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torchstelechos · 1 year

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I do think its really important to remember that SY was suppose to be the villain character but its only because of his kindness and newly gained life that he didn’t end as one. In the very beginning of the story we learn that Peerless Cucumber Bro often left comments on how SJ didn’t get his dues and needed to be punished more, and only after he transmigrated did he acknowledge how awful of a death SJ had. He also made point to explain that he only read the book for LBH, which he noted to enjoy his decisive actions and deft ability to kill. Markedly, he liked his brutality and personality over the erotica that the majority of PIDW fans enjoyed. Peerless Cucumber Bro is someone who loves action and the ability to cut right to the chase, something that he does not do and most likely has difficulty with in his world.

Speaking of, it is something to note that Peerless Cucumber bro is rich. He had head chefs, he could pay for a 6k+ chapter book of erotica in 20 days, he noted that he could not understand SJs envy and ambition for power since he lives well, and he even noted to himself that his family was well off. He is incredibly wealthy, and it shows. Which is important to note because he, not once, showed any guilt or remorse on dying and leaving his family behind. Yes, he sometimes refers to people as being similar to his family but he never showed any pain for losing that life like he did when he lost LBH. This is important because I genuinely think SY was depressed and self destructive to himself, which goes against popular HC that he was chronically/terminally ill (I do like this HC and like how its portrayed in fanfiction). It would explain how he ended up dying all alone by himself, and how blase he was to his own life and death.

SQQ is a self destructive force who ended up dying three times, and didn’t feel anything about death itself. He was worried about others and the effect it had on them, but for himself it was up and on again like it never happened. He does not care for his health, had self isolated as SY to the point he died alone, and has a horrible self esteem to the point that he continuously agrees when other people put him down and often calls himself the villain. Even though we have seen the evidence of someone who is always being thrust into new situations and awful plots, he calls himself lazy and easy going. He hides his thoughts and feelings behind his fan and has a remarkably thin face. At the very base of his actions and his thoughts, he is self destructive, powerful, and smart. This is the set up for a villain.

However, when shown the actual people in front of him and forced to act as SJ did towards LBH and his disciples, he flinches from it. He notes that it happening in front of him was different. His entire self soothing comedy monologue went quiet when he had to enforce the Endless Abyss scene, and grieved for the childish innocence he killed from one of his favourite people. SY was set up to be the villain and obviously thinks of himself as one, but can not act as one. If he had the choice LBH would have been his sticky sweet white lotus disciple for as long as LBH wished to be.

His kindness, as seen in the book, is what turned him from being “the scumbag villain” to the protagonist we see in the novels. Which, yes, he is a protagonist! He even has the protag halo that LBH has and its very funny in the meta way for SQQ not to realize this, but thats for another post. But he loves his disciples, he loves his peak lord siblings, he loves his Binghe, he loves his new life, and he is kind. That is what kept him from being the villain he sees himself as, his kindness and love for others. Whether that be romantic, platonic, or familial, he loves the people he has met and he treats them kindly. That is why it is important to remember that he was set up as the villain by everything in the story we do not see, but what we do see is him continuously changing the story to fit a new genre that lets as many people as he can save live. Sorry sorry, I just think about SY being set up as a villain so much. It changes a lot of views I have on the series when I remember the duality of SYs story and character development.

#SVSSS #scumbag self saving system #Shen Yuan #shen jiu #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #Meta #I think?? Haha I dont usually do metas but I dont know how to write fanfic for this series #so Im just writing down my thoughts on the characters #Like how if we see this from the PIDW characters POV SY is truly a villain #Its just something that makes me laugh because he is a villain just as much as he isnt!#what a wonderful complex character to write for. This type of story.#I wonder if Peerless Cucumber Bro would forgive me for writing meta about him?? I think he would be kind of happy but utterly disgusted #ew fans that actually think im complex even though Im a really simple person with no hidden motives -SQQ probably #I love this fucking idiot so much I relate to him on a spirtual level and think he was probably depress to the point of having A Plan.#if you know what I mean #because I still think him reading PIDW entirely in 20 days marks a special occasion for something and if its not for the final chapter...#Anyway #I love this stupid sweet potato of a character #Oh! New tag!#Sweet Potato SQQ #for archiving puproses on meta for him #Probably not good meta I didnt even add quotes or page numbers Im just talking out my ass from what I remember #Watch me write an essay on this lmao

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mediumgayitalian · 3 months

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The message comes from the constantly-running humidifier in the darkest corner of his cabin.

(It’s an eyesore. That’s why it’s there. It’s a bright, shiny pink, decorated with painted yellow suns and silver stars and random other doodles. At the bottom, there’s a messily painted signature next to a black heart. Will presented it to him proudly one random day, beaming that stupidly wide grin of his: “I made it in Arts and Crafts! It’ll help with your lungs, swearsies.”)

(It works wonders. When he breathes and feels like the air won’t settle in his chest, he stands close to it and clears up. When he’s hacking up a lung and smelling the phantom scent of acrid, monster air and the bronze staleness of his own recycled breath, it clears his throat. When he wakes up hyperventilating, eyes wide and unseeing, the soft bubbling of the steaming water and rhythmic pulsing of the glowing light gives him something to focus on.)

(If anyone asks, Nico threw it out the day he got it.)

He startles when his name is called, dropping the breastplate he was polishing with a clang. The sound makes him wince, and the Iris message flicker.

“This a good time, kiddo?”

Nico’s tongue feels like lead. Sally Jackson watches him carefully from the projection, small smile on her face, greying hair curling around her temples. Her brown eyes remind him of Bianca and how she would sometimes look at him, when he was fidgety and overwhelmed. Patient. It doesn’t help with the ache slowly spreading from his chest.

“Hi, Mrs. Jackson,” he manages, finally. His voice is more of a croak than anything.

Her smile widens, even as her face turns chastising.

“Sally, Nico.”

“…Mrs. Sally.”

She laughs, although Nico hadn’t meant it as a joke. Her laughter is twinkling and calming, like the rustling of leaves in a summer breeze. Nico’s shoulders relax without him realising, and a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll take what I can get, I suppose. How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in too long.”

Nico winces. The last time he’d seen her was an Iris message similar to this, only her eyes had been red-rimmed, and she hadn’t been smiling. Nico had pushed past the lump in his throat to report that he hadn’t heard anything about her missing son, either, although he’d promised he was looking, and then a few weeks later he felt like the worst person ever when Percy showed up in the Little Tiber and he said nothing. He’d clenched a drachma in his hands for hours after, guilt eating him alive.

Sally looks fine, now. He fights the urge to apologise — it would only upset her. His guilt is something he simply gets to live with.

“I’ve been okay,” he says finally. She hums. “Uh, busy.”

“Saving the world again, I hear,” she replies, grin turning wry. “Carrying a forty-foot statue across the world.”

Nico flushes. He wonders who told her, Percy or Annabeth. Or both, or maybe someone else, even. He knows the Jacksons’ place is something of a refuge, in this day and age. He’s not sure how he feels about other people talking about him like he’s a hero or something. He had a job to do, and he barely managed still.

“That was Reyna’s quest.”

Sally hums again. Her eyes never leave him, piercing and soft as they are.

“Happy Birthday, Nico.”

For the second time in ten minutes, he jumps out of his skin. It’s been a while since he’s heard those words — he forgot that Sally is one of the few people who knows his birthday, that he told her, two years ago, when he’d crawled through Percy’s window when he was sure the boy was at school because he was bleeding and half-delirious and didn’t know where else to go, so soon after the Titan War. So soon after ditching camp, skin crawling at the stares of the other demigods, knowing how strange he was to them. Sally hadn’t asked questions. She’d cleaned the empousa scratch and wrestled him into staying for lunch, soft voice and kind, calloused hand prying answers out of him he hadn’t expected to give.

(She was aghast when she found out he was walking the streets on his own birthday, celebrations not even crossing his mind. Even more so when she noticed his cold-chapped hands and thin, ripped jeans. “Thirteen, you know, is a big deal,” she’d said, and when he’d insisted on leaving before Percy got home she sent him out with snacks and a pair of gloves.)

He clears his throat. “Thanks.”

“How’d you celebrate, today?” Her grin is wide and creases her forehead, eyes nearly shut. Her smile is identical to her son’s, only with less of the trouble attached. “First year at camp as a full timer! Annabeth has told me that Chiron usually brings you all to the city to celebrate, it must have been fun.”

Nico avoids her gaze, shrugging. He picks at a loose thread in the hem of his shirt.

“I didn’t — um, we didn’t do that.”

He can practically feel the face she makes, eyebrows furrowed and mouth downturned.

“…Something else, then? How did you spend your day?”

Nico shrugs. “Stayed in the infirmary.”

He looks up just in time to see her face crease in alarm.

“You’re hurt?”

“Oh, no, I’m — I’m not —” He stumbles over his words, rushing to assure her. “I’m not hurt. I was just cutting bandages, helping out. My friend —” his face glows, he knows it does, he pretends it doesn’t — “my friend says I have a magic touch. He’s full of it, because he actually does have a magic touch and does not need my help organizing nectar bottles, but. He’s stubborn. And annoying. And too lazy to organize it himself, probably.”

Sally’s grinning again. This time, the expression has just as much mischief as her son’s does, and despite himself Nico flushes darker.

“Sounds like your friend just wants your company.”

“Or something.”

She watches him for a moment longer. Nico fidgets. He wonders what he’s supposed to say, if there’s an etiquette to talking to ex-crushes’ mothers who kind of mother you a little bit, too. Then he wonders who the hell he’s supposed to ask about that.

“Why didn’t you tell your friends about your birthday?”

It’s an odd thing for Nico to hear. ‘Your friends’. He has those now, he supposes. Will, and Nico, and Lou Ellen. Kayla. Austin. Cecil. Percy and Annabeth, even, and of course Hazel and Reyna and Jason. Maybe even Piper and Leo and Hedge. Mellie, too, ruffles his hair when she breezes by him, and Grover grins and waves when he catches his eye. Tyson beams at him when he visits camp. Sometimes Rachel picks the lock of his cabin for no reason and sighs dramatically in a corner until Nico snaps at her, then she grins and drags him off to do something stupid. If Nico thinks about it, about the list of people who insert themselves in his life, now, his head starts to hurt. When did he become so social?

Nico shrugs. “They’re gonna — make a big deal out of it. Will’ll probably try to — sing to me, or something.” He snorts just thinking about it. “He’ll break my ear drums. He’s a horrible singer.”

“I see.”

“Or, worse, he’ll write a poem or something. And it will be bad. The worst part about it, actually, is that he’s really quite good at poetry, but he thinks it’s funnier to write bad poetry, so he does and he recites it all the time and drives everybody crazy. One time I read a good one he wrote and he got all embarrassed because he is a walking indovinello, that’s what he is, let me tell you —”

“Hm.”

“— and Cecil, gods, don’t even get me started, Cecil would do something stupid like — like — steal me a car, or something. Even though I’m not even old enough to drive! And Lou Ellen would probably help him. And who even knows what ridiculous thing Kayla and Austin would plan, and, Zeus’ beard, I know Jason would start crying about something —”

“Nico,” Sally interrupts, gently, grinning, “it sounds like your friends would be very happy to celebrate with you.”

“They would be — overbearing,” he huffs. “Well — not Reyna. Or Hazel. Maybe a little Hazel, but mostly not.”

“Have you told them?”

“…No.”

“Why not?”

“It just seems — off, I guess,” he admits softly. “I didn’t have to tell Bianca about my birthday. She knew. She —”

His voice breaks, and he looks down, embarrassed. He swipes the tear from his eye and hopes Sally doesn’t see, even though he knows she does. Sometimes he feels like the record his mother has that was so thin and played-out that it skipped on every track and always made the needle get stuck. She was too attached to throw it away and get a new one. Nico is that track, he thinks, worn out and bumpy and always making the needle stick, always coming back to the same thing. He used to complain every time his mother brought it out. He wonders how many people must roll their eyes at his own skipping, repeating track.

“Maybe you don’t tell them, then,” Sally says, hushed. Nico finally gathers the courage to look back up at her, and she doesn’t look annoyed at all — kind, only, and determined. “You mentioned your friend in the infirmary. Do they still have patient files?”

He tilts his head, confused. “Yes? I think so.”

“Do you have one?”

Nico grimaces, remembering his first stay in the infirmary where Will left forms out for him to fill and Nico balled them up and chucked them at him. Will had chucked them back on reflex before remembering Nico was his patient, blurting out a red-faced “Sorry! Gods, I’m so sorry!” that had Nico laughing until he cried, as Will cussed him out, practically glowing a bright tomato-red. They never did get back around to filling those out, despite the numerous times Nico has landed himself back under Will’s dorky stethoscope. The medic must be stuffing the injury reports in a random file somewhere.

“I. Will definitely get one.”

“Put your information in,” Sally suggests. “Percy’s told me about the head medic in passing — Will, I think? He mentioned he’s quite thorough, I imagine he checks the files regularly.”

Nico nods. He does. They get messy and cluttered fast, what with the sheer number of maimings and stabbings et cetera, so once a month Will sits on the floor in the middle of the room and organizes everything in some inane system that only makes sense to him. If Nico fills out a form and stuffs it in his file, Will will definitely notice.

“That’s — doable.”

Sally smiles. It’s kind of radiant and hard to look at, and Nico feels himself smiling back on reflex, if a little shyer.

“Good! Oh, Nico, I’m so glad. I’ve worried about you, kiddo. I’m sure Percy’s tired of me asking.”

Nico whips his head back up to stare at her, jaw dropping.

“You…ask about me?”

“Of course.” She raises an eyebrow. “I’d have to do it less if you visited more than once or twice a year.“

Nico opens his mouth, then closes it again. He doesn’t quite know how to say that he had no idea that he was welcome — that she wanted his visits, rather than dreaded them.

“I made cake,” she says casually, like she can sense his turmoil. “Blue, of course. The best kind.”

Nico snorts. She winks at him.

“I’d hoped I would see you today. But cake lasts, you know. It will still be good tomorrow, if you don’t have any other plans.”

He imagines asking Argus to drive him into town — Will has still banned him from shadow travel, although he has begrudgingly allowed other “less draining” magic, not that Nico has to listen to him or anything — and pulling up to the apartment in Manhattan. Climbing up the rickety fire escape; or, this time, knocking on the door. He imagines Sally’s wide smile, maybe even Paul Blofis’ charming grin, her kiss on both cheeks and strong hand guiding him into the warm kitchen.

He swallows roughly. “I’d like that.”

“Good. Consider it done,” she says lightly. “Come over when you have time, I’ll be home all day. I look forward to seeing you, Nico.”

Nico smiles at her. Some of the ever-present ache in his chest lessens. “Me, too.”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.”

He swipes through the message, dissolving the connection. The billowing steam from the humidifier returns to its usual soft plumes, and Nico stands there for a few moments, breathing deeply, imagining it settling in his lungs, clearing out the lingering smoke he imagines has taken home in them. He breathes in, breathes out, and walks, trance-like, to his dresser, tugging on his PJs and feeling like he’s floating.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of sweet blue cake and sweeter laughter ringing through a small kitchen.

#i had so much fun with this truly nico i love you #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #nico #nico do angelo #sally jackson #nico di angelo & sally jackson #happy birthday nico!!!!#fluff #i feel like i should tag will 💀 he’s not in this but nico talks about him so damn much omg #pining nico di angelo #solangelo #will/nico #idk what else to tag i’m not familiar enough with this fandom’s tagging system yet #i’ve only been lurking #anyways #my writing #fic #longpost

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