God bless the CN Sylus Girlies for having all our backs 🫶
I'm hoping this will finally make Infold release his content from their basement and stop treating him as their cash cow. B/c right now? He is essentially P2W and even for spenders he is extremely difficult to main. Raising his affinity is hell compared to the other LIs. Whaling and R3ing his cards is basically a necessity at this point. Especially if you're a newer player.
It's just not fair and we should all demand better treatment.
(Note: This is NOT a question of asking for MORE Sylus content compared to the other LIs. Most Sylus girlies — myself included — know and accept that Sylus will never truly catch up b/c of him being newer. No, what we're asking for is literally just to have the same amount of stuff that the other 3 had upon release and which Sylus still does not have months after his introduction)
So Papergames finally officially responded... by trying not only to gaslight their consumers but also by subtly threatening to take legal action against CN Sylus girlies for "spreading false information". 🫠
What false information??? The numbers speak for themselves 😭😭😭 Also way to not even address the issue which is the severe lack of Standard Sylus content. Literally all we're asking for is the bare minimum
https://x.com/TheLunaRiegrow/status/1878922473875673209 (another informative post, going into detail on what Sylus is lacking (calculating that he is missing 16,550 affinity points) the timeline of his and other LI's development (Sylus was planned as far back as in June 2023, perhaps even earlier), and more! Please check it out!
https://www.reddit.com/r/LoveAndDeepspace_/s/wg63ZSQfBc (this post lays out the vast gap in cards and affinity points between Sylus and the OG3. I'd also advise you to read this comment by another user which explains why non-Sylus mains should also be very concerned. B/c this is in no way an issue that will only affect Sylus girlies in the long run.)
https://www.tumblr.com/yes-no-maybe-soo/772593769512157184/you-know-what-fuck-it-now-that-im-at-it-i-might?source=share (my own post on the issue)
Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, discussions of past minor character death, and descriptions of anxiety.
Word count: 2.6k.
You awake to cold sheets and damp cheeks.
It isn’t a peaceful transition into consciousness. You fight for each breath, a losing battle that swaddles your mind in thick fog. The vapors thin out as time drags along. It doesn’t dissipate in its entirety, preferring to linger and prolong your disorientation.
You wipe at your face with your wrists, ignoring the sting accompanying the action. Hesitatingly, you appraise it in a ray of moonlight that snuck past the blinds. It’s clear, not crimson and thick. A normal product of a healthy body. You should feel relieved, you think. Every organ is as it should be. Your brain remains in your cranium, your lungs expand and contract, and your heart pumps, albeit at an alarming speed.
It’s better than the chill of encroaching death.
…
You are alive, aren’t you?
This question prompts an investigation.
Nothing hurts. Your throat, maybe, but that’s a minor ache spurred from thirst. Your skin is warm and clammy. Peeling the comforter off, you squint, assessing your body’s condition. Weary eyes take in everything. Your socks, the lace trimming of your nightgown, its diaphanous midriff, then your chest. Everything appears in order.
Would your incorporeal form accurately reflect your physical body?
You shake your head.
This can’t be heaven — no pantheon would be cruel enough to set the stage of your paradise with props from your captivity.
It can’t be hell either. If it were, you wouldn’t be alone right now.
You blink.
You’re alone?
Chrollo’s side of the bed is notably empty. He must’ve got up in a hurry, the sheets are in disarray. The adjoining restroom is dark and unoccupied, confirming he must be elsewhere. Your stomach churns. Determined to do away with this creeping anxiety, you get up, padding across the hardwood floor.
The night gifts shivers and goosebumps. Wishing to ward off its unwanted advances, you wrap your arms around yourself. You pass through the door that connects to the common area. Although it’s dimly lit, you can tell he isn’t here. The attached balcony is similarly uninhabited. A quick foray into the study confirms your status; you’re truly by yourself.
What should be a triumph or a relief delivers nothing but dread.
You return to the common room to assess the situation.
You’ve never been left alone before. Not without him telling you in advance, normally with a rough estimate of when he’ll return. There’s no way an important detail like that would slip your mind. At a loss, you dredge through your memories for some sign you may have missed. His voice pierces through your head like an arrow. You wince but ignore your body’s displeasure at anything associated with him. The unintelligible noises sharpen, forming consonants and vowels.
The thrum of the air conditioner eases away.
You’re left in absolute silence, until Chrollo’s voice fades away, replaced by another.
“... She was five or six, I think. Right around the age where you start losing baby teeth. There’d been this game she wanted and, y’know, kids aren’t rolling in cash. So she figured, what better way to pay for it than through the tooth fairy? I caught ‘er with my wrench, determined as anything, ready to speed up the process. It ended up being a little inside joke between us.”
Your lower lip trembles.
“... That’s how she ended up getting identified. Her teeth, I mean. Wasn’t anything else left to go off of. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. A whole life she lived, sometimes getting into trouble, but mostly helping others outta theirs. And to have that— all that— reduced to just… just a couple, couple fuckin’— teeth? What kinda joke is that?”
You fill a glass with water until it overflows.
“Hey, tell me. Has that fucker ever mentioned ‘er? … Probably not, right? Probably never knew she existed in the first place.”
Head thrown back, you gulp down the liquid, fighting the lump that longs to form in your throat.
“Who knows? Maybe I’m the one in the wrong ‘ere. Hell, you don’t look much older than her yourself. I don’t— don’t wanna hurt ya. But…”
Tears prick the corner of your eyes.
“There’s no other way to hurt him.”
Someone’s beside you.
You can hear their voice, though it sounds like it’s coming from miles away, carried over by the wind. Warmth sears your bare shoulders. You smell the faint aroma of sandalwood and amber. It’s distinct, this cologne that serves as an ill-omen better than any blackbird or cracked mirror. You couldn’t scrub it from your memory if you tried. That, or the scent of old books, leather, coffee, and red wine.
You dig your nails into something — fabric, perhaps — but nothing grounds you. It’s like you’ve been transported outside of space and time. Existing, yet far from alive. Your stomach falls while your head floats away. Up, up, up, lifting you higher and higher. From this impossible vantage point, you sway, your limbs gleefully ignoring every attempt to regain control.
And there it is again. Your name echoes throughout the atmosphere, beckoning you to acknowledge the sound’s source.
Maybe you should.
Even if you’ll come to regret it.
When you first met Chrollo, his eyes stood out the most, like the universe itself deemed them worthy of veneration. You found the gray depths captivating. The undertone varied, you never could ascertain if they were a cool or warm shade. All you knew was that once they found you, they boasted a vitality siphoned at the expense of your own.
Presently, they can’t. Their unwitting host has been exsanguinated.
“Where were—” You silence yourself, aghast by the implication.
You’d sought him out. So desperate for an anchor, you would’ve latched onto the culprit behind your drowning. There’s no doubt he’d find some twisted satisfaction in the accidental admission. You shrink away, but the solid counter presses against your spine, halting your retreat. He doesn’t advance, you’d barely created any distance.
“There’d been something that required my immediate attention,” Chrollo answers your unfinished question. There’s no thinly veiled derision or curiosity in his voice. You miss the familiarity. “Does anything hurt?”
It’s then that you recall your predicament.
You’re on the kitchen floor, surrounded by scintillating shards of glass. A pool of water gathers to your right. Chrollo’s bent down before you, wearing a heavy coat and a tint of pink on his nose. He must’ve come from outside. He stares unblinkingly, awaiting your verdict, which you deliver by shaking your head. There’s a dull ache in your tailbone but you keep that to yourself. It’s awkward enough that he found you in this state.
You’re sitting on the floor with one leg extended and the other bent at the knee, allowing your short nightgown to ride up. The compromising position stokes your embarrassment. You shuffle around to maintain some dignity. In doing so, you forget the pointed glass strewn about. Before you make contact, you’re hoisted up. Chrollo foresees your struggle and holds you tight enough to thwart its success.
“You’re alright,” he reassures, his sincere gentleness unbecoming. "Everything's alright."
He places you down on the closest couch and sits beside you. While you regain your bearings, he shrugs off his jacket, then drapes it around your trembling form. His scent and warmth flood your senses. You consider throwing it off out of spite, only to decide against it. You’d be the one to suffer the most. Chrollo remains unusually silent as you cocoon yourself in the thick wool jacket. It’s big on you, but not big enough to swallow you whole like you’d prefer.
“Should I grab your propranolol?”
Another head shake.
“Will you tell me what happened?” Foreseeing your tepid response, he adds, “Verbally?”
You clear your throat as quietly as you can. “I got thirsty.”
“Hm.”
You both know he isn’t convinced. It’d be easy for him to poke and prod until you revealed everything — intentionally or not — but his lips remain in a thin line. You shuffle in your seat. The fabric brushes against your wrists, eliciting a sharp inhale. The burn is short-lived yet the memories associated with it rage on.
“... Chrollo?”
He blinks, likely unused to the sound of his name on your lips. “Yes, love?”
“If that man killed me, would it have hurt you?”
A shadow falls over his visage, like a waxing crescent transitioning to a new moon. When you shiver, it isn’t from the cold. Dark hair frames a far darker expression. His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to see you better, beyond your flesh, at the crux of your soul. You await whatever comes next, returning his stare with equal intensity.
Finally, he slowly replies, “Yes, it would’ve.”
“Then why was it so easy for you to kill his daughter?” You ask, the words weighing heavily upon you. “You might’ve liked her, if you’d gotten to know her.”
The man revealed enough for you to feel like you knew her. Lana Ellis — a woman with an iron will, sharp tongue, and golden heart. She’d recently been hired to work as a waitress at a business that catered high-end events. Galas, celebrity birthdays and weddings, those sorts of things. It wasn’t going to be a permanent arrangement. Lana planned to ditch the gig after saving up tuition money, where she’d then aim for a doctorate in veterinary medicine. According to him, he’d squandered her college fund after the unexpected death of her mother; his childhood sweetheart. He said he’d never forgive himself or the Troupe.
“She wasn’t s’posed to have been there,” he wheezed. “She never should’ve been there…!”
Chrollo shuts his eyes. “What are you getting at, dear?”
His words come out light, though they’re anything but.
“She could’ve been me.”
“Yet she wasn’t.”
“But—!” Your voice cracks, so you take a deep breath and try again. “You… you deprive the world of people you could’ve come to like, be friends with, whatever! All for stuff you eventually do away with. How is that… how can you…”
Righteous anger suits you. It's a sword and shield that requires no skill to wield, reaching for the instruments have become second nature. Their effectiveness doesn't matter so long as you can hold onto something.
“You don’t need to understand.”
This isn't a parry or pivot, he's disarmed you.
“Huh?”
“Yes… if anything, it’s best if you don’t,” he mutters, more to himself than you. His eyes find yours again. “I can’t make sense of your empathy any more than you can grasp my lack of it. If I could, you’d no longer be yourself. Your self-limiting, bleeding heart should remain as is. It’s the one part of you I’ll leave untouched.”
You don’t know what you were expecting.
You slump back into your seat. “... Don’t you think you’re overestimating yourself?”
“Hardly,” he replies. Then, in a softer voice, “You torment yourself, love. This—”
He rests his hand over your heart.
“—Hurts you more than anything I’ve ever done. Yet you believe it unthinkable I’d do away with such an inconvenience.”
“So you’re a coward,” you mumble. The insult is uninspired but it suits your purposes. “You can’t handle it, so you took the easy way out.”
“Rationalize it anyway you'd like.”
Chrollo reaches for your forearm and coaxes it into view. His fingers brush along your wrists, where the man’s restraints left rope burn behind. The irritated skin is slowly recovering. The deeper wounds, those without a cure, will linger after the surface heals. They’re etched into your bones.
“Isn’t going against your morals worse than having none?" Chrollo queries. “That girl’s father knew you had no involvement in his daughter’s death. You’re an unwilling third party, same as she was. And he was ready to hurt you regardless."
Your mouth feels dry. “He didn't hurt me—”
Chrollo raises an eyebrow, causing head to flood your cheeks.
“—All... that... much. I don’t think he was going to...?”
“No, not until he was intoxicated enough to stomach it,” Chrollo retorts. “We’ll never know for certain, darling. Thankfully, I interrupted before it could get to that point."
That point, that point, that point...
What could that man have done to you?
Chrollo appraises you like he's yet to decide on something.
After a moment passes, he leans in, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your muscles stiffen as he pulls you close. He exerts none of the force you know him to be capable of. The gesture's languid nature gives the impression you could wriggle free if you tried. You don't test this theory. Chrollo's mood seems pensive, not amorous, hence your hesitant compliance.
He speaks your name. Then, he asks, "What's really bothering you?"
Biting your lip, you turn your head away from him.
He doesn't relent. "You can tell me anything, you know."
If you weren't so utterly exhausted, you might've laughed.
"You wouldn't be my first choice for a heart-to-heart."
"How about your second?"
You look at him like he's just suggested the world is flat. He smiles softly, allowing you time to think.
It's weird.
This is weird.
The lack of verbal finesse, designed to extract any emotion or confession he desires. You're used to his cunning, his depravity, his unfiltered self. You've come to expect it, as one would the sunrise and sunset. Briefly, you search for it. The expedition is futile. His normal tells are gone.
Truly, you could almost forget the imbalanced nature of this dynamic and pretend it's normal.
It isn't, however.
So you'll need to keep your wits about you.
"Could... er..." you trail off, uncertain of the best parlance, "Will something like that... happen... again...?"
The claustrophobia of being shut in a trunk. Blindfolded, hands and feet bound, gagged by a rag. Terrified and sobbing. Unable to breathe, unable to scream.
You feel as small now as you did then.
The man told you his reasoning. It tugged on your heart. Wringed the organ for everything it was worth. He deserved justice. He deserved revenge. At that lone instance, the playing field was even. The immeasurable gap in strength between him and the Phantom Troupe's boss meant nothing if Chrollo wasn't physically present. There was a chance for this bereaved father to return the pain unfairly inflicted on him.
But why on you?
Why do you have to be cast into hell for the sins of another?
And why was it so tempting to forgive the devil's transgressions against you, if he provided salvation just this once?
You don't know when you began shaking, but you do know it won't be easy to stop.
"You must've been scared," he murmurs.
This observation makes your throat feel impossibly tight, as if a serpent coiled around your neck. His eyelashes flutter shut and he rests his forehead against yours. He contents himself on breathing in your air while you wrestle with the odd intimacy of it all; this simplicity untainted by needling or provocations.
"I never make the same mistake twice," Chrollo eventually says. "In light of recent events, I've made it clear that you are off limits. Those who still wish to try their luck, well..."
The air itself writhes like a malicious entity. The sensation is brief, but the impression lingers, chilling you on a primordial level. You're reminded that his control, while impressive, isn't flawless. Every surface can fissure, allowing the noxious contents contained within to break free. This concentration of ill-intent isn't even focused at you. To be on the receiving end must be to face the inevitably of death.
"... They can be made examples of too."
Curiosity nips at your heels, demanding satiation.
Your part your lips.
Then his eyes reopen. They're dull, lacking any illumination, like light itself felt the urge to flee.
It's an understandable sentiment.
For that reason, you decide some questions are better left unanswered.
So, to be clear this is a HxH LEAK (but likely real) so take it with a grain of salt, and know it's also a spoiler... Click this if you want to see it!
Papercraft commission of Chrollo (and his indoor fish!), looking out over the city skyline as a heist unfolds below. This one had a lot of complicated layering, from the block-like buildings in the background to the scales of the long fish bodies, and I think the overall effect came out really neat!
it surprised me that all 4 of Sylus' fav dishes (the ones in this piece) in home system i found for now are all made of fish and other seafood. i guess that's what "kindred spirits" means :3
