When U Tell Mon Cher That It’s Ok To Fuck Other Guys But Then U Hear Their Hearts Dancing

things that are not talked about enough in Love and Deepspace

i'm surprised i haven't found something like this for LADS, so decided to document some interesting things I found while playing. i limited myself to Main Story, Kindled Memories, Moments posts, texts, interactions, (or stuff you can proc while playing) and did not include limited time events or the chibi comics.

(i've definitely missed out on many so feel free to reblog and add your own encounters!)

read part 2!

Sylus and Xavier are big eaters

Rafayel gets seasick, despite being a fish

Sylus got lost in a train station once

Rafayel can hear fish scream

Nobody comments when Sylus polishes a gun in public at a cafe

Xavier and MC lived in the same building for 6 months before they find out

Sylus’s heart rate can reach up to 150 bpm, and he wants MC to sync to it

Nobody recognises Xavier while he’s wearing the Lumiere mask

Rafayel scolds a cat

Rafayel then made MC choose between him and said cat

This happens twice

Sylus goes ice fishing, often with little success

Xavier also goes fishing, often with more success

Nobody comments when the boys show up to the cafe in nothing but bath towels

MC has said that the dual-prong claw reminds her of a really big fork

Rafayel makes you choose between him and a cat printed on a badge

Sylus has implied that his muscles and abs are not real

Rafayel synced his phone to MC’s steps tracker at one point

Sylus also does this

Xavier names every bird that visits his house

Rafayel used a piece of bread as an eraser, then ate it afterwards

Sylus sleeps sitting up

MC loses a fight against 12 crabs

Zayne believes in mythical creatures (or, at the very least, unicorns)

Sylus’s nickname “Lil S”

Rafayel paints with the blood of his slain people sometimes

Xavier found a bird egg in one of his flower pots one day, and wants to boil and eat it

Sylus guides a scared duck back home

This happens twice

“I’m pretty sure there’s bad juju in that custard bread.” is a line Rafayel once said

MC accidentally grows garlic instead of daffodils

Zayne mistook a plastic bag for a white cat

Sylus gets his motorbike stolen

Sylus and MC were spotted on a joyride because they were wearing glow-in-the-dark glasses

Xavier’s Hunter Uniform is popular with kids

Xavier takes a photo using a public telephone

Sylus recommends tequila as a dinner option

The account named rafayel_ridable_fish_dinner

Zayne’s nickname at the cafe “Large 100% Sugar Latte To Go”

Sylus expressed an interest in baseball

MC is a true crime watcher

MC gifts Zayne a jar of air, and he recommends her to get a MRI scan

Astarion in camp: kickass dagger-throwing rogue who could slice off your arm with a flourish if he wanted

Also Astarion in camp: seven year old boy waiting for his mom to finish talking to a friend she ran into in the grocery store

i was making some images into transparents and got a bit creative

Cupping their faces

Sylus can finally be added to the face cupping club😫😫and now he's finally held our face too

They just look SO soft whenever we touch their faces🥺🥺🫶🏻🫶🏻they're all so touch starved and so in loooove

LaDS proposals

Caleb

Caleb had been planning this for a long time. He wanted the moment to be perfect—not in an extravagant, flashy way, but in a way that would settle deep in your bones, something you’d look back on and know, without a doubt, that this had always been meant to be.

That’s why he brought you here—to your hometown, to the orchard you had always spoken of so fondly. He remembered the way your eyes softened every time you mentioned it, the way your voice took on a nostalgic lilt when you talked about running between the rows of trees as a child, plucking fruit straight from the branches.

He wanted that warmth in this moment. He wanted you to feel safe. To feel home.

The sun was low in the sky, painting the orchard in golden hues as you walked beside him. The crisp scent of apples lingered in the air, mingling with the fading warmth of the afternoon. The place was quiet, the only sound the rustling leaves in the soft breeze.

You had no idea what was coming. To you, this was just another moment with Caleb—another stolen day spent in each other’s presence, another memory added to the collection of so many others. You talked about small things, the way you always did. He listened, the way he always did. And then, just as you turned to grab another apple from a low-hanging branch, you noticed he had stopped walking.

He was just looking at you.

Something about his gaze made your breath catch—a quiet intensity, something heavy and knowing.

Then, without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He didn’t open it right away. Instead, he let the weight of the moment settle between you, like he was memorizing this exact second before it changed everything.

"Marry me."

His voice was steady, deep, sure—just like the way he had always loved you. No grand speech, no unnecessary words. Just the truth.

You stared at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and overwhelming emotion. The orchard, the golden light, the crisp air—it all felt dreamlike. And Caleb, standing there with absolute certainty in his eyes, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, made it feel even more unreal.

He smirked at your stunned silence, tilting his head slightly. "You’re thinking too much," he teased, his voice softer now. "Just say yes."

And you did.

The moment the word left your lips, Caleb was already slipping the ring onto your finger. His hands were warm, steady, reverent—like he was claiming something that had always been his. When he straightened, his expression shifted into something more serious, something deeper. He lifted a hand, brushing his thumb over your cheek, his touch as familiar as the sun against your skin.

"You were always going to be mine," he murmured. "This just makes sure the whole world knows it."

Then he kissed you, slow and lingering, as the orchard around you bore silent witness to a love that had already lasted lifetimes.

Rafayel

The exhibition was a roaring success. Patrons mingled, their voices a steady hum of admiration as they analyzed each of Rafayel’s pieces. Collectors hovered near the most sought-after works, ready to pounce the moment bidding opened. Thomas was practically buzzing with excitement, hands wrung together in a mixture of pride and sheer stress.

And yet, Rafayel—his name on every tongue, his work the heart of the event—was barely paying attention.

Because tonight wasn’t just about art.

At the far end of the gallery, hidden beneath a dark velvet cloth, stood the final and most highly anticipated piece. Whispers had floated through the crowd all evening—what was it? Why was it concealed? Even Thomas, despite his best efforts, hadn’t managed to pry the secret from Rafayel.

Now, as the evening neared its end, Rafayel finally stepped forward. The chatter died down. Eyes turned to him, waiting. With a slow, deliberate motion, he grasped the edge of the cloth and pulled it away.

A collective gasp echoed through the room.

There, larger than life, was you.

Rendered in strokes of light and shadow, the painting captured you in a way that was almost unreal—your expression soft yet luminous, as if you were caught in the golden glow of a setting sun. Every detail had been meticulously crafted, the kind of care only an artist deeply, utterly enamored could pour into his work. It was breathtaking. A love letter in color.

People murmured their admiration, but before anyone could approach him—before even you could gather your thoughts—Rafayel’s hand found yours. His fingers curled around your wrist, and without a word, he was pulling you through the crowd.

"Excuse us," he murmured in passing, his voice smooth, his grip firm.

By the time you caught up with reality, you were tucked away in a quiet alcove, far from the noise of the event. The air between you buzzed with something electric, something unspoken.

Then Rafayel turned to you, his expression different now—unguarded, almost vulnerable.

"Do you know why I painted that?" His voice was quieter, steadier.

You barely had time to respond before he was sinking to one knee.

Your breath caught.

"Because I wanted the world to see you the way I do. To know how extraordinary you are." His thumb traced absent circles against the back of your hand. "But the truth is, no painting, no brushstroke, no color could ever do you justice."

He pulled out a ring—simple, elegant, but full of meaning.

"So let me try another way. Marry me."

The world outside the alcove continued on—patrons still admiring, still discussing, still caught up in the whirlwind of Rafayel’s talent. But in that moment, none of it mattered.

Just him. Just you.

And when you whispered yes, his smirk returned—bright, victorious, so unmistakably him. Rising, he pulled you into his arms, spinning you once before pressing his forehead to yours.

"Took you long enough," he teased, though his voice was thick with something more. "But I suppose I’ll forgive you, seeing as you’re mine now."

And that night, beneath the glow of his greatest masterpiece, Rafayel kissed you as if sealing a promise written not in paint—but in forever.

Sylus

Sylus is not a man who does anything by chance, least of all something as significant as a proposal. He is meticulous, strategic—he plans everything several steps ahead, ensuring every detail is exactly as he wants it. But when it comes to you, there’s always something unpredictable, something that makes him act on instinct in a way he never does with anyone else.

Would he get down on one knee? Hardly. That isn’t his style. No, his proposal wouldn’t be traditional, and certainly not something soft or overly sentimental. It would be something undeniably Sylus—intimate, deliberate, and laced with the kind of smug confidence that says he already knows your answer.

Perhaps it happens after a night spent tangled up in each other, your body still warm from his, your breath still catching from the way he had claimed you again and again. You're resting against him, exhaustion pressing into your limbs, when you feel his fingers trace lazily over your wrist, then up to your ring finger, as if measuring it. His touch is light, almost absentminded—until he speaks.

"Mm. Looks good bare, but I think it’d look better with something permanent, don’t you?"

Your breath stills, your drowsy mind catching up to his words. He isn’t asking; he’s stating. And when you lift your head to look at him, he’s watching you with that insufferable, knowing smirk—amused by your reaction, by the way your heartbeat stutters just slightly against him.

"Oh, don’t look so surprised, darling. You had to know this was coming." His voice is smooth, low, dangerous in its certainty.

He wouldn’t do anything grand or public—he doesn’t need the spectacle, nor does he want anyone else to be involved in something so his. Instead, he might slip a ring onto your finger when you least expect it—over dinner in a private setting, during one of his possessive moments when his hands are already on you, or even as he pulls you into his lap in his office, his red eyes gleaming in the low light.

"Marry me," he’d murmur against your skin, lips brushing the shell of your ear, as if the words themselves were a promise laced with something darker. And then, tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze, he’d add, "It’s not a request."

Because Sylus doesn’t ask for things he already considers his.

Xavier

Xavier’s proposal would be deeply personal, understated, but undeniably meaningful—the kind of moment that feels so completely him, you couldn’t imagine it happening any other way. He isn’t one for grand gestures or dramatic speeches, but when he decides to ask you, it’s because he’s already certain. There is no hesitation. Just the quiet, unwavering knowledge that you are the person he wants to spend his life with.

He wouldn't make a big show of planning something elaborate. Instead, he'd find a moment that feels right—a moment where it’s just the two of you, where the air between you is soft and familiar, where he can say what he needs to without pretense.

Maybe it happens after a long day together—one of those ordinary but perfect days where nothing extravagant happened, but it felt right. Maybe you’re watching the sky together, lying on a rooftop, or sitting side by side on the couch while music plays softly in the background. There’s a sense of quiet intimacy, of complete comfort. And that’s when he does it.

There’s no nervous build-up, no grand speech. He just reaches into his pocket, fingers brushing over the ring he’s been carrying for who-knows-how-long, waiting for the right moment. And then, simply, he takes your hand, running his fingers over your knuckles before slipping something cool and solid into your palm.

"Marry me."

It’s not a question. It’s a statement—soft, certain, completely sincere. His blue eyes watch you, unreadable yet so incredibly open at the same time. There’s no doubt in them, no fear of rejection—just trust. Trust that you already know how much he loves you, that words could never fully encompass it.

If you’re too shocked to answer right away, he doesn’t press. He lets you process, still holding your hand in his. But the moment you say yes, the relief is so visible in the way his shoulders relax, in the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath without realizing it. And then, without hesitation, he kisses you—deep and slow, like he’s sealing a promise with something far more meaningful than words.

Because for Xavier, the proposal was never about the moment itself. It was always about you. About the fact that choosing you was never a question—only an inevitability.

Zayne

The restaurant was softly lit, the golden glow of the chandeliers reflecting off polished silverware and half-full wine glasses. It was the kind of place where conversations were murmured, where time felt slower, where the world outside didn’t seem to exist for a little while.

Zayne had chosen this place on purpose. You had been here before—together. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was elegant, refined, private enough that he could look at you across the table and know that this moment belonged to just the two of you.

Dinner had been slow and unhurried, filled with easy conversation and the occasional teasing remark from him, just enough to make you roll your eyes and smile. He had been the same as always—calm, composed, his presence steady in the way that always made you feel anchored. But there was something different tonight, a weight in the air, in the way his gaze lingered on you longer than usual, as if he were memorizing something only he could see.

The plates had been cleared now, the remnants of dessert sitting between you, but he hadn’t moved to ask for the check. Instead, he sat back slightly, fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass, his hazel-green eyes fixed on you with quiet deliberation.

“I’ve been thinking about something.”

His voice was even, measured, but there was something in the way he spoke that made you pause, your fingers tightening around your napkin slightly.

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering his own words before continuing.

“Every time we come here, every time I sit across from you like this, I realize I could do this forever.”

The words were simple, spoken as if they were fact rather than sentiment. And then, just as effortlessly, he reached into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a small velvet box and setting it between you on the table. He didn’t open it, didn’t rush the moment—he just let it sit there, like the weight of the truth he was offering.

His gaze never wavered.

“Marry me.”

Two words. No hesitation. No elaborate speech or trembling hands. Just certainty.

Your breath caught, your pulse stuttering in your throat. For a moment, the world around you disappeared—the murmured voices, the soft clink of glasses, the gentle piano in the background. There was only Zayne, watching you with that unwavering patience, waiting for an answer he already knew.

And when you whispered, "Yes," his expression didn’t change immediately. But there was a shift—something almost imperceptible, a quiet exhale, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for you to notice.

He took your hand, careful and deliberate, his fingers brushing over your knuckles before sliding the ring onto your finger. His touch was steady, as if sealing something unspoken between you.

And then, just before he leaned back, just before the world resumed its pace around you, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing the softest kiss against your fingers.

A quiet kind of forever. Just like him.

Eternal Flowers

Myth + Little Red Flower text message + ⭐️⭐️⭐️ memory Taking Control

中文版

This is not my cameo but fuck me I cried.

Spa day with dragon sylus

(As I impatiently wait for his new card)

via DSV_Guides on X - our lovely Deepspace Voyagers Team (aka Gem & Gurus team)

Protocore Basics Guide

https://x.com/dsv_guides/status/1819262285007016114?s=46&t=E--mYAhoHyWN-Kup-yWiBA

"21 days is more than enough time for someone to develop a new habit.." 🍒 - making it the perfect time for you to learn how to build your protocores! 🤫

(1) Protocore rarities are determined by the underlining colour of the protocore. 🔵🟣🟡

If you are a gamer, you should be able to understand them easily as they follows the general understanding of colours and rarity (i.e. Blue < Purple < Gold)

(2) Solar and Lunar Memories each use different protocores, all of which hold different exclusive Main Stats.

Understanding which main stat you should prioritise is important!

(3) Big words on the protocores stressing you out? 😖

Fret not! Here's what each of the stats mean and what they actually do.

(4) Build your protocores through enhancements!

Protocores can be enhanced using other protocores (also known as 'feeding') or Core Energy.

Don't forget to 'decompose' unused protocores to get Core Energy!

(5) Your objectives when it comes to protocore building are highly dependent on whether you're early game, mid game or end game.

Note: This is in reference to your progress in the battle content and NOT on your Hunter level.

(6) We categorise protocore builds into 2 types:

Crit: Focuses on building CRIT Rate and CRIT DMG stats.

Weakness: Focuses on building DMG Boost to Weakened stats.

The type of build you choose should depend on what stage you are clearing or what you are trying to achieve.

(7) Protocore building can be tricky, but it doesn't have to be! 😌

Here are some additional points that you should take note of when it comes to choosing which protocore to use and level.

Happy building! 🌟

If you liked this guide and want to join a community with other Love and Deepspace players, please check out https://discord.gg/ladhotel

two completely normal individuals being platonic; taking things slow and totally casual