I’m Back On My Bullshit Again, But I Saw These Two Paralleled On Twitter And Yeah I Am So Ride Or Die

Cdrama: Love and Sword (2025)

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Rafayel Rant

My man literally doomed his people for us. If that isn't dedication I don't know what is. He also seems the only (Love interest) that wants mc to actively remember their previous lives, constantly reminding us that we've 'forgotten' something.

And I think it might just be Western bias/stereotypes around men, but I hate how the fandom as whole represents him as a whiny brat when he is so much deeper than that. And yeah he can be annoying sometimes but wouldn't you also be irritated and mopey if the person you love has forgotten about you multiple times after everything you've been through.

Yes he's sassy and yes he's needy and dramatic at times. But he misses you and doesn't know any other way to express it.

Not to mention he's a romantic at heart. If you listen to any of his secret time audios you would know that he really does care about you. Hell, he lied about needing a bodyguard just to get you to be around him more. Even in his recent card [Intertidal Zone] you can see that sweet/caring nature come out. He sings a Lemurian love song to lull you to sleep at your request.

Not to mention he has a dark side.

1. If you look back at his interactions with anyone other than MC. He's only ever (ha) nice to you. Because outside of you Rafayel's kind of an asshole. (Chapter 8 *cough*) Not to mention his underlying hatred for humans

2. He has stalked mc

3. He has murdered and lied to your face about it

4. He's definitely done some criminal work. Did you see how effortlessly he blended in, in chapter 8. Not to mention he has, in his own words, ‘connections' to the underbelly of Linkon

——> You don’t have to like him, but don’t give him unnecessary hate, pls 🙏

Please give our fishy boi some justice. #JusticeforRaf 😔

fate | rafayel

synopsis : Who are we to stand in the line of fate?

content : rafayel x non-mc!reader, cannon/non-cannon, Shaiya is an OC, angst

(Very very inspired by this here.)

To you, he was the star, the moon, and the sky—the entire universe strung together in the shape of a boy who laughed too brightly and looked too beautiful in the sunlight.

To him?

You were background noise. A quiet, fleeting presence. Someone he could blink away and never miss.

You stare at Rafayel now, his smile too wide, his hands squishing his own cheeks as he pouts at Shaiya in that annoyingly endearing way of his.

He’s rambling—something about the lack of dessert in the break room or the injustice of early morning patrols—but his voice has faded into white noise.

You’ve been somewhere else for the past five minutes.

Somewhere darker, quieter, lonelier.

Somewhere where your heart isn’t being wrung out like this.

You ignore the way it hurts.

Ignore the way his laugh, meant for someone else, sits like broken glass in your ribs.

He once told you, voice soft and almost reverent, the story of how he gave Shaiya his scale in another life.

My heart belongs to hers eternally, he’d said.

You only nodded. What else could you do?

The other option was crying until your chest cracked open and all your feelings poured out in ruin.

You glance at Shaiya.

She’s everything you’re not—effortlessly charming, golden and kind, with a laugh that people lean toward and a presence that feels like sunlight after winter.

She’s the first person who ever looked at you at the Hunter’s Association and didn’t look away.

She reached out, befriended you, made space for you in a world that never did.

That’s how you met Rafayel.

And now here you are—watching him fall in love with the person who led him to you.

How poetic.

How cruel.

You push yourself off the table, fingers curling against the edge as the nausea rises in your throat like a tide you can’t hold back.

“Alright, guys. I’m off,” you say, forcing your voice to sound normal—light, detached, as if you weren’t quietly bleeding beneath the skin.

Shaiya turns to you immediately, concern softening her features. “Wait, already? You sure you’re okay—?”

But him?

He doesn’t even look up.

Just lifts a hand in a lazy, distracted wave, eyes still locked on her like she hung the constellations he dreams under.

That’s what undoes you.

Not the pain—the indifference.

You offer them both a small smile, the kind you’ve mastered over time—the kind that hides everything and says nothing.

Then you walk away, not daring to look back.

If you did, you knew you’d shatter.

Once outside, the cold hits you like truth—sharp and biting. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, but it does nothing for the chill burrowed deep in your bones.

You feel stupid. So, so stupid.

What they have—it’s fate.

Already written, already woven into the threads of the world long before you even existed in it.

A love etched into lifetimes. A bond sealed by gods or stars or whatever cruel thing governs soulmates.

You knew that.

You always knew that.

So then why—

Why does your heart still break like this?

Why does it feel like you’re standing in the ruins of something that never even belonged to you?

Why does it hurt so much to love someone who was never yours to begin with?

You clench your jaw, breathe in the frost-laced air, and blink up at the sky, hoping the cold will numb more than just your fingers.

But it doesn’t.

It never does.

Because nothing numbs the kind of ache that lives inside your chest when you’re the leftover in someone else’s love story.

—•

You tap your finger against the desk absentmindedly, the rhythm uneven, fading in and out like a heartbeat too tired to keep pretending it’s whole.

Your mind drifts—

To the curve of his face in golden light, the way his smile tilts crooked when he’s teasing, how his hair falls into his eyes when he’s sketching, utterly focused and beautiful in a way that feels unreal.

And those eyes—striking, impossible, burning with colors that don’t belong in this world.

You used to think they saw you.

Really saw you.

Not just the way you lingered too long in his shadow or how you always laughed a little too late at his jokes.

But the quiet parts. The aching ones. The version of you that never quite fit anywhere.

But maybe that was just another illusion you spun for yourself—another thread you tugged loose in hopes it might unravel into something real.

You press your finger harder against the wood.

When did your heart become so traitorous?

When did longing become your default state?

You’re not foolish enough to believe you’re the first to fall in love with someone unreachable.

But it doesn’t make the ache any less specific.

Any less sharp.

You wonder what it would’ve felt like—

If he had looked at you the way he looks at her.

If fate had been kinder.

If you had met in a different life, one where his heart wasn’t already spoken for by memory and myth.

But you didn’t.

And here you are, loving him quietly, like a secret you’ll never speak out loud.

Like a prayer that never deserved to be answered.

You’re broken out of your trance when Shaiya slides onto your desk, her voice lilting and warm.

“What’s up with you?”

She’s smiling—always smiling—but there’s something softer tucked beneath it. Concern, maybe. Or pity.

You blink up at her, disoriented by how suddenly you’ve been pulled back into reality.

For a second, you forget how to hold your own expression together.

What do you even say to that?

I’m in love with someone who will never love me back, and it just so happens to be the person you’re bound to for eternity?

You don’t say anything.

You just look at her. Really look.

And for the first time, you realize how cruel the universe truly is.

Because it didn’t just give Rafayel someone to love.

It gave him her.

Bright, kind, magnetic Shaiya. The kind of person people gravitate toward without meaning to. The kind of person who lights up a room without even trying.

Even you weren’t immune. You liked her the moment you met her.

How could you not?

There isn’t a single flaw to cling to. Nothing to resent. Nothing to hate. She’s warm where you are quiet. Effortless where you are struggling. She talks to you like you matter. Makes space for you even when she doesn’t have to.

And somehow, that just makes everything hurt more.

You offer a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Just tired,” you say, voice barely above a murmur.

She doesn’t press. Just swings her legs lightly and chatters on about something—about Rafayel, probably. You’re not listening anymore.

Not really.

All you can think is that maybe the universe didn’t create her to laugh at you.

It created her to show you just how deeply you could never compare.

You punch down the ugly, snarling thing inside you—the one with claws made of envy and teeth that whisper you’ll never be enough.

It writhes in your chest anyway, bitter and relentless, but you school your features into something calmer, quieter, safer.

You turn to her, your voice casual, even light. “Don’t you have a mission today?”

Shaiya blinks, caught off guard for half a second before her usual brightness returns. “I do—later tonight. Some rogue activity in Sector Twelve. Nothing serious.”

Of course not. Nothing ever seems serious for her. She always makes it look easy—missions, friendships, love.

Even Rafayel.

Especially Rafayel.

She stretches her arms above her head and hums, “Figured I’d hang around until then. Besides, someone’s got to keep you company.”

You give her a short, noncommittal nod, forcing your lips into a half-smile you hope passes for polite.

She stays perched on your desk, legs swinging, babbling about field reports and malfunctioning tech, her words drifting around you like static.

And you let them. Because it’s easier than the silence. Easier than admitting that the monster inside you isn’t just jealousy—it’s grief.

Grief for a love that never had a beginning.

Grief for a story where you were never meant to be anything more than a footnote.

And still, you stay.

Because it’s better to be near him—near them—than to be alone with how empty you feel without him.

You found yourself at the shooting range, fingers trembling as you loaded the magazine, one round after another. The metallic clicks were sharp, final—like closing the door on every hope you didn’t have the courage to voice aloud.

You raised the pistol, lined your sight, and fired.

Each bullet was an echo of grief you never gave a voice to.

Bang. You’ll never be enough.

Bang. You’ll never compare.

Bang. He will never love you.

Bang. He won’t even look in your direction.

The sounds reverberated through the still air like accusations, like truths carved into the bones of the room. Your heart thudded violently against your ribs, not from the recoil—but from the crushing, bitter clarity of it all.

You reload, slow and methodical, the movement almost ritualistic now. One last round. One last truth.

You take aim.

Bang.

Who are you to stand in the line of fate?

The silence that follows is deafening. The smoke curls like regret in the air, wrapping around your wrists, your breath, your chest.

And you stand there, unmoving, with hands that remember his warmth and a heart that remembers how it felt to believe—if only for a moment—that maybe, maybe you were meant for something more than watching him love someone else.

But fate is cruel.

And you are just a girl with a gun in her hands and grief buried beneath her skin.

—•

“Have you seen Shaiya?” Rafayel asks as he strolls into your apartment like he owns the place—like you aren’t sitting on the floor trying to hold yourself together with fraying threads and shallow breaths.

You don’t look at him right away. Just tilt your head lazily over the couch, eyes heavy with exhaustion you can’t name. “She’s on a mission,” you murmur. “Sector 12.”

You wave him off, dismissive. Hoping he’ll get the hint and leave before you break.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he plops down beside your legs with that same careless grace he always has, as if he belongs here, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The warmth of him seeps into your space, your solitude, your silence. Uninvited. Unbothered.

“You okay?” he asks, voice softer now, dipping into something almost tender.

Your breath catches, barely, like his words had teeth. You stare straight ahead, not at him—never at him.

Because if you do, your mask might slip. And he might see everything he was never meant to.

You laugh under your breath, hollow and sharp. “Do I look okay to you?”

There’s a pause.

And still, you don’t look at him. You can’t. Because he’s here—he’s here—and all you want to do is scream Why now? Why only when she’s not?

Why not when it could have meant something?

You hug your knees tighter, pressing your cheek to the fabric of your sleeve, trying to keep yourself from unraveling.

“Rafayel,” you whisper, the syllables fragile in your mouth. “What are you doing here?”

And though you don’t say it out loud, the real question lingers in the air between you:

Why are you always here when it’s too late?

His eyes narrow, the usual spark of mischief dulled into something sharper, something dangerous.

“Who did this to you?” he asks, low and serious, like he’s ready to burn down the world for an answer.

You almost laugh.

Not because it’s funny, but because he doesn’t see it—because the irony stings more than it soothes.

You, you want to say. You did this. Without even trying. Without even knowing.

But the words die in your throat, swallowed by pride, by fear, by the pathetic hope that maybe he’ll stay if you just keep pretending.

So you swallow the ache like you always do and shrug, smoothing the cracks in your voice until it almost sounds normal.

“It’s just a bad day,” you say, brushing him off with a weak smile. “Forget about it.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

Just stares at you like he’s trying to unravel a puzzle that’s missing too many pieces. And still, you keep smiling, keep pretending you’re whole.

Because if he knew—

If he really knew—

He might never come back.

And even if it hurts like hell, you’d rather have the ghost of him in your life than nothing at all.

Naturally. Because the universe doesn’t believe in mercy—only in timing that wounds with surgical precision.

One minute, you’re curled in on yourself, trying to disappear into the quiet, and the next, Rafayel is sweeping you off the floor like it’s instinct.

As if your heartbreak is his responsibility now, when it never was before.

“What are you doing?!” you burst out, hands gripping the front of his shirt, more startled than anything else.

He barely blinks.

“You’re going to sit,” he says, already nudging open your bedroom door with his foot, “and I’m going to take care of you until you tell me what’s wrong.”

He lays you down at the edge of your bed like you’re made of something breakable. His touch is gentle, absurdly so. As if he’s trying to patch up wounds he can’t even see.

Your lips tighten, your breath catching at the back of your throat.

You look at him, really look—and the pain in your chest coils tighter.

“Why now?” you whisper, the question slipping out before you can stop it. Raw. Unshielded.

Rafayel freezes.

His brows pull together, confusion flickering across his face, like he’s hearing a language he was never taught. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice low, uncertain.

And gods, that’s the worst part.

That he doesn’t know.

That he truly doesn’t see what he’s done to you.

You look away, because it’s too much—his kindness, his nearness, his obliviousness.

Because in his world, you were never anything more than a friend with a quiet smile.

But in yours?

He was everything.

“It’s nothing, just…”

Your voice falters, cracking like thin ice under too much weight.

“Just leave me alone.”

You don’t look at him. You can’t. You already feel too bare, too close to unraveling.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the shift in his expression—hesitation, confusion, something close to hurt.

And for a moment, it nearly breaks you.

He looks hurt.

He looks conflicted.

You almost laugh.

Because isn’t that just the punchline?

Why does he get to be wounded when you’re the one who’s been quietly carrying the torch, burning for him in silence?

When you’ve been holding the candle for someone who never even thought to look for the light?

Your hands curl into the bedsheets, nails digging into fabric to keep yourself grounded.

He has no idea what he’s done.

No idea what it’s like to stand this close to someone and feel a thousand miles away.

To watch him reach for someone else with the same hands you used to dream would hold you.

So you swallow the laugh. The scream. The truth.

Because what good would it do now?

“Please,” you whisper, barely audible. “Just go.”

And this time, you don’t look to see if he does.

You hear it—soft shuffling behind you, hesitant footsteps on the floorboard, the faint rustle of fabric. He hasn’t left.

You turn around, ready to say it again, sharper this time. “Raf—”

But the word barely leaves your lips before his face is right there, inches from yours.

So close you can see the way his lashes catch the light, the faint flush along his cheekbones, the way his lips part like he wants to speak but can’t.

And then—those eyes.

Those impossible eyes, glowing somewhere between dusk and dawn, blue and pink and something otherworldly in between, all of it filled with a concern so raw it knocks the breath clean out of your lungs.

He doesn’t say a word.

He just looks at you. Like you’re not breaking. Like you’re not pushing him away with everything you have. Like you matter.

And you?

You go still.

Because what do you even say, when the person who’s been slowly undoing you without even realizing it is suddenly close enough to memorize the shape of your sadness?

Your throat tightens. Words vanish.

You’re left speechless, caught in the gravity of him, wondering what it means that he’s finally looking—but you’re not sure your heart can survive it.

“Wha—”

The sound barely scrapes past your lips before he cuts in, his voice low, careful, like he’s walking across something delicate.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” he says. “Shaiya told me you’ve been staring off into the distance at work. Not answering when people call your name.”

You blink.

The words hit like a pebble tossed into still water—small, but enough to send everything rippling.

Shaiya told him?

He asked?

You stare at him, stunned.

For a second, the ache in your chest forgets how to twist. Your mind struggles to wrap itself around the fact that, somewhere in his orbit, your name had drifted into conversation. That he noticed.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. You hadn’t prepared for this—for him to see through you, even just a little.

“I…” you try, voice softer, unsteady. “You asked about me?”

His brows furrow slightly, like the answer should be obvious. “Of course I did.”

And just like that, your world tilts—just enough to make you wonder what it would’ve been like if he’d looked at you like this before you broke.

You couldn’t breathe.

The walls felt too close, the air too thick, and his gaze—so full of something you’d wanted for far too long—was suffocating.

You needed to get out.

Your chest tightened, pulse racing as the weight of everything—his nearness, his concern, the unbearable hope clawing its way back into your throat—crashed over you all at once.

“I— I need some air,” you muttered, already rising to your feet, heart in your throat, limbs moving before your mind could catch up.

You didn’t wait for him to respond.

You couldn’t. You just needed to move. To run. To escape before whatever held you together came undone.

Because if you stayed a second longer, you might’ve said it.

You might’ve said I love you.

And that was a truth you couldn’t afford to let slip—not when he was still in love with someone else.

Rafayel stared at the space you left behind, still warm with your presence, still echoing with the sound of your retreating footsteps.

His fists clenched slowly at his sides, jaw tightening as something sharp and unfamiliar twisted in his chest.

You were slipping through his fingers, and he didn’t know why.

He replayed every word, every look, every tremble in your voice—and it hit him, sudden and brutal, like the tail-end of a wave he didn’t see coming.

There was something wrong.

And he’d seen it too late.

The air felt heavier without you in the room, the silence deafening.

And for the first time, Rafayel didn’t know what to say, or how to fix it, or why it hurt this much to watch you walk away.

His fingers flexed.

Because if someone had hurt you, he’d burn the world down.

—•

Your phone rang the next morning, cutting through the hush of waves and the distant cry of gulls. The sharp vibration against your thigh jolted you awake.

You blinked against the early light, skin damp with ocean mist, mouth dry with sleep and silence. It took a moment to realize where you were.

The beach.

You’d fallen asleep in the sand, curled in on yourself like the tide might take you if you let it.

Your jacket was pulled tight around you, half-covered in grains of salt and moonlight. The ache in your bones reminded you of last night—the panic, the closeness, the way Rafayel had looked at you like he finally saw you.

The phone kept ringing.

You fumbled for it, thumb swiping across the screen with sleep-clumsy hands, heart already sinking at the name that might be waiting.

Part of you hoped it was him.

Part of you hated that you hoped.

Because even now—with your cheeks kissed by cold wind and your heart cracked from trying to outrun the truth—he was still there. Still in your thoughts.

Still in the space where love had no business surviving.

“Where are you?”

Shaiya’s voice bursts through the speaker, sharp with worry, echoing in the quiet morning air. It makes you flinch, like guilt has teeth and just sank into your shoulder.

“I—” you begin, but your voice barely holds shape.

Then his voice cuts through hers—low, urgent, too close.

“Y/N? Where are you?”

Rafayel.

Rafayel.

“I’ll come get you right now.”

You go still, the phone pressed against your ear like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered. The sea murmurs behind you, waves brushing the shore like it’s breathing beside you.

Your heart pounds, wild and disoriented.

“Is that the sea?” he asks, sharp, and then—

“I’m coming. Stay where you are.”

The line goes dead.

You sit there in stunned silence, the phone still pressed to your ear long after the call ends. The wind brushes your cheeks, and for a moment you wonder if you imagined the entire thing.

Because… why now?

Why did he sound like you mattered? Why did his voice shake like that?

Why did he suddenly care—when you’d already convinced yourself he never did?

You sit there, still dazed, the phone limp in your hand, the sea brushing gently against the shore like it’s trying to comfort you.

And then—

You hear it.

Your name. Carried over the wind, frantic and raw.

“Y/N!”

You turn slowly, like your body’s moving through water, and there he is—Rafayel—running toward you across the sand, hair windswept, eyes wide, breathing like he’d sprinted across the whole city to get here.

When he reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate.

He drops to his knees in front of you, arms wrapping around your frame in a crushing embrace, pulling you into him like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“Oh god,” he breathes against your shoulder, voice trembling. “You’re okay.”

And for one fleeting, trembling moment—you feel it.

Hope.

Soft and shimmering in your chest like seafoam, fragile and glistening. You close your eyes and let yourself believe—just for a heartbeat—that maybe he came for you.

Maybe he chose you.

But fate has never been kind.

“Do you know how Shaiya felt after she found out you were missing?” he says, pulling back slightly, his hands still on your arms.

And just like that—

the moment shatters.

His words echo, cruel and sharp, ringing in your ears like a bell tolling for your delusion.

Of course.

He wasn’t worried because you were gone.

He was worried because she was.

You smile—small, broken, empty—and nod like it doesn’t hurt.

Like you hadn’t just imagined an entire world where he ran for you.

And as if the world hadn’t twisted the knife deep enough—she appeared.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” Shaiya gasped, breathless as she stumbled down the dunes, cheeks flushed, hair tousled from running.

Her voice was laced with relief, eyes wide and glassy as they landed on you. She looked like she had been worried sick—like you were someone she couldn’t bear to lose.

You stared at her, stunned, caught between guilt and something heavier.

She was panting, hands on her knees, chest heaving with effort.

And beside you, Rafayel stood quickly, like gravity had suddenly remembered who he was supposed to be standing next to.

He took a step toward her. Not you.

Always her.

And in that moment, you realized the world didn’t just forget you—it remembered you only in relation to someone else.

A side character in their story. A shadow at the edge of someone else’s light.

You pressed your hands to the sand to steady yourself, head bowed, heart splintering in silence.

Because it was never really about you.

And it never would be.

“I didn’t realize,” you say quietly, your voice barely louder than the wind. “I fell asleep.”

It’s the truth, and not.

You fell asleep, yes—but more than that, you slipped. Out of yourself. Out of control. Out of hope.

Before the words can settle, Shaiya’s already moving—reaching out, pulling you to your feet with a strength that surprises you.

And then she hugs you. Tight.

Arms around your shoulders, face buried in your neck like she was afraid she wouldn’t find you again. You freeze for a moment, caught in the shock of it—her warmth, her worry, the weight of how much she cares.

And for a moment, you let yourself be held. Let yourself pretend this closeness doesn’t sting.

But your eyes lift, instinctively, over her shoulder—to him.

Rafayel is watching. Quiet. Still.

His expression unreadable, but his body turned slightly toward her. As always.

And as her arms tighten around you, all you can think is that,

You’re holding the person who loves him.

And he’s watching the person he loves.

And you are simply—

There.

—•

“Don’t you ever disappear like that again,” Shaiya scolds, her voice stern, hands working deftly as she wraps the bandages around your scraped, sand-bitten feet.

You hadn’t even realized you were barefoot. Hadn’t felt the sting of the shoreline or the rocks beneath your heels.

You’d been too caught in everything else—your thoughts, your feelings, your unspoken heartbreak.

You look down at her—at the way her brows furrow in concentration, the way her hands tremble just slightly despite how steady she tries to be.

She cares. Of course she does. She always has.

“Sorry,” you murmur, offering her a small, worn smile. One that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Because you weren’t sorry for falling asleep on the beach.

You were sorry for wanting to disappear.

To the side, Rafayel stands silent.

He hasn’t spoken since she arrived. Hasn’t moved from that spot.

But you can feel his gaze on you—steady, unreadable, heavy with something you’re too tired to decipher.

You don’t look at him. Not this time.

Because if you do, you’re afraid you’ll start to hope again.

And you’re not sure your heart can survive another betrayal like that.

Soon, Shaiya is called away—duty tugging her back into the world, into action, into a place where she belongs.

She gives you one last look, lingering at the door, her fingers squeezing your shoulder with silent affection before she’s gone, leaving only the sound of waves and the hush of your shallow breath behind.

And then—

you’re alone.

With him.

Rafayel doesn’t speak right away. The silence stretches between you, tense and brittle, until he takes a single, tentative step forward.

You flinch.

It’s instinctive. Small. But enough.

He freezes.

And then you see it—the way his expression falters, confusion folding into realization. His brows knit together, not in anger, but in something closer to hurt.

As if it hadn’t occurred to him—not really—that you might be afraid of him. Not because he’s dangerous, but because he’s the one holding the dagger you kept running into.

He frowns, quietly. As if he’s only now starting to see the shape of the damage. The bruises he left without ever laying a hand.

And still, he doesn’t move.

Like he knows now that any closer, and you might shatter.

“Why?” he says, quietly. Barely above a whisper.

It hangs in the air like smoke, curling into your chest, choking before you even have the chance to breathe it in.

You finally look at him.

His eyes are on you—soft, searching, and so unbearably gentle it makes you want to scream.

Because he doesn’t get to be gentle. Not now. Not when your heart has already learned to ache in silence.

Feigning ignorance, you offer the easiest escape:

“What do you mean?”

Your voice is hollow, even to your own ears.

Because you can’t say it.

You won’t say it.

You can’t tell him that it hurts—god, it hurts—seeing him with her, the way he smiles when he’s around her, the way his voice softens just for her. The way his whole world shifts in her direction, like it never had to for you.

You can’t say that every time he looks at her, it feels like a thousand quiet deaths.

That there’s nothing you can do about it.

No fate to change. No mark to rewrite.

That he was never meant to be yours.

You clench your jaw, lowering your gaze again before your eyes betray you.

Because how do you confess to a man who was written for someone else?

And worse—how do you stop loving him, when even silence tastes like his name?

His jaw tightens—just barely, but enough to see the flicker of something shift behind his eyes. Hurt, maybe. Frustration. Maybe both.

And then he turns.

No parting word. No final glance.

Just silence—cold and absolute—as he strides toward the door.

And then,

Bang.

The door slams shut behind him, loud enough to make you flinch, to rattle the air in your lungs.

It echoes through the room like an exclamation point to a conversation that never really began.

You’re left standing in the quiet aftermath, staring at the space where he’d been.

You’d wanted him to leave.

But not like that.

Not so angry. Not so broken.

Not without understanding the why behind your silence.

But maybe that’s what you deserve—for loving him in secret, for hoping in spite of fate, for carrying a heart that was never yours to offer.

The silence stretches.

And all at once, you realize—

you’ve never felt so completely, devastatingly alone.

I need Miaoqi parallels but in the modern era…

Ziqi growing out his hair and Miaomiao brushing and pulling it up into a ponytail from behind.

Ziqi putting a ring on Miaomiao now with full knowledge of what that actually means.

Ziqi filling her office with flowers one day when she gets a promotion. Miaomiao doing the same when one of his books gets licensed to be made into a drama.

Buying an indoor bamboo plant. 🥺

Getting their picture drawn at a festival. Ziqi does the✌️this time as well.

Fighting to pay for each other's food (this happens often until they institute a system to switch off).

Ziqi finding a craft similar to the pearl knotwork piece he bought her for four taels. Miaomiao hugs him and cries into his shoulder when he gives it to her, just like last time.

Might be a controversial take but I AGREE

y'all I'm not arguing with anyone and this isn't directed at anyone specifically

I'm all for fanfiction and I love a good smutty story. But I agree, the way SOME fics write Sylus feels so out of character. I mean....cheater Sylus?? He would NEVER. And we've all listened to his Secret Times, this man is SENSUAL and ROMANTIC. This man MAKES LOVE and he's intentional with his words and he knows how to convey how good you feel without being vulgar. I don't even think he'd entertain the thought of a degradation kink. And if he did, he'd still clean it up a bit. Also I don't fully agree with the notion of "if mc wants it, Sylus will do it", because then where is the line? Does that mean Sylus doesn't have boundaries? Will he not object if something makes HIM uncomfortable?

Sylus is a gentleman who absolutely ADORES and WORSHIPS his kitten. I can't even imagine him using words like "c0ck" or "pu§sy" while having sex. He won't say things like "your pussy feels so good, you take my cock so well" etc etc. He will absolutely tell you that you feel amazing, that you're beautiful and you're taking him so well but he'll be soft with his words. He might also let a "fuck" slip out, my god wouldn't that be hot to hear. He's definitely into dirty talk and praise, as heard in Secret Times🫦🫦and yes I see him as a dom. but again, nothing vulgar. And sorry but I will NEVER approve of cheater Sylus fics, that's one I stand FIRM on.

This is just my take btw, not coming after anyone✌🏻✌🏻

The shaving scene #1 (aka. "Love is a strange thing" talk #2. aka he tried to match her outrageousness, but couldn’t quite manage. aka. the scene that made me lost my mind how why was that necessary whuu)

Miss S - 旗袍美探 (2020) Ep.08

Master post

Includes: isekai-reader, non-MC-reader, mentions of death, obsessive behavior, unhealthy behavior, mention of death, violence, death, canon-divergence

Yan!Sylus who was completely thrown off guard when a random woman appeared at his home base. Who was even more surprised when the video footage showed her literally just appearing there.

Yan!Sylus who is unamused by your attempts to give an altered version of the truth to avoid the upcoming existential crisis. Who uses his aether core to find the truth for himself.

Yan!Sylus who is blown away to learn that you died, that you were from another world, that his world was a game where you were from, that you knew him both from his past and present life, and that because despite your knowledge, you cared for him. Not a fangirl crush, but genuine care.

Yan!Sylus who convinces himself that he has to keep you here. What if his enemies got a hold of you and got valued information his weaknesses? And you knew about his sorceress; he could learn more about her from you.

Yan!Sylus who takes into account your strenghts and weaknesses and decided to give you a small administrative job in Onychinus. Who's vaguely surprised by your dedication and efficiency. Who starts gaining some respect for you despite how weak and average you are.

Yan!Sylus who grows more... dissatisfied the more he learns about his sorceress from you. She reincarnates forever yet doesn't retain any memories of her past lives? She's had several lovers who's also chased her across lifetimes? In this life (the main game), her interest in him revolves around learning about the Aether Core in her body? How... displeasing.

Yan!Sylus who sends Mephisto earlier than normal to look after MC now that he can identify her. Who sees her with the other love interests and interrogates you about them. Who, after learning that they are the other lovers she's had over time, can't help but feel a bit of despair - what was his one life with her versus these other men who know her so intimately?

Yan!Sylus who watches you integrate into his inner circle. You enjoy Luke and Kieran's company, even when their pranks and personalities can be a bit much for you. And you adore Mephisto, giving him treats and trinkets while petting his plating and feathers.

Yan!Sylus who grows a bit frustrated when you are much more reluctant to grow closer to him. He's seen your desires, he knows you care for him want him, why do you push him away?

Yan!Sylus who through subtle maniputation coaxing manages to get you to open up a bit more. Who learns the little things that you like and what makes you who you are. Who finds that rather than making you more boring, seems to add to your charm.

Yan!Sylus who comes home after having a rough day with annoying people. Who is surprised when you see him in such a state and don't rush off to give him space like you normally do. Who is shocked when you offer to help him.

Yan!Sylus who finds his chin on your shoulder, his head cradled in your arms, and your fingers running through his scalp. Who finds your words of reassurance and comfort sooths a part of his soul he didn't know needed it. When has anyone ever held him so tenderly?

Yan!Sylus who finds himself craving that warmth, that unconditional love. Who finds himself seeking you out and opening up to you in hopes that you would show that side of you to him again. Who hopes that he can become that person to you.

Yan!Sylus who finds this opportunity when he finds you crying to yourself. Who holds you as you confess that you miss your old life, that you feel like you're betraying them by enjoying your life now. Who caresses your head as you share that you fear waking up and finding this to be an absurd coma dream... or not waking up at all.

Yan!Sylus who tries to ignore the pang he feels at your words as he comforts you. You shouldn't feel guilty about being happy here you shouldn't want to leave. You're only hurting yourself by wanting something you have no way of knowing how to achieve it you can't go back, he couldn't stand it.

Yan!Sylus who becomes your source of comfort when you feel homesick, when you have nightmares of waking up dead. Who feels a small thrill of having you so vulnerable to him.

And yet... you still keep your distance. Refuse to get close to him the closeness he wants. Why?

Yan!Sylus who finally finds MC in the N109 Zone, just as you said he would. Who notices that once he tells you this, you begin to withdraw again, to become distant why why why. When questioned, you tell him you don't want to disrupt the story if only you knew how much you already had.

Yan!Sylus who doesn't listen to your advice about being gentler or friendlier with MC. Who treats her like he does in the normal game maybe a bit harsher. Who tries whatever he can think of to force the memories back, frustrated with the situation between her and you.

Yan!Sylus who thinks about his love with Miss Hunter. It’s always surrounded with violence and selfishness. But with you… you’re gentle and giving. Even knowing everything he is, you accept him and treat him with a kindness he’s never known. Perhaps…

Yan!Sylus who finally manages to have her in his home, only to find you can be found nowhere. It's like you're avoiding him when he needs your comfort the most. Who feels like he's going insane.

Yan!Sylus who finally confronts you about your distance. Who is shocked (though he shouldn't be) to find out that you're avoiding him because you don't want to complicate things between him and Miss Hunter. You reason that trying to insert yourself in a love story you don't belong in isn't fair to anyone including yourself.

Yan!Sylus who demands to know what you want. Who uses his Aether Core again to see what you truly desire. Who sees that you want him, but you want him to be happy. That you think he's happiest with Miss Hunter. That you see yourself as less than her and undeserving of him.

Yan!Sylus who insists that you’re wrong, that you’re absolutely incredible in your own way that you make him happy. You smile and accept his words, but it’s clear you don’t believe him. Well, he’ll make you believe him…

Yan!Sylus who kills MC. Who takes back his soul. I suppose the dragon’s curse ended up coming to pass, didn’t it? Who makes her death look like an accident - innocent crossfire in the N109 Zone.

Yan!Sylus who knows you know what must have happened. After all, Miss Hunter is the main character of this story. She’s not supposed to die yet. And his mourning period was far too short for his beloved.

Yan!Sylus who knows he doesn’t have to worry about you running. The N109 Zone is a death wish without his protection. And the rest of the world won’t be accepting of someone with no records, no history, nothing. Whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with him.

Yan!Sylus who is unafraid of the consequences of his actions. He’ll regain your affection eventually. And he doesn’t fear what could happen if the Hunter’s Association, the Farspace Fleet, or her myriad of mythical lovers find out about the truth of Miss Hunter’s death. He’ll take them on and burn them to the ground. He’d pay the price over and over again to have you.

Yan!Sylus who doesn’t need his sorceress because he found his treasure.

This is my first time writing something like this so I’d appreciate any feedback (as long as it’s constructive)

Snowfall 冰雪谣 (Uncut)

Translating/sharing some things I saw on this Douban thread for anyone interested. It includes details about important plot points that were cut/edited based on evidence and speculation from netizens. Some things were more obvious than others.

The takeaway was that Tencent could have had a really special show (and it would have been waaay more popular on the platform) if they weren't forced to cut out so many things :'D

^Starting with this. One of the MOST important plot points was edited out: Shen Zhiheng is afraid of sunlight, hence the umbrella + hat + sunglasses getup. As the thread points out, he's never seen in sunlight without some kind of covering. As the show goes on, he would have become more and more sensitive to the light.

This is why he had that random wound on his face in ep. 24. The sun burned him, but he went to rescue Mi Lan anyway.

Other changed/removed things below the cut:

Ep 10 originally had footage of Shen Zhiheng revealing his fangs and sucking the blood of all those soldiers. Remembering all the blood he took is what caused his breakdown later. His wounds healed so quickly because he gorged on so much human blood here. Around 20 min. were removed.

Whenever Situ Weilian visited Shen Zhiheng, he was carrying blood in his bag. He only does it in the nighttime because doing this in the daytime draws too much attention. All of this was removed.

In ep 1, when Mi Lan originally meets Shen Zhiheng, there's a scene of Shen Zhiheng being tempted towards sucking her blood and resisting. That was removed, but you can still see a shot of him opening his mouth.

The scene where Mi Lan rescues Shen Zhiheng in jail by "kissing" him should have been longer. He apparently reached out to cup her head, but that was removed. --> Later in the thread, someone adds on to this: in one of the original shots, there was blood on Mi Lan's lips, further implying she bit herself. This is guesswork, but it's very probable- since she gains sight briefly in a later ep/scene, it means she also bit Shen Zhiheng after he couldn't resist biting her through the kiss.

A scene of Li Ying Liang staring down at Shen Zhiheng from another floor was removed.

Shen Zhiheng didn't recover from his wounds in ep1 by sleeping. That was an excuse Situ made up. Originally, Situ gave him blood instead of just doing surgery, but the blood part was removed.

After healing, Shen Zhiheng goes to meet Li Ying Liang and shouts loudly when talking to him (My note: I think we all remember this part). It wasn't a random choice. Shen Zhiheng felt too close to Li Ying Liang's neck and wanted to drink his blood, so he gave that shout to distance them.

Situ Weilian is the second male lead (this is confirmed!). But it feels like all his scenes revolve around Jingxue because the majority of Situ's scenes revolve around blood and vampirism, so when they cut all that out, the only thing remaining was his subplot with her.

When Situ's dancing with Jingxue during their first meeting, a part was deleted (so the show skipped directly to them already dancing). Situ likes her so much because he's a pureblood vampire and doesn't understand human emotion, so every time he comes across an emotion he doesn't understand, he goes to her.

Miss Mu (the villainess) and the corrupt officer guy (Li Ying Liang's boss) were originally Japanese. They wanted to capture Shen Zhiheng for the 731 experiments (fair warning: project 731 was a real atrocity that happened, where the Japanese medically experimented on Chinese prisoners). This was all edited out.

A lot of lines were changed in post, so that's why sometimes the dialogue doesn't match the lips

When the stepmother (Meng Ziyi's character) slaughtered the Shen family: the reason the grandmother wanted her burned was likely because she was caught feeding on human blood (the show changed it to "chicken" blood). If you look carefully at her speaking to little Situ, you can see her fangs.

In ep14, Situ and Shen Zhiheng say the stepmother's death had to do with the blood stone. Their lines don't match their lips so the dialogue was originally completely different. Op notes that in the novel, the stepmother was a pureblood vampire who died after her loved one (Zhiheng's father) died and she lost the will to live.

The conversation Shen Zhiheng has with Mr. Mo about the blood stone was also different in the original cut. Again, their lines don't match their mouths.

When Shen Zhiheng finds the blood stone in his grave, there was originally a shot of him opening his mouth and showing his fangs. That was removed.

When Shen Zhiheng turns Mi Lan, there was originally a shot of him coming close to her neck with fangs. That was removed and replaced with shadows.

With all of the above in mind, this is why a lot eps were only around 30 or so minutes when they should have all been 45. This is also why it feels like Li Ying Liang has a disproportionate amount of screentime, because they likely had to make up for all the lost time with his scenes (or maybe he was always meant to have that many scenes, but the loss of Situ's scenes just makes it more obvious). And unfortunately, why Situ Weilian has so little screentime, which I personally think is a shame because he was amazing in the role.

As you can imagine, everyone in the thread was NOT happy about this. My favorite comment was someone going, "So they think if they remove all references to blood drinking, we won't know he's a vampire? Do they think we're stupid?" Lots of people rightfully disappointed we never got to see Shen Zhiheng vampiring.

Also, apparently the final cut of Snowfall we got takes place in a timeline where WWII never happened(???) since they were forced to remove all references to it and all references to the Imperial Japanese. It's a little murky, but I think the reason has less to do with trying to do pretend Japanese war crimes never happened (most "serious" Republican era c-dramas are about defeating the Japanese or KMT anyway) and more to do with the fact that the censorship bureau has a rule about not mixing history with "fiction." So you can't have vampires with the Republican era, a time grounded in history. But you can have all the immortals and demons you want in stories that take place in "unspecified" ancient times.

*I still think that's Stupid because nobody is currently living in the Republican Era, come on. It's as much in the "past" as your average xianxia, and nobody's going to watch this and think "oh yeah, vampires existed in 1930s China!". Someone at the censors just has too much time on their hands imo!

*I can't tell if that whole mess with the gemstones was part of the original cut or added in as a backup plan though. On one hand, if you have the Japanese and vampirism, they don't need that subplot anymore. But Mu's minions were very clearly "ninja" coded, and that crazy lava scene was apparently always part of the original cut (but they removed a fight between mind-controlled Li Ying Liang and Mi Lan for some reason). It'd also be very odd to give Li Ying Liang a redemption arc if his whole schtick was selling out his own people to imperial Japan. Plus, someone in the thread also mentioned an IMPORTANT plot hole- "If Shen Zhiheng is this powerful, why doesn't he just kill the Japanese army?" They're not wrong! I think the idea of corrupt Kuomingtang officers makes more sense in that context.

Some of Mi Lan and Shen Zhiheng's "romantic" shots were cut, maybe to play down the romance(?). Personally, I might be in the minority, but I think this edit worked in the show's favor- the repression elevated the relationship to something more memorable and graceful.

People pointed out that the last scene in ep24 felt abrupt, like the ending should have been something else and that the director likely shot something different originally. I think it's still 50/50 on who to blame for That ending lol, the director or the censors.

Lastly, I'll say that not everything can be blamed on the censors. For instance, the weird cinematography during the "fast" fight scenes would still have been the same. The writers could still have come up with something less clunky than the gemstone drama and lava climax. Li Ying Liang (I think he did a decent job, not fantastic but decent, and I wasn't bored during his subplots but there really was too much time spent on him) would likely still have all those scenes irrelevant to the main trio. And I doubt it was the censors who told the director, "hey make the last scene as abrupt as possible so you can piss off all your viewers lol!"

But IMAGINE what could have been :'D Who knows, maybe one day they'll release the uncut version or somewhere else will buy the rights and release it. At least we now have more context thanks to the netizen detectives.

Try my first quiz!

My first quiz ever! Let me know what yall think

Pairings: Dragon!sylus x reader

Notes: sorry for dying I’m back now, I got sick, and I hate this respectfully I will write a better piece once I’m feeling better.

Warning: mentions of dead deers, Beast!Sylus.

The first time you saw Sylus, you thought you were going to die.

Not because he attacked you. No—he stood still at the edge of the clearing, wings half-folded, steam rising from his nostrils. His skin shimmered like obsidian, black horns curving back over a crown of tangled white hair. He was… massive. Nearly seven or more feet of muscle, talons, and silent, menacing power.

He approached one day while you were outside, picking some carrots from your little farm outside of your cottage house.

And he dropped a dead deer at your feet.

Just—thump. Right there. Legs curled awkwardly, neck broken, but it was still warm.

You stood frozen, eyes flicking from the deer to the dragon-man and back again. He said nothing. Just stared, red eyes unblinking, tail twitching like he was waiting for something.

“…Do you… want me to cook it?” you asked weakly.

He blinked. Once. Then turned and vanished into the trees.

The second time, it was gold.

He didn’t make a sound at dawn. You just stepped out of your cottage one morning and there it was: a heap of raw gold nuggets and coins, like someone robbed an entire mountain.

You stood on the porch with your tea, staring at the glittering pile and blinking hard.

“…Is this a trap? Or maybe—maybe the forest spirits finally accepted my offerings of mushroom stew.”

You knelt down to inspect the coins. They were ancient. Some of them had runes you didn’t recognize. One had a dragon engraved on it. You poked it.

A low growl rumbled behind you.

You jumped, turning to find him again—towering, hulking, silent. Red eyes fixed on you.

“You again?” you whispered. “Okay, this is… this is getting a little weird.”

He stepped closer. You backed up.

“Did you lose this?” you asked, pointing at the gold. You knew how much dragons like treasures or shiny things, and getting barbecued by a dragon was not on your to do list this morning. “I can… help you carry it back?”

He stared. Then, slowly, he said, “Take it.”

You hesitated. “I mean, I guess I could keep a few—”

His wings twitched. “Take it.”

“…Okay.”

You picked up one coin.

He exhaled hard through his nose, clearly unimpressed. With a frustrated snort, he turned and walked off again, stomping like the very earth offended him.

The third time it happened, it was rocks—shiny ones. Polished quartz, opal, raw moonstone, the kind of stones that sparkled like water under moonlight. You found them lined across your windowsill one morning, arranged carefully as if someone had studied where the light hit best.

You sighed, fingers brushing over the smooth surfaces

“This again…”

The forest was silent behind you—but not for long.

A rustle. Then heavy, deliberate footsteps. Heat crawled up your spine before you even turned.

And there he was.

Sylus.

Towering, wings partially unfurled, horns gleaming in the dappled light. White hair tangled from wind and weather. Red eyes, burning like coals, locked on you.

He stood still. Staring.

You stared back, heart stuttering in your chest. “You again…”

He didn’t speak, not at first. He just nodded to the rocks with a barely perceptible tilt of his head.

“You brought these?” you asked, voice unsure.

He exhaled heavily, a deep sound from the pit of his chest. Then, in that low, growling voice, he said,

“Take them.”

You hesitated, brows furrowing. “They’re… beautiful, but why do you keep bringing me things? The deer, the gold, now these—”

“You not… understand?” he asked slowly.

You scratched the back of your head, awkward. “Understand what?”

He stared at you, expression unreadable, and then sighed—deeply. He looked down, broad shoulders slumping just a bit. Like a man who had tried very hard to follow the sacred rites of his kind and was now at the end of his rope.

Was he really this doomed?

“You are human,” he muttered. “But… pretty.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Um… thanks?”

He looked up again, eyes intense. “Good scent. Good eyes. I like your laugh.”

That only made it worse. Your heart kicked up in your chest.

“I brought prey. I brought gold. I brought treasure. I make nest warm. You live in it. You eat. You make funny noises when happy.” He stepped closer, voice rough, sincere. “I protect you. I fly over your roof at night. I scent-mark the trees so no male gets close.”

“You… what?”

He blinked once. “You are my mate.”

You froze.

“M-Mate?”

“Yes.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. A hundred things crashed into each other in your brain. The gifts. The constant watching. The deer. The way he always appeared when you left your cabin too far behind.

“Wait,” you said softly. “The deer was… a courtship gift?”

He nodded.

“And the gold?”

“A dowry.”

“…The rocks?”

“For your nest.”

“…Oh my god,” you whispered. “I’ve been accidentally accepting your… your dragon proposal this whole time.”

His tail flicked. “Yes.”

You groaned, covering your face. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I am dragon,” he said, almost stubborn. “I bring gifts. You are meant to understand.”

You peeked at him between your fingers. “Well, we’re very different, because I just thought I was being haunted by a very generous forest spirit.”

His nostrils flared. “I am not a spirit. I am Sylus. And I chose you.”

Your chest tightened at how… earnest he sounded. There was no guile, no smooth charm. Just raw, beast-like devotion. He’d been courting you the only way he knew how. And you’d been accepting everything without a clue.

“You said I’m your mate,” you said carefully. “But what if I don’t feel… ready for that?”

His eyes flickered. “Then I wait.”

You blinked.

“I do not take,” he said. “I give. Always. Until you give back.”

You stared up at him. “Even if it takes years for me?”

“I live long. I can wait.”

Your heart felt too big for your chest.

Then you reached out—slow, cautious, and brushed your fingers over the back of his hand.

His breath caught.

“…I’m not saying yes,” you whispered. “But I’m not saying no.”

His wings twitched slightly, his tail curling around your porch like a barrier. You half expected him to roar or make some triumphant noise, but instead He lowered his head to your hand, and pressed his warm, scaly forehead to your palm.

A growl, low and soft, rumbled from his throat.

It sounded like a purr.

Weeks later…

You sat on your porch, legs tucked under you, a blanket over your lap. The shiny stones had been arranged into a little circle beside you. A bowl of soup sat nearby.

A shadow passed overhead, followed by a familiar gust of heat and wind.

Sylus landed quietly for someone his size. He approached slowly, claws tapping the wood.

“You are back” you smiled.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out something small—clumsy, handmade. A necklace you’d woven with leather cord, threaded with one of the moonstones he’d brought.

You held it out, and he stared, surprised.

“You said dragons give. But I want to give something too.”

He took it, slowly, like he thought it might disappear. His claw curled around it carefully.

Then, with deep reverence, he tied it around one of his horns.

“I will never remove it,” he said.

You laughed softly and leaned back against his warm side as he sat beside you.

You still weren’t sure where this path would lead.

But he was warm. Loyal. Fierce.

And most of all, he waited for you.

You looked up at the stars and smiled.

“…Maybe being with you wouldn’t be so bad.”