#my thoughts: qin

[creativeafterdark]

Decided to sketch out some female demons, these ladies are based on the Queens of the World of Darkness from Mandaeism. Hekesha is the only one that's mostly original, as Hekesha is, apparently, another name for Lilith.

Speaking of:

So far in my Mythology Mixup Story, Qin is one of the Primordial Beings, and considered a mother of the Succubi and Incubi, among other demon types. After her fall from Eden, Lilith was adopted into the family, but marries a different fallen angel instead of Lucifer.

The horns represents their age and power.

The designs are not final, aside from Lilith's.

[abyssyby]

what are your opinions on syslus getting jealous? like i usually don't consider him as someone who would get jealous, but i do eat those fics up and wonder in what circumstances he might actually experience jealousy (as in romantic ofc)

wanted to know your opinions because i love your characterization of him the most (you could write something with that too if you're comfortable, id be very grateful)

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: hi anon! dw, i eat those jealousy fics up too— love it when he gets all huffy n puffy over someone else getting your attention ngl.

i personally think, given his draconic qualities of wanting and needing to hoard, claim and possess, sylus is inclined to be one to get jealous. not simply because he’s petty and he doesn’t like others looking at or touching what is his (though i see him disliking that very much too)—but because he will always have the wounds of isolation in his heart. Though he portrays himself to be incredibly secure and collected, he still hoards each ill-gotten memory of abandonment and rejection like etchings in his bones. 

and now that he has you— who chose to be with him, to belong with him, to bind your soul to him so that he would never live or die alone—he bears the incredible weight of being unworthy of the one who loves him. 

so to me, his jealousy is rooted in this: this belief that no one has wanted him before you, and so why now? the pain of not being all you need, because you should be able to lean on him, rely on him on anything your heart desires. the trauma of being seen as a monster; when will you snap out of it and find someone easier to love? 

and though he tries to keep himself in check, communicate as much of the things that shake his heart and wound his loyalty, sometimes in can get a little much for him too

sylus x reader | angst, comfort, fluff, jealous!sylus, clingy!sylus, exploring a few deeper wounds of his jealousy!

“You like him—your partner.” he points out one evening as he walks beside you beneath the canopy of falling golden leaves. dried foliage crunch beneath your feet as you stroll down the paved path between the rows of overarching trees. 

He’d come to pick you up at the association, one hand occupied with a canvas holder with two tall cups of boba tea. 

He waited on a bench across the street, mindful of how people perceive him. Considering how you’ve stressed about your colleagues seeing him out in the open and fraternizing with you. 

So he wears his cap to hide his hair and his sunglasses despite the sunset to hide his eyes, changed his leather coat into a long, brown velvet one. He waits until you notice his presence, instead of ambushing you into their territory, as you so colorfully put. 

There, as he waited, he saw you emerge from the double doors speaking lightly to another man he recognized as the one you are paired off with often. One you’d mentioned was your hunting partner— assigned, designated, and in someways, chosen. 

You slurp at the straw, boba congealed into a mutated blob restricting any airflow into your mouth. “Hm?” 

He knows you’re listening, he resumes his musings. Needs to keep speaking, fueled by the bubbling bile in the base of his throat he absolutely despises feeling. “You seem comfortable.” 

The tone is unmistakable— it wasn’t accusing or a jab, but a mindful observation drenched in a distant dismalness. Giving your lungs a rest at trying to inhale your drink, you look up at him. His eyes are far off, the smoothness between his brows are crumpled, so minuscule only you could have caught it. And his soul, intertwined with yours, flickers like a candle disrupted by a breeze. 

“We’re friends,” you tell him, preferring his warm hand now to the cup, lending an icy one to his searing touch. His shoulders melt, fingers close in on yours like he’d been dangling from the edge of a cliff, now relieved to have found leverage. 

You continue. “He’s very kind.” 

“I’m glad to hear that, sweetie.” he says, although it comes out monotonous. Words from a script he simply read on cue. Your brows furrow, and you feel that flicker again. 

You dig your heels into the dirt and tug him to a stop with you. With a sigh, he parallels you and meets your gaze. 

“Sylus—,” 

“Your day is the most important of all the reports I listen to, your gossip, your rants, your rambles.” he knows he might be talking too much now, that it might be overdoing his sorrow, but… 

When he saw you exiting with your partner, laughing hysterically at just a single word from him. So simple, so basic. Likely taken out of context, an inside joke or a tail end to the rest of an unheard story. 

But when he heard such a laugh for the first time from you and he was far from the cause of it. When he saw how much you actually talked with your hands and your face more than your words, how you spoke and spoke and spoke to your partner in those few moments more than you ever did to him. 

He felt it in his chest—muscle tearing open fiber by fiber. In his lungs that fill with smoke. And in his mind, the beast, snarling at him to take you away. 

And to what? back to him who could never make you do the same? to him who grates on your nerves? to him who is so difficult to remember, however more to love? 

His face is a mixture of anguish and disappointment, a storm raging behind his carmine eyes that focus on your face. Eyes that search yours for any confirmation, any indication that you want to go—leave. Because you should prefer ease, you should prefer comfort and security. 

While he can give you all of that, he can give you anything you wish for and all it takes is for you to say it out loud— it will always come with a cost. 

His life is danger. His being is monstrous. His love is scorching. 

Your cold boba-tea frozen hand is a balm to the world in his mind that alights itself in flames as you cradle his face. His hand comes up to hold yours, press it closer to his skin. He shuts his eyes, breathes in the scent of your wrist— pulse and perfume. “Do you wish more from me?” 

“Oh, Sylus.” you frown, quick to pull him down and plant a cold kiss on his cheek. A grumble escapes his throat as he leans into you, fully lets his head fall onto your shoulder. Closer, closer, closer. “No.”

“I want to claim all your laughter. Have my ears be the only one that hears it.” his words rumble in his chest, rough and aching—like it hurts him to admit.

His voice is reminiscent of a tremble of thunder, rattling stained windows of a cathedral; such power in a whisper.

“I want to be all you need. All you want.” he grounds out into your ear. Your knees buckle at the weight of his confession. He holds you to him by your waist, positioning you in a firm cage of his arms.

Outside, you are a picture of two bundled up lovers sharing an innocent embrace, caressed by the autumnal breeze. Seeking warmth in each other. 

But beyond appearances, you are a raft Sylus is desperately clinging to as he is cast out to an angry sea. Inside, he fights the battle between making sure you are his and being a reasonable, rational partner. 

He nuzzles his nose into your neck, uses your scent to keep himself from causing a scene or saying something that might scare you off more. He only wants to do right by you, only wants to be what you deserve. 

And he’s stronger than this petty jealousy that courses through his veins at the sight of you giving someone else a smile he wants to have too— like the morning sun he wants to usher into the darkness. He wants it, like a deprived child, he wants it to be mine, mine, mine.

“What did he say to you?” he asks plainly, resolve slipping from his fingers at the memory of your laughter. Growls it. Cringes as he says it, but his head is too filled with smoke that he can’t find his filter.

Your throat dries. His voice is entirely different now, a caving of the earth, lightning striking a tree open in a forest. For a moment, fear grips your heart, but it dissipates just as quickly as it comes when you see his eyes.

Red rubies, a diamond slit of obsidian right in their centers. His brows knit painfully together, like he’s warring with something. Holding it back and keeping it from attacking you. 

“Nothing.” you say, and immediately you know it’s the wrong answer.

He looks away. Not because he dislikes your answer, although he very much does, but because of the way you say it. 

Whispered, careful, guarded. 

Proving his fears to be true. How can he ask you to love a monster? He isn’t easy, he’s far from it, he can be meticulous and cold and absent—all of which you don’t deserve. It’s not a choice he’d make for you, so why would you choose him? 

“Nothing I can remember now, Sylus.” your voice cuts through his thoughts like bullet in cold air. He finds you catching his gaze, begging him to look back at you. Your fingers catch his chin, like he does to you so many times, and guide him back home. “Not now that I’m with you.” 

His heart swells thrice its size at your reassurance. At how your careful fingers remove his hat and brush away the matted down hair by his ears. How you kiss his cheeks, his nose, his mouth—uncaring of who might see or catch you. Uncaring of getting caught. So willing to show the world he is yours. 

How you see right through him. That despite his humiliating show of possession, you pinpoint its exact origins. 

“Tell me what you’re afraid of.” you’re so calm and he is filled with gratitude. You lead him to a nearby bench and he practically curls himself around you as you sit. His arm wounds around your shoulders, slips his knee beneath your thigh so your one leg dangles off of his, and his nose is buried back into the junction between your jaw and your throat. 

“I want you to be happy.” he says, hesitant. His mouth moves, opens like he needs to say more— but no other words follow. 

“I am happy.” you nudge him gently. “My boyfriend picked me up from work today, and he looked handsome in his new coat. And he gave me boba tea.” 

He snorts, fingers splaying out on yours as you begin to play with the ring on his middle. He’s keenly aware of the wind that blows your hair in your face, his other hand comes up to shield your eyes and hold some bundles back behind your ear. Painfully honest, he whispers, “I’ve never heard you laugh like that.”

You lean your cheek onto the top of his head. You feel his lungs draw breath, even and slow, but know his heart is racing. He seems to fixate on the ring you spin on his finger, brushing his thumb over the nail of yours as if to encourage you to keep doing it. 

Leaning deeper into his frustrations, you ask, “Does it sound different?” 

He snuffs, a dragon puffing smoke out his nostrils. “It was radiant.” he says, breaking your heart even more. 

You pause, scooting that little bit closer to him as the dimming sky turns the air into a nipping chill. You huddle close and lend him your undivided attention. 

“I hate that it was for someone else.” he confesses quietly. 

You brush his cheek. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t make me happy, sylus.” 

His eyes squeeze shut as you ask, “You’ve made me laugh plenty of times, my love, help me understand why this shook you so much?” 

You’re lost. After everything you’ve been through, all you’ve shared, you can’t help but feel the sting of distrust as he worries for your loyalty. And rarely is he like this, aside from the times he acts on his jealousy— pulling you close, making sure whoever tries his or her hand at claiming you knows who they would be up against by a press of his lips to your temple or a caress of his hardened fingers to the soft curve of your jaw. 

But the way he is now—genuinely upset, wary and at the verge of a quiet surrender he struggles not to make a show of—makes you mourn something that looms in the distance. What if he thinks you’ve but put a mask on before him? or does he not believe that who you are with him is the barest form of you there is? You believe firmly he does not think so little of you that you would prefer someone else over him, but… 

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing to push his anxiety down. You’re relieved to see him so open to share, at least. Look forward to him bringing you some clarity. But you don’t expect clarity to come in the form of jagged shards of broken glass. 

“In the worst of my nightmares, there is one thing that truly petrifies me.” slowly, he takes your fingers in his and brings them up to his lips to cool them with his breath. thawing the freeze, keeping you comfortable. “And that’s when you look at me, turn and walk away.”

You hold your breath, because you’re sure that the next one you let out will usher with it the tears that burn behind your eyes. 

“When you see—truly see—the fiend I was. the monster I am.” he mutters, a muscle in his jaw feathering at how tightly he’s clenching his teeth. “How shameless and greedy I am—how proud I am to be. 

“And you, my dove. Beautiful, brilliant sun. Why burn to ashes when you can burn in light?” 

It’s silent.

Whether it was the cold or the tension, you don’t have time to figure it out before you’re trembling. Ribs rattling, muscles tensing. It is your turn to use him as a raft as you drown in his devotion. For now, you see—that as much as he loves you, he thinks he is poisoning you. Knowing that, his fears then lie there: that his poison has begun to spread and will be the cause of his loss of you. 

“Stupid.” you choke, squeezing your arms around his shoulders, pressing your tear-streaked face into his neck. Then, you laugh, grim and wet and raw—a laugh you yourself had never heard before. “Idiot dragon.” 

He wraps you in his coat and rubs circles on your lower back. The park has cleared, a single streetlamp illuminates the pair of you. There is no sound but the rustle of leaves and the thrumming of your hearts. 

“I burn where I want to.” you grit—not angrily, just through the uncontrollable rattling of your jaw. “I burn with you.” 

He stares. To say he was taken aback by your words would be an understatement. He is dizzy, knocked back and shattered into a wall. He could crumple at your feet, he could kiss you until you both see stars. 

“We were talking about some dumb lunch thing where another hunter took the last empanada right before his eyes and before he could cuss her out, it turned out to be the captain and I thought it was funny because it happened to me last week and now it’s all so trivial and it’s not even funny—“ you ramble, words stuttered and stumbling out of your mouth like a waterfall. explaining yourself, doing everything you think will soothe the earthquakes in his mind. 

As you speak, Sylus watches you with the softest of looks. wiping stray tears away with light fingers, brushing more of your hair back from your eyes, placing his palms over your cold cheeks, your frozen ears—you barely notice, too engrossed in telling him everything. Anything, really, to show him that he will always be ground zero. He will always be the only one ever to witness you as your purest self. 

and you doing so means worlds to him. 

“And this afternoon, Tara was supposed to—don’t, don’t kiss me! I have snot!” you shriek as he leans to press his warm lips to your freezing face. he chuckles as you scream, drawing you closer, closer, closer. Saying I don’t care with his actions as he kisses you anyway. Slow, warm and consuming. I love you.

And so easily, he forgets why he ever doubted you, feared you’d love him any less than what you already show him. When you so simply complete his day with your voice, when you so effortlessly choose to love him then and now. He places his heart back in your hands, unconscious how he’d clutched it tight in his, and feels the weightless joy you wash over him once more. 

He tucks your squeals into the chest of treasures in his mind, along with the atrocious laugh you gifted him as you called him stupid. Never mind the one you gave your hunting partner now, his is much better.

Your light is his to hold, keep and hoard for eternity—and you, yourself, offered it to him as you burn.

✧˚ ⋆｡ more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you so much for sending in this ask & for reading! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

[riskylittleturtle]

Tendencies - Dragon Sylus

Dragons sleep on their treasures, it's a way of guarding it, keeping it safe from other's and being sure no one can get to it without waking them up. Sylus is that way too, has a little box of his favourite gems and such tucked away under his bed. His greatest treasure though, is you. He sleeps best with his head in your lap or pinning you under his weight as he lays over you. His favourite place to nap is on you, head on your stomach and arms wrapped around your back, your laptop settled on his back as you type up reports. Will stay there all day if you'd let him.

Dragons rarely share their hoards and treasures, in fact they're known to be very protective and territorial over them. When a dragon allows someone access to their hoard it can be seen as a sign of respect and acceptance, but it is most often a sign of courtship. Sylus gives you his black card and tells you to go crazy. With bank systems it's strange to have cash and change on hand, gems and jewelry aside, and so giving you his black card is his way of sharing his hoard with you.

Dragons view having territory and hoards as a sign of power. The more treasures a dragon has, the more territory that belongs to them, the stronger and more respect worthy the dragon is. Sylus is filthy rich. He's the leader of Onychinus and by extension he rules the N109 zone. On top of the Onychinus base he has safe houses all around, places that belong just to him (and now to you). When he tells you to go crazy with his black card it is not only his start to court you through offering you his hoard, it is his way of showing you that he has plenty and that he'd be a good mate for you.

Dragons present gifts and offerings to please their mates. Sylus pampers you. He offers you new weapons almost constantly. If you've ever played the claw machines with him you know if he fails to get a plushie he refuses to switch with you until he's gotten you one. When you return from showering after working out he's replaced your clothes with newly bought of the same thing. He has his chef prepare a full course meal for you, and buys you breakfast. The list goes on.

Dragons take promises very seriously, the idea of breaking a promise to them is worse than almost any crime. Words are an extension of their existence. Sylus also takes promises really seriously. You say "I'll be done in five, promise." and he stares at you like you've just sold off all of his gems and thrown his black card back in his face when it takes you six. Promises don't have to include the word, you tell him "I'll text you tonight." and he's spending the entire night waiting for his phone to ring with that silly little ringtone you picked out.

To a dragon, falling for lies is one of the worst things that can happen to them. Sylus doesn't realise you're lying to him once, as you tell him you aren't injured after a mission - you really aren't, the only evidence of your pursuit a single tiny scratch on your arm that barely even draw blood - but as he see's the cut later, fingers ghosting over the scratch and expression absolutely wrecked because you were injured and he didn't know, because you lied that you weren't and he couldn't tell you were lying to him.

Dragons have very different morals than humans. They're more focused on instinct and self interest. Their morals are very important to them, though dragons have been known to change their morals to better fit those of their mates. Sylus has no problem killing when he needs to, and he doesn't believe too much in the ideas of redemption or people changing. You however, as a hunter, have at least some belief that people can change - you also know that this doesn't apply to everyone, that multiple things have to be taken into account if someone is trying to redeem themselves. You also believe that some people are better dead, but that for some murder is too easy of a way out of things. Sylus doesn't change outright, he still firmly believes most people aren't worthy of second changes. But he starts considering which of his business partners to kill and which to give other punishments to, starts to leave people he might have killed to prevent future problems be as long as they don't intervene with his own plans.

Dragons are (violently) protective of their hoards, mates, and young. They will do anything to protect what is theirs. Sylus originally only had his gems and money (hoards), but then he took in Luke and Kieran (young), and finally he had you (mate). Any slight against what's his is absolutely unacceptable to him. Someone makes a comment about Luke and Kieran's masks? They're never seen again. A thief breaks in to try and steal his jewels? No one who enters the Onychinus base with bad intentions makes it out. A hunter from a different team made a bad comment about you during a mission? They apologize profusely the next day and aren't part of any future mission collaborations with your team.

Dragons view their scales very highly, for a dragon to give someone it's scale means they trust them wholeheartedly. It's a sign of respect, that they are acknowledging you as worthy. A dragon giving you it's scale can be a sign that they view you as an equal, or even that they view you as one of theirs and that they will protect you and answer their call. Sylus doesn't have scales now, but he's given MC both a brooch (from the main storyline) and a feather (the gift interaction).

[juicerca]

“make me dizzy,, ₍^. .^₎⟆

sylus x reader ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

a/n : i got a fever too. me and xavier synched up like we on our periods together (WHICH IM ON </3) or some shit. my nose is stuffy and my body is burning 😭 !!!!! sylus fever fluff written to comfort my pain. just a short lil thing <3 SUPER SHORT </3333 cus my brain is broken and ill and i have an exam in two days WAAAA

synopsis : f!reader gets sylus to cool her down when her fever gets too unbearably hot by calling him over

content : pure fluff/comfort fic. i can't bring myself to write sylus angst (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) also sorry i keep writing MC in pathetic situations. i love girlboss MC as much as the next girlie i SWEAR, mc is cat-like/a little spoiled AGAIN (sylusMC is SOOO CATTY TO ME)

pet-names : kitten, sweetie, cutie, princess,

word count : 642

₍^. .^₎⟆ ⋆ 🐾 °

you lay in his (basically yours at this point) black silk sheets, tossing and turning, kicking your feet in nothing but a small black vest and your underwear. no matter how much you shimmied around, your feet felt hot, your entire body burned with a heat that made your sweat feel unbearably lukewarm and sticky on your skin.

the sheets were most definitely damp from all the cold (now room temperature) towels that you had used to try to cool your body. but to no avail. nothing was making it more bearable. 5 cool towels around your neck just didn't cut it.

and so, you crawl across the endless expanse of bedding to grab your phone (with some difficulty). there was only one person you wanted to see you like this.

you spam him with this sticker about 10 times before the three dots finally appear. you wait for two seconds...five...ten...god why is this message taking so long? you grumble, huffing with his pillow tucked under your chin and contemplating throwing your phone against the plush back of his bed.

he calls you before you manage to hurl your device,

"kitten? do you need something? i'm at the store now."

"huh? i thought you said you'd be at an auction?"

he chuckles,

"i was at one. but you only text when you want something... or if you miss me... and considering how you're in my room and i saw you this morning, i assume it's the former. though i'd be very flattered if it was the latter."

"i also text when i see something that reminds me of you."

"that fits into the latter." he smile through the phone. you can faintly hear the bustle of the convenience store as well.

"...i feel a fever coming on. can you get me some ice cream?"

"got it. what else?"

"i want you..." you mumble into his pillow, feeling sluggish.

"..."

"respond..." you whine close to tearing up.

but before you can pick up more of a fuss, he's already next to the bed with a grocery bag in one hand and his phone in the other and his evol swirling around him.

not really thinking, you immediately go to nuzzle your heated face into his tummy. it's not really that comfortable, and you brush against the cold metal of his zippers that scratch at your face. but, nonetheless, it's just what you needed. he always is.

he puts away his phone and the bag onto the floor, gently carding through your hair and his voice a soft rumble,

"hi sweetie... want your ice cream now?"

"later..." you take his hands, putting them on your face in a happy mewl, "so cool..."

"aren't you just a cutie? does my princess want me to cool her down?" he smiles, sliding one hand down to your sweltering neck. you exhale in satisfaction, it's a little congested and you look like a sticky mess...but he thinks you're adorable. he always will.

spoiling you was irreplaceable to him. there was nothing in the world more special than the feeling of being your one and only prince, dictated by his only princess. you could have anything you wanted, be as bratty and as demanding as you wanted, surrounded by luxuries and comfort and you chose him to be your supplier and partner in it all. it was undeniably his favourite feeling in the world.

you nod, settling like putty into his large hands. gently but surely bringing you back to a comfortable temperature. as you drift off, you hear him softly humming to you a lullaby. something familiar but yet not quite. he might not have ever experienced the song in his own childhood, but everything he found beautiful and comforting was something he would share with you.

your life adorned in joy and comfort would always be his priority.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[stargirlygirl]

what i think their package looks like (semi-realistic)

caleb's got the fattest one here and i will not accept otherwise. five inches, girth of a 375mL pepsi can (i'm kidding... maybe), tip is light warm pink #ffecf8, slight curve to the right (you only just noticed). he's cooing "biiiiiiiiggg stretch" as he splits you in half on it.

sylus has a dragon dick. veiniest cock that ever existed, pretty girthy, seven inches, tip is mushroom-coloured #e1d4cc, and curves up. he loves when you choke on it, loves seeing your saliva drooling down to his balls and the tears pooling in your eyes as he pulls your head back.

he also knots. like, he's pouring bucket loads of baby batter into your womb when he cums. the first time his knot swelled, you screamed from how thick it was. goes down after ten minutes or so.

xavier's packing it. that cute face is a decoy for his extra-large package downstairs. it's on the thinner side, but longer than sylus', about eight inches with a baby pink tip in #fcedf2. he's got a thick vein on the underside and it curves slightly to the left.

erm actually, the vaginal canal is on average five inches deep when sexually aroused (differs from person to person), so i don't think he's fitting it all the way in. if he was, you would be in a world of pain. (it's painful when the head repeatedly hits your cervix, despite what all of the smut on here would have you believe, in case you needed a reminder).

zayne's dick is perfect like he is. straight, six inches, good girth, neutral-brown #ccbbb1 tip. it fills you up so good, you can't help but go a little dumb on it, especially when he's brat-taming you.

rafayel is a fish, but i think he's only got one (not two like sharks do; they're called claspers btw). definitely a pretty pink tip in #f5e7f3, i'm thinking six and half inches, veiny but a bit thinner (somewhere between zayne and xavier).

[harmonyrae]

Finding a Reason

(Couldn't find artist name, all credit to them❤)

Warnings: depression, dark thoughts, anxiety, hopelessness

~~~~~~

You're not sure how long it's been since you've eaten. Or drank a glass of water. Or washed your hair. Laundry is piled high. Dishes in the dishwasher waiting to be put away for days. Trash cans overflowing. Your life is at a stand still. Everything feels dirty, but you have no energy to clean, no desire to change the conditions of your existence.

You can feel like your body is shutting down. Your heart pounding in your chest from the caffeine you choke down to make you feel something, anything, other than despair.

You take the pills your doctor prescribed. And every day, you wake up feeling the same. The same questions of 'why' plague your mind.

You're curled up in bed, it's well past three in the afternoon, and you haven't eaten. Do you deserve a meal? You haven't done anything today. Why bother, right? The darkness of your room swallows you whole. You close your eyes, trying to disappear into the void.

"Sweetie?" His voice is soft, tender.

You swear under your breath. You knew giving him a key in a moment of weakness would bite you in the ass. You consider pulling the blanket over your head and pretending to be asleep. Anything to keep him from seeing the state you're in or asking questions. But the squeak of your bedroom door makes you jump, you lift your head, and your eyes meet his.

"I just wanted to make sure you're still alive."

His tone is playful, but there's a timidness to his tone. You've never brought up your 'condition' - until recently, you'd hidden it fairly well. But then the cycle began again. The prospect of stepping out of your apartment and into a crowd became too much. Eventually, it got so bad your job replaced you and you had to rely on credit cards to get by once again. Explaining your gaps between jobs was becoming harder and harder. And just because Sylus had more money than he knows what to do with, you hated the idea of telling him about your struggles. It would only lead to more questions. And having to talk about things has never helped.

Accepting help doesn't make you weak, it doesn't make you a burden. You've always known that, but the voice in your head - who has taken on a life of their own lately - has convinced you otherwise. They've locked your logical mind in a cage and you've grown exhausted trying to break the lock.

So you started avoiding him. At first, it wasn't on purpose. Now...

The floorboards groan under his weight as he crosses the room. The mattress dips, and you sense his presence. The warmth you've missed and craved. But at what cost. If he tries to talk, you'll end up shutting him down. Maybe even shutting down yourself.

His finger trails over your cheek, looping around a strand of hair to tuck behind your ear. You cringe away from him, embarrassed by how greasy your hair must feel. When you glance at him, his concern is evident. His brows furrowed, his lip between his teeth. His usual clean-shaven appearance was long gone, along with his usual attire. Rough stubble, messy hair, a t-shirt and jeans. You weren't the only unrecognizable one.

"Come here."

It wasn't a question. You don't move, but you don't stop him from curling an arm around you. He picks you up, as heavy as you've felt lately, the weightlessness is strange.

Entering the bathroom, he lowers you onto the side of the tub. He turns on the water and turns to the cabinet. He pulls out bottles of the expensive body washes he's bought you. You felt bad wasting them on a regular day, so you saved them for special occasions. You hadn't realized he knew were you stored them.

He crouches and holds each bottle under your nose until the ghost of a smile appears. When the scent of cherry blossoms and vanilla flood your senses, your lips twitch. He immediately spins and deposits the rejected bottles in your sink.

You try to fight him when he starts to undress you, so he stops and stares. He waits for you to come to terms with the fact that he's not going anywhere. When he finally has your stained pjs in a pile on the floor, he holds your hand as you step inside the shower. Your chest tightens and you reach out to grab onto the wall. You're dangerously close to doubling over, a sob lodged in your throat. What must he think of you? You smell, you feel the layer of grim on your skin. But Sylus is there, letting his shirt soak through to hold you up. He helps you sit down and kneels beside you.

His hands, trained for violence, are soft and careful as he runs a washcloth over your skin. You close your eyes, a futile attempt to stop the tears from falling. As they wet your cheeks, he uses his thumb to wipe them away. He stays quiet, focused on washing you. When he tilts your head back to run his fingers through your hair, you sigh. His fingers massage your head as he works your shampoo through. He slowly washes away every ounce of dirt and grime. He rinses you with cool water to soothe your flushed skin before wrapping a towel around you, lifting you once again to carry you to the bedroom.

Laying out a pair of clean underwear and one of his oversized t-shirts he kept in your bottom drawer. He grabs one for himself before turning to leave. Once he closes the door, you pat yourself dry and step into your clean clothes. You're tempted to crawl back into bed, facing him again was too terrifying. But you hear your washing machine start. You shuffle to the door and find him tossing dirty clothes in a basket from around your apartment. He sees you emerge and just as you open your mouth to argue, he picks you up again, effectively shutting you up.

When he deposits you on your kitchen counter, you raise a brow. He offers a small smile and turns to open the fridge. You bite your lip as you notice how barren it's become. What's left is either expired or leftovers so old you're unsure they're even still considered food. He doesn't make a sound and just focuses on navigating the devastating sight before him. Finding a jar of strawberry jelly, he returns to your side. He examines the peanut butter on your counter and finds your bread in good condition. He makes a simple PB&J, plates it, and fills a glass with water. He clears a space on your kitchen table, job applications, and unopened mail piled to one corner. He wraps an arm around your waist and helps you off the counter.

He once again leaves you so you can eat without an audience. You can hear him cleaning up your apartment behind you. Tears once again flow down your cheeks. The peanut butter is perfectly sweet and sticky. The jelly offers a bright pop of freshness. When you sip the water, it's like you haven't had a drop in years. You empty the glass in a single go. He picks up the glass and refills it. You hadn't even realized he was right behind you. He watches you finish the second glass in a similar fashion.

Foregoing the stack of dirty dishes in your sink, he leaves the empty plate and glass on the table. He leads you back to the bathroom to brush your hair. Drying your locks with a towel, he braids your damp hair and clips back any strays. Adding a swipe of toothpaste on your toothbrush, he holds your chin and places the brush in your mouth. You take over, gently working the bristles over your teeth. He leaves briefly, returning with a bottle of lotion. He runs his hands over your legs, the lotion quickly absorbing.

He leads you back into your bedroom. You sit on fresh sheets, lowering your head onto clean pillowcases. He settles behind you, an arm resting over your waist. He doesn't hold you tightly. He just offers his hand over your waist. When your fingers lace with his, he moves closer and presses his chest against your back. His heartbeat against your back makes your eyes sting with fresh tears. His thumb traces soothing circles into your palm.

"I'm sorry." You mumble.

"For what?" He whispers.

"I didn't call. Or text. I disappeared. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not..." Your voice cracks.

"You don't have to explain. We can just lay here. I just want to be with you."

A sob escapes you, your throat hurting from how hard you tried to hold it back. His lips greet your neck, gentle kisses so feather light they tickle. You shiver and try to breathe through your nose. He lifts a blanket over both of your bodies and lowers his head to the pillow. You hold your breath as you turn over to face him. He looks at you, surprised but welcoming.

"I feel lost. Barely surviving. And I'm angry. I'm so angry all the time. No matter what I do, how hard I fight, how many pills I take, I always end up here. What's the point?"

He listens. His arms wrapped around your waist, his hands rubbing your back as you speak. His expression remains neutral.

"Why can't I just deal with it? Other people struggle with these things! Inadequacy, trauma, fear, anger, anxiety - why can't I just... I can't do anything, I just..."

He runs his fingers through your hair, unwinding the braid he made so your silky tresses cascade over your pillow. Winding strands around his fingers, massaging your scalp. He doesn't offer a solution or opinion. He just lays beside you, hearing you.

"I had so many hopes and dreams. Where is that girl? The girl determined to wake up every day and do what she loved. The girl who wouldn't settle. I don't know if she even exists anymore."

You turn onto your back and stare at the ceiling. His hand remains on your waist. With his other, he props his head up on his palm. He looks down at you and nods, wordlessly urging you to continue.

"I don't want to just survive. I want to live. But this isn't living. And no matter what I do, I can't... find the strength to try anymore. There's too much "

You hold your breath as you meet his gaze.

"I just want to disappear."

He leans forward and kisses your forehead. Your sobs have built up so rapidly, you start to feel nauseous. So you stop holding back.

Your sobs are broken, ugly, loud. Your brows pinched together so tightly your head aches. Tears stream down your cheeks into your hair. Sylus wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest, letting you sob into the crook of his neck. He's so still, so warm, his arms never flinching or squeezing. Just holding.

As you calm down, a sense the wave of shame and embarrassment looming. You mutter apologies over and over.

"Sweetie?" He whispers, his voice holding more emotion than ever.

He gives you a little space and when you look up at him, you see his own cheeks are wet with spilled tears. Seeing those streaks of tears, the tinge of purple beneath his bloodshot eyes, you nearly start sobbing again. He rests his palm against your cheek and gently holds your face in place to keep your eyes on him.

"I could say all those stupid lines - 'you're strong' 'I'm here for you' 'you'll get through this' - but people say that when they don't know. The strongest soldier can still be injured, they can still be weak. That doesn't mean they are no longer strong. I want to be by your side through everything. But this world is unpredictable, I could be whisked away tomorrow. And I can't control you. I can't tell you how to get through this, so I can't say with certainty that you will."

His thumb swipes over your cheek, keeping the tears from dampening your pillow case.

"Your pain, is real. This wound is deep. You've carried this with you for so long, I doubt you'd know how to be without it. Choosing to live, even choosing to survive, is terrifying. It's hard, brutal even. Carrying on, when you don't believe you have a reason, is even worse. Why fight? Why try? Hope is evasive. Hunting it down is exhausting. And sometimes... it's not a one person job."

He pulls you back to his chest and rolls onto his back. Your ear presses against his chest.

"When you smile, genuinely smile, it's not for anyone. It's a reaction, an instinct, your body showing the world how happy you feel. Or when you cry. Sometimes you don't even know why the tears fall. Shivers breaking out across your skin, a sign that you're cold or that you're body is aware when your mind isn't. A defense, a prompt, helping you return to the present."

His hands stroke your back, your muscles relaxing inch by inch.

"Let me show you what it means to live again. To walk amongst flowers just to take in their scent. To stand in the sun to feel the heat. To dance to the song that makes you smile, blood rushing through your veins as you twirl and laugh. Reminding you that you are very much alive. And you get to choose why. And you don't have to defend it. You don't owe anyone an explanation. Only yourself. And that... is enough. More than enough. You, are more than enough."

You feel as though you should be crying again, but no tears come. No sob rips free from your chest. His heartbeat becomes the only sound you can hear. The steady beat lulls you into a dream, one where you stand in a field of flowers. The sun high in the sky, the warm rays warming your skin. The subtle scent of flowers surrounds you. A gentle breeze carrying petals swirls, chills spreading as the wind cools your skin.

Sylus appears beside you. He offers his hand. You smile, that giddy silly smile that you usually try to hide. Taking his hand, he leads you down a path through the flowers. You know it's a dream, but its significance is not lost on you.

Sylus isn't offering to fix your problems, but rather walk with you as you rediscover your reasons to love life. You know it's a scary prospect, to live for the sake of living. To smile, just because you can. To try again, when you've fallen flat on your face countless times, just because your happiness is worth the risk. It won't be an easy journey, you'll fall again and that's okay. Just as long as you get back up.

~~~~~~

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙:

@trishiepo0

@not-so-quite-human

@kitsunetori

@babyx91

@libriomancer

@lilyadora

@crowskitten22

@letharue

@silverbrain

@alastor-simp

@drama-trauma

@0tterteeth

@mysticcollectionvoid

@godzillaglitter

@godoffuckedupcats

@klmpun

@ariallaisawesome

@spidy-spider01

@m00nchildwrites

@plsdonttakemyname

@hauntedbysmutm0

@withering-dream

@lostwingz2236

@simpfortheseven

@bubbleteakittyy

@freddy-2002-blog

@sylus-hunter

AN: This has been in my drafts for a while. I started writing it to deal with my depression and cried a lot while writing it. I'm still very much not okay, but writing has helped me focus on something less negative. Sylus has become more than a comfort character to me. He's sometimes the only thing I smile about. I'm grateful for finding LADs when I did. I'm glad I started writing, even if it's cringe sometimes. And I don't think I can really express how grateful I am for everyone who likes, shares or comments on my writing. You've given me more hope than you'll ever realize. Thank you.

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

𝐒𝐎, 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 me babbling on about Sylus... (it's been living in my drafts...) Sylus is gentle—but not by nature. His gentleness is the kind forged in violence, like the silence that follows gunfire: not peace, but aftermath.

He is not soft, nor saintly. He is disciplined. In the manner of a man who clasps the blade with such conviction that the steel forgets to wound him.

His voice is a low tide, never raised—for he remembers what it means to scream into a void so vast, so godless, that even his own blood could not fill it. Once, long ago, he cried out until his throat tore and his palms split open from clawing the beast out of his skin. No one came.

So now, he listens.

He listens because silence once imprisoned him. And in the way of penitents and monks, he has turned it into a form of prayer. Of atonement. Of endurance.

He once believed himself human. Not because he was told so—no, truth does not arrive through proclamation.

It creeps. Quietly. Through the cracks left behind by kindness too cruel to be real. Through mirrors that show only the mask, not the tail, not the eyes, not the curse inscribed beneath the skin.

And when revelation struck—when horns curled from his brow and the world recoiled from him like a hand from flame—he did not rage.

He cut them off.

Not once. Not out of fury. But again and again, with the calm resolve of a man refusing damnation. Not the kind cast upon him—but the kind that says: You shall never be anything more than this.

They say dragons are powerful. They forget that power is nothing when the world names your very breath a blasphemy.

So he buried himself. Layer by layer, year by year. Until there was nowhere left to disappear into but memory itself.

The tragedy is not that he is immortal.

The tragedy is that he remained.

You think immortality is freedom? It is not.

It is bondage to remembrance.

It is bearing witness to centuries rusting in your bloodstream.

It is loving someone so deeply you let her kill you—and waking up the next morning nonetheless.

It is hearing the music you composed together echo through her execution, and being cursed to recall every note as if it were your own heartbeat.

He carries her voice inside his chest—not like melody, but like evidence. Proof of what was, and what was taken.

And yet—yet—he dares to love again. Because that is who he is. Not kind. Devoted. Not fearless. Faithful.

He walks into each lifetime with the full knowledge that he will either bury her, or be buried by her.

And still, he chooses her. Not because he believes in salvation—but because he believes in her.

And when she tells him to keep on, he obeys. Not because her words redeem him. But because they affirm the curse: that he will endure the ruin of love, again and again, long after it has hollowed him out.

He does not need saving. He needs recognition. To be seen not as a void, but as a man who has chosen restraint over wrath. Whose quiet is not absence, but vigilance. Every measured movement is a refusal—a holy act of defiance against the monster the world expects him to be. His gentleness is not mercy. It is the debris of war.

And if he touches you—if he draws near—it is not because he thinks himself worthy.

It is because he is already grieving.

And he wants to remember the shape of you before the world takes you or him away.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girl found dead in a hidden room.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[zaynesdesimc]

Melody

small sylus fic for the lads fandom heheheh my first ever! non!mc reader because I love the concept and pain hehe. la

Warnings: Fluffity fluff

There is this song you sing sometimes. He hears in when you're stirring dinner on the stove when he's next to you, and when you're clipping your toenails, the clack-clack of the instrument is drowned out by your crooning.

It's in a language he can't understand, so he has absolutely no idea what you're singing.

But it's so endearing and sweet; the way your head shakes, and the smile on your face as you sing and hum.

He can't help but stop in his tracks whenever the familiar syllables and melody reach his ears. A hint of an adoring smile on his lips as he leans against the nearest doorway and admires your form.

He hears it now, once again. You'd spent the day with the hunter from Linkon City, and no sooner than two minutes inside the sprawling manor, you'd started singing.

Alternating between humming and voicing the words, he hears your form come closer and closer to the kitchen; where he's currently making dinner.

"Hi Sy," you pause for a moment, putting your bag on the counter, "What's up?" you stalk closer to him and smooth your hands down his back.

He turns around, offering you a taste of the food he's making, curry on the tip of his thumb, "Try it."

With a smile, you take his thumb in your mouth and lick, only to taste the spicy curry you love so much.

"Sy! You didn't!" you exclaim, looking up at him excitedly. Your eyes are sparkling.

It's your favorite food, and the expression on your face is one of his favorites. To see it on your face was why he made your favored cuisine for dinner, to make you happy.

He turns again, washing his hand and moving back in front of you, "I take it the salt is fine?"

You giggle, smushing your face into his back, muffled exclamations of 'it's perfect' and 'I love it' leaving your mouth.

It's silent for a few moments and then he hears it again. It's slow, and first. He can feel the vibrations of your lips against his back, but slowly it becomes a little louder and he can make out the words leaving your mouth as you squeeze him a little.

"I've never asked." he begins, not knowing how to word his question.

You pause and hum inquisitively, a signal for him to go on.

"What song is that? You sing it at the most random times." he stirs the curry one more time before putting on the lid for the pot and leaving it to simmer. He turns around to face you and you're sporting a bashful smile.

He chuckles, "Is a certain little dove feeling shy?" The way you purse your lips makes him want to unfurl them with his fingers and kiss them over and over until you grant him with your angelic laughter.

You titter, shaking your head, "No- it's-"

His fingers softly grasp your jaw and turn your face to look at him, his ruby eyes are soft, "Go on, lovely."

"It's special, Sy." you begin and he hums in reply, urging you to go on, "It's a song I used to listen to when I was a child. It's about love."

"Oh?" he raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face, "Love, huh?"

Your eyes are still trained on him, "Mhmm."

"You sing it quite often, lovely. And always around me."

After a beat of silence, you let out a sigh, "For someone so clever, you really are an idiot, sometimes."

"Ouch." he winces, "How you wound me so." and chuckles when you shove him.

"You idiot." you say, without any spite, "I sing that song every time I'm perfectly and incandescently happy."

He freezes, then. His eyes widen just a little. Perfectly and incandescently happy, around him, every time.

You look away, your hands move to hold his, "It's me saying I love you."

I love you.

I love you.

I love you i love you i love you i love you i love you iloveyou ilove you-

He brings your face to his, lips meeting in a soft kiss, silencing that gasp leaving your mouth. His big hands hold your cheeks, stroking them while yours go behind his neck.

Your bodies are close, wrapped in each other's warmth, the smell of your favorite food cooking, and your love palpable in the air.

Maybe this lifetime was enough for him now, his only love.

[ardently-verdandi]

i just read the most heartbreaking gut wrenching soul crushing migraine inducing emotionally devastating sylus x non-mc fan fiction and i cannot stop crying my heart hurts so badly i cannot breathe

[qinchez]

sylus & greed.

sylus’ character has always been associated with a trifecta of themes: desire, control, and greed. we all have a complex relationship with all three themes in the day to day life, so i love how they are all shown in various ways throughout his story, especially when his story is very much related to persephone and hades.

greed — greed manifests in characters who seek more than they are fated to have, basically just defying fate. sylusmc have always been star-crossed lovers that are ultimately doomed from the start and that greed to define their already set in stone fate would never suffice. she is his arch nemesis and achilles heel no matter how they try to change it. she is destined to be his ultimate demise, no matter how much they try to defy said fate. this insatiable pursuit of greed can be related to love, power, or wealth — and it’s shown with sylus and his fiendish greed of his dragon self. the theme greed and dragons have always went hand in hand, to the point where dragons have become the embodiment of greed. dragons are hoarders, they hoard everything they deem precious enough, and for sylus that extended to mc. she is his ultimate treasure through and through — his hoarded collection a representation of unchecked desire and greed.

“greed can never be satisfied, but you can temporarily soothe it.” sylus is always encouraging mc to use him and to be more greedy with him because in a way, she isn’t as greedy as she used to be. when sylus met her, she’s a powerful sorceress, one that demanded everything in a whim and was seeking his treasure. yet, in this life, even though she has the resources and influence — he thinks she doesn’t use it enough. even her love for him then was never pure nor self-sacrificing, but one deeply tainted and intertwined with greed. she cursed him in his death to be the only one that can grant him his true death. he will forever be tied to her and in the end she lets that greed consume her all together.

“humans are so greedy, yet i’ve become one of them.” humans, especially in association to dragons have always been greedy and deceitful. when mc first meets sylus, he has his own connotations regarding humans, ones he is so hesitant in changing. he views them as a source of evil of sorts, only viewing his kind as an extension of their materialistic wants. to him, humans have always twisted the narrative so that dragons are the ones viewed as a source of evil, promptly leaving out the fact that they simply just wanted to exist freely, without any shackles. it’s safe to say that sylus’ emotions towards humans are extremely complex — ranging from yearning to be like them ( shown through cutting his own horns as a child, as a desperate way to fit in ), to avidly hating them for the doom they have brought upon his kind, to meeting the love of his life that has changed his perception of them, and allowed him to feel more human than he ever has. she showed him the best parts of mortality — love and connection. mc healed that little dragon that desperately wanted to be viewed for something other than the monsters humans described in their tales. he was finally able to let go of the role he was forced to play and finally recognized and loved for who he truly is.

desire & control — by definition, the difference between both desire and greed is that desire is often a fundamental, driving force of life, while greed is an excessive, corrupting force that leads to destruction. control has always been one of the most important things to sylus, one that he has actively relied on to survive. for a character who values control above all, the tether of order he always clung to has become both his anchor and his cage, a constant reminder that his sense of security is heavily dependent on the control he possesses, in every aspect of his life, especially as the leader of onychinus. it’s his own way of protecting himself after all these years of being thrust against his will by the ever-defying fate.

“driven by desire, i touch you, kiss you, embrace you, and happily accept your influence.” sylus is always in tune with your needs and desires, but not without self control. his love and desire are all consuming, ready to swallow him whole, yet he holds back. he has an incredible amount of self control. even upon first meeting mc in this lifetime—and despite the desperation that followed—he still held back, allowing her to become acquainted with him on her own terms, to trust him at her own pace and of her own accord, before he finally gave in to his desires. no matter how touch starved he was and all throughout their initial interactions and the confusion surrounding them, he would always let her initiate and take charge regarding the pace of their relationship. he is utterly powerless against her, and when mc finally gives in to both their desires, he simply unravels.

[abyssyby]

photos -> beloved -> eating 📂 —

“sy, c’mere.” you say, tugging on his arm. he's shocked at how easily he allows himself to be led. he says it’s because it’s easier to let you take the lead, but really it’s never a battle he’d wanted to win.

once you got over the fear of him getting recognized, it was very simple for you to slip into the role of a clingy partner, dragging and begging him to come with you into different shops and try different things.

food, in particular.

he towers over you as you choose flavors for ice cream. he holds the nape of your shirt when you lean too close to the steam from boiling sweet potatoes. grounds you in place with his chin on your head and an arm over your chest while you nibble away at your newest snack.

revels in the endless strings of “try this”, “have some!”, “want a bite?”

and endures your twinkling starlight eyes when you blink up at him and his cup of boba tea, or his buttered corn, or his pita wrap, or his frog-shaped waffles on a stick (you chose the fishes). you dont have to do much because he melts every time, always allowing you the first bite. offering to switch the moment he sees you grimace at the flavor you chose.

your nose bumps into the warmth of his palm just as you take a bite of your fried banana wrap. he chides, “it’s hot.”

you give him a grateful smile and blow. his heart warms as you heed his warning.

and yet when you bite, it’s still hot. and the chuckle that bubbles out of his chest is otherworldly as your face scrunches up, and your mouth forms a little ‘o’ and you breathe out steam like a baby dragon.

he brushes the crumbs off your face with gentle fingers. he takes big bites of food you don’t enjoy that much and tiny ones off of food you do like but reluctantly offer him anyway.

he loves how your eyes widen when your dish is served at his restaurants, loves the little sounds you make while you savor the food. loves how you bring a fork up to his lips to share. loves the way you you lean into his hand when he wipes that little bit of sauce off your cheek.

he especially loves when you try to kiss him with sweet, candy colored lips.

or when you drink from a foamy coffee cup and grab his face for a smooch. he resists just that little bit to hear you whine or laugh, straining his neck to not be pulled down. but eventually does and you’re smearing the cream all over his upper lip too.

he chases your fingers with kisses as you’re smudging chocolate from your thumb to his cupid’s bow only to lick it away with your warm tongue.

the number of times he’s found himself dazed, blinking dreamily at you after you’ve touched him, kissed him, looked at him throws him off. but being bothered about how often he is left vulnerable in an open field marveling at your beauty is the least of his concerns.

not when you’re there, and he is here— and the moments you share stack upon each other one after another instead of trickling down like sand through an hourglass.

here, he is yours. here, he gets to stay. here, he gets to hold you, watch you, kiss you as much as you want him to. and he is so utterly besotted, it’s ridiculous.

but of course he must retaliate. winning or losing doesn’t matter when it comes to you, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least show you that he is as worthy as an opponent as he is a lover.

the obscure gelato shop in a cobblestone square holds you both captive in the sleepy hours of the night. with only a few people coming in and out, you linger just by the door with your own fruit flavored gelato. happy with your choice, you cant help but think of Sylus’s flavor. Somehow his picks are always yummier.

and as if he hears your thoughts, he calls for you. “beloved, taste mine.”

you turn and your lips brush his. not quite a kiss yet, until he presses into you deep, sharp and heady. when he pulls away, your lips tingle from the cold and the electricity he leaves in his wake.

“got it?” his voice is low and careful as he watches you lick your lips.

light-headed, grasping at straws, you guess. “pomegranates?”

his fingers swipe over the corner of his mouth into a smirk. “unsure? want to try again?”

he goes for another kiss. worse, better. intoxicating, grounding. needy and helpless you’ve become. he breathes, “got it?”

you shake your head. damn him. dazed, an equally mischievous curve appears on your love-swollen lip. “one more. just to be sure.”

you tug on his arm, and he resists just that little bit to make you work for it. to make you giggle. to make you happy. you smile. lovingly fond, you huff, “come here.”

and he does. he forgets how to breathe, how words are formed and how muscles move for a millisecond, but he does. he always will.

｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ also see: photos -> beloved -> sleeping 📂 ༘⋆

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

[grabby-smitten]

I like how Rafayel is like an onion. He comes with layers and you have to keep peeling and peeling to see what he entails but as you do so, you also start crying and crying.

Then Sylus is a potato. You think u killed him when you buried him in pieces but he comes back thriving. And you know what he is. A potato. It can be used as a weapon in the right circumstances.

[strawb3rryhachi]

mc shooting sylus in the chest is probably the coolest clip ever thank yewwww

[oracularvernacular]

daily affirmations as an LADS player

zayne from love and deepspace wants me so bad

zayne from love and deepspace would totally want me if he was my age and real

i am only two years to being a legal adult and zayne is only two dimensional so it's fine and we can get married

zayne from love and deepspace is getting it tonight

zayne from love and deepspace would want me to say this

zayne from love and deepspace would in fact be into it

sylus from love and deepspace will magically make my ass as fat as his

it's okay to get gender envy from a 27 year old fictional crime lord dragon man

rafayel from love and deepspace and I are BOTH mermaids and even though he's a world famous painter and rich and hot that does not make him any better than me as an individual

if I just add water I will turn into my mermaid form and be hotter than him

it's okay to get gender envy from a 24 year old fictional famous artist fish man

i'm no ordinary girl i'm from the deep blue underworld

land or sea i've got the power if i just believe

land or sea the world's my oyster i'm the pearl no ordinary girl

[beckyelrro]

my luke & kieran design + sylus hc doodles