Giving a few choices for requests: 55 or 48 for Sylus, Love and Deepspace please :)
If you choose dancing: include any specific ballet or modern choreography au please :3 (how you write that is up to you!)
Emmy! Sorry for the delay, but here it is now! I chose 55 (tracing the lines on the other's hand) because I am absolutely clueless about dancing lololol I did incorporate a (very) little bit of ballet in the ficlet though! Hope this satisfies you :D
date night
You’re on a date with Sylus. He is very distracting.
One late morning you wake up to a ticket to a ballet performance teetering at the side of your face (thankfully it missed the drool on your chin) and a languid Sylus lounging on the chair by the bed. He's dressed to the nines, and in that moment you feel so underdressed with your PJs. Crankily you ask him what's going on.
“You're welcome, by the way. And you may want to get up now; we still have to see if the dress I had commissioned fits on you.”
Suddenly, you're wide awake.
Fast forward to the event, in a matching outfit with Sylus. You're very much enjoying the ballet, and you relay this enthusiastically to him. There's something mesmerizing about the movements of the dancers, a hypnotic quality to the way they extend their hands, followed by their bodies, and then their legs poised to a leap in accordance with the tension of the music. The last time you've watched something like this it was from a computer screen. Tara said that it's nothing compared to the real thing. And she is absolutely right.
So rapt you are from the performance that you do not notice the hand trailing along the length of the armrest that you're gripping.
When that hand encloses on yours, you startle, but then it clamps you down, a signal, a warning not to jump from your seat. You refuse to turn around and see what Sylus's expression is—or what he's masking.
After a few moments, once you've settled back and made no further motion, the thumb over your hand begins to travel down the prominent bone of your wrist. Then the fingers: reorienting themselves so that they nestle in the seams of yours, ready to press down.
“Enjoying the performance?” Sylus asks. The lilt in his voice makes you question which subject he is talking about: the ballet or his hand. Either applies; they're both similar—except they diverge on the how.
You hum in response, because there's no other way to answer him, not with that hand that's already bearing down the spaces between your fingers.
You're still not looking at him.
He hums in return, and his fingers entwine with yours, clasping tightly.
On the stage the dancers congregate for the climax.
Your hand is turned over, palm up, exposed, and for a second Sylus's hand leaves you and then returns, middle finger tapping lightly at the base—then tracing your fate line slowly, a whisper of a caress. The sensation begets a murmur down your spine.
Then his index finger goes next: along your life line, drawing an attentive circle once it reaches the apex. It tickles, and you jerk, but Sylus immediately flattens his palm over yours, stopping you from snatching your hand back.
Then he starts over: this time, from the tips of your fingers, his own weightlessly sliding down until they stop at the center, where his thumb takes over, one firm press before tracing geometries on your now-sensitive palm.
You take a deep, heavy breath.
He does this the entire duration of the climactic scene. On your palm indecipherable shapes coalesce invisibly from the heat left by his thumb—and when the music crescendoes to its peak Sylus brings your hand to his face and mouths the remnants of sensations lingering on your palm. You can hear the wetness of his kiss and you lean back and shut your eyes.
The music bursts to a stop.
Applause thunders throughout the hall. You want to join in the adulation, but Sylus keeps a stubborn grip on your hand. When you finally direct your gaze to him and find that his is on yours, you realize that his attention has been on you all this time.
“What do you think?” he asks into your palm; you tamp down a shiver.
Biting your lip, you exhale through your nose. Sylus does not relinquish both his grip and his focus on you.
“Electrifying,” you answer. You don't specify which.
A smirk, cocky and satisfied, graces his lips. He finally lets go of your hand, and you clench it into a fist, willing your body to take back control.
“There's more of that tonight,” he says. “We are not done yet.”
He leans over and traces the outline of your lips with his ring finger. Then he gets up and offers his hand to you.
What he's said—it's a promise. And it is a promise that pulses through your flesh as you take his hand.
⚡️what's the silliest thing you've done while drunk? (Or if not drunk at least mildly tipsy)
If you don't answer truthfully I'm asking the twins for details 🤭
Honesty Hours
Sylus groaned softly at the threat of the twins, dragging a hand down his face.
“Fine,” he muttered, “since you insist on digging up my darkest sins…”
He leaned back, eyes narrowing at the memory before a reluctant, crooked smirk tugged at his lips. “I used my Evol once while… mildly compromised.” His tone was dry, resigned. “We were at an arcade. The twins wanted a plushie from one of those rigged claw machines.”
A pause.
“I was trying to teleport the toy out.”
Another pause. Longer.
Then, with the reluctant dignity of a man admitting to a crime:
“And I ended up inside the machine. With the plushies.”
2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?
23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?
24. Are there any easter eggs in "the astronaut's wife", and if so, what are they?
Hellooo Emmy~
author asks
2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?
Established relationship (fair)
Verbal humiliation (teehee)
Vaginal fingering (alrightalright)
Cunnilingus/fluff/choking/daddy kink are all tied for fourth (i aM whO i am oK)
Honestly this reads like a list of: author's kinks, thinly veiled. It's a fairly accurate representation of what I like I suppose haha-- the daddy kink is only present in one (1) of my LaDs fics and I honestly haven't written any since (that was more of a pre-2021 me). I will say I am honestly surprised blowjobs and face-fucking didn't make it up there author has oral fixations news at 10
23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?
Journey to the West, but space opera!!!!!!! That's more of an original work thing though (aka I will continue to fantasize but never write it). For LaDs specifically... male!mc... yuri!StarFish with tentacles. Actually wait, it's tentacles. I have never written a tentacle fic. WHO AM I!? HOW DID I WRITE WEREWOLF BEFORE TENTACLE..?!?
24. Are there any Easter eggs in the astronaut's wife and if so, what are they?
Uuuuu ty for asking about this fic!! The one Easter egg I can recall is:
"What do you think? Do we dare disturb the universe?" is a rip off of T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (the original line reads: Do I dare / disturb the universe?) One of my favorite poems, I have a huge soft spot for it, especially: Til human voices wake us, and we drown *chefs kiss*
Secondly, hunnnnn 33 is not ollldddd. You haven't even hit a mid-life crisis yet (I hope haha). I hope your bday tomorrow is filled with happy memories and yummy food!!
Prompt for you if you are interested ;) (well more like a song inspo fic)- write a LADs story/drabble/poem (whatever medium you want!) based on the song "Hymn to Virgil" by Hozier. Characters preferably sylus and/or zayne but also feel free to follow the brain 🪱
Have fun~
Birthday Palooza; It's my birthday today ! 8/31. Feel free to send in short prompts for me to write about, song inspo is fine too! I'm happy to spend time with everyone today.
@blessdunrest Thank you for the prompt! <3
I hope this was what you were hoping for and I hope I did the song justice- I listened to it a few times to get a feel for it.
Zayne paused at the doorway, coat still warm from the chill outside, and watched her from the threshold. She was perched on the edge of the couch, knees drawn up, her hands cradling a mug that sent spirals of steam into the air. The soft glow of the lamp brushed her hair into a halo, and for a long moment, he simply breathed her in.
She hadn’t noticed him yet. Her gaze drifted over something on the table, or perhaps through it, as if the quiet of the evening held all the answers she sought. He smiled, barely moving, and felt the familiar tug in his chest — that steady pull of devotion that had threaded through every day they’d shared.
On the counter, a small note lay waiting. “I saved a bit of warmth for you,” it said, in her delicate script.
He didn’t need to read it twice; he felt the meaning in the way she always left little sanctuaries for him: a cup made perfectly, a favorite song humming in the background, the quiet patience in her gestures.
These weren’t grand declarations, but they were theirs and in them, the world fell away.
He stepped closer, careful not to disturb the bubble she existed in. She sensed him then, tilting her head with a smile that reached her eyes. He reached for her hand, tracing the familiar warmth of her fingers, and for a heartbeat, time slowed.
He poured himself a cup of tea she had already made, a ritual perfected over countless evenings. They settled together on the couch, shoulders brushing, knees touching, sharing a space that had become a kind of sanctuary. Outside, the hum of the city softened into a distant murmur, and inside, there was only the quiet, weightless peace between them.
Each glance, each brush of hands, each shared silence carried a depth that words could never reach. He thought of all the small ways they had given pieces of themselves to each other. The tiny sacrifices, simple joys, gestures unnoticed by the world but sacred to them.
In that moment, he knew that nothing beyond this room mattered.
Here, they had everything.
A flicker of worry stirred in him, a whisper of fear he didn’t voice. What if he couldn’t always be here for her? What if the demands of the world pulled him away, leaving her to face its weight alone? He pressed a hand to her back, a subtle, grounding gesture, and felt the tension ease in both of them. Sometimes, love wasn’t grand or spoken; it was being present, even when it was hard, even when the world begged him to be elsewhere.
He rose quietly and returned with a blanket, draping it over her shoulders with the care of someone handling a fragile treasure. She leaned into him, letting him wrap her in warmth, and he felt a swell of quiet pride, a soft triumph in the simple act of giving her comfort. There was no ceremony, no need for words, only the understanding that he would stay, that he would choose her, every day, through every small hardship, through every quiet evening.
They sank back into the couch, a shared rhythm of breath and heartbeats, a devotion expressed in glances and lingering touches. Time stretched and bent around them, each moment full, each second heavy with a love that was patient, steady, and unshakable. Zayne rested his head against her shoulder, letting the peace of her presence fill the spaces he didn’t know were empty. And in that quiet, sacred hour, he understood that this was the depth of love: not in grand gestures or declarations, but in choosing, always, to stay.
Zayne remained there, his forehead resting lightly against her temple, the warmth of her shoulder grounding him in a way nothing else could. Outside, the city murmured on, but inside, time seemed suspended, folding in on itself, as if the world had finally recognized that nothing outside these walls mattered more than this: them.
She shifted slightly, leaning back into him, and he felt her breath even out. It was a small, effortless motion, yet it carried the weight of everything they had shared — every unspoken promise, every quiet sacrifice, every gesture meant only for the other’s happiness. He could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat beneath his ear, a steady echo of his own, and he knew, without doubt, that they had built something fragile and unbreakable all at once.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the lamp, but it seemed to shimmer with the life between them. He let his fingers brush hers again, tracing the familiar contours of her hand, committing each line, each warmth, each small detail to memory.
No words were necessary; there was nothing left to say. Every action, every touch, spoke volumes, a devotion deeper than anything he could name.
For a long while, they simply existed together, a quiet universe spinning in the space between them. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, a soft affirmation of the truth he carried in every fiber of himself: that he would stay, that he would always choose her, in the mundane and in the extraordinary, through every ordinary day and every quiet night.
As the evening stretched on, the weight of the world outside faded entirely. There was only them, only the warmth, the small, sacred acts of love, the devotion that required nothing more than presence. Zayne closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the certainty of it, and in that shared stillness, he felt something eternal: a love that did not demand perfection, that did not seek reward, that simply was and always would be theirs.
Quick off the top of your head: What is the singular best physical and/or emotional trait you love from your favorite LADs LI?? gooooo 🏃♀️
!!!!!!!! putting me on blast 😮💨
hands for sylus. & his ability to be straightforward but also annoying in terms of emotional trait (ok lemme explain that latter one: his devotion is v overwhelming and intense but because he also can be a prick /lovingly/ it helps to not cower in the face of that intensity for me) does that count? he makes love fun. idk otherwise how attuned he is at reading people and what they need in general. that trait is always something i admire in people. or his honesty in his feelings / his confidence in owning what he feels — is that an emotional trait?
… i just woke up …. don’t ask me how often his hands distract me …….
Quick off the top of your head: What is the singular best physical and/or emotional trait you love from your favorite LADs LI?? gooooo 🏃♀️
OOH. OKAY. FUN!!!!! 🥹💖
Zayne — Emotional: his patience. Physical: ....his hands. 👉👈
Sylus — Emotional: his peace with himself / not bothered by others' perception or judgment Physical: *coughs* hands *coughs* I'M SORRY. I'M A HAND WHORE 😔
Caleb — Emotional: his caregiver instinct Physical: his eyes 🥹🩷💜 and hands 😔🫶
I would just like you to know i would literally KILL for yoru. Yoru is so precious. Yoru is life. All the comics with Sylus and Caleb are so hilarious and funny and heartwarming and if Yoru were someone irl I'd be fantastic friends with them. Thank youuuuu T_T
