#shans asks!

[buglaur]

if virgil was in a horror movie he'd probably be first to die

[awesomefringey]

https://twitter.com/FIocke/status/1691803024618840217?t=ZJnOY4ikVcfTZkRy7SF3-g&s=19

LMFAOOOOO

BAHAHAHA! Insert horse noises. 🤣

[purble-turble]

Ooh, do you think you could draw what a possible Spicynoodles family photo looks like? (I'm willing to bet than Shan, full of toddler energy, could barely be coaxed to sit long enough for the picture. Red is so glad that they no longer have to sit hours for a painting.) Thanks!

I love that I got this request which is kind of a similar thing to that other one for a DBK fam portrait- the two families got such different energies, it was fun making them the same but opposite

[lurkingshan]

That scene of Sheng Wang thoughtfully laying out why they should move to campus together and giving Jiang Tian the reassurance that they are family now was so sweet, but I couldn’t help but think about how emotionally complicated this must be for Tian. To finally get the sense of belonging and family he’s been yearning for, but from someone he doesn’t want a familial relationship with. How bittersweet the idea of taking Wang for his brother must be when he wants an entirely different relationship with him.

[randomprose]

now posted on AO3!

Mo Guan Shan is sitting on the kitchen island eating a sandwich when He Cheng walks in. 

He looks up from scrolling through his phone, looking a little startled. 

“Mo Guan Shan,” He Cheng acknowledges with a nod before heading to the fridge. 

“Uh. Hey, boss."

“Where’s He Tian?"

“Still sleepin’,” he shrugs. “Got bored an’ hungry waitin’ for him to wake up.”

He Cheng just hums. His brother has always been one to sleep in late even as a child. 

“Have you eaten?” Mo Guan Shan asks, a hand scratching the back of his neck. He looks awkward standing in He Cheng’s kitchen — rarely used, all stainless steel, and state of the art — yet strangely comfortable behind the counter near the stoves. At least before He Cheng came in. This is the most relaxed He Cheng has ever seen him in his house over the years.

He mulls the question over, probably blurted out on impulse. He’s really only here to get a bottle of water. 

“I've had coffee”, was what he said after awhile. He can’t quite remember what time that was. Some time between the early hours of a new day and before the crack of dawn.  

Mo Guan Shan frowns, brows knitted together. The kid is very expressive, He Cheng observes. Easy to draw reaction from. He can see why He Tian loses his shit pushing this kid’s buttons.

“That’s not exactly food.”

“I don’t eat breakfast.” Never had the stomach for it. Just never made sense for him to eat so early in the morning.

“Er. It’s past noon, boss,” Mo Guan Shan somehow feels the need to remind him. He Cheng just stares at him. “Technically it’s lunchtime bordering on…mid-afternoon snack?”

It dawns on He Cheng that, given his answer, this kid wants him to eat something. Mo Guan Shan either has certain manners drilled into him — He Cheng caught him eating when he entered the kitchen so he felt the need to offer him something as well — or he has an inane need to take care of people. Just like He Tian. 

He Cheng supposes that’s a good thing, if a bit of a soft touch — something that has no room in the world he and He Tian live in but is nonetheless welcomed and desired by He Cheng for his brother. He Tian could’ve done so much worse. At least He Cheng knows his brother is eating and taken care of. He swears that kid never knows how to look after himself. 

“If you insist,” He Cheng allows and sits on a stool at the kitchen counter. 

Mo Guan Shan visibly relaxes. Like he’s relieved He Cheng agreed he could cook for him. If he hadn’t ran a thorough background on him he’d think he’s going to try and poison him. Except the kid is terrible at hiding his expressions and controlling his body language and He Cheng has known him since he was in middle school.

“Alright. So, uh, what are you hungry for?”

He Cheng isn’t really hungry for anything, but he does acknowledge that he hasn’t eaten since yesterday and this will only be his first meal of the day. Still, he doesn’t think he can stomach a full meal right now. 

“Just eggs will do.”

“Okay,” Mo Guan Shan nods. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled,” is all he says. No mention of how he likes it cooked, no preference for seasoning, no specifications of any kind. He Cheng doesn’t really care as long as it's edible and won’t upset his stomach. 

Mo Guan Shan gets to work in silence. He Cheng watches him move and is not at all surprised that he knows his way around, knows where everything is. Qiu mentioned the kid is good in the kitchen, more than a decent cook, and is not above admitting that he enjoys his food despite the disaster that occured the one and only time the kids came over his place and had Mo Guan Shan made them dinner. He Cheng knows this, too. He knows that the kid is apprenticing in a family restaurant and is saving up to go to culinary school. He’s had to drop by He Tian’s place occasionally and was pleasantly surprised that his brother isn’t just subsisting on take-outs if at all.  

But it’s just eggs and He Cheng isn’t really expecting anything. Eggs are just eggs after all.

After just about twenty minutes, Mo Guan Shan puts down a plate of the fluffiest looking scrambled eggs He Cheng has ever been served garnished with spring onions and what seem to be crushed potato chips. He serves it with a glass of orange juice on the side and the whole ensemble looks like it’s been lifted out of a lifestyle cooking magazine. 

He Cheng takes a forkful and lets out a low pleased sound at the back of his throat.

"Good?" Mo Guan Shan asks, a corner of his lips quirked up in quiet satisfaction the way a cook is when they know someone enjoys their food.

"It is." He Cheng maintains that eggs are still just eggs but this really is good. Qiu’s not exaggerating then. 

The eggs are light and cooked just right, lightly seasoned with the melted cheese adding another layer of flavor, and the potato chips give it a good crunch. He’s never even thought of potato chips as anything other than junk food.

"Yeah. Figured you and Tian like your scrambled eggs the same." Mo Guan Shan comments as he sits back down to finish his sandwich. "First time I made it he looked so pissed even though he couldn't stop shovelling eggs in his mouth. Thought he might've hated it and was just eating it to, I don’t know, not hurt my feelings or some shit, but then I heard him curse you under his breath and ask for seconds."

A thought that comes to He Cheng: He Tian eats breakfast and likes his eggs scrambled just like him.

“He hates it, but he's really alike you in a lot of ways, you know.”

Well, of course he is, He Cheng agrees. He practically raised that kid. He Tian’s bound to pick up some of He Cheng’s mannerisms and preferences for certain things whether he likes it or not.

“Coffee? Brewed a new batch.”

“Please.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Just black, thanks.”

“You sure?" Mo Guan Shan asks like he doesn't believe him. 

“I like it as it is.” 

“Huh,” Mo Guan Shan sounds out before shrugging and pouring out two mugs.

This prompts He Cheng to ask, "Does Tian-di not take his coffee black then?"

It occurs to him that he doesn’t know his brother at all. Maybe there was a time that he did, when He Tian was small and only had him, but He Cheng doesn’t claim that he knows his brother beyond his childhood days. While He Tian seems to come to him more and more these days, their relationship is still rather estranged and not at all conventional, however that may be. 

All He Cheng knows of He Tian is that his brother is of the good sort and that’s enough for him. 

He Tian cares for his friends and cares for Mo Guan Shan in ways He Cheng will probably never understand. He’s better than He Cheng in a lot of ways that matter, more human perhaps, which suits him just fine. He never wanted He Tian to be someone their family has morphed and twisted to suit their needs and use as see fit. He never wanted He Tian to be like him. 

And so He Cheng finds himself indulging in wanting to know the little things that make up his brother. Like how he likes his eggs and how he drinks his coffee.

“He does but I know he hates it. Everytime he drinks it he makes a face like it's poison.” Mo Guan Shan shrugs as he sits down across from him. He hands He Cheng one of the mugs and nurses one himself. “I don't know why he insists on drinking it this way.” 

He Cheng just hums, breathing in the aroma of the coffee, not unaware of the way Mo Guan Shan is pointedly looking at him.

“Tian-di probably just can’t be bothered to have it otherwise.”

“Nah. He probably just thinks it makes him all mature and tough. As if cream and sugar makes you weak or some shit.”

Just before they both move to take a sip from their mugs, He Cheng mutters “Idiot” under his breath at the same time Mo Guan Shan scoffs it. They stop and couldn’t help to smirk at their consensus.

It’s good to know someone else can see through his brother’s bullshit.

He Cheng notes that Mo Guan Shan takes his coffee black. Mo Guan Shan just shrugs when he points this out. 

“I like the bitter taste. It’s what keeps you awake,” he says before taking another sip. “And you taste the flavor of the beans better without the cover up of milk or sweetener.”

A fair assessment. He Cheng will drink to that.

For a while, they sat in silence as they finish their meals. Then Mo Guan Shan’s phone lights up. He drains the last of his coffee as he swipes at the screen. It seems a message has popped up because he picks it up and types something back. He Cheng surmises it’s probably He Tian, just woken up, asking where Mo Guan Shan is. 

"Refill?" Mo Guan Shan offers, walking back to where the coffee pot is.

"No, thank you.”

Mo Guan Shan refills his cup and adds three spoons of cream and two sugar cubes. He Tian enters the kitchen with a jaw cracking yawn just as Mo Guan Shan is back on his seat and finished stirring. His brother takes the seat beside the redhead across from him and He Cheing watches the latter push the mug at He Tian’s direction. The cup is only three-quarts full. 

“I’m done. Finish this.”

“You always do this. Why bother pouring a full cup if you’re not gonna drink even half of it?” He Tian quips but takes the mug anyway. 

He Cheng notes his brother doesn’t make a face after the first sip. He Tian even licks at his upper lip and a corner of his mouth is quirked up. 

“What’s for breakfast?”

“It’s way past noon.”

“It’s my first meal of the day. What’s for breakfast?”

“Scrambled eggs,” He Cheng answers before Mo Guan Shan could and delights at the face his brother makes when he sees what’s on his plate and realizes who made it.

‘What the…’ He Tian mouths as he narrows his eyes at what remains of He Cheng’s meal.

“You know what, I actually don’t want scrambled eggs. I want—”

“Tough shit. I’m already making them and you’re gonna eat it when it’s done.”

He Tian makes a low whining displeased sound but nonetheless doesn’t protest. “Throw in some bacon.”

“Alright.”

He Tian doesn’t offer to help beyond getting the pack of bacon from the fridge, handing it to Mo Guan Shan before returning to his seat. Like it’s routine. Like there’s an unspoken agreement that Mo Guan Shan cooks and He Tian stays out of his way. And He Cheng gathers he’s probably been shooed away and out of the kitchen when the other is at work. He Cheng can’t imagine his brother even knows how to operate a stove — just another thing they have in common by virtue of being born to money. 

He Tian's attention is solely on Mo Guan Shan. His back is to He Cheng, leaning against the counter as he talks to the redhead. He asks if he slept well, what he wants to do today, if there’s somewhere he wants to go to, if he wants anything particular for dinner later. Mo Guan Shan makes a comment that makes He Tian laugh but goes over He Cheng's head and he figures it must be an inside joke between them. 

There’s a kind of ease to it, the flow of their banter, the way they move around each other. He Tian certainly seems comfortable and at ease, the line of his back relaxed and lacking the usual tenseness of someone always ready to go on either the offense or defense. 

Mo Guan Shan mirrors the same ease as he puts down a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast for He Tian, who turns his head to plant a kiss on his cheek in thanks. 

The whole thing makes He Cheng feel like a fucking interloper in his own goddamn kitchen. 

He Cheng looks at his brother with his own plate of scrambled eggs and Mo Guan Shan's mug of coffee, the one with cream and sugar he said he couldn't finish so He Tian would take it, and thinks it's the best life he could have ever hoped for him. 

“Wash the dishes when you're done,” Mo Guan Shan says as he scrolls through his phone.

He Tian looks at the sink and makes a face at the pan and other things Mo Guan Shan used to cook.

“Man, do I have to? This isn’t even my house. And there are maids for a reason.”

“Tch. Spoiled brat.” Mo Guan Shan lightly pinches a chewing He Tian’s cheek, bulging with food. “Exactly. This isn’t your house. You use them, you clean them.”

“Cheng ate, too,” he nods to where He Cheng is finishing up the last of his meal. “Why don’t you make him do his dishes?” he says with a smirk, thinking he’s on to something.

“He’s letting the four of us stay for the summer.” Mo Guan Shan takes He Cheng’s plate and the empty glass of juice when he sees he’s done and soaks them in the sink. “Here. In this house that he owns. In an island that is his. For free.” He sends He Tian a look that says, ‘need I say more?’.

“What are you talking about? I’m paying for our stay here you know.”

“Oh, really? With what? Sure as hell haven’t seen you so much as touch your wallet since we got on the boat.”

“My sanity.”

Mo Guan Shan’s hand flexes and for a moment, He Cheng thinks his brother is gonna be hit over the head with the frying pan. 

“Just,” the word is sighed through gritted teeth, “do the damn dishes. It’s not that hard.”

“Why don’t you do them then?”

“I already cooked, asshole. I ain't washin’ the dishes. 'sides, you're the last to finish eatin’ so you get to clean up. Them’s the rules.”

“Fine, but I'm only gonna wash mine,” He Tian declares, viciously biting on a chunk of toast.

“It's one plate and a mug, Tian,” Mo Guan Shan sighs sounding like he’s had this exact conversation a thousand times. “Don't be a little bitch and wash them all. Don't waste soap.”

“Baby, look around. We can afford the waste.”

Mo Guan Shan levels him a look which He Tian stares right back as he continues to chew. It goes on for maybe a minute or two. A standoff with just their eyes, willing the other to back down first. 

He Cheng doesn’t quite know what’s going on between the stare down and the silence, but He Tian is the first to look away with a groan. The one to concede first, apparently.

“Uuughhh! Fine! Fuck it! Fine! I'll do the damn dishes.”

“Yeah, as you should,” Mo Guan Shan quips looking satisfied with his victory. He Cheng marvels at how easy it is for him when getting He Tian to do anything, even if it's for his own good, has always been like pulling teeth. “I’m gonna go call my mom. There's more coffee in the pot. Creamer ran out, but there's milk in the fridge.”

“You know I only take my coffee black.”

Mo Guan Shan watches with a flat expression as He Tian sips ‘his’ coffee with cream and sugar. He catches He Cheng's eyes and shoots him a look that says, ‘are you seeing this shit?’ which He Tian doesn’t catch.

“Uh-huh, sure.” He doesn’t bother contesting. “There’s more toast in the bread box.”

“Buttered?”

“Butter it yourself, idiot,” Mo Guan Shan shoots back making a face at him. 

“Can’t even do that simple thing for me, babe? Really starting to doubt this relationship right now.”

“Good. You shouldn’t get too complacent anyway, dick head.” He hops out of his seat and swats at He Tian’s grabby hands. “Do the damn dishes or I swear to god you won’t have anything to doubt anymore.” 

He Cheng watches the exchange and feels like he’s in a sitcom. He thinks about how his initial plan to get a bottle of water has led to him being caught between his brother and his boyfriend play fighting, flirting, and the domesticity of it all. He thinks about asking Mo Guan Shan how he does that whole thing where he just stares at He Tian and makes him yield but figures it would only work if you're Mo Guan Shan. 

He remembers a time when He Tian lowered his pride. Impulsive, insolent, and desperate, he came crawling back to He Cheng and was even willing to go as far as becoming something he hates. All for the sake of some boy, some school friend, some little pet project that he picked up because he was bored that morphed into something else, something more.

Mo Guan Shan made He Tian care for another. He made He Tian care so much he was willing to make himself into a monster for Mo Guan Shan, but stopped him just in time from going the deep end and even made him more human. Hell, Mo Guan Shan made He Tian care about himself. And for all that, He Cheng is grateful.

"Thanks," he says as much and means more than just the best scrambled eggs he's had in a while, but Mo Guan Shan would never know it. "You really didn't have to." 

"Huh. Oh, uh, sure.” It catches Mo Guan Shan off-guard, halting him from leaving the kitchen. He looks a little sheepish as he says, “It's nothing, really. It's just…it’s just eggs."

He Cheng just hums and nods at him once in dismissal. 

“Why are you so mean to me?” He Tian shouts after Mo Guan Shan, who’s already rounded the corner and only shouts back, “Dishes!”

He Tian scowls but there’s no real heat in it. He even asks He Cheng if he wants the rest of the coffee, which he declines, when he stood up to get more toast before tucking back into his eggs.

He Cheng sees that He Tian is happy, thinks Mo Guan Shan brings out all the best in him, and hopes to all the gods he doesn't believe in that his brother don't ever fuck this one up. 

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until He Tian asks, “What?” around a mouthful of toast. 

“Nothing,” He Cheng says as he finishes his coffee, and as he stands up he says, “Make sure you bring him along everytime you plan to come over. Otherwise, don’t come at all.” And just to spite him, he slides his empty mug closer to He Tian. “And make sure you do the damn dishes.”

He gets the desired effect. The glare his brother sent him is acrid and his next words make He Cheng want to laugh.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

“I didn’t. Mo Guan Shan did.”

“Whatever. Shut the fuck up.”

He Cheng just smirks and doesn’t hit him for his impertinence if only because He Tian grumbling, “I was gonna do them anyway” has already made his day.

Later, as He Cheng sits on his desk looking over his schedule, he sees that he has an appointment with their legal team. A thought strikes him and he scribbles a curt note at the margins and tells his secretary to summon the family lawyers too.

He might as well update the family registry.

--

edit: now posted on AO3! glad you guys like this piece. please leave kudos and comments there as well. thank you! :)

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

if hori just tries to make us forget abt mr. compress after he stuck him in jail i will do so many crimes istg

Villains fans can never rest. It's not our fault that he created such amazing villains with complexity and engaging backstories!!! He even made them a found family!!!! That's not fair!!!!!

Anyway, bring Mr. Compress back. I miss him ���

[aiyexayen]

I promise im not a bot, and to prove it i'll ask for a hanzhou kiss 🥺 doesnt have to be wholesome, just whatever strikes your fancy

🥹❤️

The first time happens thoughtlessly, almost unintentionally.

Han Ying is 14 and not yet used to his limbs after his recent growth spurt. He didn't know he could have growth spurts before he had access to regular meals. But he can, and he is sure that's why he screwed up his assignment. Regardless of the reason, he is still responsible for ruining Tian Chuang's entire mission today.

And somehow, he has been forgiven. By a man with more mercy than Han Ying knows how to handle.

Anyone else, he is certain, would have thrown him back where he came from.

On his knees before Zhou-shouling, he finds himself too overcome for words of gratitude, reaching instead for the hand hanging idle at Zhou-shouling's side. He grips it in both of his. It's instinct; hasn't he seen so many servants do something like this when their masters bid them?

Han Ying's lips press into the soft skin for just a second before he feels Zhou-shouling's flinch. He looks up in time to catch confusion, smoothing into understanding and...things he doesn't quite recognise.

Qin-xiongdi tells him later, eyes dancing with mirth, that he should have pressed the hand to his forehead, not his mouth--except he shouldn't have done anything of the sort actually and he really has so much to learn about living in society, doesn't he?

Han Ying nods absently, because it's true, but he goes to bed with cheeks warm from the lingering memory of pressure on his lips and the untameable thoughts of a 14 year old mind.

The second time cannot be called an accident, mere months after the first. But neither is it calculated.

They are celebrating Zhou-shouling's twentieth birthday. Or rather, Zhou-shouling and Qin-xiongdi disappeared up to the palace early in the evening to celebrate and Han Ying has waited up alone for sounds of their return, vigilant, something he pretends is not yearning sitting heavy in the aching pit of his stomach.

When they do return it is...surprisingly loud.

Han Ying is very good at what he does, and still there are days when he cannot hear Zhou-shouling approach. The man is not just merciful, not just understanding and patient and full of barely-subdued humour, but also a refined gentleman, clever and skilled beyond measure.

So why is it that tonight Han Ying can hear not only Qin-xiongdi's clomping but Zhou-shouling next to him, stumbling?

He's out the door and down the hall in an instant, adrenaline pumpung, imagining the worst, imagining Zhou-shouling limping, covered in blood--

"'S Ying'er! What're yeu--you--out of bed! Doing! Hah!"

Han Ying stops in his tracks as a thoroughly wasted Zhou Zishu collapses against his hiccoughing, giggling shidi.

"Shixiong got--hc!--he got so drunk," Qin-xiongdi exclaims in the worst loud whisper Han Ying has ever heard. "Can you--hc!--believe it, Han Ying?--hc!"

Well, certainly he can, because it's right before him. What he can't really quite come to terms with is the fond, playful tone wrapped warmly around the unfamiliar Ying'er.

But when his two superiors almost fall over on their next step, Han Ying collects himself and steps in to relieve Qin-xiongdi of his task before he sends them both toppling to the ground.

"Shoul' get that boy some...that boy some more..." Zhou-shouling doesn't finish his thought, trailing off into a sigh as Qin-xiongdi leaves.

One hand grasping a limp arm, one hand firm on broad leather, it's quick work to get Zhou-shouling to his own rooms. But it's also so much closeness--too much for Han Ying to process: a head lolling onto his shoulder; hot breath at his neck and the smell of alcohol; warm weight against his side, so effortlessly trusting.

Ying'er.

Easier to slide under the mantle of duty and attentiveness than even acknowledge it as real, so in silence, he readies Zhou-shouling for bed; without Qin-xiongdi's energy, he seems content to simply drift.

Hydration--water droplets running down the corner of red lips, a strong chin--

Belt--hard leather hitting the floor, a quiet exhale of relief, a soft hum of contentment vibrating under his fingertips--

Boots--what if he slipped and touched that leg--what if he looked up from where he's kneeling and realised the position was just like--

Han Ying, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, tips Zhou-shouling over onto the bed and lifts his feet up to settle him properly. He's practically asleep already, his breathing deep and slow, stray hairs wisping around his cheeks.

Hands, resting easily across his middle. Han Ying lifts them up to tuck the blanket in under them. But perhaps he has tried too hard to not think at all tonight because as he goes to put them back down, determined to not notice Zhou-shouling's exposed neck, he finds himself ghosting his lips across cool fingertips.

What--what is he doing?! He freezes, drops Zhou-shouling's hands as though burnt, and looks up, breath caught.

But his shouling is still fast asleep. Fast asleep and drunk besides, his brain finally catches up and reminds him. Han Ying lets out his breath. He has no right to such intimacy, but he's been given a stay of execution tonight. He had better not waste it.

Carefully, he flees to his own room and doesn't think about anything else at all.

The third time...Han Ying cannot even guess how the third time comes to be.

He is young, and he strives to be good, to be the best. If not in skill than in obedience. It's no longer about debt, it's about loyalty.

But he is 15, going on 16, and even he cannot beat out of himself the independent streak that kept him alive on the streets all those years.

So he finds himself again on his knees, explaining his actions.

"You are right to tell me the truth the first time."

Who would dare try to lie to Zhou Zishu?

Something of his thoughts must show on Han Ying's downturned face because the man in question snorts lightly and adds, "Not all your fellows are as clever as you."

Han Ying keeps his head bowed, but tension drains from him; he would not be receiving such praise if he were seriously in trouble.

"Your actions are understandable, but not permitted," he is told. "I expect that the next time someone pushes you to the point of retaliation, I will not hear about it."

It takes a second for Han Ying to process the precise words he's hearing. But he cannot be mistaken; there is nobody more exact with his words than the exacting Zhou-shouling.

"Yes, Zhuangzhu," he ventures.

There's an unmistakable note of amusement when Zhou-zhuangzhu confirms, "Consider it your mission."

Permission, then. Permission to do whatever he wants, so long as he doesn't get caught. Han Ying didn't think he could adore him any more, but he does. Every day.

"Yes, Zhuangzhu."

"Come on, then."

And he looks up at last, but he does not see his zhuangzhu beckoning him to rise. Instead he stands directly in front of Han Ying, one hand slightly stretched toward him, palm still facing down. Han Ying furrows his brow.

"Zhuangzhu?"

"Don't tell me you suddenly don't know what to do," Zhou-zhuangzhu says, "Ying'er."

Certainly, he isn't...?

But there's a challenge behind his eyes, sparkling a bit, so similar to the way his shidi looks when he dares Han Ying to do something a bit reckless. Han Ying swallows, but reaches out his hands; he is not a coward.

He kisses Zhou-zhuangzhu's hand and as if they have done this a hundred--a thousand times before this, Zhou-zhuangzhu detaches himself with grace and waves Han Ying to stand.

"Very good. Go report for your chores."

Reeling, Han Ying does.

After that...after that, Han Ying has the great luxury to lose track. He belongs to Zhou Zishu in a way no other Tian Chuang operative does and he may not be one of the Siji Shanzhuang disciples, or even their disciples, but he is something, and there is rarely a time he finds himself on his knees that he is not allowed the privilege of that kiss.

He is 16 and sent to his knees with a sharp word after raising his voice to his zhuangzhu; his kiss is barely-there, ashamed and still prickling with discomfort, but no less sincere.

He is 17 and accepting his promotion; gratitude wells up in him and he allows it only to show in this gesture, determined to keep composure and make Zhou-zhuangzhu proud.

He is 18 and kneeling in spite of his broken leg, true failure heavy on his heart in a way he could not have imagined four years ago; he presses his bloody lips to a hand that he pretends is not ever-so-slightly trembling.

He is 19 and his heart stops in his chest every time he sees Zhou Zishu do, well, anything; he makes every excuse to kneel in his presence, for any reason, just so he can look up expectantly for the hand that is never denied.

He is 20 and letting his lips linger every time a bit longer, leaving these unspoken feelings in the sacred space between them--the only indulgence, he has realised, that either of them will ever allow.

He is 21 and Zhou-zhuangzhu has begun turning up drunk at his doorstep, not from any party he knows about; he leaves the kiss that is his by rights even on the nights Zhuangzhu is too far gone to notice.

He is 22 and no matter how severe Zhou-zhuangzhu gets, no matter how cold, he does not forget to give Han Ying his hand. He is 22 and gives Zhou-zhuangzhu the fullness of his fealty--as if there was ever any doubt he had it--and seals it in secret between them with the briefest of contact. He hopes it is not a greater burden than it is a tool.

He is 23 and Zhou Zishu is gone.

It is only then that Han Ying realises he lost count.

Each week that passes after that, he feels more and more bereft. It should seem silly, or stupid, that he misses something so ephemeral and ill-defined, but it's the most serious thing in the world. It never needed definition or explanation. And it was all he ever asked. All he wanted: to be allowed to cherish, even if not to be cherished in return.

He doesn't shirk his duty, but he loses all trace of satisfaction in it and there is a permanent tension between his shoulders that takes up residence and will not go.

But the worst is yet to happen, because the worst possible thing is the day he finds Zhou Zishu in the forest, heart full of relief and far too much else. Han Ying kneels on the rough ground, strung taut like a bow, and Zhou-zhuangzhu...pulls him to his feet.

And again, even when his companion has left them to their own devices.

And a third time, in Han Ying's own room.

For the first time in almost a decade, he didn't dare touch his drunk zhuangzhu more than necessary to lay him down in bed.

And then Zhou Zishu walks away from every declaration Han Ying frantically tries to make verbal, leaves him there drowning in the void between them.

That could have been the end of it. If it weren't for a collective display of quick thinking and good timing, it would have been; Han Ying is not easily deterred once he has set his mind on something. Not even when faced with the price tag of his own life.

Zhou Zishu should have known that, he thinks, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking down at his...his Han Ying, whatever else he is to him now. It's not fair that he looks so peaceful in his healing slumber when Zhou Zishu is sure his own pulse still hasn't slowed from the clawing panic underneath his skin these past few terrible, frenetic days.

Wu Xi assured him that the little fool will be fine, and should wake any time now. Zishu is reluctant to leave his side before then. Which is convenient, because Wen Kexing of all people has snubbed him, refusing to have a civil conversation until he's "done right by Ying'er" and refusing to even let him at their own disciple.

What the hell did Wen Kexing get out of Han Ying when he was dying, anyway?

It doesn't matter. What matters is that he didn't die.

Zishu perhaps deserves whatever passing ire Lao Wen wants to throw him on behalf of Han Ying who is too...Han Ying to do it himself.

Curling his hand around the still one at rest, reassuring himself of its continued warmth, Zishu watches the blanket rise and fall steadily in the afternoon sunlight.

Perhaps Han Ying was foolish, but if the servant is a fool than the master is bound to be a bigger one. And he was an absolute fool to send him away, to think that if he just tried hard enough, he could truly push Han Ying out of his life and into his own, somewhere off the road to hell. He was a fool to think Han Ying wouldn't just throw himself down that path all the harder. He would burn himself out like a star for Zishu at a moment's notice, even if he believed Zishu didn't care about him at all anymore.

What would Zishu do, if their roles were reversed?

What hasn't he threatened to do for Lao Wen, for Chengling? What hasn't he already done in this life?

For the one who has never so much as faltered a single step, no matter where Zishu led? For the one who tempted him longer than he ever should have allowed? For the one he can rely on at the worst of himself? He knows the answer already.

Han Ying shifts, just slightly, but Zishu can feel the movement ripple on the bed and he is prepared for the groggy, "...Zhuangzhu?"

He has had long enough to contemplate his response.

He lifts Han Ying's hand in his own and without preamble presses a kiss directly to the back of it, holding it through Han Ying's flinch and sharp indrawn breath. Han Ying's other hand is raised as if to do something and he takes advantage of it, drawing that one in for its own display of affection.

Through it all he keeps eye contact, watching the journey of Han Ying's face--mouth open just slightly, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and then narrow, calculating too much on a mind too fresh from sleep.

"I owe you two, Ying'er," Zishu offers simply.

Han Ying's face is red but he's always been a bit quicker than Zishu expects. "I don't get anything for almost dying?" he manages with a hoarse voice.

Zishu snorts. "No. You know well that I don't reward such folly." Then before Han Ying can get comfortable, he leans in closer, lets his gaze flicker down and back up with intention. Waits for the exact moment he sees the disbelief register and says, "But this is for waking up."

It's probably a reckless, ridiculous thing to do, ducking in to set his mouth against Han Ying's and forever changing something that nobody asked to be changed. But Zishu's life is full of reckless, ridiculous things now, and he can hardly claim it's the worst he's ever done. It doesn't even rank in the top fifty. He kisses him firmly, unapologetic, freeing his hands to cup Han Ying's face between them.

He doesn't stop until Han Ying no longer tastes of salt. He pulls back, hands dropping to cover the ones tangled desperately in the front of Zishu's robes.

Nonsensically, Han Ying mutters, eyes closed, "One."

[sillypiratelife]

In the Netflix Spanish sub*

Sanji: Vivi and Nami can call me prince!

Zoro, immediately: Prince.

Me: whAT IS HE EVEN PLAYING AT?

[dracocheesecake]

mr ping and li are married and no one can convince me otherwise

No, no you're right.

[limbokidd]

Hold me

More 19 days art yippee

[buglaur]

🔖 pictures from the family photo album

[lanabenikosdoormat]

HI MARS. THESE TWO FOR BOTH SOLARIAN AND JUNTER PLS 🥺 29. one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart 30. one headcanon about this OTP that mends it

Ata I’m going to CRY these are about to be so good thank you pookems.

SOLARIAN 🧡❤️

29. The whole Nathema arc. Aside from Lana of course, Theron and Jed were as close as can be. It’d been years since they’d been a thing by that point. And losing him was a pain like no other. Jed put on a face about it, he’d say he knew Theron was going to come back. But deep down he wasn’t even sure that was true. He’s lost everything before, of course it would happen again.

They don’t sleep in the same bed for like three months after. Not because they don’t want to, but because of Jed’s own fear.

30. I have so many! Jed and Theron both taking time to recalibrate each others cybernetics — because they’re the best at helping each other. Theron kisses Jed’s knuckles every time they say goodbye. Jed being taller than Theron and picking his ass up to carry him to bed when he’s being too much of a workaholic. SHARING CLOTHES. Holding each other at night when the nightmares get to be too much. When Theron starts to get his grays, teasingly calling him a “Silver Fox” and using that as a codename.

JUNTER 💚🧡

29. Literally everything about them. The fact they’re rabidly obsessed with one another to the point of delusion. That secretly they both wish they could leave behind their respective organizations but they’ll never actually act upon that. They’ll nearly kill each other and then make out sloppy afterwards. But they’ll never address it. Everything regarding Onomonophobia. At this point in Jed’s life he isn’t built for stability, and Hunter is anything but reliable. They’re both crashing into each other, destroying themselves from the inside out and it’s horrifying and beautiful to watch.

30. While posing as Legate, they’d spar a lot. It was always hate fueled from Jed’s perspective whereas Hunter thought it was a ball. But afterwards, they’d quietly slump side by side and sit in silence. They could just get up and storm away. But when neither of them are talking (and boy that’s a rarity) there’s something oddly familiar about it all. They’ll even help each other up, before going back to their terrible ways.

[allboutheyaoi]

Distant People.

By Old Xian

[lurkingshan]

For the ship game, my all time faves: Hira and Kiyoi from My Beautiful Man ❤️

Oh man, it's so hard to even formulate words about these two.

This is one of my all time favorite jbls, and the weird and wild and beautiful dynamic between Hira and Kiyoi is the reason why.

They've got that rare quality in a romance pairing of being a perfect fit in the way their individual weirdness molds around each other and their rough edges slot together.

They are high key feral about each other.

And intense about their attraction to each other.

And yet their relationship is also gentle and loving.

And they have been through a lot and still came out of it devoted to each other, which makes me think they will stay together and keep working on their communication issues.

We were so blessed to see so much of their story. I believe in them!

Send me a ship and I’ll share my thoughts about it.

[randomprose]

you guys ever think about how he tian was basically just having girl dinner meals all the fucking time before he met mo guan shan

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

this is how mysterious character that is definitely tenko who has a reconstruction quirk can sav- [they drag me off the stage throwing tomatoes]

DON'T GIVE ME HOPE, I DON'T TRUST HORIKOSHI ANYMORE