me, an elder fandom veteran, suddenly having anne rice flashbacks:

no.

NO.

starting to rock back and fourth.

you do not understand.

you were born into an age of peace. i was there Gandalf. i was there three thousand years ago. i remember the cease and desists. i remember authors hunting fanfic writers for sport. i remember when every fic opened with a disclaimer because we genuinely thought it might protect us.

we do not charge money for the copyrighted gay wizard stories.

do not tempt fate youngling.

step away from the paywall.

that is how you summon the ancient evils.

Also the further you move toward the poles the more pronounced the difference between the length of day and night is. Worst part of a far-north (or south) heatwave is it doesn’t get dark long enough for meaningful cooling.

So in case anyone needs it:

I mean, I get why it’s not as popular here on Tumblr dot com, given it’s kinda a jock/military adjacent thing, but like. Our ability to just. Pick up a small, firm object, judge its internal inertia and mass by holding it for a bit, and then flinging it with the kind of accuracy and speed Humans are capable of is.

Like there’s another post about how Humans in an alien zoo would probably be breaking out constantly, since we consider escape rooms to be a fun courtship ritual, but

Portaui lacrimis madidus te, nostra catella,

     Quod feci lustris laetior ante tribus.

Ergo mihi, Patrice, iam non dabis oscula mille

     Nec poteris collo grata cubare meo.

Tristis marmorea posui te sede merentem

     Et iunxi semper manib(us) ipse meis

Morib(us) argutis hominem simulare paratam,

     Perdidimus quales hei mihi delicias.

Tu, dulcis Patrice, nostras attingere mensas

    Consueras, gremio poscere blanda cibos,

Lambere tu calicem lingua rapiente solebas,

     Quem tibi saepe meae sustinuere manus,

Accipere et lassum cauda gaudente frequenter

And here’s my translation:

Wet with tears I have carried you, our little (female) dog, just as I did in happier times fifteen years earlier (lit. “three periods of five years).  For myself, Patrice, now you will not give me a thousand kisses nor will you be able to lie lovingly around/against my neck.  I have sorrowfully placed you, merit-worthy, in a marble tomb and I have joined you always to myself in death, as by your cleverness you matched a human.  Alas, we lost such pleasures for myself!  You, sweet Patrice, were accustomed to join us at our table, to beg charmingly for food (while sitting in our) laps.  You were in the habit of greedily licking our cups with your tongue, which my hands often held for you.  Frequently and joyfully (you) receive a weary one with your (wagging) tail...

They're doing this shit on AO3 too, putting the Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov ship tag on Actor RPF fic. Stop that shit!

Do you guys think it’s a bit too predictable if Haixia dies in the end? Throughout the whole series, from the very beginning, there’s been this constant anxiety that Haixia will die. On the other hand, in these recent episodes they introduced a concept called the “hidden sequence, (I'm not sure if I'm calling it right cause I watch the series wiyh my mother tongue sub and its not eng), which they explained as meaning that what we think is true actually isn’t—it’s all a trap. Haixia used this strategy himself when he faked his death. So what if the writers are using the same strategy on the audience?

Even though Haixia has come back to life, with the side effects of the drugs he took and the changes in his personality and all that, I think as viewers we all feel—at least instinctively—that there’s a high chance Haixia won’t survive by the end of the story. You know… it just feels very predictable otherwise. Different characters, including Haixia himself and Haichi, constantly hint that Haixia is heading toward a tragic ending and that he’s going to die. But what if all of that is just a trap set by the writers?

Another thing: some people, after watching the new episodes and seeing that Haixia killed those people, concluded that he’s completely losing control of himself and is turning fully toward evil. But I think we’re forgetting that this is the same Haixia who is the smartest and most selfless character in the entire series. Someone who has never hesitated for even a second when it comes to saving Hailou and has always been ready to give up his own life for the people he loves.

Haixia told his master that he wants to kill Mon Yungao and die in the process. So in his mind, Haixia has already drawn the ending for himself. He doesn’t see any way back for himself anymore. That’s why he let those soldiers die and then contacted Mon Yungao. I think this is how he’ll manage to get close to Mon Yungao and kill him.

But here’s the thing: even though these dark impulses won’t leave Haixia alone, we know that Haixia is extremely smart. Someone like him wouldn’t be incapable of using even those impulses as part of his plans. Seeing himself on an irreversible path has made those impulses stronger, but it’s still Haixia who is giving them power.

I don’t know what will happen in the end, but I hope Hailou can free Haixia from these thoughts and save him. Imagine if in the end they force Hailou to kill him. Can you imagine what that would feel like? Killing the person you love most in the world with your own hands. What kind of message would that even send?

In my opinion, the story gains much more meaning if Haixia is saved. Haixia is like a bird that has locked itself in a cage and believes it’s his fate to die, and he wants that death to happen while taking down Mon Yungao. But Hailou is like a snake that never lets go of its prey, and just as Haichi said, Hailou has an obsessive fixation on Haixia.

You're telling me the mail service is handing you this highly accessible Akira Toriyama-esque piece of gold and you're spitting in their faces?!?!

Not only that, they have more cargo space for mail, have a larger front front windshield so they'll be able to see better as they drive, and they're electric!

Plus, you know how old the previous trucks were? Half of em didn't have A/C.

I'm glad they're investing in the postal service, especially considering they've been trying to nerf it for years now and pushing us to use private delivery companies that are worse and for-profit.

In fact I want MORE cars that look like this! I hope every car in the future looks like this!

*they designed it for the extremes, not the averages.*

Hi anon!! I hope this fulfills your request ^^ (things are starting to ramp up in the drama huh)

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1.

On the surface, their dynamic goes like this: Haiyan is the one running headfirst into situations while Haixia stands behind him, taking stock of the situation, watching his back, waiting to catch him if he falls. Haiyan is the one who refuses to memorise codes, pushing the book towards Haixia with a cocksure expression, one full of dependance and reliance, secure in his belief that Haixia would never be more than five feet away from him.

(Haixia once believed that too.)

The press laud his ability to analyse, to keep his calm under fire, to keep Zhang Haiyan in check. They call him reliable, the perfect picture of what an inspector who upholds justice should be, a foil to Zhang “Sea Plague” Haiyan’s chaotic manner of handling cases and disputes.

But what they don’t understand is as much as Haiyan is as much of his tether as Haixia is to him. Perhaps even more.

(Where would he be, without Haiyan slamming his door open in the mornings, dragging him out of bed for noodles at Uncle Fu’s street stall, without Haiyan declaring with a smirk and a self-assured nod that he would get the information out of the enemy, trading barbs with Shifu after they get caught and punished?

What a dull, colourless life would that be.)

Haixia scoffs, amused by his own sentimentality. It isn’t like him to be so affected by a stray comment or two—how many insults have they endured over the years, working at the Supervisory Office—he should know better.

Still, he pulls a slumbering Haiyan closer against him, burying his head into his hair to breathe him in.

“Xiazai?”

“It’s nothing,” Haixia hums, reveling in the warmth of Haiyan’s body, his steady heartbeat underneath his palm. “Go to sleep.”

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2.

It’s handy, his keen sense of smell and ability to differentiate them. To see without sight, to pick out where their enemies are situated and what might lie behind trapdoors and inside chests. On an average day, however, it can get overwhelming, the melting pot of aromas a market can be; full of fresh produce from the mountains and the seas and hawkers selling roasted chestnuts, pancakes, and the such.

Out of the dizzing array of scents though, there is always one that he can pick out with pinpoint accuracy.

One that separates itself from the rest, smelling of gunpowder and smoke and reckless choices, the smell of the sea clinging relentlessly on his skin, his hair, an underlying stench of blood under their nails that they've long since given up on scrubbing away—they've scrubbed themselves raw and pink and then resigned themselves to carrying death with them.

(Most of all, though, Haiyan smells like home. Like the morning sunlight splayed across their sheets on lazy mornings, waking to the familiar scent of magnolia that Shifu lines their corridor with, bright and comforting and warm.)

Haiyan had taken to smoking, to drinking to mask the scent of death on his hands in Balai—which worked for him, but not for Haixia, who could still pick out the different odors that he carried back—ink and sea spray and sweat, he was fine with. But overpowering those would be the pungent odor of cigarette smoke, smelling of gambling parlors and pleasure houses that they busted.

It frustrated Haixia to no end, trying to sniff out Haiyan’s scent underneath the layers of smoke.

“What are you, a dog?” Haiyan elbows him—attempts to, at least—twisting around in his hold to face him.

Haixia lifts a brow, drumming his fingers against the chair.

“I know you have a good nose, so why are you sniffing like that?”

“Why do you think?” Haixia retorts, flicking his forehead. He should stuff Haiyan into the bath, that should work. “You smoke too much.”

He misses the magnolias.

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3.

Some days, he misses their old home.

Their safe haven in Xiacheng, which allowed for slow days and less petty disputes to dissolve, where Haixia could slowly wake to Haiyan’s legs tangled with his, breathing in comfort and sea salt, to their Shifu rousing them with a (literal) pot and pan and a hand on her hip, grumbling about picking the laziest disciples to train.

Some days, Haixia would bury his head into the back of Haiyan’s neck and wonder how he’d ever thought he could live in Guangchuan without him.

(He remembers the exact moment, the horror that had filled him when Haiyan announced that he was going to Balongzhou, the surety that had come in the next, that if Haiyan was going to Balai, so was he.)

Balai was decent—it wasn’t as dangerous as he’d thought—the locals were welcoming, their colleagues easy to work with, but it wasn’t Xiacheng, where he could find Shifu down the hallway or up on the roof, there wasn’t the garden wall that he and Haiyan scaled as teenagers to escape the wrath of their Shifu, or Uncle Fu’s noodles across the street.

(How long would it be before they were able to return? How much would Xiacheng have changed without them? Haixia tries not to dwell on the topic too much.)

"Xiazai," Hailou says, forehead pressed against his, their breaths mingling in the space between them.

"Hm?" Haixia cracks open an eye, straining to make out Haiyan's expression in the dark, placing a hand on his cheek.

A pause, he sees the conflict in his eyes, thoughts flickering across his face—Haiyan didn't often say what he truly felt, taking for granted that Haixia could guess at his thoughts, but in the rare occasions that he did—

Haixia waits.

"It's nice that you're here."

Those words, whispered in the dark of the night, tapering off towards the end as Haiyan turns his head away in embarrassment causes a smile to spread across Haixia's face, fondness blooming in his chest as he closes the remaining distance between them, wishing he could stuff the other man into his heart, meld him into his own body, but he contents himself with holding Haiyan in his arms, matching his breaths.

"Of course."

Wherever Haiyan went, he would follow.

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