When I Think Of Death, I Imagine A Quiet Darkness And The Warmth And Safety Of A Mother’s Womb. I Like

omg there was an elaborate promposal at my school yesterday 😂😂 i thought it was too much but it was sweet 💕💕#promposal https://www.instagram.com/p/BwCXD02nEox/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=5s1ny5uqu2wt

shang qinghua does not feel good about the fact that his son was thrown into the abyss. he doesn’t feel good about all the disciples who died in the invasion, or about the fact that he basically traded all their lives to spare his own. he doesn’t feel good about the fact that he could’ve killed his king years ago and chose not to, even knowing what it would mean he’d have to do.

and listen, he knows he’s not a good person. who could be, having done what he has? there’s a reason he’s lord of an ding peak, and it’s not just because the system said he had to be. shang qinghua is smart and smooth. and sure, some might call him sleazy or slimy or manipulative, but he prefers to call himself effective. he might play at being pathetic, but even that is a calculated decision. whatever needs doing, he gets it done. he is not a good person, but he is an efficient logistician, a shrewd businessman, a cunning spy.

he has rarely been dragged down by dumb shit like guilt. no, he doesn’t feel good about what he did, but the other option was feeling dead, and that’s really not on the table. it’s just—there are rumors. the widow of qing jing peak, they’ve started calling shen qingqiu. and like, that’s embarrassing as shit, yeah. he’s sure if shen qingqiu knew they were calling him that, he’d throw a fit. but also it’s—they’re not really wrong? wasting away as he is, losing himself kneeling at that sword mound, calling for his disciple like he’s haunted by the ghost of his presence. he is the picture of a widow ruined by grief.

shang qinghua doesn’t feel good about that either, especially after he learned that shen qingqiu is a fellow transmigrator. he knew, in an abstract sort of way, that people would die in the invasion and those people would have loved ones, and those loved ones would grieve them. people die all the time, and they are allegedly grieved by their loved ones. shang qinghua has never grieved a loved one. has he ever even had loved ones who he would truly grieve? did anyone grieve him when he died alone in his apartment like an idiot? did anyone even look for him before his corpse started to smell?

anyway.

he knew he’d be causing a lot of grief, is the point, but it’s different when it’s a hometown bro who’s grieving. even if that hometown bro refuses to acknowledge his grief for what it is. shen qingqiu is grieving. when he loses days at a time at that sword mound; when he flits about the world and avoids his peak for months; when he comes home and haunts the bamboo forests, a ghost of himself. all of it is grief, which shang qinghua is starting to believe he has never felt for anyone but his own sorry self.

shang qinghua is not a good person, has never let himself be dragged down by dumb shit like guilt. maybe what he feels for his hometown bro is pity. maybe that’s why, when he hears that shen qingqiu is nearing cang qiong again after months away, he decides to bring some snacks and wine and his pipe to the bamboo house. the disciples say their shizun hasn’t been eating, and shen qingqiu has been looking rather thin at the peak lord meetings he bothers to attend. so maybe it’s pity that has shang qinghua breaking into the bamboo house and cooking something light and simple, setting it out on the table along with the snacks and the wine, and curling up to read while he waits.

and then, when shen qingqiu steps into his house and calls for luo binghe, it’s pity that moves shang qinghua to greet him fast, so shen qingqiu doesn’t embarrass himself imagining that it was his disciple who cooked for him. it’s pity that has him convincing shen qingqiu to eat, that has him politely looking away when shen qingqiu quietly cries as he tastes the simple stir fry. pity keeps him from responding when shen qingqiu excuses his reaction, saying ‘it tastes just like binghe’s, is all.’ no, binghe’s cooking taste’s like airplane shooting toward the sky’s. where does shen qingqiu think luo binghe got it from, indirect though that inherited skill might be? luo binghe is still airplane’s son.

shang qinghua does not feel guilty for the invasion at the immortal alliance conference, but he does not feel good about it either. he does not feel good about the grief he’s caused, or the way it’s hollowed his hometown bro out into a ghost of himself. so whenever shen qingqiu returns to the sect, shang qinghua does his best to make sure there’s a meal waiting for him, and an afternoon of drinking and smoking and distracting him from the grief he refuses to acknowledge. shang qinghua doesn’t hover. he doesn’t imagine that he and shen qingqiu are now friends—if anything, it seems like shen qingqiu is politely humoring his presence. shang qinghua does not feel any better about himself because of these rare afternoons. he imagines, though, that he would feel worse about himself if they were to stop.

it’s about bitlife https://www.instagram.com/p/BtvrWPvnykc/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=dftyznf5hhrv

The body inhabitant is not gone!

(We always have a lof of SJ-SY or SJ/SY bodyshqring and honestly, we do not have enough

But im here today bc i was walking home today and my brain is too focused on sv and produces on an almost daily basis even when I don’t have the energy for writing 

ANYWAYS

Honestly i would love LBH and SY sharing a body, or Qijiu, or moshang, or LiuShen or B9, etc etc)

But what if:

The system made a mistake

And now SY is stuck in the rat of Cang Qiong’s body. Shang Qinghua.

The problem?

The body inhabitant is not gone.

The relief? 

It turns out its another transmigrator!

Then, where does Shen Yuan’s rage come from?

Well, this absolute hack of a writer is airplane shooting towards the sky, he has already pledged his (their now, wtf) loyalty to Mobei-jun, the demonic ruler of the northern kingdom. AND! HE DOES NOT WANT TO TAKE LUO BINGHE INTO AN DING!!!

This bastard doesn’t want to “expose” himself to the protagonist’s rage.

Excuse him?!?!?!?

Airplane will see!

No matter how much he protests, Shen Yuan will bring that tiny child to their peak and hug the heck out of his tights

SQH: cucumber-bro, do you really want to bring the protagonist himself into the overworked company atmosphere tgat is An Ding???

SY: well…at least it’s better than outright bullying and abuse on Qing Jing isn’t it?

Shen Yuan doesn’t care! He will snatch Luo Binghe for himself and save them all! Little faith from airplane or not!

tried 2 come up w a reasonable cumplane situationship scenario and this happened

wife-plot fireworks (SVSSS)

Cumplane, Shang Qinghua & Shen Yuan | Shen Qingqiu (vibes are there for both, readers choice). Canon universe.

It’s not like Airplane could be expected to remember everything he wrote about; he’s not Cucumber-bro who could simply flip through his rolodex of complaints for whatever plotline they stumble into. Writing isn’t an exact science, there’s too many scenes gutted for their edible flesh and the bones discarded onto his cluttered apartment floor for him to keep track of who, what, when, where. He’d been fucking starving, okay? Real singing-for-his-supper shit which is cute when he had been in his twenties, desperate when he hit thirty, and downright chronic when forty began to loom on the horizon. So all of the papapa scenes that got Cucumber-bro’s silken boxers in such a twist had been necessary after a point, the reasons thinner and thinner as he scraped his knife against his bread to make it stretch further. 

“Disgraceful,” Shen Qingqiu snaps, each syllable as crisp as the fan he wields with devastating accuracy at the back of Shang Qinghua’s head. He’s pulling his blows, a necessity given their current situation, and Shang Qinghua takes the next corner without slowing, planting his sword in the ground to give him the leverage needed. 

“Hey, bro! Not cool.” Shang Qinghua hefts Shen Qingqiu higher — fuck, there’s barely anything to him, inertia might be keeping him stable but it wasn’t doing anything to cushion the hips currently bruising Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, his collarbone — wobbles and keeps running. “Not my fault that you seem to be wife-plot catnip for every poor sucker you bat your eyelashes at.”

“I do not—” Another corner, another slide of Shen Qingqiu across Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, slight enough that if he keeps whining then Shang Qinghua is just going to tuck him under one arm to carry him. Out of the corner of his eye, Shen Qingqiu’s face is crimson, a flush covering his sharp features like a veil. “—bat my eyelashes!”

He does. Might be thinking it makes him look sophisticated or even mysterious, that lidded gaze from behind his fan, and it does. Sometimes. 

“You agreed to be a human sacrifice, Cucumber-bro.”

“Airplane-bro, it’s the wife-plot for 287, I’m sure of it.” 

Fuck, how many narrow alleyways did one small town need? In the distance, Shang Qinghua can still make out the mob condensing behind them, their shouts barely audible beneath the desperate pounding of his own heart. 

Shen Qingqiu continues, measured the same way he must have written his novels entirely in comment-format, rapid-fire and barely pausing for breath. “She was the daughter of a village chief and Binghe encountered her during a spring festival that was held every ten years, like everytime he turned up at some small village.”

“Cucumber-bro, it was what the readers wanted and festivals are fun and convenient.”

“Hack writer.”

“Who’s carrying your skinny wife-plot arse around.”

Shen Qingqiu scowls, palpable through the very air cooling several degrees. Shang Qinghua, his heart lodged in his throat, his lungs burning for air, reflexively turns to look for a portal, waits for a heavy hand on his shoulder. Shit, he meant to send a missive to his king over an hour ago. They round another corner, Shang Qinghua’s shoulder knocking into the building opposite, bruising but that’s a problem for later, and slide to a halt. 

A crowd stares back, dark eyes glittering beneath the flare of their torches, faces shadowed by the encroaching gloom.

Shen Qingqiu lowers himself to look beneath Shang Qinghua’s elbow, the ornament from his hair finally coming loose and landing with a gentle plink on the cobblestones. His hair falls freely with it, dark tresses brushing the ground.

“Give us back the maiden!” A voice shouts from the back, indignant, brash to match the flourish of a blade drawn.

“Time to run. Again!”

“Head for the outskirts,” Shen Qingqiu snaps, fumbling with the pouch at his waist as he drags himself back upright. It’s uncomfortable, a hand shoved between a press of bone against bone, a flare of energy that bursts behind Shang Qinghua’s eyes like a three-day-old headache. “If we can just set off the fireworks, then the festival will be over and they’ll stop chasing us.”

“Remind me how that’ll work? Your plan so far was to volunteer—” Shang Qinghua raises his voice to a near shout, slamming his words over Shen Qingqiu’s spluttered complaint. “—and then say ‘No time to explain. Just grab the fireworks and follow me.’ You got three steps away.”

“Without-A-Cure was your creation.”

“This entire place is my creation.” Shang Qinghua can’t let himself dwell too long on that fact because then he’d need to sit down somewhere dark and quiet and chew his knuckles until they bleed. The buildings are becoming sparser now, glimpses of the horizon visible in the spaces between them, but it doesn’t help the sinking sensation of eyes crawling over his skin, something small and fragile skittering out in the open while a predator circles overhead. 

Shouts echo behind him but he doesn’t slow, vaulting over a fence and sinking into the tangle of grass on the other side. He lands on his knees in a crouch, tipping himself sideways to let Shen Qingqiu down with a grunt of effort. He’s no longer moving so the panic begins to fizz in his belly, his eyes wide and staring out at the tiny pinpricks of light filtering between the buildings. “What now?”

“Wife 287 was scheduled to participate in the festival but Binghe’s cultivation prowess caused a reaction and the spirits were appeased early.”

Shang Qinghua chews his lower lip, pulling some of the grass free in front of him and twisting it around his fingers. Lights skim across his vision, the crowd still searching for them both, and he ties a knot into the grass, beginning to braid it. “So, fireworks?”

“Fireworks. If you could?” 

It’s kind of nice to just lie down and watch the fireworks rain overhead. Shen Qingqiu’s fingers twist into Shang Qinghua’s, squeezing tight before they relax.

I was playing Minecraft and my friend confessed she had a serial killer character in The Sims who would trap other sims inside walls.

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Something like this would be so colossally helpful. I'm sick and tired of trying to research specific clothing from any given culture and being met with either racist stereotypical costumes worn by yt people or ai generated garbage nonsense, and trying to be hyper specific with searches yields fuck all. Like I generally just cannot trust the legitimacy of most search results at this point. It's extremely frustrating. If there are good resources for this then they're buried deep under all the other bullshit, and idk where to start looking.

very sleep deprived but what if: "I dunno, I'm just saying--" sqh wiggles his eyebrows at him.

"stop saying. immediately." to punctuate his words, sqq goes for his true and tried technique: throwing a fan at sqh's forehead with deadly accuracy. it strikes true before the other could dodge and the other lets out a hiss of pain, but stops talking with a small whine of "bro--" and a pout.

a few minutes later, when sqh is still sending him shiny wide eyes and exaggeratedly rubbing at his forehead, sqq sighs. without thinking, he leans over to smack a giant wet kiss on the slightly reddened spot, pushing a bit of spiritual energy into it. he dismisses down the intense urge he has to bite and make it worse. the mark disappears.

"there, I healed it. fucking happy?"

"very happy, thank you very much"

sqh looks at him from underneath his eyelashes, a teasing smirk growing on his face at getting sqq to capitulate, and sqq rolls his eyes, bc sqh honestly could've and should've done it himself, what does he look like, a fucking healer?? he already has to deal with without a cure and sure the amount of energy needed to heal a small knock on the head was so minuscule that it wouldn't affect him even on a bad day, but like???

he's been giving in more and more these days but its not his fault that the airplane was so convincing when he started to act fucking pathetic and just made sqq feel bad for him a little.

(and okay, he likes how vicious, apathetic, hyper competent a-hua can sometimes just be so cute and needy--)

someone cleared their throat.

sqq instantly freezes. he carefully does not notice from the corner of his eyes how sqh has also gone rigid.

in eerie and stiff unison, they both turned their heads to face the rest of the room. the very full room. the very full room of other peak lords. the very full room of other peak lords because they were currently at the monthly peak lord meeting.

the very full room of other peak lords that were staring at him and sqh because they just witnessed him plant a kiss on sqh's forehead.

the silence stretched.

damnit, airplane.

Shen Qingqiu is kinda proficient at guqin now right? I dont remember how but muscle memory or something??

Do you think he could... recreate modern songs that he knows? 🤔