#when my insp. has been dead FOREVER

[ntls-24722]

I'm gonna be honest yall today I was Lacking in MM content 😭 there's my sona??? if you want to count that as a DJMM/MM? Which, I mean.

it is just djmm with gains and long lucious hair but. idk if that's enough to count them as their own djmm post??

Also, yeah, they have these invisible wings - he may be JACKED but he isn't flying with the sheer power of flapping his arms so hard he elevates, he does have actual phantom wings, though he's still swole from doing so. The other 2 arms aren't involved in the flying process though

There is also a former DJMM - a DJMM that with the power of divergent evolution and blue floral mugs, I no longer consider him a DJMM and he became a completely seperate character?

He was originally, specifically a version of a humanized Comet, his design being insp from this pic, which i think is very apparent, because he literally just got twists and gray hair ↓

And through much yearning, a weird transitional hippie stage, and disconnection from SOS, a Comet became Cameron, an old man who clipped into the backrooms and fell in love with it, and his universe has its own rules and background now?

Like for example, it doesn't follow traditional Backrooms rules as the backrooms (named "Miguel" by Cameron) doesn't have entities, as the plane of existence itself is the entity, there are specific points in places where you can clip into Miguel, and most interestingly, Miguel does not go on forever - whenever one clips into Miguel, there is a single level that one goes to, with a hidden exit, with the level changing each time someone clips through.

I made a new character for the universe named "Woolfe" who's kind of a tinfoil hat type who has gotten a very stark difference in his backrooms experience from Cameron. The levels one goes to are randomized, except for Cameron - since Cameron has come to know (and marry, via placing a ring on the floor and cheering) Miguel, Miguel has taken to placing Cameron in more whimsical and less unsettling places, though Cameron seems either unaware or oblivious to the ominousness whenever he does end up in a very Spooky place.

Woolfe is less oblivious to that, and his backrooms (he personally has named it "The Subterranean Maze Matrix") experience has been harrowing, partially because the SMM is not as fond of Woolfe as it is of Cameron and doesn't try communicating with nor feeding him, but also because Woolfe is also dense, and will take significantly longer to figure out where the exit is.

He met Cameron, and originally thought he was some insane old man in denial and rambling about some dead wife, but was immediately floored when he asked his "wife" for something for this starving guest to eat, and his wish was granted.

Since then, Woolfe has taken to studying Cameron and the Subterranean Maze Matrix, finding each encounter with him both fascinating and confusing him even further with his vague statements.

[hinatasharem]

sweater thieves

For KenHina Week day 3

Kenma would do anything to make Hinata happy, even if that meant moving to Torono Town and leaving Tokyo. So, because Hinata loves Kenma more than anything, he suggests they spend Christmas in Tokyo - and of course he’s going to wear Kenma’s Nekoma hoodie. (It’s a perk.)

Read on AO3

For Shouyo, Kenma would do anything to make him happy. If that meant going out of his comfort zone, for Shouyo, he’d do anything. So, when Shouyo asked him to move in with him in Torono Town, he didn’t even think about it. He packed up and moved almost immediately.

The apartment they found was partially furnished, cheap on the rent and close to Karasuno where Shouyo had a part-time job coaching the team. Kenma found work at an Indie gaming company that was a short train ride away.

It’s winter, they’ve been living together for four months now, when Kenma comes home to find Shouyo asleep under the kotatsu, wearing Kenma’s softest sweater. He’s flushed, a pile of mandarin peels in front of him and the TV is tuned to a volleyball tournament. Kenma strips off his parka and joins Shouyo under the futon. He leans against his boyfriend, the fabric of his sweater soft against his cheek.

Shouyo stirs. “Kenma? Ah, you’re home. Welcome back,” he says, stifling his yawn behind his hand.

Kenma nuzzles the side of Shouyo’s head. “I’m back,” he murmurs. “You stole my sweater.”

He laughs, tilting his head to kiss Kenma. Shouyo tastes like the mandarins he’d eaten. Kenma wraps his arms around Shouyo and they fall to the floor with a thud. Shouyo’s giggling, tangling his fingers in Kenma’s snow-damp hair. Kenma feels the blush burning his cheeks and he buries his face against Shouyo’s neck.

Shouyo’s laughter is infectious, but there’s an ache in Kenma’s chest that’s he’s been repressing for a while now. He’d do anything to keep Shouyo happy… Right?

“Shouyo?” Kenma says against Shouyo’s neck. He tenses briefly, sliding his hands from Kenma’s hair to draw soothing circles on his back.

“We should go to Tokyo for Christmas,” Shouyo says, absently. Kenma tenses for a moment and props himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Shouyo. He’s still smiling, but his eyes have softened, reflecting the emotions flittering across Kenma’s face. Shouyo’s too perfect. Somehow, in six years Kenma has known Shouyo, he always knows what Kenma’s feeling. “I asked a lot of you to come to Torono and you left a lot back in Tokyo. We don’t visit enough – I’m sorry.”

Kenma brushes away the tears that leak from Shouyo’s eyes. “Thank you, Shouyo. You always know what to say.” He smiles. “I love you.”

Kenma’s favourite hundred-watt smile graces Shouyo’s lips and he pulls Kenma down to kiss him relentlessly. “Kenma!!!! I love you!!!!”

Taking the train back to Tokyo for a week is like a slap of nostalgia for Kenma. Back when Shouyo was high school, Kenma would often venture up to Torono to stay with him and the train ride is exactly like he remembered. Well, not quite. This time Shouyo is with him so he’s a lot less lonely and he isn’t missing his boyfriend like crazy.

Shouyo had snagged Kenma’s Nekoma hoodie before they left so of course Kenma dug through their closet to find Shouyo’s Karasuno one. Honestly at this point in their relationship, it really didn’t matter what belonged to who. Shouyo’s snoozing on Kenma’s shoulder, their gloved hands laced and resting on Kenma’s thigh. Kenma’s playing games on his phone.

He receives thirty snapchats from Kuroo after an hour on the train, detailing the crazy drive from Kuroo and Bokuto’s apartment to the train station. Bokuto cannot drive for shit and Kenma prays Kuroo will drive them back. (Seriously, he went 60 in a 20 zone, he is crazy.)

you know we won’t be there for another hour, right? He sends back.

OH SHIT

Kenma chuckles and Shouyo tilts his head to rest his chin on Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma glances at him (he’s adorable right now, by the way, wearing a white hat with a rainbow pompom and his nose is still red from the chill), kisses his nose and asks, “What?”

Shouyo scrunches his face. “What’s so funny? I want to know,” he says. He’s pouting.

Kenma laughs. “Bokuto almost drove into a pole and they got to the station an hour early.”

He tries to fight the smile off his face but it’s impossible. For the rest of the trip, they chat mindlessly (well after Shouyo kissed Kenma breathless) and just enjoy the overall peaceful atmosphere of the train.

Kenma almost feels weightless when they get off the train, somehow, but holding Shouyo’s hand anchors him. Bokuto waves to them over the swarm of people and Kenma weaves them through like a pro.

“Oya, are you two going to be apart at all this week?”

“No,” Kenma and Shouyo answer in unison. They share a small, secret smile.

Bokuto throws his arm around Shouyo. “You two live together and are still going to spend the week together?” He turns to Kuroo. “Bro, is that cute or gross?”

Shouyo makes an indignant, dismayed sound, largely ignored by their larger and older friends. Kuroo’s eyes twinkle. “Definitely cute, but grossly so.”

“Haha bro you are so right.” And with that, (mercifully) Kuroo drives them back to the apartment.

“Kenma, I love you and support you in everything you do, but I have never EVER seen you a shirt with that character on it,” Kuroo says five mornings into their trip when Kenma walks into the kitchen at around seven. His brows knot together in worry. “Is everything okay?”

Kenma pinches the shirt to look at it. It’s Shouyo’s pale blue t-shirt with that unnameable red and overly excited character. Shouyo was wearing it last night. Kenma lets go of the shirt, shrugging. “It’s just Shouyo’s shirt.” So he put on the wrong shirt this morning when he stumbled out of bed (or rather, the futon), oops, oh well.

Kuroo quirks an eyebrow. “Is that so?” Bokuto glances over his shoulder from where he is furiously making pancakes. Kenma gives Kuroo a weird look, pours himself a coffee and makes Shouyo a green tea. Kuroo hides his smirk behind a gulp of coffee.

Just after Kenma is finished making Shouyo’s tea, he whirls into the kitchen, Kenma’s shirt loose around his neck. There’s bright red marks along his neck and collarbone which disappear below his collar. Kuroo chokes a little on his coffee, though he keeps his mouth shut.

He plops down next to Kenma, accepting his tea when Kenma offers it to him. “Ah, thank you, Kenma!” he chirps, leaning over to kiss Kenma’s cheek.

Kenma merely smiles. Bokuto turns around, holding two serving trays stacked higher than Bokuto of pancakes. There is no way. Although, he’s seen Shouyo plow through his fair share of food so between the four of them, the pancakes will all get eaten.

Bokuto’s eyes zero in on the marks Kenma left on Shouyo last night. “Holy shit did you guys fuck on our good futon last night?”

Kenma feigns ignorance and Shouyo’s blush says it all.

“Daaaaaaaamn Kenma!” Kuroo says, grinning. “Just, damn.”

Bokuto scoffs, “I can’t believe it. I can’t even get lucky under my own roof and these two just waltz in here, all happy and couple-y like it’s nobody’s business.” He groans, stuffing a full pancake into his mouth. “It’s not fair,” he complains, sinking against Kuroo’s shoulder.

Kuroo laughs (animal).

Later that afternoon, when Kuroo and Bokuto have long since left for work (after having Kenma and Shouyo swear on Kuroo’s sacred pet rock they wouldn’t sully the futon further), Shouyo is curled against Kenma’s bare chest, hugging him tight like a koala. Kenma sighs, rubbing small circles on the small of Shouyo’s back.

“Do you want to stay longer?” Shouyo murmurs, rolling slightly to smile at Kenma.

Kenma meets Shouyo’s eyes. He had missed Tokyo so much that he was prepared to spend Christmas there. He missed Kuroo (and Bokuto) and seeing his oldest friend after months is truly an indescribable feeling. But…

He shakes his head, kissing Shouyo softly. “No – I’m kinda missing home, anyways.” Shouyo’s smile blinds him.

He may have been born in Tokyo, but his home is back in Torono Town with Shouyo.

[crazygaze]

It's Just That Time of Year

Pairing: Hanamaki/Matsukawa, slight Iwaizumi/Oikawa 

Rating: T for titties they swear but that’s about it

Synopsis: Finally posting that hanamatsu meme drabble fic for my birthday, I’ve had this forever!! Big insp from HQ meme bot

"Wha-I don't want to hear this from assholes who bought a gingerbread house making kit only to eat the pieces and suck the frosting out of the bag it came with," Iwaizumi points accusingly. 

Matsukawa shrugs and Hanamaki raises his hands in surrender. "In my defense- it's hard to resist gingerbread, Christmas is the only time of year I get it." Iwaizumi looks to Matsukawa. 

"Frosting... is good." He says simply. 

Oikawa grumbles. "What good is it to have a gingerbread house making contest if the competitors eat the supplies." 

=

"I love you," Hanamaki sings flatly and strums a badly tuned acoustic guitar with complete gusto, "-bitch." He points meaningfully at Matsukawa.

"And I'm never gonna leave you," Hanamaki strums the guitar again loudly and sings slightly off-key, "-bitch."

Matsukawa watches him impassively from the drums and when Hanamaki goes for the creative musical solo, a music store worker comes up to them with an annoyed look and kindly asks them to leave.

= 

Iwaizumi scowls and pulls open the door. "Honestly, I don't even know why I-" he stops. 

Oikawa frowns. "Iwa-chan, why did you..." He trails off and peers over Iwaizumi's shoulder. 

The team sat in the dark meeting room in a circle with joined hands, the only light in the room was a cellphone placed in the middle. Probably because the fire hazard issue with candles. "If there is a spirit here," Hanamaki says with the utmost seriousness. "Please knock Oikawa out." Kindaichi gives Iwaizumi a desperate look from where he kneels, clutching Kunimi and Watari. Yahaba glances at Oikawa nervously. 

"He's the pretty one." Matsukawa adds helpfully. Hanamaki glares at Matsukawa. 

"Now the spirit is going to think I'm Oikawa and knock me out, I'm the pretty one," he hisses. 

"Oi-" Iwaizumi interrupts the seance finally. "Everyone get to bed! I don't know what stupid shit those two started but it's going to be lights out and everyone in bed in two minutes." 

When there's a silence in response he crosses his arms. "Is that understood?" There's a chorus of uneasy affirming and sweaty hands letting each other go. Just as Matsukawa opens his mouth to say something, Kunimi slumps over on his side, bumping Kindaichi's leg. Kindaichi goes as pale as a sheet of paper. "He's unconscious." He says in a trembly voice. Hanamaki looks offended and puts a hand to his chest. 

"What the fu-hey, I'm supposed to be the pretty one," he argues into the air. Matsukawa pats his thigh consolingly. There's multiple alarming shouts and clamoring and Iwaizumi drags a hand down his face. Kunimi sleeps on, undisturbed. 

= 

 "I don't know why you're crushing on him," Oikawa sniffs. "Look at Iwa-chan, at least he has redeeming qualities." They both look over to where an Iwaizumi is talking to Yahaba, sleeves rolled up and blissfully unaware of all the ogling he's receiving. "He could sneeze on a pickle jar and the lid would pop right off!" 

"First of all, that's disgusting. Secondly, Hanamaki can open pickle jars just fine and didn't Iwaizumi threaten to smash a jar over your head once because you were groping his arms?" Matsukawa lists off and raises a thick but well kept brow. "Also what do you mean crushing on him, he's my boyfriend." 

He waves. "Semantics. By the way, where the hell is Hanamaki?" Oikawa asks, looking around with a squint. Hanamaki is nowhere to be seen. Matsukawa sighed deeply and put a hand over his heart and stared off to the distance forlornly. 

"Hey what the hell is he looking at?" Iwaizumi walks over and nods at Matsukawa, staring at the gym wall or a possibly unamused and equally uncomfortable Kunimi. 

"He's being stupid-" 

"Hanamaki is in detention." 

"What," Iwaizumi said in disbelief. “Why?”   

"Wrote 'sickass motherfucker' on an English essay we were supposed to do. Printed it out and turned it in." 

Oikawa and Iwaizumi look at each other. "I miss you, babe," Matsukawa sighs again and pulls out his phone to snapchat a very close picture of his expressionless double-chinned face and a large caption of 'Send Nudes' to Hanamaki. 

"And they say romance is dead." Oikawa sniffs.

 = 

In an empty classroom in the morning before class, there's Oikawa screaming, running around desks trying to avoid a pencil wielding Iwaizumi. "It's not my fault you don't know acronyms!" Oikawa screeches, darting around desks. He's got the disadvantage of being on the opposite side of the classroom door. 

"You could have told me like a normal human being but no, you waited till there was a teacher behind me?!" Iwaizumi roared, cheeks blazing red. 

"'TBH' isn't hard to figure out, Iwa-chan!" He yells and throws a poorly crumpled paper ball at Iwaizumi. It doesn't deter the other in any way and bounces off his shoulder harmlessly. 

Off to the side, Hanamaki clutches his sides and gasps for air. "T-The Butt Hole," he wheezes and slaps his desk, "He tho-thought! TBH was-!" Hanamaki cackles.  

Matsukawa is softly chanting "Stab him, stab him, stab him," and it rises louder and louder every time Iwaizumi lunges for Oikawa with a mechanical pencil. 

 = 

Hanamaki groans and throws his pencil across the room and it sails over Iwaizumi's shoulder and hits the wall he's leaning on. Iwaizumi doesn't even blink or snap like he usually would, the air that passes through his lips is less of a sigh and more like an exhalation of his soul. His biology textbook has been open on the same page for the past half hour. 

Oikawa is passed out face down on a backpack with a timer counting down for a 15 minute nap. Matsukawa jerks awake at the thump of the pencil hitting the wall and the pink highlighter he was holding to a textbook skitters off the page. Not that it did much considering how much was already highlighted. "Fuck, I hate finals," Matsukawa whines for the nth time. 

"I'm not meant for education," Hanamaki says empathetically. He glances at the clock and 3:17 AM glares at him in red. They're quiet aside from Oikawa's soft muffled snoring. 

"Guys," Iwaizumi says in an uncharacteristically small voice. They perk up from where they lay on the worksheet strewn bed and look over. 

"Will you guys still love me when I no longer ball so fucking hard?" Iwaizumi looks up at them with red-bull-induced despair and wide, adorably sleep deprived teary eyes that shouldn't belong so well on a muscular heartthrob of a volleyball team who literally challenged the basketball captain to a thumb-wrestling contest with the morning gym schedule on the line. 

"I coulda swore I would be the one in the emotional crisis this time around," Hanamaki mutters softly as Matsukawa clamors down from the bed to Iwaizumi. Sheets of papers fall but he heeds them no mind. 

"Of course we'll love you. Don't worry, you'll always ball hard," Matsukawa shoves a pencil in between the biology textbook as a place marker and shoves it off Iwaizumi's lap with a loud thud. Oikawa doesn't stir. He clumsily sits in its place. Matsukawa is already tall as it is and it's a slightly awkward crouch but he pulls Iwaizumi's sniffling face to his chest and clutches him close. "You'll always ball so hard, Iwaizumi. So fucking hard." 

Iwaizumi just trembles and Matsukawa can't tell if it's the fourth can of red-bull kicking in or it's emotions but he affectionately pats down the spiky brown hair. His arms wind around and hug Matsukawa. Hanamaki isn't even phased, "Yeah," he adds helpfully. He rifles through his backpack and pulls out a packet of wasabi peas he forgot to have for lunch. He tosses them down next to them. "We love you. Oikawa too," he adds as an afterthought. 

Oikawa's phone alarm rings and Oikawa mutes it without looking at it and peels himself off the backpack. There's pink indents on his face and he takes a long moment before squinting his eyes open and looking at where Matsukawa has now taken to feeding Iwaizumi wasabi peas in his lap with whispering reassurances. 

"Seriously?" He asks, voice rough but toneless with borderline-grade-at-stake-studying-exhaustion. He’s been riding on 10 hours of sleep for the past three days  

"Don't even," Hanamaki threatens mildly with a protractor. "We literally madeout with you last time this happened because you were convinced we all secretly hated you" 

"...That's fair." Oikawa mutters tiredly, throwing an arm over his eyes.

=

“Send nudes” Matsukawa says rather loudly and sudden in the silence of a perfectly good lunch. 

Hanamaki gets up and leaves.

Minutes later, Matsukawa’s phone pings, he checks it. “Nice,” he says with emphasis. 

[gurguliare]

Ok I’m typing up the entire story of Cao Cao’s Feud At Yang Xiu because... I love it. That’s why. Mostly for my own reference, may be of use to any NIF fic writers who want #insp for #waystokilloffmeichangsu

As his troops moved through Tong Pass, Cao Cao sighted a flourishing wood in the distance. “What place is that?” he asked an attendant. “Indigo Field,” was the reply. “Cai Yong’s manor is somewhere in there. His daughter Yan and her husband, Dong Si, occupy it now.” Cao Cao had always been on good terms with Cai Yong. In earlier days his daughter Yan had been the wife of Wei Zhongdao. Later, she was taken captive by the northern tribes and bore two sons while among them. Her poems, “Eighteen Tunes for Foreign Flute,” circulated in northern China. Cao Cao himself sympathized with her and had someone ransom her for one thousand ounces of gold. The Xiongnu chief, worthy king of the Left, fearful of Cao’s power, sent Cai Yan back to the land of Han, and Cao Cao gave her in marriage to Dong Si.

Standing before the manor, Cao Cao was reminded of the Cai Yong incident. He ordered his army to go on ahead while he dismounted, accompanied by a hundred guards. Dong Si had left to take up an official post; Cai Yan was at home. She rushed to welcome the visitor. When Cao reached the upper hall, Cai Yan stood to one side after completing the customary ritual reception. Cao Cao happened to notice a stone rubbing and went over to examine the text. He questioned Cai Yan about it.

“It’s taken from the tablet of Cao E,” she explained to him. “During the time of Emperor He in Shangyu there was a shaman named Cao Xu whose whirling dances could have entertained the gods. On the fifth day of the fifth month, while performing on a boat, he fell, drunk, into the river and drowned. His daughter, fourteen at the time, went along the river weeping and wailing for seven days and seven nights, then jumped to her death herself. Five days later she surfaced bearing her father’s body. The local folk buried them beside the water. Du Shang, prefect of Shangyu, notified the court and hailed the daughter’s filial devotion. The prefect had Handan Chun compose this text to mark the event and then had it inscribed on the tablet. Though Handan Chun was only thirteen at the time, he wrote it in one sitting without revising. His monument was set beside the grave and attracted great interest.

“My father, Cai Yong, went to look at it. The sun had already set that day, but he was able to feel the characters in the darkness with his hands. Then he found a brush and wrote eight large characters on the back of the stone. An engraver who recut the stone also cut these eight words.” Cao Cao read the words: “Yellow spun silk --- a young woman; a distaff grandchild --- mortar and pestle.”

“Can you explain this?” Cao asked Cai Yan. “Though it’s by my own father, I’m afraid I cannot,” she replied. Cao turned to his counselors and repeated his request. But none of them could unriddle it, either. Then Yang Xiu, his first secretary, stepped forward and offered to interpret the writing, but Cao Cao asked for more time to think about it. He bid Cai Yan good-bye and left the manor with his retinue.

Cao Cao had ridden three li when the answer came to him. Laughing, he said to Yang Xiu, “Now, try and explain it.”

“It is a cryptic saying,” Yang Xiu began. “Yellow silk is colored silk; and the graph silk (丝) beside the graph color (色) makes the graph superb (绝). A young woman is a junior miss; and junior (少) beside miss (女) makes the graph exquisite (妙). A distaff grandchild is a daughter’s son; and daughter (女) beside son (子) makes the graph excellent (好). Mortar and pestle are tools that can be held to crush the five spicy herbs; and hold (受) beside spicy (辛) forms the graph words (辭). In short, we have four words, ‘superbly exquisite, excellent words.’” Cao Cao was amazed and said, “Exactly my own thought!” Everyone present sighed in admiration at Yang Xiu’s quick mind.

---ONE FULL CHAPTER OF UNRELATED INCIDENT LATER---

...Cao Cao held his forces at the gorge for many days, unable to advance for fear of Ma Chao, unwilling to retreat for fear of exciting the scorn of the western army. Cao Cao was in a state of indecision. At this moment the chief cook brought in chicken broth for Cao Cao, who noticed pieces of ribs in the bowl. The sight gave rise to a thought. As he was musing, Xiahou Dun entered his tent to ask what the password would be that night. “Chicken ribs. Chicken ribs,” Cao replied unthinkingly. Xiahou Dun passed the information to the officers. First Secretary Yang Xiu heard the words and instructed the soldiers assigned to him to pack up and prepare for the journey home. This was reported to Xiahou Dun, who in amazement invited Yang Xiu to his tent and asked why he was preparing to leave. Yang Xiu replied, “I knew by the night signal that the king of Wei would be returning in a few days. You see, chicken ribs have no meat on them, yet one relishes them for the flavor. If we advance, we cannot prevail. Retreat will earn us men’s contempt. There’s no advantage either way, so a quick return home is the best choice. Tomorrow His Highness will order us home to the capital; I thought I’d better put my things in order and avoid a last-minute rush.”

“How well you know His Lordship’s innermost thoughts,” Xiahou Dun said and began arranging his own affairs. Soon all the commanders had begun to do the same.

During the night Cao Cao, agitated and unable to sleep, armed himself and made a private tour of the camp. He was astonished to find Xiahou Dun’s men packing up and summoned Dun for an explanation. Dun told him that First Secretary Yang had anticipated Cao’s wish to return. Next, Cao Cao summoned Yang Xiu, who attributed his interpretation to the chicken ribs. Cao Cao was enraged and said, “You dare concoct statements like this and ruin my men’s morale!” He shouted for his guards to remove and execute the secretary and to post his head at the main gate as a warning to all.

Now Secretary Yang Xiu --- a free spirit who presumed on his talent --- had crossed Cao Cao more than once. One time, Cao Cao had a garden built. When it was ready, he went to inspect it. Without uttering a word of praise or blame, Cao Cao took a brush and wrote a single word, “Alive,” on the gate to the garden, then departed. No one could interpret what this meant, but Yang Xiu said, “The graph alive (活) inside the graph gate (门) makes the graph broad (阔). His Excellency was simply saying that the gate is too wide.” The result was that the workmen rebuilt the surrounding wall, thus changing it to suit their lord. They then invited him to make another visit. Cao Cao came and was delighted. “Who guessed my meaning?” he asked. “Yang Xiu,” they all responded; Cao Cao, though he voiced his admiration, secretly resented the man. Another time, a box of kumiss was sent to Cao Cao from north of the border. Cao Cao wrote three words on the box, “One box cream (一合酥),” and placed it in his cabinet. When Yang Xiu entered and happened to see it, he opened the cabinet and distributed the treat. Cao Cao later asked him why had done it, and Yang Xiu replied, “You wrote quite plainly on the box, ‘per man, one mouthful cream (一人一口酥).’ How could I deviate from Your Excellency’s command?” [Ed. note: ‘mouthful’ = 一口, lit. ‘one mouth.’ 人一口 an uncalled-for deconstruction of 合, which my mother claims might be better translated as “family size.”] Cao Cao smiled with pleasure at the play on words, but in his heart he felt hatred.

Cao Cao lived with a constant fear of assassination and was forever warning his attendants: “I like to kill people in my dreams, so when I fall asleep, be sure not to come too close.” Once while napping during the day, his blanket slipped to the ground and a guard hastened to cover him again. But Cao Cao leaped up, drew his sword and slew the man, then went back to sleep. When he arose a little later, he feigned surprise and said, “Who has killed my man?” When the other attendants told him the truth, he wept sorely and ordered a funeral with full honors. Everyone believed that he had done the killing in his dream --- except Yang Xiu, who had read Cao Cao’s mind. At the time of the burial Yang Xiu pointed at the dead man and said, “His Excellency was not dreaming; only you were!” These words were reported to Cao Cao, whose hatred of Yang Xiu only increased.

Cao Cao’s third son, Zhi, was a great admirer of Yang Xiu’s ability and often had him over for discussions which lasted all night. When Cao Cao had proposed naming Cao Zhi his heir apparent, Cao Pi, the eldest, secretly requested the elder of Zhaoge, Wu Zhi, to come and advise him. To prevent detection, he had Wu Zhi brought in a large box made to hold bolts of silk. Yang Xiu found out the truth, however, and reported it directly to Cao Cao, who put Cao Pi’s quarters under surveillance. Pi nervously informed Wu Zhi, who advised Pi to bring in another container with real bolts of silk to deceive the investigators. Cao Pi did so the next day, and after searching, Cao Cao’s men had to report that silk was all they had found. Cao Cao therefore came to believe that Yang Xiu had intended harm to Cao Pi and hated him the more for it.

Cao Cao then decided to put Cao Pi and Cao Zhi to a test. One day he asked his two sons to appear outside the city gate of Ye, but he told the guards not to let them out. Cao Pi arrived first and was turned back. Cao Zhi heard what had happened at the gate and asked Yang Xiu about it. “When you go forth on the king’s command,” Xiu said, “it is appropriate to cut down anyone who tries to stop you.” Cao Zhi thought this right. And so when he was stopped at the gate, he cried out, “I bear a royal command. Who dares prevent me?” and immediately had the guard cut down. The result was that Cao Cao regarded Zhi as the more capable. Later, however, he was told that Yang Xiu had coached Cao Zhi; he became so angry that he subsequently lost his preference for Cao Zhi.

Yang Xiu had prepared a special primer on state affairs for Cao Zhi’s use. As a result, whenever Cao Cao posed questions about state affairs, Zhi responded so eloquently that Cao Cao eventually became suspicious. Later, Cao Pi bribed a few of Zhi’s followers, who secretly showed Cao Cao the special primer. In a fury Cao Cao said, “How dare this fellow make a fool of me!” It was at this time that he conceived of the idea of killing Yang Xiu. Now, using the “chicken ribs” incident as his pretext, he carried it out. Yang Xiu was thirty-four years old.

[and postscript]

Suddenly a body of men came straight at Cao Cao. The leader shouted, “Wei Yan, here!” He took his bow and fitted an arrow to the string; the shot struck Cao Cao, who tumbled to the ground. Dropping his bow and raising his sword, Wei Yan charged up the slope to kill Cao Cao. But a general cut athwart him, shouting, “Don’t touch our lord!” It was Pang De. With a burst of energy De advanced, drove Wei Yan off, and protected Cao Cao. Ma Chao had already retreated, and so Cao Cao was brought safely back to camp.

Wei Yan’s bolt had struck Cao Cao’s upper lip, knocking out his two front teeth. A physician was called, and while being treated, Cao Cao remembered what Yang Xiu had said about marching home. He had the scholar’s body recovered and given an honorable burial.

[kee-writestrashh]

Blood on My Name

Seth x Amelia Davenport fandom: Damnation words: 1634 warning: blood, typical canon angst  song insp. ao3

*pic not mine*

summary: picking up right where season 1 left us

He stared and smeared the blood on his fingers, gripping the bible tight. Narrowing his eyes as he stepped down the darkened hall. Slow, tentative steps as he neared a dark shape on the floor. His heart pounding in his chest, swallowing thickly, hoping against hope it was not what he was thinking. Stomach clenching as he stooped down at the dark shape, knowing it was Amelia.

His mind reeling. Any excitement and fresh ideas he had were fading quickly as he hit his knees, dropping the bible beside him and brushing a strand of Amelia’s from her face, thumb smearing blood across her cheek. “Amelia...” He whispered hoarsely, unsure what to do. He had seen blood, bodies, and death many times. He had watched the woman he once loved murdered at the hands of his father. But he was even less prepared for this one. There was no one to blame this time. No one but himself.

“Seth.” Amelia whispered, a grimace on her face, removing her hand from her blood soaked side.

Without hesitation Seth pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over the cloth over the wound, applying gentle pressure. “We have to get you to the doctor.” He said urgently, shifting on his knees to scoop his wife up.

“Where is she?” Amelia asked suddenly, opening her eyes wide and casting a wild look around the dark room.

“She?” Seth asked slowly, scrunching his brows in apparent confusion. “Who... who is she?”   

“Connie.”

Seth stared at her for a few silent moments. Her words not making sense to him. “Amelia, you’ve lost a lot of blood. We need to get you to the doctor.”

“It was her Seth! She... her husband... she’s a strike breaker.... Arkansas.” She said, mind working furiously to try and find words as well at keep the gathering blackness at bay.

“What are you saying?” He asked stupidly, standing up and glancing around the empty house. He took a few steps further, noticing a cold draft. The wind blowing in through a broken window. He took a few cautious steps forward, looking out the broken glass to find Connie, also covered in blood. He body rigid and unnatural.

“I shot her. She tried... her husband was... the strikebreaker in Marion. He killed... and then I killed... and now here...” Amelia said between pants, trying to muster her strength and push herself up.

Seth blinked, turning back to Amelia and crossing back to her. He said nothing else, scooping her up and hurrying her to the car. How he had got Amelia to town or into the doctor’s office would forever be beyond him. All he knew was that it was paramount that she make it through. Even if she was angry with him. Even if she would forever hate him. He loved her. It was something he hadn’t realized until she put him on the spot after he confessed a majority of his past to her. How the hurt in her eyes felt like a twisting knife in an already stabbed chest.

“Preacher?” 

Seth looked up at the voice, seeing Preston sitting up in bed. He gave a weak smile to the man, “How are ya feeling, Preston?”

“I... fine, I guess? What are you doin’ here?” Preston said uncertainly. He never seemed to be confident in anything he said or thought.

“Amelia was hurt.” Seth said quietly, standing from his seat and pacing. He hadn’t seen or heard from the doctor since he had taken Amelia to a private backroom. It was causing him to go stir crazy.

“Who’d wanna hurt her? Hurtin’ a preacher’s wife...” Preston said with a small shake of his head glancing around the small recovery room. Martha must have forgotten to pull the curtains back around his bed before she left. Or maybe it was the doctor.

Everybody. Seth thought to himself. Their secret was out of the bag now. Mostly. Within a day or two the whole town, and people beyond the town would know that Amelia was behind the underground papers. Too many people were involved. Too many people who weren’t likely to keep quiet. He stopped at a window and felt hot rage lick his boiling insides.

Creeley. 

He stormed from the doctor’s office building, shoes crunching the gravel and snow under his every footfall as he advanced on his brother’s back. It was Bessie who had spotted him first, and grabbed Creeley’s arm, as Seth reached for his gun; only to remember it was not there.

Creeley turned quickly, but Seth had already grabbed him by the front of his coat and slammed him against the closest car door. “Lightening doesn’t strike twice, huh?” He growled at Creeley. “Was she working with you? Was she sent here to kill us?”

Creeley gave Seth a bewildered look, pushing his brother back to get free from his grasp, pulling his own gun. “What are you talking about? Workin’ with who?”

“That Connie woman! She’s a strikebreaker too! Or was. Doesn’t matter anymore.” Seth snapped, nonplussed by Creeley’s gun.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Don’t lie to me! You just couldn’t let me be happy, could you?! First Cynthia, and now Amelia!”

Creeley gave a blink, casting a sideways glance to Bessie. “Amelia’s dead?”

Seth dropped his shoulders and sighed, feeling defeated inside. “No. Not yet. The doctor is working on her now. But that’s not the point, is it? All of this is your fault.”

“No, Seth. It’s not my fault. This is on you, and the choices you’ve made. I tried to warn them both. I tried to warn you.” Creeley said, hand tightening on his gun.

Seth glared at his brother, fists balling at his sides. An ugly rage trying to surface. Just looking at the man before him made him want to shout and curse God himself for everything.

“I think it’s time you left here Seth. I’m leavin’ too.” Creeley nodded, re-holstering his gun and smoothing his jacket out as he spit at Seth’s feet. 

“You can’t scare me. I’m not leaving. And you’ll be back in jail if you--”

“Nope.” Creeley smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets and giving a shrug. “I’m leaving. And don’t you try and follow me.”

“Me? Follow you? What makes you think you’re worth following, Squealey?”

“I ain’t an innocent man either, Seth. But everything I’ve done, it was for me. For you. For Pa.” 

“You’ve done nothing. So if you’re gonna kill me, go on and get it on with, damnit!”

“Language preacher.”

Seth took another step forward, but paused when he caught sight of the fear on Bessie’s face. She had remained stock still. Like an animal being cornered.

“Preacher Seth?” The doctor called from the doorway, drying his hands on a rag.

“Don’t make me tell you again.” Seth hissed at his bother, turning sharply on his heel and walking away.

“Likewise.” Creeley nodded, spitting again and turning toward Bessie. “Come on, we need to hurry and get out of here, before anyone else shows up.”

When Seth stepped back inside the building, he registered the shaking in his hands, the warmth of the building biting at his cold cheeks. “How is she?” He demanded of the doctor, following hot on his heels.

“She’s sleeping now. I think if we can get her through the night, her chances will be much better.” the doctor said slowly, leading Seth to the back room. He turned to Seth and fixed him with a hard look. “What happened to her?”

Seth peered around the doctor, watching Amelia breathe. Her face pale and sickly. Piles of ruined, bloodied rags on the table beside her next to a wash bin. The water inside, steaming slightly, pink in color now. 

“A strike breaker.” Seth finally managed to say, stepping around the doctor and taking a ginger seat on the edge of her bed. He took her hand in his, unsure of who had the colder hands at the moment. A lump sticking in his throat when he tried to swallow. He ignored the doctor, who bustled around, cleaning up the mess that was made. 

What if Amelia didn’t pull through? What was he to do then? No. No, she would be fine. She had to be. She was all he had anymore. His mind lingering on Connie. How had he not seen it as suspicious that she just happened to show up in town during the middle of all of this?

‘Is he the bad man?’

She was after him. The thought made him feel nauseous. That woman had a bullet with his name on it, for two years now. Only for her to discover, Amelia had been the one to murder the strikebreaker. To avenge the death of her first husband. And now here was fate, playing her game.

He stared at the floor for what felt like hours. His back stiff and aching. His feet numb and cold. Mind unable to comprehend anything. Shaking sleep from his head every so often.

Until finally, Amelia tightened her hand around his. He snapped his eyes to hers. She still looked on the verge of death. But she managed to part her lips and lick them slightly.

“I might be wrong. But I think now is one of those times when you’re supposed to be praying, preacher.” She quipped, her voice hardly audible.

“I have been.” 

There's a reckonin' a-comin' And it burns beyond the grave Lead inside my belly 'cause my soul has lost its way Oh, Lazarus How did your debts get paid? Oh, Lazarus Were you so afraid? When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you With the Hounds of Hell comin' after you I've got blood, I've got blood on my name

[arituzz]

Hey, I made a new account called snowbaz-fics and all I basically do is reblog finished snowbaz fics. Do you mind helping me spread the word and send me finished fics? I don't care if you only send me yours ☺

Heyy @snowbaz-fics! Of course, thank you for the ask :)

Here are my finished fics (basically oneshots ahaha):

A tip for the pianist (849 words)

Simon and Agatha go on a date to their favourite restaurant. Simon can’t take his eyes off the pianist.

(Non-magical AU, fluff, POV first person)

All I want for Christmas (425 words)

Sometimes misunderstandings lead up to beautiful things.

(Non-magical AU, Christmas shopping, bad puns, fluff, alternating POV first person)

Be my religion (1052 words)

Baz is desperately in love with his roommate, Simon. But Simon thinks homosexuality is a sin.

(Boarding School AU, angst, fluff, POV first person)

Don’t let go (1243 words)

(Follows canon events on Leavers Ball)

Second part is NSFW

(angst, smut, fluff, alternating POV first person)

Good Fortune (1472 words)

Baz hasn’t come back for their eighth year at Watford. Simon is too busy adoring the mysterious little feline that has taken possession of Baz’s bed to care.

(8th Year AU - canon divergence, hurt/comfort, fluff, POV first person)

I can’t think straight (1132 words)

Simon is straight. And he’s absolutely not attracted to his roommate. Well maybe he is. A little. Maybe a little too much.

(8th Year AU - canon divergence, denial, fluff, POV first person)

I don’t love you (475 words)

(or how to tell your imbecile of a boyfriend that you do love him)

(post-canon, domestic fluff, POV first person)

Idol (1418 words)

Simon Snow is a pop star. Basilton Pitch is a lesser-known singer and violinist. Obviously, Baz loathes Snow. Or does he?

(Non-magical AU, fluff, music, POV first person)

Improvise (215 words)

That moment in fifth year.

(canon-compliant, fifth year, stairs, pining, alternating POV first person)

It’s a date (1922 words)

Five times Baz has to bite his lips in order to refrain himself and one time he doesn’t.

OR

Five times Simon doesn’t mean it and one time he does.

(High School AU, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Pining, 5 +1 Things, POV third person)

Let it Snow (1835 words)

Sometimes, Simon wanted to wrap him in his arms and soothe him to sleep. Sometimes he just wanted to join him and cry together. But he couldn’t. Because Dr. Pitch was like snow. Simon could only admire him from the other side of the glass. As close as he may look, he was absolutely unreachable.

(Hospital AU, doctor/patient, fluff with a bit of angst, pining, POV third person)

Masquerade Ball (1277 words)

Two strangers meet at a birthday party.

NSFW.

(Non-magical AU, smut, POV first person)

Nail Polish (753 words)

I watch him as he takes my hand with his. One. He starts painting my nails. Two. He bites his lips while he’s focused and, oh fuck, I can’t tear my eyes off him. Three. Four. Five.

To hell with the three-seconds rule.

[Beautiful art insp. by this fic by the lovely sophiemariezie-art]

(Punk/pastel AU, roommates, pining, fluff, POV first person)

Nineteen Firsts and One Last (19/19) [3736 words]

It’s Simon’s nineteenth birthday. He’s not expecting anything unusual, just some messages from his tumblr friends. But Baz has different plans.

(For the Simon Snow’s 19th birthday project)

(tumblr AU - non-magical AU, friends to lovers, fluff, hinted smut, POV first person)

Opposites attract (402 words)

Baz is the sun. And Simon is crashing into him.

(Opposite day, non-magical AU, pining, fluff, POV first person)

Our love is memetastic (1745 words)

Simon retells his rise and fall (in love) in a way that his daughter can understand.

(Retelling of canon, memes, dialog)

Pumpkin Mocha Breve (925 words)

I watch him sipping at the cup and wait for the compliments. Which never come. He grimaces and all I want to do is spit on him. But I don’t. I’ve heard it’s not nice to spit on your customers on your first day at work.

(In which Baz works in a coffee shop and Simon is his first customer)

(Coffee Shop AU – non-magical AU, pining, bickering, POV first person, fluff)

Sign your name across my heart (1231 words)

The name of your soulmate will appear on your chest the day you turn eighteen. Simon is taken aback when he sees his. Baz doesn’t know whether to feel hope or drown in his own sorrow.

(8th Year AU - canon divergence, soulmates, angst, pining, mentions of self-harm, fluff, POV first person)

Small Talk (878 words)

Simon texts the wrong number

(Summer before 8th year AU - canon divergence, enemies to lovers, pining, fluff, texting convo)

Speechless (1296 words)

The silence of your enemy is better than their words. Because sometimes, silence speaks louder than your voice.

(8th Year AU - canon divergence, pining, fluff, spell gone wrong, POV first person)

Talk Shakespeare to Me (1110 words)

Penny forces Simon to join the poetry club. He’d never thought he was going to enjoy it so much.

(Non-magical AU, enemies to lovers, pining, fluff, POV first person)

Talk to Me (789 words)

Simon is trying to come up with a new spell but he ends up speaking only German

(8th Year AU - canon divergence, fluff, spell gone wrong, POV first person)

The many benefits of water (978 words)

Baz works as a lifeguard at the local pool. Simon seeks for his attention. This can’t end well.

(Non-magical AU, pining, fluff, neighbours, swimming pool, POV first person)

The most powerful magic (420 words)

Words are very powerful. That’s what we’ve always been told. But what are words? Are they really just a combination of spoken sounds? No, they are clearly much more. Words are meaning. Words can be written. Words can be said with our hands, or with our body. And words can be left unspoken.

(canon-compliant/post-canon, eighth year spell challenge, spells, POV first person)

Until Dawn (1615 words)

(Shadowhunters crossover)

Alec and Magnus have disappeared. Izzy has reasons to think they’re in England. So, who better to look for them than Simon Snow, the most powerful Shadowhunter in the UK?

(Crossover, Shadowhunters world, enemies to lovers, fluff, POV first person)

What did you say? (1052 words)

Baz has recently learnt Dutch and has decided to practice it, much to Simon’s sorrow.

(8th Year AU - canon divergence, enemies to lovers, fluff, POV first person)

When I see you again (1013 words)

The irony of it all is that I’m already dead. No, the cruel joke is that I don’t die. And there are things much worse than death for me to expierence forever.

(post-canon, major character death, angst, mentions of suicide, POV first person)

You are my Littlepuff (572 words)

Simon and Baz play Pokémon Go. Well, Simon does. Baz doesn’t. He absolutely does not enjoy the game. Nope. Not at all.

(Because someone had to)

(Post-canon, established relationship, fluff, POV first person)

Good luck with your blog