Crystals, which felt unrewarding.

Players had no meaningful way to spend excess crystals.

Now:

Lunar Crystals can be exchanged for exclusive outfits and accessories.

The first outfit (inspired by a meme!) was a fun addition.

Problem:

Outfits cost 100 crystals per color variant: forcing players to grind (or spend) for multiple copies of 5★ memories.

The system has a finite limit: once you max out standard banner memories, crystals stop accumulating unless you pull on limited banners.

Verdict: A step in the right direction, but too restrictive. Let players unlock color variants freely!

2. Memory Growth Bonus (A Lifesaver for Leveling) 📈

Before:

Leveling memories past 60 required insane resources, making progression tedious.

Now:

A growth bonus significantly reduces the grind for multi-banner memories.

Problem:

Myth memories (solo banners) don’t benefit from this system.

High-level players still face bottlenecks when upgrading beyond 60.

Verdict: A great addition, but should be expanded to all memory types.

3. Glint Photo Booth & AR Snapshot (A Fan Favorite!) 📸

Why It’s Great:

Allows creative photo-taking with LIs and MC.

Sparked huge community engagement (players share edits, memes, and stories).

Controversy:

Some speculate this feature was only added because revenue allowed it (no official confirmation).

Raises questions about whether F2P-friendly content depends on profit margins.

Verdict: One of the best social features: hope they keep expanding it!

4. 4★ Memories with Dynamic Dates (A Mixed Bag) 💘

What Changed:

Promise Cards (paid 4★ memories) now include visual novel-style dates.

More immersive than before, but not as deep as 5★ memories.

Problems:

Paywalled: only available via the Promise system.

Some players prefer audio-only dates (like in Secret Times) for multitasking.

Verdict: Nice for spenders, but should be more accessible.

5. Hairstyles & Accessories (Cute but Costly) 💇‍♂️🐱

The Good:

New cat ears, tails, and hairstyles added customization depth where early banners bundled accessories with outfits (e.g., Yes, Cat Caretaker Event).

The Bad:

Later banners split hairstyles from outfits, forcing extra pulls (e.g., Tomorrow's Catch-22 Event) locked hairstyles behind additional gacha layers.

Verdict: A fun addition, but predatory monetization hurts player trust.

6. Abyssal Chaos (Rewarding but Flawed) ⚔️

What It Offers:

A roguelike mode with deduction puzzles, lore, and rewards.

Completing it grants ~10.7 pulls over 6-8 weeks.

Problems:

Rewards are one-time only (no refreshes).

Grindy and time-consuming—many players skip it after the first run.

Verdict: Could be much better if rewards reset bi-weekly.

7. "With Him" Room Customization (Needs More Life) 🏠

Improvements:

Expanded room size and more furniture options.

Missing Elements:

No visible LI presence (unlike Destiny Café, where they interact).

No rewards for decorating—reduces incentive to engage.

Verdict: Needs real-time LI interactions (e.g., reading, sleeping).

8. Free 20 Pulls (Thank You, CN Players!) 🎁

How It Happened:

Global received 20 free pulls only because CN servers topped revenue charts.

Proves global players rely on CN spending for rewards.

Verdict: Appreciated, but highlights global-server inequality.

9. Reruns: Good Idea, Bad Execution 🔄

The Good:

Reruns arrived earlier than expected (some gachas wait 2-3 years).

The Bad:

Myth banners only last 7 days: forcing rushed decisions.

Packs are pricier, removing budget-friendly options.

Verdict: Reruns are necessary, but FOMO tactics are unfair.

💸 The Big Issue: Aggressive Monetization

While LADS has improved gameplay, many updates push spending:

Lunar Shop = Requires dupes for outfits.

Split hairstyles = More pulls needed.

Abyssal Chaos = Rewards are too scarce.

Rerun tactics = Limited-time pressure.

How to Fix It? ✔ Bundle hairstyles with outfits. ✔ Refresh Abyssal Chaos rewards bi-weekly. ✔ Give global players more free pulls (not just CN-dependent).

🎭 Final Thoughts: Love It, But Stay Critical

LADS has grown impressively in storytelling, animation, and features. However, monetization is getting greedier, making it harder for F2P/low-spenders/dolphins to keep up.

What’s Next?

Will the developers listen to feedback and adjust?

Can they balance profit with player satisfaction?

And remember: stay vocal about fair treatment! ✊

[foreverisntenough]

Forever Isn't Enough Favorites

Welcome to my deep dive into favorite Trent lore. No order, no reason... just the ones that live in my head rent free!

----

Videos

Love a sticky toffee pudding - baby boy T being cute and happy at home from Ruby's docu-short on YT.

That Scouse Accent - Scouser in our team comes out in full force after Fulham last year.

Mildly traumatizing, yes but equally endearing- Trent Alexander Arnold to a T, ladies and gentlemen.

Baby boy‘s birthday - rapping at petrol station before the ig handle was even changed.

2017 Young Player of The Year - My Shayla

Mum I’m on the phone - Dianne interrupting Trent’s video call

Doing the most 🤫😋- Whatever this goal celebration was

Klopp was literally his dad - Tears ngl

Beta Squad Classic - Hitting the cross bar with ease

Video evidence of Trent being a big baby - PR goes out the window.

2020 Trent - hun, being a better swimmer than you can't be that hard, please.

Spanish Grand Prix Trent - He didn't give a fuck and he looked good doing it.

Overly Competitive - A fraction of the video evidence the country has of Trent acting like this

2018 T Lore was Insane - That ENG squad was dangerous. And boy oh boy did have repercussions.

Local Lad On Another Level - In the LFC fans at an away game.

Sassy Trent Face Comp - So dramatic So unnecessary

RBF Trent- Explaining he actually does enjoy life despite his resting bitch face lol

Carrying gum around fine shyt - That first clip sends me

Crying over these edits - I can't even articulate the way these videos make my chest feel like...

What my type is - edit: was

Oh... Okay - I can't handle these tiktoks. Make it stop.

And it’s begun… - These edits make me sick. Like my chest aches.

Bring him back to me! - 😭😭😭 I would pay so much money to experience '22-'23 again...

Genuinely delusional - He actually has lost the plot

Miscellaneous

Mustache Trent if you get it you get it.

Baby's Ears Sweetest boy 🥺🥺🥺

Trent's Dogs -for an anon who asked!

[deletedscenegirl]

wildlight.

chapter twenty – past

in which a girl raised to be a weapon learns how to heal instead. in which dragons trust her more than people ever did. in which she meets a boy who speaks in firelight and stubborn hope, and maybe — just maybe — she lets herself be loved. a story about magic, softness, survival, and the slow, terrifying choice to stay. 🐉 oc x hiccup · slowburn · httyd 2 🕯️ found family · dragon lore · enemies to “don’t leave”

The wind was shifting.

It tugged hard at Hiccup’s armor as Toothless cut low through a warm updraft, his wings wide and steady, slicing through the sky with a kind of elegant menace. Below them, the sea rolled in glinting steel — the kind of morning shine that looked like hammered blades. Sunlight slid across the surface in ripples, dancing over the shadows of darting fish and the far-off gleam of gull wings. The only sound was wind and the steady pulse of flight.

Beside them, Veilstorm soared like a living storm front — silver-tipped wings extended, tail cutting foam from the clouds. The air shimmered around her with the residue of magic, each wingbeat heavy with purpose. Kaela sat taut in the saddle, her cloak billowing behind her in shredded streaks of black and deep blue. Her eyes were pinned forward, sharp as the wind—but distant too. Like her body was flying and her mind was braced for something else entirely.

“You didn’t have to follow,” Hiccup called, angling his body slightly toward her, voice raised just enough to cut through the gusts.

Kaela didn’t glance over right away. When she did, it was the barest tilt of her head, just enough to meet his gaze. Her tone was flat. Even. Unapologetic.

“Didn’t wanna get you killed.”

Not flirty. Not teasing. Not even dramatic. Just truth. Plain and quiet and terrifying in its certainty. The kind of thing you said when you weren’t making threats — you were making promises.

Hiccup didn’t argue.

He didn’t need to. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It never was. He just turned forward again, the weight of her words settling like salt fog across his shoulders — slow, cold, and inescapable.

The sea stretched endless beneath them, heaving in slow rolls beneath a slate sky. Far ahead, jagged cliffs marked the icy edge of Lapland’s reach — frostbitten and ancient. But the ship cutting through the water had no interest in old boundaries.

It was large. Hulking. Black-hulled and bristling with purpose. Metal net cannons lined its flanks like teeth. Cranes and rigs and reinforced cages jutted out like crude, violent limbs. A hunter’s ship. One that had seen dragons. Fought them. Broken them.

And not all those dragons had left it alive.

On the prow, Eret stood as still as carved stone, his silhouette rigid against the sky. The wind thrashed through his hair, but his stance never wavered. His eyes were fixed on the horizon like he could command it to reveal its secrets faster. The scars on his arms gleamed with salt.

“Keep your eyes peeled, lads!” he barked, his voice rolling across the deck like thunder. “With this wind, we’ll reach Drago by daybreak — so best we fill this ship up with dragons, and quick! It’s no time to be picky. Not if we want to keep our—”

“Uh… Eret?”

He turned, teeth already bared in irritation. A hand pointed skyward.

Two shadows. A sleek black blur, narrow and fast. And beside it — a silver winged, spined shape that shimmered with runes when the light hit right.

Eret’s eyes narrowed. “HEADS! OFF THE PORT QUARTER!”

Everything exploded at once.

Cannons swiveled. Nets loaded. Boots pounded the deck. A chorus of grunts and curses rose into the air as the trappers scrambled into formation, ropes lashing against metal. Orders flew like arrows.

“Net 'em, lads! Take 'em down!” Eret shouted, already loading one himself, tracking the shapes with steady aim. “You’re not getting away this time.”

The cannons BOOMED. Nets sliced through the sky like webs hurled by titans. But the dragons didn’t flinch.

They dived.

Toothless dropped first, talons scraping wood, wings flaring like a dark omen. Veilstorm landed a breath later — in a rush of wind and silver flash. The deck shuddered under her impact. Crew scattered. Net ropes tangled uselessly behind them like seaweed slapping against rock.

Kaela was already moving — blade drawn, stance low, shoulder forward, her whole body wound like a strike waiting to land. There was fire in her eyes. Not the kind that burned hot — the kind that cut.

But beside her, Hiccup lifted one calm hand.

“Nope,” he said smoothly. “It’s your lucky day. We give up.” The crew blinked. Confused. Kaela’s head snapped toward him.

“That’s one Night Fury, one Hybrid, and…” Hiccup dismounted with a slow, deliberate pace, “…two of the finest dragon riders west of Luk Tuk. That oughta make the boss happy, right?”

Before she could react, before she could even curse properly—

Fwump.

A net landed over her. “Hey!” she snapped, instantly struggling. The ropes coiled around her like betrayal.

“Excuse us,” Hiccup said with a charming grimace, tugging her across the deck. Kaela hissed something sharp and ancient under her breath — a curse. Possibly directed at him. Possibly aimed at the entire concept of diplomacy.

“What are you doing?” she growled, just low enough for him to hear.

“Toothless, stay,” Hiccup ordered. The Night Fury paused, tail twitching in protest, muscles coiled like a bowstring — but he obeyed, his green eyes locked on Hiccup’s hand.

With casual ease, Hiccup reached for the live well and dropped the grate open with a hollow clang. Eret’s men moved instantly — swords drawn, blades flashing.

“Dragons don’t care much for cages,” Hiccup noted, lifting a brow. “So they’ll just hang out with you. They won’t be any trouble.”

Immediately, weapons leveled. Toothless growled. Low. The sound rippled the surface of the water. Hiccup didn’t blink. “Unless you do that.” He smiled without warmth. “Wooden boat. Big ocean. How’s your swimming?”

“Not good,” one of the trappers muttered.

FWOOM.

A burst of blue flame erupted from the live well. The crew stumbled back. Kaela didn’t flinch. “Oops. Almost forgot.” Hiccup reached into his belt, withdrew his Dragon Blade, and extended it toward the nearest crewman like a peace offering. “Can’t have armed prisoners.”

The man hesitated. Took it. “Just what every dragon trapper needs,” Hiccup said, tone too bright. “One end coats the blade in Monstrous Nightmare saliva. The other sprays Hideous Zippleback gas. All it takes is a spark and—”

Click.

BOOM!

The blade erupted in a sudden, chaotic whoosh of flame. Several of Eret’s men staggered backward. One yelped. The scorched edge of the deck smoked.

“Once they see you as one of their own,” Hiccup said easily, “even the testiest dragons can be trained. Right, bud?”

Toothless flopped over like a smug toddler.

“Give me that!” Eret barked, snatching the blade and hurling it overboard in frustration.

Veilstorm shot after it instantly — a blur of silver lightning. When she returned, the blade was clutched in her teeth. She dropped it at Eret’s feet with a thud like an insult.

Eret stared. Breath ragged. “What game are you playing?”

“No game,” Hiccup answered, too calm. “We just want to meet Drago.”

Eret’s brow twisted. “Why?”

Hiccup’s voice didn’t waver. “Because I’m going to change his mind about dragons.”

The crew laughed — rough, mocking. A sound that echoed hollow off the sea. Kaela poked her head above the well’s edge, soaked and unimpressed. “He can be really persuasive.”

Hiccup pet Toothless’ head. “Once you’ve earned their loyalty… there’s nothing a dragon won’t do for you.”

Eret sneered. “Puh! You won’t be changing any minds around here.”

Hiccup stepped forward, gaze level. “I can change yours. Right here. Right now.”

He reached down and locked Toothless’ tail mechanism into launch-ready position. “May I?” he asked.

But before Eret could answer—The sky screamed. Something blurred past above. A shadow. A roar. Wings like fire.

And then Hiccup was gone. Snatched straight into the air, a cry tearing from his throat as claws wrapped around him.

Kaela jolted upward, arms reaching. “HIC—!” Wings buffeted the deck. Trappers stumbled. Someone fell overboard. Cannons swung back up. Chaos reigned.

“DRAGON RIDERS!” Eret bellowed. Toothless leapt to the mast, tail lashing, muscles flexed for a strike. Then his eyes found the dragon in the sky.

Red. Spiked. Snarling. Not a threat. Hookfang. And dangling upside down from his claws? Hiccup. “Put me down! Snotlout! What are you doing?!”

Hiccup flailed like a fish, his prosthetic glinting in the sun. Snotlout leaned back in the saddle, one arm raised like a conquering hero. “See how well I protect and provide?” he called.

Not to Hiccup. Not to the crew. But to—

“Ruffnut.” She didn’t hear him.

Because at that exact moment, a net hissed past her head. “AGGH! What is with all the nets?!” Tuffnut barked beside her, arms windmilling.

Ruffnut whipped around. And saw—Eret. At the net cannon. Sunlight gleaming off his arms. Bare. Scarred. Sweaty.

Her breath caught. “Oh... my,” she whispered. The net arced toward her like fate. “Me likey.” It wrapped around her in one sweep. “Take me.”

And Kaela — still half-bound, seething, soaking — just dragged a hand over her face and muttered, “We’re gonna die.”

Hiccup had kicked off from Hookfang mid-spin, body angling downward in a sharp arc that sliced through the wind. His wingsuit flared with a crisp snap, catching the updraft like a hawk locking into a dive. Air rushed past him in a scream of pressure and freedom. The ship was fast approaching beneath him.

He aimed for the deck. Fast. Controlled.

But the landing didn’t go as planned.

Instead of a clean vault, he slammed into the mainsail with a graceless thud, his limbs tangling in canvas and ropes as he slid down in a heap. His prosthetic leg caught a line, spun him, and he collapsed onto the deck with an audible wheeze and a thunk that would haunt his ribs for hours.

Behind him, Toothless hit the deck with a thundering snarl, wings wide and protective, his eyes glowing with primal fury. He placed himself between the ship and his rider in an instant — shield, sword, beast.

Kaela’s head whipped toward the movement. She’d barely scrambled to her feet from where the net had tossed her when she caught the sudden gleam of metal — Eret, teeth clenched, hauling up another net cannon with practiced, brutal efficiency. His fingers gripped the firing lever. His eyes locked on Hiccup.

And he would have fired—

“NO! HOLD IT!” Kaela shoved his arm just as the trigger went off. Her whole body leaned into the push, and the cannon jerked off aim.

The net flew wide, catching nothing but air. She didn't wait for thanks. She spun back to Hiccup just in time to see him pushing off the deck, breath ragged, brushing dust from his vest.

“WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING HERE?!” he barked, half to her, half to the universe.

The answer came not in words but in a low rumble. A massive thud shook the planks as Grump landed like a flaming rockslide, drool dripping from his oversized maw. The deck groaned beneath his weight. And off his back leapt a very proud, very loud Gobber.

He spun his prosthetic, now fitted with a hammer head, and raised his arms like a gladiator. “We’re here to RESCUE you!” he declared, beaming.

Hiccup staggered to full height, hands still spread in frustration. “I DON’T NEED to be rescued!” His voice cracked — part outrage, part exhaustion, part are you serious right now?

Another crash shook the ship. Far heavier. Far more deliberate.

The entire bow dipped. Skullcrusher had landed. And behind him, looming like a thunderstorm wrapped in armor, was Stoick the Vast. He didn’t dismount. He descended, each movement stiff with seething fury. His beard twitched with the tight set of his jaw. The tension in his shoulders was a warning all its own.

The trappers parted.

And then, from his place near the cannon, Eret stepped forward, still posturing like this was his ship to command. “Well, didn’t you just pick the wrong ship, eh?” he began, cocky, self-assured. “I am Eret, son of—”

He never finished.

Stoick shoved him aside like a sack of wet fish. Eret flew backwards into Grump’s side with a stunned grunt. Before he could even recover, Gobber ambled over and gave him a solid whack on the head with his hammer hand.

“That's for being irritating.”

Grump flopped down directly on top of him with a snort, pinning him beneath a mountain of sleepy lava dragon. “Get... this... thing... off... me!” Eret wheezed from beneath the weight of scales and sarcasm.

Gobber grinned. Turned to the rest of the stunned trappers. “Anyone else?” A beat of silence. The crew looked at the dragons. At the Vikings. At their unconscious captain. They dropped their swords in perfect, synchronized defeat. “That’s what I figured.”

But no one was watching them now. Because Stoick had turned. And his voice, when it came, rumbled with command. It wasn’t loud. But it didn’t have to be. “You. Saddle up. We’re going home.”

Hiccup met his father’s eyes. And didn’t move. “No.” Stoick’s brows rose. Slowly. That wasn’t protest. That was refusal. His shoulders squared, already bracing for the fight he knew was coming.

“Of all the irresponsible—”

“—I’m trying to protect our dragons and stop a war! How is that irresponsible?!” Hiccup’s voice cracked again — but this time it wasn’t from panic or pain.

It was fire. But Stoick’s tone dropped. It didn’t soften. It sank. Into something darker. Something older. “Because war is what he wants, son.” Everything went still.

Even Kaela froze — one hand still clenched at her side. Her eyes found the Chief’s, and something in her chest gave way. Stoick’s breath came slow, heavy. As if pulling it from somewhere painful.

He looked at Hiccup — truly looked. Not at the man Hiccup was becoming. But at the boy he still wanted to protect.

“Years ago…” his voice rasped, old as the sea, “there was a great gathering of chieftains… to discuss the dragon scourge we all faced.”

The memory rose like fog.

Firelight. Noise. A grand hall filled with bellowing voices and armored warriors. Young Stoick — beard shorter, frame less wide, but eyes just as stormy — sat among the other chieftains, watching.

The doors creaked open.

And in stepped a man cloaked in dragonhide, shadow clinging to him like rot. His boots thudded. His face was mostly hidden. He bore no blade. No shield.

Only a voice.

“I am Drago Bludvist.”

Kaela's breath caught.

“I am a liberator of mankind… from dragon rule.” The memory fractured into heat and steel. Laughter. Then screaming. The roof tore open. Armored dragons crashed down through fire. Screeches filled the air. Blood hit the stone. Warriors scrambled, weapons useless.

“He cried out, ‘Then see how well you do without me!’” Stoick said bitterly, his voice low but etched in steel.

Kaela couldn’t move. Because she remembered too. Because she had stood behind him. Because the blood on the floor that day had sprayed across her boots, across her hands, her face. Because she had helped.

Because she still wore the scar she wore in her heart. She turned away. Fast. Clenched her jaw against the scream rising in her chest.

Where Drago Bludvist — her father — had left his mark, maybe not in her body, not physically, but her heart. her fear. The deck had gone silent.

Smoke curled around them, soft and thin now. The only sounds were the quiet creak of the ship and the weight of a past none of them wanted.

Stoick’s voice came again — final. Heavy. “Men who kill without reason cannot be reasoned with.”

The words hit like falling stones. Kaela’s hands clenched the edge of Veilstorm’s saddle. Hiccup didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. He just stared at the deck for a moment too long.

And then—“Maybe.”

It wasn’t rebellion. It was belief. That soft, stubborn thing inside him that had never burned away. The part that Kaela loved most. The part that wouldn't let go.

He turned and strode toward Toothless. Toothless rose to meet him instantly. Hiccup vaulted into the saddle, his jaw clenched, breath low. When he looked back at Stoick, the air between them was thick with everything they hadn’t said.

“I’m still going to try.” A heartbeat. “This is what I’m good at. And if I could change your mind... I can change his, too.” He didn’t wait for approval. He didn’t need it. “Come on.”

Toothless exploded into the sky with a blast of air that rattled the rigging. Within seconds, they were gone — a black blur vanishing beyond the sails.

The silence was unbearable. Kaela stood frozen, her hands shaking slightly as she reached for Veilstorm’s reins. She mounted without a word.

But—

“NO!” Stoick’s voice cracked through the air like thunder. Kaela froze halfway into the saddle. “Lead the others back to Berk.” He was already climbing onto Skullcrusher. “I’ve had enough mutiny for one day.”

Kaela didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

Her heart screamed inside her chest, but she didn’t speak it. Just stared at the place where Hiccup had disappeared, every instinct in her body trying to follow.

“Stoick, I can’t leave him out there.” She said it low. Fierce. He turned. And this time... he didn’t bark. He looked at her. And saw it. The pain. The past. The love.

And he exhaled. “We’ll look for him.” A pause. “Astrid, take the others with you.”

Astrid was already moving. She touched Kaela’s wrist as she passed — a silent promise. “Stay safe.” Kaela nodded once. Her lips didn’t move. Her voice was gone.

She swung into Veilstorm’s saddle. And behind her—

“Ruffnut!” Stoick barked.

Ruffnut sighed. “Ugh, okay!” She twirled a finger along Eret’s bicep. “I’m coming...”

Eret groaned weakly from beneath Grump, still pinned. Probably flattered. Probably dying. Kaela shook her head — a quiet breath of laughter that never made it to her mouth.

And then she turned toward the sky, wind in her braid, and whispered: “Please be okay.”

Veilstorm took to the air.

And the sea swallowed the silence.

[goldenangelbloodcastiel]

A welcoming Fandom you say 👀👀👀 I've been wanting to expand into more Fandom recently

(And I need someone to thirst over Sylus with cause its been one day and I think I may have a problem)

Babes YES

The L&Ds Fandom is so fun to interact with and we are all so feral for all the men.

If anyone knows how much I love and gush and obsess over Love & Deepspace it’s

@janumun and @cute-little-crow

They also have amazing takes and fics and writing that you should def check out 😍

I literally completed the game in like a week (would’ve been sooner but I have to work and can only play on my laptop) lol

And I may also be re-playing the game with a diff account just cuz my main is at that stand still 😅 The LADS enjoyers is full of feral and unhinged people and it’s been the most fun I’ve had in a fandom.

All the fics, lore drops, hot takes, headcannons, art, and MC’s are beautiful and I go on a deep-dive EVERY-TIME.

Welcome to the Chaos and feel free to gush, rant, rave, and obsess with me anytime!

[eeriepromis]

ABOUT ME

LaDs-centric account | Hey there! I’m JD, but you might know me as Eerie Promis or SonnyBeee. I don’t self-insert; for me, MC is just another character in the story. I call her Mei and always picture her original model when reading fanfics. I love exploring deep character dynamics, mythology, and layered storytelling. My writing thrives on tragic love, humor, and power struggles, with a focus on worldbuilding and emotional depth. I also enjoy unconventional ideas and "what if" scenarios - not because I favor one character over another, but because I love seeing different dynamics play out. I am a Caleb main, with Xavier as my secondary and Rafayel as my bestie - I like them all though. Still won't save any of them from any angsty ideas. (:<

Too many hobbies, switching between them depending on my latest obsession:

✖ Creative: Painting, graphic design, photography, writing, researching, symbolism deep dives, and drawing. ✖ Sports & Skills: Tae Kwon Do, badminton (but also, sleep), piano & drums (gave up on guitar 💀). ✖ Psychology & Typology: MBTI, Socionics, Enneagram, The Big Five - I’ve explored them all. ✖ Past RPG Life: Formerly super active in a Harry Potter RPG forum.

MY WRITING

I have tons of prompt ideas but not always time to write them. If something inspires you, feel free to use it! Just credit the prompt & drop a link - I’d love to read what you come up with! 🧡 I crosspost on AO3, Tumblr, and (sometimes) Reddit, but Tumblr is my main hub. You might also know me as SonnyBeee on Reddit or from my Google Doc "Eerie’s Guide Library".

✨ Welcome to my mind’s chaos - have fun exploring with me! ✨

FIND ME ON ᯓ✈︎

AO3 | REDDIT | [& Eerie Promis on the official Discord Server]

LaDs GUIDE FOR BEGINNERS AND ADVANCED PLAYERS

Eerie's Guide Library Here you can find a collection of several guides on Banners, Combat, Protocores, Abyssal and more. But also an Overview of the LaDs Timeline and Infos of the Love Interests and their Lores and Myths, Gacha Math if you're thinking about buying packs, and Check Lists. There are links to the sources included everywhere. You can copy the Doc to use the Check Lists, but I will be updating the original Doc.

PROMPTS & PREMISES [overview]

✖ Nightborn Syndrome [Magical Girl-AU] ✖ Chrono Rewrite [Time-Travel Fix-It | All LI | Genderbent!Caleb] ✖ MC dies & Caleb loses against the Chip [Caleb vs. MC] ✖ [soon] Daughter of the King-Traitor [Time-Travel | Xavier & Queen MC's Daughter]

DRABBLES [overview]

✖ Caleb's Failed Psychological Test [Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3] ✖ Paradox Unleashed [Catch-22 AU | Praedator's meet the Canon LI] ✖ Give it to me! [Time-Travel | Genderbent!Caleb, Zayne & MC Cameo] ✖ Optimal Weapons to Destroy Each Other [Caleb vs. MC | Loss of Control] ✖ Anomaly Detected: Meet Yourself, Colonel [Battle against Self | Time-Travel] ✖ A Name to Call Their Own [Caleb, MC, Josephine | Adoption & Mistrust] ✖ The LaDs As Partners-In-Crime [+ Marauders Special] ✖ [soon] Between Light and Gravity [Xavier & Caleb | MC chose Rafayel]

ANALYSES [overview]

✖ Caleb's Failed Psychological Test Mini-Series ✖ The Meaning Behind Their Names ✖ Tragic & Angsty One-Liners for Caleb's Myth ✖ Caleb's Limited Myth - The Six-Winged Angel ✖ POV: You're Hugging Your Favorite LI - Here's What He Smells Like ✖ Caleb Foot Lore Drop™ ✖ Caleb Drama & Hypocrisy

[pliablehead]

Heyo, what do you consider the top 5 must-watch EE interviews???

I AM SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER THIS and I think it's because I really don't have a proper answer!! So much of my deep dive into EE was done in one long hyperfixation spiral back when I was first getting fangirl-level into them, a good 6 or 7 years ago, and so I'm running into the problem of most of the interview content I've consumed all sort of homogenizing into one sort of blur of Lore that I've internalized and I am not doing a great job at separating out into its individual components! So, that said, the following list is probably not in line with what I'd actually ultimately believe to be the best, most crucial ones--it's just the ones my brain can call to mind at the moment. lol. BUT HERE ARE SOME:

serious/insightful: • Jon and Alex for Tape Notes podcast. (so not a must-watch so much as a much-listen, but there are a few individual clips from this on youtube in video form as well I believe.) RDF is my favorite EE album and I thought this was a hugely interesting look into their writing process and also had a bunch of cool personal stuff in it! Plus, I think it's a very good look at who the band are, like, "now" -- there's a lot of great content around from MA up through GTH, but by the time they were on album 4 and all like, 30+, and especially once covid hit and sort of changed the trajectory of like.. bands, in general, I feel like it's just been a different animal re: regular interviews etc. • this 2013 3-parter with Jonathan. It's been ages since I watched it but I remembered it almost immediately, and for some reason I'm remembering it as an oddly vulnerable Jon moment. just talking about things. (more good band lore! etc.)

funny/meme-y: • Mike and Jez at Isle of Wight. Unlike many others, I could not possibly count how many times I have rewatched this, and it is funny every time. The interviewer is a buffoon asking totally clueless questions and Jez is having absolutely none of it, he's just chomping his chewing gum the entire time, Mike's doing his best, it destroys me. • Mike and Jez look at memes. Less interview-y and more just #content but whoever edited this video did a TOP NOTCH JOB and it's one I often show to not-in-this-fanbase friends that can still be a fun look at the band and a good laff. • This very sweet one with Alex and Mike being interviewed by a literal child. Contains the infamous "Jeremy, and yes," which is one of my most quoted EE-related sentences ever • this Man Alive track-by-track, also audio only.. the BITS that Jon and Alex are doing. truly incredible stuff

just lads having a nice time :) : • the CAPSLOCK ON talkback - lots of pleasant band and lyric insight, and a great Jez cheese moment at the end • this livestream dot com session is some performing but some Q&Aing, so not really an interview proper, but the energy in the room is delightful alskdghj

other noteworthy bodies of work: • anything with Andy Backhouse. I'll be the first to admit that Andy can grate my nerves sometimes, he often feels annoyingly a little too simp-y or something, but the other side of that coin is that as a huge fan of the band he actually does always ask them questions that are like, Real, he Gets them, so it's guaranteed to be a notch up from just random music journos who are engaging with them on a more surface industry level. Nothing is more frustrating than watching an EE interview where the interviewer just so blatantly doesn't "get" EE's whole deal and doesn't know how to interface. Andy never has that problem ! • any episode of Chips of Chorlton that features them (I think Jon's been on twice and Jeremy once). Dutch Uncles are their friends and hearing them all shoot the shit in an extremely comfortable environment is suuuuch a pleasant and wholly different experience than when the lads are being Professional Music Band guys, even when the latter still consists of them doing fairly goofy things

A VERY LONGWINDED AND NOT ESPECIALLY COMPREHENSIVE ANSWER ?? !!!!! Ultimately I think I was the wrong man for the job. @hellkitepriest has way more of an archivist's nature sort of just intrinsically than I do, he can probably do a better and less ridiculous job akjdshglak

[lunyunyuny]

being a psych major with lads brainrot is so bad bc after deep diving into the lore… i want more. I WANT MORE ANALYSIS I WANT THEIR MOTIVATIONS I WANT TO KNOW WHAT MAKES THEM TICK. like i do Not like caleb At All, but i want to know more about him… i want to really understand how much pain raf and sylus are in after realizing mc doesn’t remember them… i crave for knowledge

[linkons-most-wanted]

Interstellar arena & Beyond Cloudfall theory

Spoilers for Death and Rebirth below the cut! It's been a bit but better safe than sorry 💕 I'm going back through the All From Deepspace chapter and I have THOUGHTS. About Sylus's origins. 👀

I'll probably come back to this with some more quotes/depth later, but as I'm going through All from Deepspace, here's what's jumping out at me:

When MC has her dream at the end of Dust of Memories of the interstellar arena, she remembers her conversation with Sylus when they're kids. Then "time marches on" and we don't know how much or for how long, and "the Deepspace Tunnel—vast and capable of tearing apart any form of energy--separates us."

Then, the next thing she "remembers" (though it's noted that things are hazy and potentially out-of-order) is Sylus breaking her out of the Collision Chamber.

This creates at least one thread of continuity between the end of the interstellar arena memories and the start of MC's time on earth, just like there's a thread of continuity from Sylus's life in Beyond Cloudfall to him arriving at the N109 Zone.

Since MC just sort of manifested on earth at age 7-8, it stands to reason that Sylus could potentially do the same. And if she went from the interstellar arena to Earth (though it's not really meant to be linear, but bear with me) then it's equally possible for Sylus to go from the interstellar arena to the Philos of Beyond Cloudfall.

And something really caught my eye: In Rules Fall Before Us, MC says, "That nebula was more chaotic than an abyss."

So, what if...

MC and Sylus are doomed for one to kill the other in the interstellar arena

They leap into the nebula, (in a way they both die, in a way they both live) which puts them in direct contact with the Deepspace Tunnel

The tunnel "sends" MC to earth (or she's yoinked there by Ever's experiments)

Sylus is in an abyss, and then he emerges from an abyss--into Beyond Cloudfall's Philos. The dragons find him and raise him as their own.

Sylus may also be a "cosmic soul" like MC, which adds another layer to their being the "same kind". While Rafayel, Caleb, and Zayne reincarnate (Xavier TBD), Rafayel, Zayne, and Xavier all have parents in at least one timeline (Caleb TBD). (I know that's kind of confusing, hopefully it makes sense that their immortality/reincarnation seem different from Sylus's and MC's. MC is often an orphan in her other lives and she never has any explicitly confirmed biological parents in any timeline.)

So, it's fairly plausible that Sylus could also just "appear" on Philos, perhaps also around age 7-8 like MC did.

This means that his dragon powers manifested much like MC's manifested--that version of Philos is able to "grant" draconic powers to anyone who demonstrates that their true nature is draconic.

This means that Sylus's dragon "parents" were perhaps not literal parents (and the dragons of Philos were perhaps not shapeshifters at all) but rather the ones who took in a strange human boy when others wouldn't.

It would explain a lot and the Sylus writers tend to be so tight with this stuff that I'd be shocked if this reference to an "abyss" was actually just coincidence or vague vibes.

So, why that specific version of Philos? Well, it'd be the one that has an abyss. And given the way that dragons are framed as being creatures of/masters of the abyss (which echoes folklore such as Leviathan being associated with a watery abyss), the Philos that has an abyss naturally has dragons.

Or, you can even think about it another way--Sylus leaping into an abyss creates the need for there to even be a Philos that has an abyss, and so it creates a branch in the timeline such that a suitable Philos exists for Sylus to be manifested into and then go on to develop his abyss powers. And yes this is Main Character Syndrome to the nth degree but that's kind of the entire point of Philos--MC literally IS the planet on some level. She is quite literally the center of the game's universe.

If nothing else, I really like this angle for my headcanon because it provides a really satisfying explanation for how Sylus ended up being a random human among dragons. Like ofc you can hand wave about random orphan kids or dragons shapeshifting and getting with humans and whatnot, but the idea of him being a human boy who randomly wakes up in the abyss next to a valley full of dragons and is raised by them is just too perfect to me. (And, lucky for me, it has no conflict with the headcanon I've established thus far.)

[gobleann]

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄.

∘ㅤGobleann

∘ㅤShe/Her (AFAB)

∘ㅤSoutheast Asian

∘ㅤENTP

∘ㅤArts and Lit Enthusiast

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒.

∘ㅤHallucinating my way through writing Sylus like my life depends on it

∘ㅤTainted by LADS thanks to my friends — now Sylus lives rent-free

∘ㅤWill download (apps, games, chaos) when I get a tablet

∘ㅤI write original stories too. Worldbuilding is my love language

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒.

∘ㅤNo hate or discourse — don’t bring it here

∘ㅤ17+ blog only — no minors

∘ㅤDon’t copy, repost, or translate my work

∘ㅤBigotry (Islamophobia, homophobia, Zionism, etc.) = immediate block

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓.

∘ㅤLove and Deepspace-centered blog, sprinkled with original art and writing

∘ㅤNot spoiler-free

∘ㅤI write for female/AFAB (she/her) readers only — focused on Self-Insert characters, my AU, and MC!Readers

∘ㅤPrimarily SFW, though NSFW may appear occasionally

∘ㅤEnglish isn't my first language — grammar slips might happen

∘ㅤReblogs = love

∘ㅤRequests are open, but I pick based on vibe/mood

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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄.

∘ㅤAU Centric Stories

∘ㅤMC!Reader centric stories (Female/Male)

∘ㅤNo specific appearance, race, or body type required

∘ㅤNo cheating plots

∘ㅤNo sensitive or triggering content without the proper tags

∘ㅤOpen to explore topics outside of requests

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𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒.

∘ㅤ#gguides – Main post navigation / pinned overview

∘ㅤ#ggarchive – Full writing archive & masterlists

∘ㅤ#lizzie au – My personal AU: drama, plot spirals, emotional damage

∘ㅤ#readermc – Self-insert focused writing and reader POV content

∘ㅤ#gmuseum – fanarts

∘ㅤ#yappingsquare – Theories, rambles, lore deep-dives, you name it

∘ㅤ#writtingthought – Headcanons, concepts, future LIs, brainrot entries

∘ㅤ#AO3fics – My fics archived on AO3, available for your reading pleasure

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. Mₐₛₜₑᵣₗᵢₛₜ .

-soon updated-

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𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄.

If you’ve scrolled through all this, I expect that you’ve read the rules.

If not, and you violate them? You’re ready to be blocked. I don’t do second warnings.

Also: yes, I post about LADS, but I have other stories, characters, and worlds too.

If you’re curious, I suggest you check them out — or miss out.

[keepswingin]

1, 8, 10, 11, 17, 27, 38

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

I write in whatever the default is. I never got around to caring about fonts or things because I knew it would end up posted somewhere that has it's own base font anyway (ao3, tumblr)

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

This is a hard one only because I feel like I go through times where I can write one fine and the other is just annoyingly difficult xD if I had to pick though, I think I would choose dialogue because sometimes I struggle with picking out the right words and terms to describe scenes and keep things from repeating. With dialogue I can usually find some sort of flow even if I have no idea where the character is standing in a room.

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

I think about old fics sometimes and how the wrong fics aways gain traction. It always works out that something you don't really like after it's finished is the thing that everyone else seems to enjoy, and then you're kinda just stuck in limbo with it. A lot of unfinished fics haunt me too, especially when I start thinking about how it's probably easy to just finish this or put an ending to that, but then I get worried that it's been too long or my writing will be too different or it just won't work and then repeat that process for anything still sitting around xD

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

I don't usually cut out things. If anything the biggest edits/cuts happen during editing which is the final step of writing for me, and I can only remember a handful of lines that I thought were really cool and then ended up deleting. If I do enjoy something enough that I want to hold onto it, I'll move it to the bottom of the doc to see if I can work it in somewhere else.

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

You specifically picked this to dig around for fic spoilers xD truth is besides the little one shots I've done over these past two weeks I really haven't touched anything else. There's lots of wips that i'm excited to finish if it ever happens - the apocalypse fic was really me trying to deep dive into a dark long work about the horrors of humanity, the chenji royalty au is about finding a home in someone broken, crack the shell is literally cyberpunk winter solider au with a sequel already planned, head above water is me trying to branch out into something inherently different than what I'm used to, and what I'm staring next for lads is going to be me adding whump and expanding/fleshing out an given au verse with lots of potential. When I do prompts or short works it's mostly to give me a restart when it's been a while since writing last.

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Already Answered Here

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

Already Answered Here

[linuxgamenews]

Play League of Legends Like Never Before in Song of Nunu

Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story story adventure game is Verified for Steam Deck via Linux with Windows PC. It's all thanks to the hard work of the team at Tequila Works. Due to be available on both Steam and GOG. You've probably know League of Legends, right? The online battle arena where champions duel it out, vying for dominance. Now, step aside from the heated battles for a moment and think about the rich stories and worlds behind those champions. That's where Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story comes in for Steam Deck and Linux. Instead of a competitive arena, this as an adventure into the heart of one of the game's most compelling regions: the Freljord. This icy realm, with its vast landscapes, towering mountains, and chilling blizzards. Also, the stage where the story unfolds. It will be available on Wednesday, November 1st at 9:00 AM PT / 4:00 PM GMT / 5:00 PM CET. Picture this: Nunu, a young lad, is on a journey, searching for his mother. But he's not alone; Willump, his loyal and trusty companion, is right beside him. In Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story, their bond is as tight as you'd expect from two best friends. While they laugh, play snowball fights, and together. As a result, they face challenges that test their bond.

Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story | Eyes of the Freljord

And challenges are aplenty in the Freljord. From navigating dangerous terrains, whether it be scaling heights or sledding down icy slopes. All the way to facing the wild elements of the land. Wolves, fierce and cunning, are only one of the many obstacles in Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story. Plus, the Freljord isn't just a barren, frozen wasteland. It's also full of enchantment, with magic that dances in the air and secrets buried deep beneath its icy surface. The duo's journey isn't just about finding Nunu's mother or having an adventure. It's about learning the true essence of the Freljord. The stories that bind its people, and the events that shaped its history. Along the way, they come across iconic figures in Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story. So you might recognize them if you're familiar with the world of League of Legends. Do to champions like Braum, the heart of the Freljord with his enormous shield. Ornn, the master craftsman who can forge anything; Volibear, the thunderous bear spirit. Also Lissandra, whose power over ice is both awe-inspiring and threatening. What sets this game apart from many others is its focus on story and exploration. Since it's a chance to dive deep into a universe that many only know from a battle point of view. Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story offers an intimate look into the lives, dreams, and struggles of its characters. That's something truly special.

The Story:

If you're the kind of person who values a good story, enjoys exploring, and likes unraveling mysteries. Well then, the Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story adventure is one you won't want to miss. Developed by Tequila Works and brought to the fans by Riot Forge. This story gives a fresh view on the world many thought they knew. And its Verified for Steam Deck, and is due to be playable on Linux via Proton. For those eager to embark on this story adventure, the game is open for pre-orders. And a bonus awaits! A digital art book comes with every pre-order, offering an exclusive look into the artistry and creativity that brought this story to life. Due to be available on Wednesday, November 1st at 9:00 AM PT / 4:00 PM GMT / 5:00 PM CET Song of Nunu: A League of Legends Story is not just another title to play; it's an experience. Due to be a journey into a world rich with lore and filled with challenges. Whether you're a seasoned LoL player or new to the universe, this adventure promises an engaging and heartwarming title. Coming to Steam Deck and Linux via Windows PC on Steam and GOG. Priced at $29.99 USD / £24.99 / 29,99€.

[unseelie-grimalkin]

I'm going for gold, lads, lasses, and other gendered classes!

Do you like visual novels? Do you like stories about the fey? Do you like your entertainment as EDUTAINMENT?

IF SO, BOY HOWDY DO I HAVE A VISUAL NOVEL PROJECT FOR YOU.

The Good People (Na Daoine Maithe) is a lore-rich and choice-driven romantic visual novel inspired by Irish mythology. Play as an Irish tenant farmer from the mid-19th century, whose path becomes inexplicably entwined with fairy affairs after getting robbed by the roadside and lured into the mythic and war-torn world of Tír na nÓg: A once unified land, now divided into the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. Will you escape with your stolen belongings? Or does fate have something else in mind?

OKAY, BUT WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR YOU, SEEKER OF SEROTONIN?

6 wonderful romantic/PLATONIC options (each love interest can be pursued entirely platonically)

a visual novel whose philosophy is less on anxiety-inducing, arbitrary choices to get a good or bad ending, but instead focuses on if you, the player, are interacting with a character in a healthy or unhealthy manner, leading to player freedom and choice

intelligent and reflective writing that is reflected within character moments and dialogue

and MORE! (so much more!)

WHERE CAN I FIND MORE OUT ABOUT THIS GAME?

Here is the bio link, which has links for the indie developers' social media accounts (Tumblr, Twitter, Discord Server) along with the link to their official website, which has a deep dive into every main NPC and the philosophy of the game. The demo is out now and free on both Steam and Itch.io

(As an official statement: I am in no way employed or affiliated with Moirai Myths and I was not approached in any way to make this post. This is me being a feral fan on main, blazing this post)

EDIT:

HELLO EVERYONE! DID YALL KNOW THE KICKSTARTER FOR THIS GAME JUST LAUNCHED TODAY? NOW YOU DO! MORE DETAILS AND MORE FUN TO BE HAD!

They’re doing voice acting reveals this month, along with an early bird special to see blushing/flirty emotes!

EDIT THE SECOND:

WE HAVE REACHED FULL FUNDING WITH THE GAME! Which is excellent, because it means that my little hyperfixation is gonna be made!

However!

It would be very nice if we could reach some of the stretch goals (which go into depth here: x). Not only are they fun (MC customization, a switch port, expanded voice-over work, more sprites, mini-games, side stories), but I think they'd spark a lot of serotonin for folks playing (myself included).

If this post has interested you at all, please, please, please check out the Kickstarter above! Thank you!

EDIT THE THIRD

Since this is still getting notes beyond my wildest dreams:

Hello! It's been a while! The Kickstarter ended a bit ago (I did not update this post when it did end, due to being ecstatic to how much the project managed to get: 130% funding!), but development is ongoing and strong! The first two routes are in development right now. Please keep tuned at @moiraimyths for official development updates!

[uncivilcivilservice]

Thank you @desertfangs and @apoptoses for tagging me to particpate in #WIPWednesday

So, this started out as a response to the Mermay prompt for week 3, Eggs. Which I'm sure was intended to be oviposition related, or something like that, and there isn't no smut intentended for this fic, but I also wanted to explore how Armand creates safe places for the people he loves, his nurturing and protective side, how he copes with loss (yes we are going to tackle child loss in this 🐠 fucking fic, strap in lads (the excerpt below is safe from that theme though)). There also might be some baby-trapping in the final fic I have plans okay.

My main issue with this fic is I worry that it suffers from a lack of clarity around things like how Armand and Daniel learned to communicate, how they met etc. so I almost feel like it needs a prequel fic, but then I also feel like that will be boring and I may be overthinking how much people will care about the Lore(tm) of this mermaid!AU fic? So any feedback on that would be great

Tagging: @covenofthearticulate, @faerywhimsy, and @hekateinhell

~-~-~-~-~-~

"Surely it's easier if I just get in and swim with you?” 

Daniel didn’t need to be able to translate the chirps and whistles that made up his strange friend’s vocalisations to know he did not approve of that idea.  

And as if to emphasise that, he stopped swimming to lift his head from the water, deep brown eyes glaring sternly with furrowed brows, as an almost translucently pale arm emerged from the water to push firmly against Daniel’s legs. Stay on the rocks, got it.  

This would be less of an issue if the path he was taking Daniel down was less treacherous, but these cliffs barely provided even a precarious foothold, with little to grab on to as the waves crashed against his legs up to his thighs. It wasn’t unusual for Armand, the name his aquatic companion had chosen to go by, to drag Daniel places, whether to scenic, secluded islands and beaches, or to busy ports and piers bustling with activity he wanted Daniel to explain. But he usually got Daniel to swim with him, often hauling him through rough currents that would otherwise have swept the young marine biologist away, replenishing his depleting oxygen with kisses so they didn’t have to surface. Daniel couldn’t understand why Armand was making him inch my way along this crumbling cliff-face, at any moment just once bad step away from smashing his head against the rocks as he fell into the rough seas below.  

Eventually though the waters calmed as they headed into the shelter of a bay, at the far end of which lay an opening to a cave, obscured somewhat by the formations of stone that had resisted erosion and the tendrils and branches of plants hardy enough to make their home in the craggy cliff face battered by the elements. It was only when they got closer that Daniel realised why Armand had not wanted Daniel to swim with him. The closer to the cave they got, the higher the ledges he was walking on got from the ocean, there would be no way for Daniel to climb out of the water and onto land. And the entrance to the cavern from the water appeared blocked by a barrier of branches, kelp, driftwood, and other plants. As if some giant, marine beaver had been building a dam to block out the ocean from this hidey hole in the side of a cliff. With a graceful flip of his silvery blue tail, Armand dived down towards the blockade at the mouth of the cave, presumably finding a way under it, and Daniel took that as permission to follow him inside.

Pushing through the foliage hanging from the top of the cave entrance, Daniel stepped into the cool shade of the sheltered cove. He hadn’t realised just how oppressively hot it had been out under the sun, but being in here felt like seeking refuge. It wasn’t a large area, he had to watch his head to avoid banging it on some of the lower portions of the rocky ceiling, and the pool of water which dominated the space was maybe 2 meters in diameter, just large enough that if Armand came right up to the edge and stretched his body out behind him, there would be just a little gap between the ends of his tail and the opposite edge of the pool.  

Except he hadn’t, and couldn’t, come right up to the edge where Daniel was standing, as there was wall of marine plants much like the one at the entrance, creating a smaller, portioned off area of the pool.  A nursery, he supposed, given that it was filled with what had to be hundreds, if not thousands of eggs. Each perhaps the size of a large marble, they were faintly blue in colour, translucent enough that he could see a darker shape at the centre of each one. They didn’t match the description of the eggs of any local marine life Daniel had studied, unless- Daniel never had got around to asking Armand the specifics of how merfolk bred, was it possible...  

“Are they yours?” 

Armand had been fussing with the plants blocking the current at the entrance, making sure they had closed-up behind him and patching up a spot that dipped lower than the rest where some waves were still making it over, but at the sound of Daniel’s voice he turned to look at him and gave a nod in response to his question.  

“Who laid them?” Was Daniel’s follow up question, as much inspired by curiosity as it was the fear of an angry mother showing up who might understandably view a strange human as a threat to her young. Armand, he thought, had never mentioned having a partner, strangely, even though they had discussed, as much as they could discuss anything with their limited communication, that merfolk did form long-lasting monogamous relationships. But it wasn’t jealousy sparking in Daniel’s chest, no absolutely not. That would be ridiculous.  

But Armand looked puzzled by the question, eyebrows knitting under the unruly auburn hair plastered over his forehead in a way Daniel found ridiculously endearing. Oh, of course, Daniel was an idiot. To answer that question Armand would need something to write in, something like... Well something like loose sand spread across one of the rocks on the other side of the cave. But then why did Armand look so perplexed?  

Armand swam to the ledge covered with sand as Daniel carefully crossed around the edge of the pool, being very careful not to lose his footing and fall in, afraid to disturb the nest. The sand didn’t seem like it belonged in here, suggesting that Armand had brought some in purely for the purpose of communicating with him, a gesture that left Daniel feeling something he couldn’t quite name, but it was high and warm in his chest and far from unpleasant.  

He didn’t have time to dwell on the mystery emotion though, as Armand stretched his arm out of the water to trace a wet finger in the sand.  

Me   

[yukidragon]

I know you lean more into the other SnaccPop lads, but have you ever thought about writing something for AphroDesia? I'd love to see your take on the characters!

I find AphroDesia to be intriguing and stylish. There are so many cool pieces of art for it, including awesome fan works like yours. The problem is that I don’t feel even remotely confident about playing with the story.

From what I can tell, AphroDesia is about mobsters in the modern day doing drug runs with aphrodisiacs. Also there are angels(?) who have mechanical bodies with TV set heads along with other non-human entities running around. I mean the designs and characters are really cool, and I really enjoyed listening to the audio dramas, but I feel like I’m missing a lot of the story and worldbuilding.

The concepts of Sunny Day Jack, DachaBo, and The Groom of Gallagher Mansion are a lot more smaller scale in comparison. They’re set in the contemporary world with a small supernatural/sci-fi twist added in. There’s not a lot of characters, names, elements, and settings in these stories when compared to AphroDesia.

There are so many references I’ve seen in fan art and comics for AphroDesia that just sail straight over my head, and I haven’t figured out where they come from or how they connect yet. It leaves me feeling pretty lost, to be honest.

As you might have noticed from my many rambling posts, I have a tendency to dive very deep into a story’s lore as well as the characters’ backstories and motivations. It helps me feel more confident in writing about them. When I’m not sure how a story’s world actually works or what motivations or connections people have, I don’t feel confident enough to write for them. In those situations I prefer to sit on the sidelines with popcorn and wait for more of the story to unfold.

There’s also the fact that a lot of the appeal of the series seems to be, well, casual sex, hedonism, and aphrodisiacs. That’s not really something that jives with my aroace vibes. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with casual sex between consenting adults, but sex isn’t what draws me into a story personally. I’m an absolute sucker for romance. I love deep emotional connections and couples falling in love. I focus on my ships more than anything else, and it’s usually my initial drive for wanting to write fanfiction. Sex is a spice that I prefer as an enhancement to love and intimacy, not as the main draw.

That isn’t to say that I won’t ever want to write anything for AphroDesia. The spotify episodes are really good and have given me a solid entry point to the story. I’m looking forward to learning more about this world and its characters. I’d just prefer to get to know them and their world better before I consider making anything like fan art, fanfiction, OCs and the like.