#but the JC in this verse!!!

[barawrah]

your jiang cheng with the thigh scars means a lot to me uwu

thank you he is doing his very best

[dolokhoded]

what's the buzz, tell me what's a-happening ???

[inky-lacuna-numinous]

Oh? What’s this? A lost soul in the Ink-verse you say?

Well I’m sure @mermaidicecreamsstuff s Audrey is in safe hands while in the company of my Henry and Bendy!

[a-hell-of-a-time]

When you wake up to your sister going through with her plans for the party.

[stiltonbasket]

Lan Siwen has inherited grandpa wwx's terrible naming sense? His spiritual bunny has a pun name, his sword probably has a pun name, and if he ever acquires a kid, he probably gives the kid a pun name too. Or maybe he's like his great-grandma cssr, who named her baby "baby."

I don't really think Wei Wuxian has bad naming sense (afaik the only "silly" name he ever chose was Little Apple, since Jiang Fengmian named Suibian, and Jin Ling's courtesy name is actually quite beautiful)...but Siwen digs out the generation poem from Sizhui's maternal family and uses that to choose his child's formal name. Until said Wangxian great-grandbaby turns five, though, he answers to the baby name of "Salty Porridge." ᕙ⁠(⁠ ⁠:⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠∧⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠:⁠ ⁠)⁠ᕗ

[keeperofquestions]

A Question of a Borrowed Book

@jc-helluva-mumu

He had to be seeing things.

Duedephelon had gotten used to the common walks around the Pride Ring in searching for information. A lead here, a question there, little by little he was making progress. Though currently something else caught his attention: that tall hellhound in the gothic attire.

There was by most respects nothing remarkable about the young woman save a few small details. Firstly, she appeared to be physically fit in a manner that suggested she was a capable fighter. Not unusual in Hell, but still notable. Second, she gave all but no attention to most of the world around her but not in a way that came off as lacking vigilance. Lastly, she appeared to be waiting for something.

How any of those details factored into the final important key was his real question though as he stared at the book she held.

That was a goetic grimoire.

There was no mistaking the sigil on the cover. Who it was meant to belong to he couldn't tell. He cursed his situation for robbing him of the information needed to identify it at a glance like most of his other contemporaries could. If that was the case he could make some educated assumptions.

For now, he was riddled with confounding problems. How did a hellhound get ahold of a grimoire? Whose was it? Why did she have it? Did she know what it was? Did she know how to use it? If so what would that imply? Did the grimoire's holder know about this? Had there been some fundamental change in the social hierarchy during his apparent mental exile?

Duedephelon needed to know what was going on here.

"Where? Where? Where? Where?" He started across the street to where he saw the hellhound waiting. With each small question, he darted forward with a puff of black flame. To passersby, it would look as if he was materializing closer and closer from behind passing traffic until he reached his destination. Then with a final plume, he appeared as close to her as the small teleports' limited range would give him. He stared blankly at her with an opaque analytical stare, eyes wide and leaning forward. His talons rested on the top of his cane.

Normally this would be where he would issue a polite introduction, but this situation was both too strange and potentially too dire for that. He began his interrogation immediately.

"Who are you? Do you know what you hold? Do you know who it belongs to? How did you obtain it? When? When? When? How? Why do you have it? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?"

[velvetwarfare]

[ Cont. ]

Noticing his reluctance, the warlord opted to give him even more affection — what he lacked in, she supplied for the both of them. After all, the bat beast loved to spoil what she considered hers.

“ Take it easy…it is okay, I have you… “

Claws delicately rolled up his shirt, careful not to TEAR THE FRAGILITY OF FABRIC. Ignoring the ITCH OF BRUTALITY, she combatted against it by pressing a soft yet firm kiss to his chest, working her way down to his belly.

“ Allow me to show you my appreciation. “

@jc-helluva-mumu

[diivineray]

They are the holy trinity of tsun

[clemencetaught]

I wasn't sure if y'wanted them sent in today or tomorrow, BUT TO NOT MESS UP-- (you mentioned answering ic in the tags so yeeting these directly at Patrick >:3 sorry if they're too many omg)

Patrick (any verse)

What does it feel like when others depend on you, in one way or another?

Are you more prone to assuming someone needs you (in a service kind of way, for aid, for support-) or more likely to think they don't?

If psychics were 120% reliable and you could connect to those long gone… would you?

In which contexts are you more 'do as I say not as I do' and in which will you listen to your own advice?

Do you ever catch yourself growing… a little bitter, maybe, at people describing their comparatively 'mundane' problems? Is it envy?

Do you believe children should be shaped for the likeliest future or the future should be shaped for the children to come?

When is self-sacrifice acceptable?

When is hurting those you love acceptable?

in which the 54th victor of the hunger games gives an impromptu interview ( nosy questions for the birthday enby w/ @mythvoiced )

The tea cup is set on the saucer. Discreetly, Patrick slides his other hand into his pocket, where the synthetic patch on his palm wraps around his pocket knife– a habit of sorts, since he won his games. His pocket watch sits on the table, next to the saucier and on his lap, Sun has wrapped herself into a ball, her paws disappearing into the mass of orange fur. On the balcony outside his apartment in the Capitol, this is the only place Patrick knows he will be granted a modicum of privacy in the viper’s nest. 

The shadow of the balcony covers the upper half of his body. Sun keeps dozing on his lap, in the sun. 

Most times, when the questions are directed at him, they’re expecting an affirmative. Doesn’t matter if it’s coming from a District person or a Capitolite– they go to him for answers, first and foremost. And in the case of the latter, these questions are not questions so much as veiled demands. 

Ones that he must always accommodate, regardless of the nature of the demand. 

But these questions, this voice, is…well they seem genuinely curious. And the questions they’ve lobbed his way, they don’t seem to be expecting one correct answer.

Sun shifts on his lap. His leg vibrates from her purring. Patrick sighs, leaning back on his chair. “That…quite a lot of thoughts you have going on there, hm?” The knife stays in his pocket as he gently scratches the top of Sun’s head. “I’ll answer your second question first: people will always look out for themselves first. If they don’t think you’re useful, that you can contribute something good to their lives, then you’re dead to them, if they don’t kill you first. Make yourself indispensable to them and they won’t hurt you.” At least that’s what he tells himself– it’s easier to simply assume anyone who approaches him that they want something he can give them. “The younger victors will need someone to guide them anyway.” 

And even the ones who vehemently deny needing someone, anyone. Patience is always key in those instances– from Taiyang whom it took almost six years and his tribute’s sanity to finally approach Patrick to María, who still slaps away any hands offered, friend or foe. Ironically, he had to approach her first.  

“…I suppose I don’t think too much about that. If someone was asking for your help, you would be more caught up in what they’re asking, more than how you were feeling no?” A Trojan horse, he’s lobbed in their direction although he’s quick to revise: “...It scares me sometimes.” He confides, fingers pausing in their administrations on Sun’s head. Actually it scares him, a lot. “They’re…they’re relying on me to guide them to the best outcome and I want the same thing for them. I promise you, I really, truly do.” Whether it’s Hyuk, Devora, a tribute he’s been assigned to mentor, or any of the victors. And sometimes even the furball in his lap and yet– “But I…I can’t always guarantee that. But they still trust me, especially the younger ones.” The tributes from District Three– his tributes, the ones who take his hand, look up at him with wide eyes, clinging to every word, every gesture he makes as it will guarantee their survival. “Sometimes I think it would be better if they exercised more caution with me.”   

A smile, bittersweet, if not actually just bitter, graces his lips. He shakes his head though, chuckling at the next question. “...Forgive me, that’s quite a question you have there. ‘Psychics’... I don’t believe that’s information that just anyone, district or Capitol, can get ahold of–  although I have heard of some old religions still practiced in the districts so I suppose the knowledge and belief in such mediums is possible to get ahold of.” He stares down at his tea, the steam still rising. Even if it is a hypothetical question on a medium known to be more shoddy than reputable, he can’t help but pause. If they could contact those ‘long gone’; would that mean, if he asked them to, would he be able to speak to her one last time–

He shakes his head, eye catching his pocket watch, metal beaten and faded, the clock face wearing a crack down the right side. Still, it shimmers in the sunlight. “Even if I could, I…I highly doubt she would want to talk to me of all people.” If they hadn’t met, if they hadn’t fallen in love, she probably would still be alive. Tellessa’s family too. 

After all, he was the first person outside of Tellessa who knew about her forbidden books. “Wherever they are, it’s probably better than here.” Or at least he hopes it is for her. A place where life doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is…easier. A place for souls to rest at long last. If such a place even exists in the first place. He picks up his saucer once more, still careful not to jostle Sun on his legs. She’s taken to loafing now– he knows her eyes are closed even if her head dips every few seconds. But make no mistake, that does not mean she is unaware. Trusting of the one asking the questions. If it was just him, she would be stretched out, a white underbelly waiting for his hand to scratch kindly at the ceiling.

Perhaps the saying is true after all: like owner, like pet. Although Patrick would argue she’s more like Hyuk if anything.

“It depends on the circumstances,” he says as neutrally as possible. A vague answer for a hypothetical question, because that is truly it. “I suppose if one’s life was on the line, it would be better if they followed my lead, no?” 

Not that that’s stopped, those with rebellious tendencies from committing treason anyways. ( And unfortunately, he can name more than one. ) It is ironic in that manner– for someone who knows the system, knows how to work within the rules all, has spent years perfecting his craft in survival arts, it would make more sense to invest on those with similar goals. And yet here he is, worrying about the ones who are decided not interested in survival and therefore would spurn his advice at any given moments. “Not that…that following my advice has ever helped them make it through.” 

(His tributes. All thirty nine of them. No two games are ever the same, the gamemakers would never allow that. If the circus known as the Hungers Games must be reborn over and over again if it wishes to continue.)

He takes a sip of his tea, washing down the momentary displeasure. Or at least he thinks it will be only a moment long. “I suppose what a Capitol citizen would consider a ‘mundane issue’, as you put it, would differ from those of someone from the districts. The former does seem more inclined towards complaining if only to build comradery amongst one another. I’m just glad that they have such means to…channel their frustrations.” 

( It’s in times like those, where he wishes his temper could curdle, the way Devora’s does in the face of the Capitol Elite. How he wishes he could simply let her use the knife to silence those idle complaints. )

Patrick takes another sip of his tea. It burns in his throat. It’s bitter too– he must have let the leaves seep for too long. But the asperity doesn’t just settle on his tongue. “Are we talking about an ideal world or the one we live in now? Depending on who you ask this question to, you’re guaranteed to get quite…different answers.” A smile, as frigid as the shaved ice the Capitol serves as a delicacy during the games, crosses his lips. “Our great nation was built to provide safety and prosperity for the children. To serve them. Although whether the truth is actually the other way around will again, depend on who you ask. As a mentor to my tributes, I suppose…we can’t deny the reality in front of us, no?”

Sun yawns. He puts his tea down and idly, he scratches the underside of her chin and he feels her purring against his finger. “Are you sure you should be asking me that question? I would think there are more…suitable candidates for this question.” People like Hyuk, he means. People like María– the kinds who would gladly make sacrifices, give pieces of themselves for a cause. “Self-sacrifice won’t get you where you need to be– there’s a reason martyrs are only known after their death– they’re even given a chance to be known. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool. They’re only deluding themselves into believing they can make everything better. A…colleague of mine said it best: ‘a martyr works, a survivor works better’. If you want to truly help the ones around you, self-sacrifice will only get you so far.”

Or so Patrick claims. He can hear it though– the sound of Hyuk shouting at him to stop lying. The truth is, self-sacrifice, if it is for a tangible reason, is…well maybe it is not worthwhile, but it can be certainly respected, especially if this tangible reason is a human life. The Capitol will always wonder what spurred Patrick to hold his district partner’s hand even if it burned a hole through his skin, will always wonder why Taiyang insisted on protecting Link in the arena, will always wonder why, why, why would Devora so willingly serve as President Snow’s puppet even if it further severs her ties to the districts despite everything the games took from her.

They would never understand compassion in a dog-eat-dog world– self sacrifice.

“...However, I suppose, if there was truly a good reason to do so…well, I have yet to see it.”

( Like the promise of a better world. If there is even one that exists. )

His hand stops. Sun turns her head towards him, copper eyes watching him. “When do we not hurt the ones we love?” Perhaps the better question for him is: when is he not hurting the ones he loves? He saw it in her eyes and Hyuk’s too. And yet they forgave him, somehow, every time. If not for that, well…would there even be a reason to keep going? “That’s part of caring for someone, no? You are preparing for them to hurt you without retaliation.” He shakes his head, snorting. “I think the answer should be obvious, if it guarantees their well-being in the long run, I think that is a gamble to be considered. That being said–” 

Sun jumps off his lap and stretches, paws facing this curious passerby. Patrick crosses his legs, hands resting on his lap. A veneer, similar to the one he dons in the Capitol flashes through, even if he is not currently in his usual suit. “You wouldn’t want to be close with someone like me. I’ve been known to have…a reputation of sorts. One of burning and you could…no, you would most definitely get hurt, one way or another and we wouldn’t want that happening, no? Just a thought for you to consider.”

He watches Sun make her way to the sliding glass door in the shade. Her tails whips side to side as she looks up at the handle. Then she looks at him and meows. 

Patrick glances at his pocket watch. “It’s feeding time for Sun.” Well, sort of– it’s more like it’s half an hour before her feeding time, but he knows gets antsy the closer meal time gets around. But this person doesn’t have to know that. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking care of business now. If you need anything more, you know where to find me.”

Or better yet, he’ll know where to find them.

[ghcstchild-a]

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆: @lianhuaes // JIANG CHENG

a clarity bell is being pressed into the palm of his hand— looking exactly like the yunmeng jiang sect's one, except with red threads woven in between the violet threads of the tassel. jiang wanyin is staring pretty hard at wei wuxian as he gives it, a forlorn look distant in his eyes. "i found it," he says simply, a lie easily slipping between his teeth. he had not found it- he had it specially made.

HE NEVER FOUND A PLACE that was meant for him, it seems. Never felt like he'd fit in the whites and blues of Gusu Lan — anything but black made him look too fragile and feel as if his own skin was being peeled off again, layer by layer. The face staring back at him from the other side of the mirror isn't his own either, and yet the bleeding wound in his heart is what he calls a home, a ghost lingering at the threshold, never daring to cross to either side. The clarity bell cuts into the skin of his palm, sharp edges and bright scarlet, a memento of the past he could no longer return to, another one etched into the gaze of his shidi — it's enough to forget how to breathe.

The last few times they've seen each other, Wei Wuxian had his silent guardian loom over, a wordless observer, his watchful keeper who never insisted of staying too close yet never dared to leave his husband's side, as if the mere idea of Jiang Wanyin would reopen every wound of old. He'd try to reason with it and fail, understanding sitting heavy in his chest as he allowed it every time, but they're alone today, of all days, and he chokes on a breathless laugh, eyes aflame. ❝ Found it, ❞ Wei Wuxian echoes, barely amused. Right. It's been an uphill battle for too long. Fingers tighten around the bell, around the hand caught in his own for a brief moment. He craves to attempt the impossible again, wherever his home might be he would never be anything but a wanderer. Him, a married man, a breaker of promises. ❝ Jiang Cheng– ❞ he doesn't think, nor does he wish to ponder the consequences. He does what he's always done — and smiles, that broken little smile that reaches his eyes and brings the shining of tears to light, and then, arms snake around his shidi's stiff, slumped shoulders. The embrace isn't tentative or careful, he rushes into it as he always did, as Jiang Cheng once did too, for the first time in three months, and it lets him breathe again when the world stops spinning. Maybe he never wished to grow up, never learned how to. Maybe clinging to the warmth of old memories is the only thing he knows. He's already apologized a thousand times before, gone half of this new life expecting a punch. Not today. ❝ Thank you. ❞

[slythmultishipper]

Do you guys think sweet smelling omegas attract ants?

just the house surrounded by salt and everyone thinks they are warding off a demon or something but no, its the ants.

[pbaintthetb]

Jiang Cheng, so "This Be The Verse" coded

[a-hell-of-a-time]

"...Vassago should also invest in some air conditioning if he expects me to stay often at his abode."

@checkingintohell-jc

[stiltonbasket]

Bakery au jiang Cheng also tries to grow a moustache? Bakery bao xiao-yu is :( about this and won’t snuggle his jiujiu until it’s gone.

Wen Qing also has opinions about the moustache, because her face is very tender and bristly kisses hurt sometimes! Jiang Cheng grows it out while she's away on a long trip and shaves it off the day after she comes home. XD

[llycaons]

“I’m glad he made sure the Jiang name didn’t get sullied with mine! That he came out of it a hero!”

interesting thought. not necessarily ooc for him to want the jiangs to be okay but I can’t see him saying that. I don’t think wwx was so resigned that he’d just be okay with the jiangs attacking and killing him

[runespoor7]

Oh that's totally understandable! Honestly I'm fine with just the idea itself to turn around in my head, so no pressure to do anything you don't want to. Writing is supposed to be fun after all. Just one more question, the thing with JFM and JC, any thoughts on wether anyone other than them know about it/finds out about it?

that part of the story is actually pretty written out!

spoilers~~~~ for something that might never see the light of day under the cut - unless I change my mind, but I'm pretty set on it

WWX finds out about it after a while, and is horrified, but JC convinces him to keep it to himself. (WWX doesn't like it at all, but JC is the victim, and WWX is at the time willing to follow JC's lead on how to deal with this.)

YZY learns about it later on and this is how JC inherits early.