love hides in questions, you cannot ask a thing without giving yourself away. how was your day? (i hope it was good) when can i see you again? (i pray it's soon) do you feel safe with me? (i feel safe with you) what is your favorite color? (i wish to enrobe you in all that makes you smile)
no one ever tells you that. they talk about grand gestures, fireworks, poetry— but not this. not the tiny, trembling way it slips out of your mouth when you ask, “did you make it home okay?”
not because you’re nosy. but because the thought of you not making it home makes the world tilt.
i used to think i was careful. that I could keep it quiet, keep it safe. But every time I asked, “have you eaten?” what i meant was i wish i could cook for you. every time i said, “let me know when you’re free,” i meant i miss you in ways i can’t say out loud.
and now i wonder—did you know? did you hear it?
in my did you sleep well? (i hope your dreams were soft, and that i was in them) in my have you eaten? (i wish we could eat together, trading bites and stories) in my are you cold? (i’d wrap you in my hoodie and sit close until you’re warm) in my how was work? (i want to share your weight, even when i can’t carry it) in my what time will you be home? (i count hours by your absence) in my did you take your meds? (i remember the things you forget because i love you)
want me to wait up? (i can’t sleep knowing you’re out in the world without me) in my should i bring you something? (any excuse to see you is a gift) in my do you like the rain? (i imagine us beneath it, laughing, soaked in lightness) in my what song makes you cry? (i want to know the shape of your tenderness)
because I wasn’t just asking. i was offering. i was hoping.
i was saying I love you in every way i thought i could get away with. love is fluent in errands and casual check-ins.
and maybe that’s the cruelest part. that you can hide love in a question… but the silence after the answer—that’s what tells the truth.
Secure in his position, secure in his status, secure in his person. It doesn’t matter how the world sees him because he knows who he is. No bounty is too high and no expectation is too grand for someone like him.
Yet, it all crumbles at the faintest idea of you not being able to see him.
You’re supposed to resonate with him. You’re supposed to recognize him. You’re supposed to remember what you two have been through.
The look in your eyes, the fear they hold, and uncertainty of it all is too much to bear.
The voice that once sang him to sleep is shaking trying to appear strong.
He left his soul within your grasps, but as tries to reach for your fingertips, he can feel the ends of world slip away. You’re not recognizing his dreams anymore. Those nightmares have come back to haunt you.
Though you can’t see him, he can see right through you.
Elysium pretty much confirms what a lot of us have suspected about Sylus' official age — it's just a random number he picked out for himself. Not his true age.
Just think about it and you'll see what I mean about it not making sense.
So according to his profile, Sylus is 28 years old in 2048.
The N109 Zone gang wars took place in 2036, ie 12 years earlier. Which would make him 16 years old at the time.
Do you guys see what I'm getting at?
Are we supposed to believe that Sylus was 16 or younger in his anecdote?
Are you deadass telling me to buy for even a second that Sylus was hunting down intergalactic overlords for sport, conquering entire planets, and cementing his reputation as the most feared and wanted man in the history of an entire civilisation before legal drinking age? Before he'd be eligible to get a driver's license?
Are you expecting me to buy that this
or this
is basically a high-schooler??? A literal child???
Nah. I'm willing to suspend my disbelief on a lot of stuff but this?
Absolutely not.
Sylus is not 28.
Tbh though I never believed he was. I thought it was just a number he picked for the sake of creating an identity. Someone pointed out in a comment to one of my posts that it might actually be a reference to how old he'd be in dragon years rather than in human years, and I like that theory. Honestly, I've always figured that Sylus was not reincarnated or reborn, but rather resurrected/reassembled—the scar on his chest, as well as the fact that he retains all his memories of the past unlike MC or Zayne, strongly hint towards that being the case imo. So I think he's most likely been a fully grown adult for decades, at least, depending on when exactly his resurrection/reassembling took place.
Man, I need more Sylus lore... I need more info on his planet conquering days, his prison escape, the timeline of his first stay in the Oasis etc.
summary: the aftermath of what happened in skyhaven with pre-relationship sylus. hurt/comfort, exploring mc’s trauma.
A simultaneous sigh blooms from both of your lungs as the last wanderer crumbles into oblivion. The dust of its essence floated up to the polluted night sky of the N109 zone, painting artificial stars for the pair of victors below. Sylus lifts his gaze to you after he scrapes what’s left of the aftermath from his fingernails. He looks infuriatingly unaffected. You, however…
“You look like shit.” He remarks playfully, his eyes softening as he holds out his hand to help you up. You, like he anticipates, softly slap it away and get up on wobbly legs. “Fuck off.” You retort, still trying to catch your breath, and he simply smiles- striding next to you and subtly offering you his weight to lean on. You tried stubbornly standing on your own, but found yourself surrendering to his quiet help as you walked back to his bike.
“I’m not letting you ride back to Linkon like this.” He huffed, handing you his spare helmet, the one that is practically yours at this point. “Spend the night at the base.” Coming from him, it sounded more of a purring command than a gentle suggestion. “Get some beauty sleep.”
You had felt your muscles tense and your heart clenched as you were rapidly reminded of the last time you stayed over someone else’s place. The sound of doors locking, the pills, the confusion, the breathing man that you still mourned. Before you could refuse, though, a traitorous yawn escaped your throat. You knew he was right, that you were in no shape to travel home, and it’s not like he could exactly traipse into Linkon at the moment to accompany you. Besides, you’ve been fighting alongside him for a while now, and while he has little weaknesses, you’re willing to exploit them if need be. “Alright.” You breathe your surrender as you put the helmet on, bracing yourself for his driving skills.
Luke and Kieran greet you at the door like eager puppies. What happened, boss? Boss lady? Did ya kill something? How many? How bloody? Any guts?
Sylus held out a commanding hand and answered for you, thankfully. “Don’t ambush the poor girl, she’s beat up.”
You rolled your eyes at that. “I’m not beat up-”
“Come.” He holds his arm out for you, and you defeatedly take it, blindly following wherever he deigns to go.
“My head…” You groaned at the harsh overhead kitchen light being flicked on, rubbing your temples. “Does the big bad mob boss happen to have ibuprofen?”
“I’m not headache proof, believe it or not.” He exhaled a small chuckle. “Sit down.” He ushered you to the sofa across from the kitchen table. You obliged, but not because he told you to, of course. You were achey, dirty and exhausted. He held a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the other, and you hesitated slightly as you let him give them to you. Turning the pills over in your fingers with a squint of your eyes, you looked for the label etched into the chalky red circles to identify that it was, in fact, ibuprofen.
Sylus noticed. Of course he noticed, he always does. “What?” He tilts his head, confused, but his tone still holds a hint of safe and familiar teasing. “You think I’m slipping you something?”
Swallowing back those nagging memories again along with the medicine, you force a chuckle. “Can never be sure with a lawless scoundrel like you, can I?”
He grinned, one of those rare smiles of his, toothy and reaching for his ruby eyes. “I may be a lawless scoundrel, sweetheart, but I’m not a monster.”
Not a monster, because a monster would do that.
Your best friend in the whole world would do that.
A deep breath left you, ready to be rid of this conversation topic. “Can I take a shower?”
His wide grin melted down to his signature smug smirk once again. “In which wing?”
Sylus’s living situation was fucking ridiculous. Four bathrooms with showers, three of them with tubs. For, what, three people? You shake your head in disbelief as he leads you to a guest room. Just as lavish as the rest of the place, the first thing that stares back at you is the neatly made king sized bed. A leather futon sits across it, right next to an enormous closet. Before you can gawk at any other evidence of luxury in the room, he shuts the door behind you. Your gaze instinctively flies to the knob, the phantom click still ringing in your ears. Your shoulders hunch, posture stilling as you find yourself waiting for it— but the door remains unlocked. If Sylus noticed, he gave you the grace of ignoring it and deciding he teased you enough for now. He opens the closet, unhooking a hanger from inside, draping a plush back bathrobe from it. “This should fit you.” You ran your hands along the fluffy material, unable to stop touching it. “And could I wash my clothes after-“
“I will.” He assures you with an interruption. “Leave them outside the door. I’ll find something laying around for you to change into so you don’t have to wait for them to dry.” You nodded, not expecting this level of consideration from him. It brings an irritating, fond heat to your cheeks. “Right. Thank you.”
“Just being a good host.” He smirks, opening the bathroom door. The bathroom was, of course, also fucking ridiculous. Dark marble walls, spotless black tile floors. A black Japanese bathtub next to the spacious shower stall. Woody, spicy potpourri wafted through the air from a bowl on the sink. He moves to shut the door, and you turn. “Um…” Swallow. “Is it okay to keep the door unlocked?” He frowned in confusion, and you quickly added, “It’s the steam. Too much in an enclosed space, I get a headache and I already have one, so I-“
“Okay.” He simply agrees, leaving you no room to over-explain and lie further. You’re almost taken aback with the ease he’s treating you with, but if you think about it, he’s always just accepted. He may question once or twice, but always nods his head without judgment.
You showered all of the blood and grime off your skin, but the reminder of Skyhaven clung under your fingernails no matter how much you scrubbed. It was something you had been pushing away from the forefront of your mind for weeks, almost a month now.
It’s not what you think it is, you remind yourself as you clench your fist, watching the hot water droplets roll off your knuckles. It’s Caleb. He was trying to protect me…
“No, we’re not doing this right now!” You mumbled aloud to yourself. Think, think, think of something else. You abruptly turned the valve to the wall, the water turning freezing cold. Your breathing seemed to slow down with the ice hitting your veins, and by the time you caught two chills, you stepped out and toweled off. The robe felt nice against your damp skin, the fuzz of it all absorbing the water droplets quickly. Opening the door, you see the clothes Sylus left for you in a neat pile: two items. A black satin button down with an “S” monogrammed into the breast pocket with golden embroidery, and grey basketball shorts. A dry snort found its way out of your nose. What a look.
You swam in them, of course, but in a cozy way. You folded the waistband of the shorts until they would aptly rest on your hips, and you didn’t mind the way the shirt’s sleeves hung past your fingers. The shirt smelled like him. Like his stupidly nice cologne, the familiar scent of spices and leather on the collar.
You let your exhausted body drive you to sleep.
The door is locked.
The eyes you used to seek comfort in refuse to soften.
You blindly take his sleeping pills.
The door is locked.
He pins you down on the sofa, next to a photo of the two of you in a frighteningly similar position, play-fighting and laughing.
He threatens to wrap a collar around your throat.
Your pleas fall on deaf ears.
The man in front of you is breathing, but he is long dead.
The door is locked.
Your heart drops you awake, out of breath and eyes watery.
You are not in your bed.
Where are you?
You push the covers off you before you could even remember, rushing to swing the door open. The force of the mahogany hitting the wall got the attention of your gracious host.
“Sweetie…” A deep voice rumbled up your spine. Sylus.
You’re with Sylus.
The pet name lacked all the familiar playful condescension, more of a brace, a concerned approach to a wild, wounded animal. “What’s wrong?”
You don’t answer at first, your clouded mind still assessing the situation. Your shoulders relax a fraction as you register your surroundings, Sylus’s base. You spent the night here after a hunt. You’re with Sylus, you want to be here, and the door was unlocked. Your grip on the doorknob loosens. Sylus slowly comes out from behind you and into your field of vision. “Sit.” He ushers you back into the room, sitting on the bed and patting the silk sheets. You slowly obey, perching on the bed with your knees hugged to your chest. A gentle expression paints his face, something you could’ve sworn you’ve never seen before. “I’m going to ask again.” He urges softly, slowly, the brisk command his tone usually carried melted away.
You can lie to anyone in your life. You could have said it was a bug in your blankets. A noise, he thought of an intruder. Even a nightmare about something else. You can lie to anyone in your life, except for the man in front of you who looks worried for the first time you’ve seen it. You can lie to anyone in your life, except for the man who seems to know your very soul despite only knowing you for a handful of months.
You don’t even try, clenching your fists so tight you’re sure your fingernails would draw blood out of the meat of your palm.
“I can’t tell you…” You murmured, holding back the flood. “Because if I do, it becomes real.”
He frowned, his head tilting to the side slightly. He pushed a soft smile out of the corner of his mouth. “I won’t tell reality if you won’t, sweetheart.”
You exhaled out of your nose shortly, an amused puff of air followed by a sniffle. “No, I’m…it’s serious.”
“I know.” He sat back on his elbows, blanketing the atmosphere with a sense of leisure and ease. That was something you had to admit he was good at. “I’ve noticed.”
You turn to him. “What?”
“You checked the pills I gave you.” He started. “I thought that was a one off, maybe you being extra careful, but then you announced you were gonna shower with the door unlocked-“
You scoffed shakily. “Okay, I didn’t announce-“
“The point is…” He interrupted. “You’ve been…off tonight.”
You don’t know how to answer. You know that at this point, if you open your mouth, the tears will start free falling.
“You don’t have to explain.” Fuck him for always reading your mind. “But you just need to tell me you’re alright. No guest feels unsafe under this roof.”
“It’s not you.” You assure shakily, resting your chin on your knees. “It’s…a long story.”
He nodded, accepting again. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”
“Um…” You suck in a breath through your nose. Here we go. The tube of toothpaste is squeezed. Your voice is slow, measured as you continue. “Remember about three weeks ago I went to Skyhaven?”
You began to unload. From the top. He knew of the explosion, the one you wrongfully blamed him for. The reminder of that moment brings a flash of mortified heat to your cheeks, expecting him to bring it up. You pause for it, the tease, the coy ‘Yes, kitten, I’m so bad,’ but it doesn’t come. His eyes just pave a delicate path down your face, waiting for you to continue. You watch them widen slightly when you tell him your childhood best friend survived, and that you found him up there. Your words shake and choke in your throat when you get to the next part, tears pricking the back of your eyes. You squeeze them shut, and feel a feather-light weight on your hand; his covering yours. A soft affirmation, a silent I’ve got you. The action is so tender, it pushes even more tears to your waterline. You purse your trembling lips at the gentleness of it all, the opposite of the force you two exuded over one another when you first met. You shoot him point blank in the chest, and he holds your hand like it’s precious gold.
“Sweetie…” He looks at you as if the sight of your face twisted in tears makes him violently ache. “Don’t cry.”
Which of course, makes you cry more. He closes the distance between you within a second, pulling you into his side. “I’m trying not to.”
“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He whispers gently, rubbing his thumb over your bare shoulder, the collar of his shirt hanging off of you. “It’s okay. Take your time.”
It takes a few minutes to gather the words, because how exactly do you say, I think my best friend held me hostage in his home and slipped me pills but I think it’s not really him based on zero evidence?
His thumb stopped its soothing rhythm. “He what?”
You cringe and stammer. You feel caught, for some irrational reason. “I-I know what it sounds like, but-”
“No.” He shook his head, his tone still soft but firm. “No, you don’t have to protect him.” He has to bite back the snarl in his voice, fight to keep his words gentle. “Not after he does this…” He wipes a tear from your cheek, his fingers lingering on the skin for a moment. “Not after he does this to you.” His voice shakes alongside yours, for different reasons. “You don’t need to tell me anything more, but you don’t protect him, either.”
You look up at him, drawing in a deep breath. It makes you realize that’s exactly what you’ve been doing all this time, refusing to acknowledge it. While he was ruining you, you were protecting his memory. At the same time, though, what you know about the professor and Caleb’s abnormal behavior flipping like a switch makes you doubt it was fully him that did this to you. Even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t mean it didn’t affect you so deeply that you’re crying into the arms of the person you’d least expect. You watch his fists clench. “He didn’t…” A hesitation. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”
You vehemently shake your head and you could hear a small breath of relief. “It wasn’t like that.” You go to explain again, to defend him, but stop yourself. “It was so scary.” He breathes a deep sigh, tightening his arms around you.
“I know.” He whispers. “I know, sweet girl, but you were brave.”
You scoff tearfully. “No I wasn’t.”
“You’re here.” He pointed out, brushing his hand through your hair. “Not there. I know your prowess firsthand.”
A pathetic half-laugh exits your chest, followed by more sobs. He holds you even tighter as you cling to his grounding familiarity. He does that for as long as you need it, waiting patiently as he assures you you did the right thing, that you’re safe with him, that he could walk into Linkon and take you home right now, bounty be damned; whatever it is you need to hear.
“I’ve got you.” He whispers into your hair. Your head is atop his chest, laying down now. Your eyes are closed, and he can tell you’ve cried yourself to sleep. “Always have. Always will.”
When your breaths turn steady, he moves slightly to get his phone from his pocket. One hand on your back, the other on the keyboard, he types a message to Luke and Kieran.
Farspace Fleet Colonel. Lives in Skyhaven. Name’s caleb. Need any and all information there is to know ASAP.
Another message.
Boss Lady will not let you hurt him, as much as I am dreaming the different ways I could make him hurt right now. Do not go after him. Just watch.
Two pairs of thumbs up from the twins follow the message, not needing any further instruction or explanation. He locks his phone and leans his head against the pillow, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. It’s quiet now, the only sound surrounding him are your soft breaths and Mephisto’s caws into the night as he suddenly takes a trip up north.
Felt like torturing myself so I went through this chapter again and the way Sylus' lips tremble 💔 fuck, man... what if I just shoot myself. It'd hurt me less than this.
I know I'm not the first to express this belief, but I am genuinely convinced that Sylus leaves the scene to cry afterwards. I can only begin to imagine the utter devastation he feels over the fact that his lover, the one person ever to care for him and gaze into his jewel-like eyes, the only one he's ever loved, the woman carrying half of his soul... doesn't remember him. And what's more is actively disgusted by him, looking at him the same way everyone else did on Philos... man that must be heartrending. My own breaks for him, even if I don't at all condone the actions he took before this scene.
It hurts even more when you recall how confident and self assured he was upon meeting present MC for the first time, trademark smirk on his face, the small fond chuckle of wry amusement, the way he grasped her chin, urging her to look at him... I truly don't think he had any clue that she had completely forgotten him. And after the realization hits he doesn't really know how to handle the situation, leading him to become desperate and forceful, hellbent on making her remember... only to end up pushing her even further away. Leading to the above scene.
On the positive side, it was the wake-up call he needed. He needed to realize that he can't force this. That he can't make MC remember him by being forceful or coercive or cold or cruel... because the person past!MC fell in love with were neither of those things to her. If Sylus wants her to love him again, then he needs to once more show her the man she fell for — Her Dragon.
Sylus is not-so-subtly using Mephisto to spy on you while he's on a business trip— something you realize immediately as you're lounging on the couch watching TV in one of his t-shirts and hear a sudden tap-tap-tap from outside the balcony's sliding glass door.
You squint, adjusting your glasses to see a familiar red eyed crow cocking his head at you through the window. "Really?" You murmur with a smirk, getting up to pull open the door. Mephisto hops onto your shoulder with a rusty-sounding squawk.
"How long have you been out here?" You murmur good naturedly, ruffling the bird's feathers. The apertures of Mephisto's mechanical eyes restrict and dilate as he registers your face. "Hey, Sylus," you say with a wink, knowing he's listening and watching through Mephisto.
As you return to the couch, setting Mephisto on the coffee table across from you, a text buzzes through on your phone that confirms your suspicions. I like you in that shirt.
You smirk, standing up to strike an exaggerated pose in front of the bird, showcasing how oversized the shirt is on you. "So sexy, right?" You tease sarcastically.
Sexiest thing on the planet, Sylus writes back. Maybe I should come back home early to take it off of you.
"Maybe you should," you say, watching Mephisto preen his feathers. "How many more days?"
Three, baby, Sylus responds. Mephisto can keep you company in the meantime.
"Mephie can't talk," you retort, talking into the silence. "And he needs his gears oiled, by the way. He creaks like an old man when he walks." You can practically hear Sylus' thick, rumbling chuckle when he responds with a string of laughing emojis.
"I'm getting lonelier by the second," you whine. "Seriously, it's been like two weeks now and you've been too busy to call. I worry about you, you know?"
There's absolutely nothing to worry about. I'm fine. I'll be home before you know it.
You roll your eyes at his placating text. You aren't trying to be clingy, but this is the longest the two of you have ever been apart, and the persistent aching feeling of missing him is starting to wear you down. "I know, I know," you mutter, waving him off. Your phone buzzes again.
In fact, I'll make you a bet. If I'm home before you know it, you have to do whatever I say. Agreed?
"Oh, please," you snicker. Mephisto fluffs out his wings. "Fine. Whatever you say." You know he's just trying to get you to stop being mopey.
Anything I say?
"Anything," you concede, lying back to absentmindedly resume scrolling through the TV channels.
Perfect. As if on cue you hear three hard knocks on the front door.
"Son of a..."
[A/N]: adapted from a request by @harukablossomsblog~ hope you enjoy!
to elaborate from earlier… thinking of helping rafayel through his first heat with you
It’s never been this bad. And it’s all your fault. Being back in your arms after eight hundred years, finally remembering the way your voice sounds when it says his name and the way you fit oh so perfectly in his arms. It’s borderline painful to spend even a minute in your absence. His very body violently rejects the notion of it as spasms of violent heat and need drives him right back into your arms again and again and again.
You’ve effectively been stuck in Rafayel's house for nearly a week now, slowly rotating between the rooms as you try your best to care for the melodramatic Lemurian: running cold baths, opening windows to let in the ocean breeze, and of course, letting him fuck you on every possible surface in his house.
It’s just a choir of “feels so good, so perfect, my sweet, darling mate” as he’s bucking up into you with deep, lazy thrusts as he lets you ride him. It’s him kissing you until your lips tingle and turn slick and swollen as he whispers, “my wife” over and over into your open mouth. It’s the repeated cries of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” when he animalistically ruts into you on the art room floor as you lay there drooling.
But best of all is near the end, when rafayel’s need is at its peak. His only comfort becomes your touch and the permanent warmth of your cunt, spending the last day desperately close to you, as close as he can get. Just you gently petting his head and cooing sweet praises and garbled Lemurian sayings to the best of your ability as Rafayel sobs into the crook of your neck and starts thrusting again, already painfully hard even though the two of you are nearly passed out from exhaustion.
idk man I kinda just want to baby him while he’s fucking me stupid :(
A sudden midnight theory from my brain that hasn't slept in a couple of days: what if Sylus wanted to die at that moment?
Look, he gave her the gun and pulled the trigger himself. In the myth he did the same, taking her hand and thrusting the sword deeper in the chest.
What if he really had no intention of living anymore?
Now let's recall the recent card "Ordinary Traces". If the chronology is such that it happened exactly in this year, when they first met then... maybe, this is my guess, he really wasn't going to come here anymore, because he had plans to go on an eternal rest?
That is, he had already planned in advance that he would provoke the MC to resonate, so that this would lead to the appearance of the sword from the myth and so that she would finish him off on the spot?¿
This was the nightly edition of crazy theories. Have a nice day.
