i'd like to take this opportunity (caleb birthday event) to highlight how papergames/infold has changed the love and deepspace script to cater to the western audience:
the line that is underlined, originally says in chinese:
今年不只该和哥哥拍照、也该和夏以昼一起了吧
roughly translated: this year not only should (you) be taking photos with brother/gege, (you) should also take with xia yi zhou/caleb right?
caleb is making a very specific callout to MC that he wants her to think of him as Caleb/xia yi zhou rather than how she used to address him as brother/gege, which is a very clear expression that he wants to move the relationship beyond just "close" and "like siblings" to something more romantic. (also his personality comes through cos he uses the word 该 which implies an obligation that MC must take photos with him ♪( ´▽｀) small cuteness there)
it's a very chinese-culture thing that doesn't translate well at all. it's also more common for people to use names once they get closer because you can randomly approach any male stranger and be like 哥哥(brother) or 大叔(uncle) and they will respond bc that's a generic title. eastern cultures place a lot of value on community and interconnectedness so by calling strangers using a title that is meant for an older family member, you immediately can signal an intent or wish to be close and also still maintain politeness.
i'm sorry if my explanation is difficult to grasp (;-;) i just wanted to bring this up because 1. the developers are putting a lot of effort into making caleb a likeable character to the western audiences. we just want you to like us. let's be friends; and 2. noticing yet another fic writer having to explain their stand on "incest" between MC and caleb... stop being mean guys. doesn't the west embrace freedom? why are you stopping them from the freedom of writing what they want, i just don't understand... i hope that people start to understand more about the concept of 哥哥 as a title rather than an expression of real relationship soon
“Now what’s all the commotion here and why did that hard tell me to hurry” “huh” “huh?” “Oh my aeons””what”
“How blessed by Idrila I must be for they let me gaze upon such a sight! Your fiery locks, your noble stance, why you must be a knight!”
“In full self-flattery I must call you a face on an angel”
“A miracle indeed! How wonderful, perhaps I too should fashion wearing my hair this way. I must insist on you borrowing my conditioner though…” “let’s go, traveller, let’s get him some strong grape juice”
I've been lookin for a writer who takes reqs for lnds 😭 Can i req sfw hcs/one-shot (choose which one u prefer more) for sylus & fem/gn reader?
I remember there was one call for zayne x mc where mc called zayne accidentally because mc was drunk & mc called zayne (accidentally) instead of booking a cab (mc did book a cab but w/ a wrong destination).
Can i maybe req what if the scenario is like that but it's w/ sylus instead? Feel free to tell me if this req is too much or if u wanna decline it, thanks a lot!
My first Sylus fic! Yay! (Don't look at me Rafayel 🥰)
Anon your mind is so powerful! This prompt was so much fun to write, so thank you, hope you enjoy!
Wrong Number
Sylus x Reader 🩸
Summary: You're having a bit of trouble getting hold of that taxi you booked, but more trouble help is on the way...
Genre: fluff, kinda ends on an angsty note (sorry 😇)
Warnings/Additional tags: drunk reader, some swearing, humour, uses of 'sweetie' and 'kitten', threat of violence/death at the start, a slight bit of suggestion (it's Sylus, ok? He's having ✨fun✨)
| Word count: 2k | Masterlist |
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!
“Mr. Sylus, please! It was an honest mistake— almost indistinguishable from a genuine protocore, I swear!”
Sylus is lounging back in a plush leather armchair, feeling thoroughly short-changed as he turns about a fake protocore with his fingers. He’s been listening to this noise for almost a full minute, growing awfully impatient, though he did like the last excuse.
“Say that again,” he drawls with a sinister smile.
“It was an honest mistake,” the black-market dealer stutters, tripping over his words. “It was almost indistinguishable from a—”
“Almost indistinguishable…” Sylus confirms. “Almost. Almost.” He’s savouring each syllable— tasting them like wine.
“It would have fooled almost anyone!”
“Almost anyone?” Sylus laughs, and it’s a wicked, dangerous thing. “Well yes, I rather think that’s the point. But it didn’t fool just anyone, did it? It fooled you.”
His smile is gone in an instant, his hand closing around the fake protocore, splintering it with a crack. He drops bloodied, sapphire fragments from his palm, red and blue, red and blue, and they skitter across the hardwood floor like rain.
“Please, Mr. Sylus!” the dealer pleads, desperate. “I’ll do anything! I will! I’ll make it up to you!”
“No, thanks.” Sylus studies his palm as it heals. “I’ve had my fill of fake protocores.”
“Sylus!”
The leader of Onychinus stands, drawing his gun with a customary apathy. Dark energy manifests, twisting around the dealer’s limbs, holding him still, while a lone tendril crawls around his mouth, holding him silent. He’s struggling, but he should know better. He should have known better from the very beginning. With a wistful smile, Sylus levels the gun with his head, and—
Something rings.
His red gaze shoots up, instinctively seeking Luke and Kieran, but they shrug from their station at the other side of the room. The sound is closer than that, anyway. Glaringly more familiar. Sylus’s spare hand goes to his pocket, and he draws out his phone.
“Mmm?” he greets, thumb sliding across the screen as he puts it to his ear.
There’s only one person who calls him at this time of night.
“Where are you?” your voice echoes from the other side of the line.
“That’s a question I prefer not to answer without knowing what motivates it.”
“Wha— Sylus?”
“Yes, sweetie,” he drones.
There’s a moment of silence. “Shit.”
It’s not the reaction he aspires to, but you sound agitated, so he’s going to let it slide. There’s a loud crackle from the speaker, followed by a few, harsher sounds, and he pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing slightly. His eyes are trained on the man at his feet, but he lowers his gun, distracted.
“What are you—” he begins, but then he identifies the sound. It’s a finger— your finger— jabbing away at a screen. “If I didn’t know any better, Miss Hunter, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”
“No…” you deny too quickly. It’s still there: the tapping. Like Mephisto, pecking furiously at a locked window from outside. A few more jabs, and then…
The call cuts out.
Sylus scoffs, looking down at his now silent phone in disbelief. He flops back into his chair, tossing his gun onto a side table before hitting the button to call you back. You know he’s not a patient man, but you don’t pick up the first time, and so he has to try again. He can be patient for you— he tells himself— as he thinks up some creative ways for you to return the charity. Speaking of charity…
His gaze drops to the dealer. “Get out,” he sneers.
The man doesn’t have to be told twice. He scrambles to his feet as his blood-dark bindings retract, practically throwing himself towards the room’s exit. Luke pushes open the door, the intense music of the nightclub beating through the gap, but Kieran’s being less helpful. He steps into the doorway, blocking any escape. He feints right. Then left. Behind the masks, both men are laughing.
Eventually Kieran steps aside. He shoves the dealer the rest of the way through the door as Luke kicks it shut, and they exchange a high-five.
Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. His call connects.
“Hello?” You’re back. “Finally! Where are you? I don’t see you.”
“Still me, sweetie.”
“Sylus?” you actually whine. It’s adorable. “Why is it you? Go away.”
“No,” he lilts tunefully, and then he’s coaxing: “I want to help you, kitten. Won’t you let me help you? Tell me, who are you trying to call?”
Frustration spills from you— fake, exaggerated sobs tearing themselves from your throat. “The taxi, Sy,” you whine again. “The stupid taxi, ok? It’s not here. It’s meant to be here.”
“Where’s here?”
“Ha!” you exclaim like you’ve evaded a masterplan, and not a casually asked, run-of-the-mill question. “No. Nice try, but no. You wanna help me?”
“Yeah.”
“Then leave me alone!”
With— he can imagine— some sort of theatrical flourish, you deliver your phone a final, decisive tap. It beckons a fateful silence. Sylus brings his phone in front of his face, unmoved by the moment’s gravitas. There’s a pop-up on the screen. Kitten: requesting video chat.
He smiles to himself. Then accepts. “Hi sweetie.”
Your face is lighting up his screen, your cheeks flushed, your brow furrowed, and your eyes sharp with determination. “Why can I— wait, why can I see you? Get out of my phone, Sy!”
“My, my,” he tuts, but he’s smiling still, “look at you— the illustrious Miss Hunter. It is a relief to know the fate of Linkon rests in such… reliable hands.”
“What d’you mean?” you mumble.
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re drunk!”
He chuckles. “And there’s that infamous wit.”
You bite your lip as you ignore him, still fixated on trying to end the call. It occurs to him that you will eventually succeed; even a broken clock is right twice a day. “Listen to me, sweetie. Are you alone?”
His tone is sober enough for the two of you, and your exasperated eyes meet his. “Yeah.”
“Then be a good girl and send me your location. You remember how to do that, right?” He carefully enunciates each word of his plan. “I’ll come and get you, but I need to know where you are. Don’t go with anyone else. Wait for me, ok?”
You’re nodding away, the odd ‘mmhmm’ escaping your lips, but you’re not at all listening. He catches on after a minute. Trails off— realises your gaze is too vacant, and your focus? Wandering. You’re cradling your phone with both hands. His view is interrupted as your thumb passes over the camera; you’re… stroking the screen?
“You’re so pretty, Sy,” you murmur breathlessly.
His gaze softens. He sighs, “You’re pretty too.”
Then you make a sound he’s never heard before: you squeak, the phone’s audio almost cutting out. A blush is spreading through your cheeks, so much darker than the alcohol’s afterglow, and gods he wishes your face was in his hands. The vision is short-lived, however, because suddenly you’re gone.
There’s a circling view of a dark street, split by streaks of white light, as your phone careens through the air. It strikes concrete a moment later, stuttering to a stop, and Sylus’s grimace deepens with each jarring crack. Your screen has gone black, but he doesn’t think it’s broken. He’s face down, apparently— subjected to an unexciting view of the pavement.
“Oh, shit!” He hears you gasp.
Though your voice is far away, your phone is in your grasp again in no time. You’re turning it over, peering down at him, tracing the outline of his face with worry. “Sorry, Sy. Are you ok?”
“I’ll survive.” He raises an eyebrow. “You know, if you wanted to throw me around, you only needed to ask.”
His voice has dropped, and he loves watching you notice. You stand from your crouch with a smirk, bringing him with you— a dark idea in your eyes. “Wanna go again?”
Before he can protest, he’s looking at the back of your head. Your arm is stretched behind you, gearing up to send him on another short flight.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts, panicking briefly, but you’d never detect it with all your wits about you, let alone none. He’s brought in front of your face again, and you’re frowning oh so sweetly. “I asked you to do something, remember?”
“You told me to do something.”
So pedantic. “What did I tell you to do, sweetie?”
You don’t say anything. There’s a short huff as you blow hair from your face, and then you’re concentrating. You have that look he likes: the one you get when you’re whittling away at your paperwork like a good little hunter. The same stubborn resolve, too, that makes you lean over it when he or Mephisto are conveniently behind your shoulder.
Your location comes through with a ping and his smile widens. He’s up in a heartbeat, telling you he’s on his way— that you did such a good job— and that you need to stay on the phone with him, ok? He spins his fingers as he passes between Luke and Kieran, a gesture they’ve long grown accustomed to and can easily translate.
I'm leaving. Clean this up.
…
“So then Xavier, like— well, you know Xavier— he was all, ‘I’ll tell you later,’ but he never did, Sy! Off he went, leaving Nero and I to do all the paperwork, and I asked Nero, and Nero was like, ‘ask Xavier yourself’, and I was like, ‘I literally just did!’, and he just shrugged, and it’s… driving me crazy, you know? Because where does he even go? Tara and I have this bet going, she thinks it’s because he—”
Your anecdote comes to a sudden stop.
“What does Tara think, sweetie?”
“Shh shh shh! Wait a second…”
You clutch your phone to your chest like it’ll somehow suppress Sylus’s voice. You’re sat, leaning back against a chain-link fence, but you rise as a black car pulls up in front of you. The windows are tinted. You squint, leaning forward to try to look through them anyway.
“I don’t like this, Sy,” you frown as you plant a hand on your hip. “There’s a car here.”
“Oh?”
“Shh!” you hiss again. It’s not the only car parked on the street, but it is the only one alive. The engine purrs and its lights are glowing like angry embers, refusing to be snuffed out by the dark. You take a step closer, then the engine cuts out. You take a bigger step back.
“What exactly are you afraid of?” Sylus asks, his tone so thick it’s practically bleeding through your phone. “Is a big, bad man trying to get you?”
“Well I don’t know what they look like, Sy. The windows are tinted, and I— AH!” you gasp.
A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, lifting you from the ground. “Got you, sweetie,” Sylus chuckles in your ear as tell-tale crow feathers settle around you. His breath is hot on your neck and it tickles, turning your panicked shrieks to laughter.
“Sylus!” you squeal as you attempt to wriggle free. You don’t think you’re trying very hard.
The man lowers you back to your feet, but his arms stay around you and he dips his head, resting his chin on the curve of your shoulder. “Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi.” For a little word, there’s so much fondness.
“Let’s get you home to bed, ok?”
You nod compliantly with a yawn, swaying a little as his arms retract and you’re having to stand on your own again. He chuckles as he steadies you— placing a hand on the top of your head— and you pivot, drawn by the sound. His crimson eyes find yours and they’re dark with something that stirs you, even with your mind swimming and nothing really making sense. You’re not sure of anything at all, except—
No-one has ever looked at you like that before.
And you won’t remember it tomorrow.
“Come on,” he prompts, nudging you towards the car, and you start to walk, though you’re dragging your feet. “I want to hear all of the association’s dirtiest secrets while I still can.”
“Tara has a crush on the new weapon specialist, you know.”
Sylus blinks, then laughs— a tender, comfortable thing. Completely enthralled. “You don’t say,” he beams.
I think we, as a general community, need to start taking this little moment more seriously.
This, right here? This is asking for consent. It’s a legal necessity, yes, but it is also you, the reader, actively consenting to see adult content; and in doing so, saying that you are of an age to see it, and that you’re emotionally capable of handling it.
You find the content you find behind this warning disgusting, horrifying, upsetting, triggering? You consented. You said you could handle it, and you were able to back out at any time. You take responsibility for yourself when you click through this, and so long as the creator used warnings and tags correctly, you bear full responsibility for its impact on you.
“Children are going to lie about their age” is probably true, but that’s the problem of them and the people who are responsible for them, not the people that they lie to.
If you’re not prepared to see adult content, created by and for adults, don’t fucking click through this. And if you do, for all that’s holy, don’t blame anyone else for it.
Except this is the last line of consent before the actual work. So if you’re at this button you have already done the following:
1) chosen to go onto AO3 in the first place
2) chosen the fandom you wish to read about
3) had the chance to filter for the things you do want to see like a specific pairing or a specific AU
4) had the chance to specifically filter out any tags you don’t want to see like, oh I don’t know, incest and non-con and dub-con and paedophilia
5) had the chance to set the rating level if you wish to remove any explicit content at all
6) have read the summary of the story, which aren’t always great but are the only indicator of what the story will be like writing wise so something about it was good enough for you to click on it.
7) have read the tags of the story which will tell you what is actually in the story. If you have used filters to remove stories with things you don’t want then there shouldn’t be anything in here that’s a shock to you but maybe there is. That’s why the tags are there for you to check for yourself.
8) Then you have to actually click on the story. You cannot see anything other than the summary or the tags without personally deciding that you are going to open and read this story.
9) Only here, at step number nine, do you get to the adult content warning pictured above. You have been through eight different steps, the last six of which have also been opportunities for you to see that this has adult content. And AO3 has *STILL* stopped you to ask one last time “are you sure you want to read this because it has things that only adults should see in it”.
If after this point you are reading incest and paedophilia then it’s probably because you specifically went looking for it.
“You find the content you find behind this warning disgusting, horrifying, upsetting, triggering? You consented. You said you could handle it, and you were able to back out at any time. You take responsibility for yourself when you click through this, and so long as the creator used warnings and tags correctly, you bear full responsibility for its impact on you.”
Stop complaining with writers when you dislike a story FGS
This also works when stories are tagged, oh say, infidelity. If you don’t want to read about someone in your OTP being unfaithful (I.E., HAVING SEX WITH A DIFFERENT PERSON), don’t read that freaking story. The tags are there for YOU. So stop complaining when the story contains exactly what the author says it contains. Freaking hell.
If I go to the supermarket, walk down the fish aisle, pick up a salmon fillet, pay for it, take it home, put it in the oven, wait for it, take it out, then take a bite…
I cannot complain to Tesco that I don’t like fish.
