Joyboying - I Got Too Silly

its lawlu time

intergenerational equity or something..........

🧨Part 2

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry.  (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment. 

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on. 

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream. 

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off. 

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black. 

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications. 

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending. 

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts. 

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

-

-

-

… You cave on the fifth day. 

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment] 

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours. 

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me. 

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word. 

Dont shut me out. 

Please.  

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams. 

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them. 

You set your phone down.

_

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops. 

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered. 

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb. 

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling. 

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out. 

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space. 

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then. 

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

 He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll. 

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will. 

––––

“Hey, you okay?” 

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.” 

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?” 

Anytime, darling. 

I mean it. 

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?” 

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store. 

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath. 

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent. 

-

-

-

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain. 

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor. 

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back. 

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most. 

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make. 

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes. 

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button. 

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless. 

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision. 

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized. 

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing. 

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does. 

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope? 

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.  

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far. 

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin. 

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red. 

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark. 

And unread mail. So much unread mail. 

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you. 

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you. 

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being. 

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs. Something in him snaps. 

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red. 

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues: 

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating. 

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you? 

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break. 

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you. 

You’re afraid of what’ll come next. 

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him. 

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you. 

As if he’d allow such a thing.  

The guilt rises in him, sharp and unbidden, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

… 

And just like that, he concedes. 

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other. 

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even. 

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?” 

“Of course.” Whatever you want. 

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head. 

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart. 

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound. 

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him. 

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other. 

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact. 

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched. 

“My lo—” 

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.” 

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt. 

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark, unrelenting reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?” 

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”  

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?” 

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine. 

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily. 

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke. 

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption. 

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks. 

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape. 

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling. 

I love you. 

I love you in ways that consume me. 

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you. 

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.” 

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop. 

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder. 

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading. 

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone. 

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.” 

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise. 

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?” 

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did. 

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his. 

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.” 

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time. 

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent. 

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating. 

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you. 

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours. 

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

you should watch out for his family, Traffy.

Angel of Her Own Making | Part 1

Author's note: I'm literally at a work conference but this idea is stuck in my brain and for the sake of mankind, I need to jot it down. This isn't a fully-written piece, just a rough sketch really and totally NOT proofread, but bear with me.

WARNINGS: Reader is not the default MC, plenty of angst, depiction of violence & character death.

Parts: (1), (2)

The temporal setting is the Beyond CloudFall myth timeline.

You met Sylus when you were both kids. He'd just been taken by the humans, mistaken for a human child, and adopted into a regular family.

You played in the alleyways together, went to grade school together. He joined your class a bit later than usual as he initially refused to go (he was not interested in learning how to be a human). You were constantly scrutinized by the teachers, although you did well in school, because you were stubborn and inquisitive. But compared to Sylus, you still had a better time fitting in. Due to your "persona non grata" status, you two were often paired together, and you started helping Sylus out with his homework. At the beginning, he was nearly illiterate, having never had any need for reading, but with your patient help, he quickly caught up. Something akin to friendship grew between you two - you did most of the talking, and he was happy to listen, and for the first time in your lives, you both felt like maybe you belonged.

Then came the hormonal teenage years. He got ridiculously tall, and you started growing out your hair instead of sporting a home-grown bowl cut. Suddenly, you found yourself blushing whenever you turned around and caught crimson eyes already looking at you. The way he'd maintain the eye contact and give you a smirk almost made you lose your mind, because it felt like he had no idea what he was doing to your emotions. Little did you know, the dragon-boy was struggling with his own confused emotions. He'd read human books and heard the human adults talk about these sorts of things, but he never thought it was possible for him to actually experience anything beyond general fondness. So he said nothing to you about it, adopting a nonchalant appearance that only made him all the more attractive to not just you but also the other girls in your town on the outskirts of Taurus City.

With puberty came other, more alarming changes Sylus had always dreaded. Ever since he cut off his horns, he had half-hoped no one would ever find out about his true origins. Much to his dismay, the skin on his forehead felt taut and irritated, as though something was growing underneath and preparing to break through, and his shoulder blades ached like the bones and muscles were realigning themselves. He could hide these terrifying abnormalities by putting on a hat and bearing through the pain, but he couldn't fool you, his best friend.

You noticed his discomfort before long. Perhaps the only person in the world more stubborn than Sylus himself, you got the truth out of him quickly enough. Sylus was fully expecting you to be disgusted and resent him for being a fiend. Imagine his utter shock when you simply gave him a smile and squeezed his arms, telling him that it was alright, that he had nothing to fear.

You revealed something about yourself that you had told no one else before: you had recollections of a life you once lived, fragmented memories of another existence that ended a long time ago. Sometimes, you'd come across something that evoked this extreme sense of nostalgia that you couldn't quite place, but in your heart of hearts, you knew this was not your first time being alive. You were afraid he'd find you odd and laugh you off, but he didn't. In fact, in that moment, he thought he finally understood what he felt for you. Yet he couldn't bring himself to confess, still fearful that he would be pushing his luck if he did.

On Philos at the time (which felt and looked Medieval), people got married young. As you and Sylus got more comfortable around each other again, there was a tacit promise between you. It wasn't like either of you had the courage to say anything, but there was no mistaking your affection for each other. For you, there was no one else you could see yourself spending the rest of time with. And you were hoping Sylus felt the same, until one day when he just disappeared.

Two more days passed; you searched frantically for him, running from house to house, knocking on doors and asking if anyone had seen him. Your parents thought it was unbecoming of a young maiden such as yourself to so publicly pine after a man, but you didn't care. You even asked his foster parents, who knew you well by that point, but there was something off about the way they dodged your questions. You thought you heard his foster mom say something along the lines of "the boy is better off hidden away" and your anxiety shot through the roof. You were so frustrated that you cried yourself to sleep at night. In fact, you were tossing and turning in bed, unable to get any rest, when somebody pelted your window with pebbles. Only one person would ever do that, and the joy that surged through you was almost dizzying as you threw off your blanket and ran to the window.

And there he was, his face shadowed by the hood of his cloak, his eyes shining like rubies under the moonlight. He waved at you, and you had a thousand questions to ask, but he only shook his head and made you promise to meet him at the datura fields outside of town after sunset the day after. You immediately agreed, completely ready to elope with him if he asked.

Fate, of course, had other plans. Sylus waited for you in the field of flowers, but instead of you, the soldiers of the Justicia came. The Supreme Adjudicator led them in a divine mission to rid Philos of the last fiend. They taunted him, saying it was you who'd ratted him out. And the rest was history.

1677 years. He spent over a millennium in that Abyss, a sword driven through his chest yet not quite killing him off. In the early days of his imprisonment, you were constantly in his thoughts. He did not want to believe you - of all people - had betrayed him, but the darkness and the rage won out in the end, and by the time he realized there was another prisoner in the Abyss, all he could remember about you was how much he hated you.

It was easy, then, for him to fall in love with the human girl who pulled the sword out of his chest and set him free. Even if any part of him still had feelings for you, he figured you were already long dead. In contrast to those distant memories of your shared childhoods, his new-found object of desire was oh-so-vivacious. She satiated his depthless hunger, willingly offering him half of her soul. And as each day passed, he wanted to give more and more of him to her, despite his own nature. He would ask her to use him, to use his strength, to be greedy - it was almost as though he'd been stagnant for so long that he'd rather burn out in a blaze of glory than survive another empty stretch of eternity.

Even if you weren't around, his arch enemies were still coming after him. And they eventually caught up with him and his human beloved. When they took her away from him, he vowed to break her free, retreating deep into the forests to recover his strength for a counter-attack.

But his pursuers were relentless. The Supreme Adjudicator - the latest in a long line of Adjudicators, descended from that very first one who sealed him away - summoned the Order of the Holy Knights to aid him in this hunt. And it was the Holy Knights who chased after Sylus now as he fled farther and farther up the mountains. Separated from one half of his soul, his wounds would not heal, and he hadn't enough strength to take to the skies. As he moved, he left a trail of blood that stood out glaringly against the white snow of winter. He hardly knew how many days had passed before he found himself cornered.

He couldn't die yet. Not when she was still waiting for him to rescue her. Thus, he fought with everything he had left - claws, fangs, tail, wings, in a whirlwind of black and red mist. He failed to notice at first that his assailants weren't trying to retaliate as much as evade him. Were they stupid? Or unsure? Why weren't they going for the kill? These religious zealots weren't ones to toy with their prey.

After a frenzy of movement, he paused - both to catch his breath and to reassess. The Knights surrounded him, silver armor glimmering though their swords remained sheathed. As he stared at them, thrown off by their lack of action, they parted to make way for their commander - a smaller figure, clad in rose-gold metal that gave off an ethereal glow. As this commander stepped forward, the other Knights bowed their heads in deference.

When the person removed their helmet, Sylus couldn't believe his eyes. Perhaps his mind, in its death throes, was playing tricks on him. Yet there was no denying who it was - you. In the flesh. Looking only slightly older than you had then, when you had been friends.

You approached him like you were trying to appease a bear caught in a trap. He wanted to lash out, to rip you apart for the crimes you had committed against him, but even the smallest move from him caused alarm to rise among your troops. Two of the Knights, most likely your closest companions, were especially quick to react. Sylus didn't doubt that they would cut him down in an instant to protect you.

Sensing their agitation, you raised a hand to calm them down. Your eyes remained locked on Sylus, your brows strewn together in what he didn't want to believe was grief. You had thrown him to the wolves, so how dare you look so sad? How dare you look at him with such a tender gaze? Your pity was the last thing he wanted.

He made up his mind to take revenge, pushing himself forward, claws outstretched, aiming for your throat. But before he could lay a hand on you, his legs gave out - he had lost too much blood - and he collapsed. He didn't even realize you'd caught him before he hit the ground, your arms wrapping around his broken body.

It was all darkness again while he was unconscious. When he finally came to, it took him a moment to even comprehend where he was - a small bedroom, with a low ceiling and sparse furnishings. Something moved in his periphery, and he turned to strike, only to find you stirring awake. From the looks of it, you had been staying up to take care of him.

It should have taken another millennium for him to even entertain the thought of forgiving you. But there was no time to waste; he didn't even want to spend a second talking to you when he could be out there trying to save her.

You insisted that he stay for another day, just until his wounds fully stopped bleeding. And when he pushed you aside and sprang from his bed anyways, your companions had to intervene. They did not understand why you were being so patient to Sylus, why you were willing to basically commit treason. But these men - Issac and Zachary - owed you their lives, and they would do anything you asked, even if it meant tolerating the presence of a fiend. Even so, they did not like the way Sylus seemed to spit at your kindness, for did he not know who you were? The Commander of the Holy Knights, the legendary warrior who led Philos's legions to conquer foreign lands near and far? And it was not even your conquests that had earned you respect and love from all; it was the way you treated even your former enemies with empathy, allowing aid to reach foreign cities and ensuring equal treatment for new citizens. More than once, you had abandoned a conquest simply because the human cost was too high, and you'd sooner suffer punishment than let innocents perish in the name of Philos. Your popularity even rivaled that of the ruling monarch. Hence, your immense sway over what the Knights could and could not do.

Met with your sincere concern, Sylus did what he knew how to do best: he struck a deal. He told you that if you'd let him go to his beloved, he'd let you finish him off without putting up a fight. In his anger, he sneered and dismissed your concern as a trick, a pathetic ploy to get him to let his guard down again so you could drive the knife in even deeper. You made no attempt to argue, caring only that he was risking himself. But when he practically asked you to kill him, you flat out refused.

"No, I told you, I have no intention to harm you," you stood firm, blocking his way. You had shed your armor and weapons, wearing only simple civilian's clothing. Even a weakened dragon could end your life if it so wished.

The thing was, Sylus wasn't sure why he hadn't yet got rid of you and left already. He tried to rationalize it - there were still guards outside the room, and you were his best bet at getting out unscathed. "You misunderstand me, human. I want you to kill me," he changed tactics, revealing a half-truth.

You looked surprised. "Why...?"

"Because..." He inched closer, leaning down to really study your features. It was you, no doubt. The same girl he'd grown up with, the same girl who should have died ages ago. The same girl he'd detested for the better part of a thousand years. "I can't make her do it."

"What?"

"The dragon's curse," he explained. "I am destined to kill my beloved. Unless she kills me first. And I can't do that to her... I can't have her carry that guilt."

You blinked, clearly stunned. You took a step back, avoiding his gaze. Something in the way your shoulders deflated told him you were hurt, though he could not imagine why. When you spoke again, there was the faintest quiver in your voice, "And you think I'd be able to carry that guilt in her place?"

The question only made him angrier. "You won't have to carry any guilt," he replied. "Because you won't feel any. Or don't tell me you're doing all of this because you are capable of guilt? As if you could make amends for turning me in?"

Confusion flashed across your expression as you looked up at him. "Is that what you think happened? Is that what they told you?"

Sylus laughed - a humorless, empty sound. "You never came. It doesn't matter what happened. I'm still convinced you're just a specter sent from Hell to torment me."

For a moment, you looked like you wanted to argue, to defend yourself. He could see the words forming on the tip of your tongue, see you open your mouth to begin your rebuttal. When you said nothing instead, part of him was glad - because he was beginning to realize he wouldn't be able to stand it if you had contradicted the narrative he'd repeated to himself all this time.

No, you didn't try to argue. You only withdrew further away, as though he'd physically struck you. It was only when he sought to close the gap that he realized that you'd created a force field between you and him. It was your Evol, the ability to create constructs out of pure energy. You two used to have so much fun combining your Evol and building castles of out of thin air.

"I will bring her back," You declared, already turning away. "I know my word means nothing to you, but it's better that I go than you. The Justiciars are prepared for you; neither of you would make it out of there alive. I, on the other hand, can just walk right in. They won't suspect a thing. I'll have her back here by dawn."

"Why should I trust you?" Sylus chuckled bitterly. The force field couldn't last forever.

"I don't expect you to. If I don't return by dawn, my men will not give you any trouble. They are under oath to obey me. Then you can do anything you'd like."

"And why would I agree to that?"

"Because you have no other choice," your tone was final. As you walked towards the door, you turned to look at the man you loved one last time. "I hope she makes you happy."

Waiting was agony, but Sylus could tell in his soul that his beloved was still alive. He paced around his chamber restlessly, as the night stretched on.

The so-called Sorceress was returned to him before first light, just as you'd promised. One of your Knights, Sir Issac, had stolen her away during the chaos of your battle against the Justiciars and their Arbiterwings. And as Sylus embraced his lover and showered her with his affections, he also felt his hatred for you fall away. Although he would never admit it aloud, he was looking forward to seeing you again, if only to thank you for what you'd done.

But there were to be no second chances. You never returned. Only Sir Zachary arrived at the safe house days later, his face drained of color. He was clutching a letter in his hand. A letter which he begrudgingly delivered to Sylus.

"What's this?" MC asked, wide-eyed. Despite her ordeal, she was relatively unharmed. Her mistreatment at the hands of the Justiciars only served to intensify her thirst for vengeance. Already, she was conspiring with Sylus about which area they should raid next.

"It's from my lady," Sir Zachary said flatly, not putting a lot of effort into hiding his discomfort. His sullen demeanor made Sylus suddenly uneasy. "It's for the fiend's eyes only."

"Oh, alright," said MC. She turned to Sylus and winked. Perhaps, she was planning on teasing him for the information later. "I'll leave you to it then." Now, it was only Sylus in the room. Alone with his thoughts, and your words.

Dear Stäyrus, or should I say Sylus now?

His lips curved into a smile, despite the knot of anxiety twisting in the pit of his stomach. You remembered. Of course, you did. You were alive when he was but a child. You were perhaps the last person to speak that long-lost language - certainly the last to write with it, as you did in your letter.

You opened the message with an apology you didn't expect him to accept, before beginning a tale almost as incredible as his own. Bits and pieces of the life you once shared came back to him as he read: you had been reincarnated once before, that much he knew, but what you were telling him now was beyond anything he could imagine.

Part 2

continuation to this post

post bb fight in a * likely * scenario where law and bepo escape and luffy is the only person he fully trusts and can confide in but doesn’t want to hurt him so he just keeps his distance but seeks comfort in luffy’s voice