#filling systems

[mimefish]

nevermind everyone winner's symbolism cancelled. we cannot have another scar earth/mercury/comet situation again. I vote we all lay down our weapons and join hands in peace and accept that the one true symbol for Joel is the Car. wherever he goes whatever flavour of symbols you particularly enjoy. Car. Just Car. Because it would be really funny

[itscherryterry-again]

toss a coin 🪙

[stiltonbasket]

Shen Yuan should transmigrate as Qiu Haitang! He *could* break himself and SJ out of the horrible Qiu household, but Qiu Haitang showing up “early” only to kidnap SQQ’s littlest disciple would also be funny.

"Why are you here?" Shen Qingqiu asks flatly, as he leaves the bamboo house with Ming Fan in tow.

"I heard that you took on a new disciple," says the woman before him.

Qiu Haitang does not meet his eyes. She has not looked him in the eye for the better part of twenty years—not since that first murder on the road, when she came to bring him a basket of food and found Shen Qingqiu and Wu Yanzi with blood still dripping from their hands—but even so, her avoidance of him has never grown easier to bear.

"I did," Shen Qingqiu replies. "What of it?"

"I told you not to," Qiu Haitang says, her hands curling into fists. "That—Li Haoran was to be the last. You promised me."

"Ning Yingying wanted a shidi."

"I don't give a damn what Ning Yingying wanted," she says sharply. "You swore you would never take in another boy."

Silence.

"If I go into the house," Qiu Haitang continues, her voice deceptively calm, "tell me, Shen Jiu—what will I find?"

At this, Ming Fan steps forward and stretches out his hands in supplication. "Shiniang—"

"Be silent," she snaps. "Your shifu is a lost cause, and that can't be helped; but if Disciple Ming cannot learn from his mistakes, then you don't need to speak in front of me. Did you even think of coming to fetch me when you saw that he had picked up another little shidi to bully?"

With that, Qiu Haitang snorts and sweeps past him into the bamboo house, where Luo Binghe is still kneeling in the middle of the front room with tea trickling down his tearstained cheeks.

"There, don't cry," Shen Qingqiu hears her whisper. "You didn't do anything wrong. Can you look up so that jiejie can dry your face?"

"Shizun—shizun told me to kneel," the little wretch in the house replies, half-sobbing. "It's this lowly one's fault. I offended him, so of course this disciple should stay here and reflect."

"You didn't offend anyone," Qiu Haitang says gently. "He has a terrible temper, and he never learned how to control it. It's not your fault."

"But—!"

Qiu Haitang hushes Luo Binghe again, after which Shen Qingqiu hears nothing further: for at that moment, his wife seemed to have recalled the existence of the bamboo house's privacy wards—but later that evening, she returns to house with a sheaf of papers and flings them down on Shen Qingqiu's desk.

"Sign these," she tells him.

Shen Qingqiu glances at the first page in bemusement. "What are they?"

"Dissolution papers for Luo Binghe's discipleship. What else?" Qiu Haitang's lip curls. "From now on, I'll be his Shizun instead."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Did Yue Qingyuan give you these? He approved when I asked for that little beast, you know."

"He must have thought you'd wait at least a week before doing something to the child," Haitang says coldly. "I told him that he could either give Binghe to me or send him to Bai Zhan; and he was determined to save face for you, so he chose me."

And then, when Shen Qingqiu does not reply:

"Sign them, Shen Jiu. You don't want to know what I'll do to you otherwise."

At this, Shen Qingqiu picks up a brush and signs his name at the bottom of the dissolution form: for the last time he and Qiu Haitang fought in earnest, she fed him a cursed tonic that had him babbling in tongues before a hundred-odd dignitaries at Huan Hua.

"Thank you," she bites out: and with that, she turns on her heel and blows out of the bamboo house like a gust of chill wind.

Not for the first time, Shen Qingqiu finds himself wishing that he had left Qiu Haitang behind at the Qiu estate when he fled with Wu Yanzi. But her father and brother were dead, and she believed that she was betrothed to him; and when he saw her great brown eyes staring at him through the flames of her home, some power beyond Shen Qingqiu's own had prevented him from turning his back on her.

She was not meant to accept when I offered to take responsibility for her, he thinks dully, watching through the open window as his wife strides towards the women's compound on the other side of the mountain. She hated me then, and she hates me now—so what was it all for?

Shen Qingqiu has pondered upon that question night and day since he and Qiu Haitang first bowed to one another, not long after his instatement as Qing Jing's head disciple; and he is no nearer to the answer by the morning he is widowed, nearly a decade later.

What point was there in saving her? he wonders, as a grown Luo Binghe weeps in the streets of Hua Yue with Qiu Haitang's still body cradled to his breast. Would it not have been better for her to die after the first betrayal, rather than live to be betrayed twice?

"Why are you all just standing there?" he hears Ming Fan roar. "That's our Shiniang! What are you afraid of? At most, that white-eyed wolf she raised will just beat us all to death!"

"Leave it."

Ming Fan stares at Shen Qingqiu in dismay, his eyes so swollen with tears that he scarcely seems able to see through them. "What is Shizun saying? What do you mean, leave her? She's our only Shiniang—she's your wife!"

Shen Qingqiu gazes at the cooling corpse in Luo Binghe's arms for a little while longer; and then, at length, he turns away.

"Your Shiniang's end was of her own making, Ming Fan," Shen Qingqiu says, already starting towards the group of screeching cultivators trapped behind the wards at the other end of the street.

"Shen-furen has made her bed. Let her lie in it."

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

*peering down at my own genetic sequence* uh-huh uh-huh bold choice bold fucking choices my friend

[thebibliosphere]

I’ve lost the ask, but someone asked me if I’m still using the ADHD sticker method of rewarding productivity and how do I record bad days, given my health issues, and the answer to this is yes and like this:

August was a cunt ✌️

[sunderwight]

Trans man Shen Yuan who is just like, well I can't be transgender and gay, that's too much queer for one man, surely. Unrealistic.

[slipery-bastard]

Dont fuck with me. I have *counts on my fingers* 13 people in my head

[littlebreadrolls]

I went back and colored it properly. Also, I just discovered the joys of shading with the fill bucket and oh my God?? I'm unstoppable now, it's over for you bitches

[qwantzfeed]

oh i'm just laying down a tarp in the living room for - yeah, exactly, for board games night

[obsob]

one small step for. kitties

[stars-obsession-pit]

Hello! Can do a chapter fic off this fic prompt Danny phantom x dc: https://www.tumblr.com/corkinavoid/767516270934556672/dpxdc-legal-power?source=share

This isn’t a one-to-one recreation of that dialogue but it’s based on that as a framework/premise

Batman dropped down into the room behind a pair of figures—a teenage boy and a slumped adult—letting his landing create an audible thump to alert them of his presence.

If the teen noticed, he didn’t react. Even as Bruce approached, he continued to stare impassively at the wheezing figure on the ground, an old wooden bat with flaking green paint on its side loosely held in his right hand. Bruce had already suspected who the figure would be since he arrived, but seeing the Joker so broken was still bizarre. No laughing, no schemes. He didn’t even seem to be attempting to escape his binds, just… lying there, almost as if pinned in place.

Bruce paused a step behind the teen. “I don’t know what the Joker did to you, but this isn’t the right way to go about this.”

The teen scoffed, and Bruce felt a painful lurch in his chest as he was reminded oh so strongly of his son Jason. “And what, let him go kill more people?”

“I know he deserves to face justice, but not like this. Everyone deserves a right to fair trial. No one person should be judge, jury, and executioner.”

The teen turned to look at him with glowing green eyes, and Batman felt himself freeze. He had faced gods before, yet even using that as a comparison felt like an understatement. The boy’s eyes belonged to someone far older than his teenage form implied, and they radiated power. Inevitability.

When the teen—no, the entity—spoke again, his words carried an unearthly echo. “Perhaps, but I’m not acting for just myself.” He paused, glanced down at the Joker, then asked almost conversationally, “Do you know how many people he’s killed?”

Another pause, but before Bruce could even try to answer, the entity continued, “Eight hundred and fifty-six. He’s ended the lives of eight hundred and fifty-six human souls. I can tell you about every single one, if you want. About who they were, what their dreams were before he killed them. About the pain they felt at his hands.”

He punctuated the word ‘pain’ by raising up the wooden bat in his hands and ramming its end down onto the Joker’s arm. He let out a wheeze, muffled by the gag in his mouth.

“I have a duty to my people. I am the King of the In-Between and of all the souls that pass through it—even ones whose stays were as brief as his. I am the rightful arbiter of his fate. And with that power, I sentence him to death.”

He raised the bat again, adjusting his grip so he’d hit with the side rather than the end this time, then paused and let out a chuckle. “Of course, just because it’s based on some justice doesn’t mean I can’t have a bit of fun with it too.” He swung the bat down, slamming it into the Joker’s side, then hooked it under the clown’s torso and flicked him up through the air to slam into the wall. “We all really hate this guy.”

With the entity’s attention fully turned away from him as he sauntered towards the Joker’s slumped figure, Bruce could finally unfreeze himself.

Even if the Ghost King did have the right to pass judgement on Joker, Bruce still couldn’t let torture go on like this. He wouldn’t win a direct fight, but he could hopefully at least grab the Joker and bring him over to the police. Carefully, he reached for some of the smoke bombs and batarangs on his belt and readied his grapple. He’d have to do this very, very fast.

But before he could move, another figure entered the scene. Red Hood, emerging from the shadows on the far side of the room, an unexpected bit of a pep to his step.

“Nice to see someone else who gets that that bastard needs to die. But if I may make a suggestion, how ‘bout you use a crowbar instead of that old bat? It’d be a bit more… fitting.”

[deadbaguette]

Lost in the cosmos makes me very sad but I love Brian very much so have a small doodle

[stiltonbasket]

What is your flavor of "accidental sugar daddy SY"?

ao3 link

When Shen Yuan first transmigrated into the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way some thirty years earlier, he knew nothing about the strange universe he had landed in.

He had heard about the novel before, albeit in no great detail. Shen Yuan watched it climb to the top of Zhongdian’s ranking page while he was busy catching up on A Chronicle of Primordial Wars: but he never bothered to read it, or join the fan forums—a decision he regretted immensely when he opened his eyes, a newborn again, and found the System’s welcome screen flashing over his head.

What was the premise of the plot? Where in the timeline was he? What was the main character’s name? What was his name?

Who knew? Not Shen Yuan! He could guess that the novel’s protagonist was some kind of demon, given the title: but in spite of his pleas to learn more about the story, the System was completely uninterested in enlightening him. According to his task list, Shen Yuan’s only mission—if it could be called a mission—was to educate himself about the world: and after it was assigned to him, the System disappeared.

It wasn’t a bad transmigration experience, so far as such things went. Shen Yuan was reborn as the only son of a wealthy merchant family with few members, and consequently more lands and money than it knew what to do with. He was indulged in all ways; his parents bought him every bestiary and cultivation manual they could get their hands on, and then hired a cultivation tutor after a passing daoshi examined him and exclaimed at Shen Yuan’s cultivation potential. His parents would not allow him to seek admission at one of the four great sects, since they had no second son to take over their jewelry business; but they did not object to him learning how to cultivate at home.

Shen Yuan’s life was as close to perfect as could be, until his parents were killed in a bandit raid two months before his eighteenth birthday.

The less said of that year the better, he thought.

When the funeral was over, Shen Yuan left the Shen estate in the hands of his father’s steward and spent the next months wandering the countryside as a rogue cultivator. After all, there was nothing left for him at the manor: and since that was the case, he might as well make himself useful elsewhere.

On the first anniversary of his parents’ deaths, he stumbled on a group of slavers hunting in the streets of Jinlan: and in that moment, Shen Yuan decided that he had found his life’s purpose.

The Shen-fu was far too grand for a household of one, anyway.

___

“A sponsorship for orphaned cultivators?”

Shen Yuan takes a sip of tea and eyes the Cang Qiong cultivator before him with some interest. 

In the years since he dissolved the slavers’ gang in Jinlan, the Shen-fu has transformed from a tasteful merchant’s estate to a crowded academy for cultivation hopefuls and children from all corners of the country—most of whom had been slaves or street-children, like the first band of ducklings Shen Yuan brought back to the manor when he was eighteen. Others came to stay at the Shen-fu because they were orphaned, or because their families could not afford to educate them; but whatever their origins, Shen Yuan’s pupils are well-loved and well-tended, and attend to their studies with such diligence that the great sects would be lucky to have any one of them. 

Shen Yuan himself has become a figure of some renown, by virtue of having taught several young disciples who distinguished themselves at Cang Qiong and Zhao Hua: and as a result of his success with his eldest students, the Shen-fu is among the estates being courted by the spokesmen of An Ding Peak’s new patronage program.

“Peak Lord Shang said you would be interested, Shen-daye,” his guest says earnestly. “In theory, cultivation sects provide for their disciples regardless of background, and reliance on family wealth is strongly discouraged—but in truth, it is difficult for disciples without family to find a place among their shixiongdi. Well-to-do households send money to pay for better materials and trips into town; and even if the children are willing to share treats among themselves, things often become awkward when the poorer disciples have nothing to give in return.

“And of course there are visiting days, when disciples without kin must remain at the sect while their classmates go to see their parents. Put together, all this can be hard to bear.”

“Say no more. This master understands,” Shen Yuan sighs. “Children without protectors are easy to bully. Such things rarely happen at my estate, for nearly all of my charges are poor, but at a great sect like Cang Qiong…”

The cultivator nods. “Exactly.”

Shen Yuan leans forward and replenishes the man’s cup of tea. “What would my part in this venture be, then?”

“That would depend on Shen-daye. Some of the patrons will send a fixed sum of money a few times a year, and others prefer to send supplies and invitations to dine on New Year—but it is possible for the patron and disciple to become adopted kin, of a kind. The disciple would receive coin and gifts and such; but they would also have a have a place at the patron’s home thereafter, and be considered the patron’s ward until one party wishes to end the agreement.”

Shen Yuan thinks for a moment.

“It would be no hardship for me to take the last option,” he says at length. “My estate is large, and the family business is doing well. Another child would hardly be a burden.”

“That is—most good of you,” the cultivator says, startled. “Shall we give you time to make arrangements, or…?”

“No need. I will set up a room by the next visiting day; but for now, I’ll give you a package to take back with you.”

“This one understands. Would Shen-daye like to see the list of children, so that he might choose which one to support?”

“I suppose I might as well.”

The cultivator reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a bamboo scroll. 

“Here,” he says, handing it to Shen Yuan. “It lists the disciples’ ages and the peak they belong to, as well as the name of the shifu above them.”

Shen Yuan unrolls the scroll and runs a finger down the first column of names. Most of the disciples listed on the right side of the scroll are girls under Peak Lord Shang or Xian Shu’s Qi Qingqi, with some apprenticed to Mu-fengzhu of Qian Cao or to one of two senior cultivators on Bai Zhan; and the boys are listed on the left, with a greater number coming from Ku Xing and Mo Shou. 

However, none of Shen Qingqiu’s former disciples appear on the list in spite of being orphaned—though this only surprises him for a moment, for he soon recalls that he asked them to name him as their next of kin upon arriving at Cang Qiong.

As he continues reading down the list of names, Shen Yuan realizes that two peaks are notably absent: Qiong Ding, which did not put forth a single name; and Qing Jing, whose title precedes the lone name of Luo Binghe, a fourteen-year-old boy studying under Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Yuan’s stomach twists in sympathy. Even he has heard of Shen Qingqiu: for the chief strategist of Cang Qiong Mountain is far better-known for his fondness for cruelty than his achievements as a tactician, and if this poor child is apprenticed to him…

“I’ve decided,” he says aloud. “You may put my name down under Luo Binghe, of Qing Jing Peak.”

His guest nods and makes a note on one of his papers. “And how would Shen-daye like to support him?”

“I’ll send packages once a month with letters to accompany them, unless—ah. Is once a month too often?”

“It is more often than most disciples usually hear from their parents,” the cultivator ventures. “But Shen-daye may write as often as he pleases.”

“That’s good, then. Let Disciple Luo know that he can write to me in turn,” Shen Yuan says, “and as far as visitation goes—tell him that he will be welcome at the Shen-fu for as long as I am the master of it.”

After this exchange, Shen Yuan is presented with a sheaf of papers to sign, all stamped with the seal of An Ding peak; and then he summons one of the servants and orders luncheon for his guest.

“If Daozhang would wait for a little while,” he entreats, rising from his chair, “this master must collect the things for the parcel and write a letter explaining matters to Disciple Luo. I should be finished by the time daozhang has eaten.”

He rustles out of the room without waiting for a reply, leaving two little manservants—the chief housekeeper’s twin sons, who do chores about the house after lessons in exchange for pocket money—to wait on Daozhang Wu.

“Now for the storeroom,” Shen Yuan sighs to himself, rubbing at his temples. “I hope I’ll find something to fit him.”

This is a question of some concern, for the Shen-fu has not hosted a male disciple above thirteen in the last decade. Knowing children as Shen Yuan does now, all that can be certain of any boy of fourteen is that he must be growing like a weed; and with that thought in mind, he makes his way to the storage compound and asks for a few boys’ clothes in the largest size.

“These might not be large enough. The boy is nearly grown,” the steward says doubtfully, as Shen Yuan examines a set of sturdy day robes. “Wang Yufan was the tallest boy we ever had, and he left the manor when he was twelve.”

“You’re right,” sighs Shen Yuan. “For now, fetch the longest robes we have. I’ll pack a few of my own in case the disciples’ clothes don’t fit him.”

But there will be money, too. Not a great deal, but more than enough to buy a few sets of robes from a tailor near Cang Qiong; so Shen Yuan gathers a box of thick-sewn clothes from the storeroom before adding a selection of never-worn garments from his own wardrobe. He takes the box to the hall of spiritual tools next, and then to the kitchen: and when the box is full, he writes a letter to his new charge and seals it before returning to the receiving room.

“Thanking daozhang for his patience,” he says, somewhat flustered. “The package took longer to assemble than this master expected.”

“No matter,” Wu-daozhang replies. He is sitting in Shen Yuan’s best armchair with the housekeeper’s boys on either side of him; for the three of them are half-way through a game of weiqi, which Wu-daozhang appears to be losing on purpose.

Shen Yuan’s mouth twitches. “Wu-daozhang has been well tended to in my absence, it seems.”

“Well-tended indeed,” his guest says, laughing. “From what this one has seen so far, Shen-daye, your disciples are a great credit to you.”

He frees himself from the chair with some difficulty, since Hua Ruoman’s sons are clinging to his coat and pleading with him not to go; but Shen Yuan chivvies the boys down the hall to their qin lesson before handing over Luo Binghe’s care package.

“Remind Disciple Luo that this master is awaiting his reply,” he says anxiously, as Wu-daozhang prepares to depart from the gates of the Shen-fu. “There are clothes in the parcel, but I did not know his size—so if they do not fit him, he should write back with a set of measurements or take some of the money I sent to change the clothes for better ones. And tell him that he should open the box as soon as he can; I packed some food in a reinforced shihe, and it should keep for the next fortnight—but the snacks will taste best if he eats them right away.”

A bewildered look comes over Wu-daozhang’s face. “Shen-daye—”

“He might try to ration the snacks, since most cultivation sects serve only simple food,” Shen Yuan entreats, wringing his hands. “Tell him that he must not worry about saving them. If he wants more, he need only ask, and this master will send another package. Children need treats now and then to help them concentrate on their studies.”

“Ah, Shen-daye, that isn’t really…”

“And the books—! I should have mentioned it in the letter. Listen, daozhang—this teacher has a tab for former students at the bookseller nearest Cang Qiong; so if Disciple Luo requires any texts for his own use, he should go down the mountain and buy what he wants. Ku Xing’s Wang Yufan can show him how. And—”

“Surely all this must be enough for the first month,” Wu-daozhang protests, backing away. “Thank you very much for your kindness, Shen-daye; but now this one really must be off, or I will be late back to An Ding.”

And then—without another word—he jumps onto his sword and flies off.

Presently, a small hand tugs at Shen Yuan’s sleeve.

“What was all that about, shifu?” says a little voice at his elbow. “What did that daozhang want?”

Shen Yuan stoops and lifts Hua Yun into his arms. “He was bringing a new shixiong for you and Cao’er,” he smiles. “He is to be this teacher’s ward; and if all goes well, we might get to meet him sometime in the next year.”

“A new shixiong?” Hua Cao squeals. 

“En, just like your Yufan-shixiong and the rest of the big brothers.”

“What’s his name?”

“He is called Luo Binghe, and he is a disciple at Cang Qiong Mountain—where Yufan and your Feng’er-jie are studying, remember? When he comes to visit us, you and Yun’er must call him Luo-shixiong.”

With that, Shen Yuan closes the gate and takes the children’s hands; and as they walk back to the house, he realizes that he seems to have heard the name Luo Binghe somewhere before.

___

Dated: Taoyue 8

To Disciple Luo Binghe of Qing Jing Peak; Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, care of Wu Shaojiang

Luo-gongzi,

I do not know if your shixiongs and shishu on An Ding have explained matters to you; but in case they have not, this master is the patron assigned to you through An Ding Peak’s sponsorship scheme. I am called Shen Yuan, and am a cultivator nearly one-and-thirty years of age. I am writing from Shuizhai, a little country town on the western outskirts of Luoyang, where I run a cultivation academy for children between the ages of three and thirteen. Five of my former disciples are your shixiongjie at Cang Qiong, and Binghe should seek them out if he is ever in need. (I have written their names and peaks on the back of this page, so you will know whom to look for.)

The courier who offered me the chance to become your sponsor is waiting in the hall, so I will keep this letter brief. From now on, you are to have full rights as a member of the Shen estate; you may visit whenever you like, as my grown disciples do, and there will always be a place for you under my roof. This master will send you packages every now and then, as I do for your elder disciple-siblings; but since I do not know your tastes, I fear that Binghe will find this first parcel somewhat lacking. I put in a few clothes, since I know how quickly you disciples go through them, and a little coin so that you can buy replacements if the garments I sent do not fit. There is also a meal-box, and a few tools you may find useful in the absence of a good spiritual sword (which, if I am correct, you will not receive until your third or fourth year of study).  Lastly, I packed a couple of books for Binghe to keep: though these will likely be no great help to you, since I hear your Qing Jing is home to the finest library at Cang Qiong.

If anything is unsatisfactory, Binghe should tell this master so at once; but either way, you must write back with a proper introduction, so that your new shidimei and I can become acquainted with you. You see, there are more than forty of them, some nearly as old as you and some barely bigger than babies in arms; and once the children hear that they have another shixiong, they will not let this old teacher rest until I can tell them something about you!

Yours,

Shen Yuan.

[amalgamasreal]

Different names for Medicade by State

So with the horrendous bill getting passed today aimed squarely at Medicade, I want to take a moment to list out all of the states that have an alternate name for it, cause I have this feeling that a lot of people who for some odd reason hate Medicade don't realize that their state provided healthcare is in fact just Medicade in a themed costume.

So here we go:

Alaska DenaliCare Arizona Arizona Health Care Cost Containment System (AHCCCS) Arkansas Health Care California Medi-Cal Colorado Health First Colorado ConnecticutHuskyHealth, Husky C (for aged, blind or disabled persons) Delaware Diamond State Health Plan (Plus) FloridaStatewide Medicaid Managed Care Program (SMMC), Managed Medical Assistance (MMA) Program, Long-term Care (LTC) Program Hawaii MedQuest Illinois Medical Assistance Program Indiana Hoosier Healthwise, Hoosier Care Connect, M.E.D. Works, Health Indiana Plan (HIP), Traditional Medicaid Iowa IA Health Link Kansas KanCare Medical Assistance Program

Louisiana Bayou Health, Healthy Louisiana Maine MaineCare Maryland Medical Assistance Massachusetts MassHealth Michigan Medical Assistance or MA Minnesota Medical Assistance (MA), MinnesotaCare Mississippi Mississippi Coordinated Access Network (MississippiCAN) Missouri MO HealthNet Nebraska ACCESSNebraska, Nebraska Medical Assistance Program (NMAP) New Hampshire NH Medicaid, Medical Assistance New Jersey NJ FamilyCare New Mexico Centennial Care, Medical Assistance North Carolina Division of Health Benefits (DHB) Oklahoma SoonerCare Oregon Oregon Health Plan (OHP) Pennsylvania Medical Assistance (MA) Rhode Island RI Medical Assistance Program South Carolina Healthy Connections

Tennessee TennCare Texas STAR+PLUS

Vermont Green Mountain Care Virginia Cardinal Care Washington Apple Health Washington D.C. Healthy Families

Wisconsin Forward Health, BadgerCare Wyoming Equality Care

So, yeah. If you live in any of these states and are on one of these programs, the bill that was signed today (July 3rd, 2025) is going to be pulling BILLIONS with a B out of your health insurance providers pocket; you may in fact find that they drop you entirely because they are going to be forced to triage their subscribers.

If you live in any of these states and are on one of these programs I would strongly recommend getting any surgeries, medical procedures, exams, or preventative care while you can.

For now at least ER's will still be forced to provide care in any emergent situation, but if you were for some reason holding off on getting a surgery for the time being you're going to soon not be able to do so till potentially it's too late.

This is a dark day in the United States, and as someone who has older relatives that are dependent on two of these programs I may within the next 3 years see them essentially murdered by the people they elected. Awesome.

[astrologysaysno]

I have a random thought to pitch to you all the idea of Airplane SQH acting as SJ's lawyer in PIDW.

(Confession: I have not read SVSSS, so I have no real clue on how the trials happened, but just hear me out)

Shen Jiu stands on trial at Huan Hua Palace, charged with the grievous crime of the murder of Qiu Haitang's family, the death of Liu Qingge, and the mistreatment of Luo Binghe.

For the sake of propriety, SJ is assigned someone to defend him in the trial as his defence. The people clamour, Qiu Haitang and Liu Mingyan especially, arguing that he does not deserve someone to aid his defense, but Yue Qingyuan does not relent.

He assigns Shang Qinghua as the lead, a compromise to quell the rabble of protesters.

Shang Qinghua presents as clumsy, disorganised, and tongue tied. A barely qualified Peak Lord who looks as if an ant on his shoulder would give him enough of a scare to induce cardiac arrest. They believe Shen Jiu is guaranteed to be found guilty on all accounts when YQY picks him.

But Yue Qingyuan knows his shidi and knows just how capable he is. He has witnessed him weave through social dilemmas and negotiate with merchants, each time coming out on top with diplomats willing to do anything and traders selling even at a loss. He has made this sect richer and more influential than he has ever had in years.

So Yue Qingyuan is confident that Shang Qinghua can pull this off.

The day of the trial comes, and like the sound of the first horn at the front lines, it commences.

Shang Qinghua and the prosecutors spend hours on each and every charge, with Qinghua breaking down each argument and exposing the cracks to them.

He pulls out witnesses that Shen Jiu thought he would never see.

Former slaves of the Qiu family who attest to the horrific crimes of what Qiu Jianluo did, of the abuse Shen Jiu was put under, even forcing the sect leader himself to explain their history and air everything out.

He prods at Liu Mingyan's accusations, revealing the hearsay and conjecture of her story. His accusations of lecherous acts are dismantled as he brings the head of the Warm Red Pavillion and other workers to testify in favour of him.

With Luo Binghe, it is Shang Qinghua's most difficult test yet. How can one justify the hate that was perpetuated by Shen Jiu, the endless suffering caused by him to Luo Binghe?

He cannot, what he can do is create a sense of empathy towards Shen Jiu, building an argument of constant sequential trauma which had molded him to become this jaded, cynical individual caught in the cycle of abuse.

He appeals to the remains of Luo Binghe's humanity for mercy, and to the crowd of Luo Binghe's instability caused by Xin Mo. Weaving both together the case of Luo Binghe being too manic and unstable to properly pass judgement, that what Luo Binghe really wanted was justification for all the hurt brought down upon him.

Shen Jiu is still given punishment for his mistreatment of Luo Binghe, but the air feels as if it has shifted, changed into something he doesn't know what to do.

[blue-mood-blue]

I have been thinking about the blackening (as one does)…

…and it’s so interesting to me, the penalty Shen Qingqiu is faced with should he not decide to yeet his disciple into hell.

Account termination. Instant death. Sent directly home to his already-long-dead body, and that’s it for the villain of the piece who outright refuses his villainy. The protagonist needs a blackening for the story to continue, and Shen Qingqiu is going to provide it or get written out of the narrative. Either way, Luo Binghe is going to lose him. Either way, this is a turning point.

I wouldn’t claim that this is the intent of the penalty, but it fascinates me that the System has, potentially, backed the plotline into a corner - because Binghe still stands to be blackened even if Shen Qingqiu took the other choice.

Think about what that would look like, to him. He’s at the Immortal Alliance Conference, and everything is going wrong. He’s been outed as a demon, and not just a demon - the top tier of demon, as bad as it gets from the perspective of a righteous cultivator. His beloved teacher, the person who has been kindest to him and opened his home and heart to him, is standing there with his sword in hand, deciding what he’s going to do about what must look, to him, like a horrific betrayal. Binghe is apologizing. Binghe is begging for his life.

Shen Qingqiu hears him. Maybe it shows on his face, or in his voice, that he already knew; maybe there’s no hint at all, but Shen Qingqiu is suddenly talking quickly with an abrupt sense of urgency that Luo Binghe is having a hard time keeping up with. Telling him he’ll be wonderful - telling him he’s the best. Telling him the world will be his, with emotions cracking through that aloof mask that Binghe has never seen on Shizun’s face before, and it’s terrifying for reasons that Binghe cannot identify.

(He will, later. When he has time to think, he’ll realize it sounded like a goodbye.)

And then Shen Qingqiu is bleeding. And then Shen Qingqiu is on the ground. And then Shen Qingqiu is dead. There’s no countdown for Binghe - there’s no System, there’s no warning, there’s no answers.

Luo Binghe is a heavenly demon in the middle of a conference sabotaged by demons. Luo Binghe is alone. His fellow competing disciples are scattered, some dead or injured. The Peak Lord of Qing Jing Peak, the second in command of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, maybe the only person he loved and who loved him back, is dead at his feet. No one will believe him if he says it isn’t his fault.

(He can’t believe it isn’t his fault.)

What choice does he have but to run? The last heavenly demon the cultivation world went up against has been sealed under a mountain for years, and one of the people responsible for that is probably looking for Shen Qingqiu already. They’ll be looking for him, too. There isn’t anywhere to hide; there isn’t any time to mourn.

There isn’t even enough time to ask why. Why again.

There is no closure waiting for him, because there is nothing to explain what happened. It just is.

It would be a different kind of blackening, certainly - less intense, probably, less of a warping, desperate thing. But how many times can one person have all the love and safety in their world torn out from under them before it starts to show? Before they just don’t allow things like love and safety to touch them, because that’s the better option?

Interesting to consider that, simply by offering the choices it did, the System rigged the story to guarantee that Luo Binghe would end up in hell (deliberate or not).

Interesting to consider that, even if Shen Qingqiu made what might have seemed like a kinder choice, there was every chance it wouldn’t have been.