bluefood-chb

Latest Posts by bluefood-chb

Thinking about how children of Hades’ flaw is holding grudges because that’s where their power resides: the deceased, whose regrets and grudges from their past lives forever remain deep and strong.

headcanon that for a while nico doesn’t have a mortal job he just does underworldy tasks as the ambassador of pluto but when talking to mortals they eventually ask what he does for a living and nico says that he “works for his family” (coupled with the fact that it’s Known he’s italian) people think he’s in the mob

imagine: the di angelos being legacies of victoria (nike)

it makes sense when you think about the fact that nico was essential for the success of two great prophecies (making percy invincible, rallying hades’ army, convincing bob to help percy, leading argo II through the house of hades, dragging the athena parthenos across the globe)

this also goes hand in hand with my hc of the di angelos essentially being like the addams family  bc imagine everyone in his family just has rly clear Sight, and nico eventually finds out he still has a mortal family. he’s nervous to meet them, because what if they don’t like him? but then he gets startled by how openly and warmly they greet him because their grandparents have told them stories about maria di angelo and her godly paramours and they’re so eager to know him and he’s never felt more accepted.

Do NOT think about Zukka x Cardigan by Taylor Swift unless you want it to envelop your soul

~

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss

I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

The smell of smoke would hang around this long

'Cause I knew everything when I was young

~

Them getting so close leading up to Sozin’s Comet and then growing apart again after because of their respective duties

Mutual long distance reminiscing and pining over what could have been if they had met as emissaries of their nations in a peaceful world.

Zuko helping with the reconstruction effort and finding boomerang, Sokka building a fire and only being able to remember the warmth and smell of Zukos bending

They were both so young, so young, too young for the world to have been placed on their shoulders. They knew it was their responsibility, even now, they uphold their duties with straight backs and faces. They know, they know, they know it could never work, I mean- they never even confessed to each other.

But not even the brutality of war can stop children from dreaming.

Thinking about Sokka and Zuko loving each other but they both know that because of their responsibilities and positions they’d never be able to be together, so to protect each other it’s always just this unspoken thing, and they’re both often left wondering if it’s all in their head, and the other doesn’t feel the same way, then one day Zuko finally gives into the pressure and gets married to a woman of his advisors and the royal council’s choosing, and Sokka’s there because of course he’s there he’s always going to support his best friend. And he’s happy for him he really is, he’s so happy that Zuko’s happy, because Zuko is happy, right? All he want’s is for him to be happy, even if it’s not with him, which why would it be? It could never be with him. But as long as Zuko’s happy, he’s happy. Or at least that’s what he keeps telling himself.

mdzs headcanon of the day #332 !

lan qiren and wen ruohan are frenemies. they say they hate each other and then go to brunch together the next day

LXC a little sour to JC not because he dislikes the younger sect leader, some jiang sect disciple would probably shiv him for that, but because he's a tiny bit jealous, LQR occasionally compares LXC's ability to do paperwork/organize things/maintain discipline to JC's and frequently finds LXC lacking, especially in the paperwork department, and in the Lan sect at least it's an open secret that LQR wishes that JC was HIS nephew/son

A Small Selection Of Lan Qiren Comments That Lan Xichen Has Endured Over Years Of Doing Official Paperwork With Shufu:

- *apropos of nothing* I heard that Jiang Wanyin knows all the local farmers personally.

- Where are the source citation footnotes? … WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘the what, now?’?!?!?

- Did you see the way Sect Leader Jiang glared at his disciples when they started whispering during that last cultivation conference? They way they just... snapped to order? Immediately? And barely breathed for the remainder of the meeting?? *deep sigh*

- I must say, Jiang-zongzhu’s arrangement of this graph speaks to a highly methodical and logistically-gifted mind.

- You only referenced data from the last *three* years in this year’s annual report? Hm...  Nothing. NO, it’s FINE. I just agree with certain other parties that one can only truly get a comprehensive picture of long-range projections by utilizing statistics from at least the last decade…

I just think it would be really funny if Yu Ziyuan and Lan Qiren were friends. Obviously their personalities would clash but that is irrelevant, just think about the studying at CR arc

Wei Wuxian breaking a rule:

LQR: unacceptable, he will he hung, drawn, and quartered at noon 😠.

Jiang Cheng breaking a rule:

LQR: Oh? Jiang Cheng? Well I'm sure it was just an accident, no need to punish him too severely. In fact, bring him to me and I'll punish him myself. I'll also inform his mother during her weekly visit to discuss his progress with his studies.

Alternatively, I also think it would be really funny if Yu Ziyuan and Lan Qiren had beef.

Arriving at the CR

JC: My mother sends her regards and hopes you are well :)

LQR: Lying is forbidden.

noodlans

meow meows

A thought I had, (this isn't a fully thought out meta, just an impression of sorts.)

Something about Wei Wuxian's inherited vengeance.

Where did Wei Wuxian get that vengeance from? Mild-mannered Jiang Fengmian? Benevolent and kind Jiang Yanli? Cangse Sanren, who Wei Wuxian remembers saying something along the lines of remember the good things people do for you not the bad? Wei Changze?

The child of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze would've likely done something along the lines of protecting the common people and fighting for justice during the Sunshot campaign, but did Wei Wuxian do that?

No, I tell you truly, Wei Wuxian is also the child of Yu Ziyuan. Did they have anything resembling a healthy relationship? No. But the child of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze wouldn't slaughter thousands in unholy vengeance. Wouldn't extract oceans of blood for every drop stolen.

But the child of Yu Ziyuan would.

That isn't to say, he's only the child of Yu Ziyuan, no, we see glimpses of the influences of his other parental figures throughout the story.

Look at how he doesn't flinch from leaving the proverbial (paradise) mountain to save the wen remnants (CSSR), look at his compassion for the common people (Jiang Yanli); His sense of loyalty (Wei Changze), level headedness (Jiang Fengmian).

Something about how conscious he is of debt. Does that stem from his inherent preference of righteous action? His desire to do right? Yes. But I wouldn't discount his awareness of debt also coming from a quasi-maternal figure like Yu Ziyuan. Now there is a woman aware of debt, what she owes and what is owed to her.

Everyone is shaped by the adult figures in their life, and we inherit many things from them, such as traumas, perspectives and traits.

I posit Wei Wuxian is no different. But, just like Wei Wuxian, we aren't defined by our parental figures.

As I gaze at the structural column in Copley Station, cracked nearly in two and held together with zip ties that have been carefully painted over to match the column underneath, I feel my soul intertwined with that of a small Italian boy of days gone by, who also stopped to look up at a large, groaning, newly painted tank full of molasses

So yesterday my grandparents found a big box of old 78s that they’ve had in an attic for years, and wanted me to transfer them to CDs. Most were in pretty great shape, no cracks and few scratches. Lots of 1930s sweet/hot jazz, British big band & swing and a few Decca classical ones. This one had its label peeled/scratched off on the a side, on the reverse was a Parlophone march.

90% sure by playing it it’s unleashed some kind of 70 year old curse.

Endou Yuu versus the cosmic unknown 

When Zuko apologized to uncle Iroh in the tent cause he was so ashamed of his actions and what he’d done to the only person who unconditionally believed in his ability to do good >>>>>

Zuko gets adopted by [insert character here]

"I need to do this. Zuko, Z-zuzu you know, you understand. He will find this amusing. Father will give me more time." Her eyes were blown wide with fear, silent tears streaming down her checks. He remembers when she would come crying to him like this when they were children.

She had been tiny then, still whole, but oh so very strong. Head held high, she would wait until the servents cleared his rooms before collapsing into sobs. There had been precious little that could make her cry even then, and Father had started desensitizing them to death early. But Azula, so small, so young, hadn't taken well to the lessons, not yet.

Zuko's family was filled with monsters. He wasn't the exception. He had stared at her, with all the love an older sibling could give to a little sister, and broken her so Father couldn't, like he had done to him.

He remembers comforting her, fixing her crown and wiping her face, before taking her small hand into his and sneaking into the prison. He remembers bribing the guards at the end of every lesson with silk cloth, leather shoes, and embroidered bags of rice, and teaching her how to hurt humans so Father wouldn't have to.

His fingers curl on top of hers-so old, already fourteen and her hands are still so small-like they use to, giving her strength, guiding her blade. He leans forward, grunting a little as the blade slides all the way to the hilt, to whisper advise in her ear.

"Twist the blade until the edge faces up. A hole will be harder and more painful to heal then a tear."

Her breath hitches in the next inhale, but she does not sob like she use to. He feels so proud of her, of her strength and at her resolve when the pain in his abdomen flares white hot. Zuko stumbles, but he catches himself before he can fall on Azula because he refuses to let his little sister deal with more then what she has to before she needs to. He hates to break her even more at all but he needs to.

Father had broken him with his love, and raged and stomped on him when his sharp edges didn't poke out to hurt anyone but himself. Father had picked and prodded at him until his insides were glass sand, not big enough to break free but sharp enough to hurt with each step, to tear his lungs with each breath and scrap at his bones.

He couldn't have left Azula with Father. But he also couldn't leave her with Mother who picked up and dropped her glass children equally and without warning, disgusted by the shards they left behind. Or Uncle, who sanded down his edges for them, but who's shaving floated in the air to cut bite and sting nor their cousin who's molten glass center ran so hot that his sheer presence fixed him and unavailablity left a void so cold he broke all over again. He had broken her so Father wouldn't feel the need to, so Mother's love and indifference wouldn't leave her desperate to please and hurting, so Uncle's careless words wouldn't cut into her skin and bury into her heart, so she would keep herself at a distance with their cousin and not break at his very absence.

Azula, better then him at everything, had broken in a way to hurt others, she learned to fit the pieces of herself to walk without hurting, had lived under Father's approval without falling victim to it as he had. When Father had burned half of his face and cruelly given him hope in the form of an impossible task, he had chased even whispers of it, not to come back to his sister or people, nor had he after a twisted sense of loyalty to the Fire Lord but out of nessercery. He had needed to go back home to the fire and pain, where burns and words and exhaustion would melt the glass whole again and grant him rest until the next time Father had him shattered.

Blood slipped through his fingers and reached hers despite his best efforts. He hoped his glass wouldn't sting her too badly or for too long.

"Good," he praised. She had always needed praise when she got like this when they were little. She was still so small. "Now run the knife up and stop before the heart."

He refused to leave her without instruction, to leave her alone while she was still so frail. He had always imagined himself a quick death, earth on the battlefield, the jumping in front of the blade of an assassin, tasting poison and warning his family before he passed, but for her he would hold on as long as he could. He curls up as metal tears his insides, muffling his scream on her shoulder to try to give her more time. Briefly, he stares at the ceiling and its glowing green stalactites and wonders when he ended up on the ground.

Her face is there, lips parted in shock, eyes bright with unshed tears. She won't let them fall again but he thinks it might of been nice for someone to publicly mourn him. He figures it won't matter to him for much longer anyway.

Her hand, still on the knife, shakes so he musters up the strength to lift his to hold to hers, but he forgets to factor in gravity and his vision goes white when he accidently shifts the knife inside him. Her eyes are dead when he comes back to, and part of him is comforted by the fact that in their three years apart, this part of her still hasn't changed. But his time is running out and he needs to tell her how to sell this to Father.

"Tell him... tell him-" his throat is dry and he can't shallow but he needs to finish this. Azula, so smart, so old, so small, sees and leans to hear better. He hears the screams and booms of battle but they sound far away from their little bubble. He wonders why the Avartar and his teachers haven't yet left.

"Tell him what knife you used. He'll ... he'll find it funny if you tell ... Uncle." It would hurt him to learn that the knife he gifted him would be the thing to kill him but-

"It will be enough to excuse my lack of fire," her eyes widen as realization sets in.

Azula was p e r f e c t; Uncle had betrayed their country, he could suffer the consequences.

The edges of his vision darken. He needs to hurry.

"Do," he tastes blood in the back of his throat. It feels like shards. "Do what you need to . . . to survive." Lie, steal, kill. Kill Father or the Avatar.

"You were always better the second time." These words come out like a whisper but by the widening of her eyes he knows she heard, can tell she understands. He hates doing this to her but the sounds of fighting are getting closer. They're almost here now.

"Lala, you're perfect."

Her face blanks. Azula isn't perfect, not yet, but she will tear herself and anyone opposing her apart for the next hour trying to be. As long as she gets out of this alive he doesn't care. Ty Lee and Mai have always been able to put her back together.

She stands smoothly, taking the knife with her. He barely feels it.

Blue eyes and dark skin replace her. He doesn't know his name but he can see him panicking. He wonders why. Pain flares up as he applys pressure to his wound and he no longer cares. Water Tribe can go die.

The scene starts moving and pain flares up periodically. Azula screams words. He doesn't know what she said but he wants to stay. He claws at blues and trys to summon fire but his inner fire is just dying embers now. He gets pulled in tighter. He wonders if the blue will let him go if he pukes.

Suddenly there is wind and stars and he is oh so very cold. Water smothers the last of his inner flames and agonizingly knits him back together. It hurts less as it continues. Zuko knows it is not a good thing. Water can heal but it cannot replace blood. He will die and Azula will be safe because of it.

Faces surround him with worry but he doesn't want them. He wants the sister he raised, the uncle that tried, the girls who already mourned him once and shouldn't have to again. He don't want enemies and strangers. But he never gets what he wants. He used up all his luck being born.

He looks at the stars and trys to will the sunrise. He knows it will not come. Zuko had been born at night away from Agni' presence. He was probably destined to die away from it too. He still hopes for the warmth of His rays.

His breath shallows. He hears Lu Ten's voice humming a song loud and clear and his mind fills in the lyrics of a soilder coming home from war. In the distant he notices the warm laughter of his lady grandmother, the grumbling voice of his grand sire, the quacking of turtleducks and the overwhelming sent of fire lilies. He briefly wonder about the whereabouts of Mother.

The sounds get louder. Home.

Over the sky of Ba Sing Se, the sound of sobs get muffled into warm bodies as faces turn to hide away from the glare of the rising sun.

MORE PHOTS IN MUH REBLOG

Psst. Don't tell the jolkein rolkein rolkein estate, but this is amazing. DO consider buying a print from the extraordinary artist responsible:

https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/leiaham/

Original Twitter thread with the artist's thoughts and commentary:

MORE PHOTS IN MUH REBLOG

Psst. Don't tell the jolkein rolkein rolkein estate, but this is amazing. DO consider buying a print from the extraordinary artist responsible:

https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/leiaham/

Original Twitter thread with the artist's thoughts and commentary:

part two! ✌🏻

the sumeru concept of the academic family was criminally under explored. you’re telling me cyno and tighnari and collei consider themselves an academic family? kaveh and alhaitham got academically divorced and that’s basically the same thing as getting maritally divorced in sumeru? unreal.

lichtenberg scars

Drew this for the homies *kisses to the sky*

💀💜💚💍 P R O P E R L Y

(sangcheng bleach au: pt 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | twt thread )

…and when he actually courts him some other plot shit happens, they become busy again & the engagement lasts like,, 80 yrs before some auntie reminds them that the point of getting engaged is to get married actually  & they’re just like “oh yeah we were gonna do that yeah”

AU where the Nie clan has dragon blood in their lineage, and usually it just manifests as bad temper and a generally martial inclination. Except, once in a rare while, generations apart, an actual dragon will be born among them... (aka nobody really expected that NHS was the latest Nie dragon).

The Nie sect’s ancestors were butchers; that lowly heritage is well known and widely celebrated, much to the not-entirely-concealed disdain of some of the more refined, gentlemanly sects. Butchers at home and butchers at war – everyone knows that.

What’s rather less well known is that the third sect leader, colloquially known among his descendants as ‘that idiot’, rather heroically saved an imperial princess in battle and then – and this was why he was that idiot – married her. She was a proper princess, too, the true-born daughter of the emperor; other sects might see that as a good thing, since for all that cultivation sects saw themselves as being above petty things like the politics of the common folk, a princess was still a princess.

The Nie did not.

The reason for this was quite simple. What does a cultivation style that already incorporates an increased chance of death through anger most assuredly does not need?

The blood of the eight-clawed dragon, that’s what.

Arrogant, explosive, unruly –

It was a mess.

The sixth sect leader came up with the saber halls to honor his father and grandfather – most especially his grandfather, who’d had a bad tendency towards slit-pupiled eyes when he’d been especially enraged, and whose saber had absorbed every ounce of his ferocity – and the next few generations made a point of finding especially meek daughters or sons for their children to marry, and that was that; everyone hoped that that idiot’s mistake could be diluted out of existence.

It was, for the most part. 

But every few generations, imperial blood ran true, and not only in terms of majesty or arrogance, and then the entire sect had to close its doors to the outside world and pretend with all their might that no, of course there wasn’t a rampaging beast of an especially draconic variety raging behind the extremely sturdy walls of the Unclean Realm, what nonsense that would be.

Still, if Lao Nie had to wager on one of his children being a dragon, he probably would have put money on it being his firstborn: already far too tall for his age, a brilliant prodigy with his saber, and a temper that rivaled some of the older members of the clan.

Certainly not Huaisang.

The only time that child hadn’t been a disappointment was when he was a baby: he’d been remarkably lazy even back then, sleeping more hours of the day than he didn’t even past infancy, and what had been a relief to his nursemaids quickly turned to annoyance by everyone else. It was commonly believed that such a weak and unlively child was likely to grow up to be slow-witted and dull, and, worse, the doctors confirmed his muscle tone was underdeveloped; even with a great deal of practice, he would likely always be a bit behind those his own age.

As he grew older, his penchant of sleeping twenty hours out of every day got even more noticeable, and the family largely lost interest.

Well, most of them. His older brother, who’d quietly taken on the responsibility for caring for Huaisang when no one else in the family had had the time or, truthfully, the interest in the disappointing son of an especially fortunate (unfortunate?) family maid-turned-concubine, indulged him far too much, even carrying him from place to place.

“You’re not a mule, Mingjue,” Lao Nie scolded one day, reinforcing the lesson through swipes of the flat of his saber. “Have some dignity! If Huaisang wants to go places, he can damn well walk there himself!”

Nie Mingjue bowed his head, obedient and filial in every way except for the fact that he didn’t listen; if anything, it got even worse from that point on, the boy barely being seen anywhere without a napping toddler as an accoutrement.

“Did you hear what I said?” Lao Nie roared at him.

“I’m not a mule,” Nie Mingjue recited. “If he wants to go places, he can walk there himself.”

“If you heard me and persisted regardless, you’re undisciplined,” Lao Nie said, arms crossed.

“I accept whatever punishment is appropriate,” Nie Mingjue said, and that was most irritating of all: why would his otherwise perfect eldest son insisted on being beaten once a week when all he had to do was leave that useless lump behind in his rooms, where he’d be happier anyway? It wasn’t as though Nie Huaisang even wanted to be outside: sometimes it seemed he’d only learned to talk in order to complain about how uncomfortable he was, how hot, how sweaty – and he even had the gall to keep complaining even after his older brother fetched a fan for him, like a loyal dog.

Discipline was paramount in the Nie sect; to be undisciplined is to risk being monstrous, and with their cultivation style they could not tolerate such a thing. That was why their punishments were so strict, even if the rules were relatively sparse - more principle than rule, really. But on the other hand, their family had always been the sort that would rather break than bend: if Nie Mingjue wanted to pay for his willfulness by accepting punishments, he was entitled to do so.

Still – there was punishment, and there was wanton cruelty; at some point, one of the men in the punishment hall abandoned the former for the latter. He was a popular man, the son of another sect’s diplomat that had married a close cousin of the main family and stayed in Qinghe; for some reason he’d developed an intense dislike of Nie Mingjue – a dislike which was mutual, and likely to cause trouble in the future when Nie MIngjue became Sect Leader, but which currently put Nie MIngjue in a very bad position given the man’s status as his elder.

Lao Nie only learned about the whole matter much later, and when he did he was so spitting mad he grabbed his saber and would have spitted the man on it, cousin or no cousin, if he hadn’t been held back; but at the time he had no idea, busy as he was defending the borders of his lands against troubles caused by that ever-smiling bastard Wen Ruohan.

When he did hear about it, though, he was infuriated: his son and heir had been beaten three times the usual amount, a compilation of a thousand little offenses that could only technically be termed breaches of discipline, forced to complete several dozen of their most demanding exercises, and then made to kneel outside on the hottest day of the year; to no one’s surprise, he had eventually collapsed rather than yield and beg for mercy, his skin cracking and lips starting to bleed as his consciousness left him.

He was after all a Nie. 

Who knows how far that bastard might have gone, his eyes fixed on a prize he would never inherit with his outsider’s surname, if Nie Huaisang hadn’t been there, tucked away curled up underneath a shady tree and made to watch despite Nie Mingjue’s request that he be sent back to his rooms.

Those who were near enough to see – and Lao Nie had plans to punish the whole lot of them for not having interfered: what was the point of a clan motto that prioritized justice and suppression of evil no matter what the consequences if they would allow it to happen in their own damn home? – said that it didn’t happen at once, that there was a pause when Nie Mingjue’s body hit the ground; perhaps it was only that Nie Huaisang was slow to realized what was happening.

Perhaps it just took a while for the change to happen.

Either way, everyone agreed on what happened next: the unfurling of a serpentine body twice the length of a fully grown man, although only about as wide around as a goat, a red-eyed glare that was backed with teeth and claw, and a roar of challenge at anyone who even thought about pulling Nie Mingjue’s body away from the center of those coils.

Apparently Nie Huaisang had needed all that sleep because he was still growing. Who would have known?

It was the youngest full transformation they’d ever had in their clan by far. The boy hadn’t even reached the age of three!

“If he’s stopped sweating, he has heatstroke,” Lao Nie told his apparently not useless younger son, having been urgently summoned to the training field. “He needs to be taken inside at once; you’re only making things worse.”

Nie Huaisang bared his teeth at him, and Lao Nie bared his teeth right back.

He might not be a dragon, but his son’s blood had come from somewhere.

“I am your father,” he snarled. “You will listen to me and obey. You hear me? You will get off of him this instant. If he doesn’t get water soon, he will die.”

Lao Nie will never know if it was the demand for filial piety or the threat to Nie Mingjue’s life that got Nie Huaisang to comply – he suspected the latter – but Nie Huaisang gave in and backed off, allowing the clan’s medics to rush over and take Nie Mingjue away.

Lao Nie looked at the dragon, thinking to himself that the vastness of the underground caverns beneath the Unclean Realm weren’t for nothing: if this was what a two-year-old dragon looked like, he’d be a full-fledged calamity when full grown.

His saber itched in his palm at the thought, but he ignored it. The embarrassing yao-derived portion of their bloodline aside, the Nie sect set itself against evil, and Nie Huaisang was lazy, not evil.

“This is going to be trouble,” he finally said. “It can’t be allowed to get out.”

You can’t go out, he meant, but maybe Nie Huaisang in all his laziness wouldn’t mind being restricted to the Unclean Realm. Maybe, if they were lucky, they could teach him to like paintings and books instead, since he could never be allowed out to join a proper battlefield.

He’d be locked at home forever, unless the Sect Leader decided otherwise - and that meant Lao Nie would be the one responsible for it.

Ancestor or not, damn that idiot. 

In the end, Nie Huaisang didn’t respond to him at all, merely took to the air – flying must be inherent, since he didn’t seem especially bothered by what should be something brand new – and headed inwards, aiming towards…

His brother’s bedroom.

Not really a surprise, that.

A bit of a surprise that he could find it so quickly, though, from such an unfamiliar angle…

Lao Nie’s eye twitched.

If his stubborn older son had known about this, he was going to wish he’d died of heatstroke.

I love how they all know who he is. They’re just reacting to the drama of the moment.

So.

According to @demiace-wen-ning​‘s iconic post, every MXTX novel has:

A red/black, morally ambiguous, all-powerful bastard man

A fan wielder who is much more than meets the eye

And a fucking Jiang Cheng

Now we, as a collective fandom, have decided with our communal braincell that in SVSSS, the “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ character is Liu Qingge. And on the surface, this seems Right and Good:

HOWEVER! I posit that these aspects are only the most superficial and external aspects of the vast and multi-layered Dagwood sandwich that is fundamental “fucking Jiang Cheng”™yness. “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ has LAYERS. And for all that I love Liu Qingge, I love him in the same way I love the Sonic franchise’s Knuckles the Echidna:

This is emphatically NOT how I love Jiang Cheng. Furthermore, this is demonstrably NOT the sort of character that a fandom becomes viciously divisive about. This is the sort of character you either like or dislike and move on with your life because he is not deep and complex enough to Die On This Hill for defending. (This is a Feng Xin or Nie Mingjue sort of character.)

So what makes for a “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ character? What are the quintessential “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ characteristics that result in a complex and divisive character? I propose:

ambiguous/unexplained actions

refusal to explain motives

canon selfless actions missed or negatively interpreted

socially over-conscious while still socially detested

harsh and contemptuous outward behavior

honestly, naturally is an asshole, but holds back just enough to get away with it

hard-working but overshadowed by upstart prodigy

childhood trauma that fundamentally affected behavioral patterns

aggressively focused on their cultivation and consequent social status

secretly heartbroken about a perceived betrayal regarding the protagonist

yay, war crimes!

These attributes all describe Jiang Cheng. All but the last one describe Mu Qing, with the second-to-last applying in a way where HE is perceived as the betrayer. None of these attributes describe Liu Qingge. But you know who they DO describe in SVSSS?

Shen Jiu.

The ORIGINAL Shen Qingqiu.

An undeniable asshole who nevertheless gets punished for every good deed he ever did, who clawed and scraped his way to the top of the cultivation world and ensured he stayed there no matter how many bridges he had to burn or enemies he had to make along the way, who acts like a bitter tsundere to the person who matters most to him because said person broke their promise and never explained why, whose childhood was a never-ending parade of trauma and abuse that molded him into a harsh and suspicious individual, who (though we don’t find out until the extras) shows no sexual interest in anyone, whose own path to cultivation was so difficult and traumatic that they could not stop themselves from jealously lashing out at the heaven-blessed prodigy standing right next to them.

Shen Jiu is the TRUE “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ of SVSSS, and I cordially invite any haters to bring it on because this is My Hill and I am ready to fight for it.

Better late than never

ah…the timeless taste of gay chicken

Draco’s last day at daycare