Meow Meows

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 >>>>>

that thing with the arrows in tgcf 235 that i still can’t believe feng xin can just DO

[I doubt this will be done by Nie Huaisang's birthday, but we'll see.]

Jiang Cheng looked different.

Not drastically so, of course, but to the eyes of someone who has spent an inordinate amount of time cataloguing his features, the way he moved, every minute detail about him, the differences were undeniable.

To someone like Nie Huaisang.

He had always been tall and handsome and well-built, of course. Nie Huaisang hadn't been able to look away, from the moment Jiang Cheng and his shixiong had arrived at the Cloud Recesses all those years ago. (Had it really been five years? It seemed like it was just yesterday. It seemed like several lifetimes.) Nie Huaisang's eyes were always drawn to him, drinking in everything about him, committing it to memory so he could recreate it with his brush by candlelight. He had filled so much paper with Jiang Cheng's likeness, really it was a wonder that Jiang Cheng never found them in his room. That would have been so embarrassing, and difficult to explain away.

The point was, at fifteen, Jiang Cheng had already been the most beautiful boy Nie Huaisang had ever seen. But now… he was taller for one. They both were, but comparatively the height difference was greater than it had been five years ago. His chest was broader, tapering down to a waist just as narrow as it had been. He had already been strong and sleekly muscled, Nie Huaisang had seen that plenty of times, when they had snuck to the creek and Jiang Cheng had swam in only his trousers. (Nie Huaisang hadn't known how to swim, he never ventured far into the water. Jiang Cheng swam like he'd been born in the water.) Jiang Cheng had filled out since then, the flowing silk of his sleeves could not hide the bulge of his biceps, and the collars of his robe strained to cross over his pectorals.

And his face. Five years, grief and war had melted away what baby fat had still been there at fifteen. His cheekbones were now exquisitely defined, his jawline so sharp that Nie Huaisang wondered if it could possibly cut his skin if he ran his fingers on it.

He had learned to school his expressions better, befitting the leader of a major clan.(It didn't matter that Yunmeng Jiang had been decimated, that its ranks were full of rogues or new recruits younger even than their leader, Jiang Cheng stood proud and commanding and if not everyone agreed that it was still one of the great clans, Nie Huaisang was certain that they would before long). But his eyes. No matter how impassive and dignified his expression, Jiang Cheng's eyes were full of storms, emotion shone in them like the crackle of electricity at his fingers.

Those eyes widened now, as he saw Nie Huaisang coming towards him. They softened, like clouds clearing after a storm, and those lips that Nie Huaisang had drawn so many times, had dreamed of so many nights, those lips quirked up into a smile. For him.

Without saying anything, and before Nie Huaisang could react, Jiang Cheng strode across the distance between them and enveloped him in a fierce hug, strong arms tight around him.

He really was substantially taller than Nie Huaisang than before. It was a little bit like being hugged by dage. Well, not really. Dage's hugs didn't set his heart racing like this, after all.

Nie Huaisang let Jiang Cheng pull him up on tiptoes while Jiang Cheng hunched protectively around him, bowing his head so his lips were by Nie Huaisang's ear.

"It's so good to see you," his voice was a raspy whisper. It made Nie Huaisang's hands clutch tightly at his robes.

How long had it been since they'd last seen each other? Nie Huaisang couldn't recall. Months. Not quite a year. Too long.

Jiang Cheng finally released him, setting him back on his heels and stepped back, looking a little sheepish at his display.

Nie Huaisang hastily straightened his robes before clasping his hands together in a bow. "Jiang-zongzhu."

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at him. "Don't do that, Huaisang, there's no need."

He ducked his head to hide his smile. He would have pulled out his fan, snapped it open to hide behind, but something in Jiang Cheng's intense gaze stopped him.

"Jiang-xiong," he amended.

"Better," Jiang Cheng scoffed, lips quirking into a smile. He held out his arm and Nie Huaisang slipped his hand through. It felt comforting and familiar to walk arm in arm with Jiang Cheng like this, in this place.

"I only heard that you arrived a little while ago," Nie Huaisang said. "I'm glad I caught you before you left."

"I'm staying the night," Jiang Cheng said. "Besides, I wouldn't have left without seeing you."

Sangcheng week Day 1 - Occasions

🪷 While a cultivation conference was being held in Yunmeng Jiang, the Jiang-zongzhu and Nie-zongzhu rested together. In the morning, Jiang-zhonghzu would cut off the sleeve of his robes, so as not to rouse his resting lover, not knowing that said man would flaunt the piece later for all to see. 🪷

lol this was supposed to a proper two-parter to tie in the point together more clearly and all but...... i just didn't feel like finishing this part ngl so all you get is a sketch hjdsh

also dont think too hard about why would JC go to the conference in the ruined robes or why didn't he take them off in the first place when going to sleep or how did NHS manage to get it together so quickly just. don't worry about that ok. plot convenience jfhkd

close-ups of the girlies. yes lines only cuz im lines lover and colours hater (more like failure lol dfhkjh)

OH YEA BTW for those who dont know ye this is obvs a reference to the emperor Ai of Han and the whole cutsleeve thing lol

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

Draco’s last day at daycare

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.

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.

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.

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.