#and seeing it end with this childish squabbling sucks

[binmeister]

Vocally incompatible

Jinu & Rumi x Producer! Reader - Scenario

Where you have to step in and guide a couple of squabbling idols on how to sing with chemistry.

CW: Kinda fluff, both of them are crushing on you highkey, RuJinu are more platonic sibling rivalry in this AU - not proofread

OST - Everytime - CHEN, Punch (listen if you haven’t please see the vision I beg)

Were you in hell? You had to be. Of course working in any form of creative media sucks but it is actually kind of insane what you’ve been put through for the last 3 hours of recording session 2 of 3. Jinu and Rumi, two extremely vocally talented idols and leaders of their respective groups could sing their way out of anything. But apparently had less chemistry than you personally did with a toaster and a bath tub filled to the brim with water.

How could this happen? You envisioned such a beautiful harmony from the two of them, surely they could harmonise off eachother with Rumi’s richer tone and Jinu’s heavenly high notes but it was like oil and water in a hot skillet - both trying to overpower the other and just completely unable to sync up and get their shit together. You were rested against the vast audio equipment in front of you, elbows on the very edge of the table with your head in your hands as the duo in the booth had both stopped to take a water break. You felt like you were at your wits end, there’s no way they couldn’t get their shit together right?

The track you envisioned their voices on was supposed to be a romantic and charming song, they didn’t even need to harmonise that much with Jinu taking up the masc. vocal lines they only needed to harmonise at the last chorus but it was like they were fighting each other with their singing voices. Was it too much to ask of them? You heard the booth door click open and the two had walked back into the main studio with you, Rumi grumbling a little to herself as she gave Jinu the stank eye. You couldn’t see it but Jinu had stuck his tongue out at her, and her jaw dropped as she raised a hand to swat at him but before she could he side stepped her and made a noise which finally got you to raise your head to look at them - Rumi tried to play it cool, pretending to stretch with her raised hand and not show that she was mid-assault on the taller male. 

“Guys I just.. what is going on?” You finally spoke, your voice drained as you eyed them both in genuine confusion and maybe even a little concern. You expected things to be bumpy but you’re nearly about to waste a whole second session of unusable audio because no matter how much you attempted to guide them with words alone the two just.. couldn’t synergise. They both pointed to each other immediately, voices layered on top of each other as they made immature jabs at the other party.

“It’s him, he’s just going too high too fast.” “Me? You’re trying to sing my line!” “YOUR line? This is a duet.” “Oh so now it’s ours?”

They shut up as soon as they felt your deadpan stare on them, a wry smile on your face as you drooped in your chair. “So you guys hit it off when fighting but you can’t sing together?”

You thought it over for a little before sighing, maybe you should’ve done this from the start but you expected them to do better than what they did and admittedly you felt a little childish - surely you didn’t need to step in and record the demo because Rumi was usually fine but if you really have to... You stood up, gesturing for Rumi to take a seat in your place and then motioning for Jinu to follow you into the audio booth - handing him a pair of headphones as you took up the other pair and stood in front of the mic.

“You’re gonna sing with me, and you’re gonna imagine I’m the love of your life.” You said blankly, voice calm as you pointed at Jinu accusingly. “We’re gonna pretend we’re in a slow burn drama, you’ve finally realised you fell for me and are gonna imagine what it feels like when you look at me and all you can think is mushy gushy feelings.”

“We’ll do the first chorus and your first verse, then I’ll do the same with Rumi.” You finished, eyes on him waiting for him to at least do something to acknowledge he heard you.

The tips of Jinu’s ears were hot, he stammered a bit and nodded obediently and had to resist the urge to bite his lip. Did you catch it? How’d you know that he started to think you were cute. He didn’t have time to think as you gestured for Rumi to play the sound track, the clicks of the starting beats in his ears as he looked away from you to look at the music sheet in front of him so he could follow along with the lyrics.

“Oh every time I see you, geudae nuneul bol ttaemyeon...” You sang into the mic - your tone breathy and Jinu felt tingles at the back of his neck as he dared to let himself look at you, eyes closed as you sang and you looked. Breathtaking. He finally broke his gaze, looking ahead and catching Rumi’s expression and she was no better than him. Dreamy expression on her face as she looked at you like you lit the stars in the sky as she subtly swayed to the opening notes of the song and your voice.

“..shipeun dan han saram.” You continued on, he heard the beats signalling that he needed to harmonise soon on the shared adlibs and he let himself steal a last glance at your serene expression as your brows scrunched slightly as you gently laced the lyrics with emotion. Like you were the one that had fallen in love with someone and wanted to tell them through this song. that they meant the world to you. That maybe.. he meant the world to you.

“Baby oh oh oh oh..” His voice melted together with yours, like you two had been singing together for centuries and he could feel the butterflies in his stomach and how his chest felt a little lighter as he continued harmonising with you. Then finally it was his solo line, you had leant back away from the mic - eyes barely open as you nodded along to the song and listened to how he handled his voice and how he finally put some feeling into his words. A smile ghosted your lips and he had to resist the need to smile as he sang but he continued.

Yeah. He gets it now.

“Oh every time I see you, geudae nuneul bol ttaemyeon...” He sang out, eyes looking at the glint of your eyes and he finally understood the lyrics a little better. It felt more natural like this, with you. With Rumi it felt like the two were siblings being forced to be nice to each other and honestly, he couldn’t resist messing with her because of it. In that endearing older sibling way where they’re genetically programmed to mess with the younger one. 

It was maybe a minute more of him singing, his voice finally having that sweetness and yearning that you were in need of for this track and you couldn’t help it you were giddy. He was nearly done with his verse and on the last line you looked up, eyes meeting his and he choked on his last word before looking away to break your gaze. You didn’t catch it right? The fact that he was staring at you the entire time as he sang, as the past months of working with you played in his head - the small gestures, the banter, just everything played in his head like a movie and he rubbed the nape of his neck as you clapped for him.

“Yes! Yes this is exactly what I wanted, great job Jinu.” You cheered gleefully as you gestured for Rumi to stop the track, she looked surprised with what she heard. Jinu was capable of singing with emotion? No way. He’s just a stinky demon.. a stinky pretty demon but like, he’s still gross. Though she had to admit you guys sounded.. amazing together. Like you were confessing to each other in the snippet that was recorded and she felt a tinge of jealousy at that, she’s known you longer after all! Surely it’s just business. Jinu laughed you off, bashful as he gave an awkward tiny bow to you before he responded.

“The scenario you said to imagine, just kinda worked I guess?” He offered up as an explanation but you didn’t look into it too much, hands lightly clapping at his work before you instructed him and Rumi to swap places. As they brushed by each other Rumi couldn’t help it, she had to make a jab at him.

“Do you know what button to press orrrr.. are you gonna wing it?” It was childish, she had a smug smile on her face as he paused briefly before they both gave each other the stank eye and she entered the booth - taking up Jinu’s previous position as you bounced slightly on your feet in joy. Finally things are shaping up! Jinu sat down in the office chair in front of the audio equipment, staring blankly at all the shiny lit up buttons and dials and- okay yeah he has no clue what he’s supposed to press. 

Slowly he looked up, Rumi met his eye first and she had the same smug smile on her face as before like she just knew he had no clue what was going on and you? When he caught your eye you just smiled at him, walking up to the glass and trying to point out which buttons he needs to press and trying to talk loud enough through the muffling glass for him to understand that he shouldn’t press them until you give him a signal. He could do that much. Hopefully.

You stepped back up to the mic, turning to Rumi and beginning to give her the same breakdown you gave Jinu but instead you’d be singing Jinu’s lines instead and then you would harmonise on the bridge together.

“Rumi, I know you well enough that you’ve never thought about holding hands with someone before. I need you to just, pretend, that you finally found the love of your life okay?” It was a very, very poorly worded peptalk and she was shocked. “I too have thought about that!” Rumi said in protest, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment and she could just feel Jinu’s dumb smile as he heard everything through the mics.

“Okay okay, alright then.. imagine we’ve been arguing for weeks and then something clicks and you just, start seeing me in a different light hm? Just picture me as someone that you fell for.” You teased, your tone softer with her as you smiled at her before gesturing for Jinu to start up the song at a different part. You winced when he hit the wrong button, a screech playing in both you and Rumi’s headphones that made the other girl groan and mutter about his incompetence but you heard the muffled sorry from him as he corrected his mistake and finally the song started back up right near his chorus would end.

“Nal tteonaji marayo..” You sang out, no hesitance as you picked up the song from right after the chorus with ease. Rumi couldn’t help but look at you with an adoring gaze, she loved hearing you sing and.. you were just in your element when you were in the booth or when you were busy slaving away at mixing tracks. Like your own graceful kind of science. There was a yearning in your voice that tugged at her heart, a bittersweet touch to the words that left your lips and she really felt like you were saying these to her. A confession between the two of you.

“Nal mitgo gidaryeojullaeyo.” You continued and she let herself harmonise with you, emotion slipping into the lyrics as she let your voices mix together finally. No battle, no too much or too little on either of your voices. She perfectly melded in with yours like you were meant to sing this track together. She hit the high note beautifully, tastefully even with such ease and precision - strain free and you mentally cheered as you continued on eyes closing as you continued the last few lines with her. The emotion Rumi put into her voice, was natural like she’d been bottling up feelings and finally managed to let them out - a tint of shyness in her words as they left her lips.

“Nae unmyeongijyo. Sesang kkeuchirado.” Your voices continued together, Rumi ending the shared harmony with a softer touch and leaning away from the mic and continued to admire you as you sang out the last line that you wanted to show them. Jinu was stunned. He knew Rumi could sing, he knew you could sing but it was like he was listening to an intimate confession between two soulmates.. which made him feel a twinge of jealousy but he couldn’t deny that you both sounded heavenly together.

“Jigyeojugo shipeun neo,” You finished, letting the music play and holding up a hand to show Rumi not to continue on as you opened your eyes and stepped back. You motioned for Jinu to stop the track and he did, and you felt the tension leave your shoulders as you quietly cheered - the joy in your body leading you to bounce a little in joy as you fought the urge to let out a hoot of victory.

“Yes! YES! This is great, awesome, I just need you two do the exact same thing let’s get Jinu back in here.” You spoke quickly as you took the headphones off your head, haphazardly throwing them on the studio mic and rushed out of the booth. You spun Jinu, grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his seat in a blink of an eye as you ushered him back into the recording booth so he and Rumi could try that last bridge again together. 

The finally understood what to do!

Rumi and Jinu exchanged glances. This wouldn’t end well. You gleefully gave a thumbs up to them as you started the track from the beginning, full belief in them as they started the song from the beginning again. Both flawlessly sang their solo choruses and Jinu was singing the chorus the exact same way as he did with you - but then it was like a record scratch moment as they immediately started overpowering each other again during the bridge and your smile dropped from your face.

Oh.. it seems you’ll be in here for a third session with them after all.

[swallowtail-ageha]

I am late but 4, 5, 6 and 25 for ER? (for violence ask meme)

Djcjajskak dont worry for being late,,,,

4- What was the last straw that finally made you block that annoying person?

I block extremely liberally tbh there was a guy i had a squabble with but didnt block because i forgor and then they ended up on my dash again and i blocked them because oh god their takes on everything are ass and fall on woobiefication. Tbh all woobiefication "this character is so good and never did anything wrong and fuck the character who hurt them and their fans" of their kind is a guaranteed instablock and i also feel like mouth-frothingly hating a character because they hurt your fave is a rather childish way to interact with media tbh.

5- Worst discord server and why?

Oh def the one of a certain mohg/oc artist that i shan't name lest a lightbulb blow up in my house. That thang was a tar pit holy shitttt i do admit i had fun seeing them melt down periodically over proshippers or whatever and add them to their blocklists before i got kicked out (for inactivity or other reasons, i shall never know nor care LMAO).

Never forget the great anti lothric/lorian meltdown, where you were a weirdo if you thought they had something going on but also my 50 year old italian mother who knows jackshit about dark souls walked in the cutscene went "are they like jaime and cersei". Yeah. Totally no subtext and if you see it you are a pervert. Sure

6- Which ship fans are most annoying?

I wouldnt say annoying per se tbh i guess their way to engage with those characters through extreme woobiefication annoys me but i dont think they are annoying people per se but yeah morgott/oc shippers and messmer/oc shippers. Extreme woobiefication and also those pairings are so popular its kinda hard to escape them 😔.

Again wjcjakdksk i dont find them annoying and i actually immensely respect their dedication to their craft, it just isnt for me and the market is oversaturated lol

25- Common fandom complaint you are sick of hearing

Will go with the type of people who believe that if you think of malenia as not a morally savory person and think of her as rather selfish if complex you are misogynistic. I do get that it was born as a pushback against those rancid "gigachad radahn vs evil coward bitch malenia" stans but again chat. We can afford our women kinda sucking. Also annoys me because they are the type of people whose most characterization of malenia is "eheh dirty girl she eats dirt she is stinky eheh she obeys to her brother because she is so awkward she cannot think for herself" to the point where if you dont know who malenia was you'd think they were talking about a dog

[adamwatchesmovies]

The Matrix Reloaded (2003)

When talking about The Matrix Reloaded, we need to remember a few things. Firstly, this is very much a “Part 1”. At the time, we knew a sequel was coming (there’s a trailer for The Matrix Revolutions at the end of the credits) and now you’ll have no trouble watching the films back-to-back so the inconclusive ending isn't an issue. Secondly, we should consider the entertainment factor. This movie has a lot of ideas that may or may not completely come together in the end. It definitely feels more than a little self-important at times. Does that matter when it also features what might be the most exciting, action-packed chase scene of all time, dazzling special effects and the kind of fight choreography most action films could only dream of? Maybe, but only so much.

Neo (Keanu Reeves) has done it. He got the girl (Carrie-Anne Moss as Trinity), defeated the villain (Hugo Weaving as Agent Smith) and now navigates the Matrix like it’s his personal playground. Morpheus (Lawrence Fishburne) believes it’s only a matter of time before the prophecy is fulfilled and all of humanity is freed from the clutches of the artificial world. When the city of Zion learns a mechanical army will arrive to destroy it within 72 hours, those who’ve escaped the Matrix are divided by what they should do next.

Looking back, The Matrix is a hard science fiction film with elements that would fit more comfortably in a fantasy. I don’t mean the power fantasy that it is. All of the talks about prophecies and “the one”, the Oracle (Gloria Foster), the use of mythological and biblical names like Trinity, Morpheus, Zion, and Nebuchadnezzar make you wonder if the mechanical menaces are stand-ins for demons or Greek monsters. Some of it you assumed was just “sounds cool hacker lingo” but The Matrix Reloaded doubles down on the mysticism. Many of the programs we meet allegedly serve a function within the Matrix but you’re unsure how that could work. “People” like the Merovingian (Lambert Wilson) and his wife, Persephone (Monica Bellucci) seem more concerned with their strained marriage and petty squabbles than maintaining a sense of order within the Matrix. At least programs like the Keymaker (Randall Duk Kim) can be traced to useful functions but others leave you scratching your head. I can’t say if it’s intentional or not that the digital entities we meet are virtually indistinguishable from the real humans living outside. Either it says something about the way the machines - once eager to prove their superiority to humans because of what made them different from their fleshy creators (as shown in “The Animatrix”) have “devolved” into beings concerned with petty subjects like who’s sleeping with who, childish grudges and amassing more power in a virtual world, or this series doesn’t really have a concrete direction and is just a neat concept that conveniently allows the Wachowskis (who once again write and direct) to bring their childhood fantasies to life for all to see.

The questions surrounding the film’s ultimate goal and the authorial intent can pull you out of it for a moment but you’ll be sucked back in by the incredible action scenes. It’s a shocker to see Agent Smith back (once again hinting at some confused objectives behind the scenes) but his first confrontation with Neo is the stuff of legends. Long, well-choreographed, consistently exciting and memorable, the scene makes you wonder “How did they do that”? over and over. Some have accused the special effects of being dated (wouldn’t be a surprise considering the film is now 18 years old) but that’s only the case if you watch the clip in isolation. As part of a continuous flow within the film, you don’t see the seams.

As impressive as the “Burly Brawl” may be, it’s nothing compared to the “Highway Chase”. The latter begins with our heroes pitted against the kind of opponents that could only come from the artificial world. As Neo desperately races to save his friends, Morpheus, Trinity and the Keymaker are pursued by “The Twins” (Neil and Adrian Rayment). They're programs from an older iteration of the Matrix that used ghosts, vampires, werewolves, etc. to maintain order rather than Agents. Our leather-clad, sunglasses-wearing superhero protagonists have to go up against phantasms who can become intangible at will. How do you defeat one of those? You can’t. All you can do is run. Racing down the highway at blinding speeds would be enough of a challenge. With these two on their tails AND Agents who are drawn to the flagrant rule-breaking? It seems impossible, which is why the sequence is so exciting. You’ve got no idea how this will end. To get out alive, our heroes will have to invent all sorts of new tricks, guaranteeing that you’ll be talking about this movie with your friends for weeks.

Those are only two scenes. We also have elaborate heists, sabotage that threatens everything, shocking revelations about the world inside and outside the Matrix, fascinating concepts introduced and loads of memorable characters. Some of The Matrix Reloaded doesn’t come together the way it should (or maybe it will in the next movie, don’t be too quick to judge) but this is the kind of picture that makes you go “WOW!” frequently - even if you don’t understand it all. (On Blu-ray, January 1, 2022)

[renaerys]

Has anyone said “38. That ass is highly unprofessional” for Reds yet? Because I feel like the comedy potential is enormous

38. “That ass is highly unprofessional.”

There are far too many good scenarios for this excellent prompt and idk if I picked the best one, but an effort was made. 🤡

Send me a prompt and some characters! Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we're getting creative here.

List of prompts

xxx

Blossom watched from across the room as Brick fist-bumped the head delegate from the China team. He’d been cagey and weirdly subdued all morning, but the moment the unmoderated caucus began, he slinked away without anyone noticing. Anyone, that is, except Blossom.

“Russia? You were saying?”

Blossom snapped the pencil she’d been holding between her fingers. Denmark leaned back and slowly pulled the cup full of fresh pencils out of her reach. “What? Oh, right. I’m proposing we form a sub-committee to begin formal negotiations.”

“No way, we don’t negotiate with terrorists,” said Canada. “Terrestrial or otherwise.”

The United States stood up and palmed his fist. “Agreed. I say we nuke ‘em before they can nuke us.”

“Oh, sure, great idea, Rambo. This is Model UN, not Independence Day.”

“Wow, super in-character of you, Switzerland. Why are you even here?”

Blossom put up her hand. “We have no idea if the aliens are terrorists. I agree that we can’t discount the possibility of hostile intent, but violence should not be our opening move.”

“Crisis update!” A staffer handed Canada a red envelope, which she read aloud to the gathered students-cum-delegates. The aliens had parked one of their space ships on the Xi’an city wall, destroying a huge chunk of it and killing some civilians, and China was using it as justification to attack with full force.

“Oh my god, I think we might actually be in Independence Day,” Canada said.

“Recess! I’m calling for a recess.” Blossom left the table as the United States, Canada, and a gaggle of European Union countries began to squabble.

She found Brick talking to Israel and Argentina. The minute he saw her coming, he excused himself from the conversation and walked the other way.

“Brick! I know you saw me.” Blossom followed him to the all-gender restrooms, where he was fixing his hair in the mirror. “What are you doing?”

“About to take a gratuitous shit. You might want to get out of here.”

She grabbed his elbow and spun him toward her. “I’m talking about your side conversations. What were you doing talking to China without me?”

“Russia’s a big country, and you looked busy doing your thing. I’m just doing mine.”

“And what, exactly, is your thing?” She peered at him. “I swear to god, if that KGB comment this morning wasn’t a joke and I find out you’ve been threatening the other delegates behind my back—”

“Relax, comrade,” he patted her shoulder, “before you pop a seam in your pencil skirt.”

Blossom could not help but check out her ass in the mirror now that he’d brought it up. Of course, he was also checking out her ass, because he was an uncouth jerk who knew exactly how to get under her skin, and now Blossom was at an impasse. If she told him off, she’d be giving him exactly what he wanted, which was to make her snap and froth. If she did nothing, he’d still win with the knowledge that he’d pissed her off and gotten the last word in to boot.

Much like with terrorists, when it came to dealing with teenage boys, negotiation was not an option; the only solution was total annihilation.

Blossom placed a hand on her hip and stuck her ass out more as she examined herself in the mirror. “You mean, this pencil skirt?”

Brick’s smile fell in defeat like so many doomed German aggressors marching into the heart of Russian winter. “Obviously.”

Perish, you fool.

“Did you see a loose thread somewhere around here?” She turned slightly and ran her finger along the side seam of her skirt in an unbridled act of hormonal militarism. “Or was it on this side?”

Brick rested his weight on the counter because he was weak and cornered and they both knew it.

“No?” She smiled. “Just your imagination, then. We better get back to the conference.”

She made it halfway to the door when Brick hauled his wounded carcass away from the sink counter and desperately fired back with: “Disgraceful tactics, honestly.”

“Me? I’m not the one committing treason and encouraging intergalactic warfare.”

“Hey, I signed up for global warming and nuclear proliferation, not this made up Men in Black bullshit. If aliens attacked we’d just blast them ourselves, no negotiation necessary, we can all go home.”

“Oh my god, so you admit you intentionally sabotaged the exercise! I knew it. You are highly unprofessional.”

“That ass is highly unprofessional!”

“Stop thinking about my ass!”

“I literally fucking cannot after that!”

Blossom fumed. “Are you saying I’m asking for it?”

“I’m saying how dare you expect me not to think about how good your ass looks in that skirt!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault, is it? Well, I’m so sorry for looking amazing in Western business professional!”

“Apology accepted!”

“Good!”

“Great!”

“Fantastic!”

“Wonderful!”

“Incredible!”

“Superb!”

“Glorious!”

“Brilliant!"

Blossom had at least fifteen more increasingly positive synonyms that she could have screamed at Brick, but Denmark popped his head in just as she was getting ready to shout stupendous at top volume.

“Um, hi. We’re taking a vote on what to do about the aliens and we need Russia’s vote, so…yeah.”

The vote was close and also meaningless, since China and several allies acted on their own against the aliens, who of course retaliated and gave the United States carte blanche to bust out the big guns. By the end of the conference, half the world’s population had been eradicated by nuclear weapons or alien technology. It was a complete and total disaster, and Blossom had no idea how she was going to explain it to her Model UN club coach when she got back to Townsville.

“Told you we should have just fought the aliens ourselves,” Brick said as they packed up their things for the flight back home.

“Please stop talking. It makes it harder for me to pretend you don’t exist.”

“Still wearing the skirt, I see.”

Blossom threw her water bottle at him, which was both very childish and very unsatisfying when he caught it. “I’m going to wear pencil skirts every day for the rest of the semester just for you.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“I dare.”

“I’ll drop out.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I’ll check out your ass every day.”

“Go ahead.”

“I will.”

“Great, because I want you to.”

“Great, because I want to!”

“I’m going to look so good!”

“I completely agree!”

They stormed out of the conference center together.

“See you on Monday,” Blossom said in her best die in a trash heap voice.

“You better wear a skirt,” Brick said as if he’d just invited her to jump into an active volcano.

“I absolutely will.”

“I can’t wait.”

Blossom swallowed a scream and took off flying, knowing she’d be there all day if he didn’t get the last word in.

xxx

“Dude, are you okay? You’ve been aggressively staring at Blossom’s ass all morning.”

Brick sucked on his straw loud enough to draw Blossom’s annoyed glance. “Fuck off, Harry.”

“Are you, like, into her?”

She turned her back to him and power posed with her hands on her hips, which was an extremely flattering angle and a high-key bitch move. “I despise her.”

Harry smiled. “Oh, cool! Cool cool cool… Hey, so I was wondering who I should ask to Homecoming—”

“No.”

“But I just thought since you don’t—”

“No.”

Harry finally fucked off.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

[outro-tsukki]

hi there! i had an idea/request for a scenario with tsukishima kei, where he’s jealous because his s/o is always talking to the other volleyball members more often, so he starts giving his girlfriend the silent treatment. in the end his s/o teases him about being jealous and starts to cling on to him more often. sorry if this is too much 😅

a/n: I don’t want to do my online work and being a hermit is tiring for once so here we are

-

Ever since you became a manager alongside Yachi, you and Kageyama quickly became close friends. You often found yourself tutoring him when he and Hinata would come into your and Yachi’s classroom. Even outside of tutoring, you hung out with him quite a bit, helping him with volleyball, or just simply being his friend.

Tsukishima didn’t like that at all. It’s not that he was particularly jealous (he was, but he’d much rather die than ever admit that) it’s the fact that he did not like Kageyama very much. You could have chosen to become close with anyone on the team, anyone could have sufficed. And you picked Kageyama.

He would have been fine with it. It would have been tolerable… had you not been keeping all your attention on the setter rather than him. So, when Tsukishima finally had your attention, he chose to be petty.

It had been a long practice, the overall team was divided in two, and several practice matches took place. It was a Friday, so you had the weekend to do as you’d like without worrying too much about school or the team. In a good mood, you wait by the gym to walk home with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi.

You greet the two of them, and while Yamaguchi does, your boyfriend doesn’t. You don’t seem to pay it much mind until he begins to walk off without you.

“Hey! Aren’t you gonna wait for me?”

“Why don’t you go ask the King to walk you home?” He spits out, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Huh? Kageyama? Why would I ask Kageyama to walk me home?” You give out an awkward chuckle and avert your gaze to Yamaguchi, who seems to be just as confused and uncomfortable as you were.

Kei glares you down, and while there’s a bit of distance between you, the overall air is tense and uncomfortable.

“So… I’m taking it as you’re not going to walk me home.”

“Nope. See ya.” And he begins to walk off, headphones placed over his ears, music blasting. Yamaguchi chooses to stay back, deciding to at least accompany you to your bus stop.

“What crawled up his ass and died?” You question, your head tilted back to look at the lamp posts beginning to flicker with life.

Yamaguchi chuckles at your words before shrugging. “I dunno. He’s been grumpier than usual. I mean, I can tolerate it mostly but today…” He shudders.

“Though I think it has something to do with Kageyama. He was fine this morning. It was during lunch that he got upset.

And there was that thing during practice.”

You stop in your tracks, a grimace on your face.

“Tadashi, I think I screwed up.”

He sighs, immediately recognizing the look on your face. It was one you often did when you did something you knew you shouldn’t have.

“What did you do?”

“I… might’ve cancelled a date… to tutor Kageyama and Hinata? And I’ve been dipping on him lately to help the guys out with their quick.”

Yamaguchi lets out a sigh, realizing that might’ve been the source of Tsukishima’s tantrum.

“I need to make it up to him,” you suddenly decide, “He’s such a butt though, how the hell am I going to fix this?” You suddenly look at your friend with hopeful eyes.

“I’m sorry, but if this is something you can’t fix, I probably can’t either.”

“Thank you for the reassuring help, Tadashi.”

-

When you got home, and all throughout the weekend, you kept trying to call and text Tsukishima, but to no avail. He at least read your texts, but would not respond.

On Sunday night, you turn over in your bed to meet the beady stare of a brontosaurus plush he had begrudgingly gifted you. You had named it Tsukki in his honor, to which he had flushed a comically endearing shade of red, and turned his head away to hide it. The memory made you smile.

You continued staring at it until an idea finally came to mind.

“Cake. I’ll make him some cake. Cake makes anybody happy, right?” You ask the plush, hoping it would respond. It didn’t.

“Sheesh, I miss talking to Kei so much I’m talking to a stuffed animal…” you grumble to yourself, getting out of bed and heading to your kitchen.

“Hopefully… this fixes it a bit…” You scan your refrigerator for strawberries.

-

The next morning you wait by the entrance to catch him. Within five minutes of waiting, you spot the golden mop of curls you had been waiting for.

“Kei!”

Out of habit, he glances over at you, though he quickly catches himself, and looks away. He walks right past you, but you were as stubborn as he was.

“Morning, Kei. I hope you had a nice weekend.”

He says nothing, slipping off his sneakers and replacing them with indoor shoes.

You follow him all the way to his classroom, attempting to make conversations here and there. And the more you spoke, the more he ignored you.

“Kei, I’m sorry. I’m really, really, really, reaaaally sorry for cancelling our date.”

“Wow, those are a lot of reallys,” he says with fake enthusiasm, though you're so glad he’s finally speaking to you that it flies right over your head, “do you really mean it?”

“Yes, Kei. I’m so sorry. I’m a dumbass… I didn’t stop and think that it would upset you. Forgive me?” You hand him a neatly wrapped box with the cake inside.

He takes the box before holding your gaze. It makes you feel hopeful. And in a very Tsukishima manner, he gives a charming smile before speaking poison. “Nope. But I’ll take the cake, now go away.”

“God, you suck. Now, normally I’d tell the other person to drop dead and go to hell for speaking to me like that, but I like you a little too much to let you go. Forgive me, you dummy.”

“Is that really what you want to be calling me when you’re in my classroom, offering me cake, which you baked for me, in order to get my forgiveness?”

He chuckles at your annoyed expression.

“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but you’re a lot more attractive when you don’t speak.”

“I’ve been told.”

You begin pouting, and all throughout the day, you two bicker back and forth. It relieves Yamaguchi a bit because at least you two seem to be back to normal, at least with the childish arguments.

Finally, after practice, Tsukishima had enough of your insistence. Yamaguchi had gone off ahead to have extra practice with Shimada, leaving you to wait for Kei only. Before you even open your mouth in an attempt to get something out of him, he flicks your forehead.

“If you stop being so damn stubborn, will you finally realize I’d forgiven you hours ago? I was joking when I said no earlier. I had only continued to squabble with you because it had been the most you had spoken to me in days, at least, before I gave you the cold shoulder.”

He missed you. At least, that’s all you understood from his words.

He stiffens with a visible blush on his face as you leap at him, burying your face into his chest. “I missed you too, dummy.”

He quickly scans the area in case any of the others were around, but everyone who chose to have some more practice was cooped up in the gym. Once he deems the coast clear, his hand comes up to pet your hair. He didn’t exactly care if anyone saw him being affectionate towards you, but he also didn’t want certain people (Tanaka and Nishinoya) to spot the two of you.

“I know I kept saying it earlier, but I’m really sorry for dipping on you for Kageyama. I felt bad for him, the guy’s been through a lot. He needs some more friends besides Hinata.”

“Yeah, yeah, the King’s life is a total sob story.” Kei grumbles, slipping his hand into yours when you reach out to hold it. His tone now makes you laugh.

“You know, Kei, I didn’t take you to be the jealous type.”

“I’m not jealous.” He keeps his gaze straight ahead, though you can tell he’s lying by the way his free hand begins to fidget and the tips of his ears turn red.

“It’s cute,” You add on, “‘Cept when you totally gave me the cold shoulder. Probably the worst weekend of my life.”

“Well then next time, don’t flake on our date to tutor Kageyama,” He seemed to have recovered from being embarrassed as he reached out to pinch your cheek with his free hand, “And next time you do, add some ice cream to the apology gifts.”

[godstaff]

Kent family watches the Incredibles movies

Clark: Well, guys: due to the pandemic, the JL has restricted the amount of operatives in the field, so Mommy and I will spend the day with our family. Do you know any of them? Where are they?

Aster: We’re here, Dad! We are your family!

Selene: He’s joking, you Goblin!

Aster: Shut up, “Big Larda”!

Diana: That’s enough! Both of you!

Clark: Mom is right: stop it now, or there won’t be ice-cream for anybody! I mean it. No more name calling, okay?

Selene: But, Daddy: aren’t we immune to this Covid stuff?

Diana: We are, Lena, but Dad and I have a duty to set an example to others. We are privileged, but we need to see the bigger picture.

Clark: Besides, we must not parade our immunity in front of much vulnerable people. It would seem like laughing in their faces. Even if we’re impervious, we can carry the virus with us and transmit it to the folks we come in contact with. 

Diana: We can’t deliver the wrong message.

Selene: Okay. Why don’t we end the problem once and for all?

Diana: May be we can, but we have to give humanity the chance to try and solve their problems themselves. As Daddy says: “we can’t carry them straight to the top, we can only...”

Selene and Aster: “...help them up when they trip and fall.”

Clark: Exactly. And accompany them in their journey. In this cases, we intervene when things get way out of hand, or they will start to depend on us for anything and stop thinking for themselves.

Aster: Is it bad not thinking for ourselves?

Diana: Thinking for yourself is the best way to really learn. Let you to think for yourself is the best gift anybody can give you. Daddy and I can teach you a lot of things, but it is up to you and your analysis of those things to create your own personality and knowledge. Imagine your head is a library and Dad and me are filling it with books, all kinds of books: if you can’t think for yourself, there won’t be any organization. You are the librarian who organizes everything in your personal order, to connect those books with others of the same content. So far, you need guidance. The day will come when you get good at it, and won’t need any help. When people learn to think for themselves, it will come a time, perhaps, when they won’t need our help.

Clark: It doesn’t matter if you don’t completely understand all this right now: just remember what you can. In time you’ll find out the meaning.

Aster: I’ll try, Daddy. Lena: did you find out yet?

Selene: What I’ve found out so far is it takes a lifetime to do it. The important thing is keep on trying. It’s like having a baby brother: it sucks, but you get used to it. You may even enjoy it sometimes.

Clark: Enough with the learning moment. What you say we have a marathon of movies and junk food?

Diana shot a disapproving look in Clark’s direction.

Clark (with an apologetic tone): Just for today...?

Diana: Just for today.

Clark, Selene and Aster: Yaaay!

Clark: What do you want to watch?

A battle of propositions and rejections followed, from “that is too childish” to “ugh! That’s a girl’s movie!”. Until Clark said:

Clark: What if we start with “The Incredibles”? I’ve heard it’s funny and not entirely for kids. Besides, they could be us.

Selene: I’ve seen the first, I was your age back then, but not the sequel. It’s truly funny, and realistically shows the pain of having two baby brothers, emphasis on “baby”. Count me in.

Aster: I’ve seen both, but I don’t mind watching them again. 

Diana: All set, then: “The Incredibles” 1 and 2 it is.

Clark: I’ll make the popcorn. Lena: a hand, please?

Selene: Sure, Dad.

Aster: Bring me a soda!

Selene: Of course, “my Liege”. Move it and get it yourself!

Aster: Mom!

Clark: C’mon, Len, we’re already here. Let get sodas for everyone.

Selene: Ugh! I swear I’m gonna kill him one of these days!

The movie started and Clark asked:

Clark: Do I look like that?

Diana: Don’t be so self aware: it’s a cartoon. Besides, you’re not blond, thank Hera!

Clark: I’ll double my workout routine, beginning tomorrow.

Selene and Aster: Shhhh!

Diana (whispering in Clark’s ear): Please tell me I don’t have that enormous ass.

Clark (also whispering): Of course not!

Selene and Aster: Shhhhhhhhhh! We still can hear you!

Diana and Clark: Sorry!

Selene (pressing pause): Doesn’t the villain remain you of Luthor? Minus the hair, that is.

Clark: Believe it or not, Lex had red hair too before losing it.

Aster: Dad: what do you think of capes?

Clark: I’m in favor, of course. It’s not that terrible, once you learn to deal with them. And they look majestic while flying. But you will have to decide for yourselves. Granddad Jor wore capes, and so did the fathers of aunts Karen and Kari, my uncles Zor from both Kryptons. It’s tradition.

Diana: And Grandmamá Lyta wears one for ceremonial purposes

Aster: And masks? What do you think of masks? They look cool.

Diana: Your Dad didn’t wear them because he wanted people to trust him. It would be a pity to cover that handsome face (smiling at Clark)

Clark (smiling back at her): When  Mommy and I got together, the double personality made no sense anymore. We were not hiding our love to the World, and, if we did, Superman and Wonder Woman and Diana Prince and Clark Kent were two very similarly looking couples: tall, black hair, athletic build, etc.

Diana: People are not stupid: they would’ve connected the dots in no time, so we came clean. And it was a good thing to do: now we have time for our family, instead of wasting it in a job or trying to make another life as a civilian. 

Clark: In fact, it’s very liberating not to hide half of the time, although I miss the office sometimes. 

Diana: Look at uncles Bruce and Richard and the Robins: all, except Jason, have to work twice as much, and none of them have a real job.

Clark: Besides, just look at your sister: blue hair, 6′7″, a complete and total Kryptonian Amazon...and, before you say a word, you’ll be no different: as tall as her, if not taller, and the same build. You only lack the blue hair.

Aster: Why does she have...?

Selene: Are we done? Can we continue with the movie?

Aster: It was you who pressed “pause”.

Selene: Well: I’m done. Are you?

Aster: Yeah.

At the end of the first movie, everyone stood up and went to do their things.

Clark: Okay, people, the intermission is 15 minutes. Stretch your legs, if you have to.

Aster: It was very cool. 

Selene: See? It’s not important how much we squabble, if we’re united when it matters.

Aster (coming back from the bathroom): Mom: Why does Lena have blue hair?

Diana: Dad and I are the first couple of our kind, therefore, you both are the first of your species. It was predictable you would have some genetic peculiarities. There was some magic involved in your conception, don’t forget Daddy is from another world. Don’t get me wrong: we made sure you two will not come out as strange beings, with two heads and all that.

Aster: It would have been cool to have two heads!

Diana: Mmmmno. We’d had love you all the same, though. Anyway, Lena was the first, and her hair is proof of that. You two are special, only in her case, she showed it immediately. Don’t sweat: you can still grow a second head.

Aster (enthusiastically): Really?

Diana (throwing herself over her son): Naaah!

Selene: Don’t talk about me behind my back! It’s not polite. I can hear you, you know?. Superhearing, remember?

Diana: I’ll have to teach you both sign language, so we can keep some secrets in our family. 

Selene: You know sign language?

Diana: And Braille writing and reading. So does Dad. There’s also a language based on small taps on the other people’s hand, for those unfortunate who lost both, sight and hearing, called Tactile Signing. If we want to help, we must be able to communicate with everyone, back and fore.

Selene: I want to learn! I’m starting tomorrow!

Diana: How about you, Ast? Your sis is giving you the chance of starting early.

Aster: I would hate she talking to you and me not understanding it. I’m in.

Clark: Two minutes and the show will continue!

Once everybody was sitting, the second part began. Half way to the projection, it was Aster who pressed pause.

Aster: Mom, Dad: do you need to have a job?

Clark: We don’t really need it. Mommy and I can get anything we need, and so will you someday. We could have one, if we want it, but our work protecting humanity and raising you takes precedence.

Diana: Dad and I can find all kinds of minerals men consider precious and extract it with our bare hands.

Selene: If they want it, they can be richer that Luthor, Mr. Terrific and uncle Bruce combined.

Clark: But the pursue of riches is not a priority. Some time back, Mommy and I designed the basics for nuclear fusion based energy supply, which is sustaining our home, the rest of the Fortress and some parts of Themyscira. We gave the blueprints to Mr. Holt and uncle Bruce, so they could adapt it for human usage. Mr. Holt wanted to make it into a business, but uncle Bruce and I prevented it. It wasn’t an evil thing what Michael wanted to do, from a mundane perspective, but if the whole planet was going to benefit of the findings, we better let corporations and businesses out of the picture, We convinced him with only two words: “Fair Play”. 

Diana: Lex hated us: he lost a ton of money and four of his energy corporations rolled the curtains down definitely. We made sure the employees left without a job, were absorbed by Wayne Enterprises and Holt Industries.

The movie continued. At some point, Selene interrupted it.

Selene. Mom, Dad: is it so easy to take over somebody’s mind, like in the movie?

Diana: Depends on whose mind. If the person is in need of something or lacking other things, like Elastigirl here, it’s easier to invade someone’s mind, the invaders has to take advantage of the weaknesses of that person. If Dad or any of you are in some peril, my state of mind will be compromised and I would constitute an easy target.

Selene: How can we prevent that kind of happenstances? Specially in our particular situation.

Clark: Being very careful, knowing all the time the others are safe. That’s why is so important to be always in communication with each other.

Diana: It’s not invasion of privacy, it’s just caution. We won’t stop you from living your life, we won’t use tracers or any kind of location devices: we are asking you to keep us informed. You’ll understand when you have children of your own.

Clark: There are individuals with immense power no mind can resist, like Maxwell Lord...

Selene: Who is that?

Diana: No longer a problem.

Clark: ...in those cases, we have to be patient and look for an opening. There’s always a mistake these people make: too confident and underestimating their opponent. There’s always, in the back of your mind, a vestige of consciousness. And Mommy’s Lasso of Truth will protect its bearer and it can reverse the process in others.

Selene: I see. But there’s always a risk.

Diana: Our occupation is always a risk. We must be prepared. Even if you don’t want to follow our steps, problems will reach you because of who you are, I’m sorry. It’s like being the offspring of someone very rich: there’s always a virtual target on your backs.

Clark: But life is beautiful and worth living, don’t let potential dangers take that away. People in other situations than ours are also in other kind of perils. Is a constant no living being can escape.

Diana: Animals in the wild are always at the mercy of predators. 

Clark: Ours are just another kind of predators.

Selene: I think I get the idea, but I have to ruminate on it.

Clark: Sure, baby. Take your time.

Diana: We are here for any question.

Selene: Thank you. Let’s finish the movie, please. Hey, Astroboy! Wake up!

Aster: Uh? Are we done?

Selene: Welcome to the land of the living.

Aster: Can we finish the movie now?

[itsthemoofacewriting]

Don’t look back, just keep your eyes on me

Summary: They were going to need each other if they wanted to survive education. A-level/School AU. LuNami

Rating: K- No warnings, just wholesome goodness. 

So, this is kind of a rewrite of my other story School Days on FFN. I wrote School Days a reaaaaally long time ago, I think I was 15? And that’s probably being a bit generous, I was probably younger. Now at 24, I think I can give it a better crack. I’ll still leave the original up for people, but I won’t be adding to that story, it’ll go here.

I’m also making everyone the same age; they’ll be anywhere from 16-18 (depending on where we are in the story) and completing their A-levels. I can’t stand separating the Straw hats, they’re a team, guys!

The schooling system is based on the UK. Over here you have primary school (age 5-11), secondary school (11-16), then between the ages of 16-18 you can either go to a college to learn a trade (mechanics, plumbing, hair dressing etc) or a college to do a-levels, which get you ready for university.

Hopefully that’ll explain it but I’m more than happy to answer any other questions people may have.

You can also find this story on FFN and AO3

The new girl

Nami was in a daze. It was her first day. She was alone and lost already. Her and her family had to wait for the previous people to move out before they could travel down. The earliest they could move was two weeks after term had started. That meant that if people at school didn’t know each other, they did now. Friendship groups would have already been made and everyone would be comfortable. She’d be enduring her first day completely alone.

To make matters worse, the school was huge, and the office had given her a tiny map to get around. She’d missed the induction days, which definitely would have helped. There was no winning in this situation. So she would suck it up, square her shoulders and get on with the tiny map, her only companion. Now, if only she could figure out where room L540 was from here.

“You know, if you stand there like that for a few more minutes, you’ll be trampled to death by a stampede of students once the bell rings.”

Nami turned to gape at the morbid, but oddly softly spoken, comment made behind her. The dark-haired girl in front of her giggled and Nami could only presume it was because of the face she was making. Nami then took notice of the guy beside her, with a long nose, making what she presumed was the same face as her. A look of pure horror.

“Robin! Don’t say such morbid things! Especially to someone who is clearly new!”

Nami’s shoulders sagged with defeat, so it was obvious that she was new.

The girl named Robin didn’t look the least bit remorseful and instead wore an innocent smile, as if she had been discussing the weather. “From the look of panic and map, you’re new? Do you need help?”

Okay, this was good. Nami could deal with this. This was her opening to make friends. This Robin girl was a bit dark but seemed nice enough. She was about to reply that she would love some help but was interrupted by a loud voice screaming.

“Usooooooooooooopp,” and before she could even blink, a black blur hurtled passed her and into the long-nosed boy, “you said you’d meet me upstairs at my locker five minutes ago. What’s taking so long? We have classes soon. I wanted to show you something cool. Usoooopp, come ooooon,” the boy whined.

However, the long-nosed boy could hardly reply, as he was currently eating dirt from the floor and trapped underneath the weight of the black-haired boy.

Nami was stunned and trying to comprehend what was going on. Was this normal? Should she help? They clearly knew each other and from the unfazed look that Robin had, this was a regular occurrence.

“Uhhh, are you okay?” Nami tentatively asked, wondering whether she should really be caught up in this. It was only her first day.

It seemed then that the black-haired boy had finally noticed it wasn’t just the two of them. As he looked up at Nami, it was like he was seeing a shiny new toy. “Who are you? I don’t know you, do I? No, I think I would remember you. You have cool hair.” The boy was suddenly up and in Nami’s face. “Oh, and yeah I’m good, why wouldn’t I be? Are you okay? Do you want to see something cool? Usopp is clearly too busy.” He then promptly shoved his finger in his nose, completely unaware that Nami wasn’t asking him but the struggling boy underneath.

Nami started to laugh at the peculiar boy in front of her. He clearly had no respect for the uniform with a ratty straw hat on a string around his neck, tie loose and shirt untucked, trousers rolled up past his ankles and flip flops adorning his feet. He knew it was September, right?

He seemed to brighten as she laughed, not understanding that it was actually directed at him, before he was suddenly beaten to the floor.

“Oi. What the hell Luffy? I wasn’t meant to meet you at your locker for another five minutes. Have some patience! And I’m not suddenly too busy, you were on top of me.” Usopp growled, now on his feet behind the black-haired boy, with his freshly raised fist, after hitting him on the head.

As the boy named Luffy hopped to his feet, he started to squabble with the long-nosed boy.

“I don’t think we’re making the best first impression. My name is Robin, the boy with the straw hat is Luffy and the long-nosed boy is Usopp.” Usopp stopped arguing, seeming to take offense to his description, before being pulled back in by Luffy.

“What room are you in? Perhaps one of us can walk you in that direction?”

Nami could feel relief flood through her body at Robin’s words. Normally she had good directional skills but having a helping hand would be great, as she was slowly running out of time to get to class.

“I’m going to room L540, I have geography. Is there any chance you or these guys are in that class too?”

Robin shook her head in sympathy but before she could reply someone else was shouting down to them.

“Oi, Luffy, if you don’t move your ass, I’m leaving you behind!” A green haired student shouted down from the second floor. The fist bell rang just after, signifying they had to get a move on and make their way towards lessons.

Luffy seemed to remember himself, stopping his childish argument with Usopp and turned to Nami. “L540, right? Cool, that’s the way me and Zoro are going, you can walk with us.”

Nami beamed, turning to say thanks and that hopefully she’d see Robin later but stopped at the girl’s face. She had an odd look on her face, did Robin want to walk with her instead? Just as Nami was about to ask what was wrong, Luffy had grabbed her wrist and took off charging up the stairs.

“Zoro isn’t joking, he really will leave us.”

“I can walk by myself, don’t drag me around like that!”

.

.

.

Nami now understood why Robin had that odd expression before. She wasn’t upset about not being able to walk with her but instead knew she would have a massive headache with these two morons.

The school was huge. There were three buildings and two smaller ones, but somehow it still didn’t seem big enough considering all the students moving in every direction possible to make it to their classes on time. The hallways were packed and whilst Nami was side stepping and stopping for people, Luffy and Zoro moved with such fluidity and ease. It was obvious they’d been here for two weeks longer than her.

It was almost like a blur, as they moved from the ground floor, up to the second, through the whole second floor, only to go back down a smaller staircase at the other end of the floor. Nami began getting suspicious when they went through the same hallway again but maybe that was her imagination? They’d been there two weeks, and the school was huge. Everything looked the same. It was probably her mistake.

After looping round the second time, it suddenly clicked into place. They were idiots. Robin’s expression flashed in her mind again and Nami had to remind herself, that it was one of sympathy.

Time to take charge, she thought to herself, sighing.  

Nami and Zoro were locked in a heated argument, with Luffy walking behind them laughing with his hands behind his head, not a care in the world. Luffy hadn’t even blinked when she’d stepped forward to question them, but it seemed to rub a sore spot for Zoro. He adamantly denied and carried onwards, through the second floor for a third time, refusing to use the tiny map. He looked at it as if it were Satan itself.

“I’m new, this is my first day, and yet I have a better understanding of how to get around this school when you’ve been here for two weeks?”

“Oi, new girl, I need to concentrate. You’re yapping and Luffy’s laughing is throwing me off.” Zoro glared behind them. “I said shut up Luffy. You clearly don’t know where you’re going either.”

“Oh, so you admit that you are lost?” Nami smugly looked up at the green haired boy.

The second bell rang, warning them they only had five minutes before lesson started. Any more teasing she had lined up flew out the window, she needed to sort these idiots out and quickly.

As she looked down at her map and up at the numbers on the door, she realised with dread that Zoro had been leading this whole time. Why did she trust these people? Surely the first impressions should have been a big enough hint.

“Zoro… we’re in the completely wrong building.”

He at least had the decency to flush and avert his gaze after that comment. She took the lead following that.

From his viewpoint behind, Luffy was pleased that the new girl was bonding with his best friend. She seemed like a nice person. Yup, she was staying, he’d made his mind up, he thought to himself.

With seconds to spare, Nami was in front of L540 and was giving instructions to Luffy about how to get himself and Zoro to their own classroom. She wasn’t about to be late for them and she definitely had more hope in Luffy, than Zoro, to deliver them to the correct classroom.

“Luffy, look at me and pay attention. Straight and then turn right. The third classroom on the right will be yours. Now hurry up.”

As she turned to go in, she gave them one last look. Why was there only Luffy walking up the hallway? Zoro had told her they both had the same class. Nami could only sigh and, with utter defeat, turned to look in the opposite direction.

“For god sake Zoro! I just gave you the directions. The other way! Follow Luffy, you directionless moron!”

The last sounds she heard before the door closed were Luffy laughing and Zoro stomping past her as she entered.

.

.

.

As first period ended, Nami sighed in relief. Geography wasn’t too bad, but she was so far behind from missing those two weeks. The teacher had been kind enough to set everyone else up with work and sat with her to get her up to date on what she needed to know and the materials she’d need to catch up. It definitely settled her to know the teacher was on her side.

Nami had her head down as she left, trying to orientate herself with where she needed to go next. In one hand was her tiny map and the other her timetable with her next class. From what she could make out, her next class was on the other side of campus. Who put together the timetables? Why couldn’t they see she’d basically have to run or know shortcuts to get there on time. Honestly.

She was brought out of her inner monologue when a hand touched her shoulder.

It was Luffy. Had he waited for her?

“I waited for you! Thanks for helping us find our room, without that we would have been late. Zoro’s useless,” his bright voice spoke, grin splitting across his face.

“Luffy, you didn’t know the way either,” She deadpanned. “Where is he, by the way? Did he get lost already?” She expected no less after their previous experience finding this building.

He laughed, completely ignoring her first comment. “Nope! He fell asleep in our class and the teacher wanted to speak to him after,” he said as he haphazardly swung the doors open to the outer building, oblivious that other students were dodging out of the way to avoid being hit, he was just looking at Nami. “Do you need help with finding your next class?”

Nami smiled, her first impression was correct. He was an idiot, but he seemed kind. He didn’t have to help her and yet here he was risking being late to his next lesson or missing out on some of his free period, all for someone he barely knew. “I appreciate the offer, but I get the impression you need more help than I do. What do you have next? Perhaps I can point you the right way?” They continued walking towards the main building

Suddenly Luffy was in her personal space and looking down at her timetable, completely ignoring whatever she had said, “Accountancy? Didn’t you just have geography? They’re not even related; do you not know what you want to do with your life?”

Okay. So, an idiot, kind and blunt. Although the bluntness might be because of the idiot part.

“I know what I want to do with my life!” She huffed at him. “I want to be a cartographer; I want to make maps of the world. Hence the geography a-levels but the college insisted on four options. I had to fill it with something else and I’m pretty good with money. By the way, I don’t think I’ve properly introduced myself, I’m Nami.”

As she finished, she turned to look at Luffy, expecting him to look bored but he was looking all around her face as if she were the most interesting person to exist. Well, that was certainly nice.

However, he didn’t respond to a thing she had said, a second later he realised that she was staring at him, waiting for a response. Panicking, he blurted out, “Usopp is going that way. You can meet him again properly, when he’s not rolling around the floor.”

Nami could only imagine Usopp would not agree with Luffy’s explanation about him rolling around on the floor but she let it go, perhaps it was best to pick her battles with him. At least she could get to know Usopp better, he seemed the sanest out of this odd bunch so far.

“- and when I turned the corner on my way to the I.T building, they were arguing about someone being a cheat, I think it may have been him, and looked like they were about to fight. Naturally I stepped in like a hero and diffused the situation.” Usopp finished with pride, chest puffed.

She had no idea who Usopp was talking about, but he had some great gossip. Although it was clear he was a bit of a liar. At least he made it easy to pick apart what was gossip and what was a lie. Hm, the irony of his long nose wasn’t lost on her when paired with his lying behaviour.

However, compared on what she had come up against today, he was easily the most normal and incredibly friendly. He hadn’t even blinked when Luffy had come bounding up to him with Nami, especially when she had pinched Luffy’s cheek and lectured him for dragging her around again. Instead Usopp had beamed at her and filled her in on some great gossip that had been going on in the two weeks she had missed as they both walked up to the third floor.

.

.

.

The day had flown by as Luffy hung out with Nami and introduced her to his friends. When he had first seen her, he’d had a gut instinct that she was cool, and it turns out she is. She seemed super smart too and said some really funny things. She had the nicest smile too. He got the impression she liked him and his friends.

He’d walked with her to her fourth lesson and said he’d meet her after so she could sit with them at lunch. Nami could meet everyone else this way too! He was sure she’d fit right into the group.

As Luffy and Nami walked towards the cafeteria on the first floor, he was telling her about this cool move a guy did with his sword during the video he had watched in is history class the other day. He was about to continue but stopped as they arrived into the cafeteria.

It was already packed as Luffy was craning his head trying to see whether his friends had beaten him here and snagged a table. Just then he caught a flash of blue and took Nami’s hand as he ran through the cafeteria towards the rest of his friends. He was completely unaware that he was pushing people or using Nami as a weapon behind him to further push people as she tried to keep up or risk being completely dragged.

“GUUUUUUUYS!” He shouted as he drew closer.

He came to an immediate stop in front of them all, as Nami bumped into the back of him. When she stepped next to him, she had an almost evil look on her face, and he was keenly aware of her saying that she hated being dragged. Instead of saying anything, he moved on quickly in hopes of distracting her.

“Guys, this is… uuuuh…” Okay, think, think. He was pretty sure she had told him her name earlier, but he’d been distracted. Her hair was so cool, it was almost like fire and then he’d thought about how much Ace would probably like it too. Then she’d been so excited as she explained something, her face lighting up, it was very distracting for him. What had she been saying?

The people at the table could only sigh, the girl next to him looked irked and Luffy continuing to think was only adding to her irritation. She had clearly told him based on her look and he’d not listened.

“Oh, oh! It’s Nazi!” He yelped when he came face to face with Nami as she pulled on his cheeks.

“Who on earth would be called Nazi, huh? You take history, that’s an awful name! I told you earlier and you clearly didn’t listen. Nami. N-A-M-I,” and let go of his cheeks with a huff.

Before anyone could speak, a smooth voice started to speak, “Oh, delicate flower, how cruel life is that it has kept us apart up until now. Fate has now brought you to me and your beautiful presence can bring light upon my dark existence.” The blonde boy before her looked close to tears as he finished, going down on one knee, as one of his hands held hers.

“What a dork.”

The table started to snicker at that comment and Sanji was up on his feet in a flash, in front of Zoro and pulling at his collar as an argument broke out between them both.

Things seemed to somewhat calm down after that comment. Luffy watched as Nami introduced herself, properly this time, to the rest of those she hadn’t met and started comparing timetables with whole group.

Luffy realised he didn’t have any classes with Nami but did have a couple of spare periods that they could spend together. Nami and Usopp squealed over the fact they have business together but that seemed to be it for the group. They were all taking very different topics after all. It’s not like it mattered anyway, Luffy only shared some of his classes with Zoro and Robin and he still saw everyone else in-between.

.

.

.

Nami was tired. She’d had a good day, much better than what she’d expected, but the classes had been full on and with the knowledge of how much she still had to do, it weighed heavily on her.

What her previous teachers had said was true, A-levels really were a step up.

She didn’t have any more time to think about that, as Luffy barrelled into her locker, all smiles. “Let’s walk home together.”

At lunch, they’d been discussing how far away from the college they were. It turned out they all lived fairly close to each other, Luffy being the closest. He was only around the corner. She was surprised that he’d been listening at first, he’d looked far too busy shovelling food.

“Uh, yeah sure.” She tried to push that bad feeling down after their expedition around the school earlier but then, Zoro wouldn’t be with them, so it shouldn’t be too bad, right?

She screamed as the car barely missed them, car horn blaring and lights flashing in anger at their recklessness.

This was even worse than being lost with Zoro. Luffy was cackling away, having the time of his life.

It had started calmly enough, Nami had been telling Luffy about her day and how much work she had to do to catch up on. They’d crossed the first road safely but then his face had flashed mischievously, and he took off, grabbing her wrist. The rain definitely hadn’t helped, if anything it egged him on and Nami was trying not to faint. When she’d dropped her bag, Luffy was there in a heartbeat, picking it up and slinging it over his shoulder before a car got to it.

“Do you have a death wish?!” She panted, trying to catch her breath now they were stood in front of her house and not dodging cars. “Who taught you to cross the road?”

Luffy wasn’t fazed at all. “It was fun! Even you laughed when we dodged that puddle.”

She rolled her eyes but knew he had a point. In a crazy way, it had been fun and had taken her mind off of her stressful day. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just try to make it home in one piece.”

“I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning! We can walk together again.” He was now walking backwards, waving his hands above his head and saying goodbye.

“Yeah, 8am sharp! See you- wait, Luffy, you have my bag!”

“You can have it back tomorrow! Bye!”

“No, Luffy I need it tonight.” She started to walk towards him, but it just caused him to walk away quicker.

“Byeeeee!” He cheered loudly.

-------------------------------------------

What had she gotten herself into? There went her night of schoolwork.

Anyone who’s read School Days on FFN will recognise the last scene. How could I not include it? I love chaotic Luffy.

There’s not really going to be a huge plot or an end goal (Although I do have an ending in mind!). I remember reading a fic in a different fandom and theirs were all out of order, varying length, so I might do something like that. Gives me a bit more freedom and sound like fun.

Hope you enjoyed, until next time.

[sadoeuphemist]

To initiate the new sin-eaters, we serve them amaranth. They have eaten amaranth before, of course, almost certainly. It is a staple here in the city. Most eat it at every meal. 

The amaranth pours like grains of sand into their plates as we serve them, and I can see the relief come over their faces, the washing away of the anxiety that they were to be fed something bloodier. Their meal was shipped from far-off lands, I tell them, because of course a city as populated as ours cannot grow the food to sustain itself. Across the seas, I say, our colonies produce the amaranth, hunched men and women harvesting the stalks beneath the burning sun, bearing bundles of it on their backs, sweat beading from their skin like drops of blood as they labor to meet our insatiable demand. They live and die in poverty, curled together in shacks, rising with each daybreak to tend the fields again. Most never even get to so much as taste the amaranth they grow, I tell our initiates. It is far too valuable for such as them. 

We initiate our sin-eaters young here, and most of them are childish enough to still be made uncomfortable by this revelation. Occasionally, I see the most sensitive of them go so far as to push their plates away in horror, rejecting the food, discovering on their own the first steps towards that old, worn-out doctrine that seeks to attain salvation through self-denial. 

And then, I reveal to them the miracle of it: Those harvesters were wicked, I tell them, wicked as any man to ever walk this Earth. They beat their wives, malinger, squabble, steal, beat their children, waste away what little precious time they have in drunkenness and immorality, letting their own families go hungry to spend their wages on drink. 

And yet, I say, spreading my arms wide over the untouched plates of amaranth, all their wickedness is bled out of them by their suffering, wrung drop by drop until they lie twisted in their graves, innocent and helpless and without fault. All their sin is drank up by the prickling stalks of amaranth on their backs, beaded into fine and golden grains and packed into holds and shipped overseas until it is here, and now, with us: the bounty of it, the inconceivable abundance of it, the burden of all of their sins. 

They must eat, I tell them. They must eat, and take on the burden for their own, if those poor sinners are ever to be absolved. 

There is usually some resistance afterwards, as can be expected, but our children are sensible enough to accept the reality of it: We are all sin-eaters here in the city, and the initiation is merely an acknowledgement of it. They have fed on sin all their lives, grown on it. There is nothing else for them to eat. 

From there we move on to more advanced lessons; we bring out the bodies, the cuts of meat. And should any of them die before me I will stand by their deathbed and whisper to them the final lesson: that the city devours all of us, eventually, chews up us in the hundreds with its unfeeling concrete teeth, and what small part of us that is sucked clean and spit out will in the end be purified, made free from all our sins. 

[unlockthelore]

Intermission

While Kuwabara recovers from another stint of his training, Hiei discusses his progress with Kurama and tries to understand why Kurama keeps staring at him.

Part 8 of the Honor Among Thieves series. For more updates, follow the honor among thieves tag on this blog. 

+ Additional Note

bold italics represent Hiei's telepathic thoughts.

regular italics represent Kurama's telepathic thoughts.

Ordinarily, training in the dense mountain forests was calming for Hiei. Away from the hustle and bustle of Sarayashiki, where the air was polluted with the stench of humans, oil and machinery compacted into one sprawling area. Whereas the mountains were clean if not untouched by the hands of man, nature free to grow as it pleased, animals roaming, deterred and otherwise unbothered by the clash of steel and the crackling of energy. Where humans would have balked and perhaps intervened, animals knew better than to intrude on the business of those in the heat of battle.

And once those sounds died, quiet and nature reigned supreme.

Ordinarily, a good training session would’ve brought him comfort with just the hint of familiarity of home but this was less of training and more of a breakdown. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves overhead as Hiei stands guard over the sprawled out form of Kuwabara Kazuma.

The youth’s deep rattling breaths evening out as he slips into unconsciousness, practically mummified in the bandages wound about his limbs and taped to his reddened cheek. Soft, muffled crackling of dry leaves captures Hiei’s attention and his gaze drifts to the redhead lingering beneath a tree nearby.

The scene is almost picturesque.

Dressed in a loose-fitting t-shirt and slacks with a book laid out in his lap, his hair tied up in a ponytail barely brushing his shoulders. Pieces of dried fruit set upon the tips of his fingers, offered to a wary rabbit peering from beneath a bush.

Hiei snorts. It’s almost funny enough to make him laugh.

The rabbit’s slow movements, nose twitching ever so often as beady eyes observe Kurama with the same hesitance as prey before predator. When nothing comes, the rabbit snatches the fruit and darts back into the bush with only the rustle of leaves and crisp snapping branches to tell of its presence. Without a word, Kurama withdrew his hand, cleaning off his fingers with a handkerchief before returning to flipping the pages of his book.

He almost seemed out of place and yet not. Nature would always be Kurama’s domain and despite the wariness Hiei knew he should have felt with being in the fox’s element, there was no threat here. Anyone else who might have stumbled upon the scene could’ve drawn the conclusion that Kuwabara and Hiei were delinquents having a bout in the woods while Kurama was an innocent bystander. No one would think Minamino Shuuichi brandished a whip, strong enough to cut through steel, fashioned from a rose of his own creation.

That he was so merciless a teacher his student was rendered unconscious from succumbing to exhaustion and his wounds.

Or that after driving such student to his limits and then past them, he turned his sights to Hiei with a smirk so dazzling it nearly allowed him to catch the fire demon off guard with a well-placed swipe to his legs.

Hiei huffed, averting his gaze. He still had to find a way to pay Kurama back for such a cheap trick but achieving such revenge was debatable. The restlessness beneath his skin wasn’t easily quelled. And his impromptu spar with Kurama had helped with steadying his energy. Perhaps a thank you was in order when they weren’t in the middle of breaking down Kuwabara’s terrible habits.

Perhaps.

Another breeze swept through the clearing, tousling Hiei’s hair and he tipped his head back to feel the brisk wind pricking against his cheeks and the tips of his ears, cooling heated skin. Kuwabara shuddered in his sleep and Hiei glanced down at him, staring silently as he shivered. This high up in the mountains, the air was cooler and clouds rolled over the sun blocking light that would otherwise warm make the clearing an ideal place to nap.

As it was, without proper covering or an ability to withstand, sickness would set in.

Hiei’s brows furrowed. His fingers swift in undoing the clasps of his cloak and snatching it off. The dark fabric fluttered in the breeze, billowing as he laid it over Kuwabara, tucking his hand in his pocket afterward with a sidelong glance at the thicket of trees nearby where a trickling stream caught his attention.

“Offering him comfort?”

Kurama’s voice was soft and even, echoing in Hiei’s mind as if the fox were speaking directly into his ear. Suppressing a shiver, Hiei lifted his chin in a slight show of defiance against Kurama’s questioning tone. Glancing from the corner of his eye at the fox peering up at him with a gentle smile.

Once he was certain that Kuwabara wouldn’t awaken, Hiei stepped away. “He’ll complain if he wakes up cold,” he explained, feeling wholly justified that he was saving himself the headache.

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t snatch his cloak away from Kuwabara when he stirred. For now, he earned this bit of comfort with the progress he’d made. Making a fool or himself or not. It was a brave soul who stood toe to toe with Youko Kurama and lived to tell the tale.

“Of course,” Kurama answers, and Hiei could hear the smile in his voice even through their mental link. “He has been doing quite well, considering the extent of his training.”

Hiei wanted to roll his eyes — although he did agree. Kuwabara’s display in Maze Castle, whilst somewhat horrendous in technique, displayed at least some understanding of energy and manipulation. It still mystified Hiei how he could have thought he’d stand a chance against Byakko, but he was a far more practical fighter than Hiei first gave him credit for.

Something that Kurama wasn’t hesitant to point out after their return to the Ningenkai. Needless to say, the topic was disregarded immediately.

And yet now it reared its head once again.

Noticing the lack of a continuation from Kurama, Hiei glimpsed him from the corner of his eye and sighed. Without his cloak, he couldn’t hide the twitching in his fingers and folded his arms instead.

That must have been enough because Kurama hummed gently in their minds, the sound soothing and curling warmth deep in Hiei’s chest.

“Molding steel is hardest when it’s already cooled…”

Kurama’s answering hum is warmer now as is the solid pressure of his youki brushing against Hiei’s back, coaxing him with soft yet pointed nudges to his shoulder and back, prompting him to turn and look at the redhead from over his shoulder.

“That’s true,” Kurama agrees, seeming pleased as he meets Hiei’s eye. “With how quickly Yuusuke’s been progressing, I’m sure that Kuwabara is attempting to catch up to him.”

Of course he was. Yuusuke and Kuwabara seemed to be in a never-ending battle to one-up one another. What should have been a rivalry was at times little more than childish squabbling. They were friends. Daresay, partners. Yuusuke’s sheer concern for Kuwabara and Kuwabara’s near-sightedness when it pertained to the detective was closeness defined.

If Yuusuke were to leap off a cliff, Hiei had little doubt Kuwabara would follow suit just to say he did. He huffed, turning to face Kurama completely.

“If he doesn’t progress, he’ll die,” Hiei thought, casting a side-long glance at Kuwabara’s sleeping form. “Toguro must have a sense of humor demanding both the detective and the oaf participate.”

The Dark Tournament itself was twisted. Sponsored by humans who wanted nothing more than to see bloodshed and carnage. Disgusting but a “necessary” evil. Giving demons in the Ningenkai a place to vent their frustrations. Even at the price of their lives.

Though to some, there was no greater honor than dying in combat.

“He has an abnormal amount of energy for a human, almost rivaling the detective’s own,” Hiei thought with a careful visual on Kuwabara’s repleting youki. It was odd how quickly he seemed to draw energy from the world around them. Rest was an efficient way to gather energy but Kuwabara had a reservoir of untapped strength beneath all of his thickheadedness. “The basics won’t be enough.”

Kurama hummed his acknowledgement, his gaze trained on Hiei and piercing, sweeping over him as if looking for something. Hiei sighed, rolling his eyes to the heavens. Of course, giving Kurama his analysis wouldn’t end until the fox was satisfied.

And he was clearly looking for something.

For a moment, they stared at one another with nothing said between them. The air charged yet the world seemed to fall away. Kurama with his fingers interlaced in his lap, seeming comfortable despite the scathing look Hiei knew he was given him.

What was his game?

With the faintest tilt of the head, Kurama arched a fine red brow as if to tell him to go on. And after a moment of trying to understand the motive of his search, Hiei conceded.

“Control and manipulation will be the difference between whether he lives or dies,” Hiei explained and Kurama closed his eyes. Whether he liked it or not, the fox seemed to accept Hiei’s words as a possibility. And possibilities were dangerous to them now. “Relying solely on that pitiful excuse for a sword or sucking his energy out of the atmosphere will get him killed.”

The tournament would be dangerous enough for them but they were experienced fighters. Ones who were able to take life to preserve their own if need be. Kuwabara and Yuusuke, for lack of a better word, were children. Innocent in their own way. Fighting for their life and their place in the Ningenkai was different than growing up in the Makai.

Hardly comparable if Hiei’s opinion meant anything.

“You’ve been quite patient with him.”

Hiei’s eyes widened a bit and his gaze flicked to Kurama. The fox’s head was turned away from him, his eyes lingering on Kuwabara, studying him quietly then casting a side-long glance. It was purposeful. Meaningful. Kurama was fishing for something.

With a half-hearted shrug, Hiei trained his gaze on Kuwabara to keep himself from inadvertently exposing anything. If Kurama wanted to play this game then so be it. “You said it yourself, they’re human,” he pointed out, unafraid to revisit their earlier conversation when Kuwabara’s dominant hand was nearly fractured when he went toe to toe with Hiei the first time. “They don’t learn as quickly as demons.”

Kurama chuckled softly, the deep melodic rumble, almost velvety and soft to Hiei’s ears. “Yes, and I also recall mentioning they are far more stubborn than ordinary humans…”

Hiei sighed. He wasn’t sure what Kurama was trying to achieve but he tired of this wordplay. Dropping his arms to his side and ambling over to the fox, his bandaged hand resting upon his shoulder as he lowered himself to the ground at Kurama’s side. The fox said nothing, easing his book to his lap and shifting slightly, allowing Hiei to rest with his head against Kurama’s shoulder.

“How do you think they’ve been managing thus far?” Kurama asked, running nimble fingers through Hiei’s hair, his blunt nails scratching along his scalp sending tendrils of warmth ricocheting up and down the fire demon’s spine.

It took a great deal of concentration to remember that he was being prompted to speak. Hiei’s brows furrowing and his arms crossing tightly, claws pressing to the skin of his bicep to keep himself grounded.

“The psychic is training Yuusuke to the best of her ability. He has ingrained habits and is likely to fall back on them when he feels he isn’t winning. That’ll be his downfall.”

Kurama hummed knowingly. He likely observed this in Yuusuke’s fight against him. A fight that Hiei wanted to have a re-match for sooner than later. Even knowing the detective’s faults wouldn’t give him much of an edge. Yuusuke’s power was growing exponentially, and who knew where he would be once they were ready to enter the tournament.

“Kuwabara competes with him. As long as Yuusuke progresses, he’ll follow. Sensible in a fight but he’s never fought for his life. I doubt he’d want to kill his opponent. Vulnerable and susceptible to emotion.”

Despite all of Kuwabara’s ranting and raving, he did have a head for combat. He was versatile. Playing to his strengths despite being at a disadvantage. Kurama mentioned that it was the tenacity of humanity. A will to survive. Something that demons possessed but often confused with pandering to strength.

Hiei still didn’t understand it but Kurama said many things that he had trouble grasping at face value.

“And us?”

The question was spoken so softly that Hiei’s thoughts nearly drowned it out. Slowly, he opened his eyes, somewhat confused as to when they closed. Kurama’s gentle touches to his hair stilled but the fox’s fingers never left his hair. Hiei glanced up at his face, gauging the unreadable expression and Kurama’s vacant smile, his eyes emptied of genuine cheer and replaced with something other.

He was seeking comfort.

“We will survive this,” Hiei said aloud, unable to take pleasure in the flicker of surprise in Kurama’s eyes at the open admission. “I’m not carrying deadweight.”

Kurama’s eyes crinkled at the corner and the faint glimmer of mirth was something but not enough. “I know,” he said in a familiar placating tone, nearly soothing Hiei’s frayed nerves.

Unwilling to allow him to delve deeper into himself on this, Hiei shifted slightly, tucking his arm around Kurama and squeezing his side. Tension stiffening the fox’s frame, uncertainty in the inquisitive glance he gave Hiei, quietly asking the meaning of the tight hold.

“We will survive this,” Hiei insisted, lifting his head with a slight shake to rid himself of Kurama’s distracting touch.

Kurama’s gaze swept over him once then twice before the fox seemed to decide upon something. Warmth sparking in green eyes as his arms wrapped around Hiei, catching him in a cozy if not loose embrace. Hiei grumbled low in his throat, as Kurama’s face was buried in his hair, not allowing him to see the fruits of his labor in attempting to make the fox happy.

But the gentle press of Kurama’s lips to the top of his head stuttered his heartbeat and his tightening hold stole his breath away.

“We will.”

The admittance did more for Hiei than he could have put into words. He had no doubt in Kurama’s capabilities. If anything, he thought of him as the most capable person on their team. But if they were lacking in any way, they would be dead before the tournament even began. And Kurama — Kurama was the one person in this that he wasn’t willing to risk.

Hiei wasn’t sure how long they sat there together, wrapped up in one another’s embrace. But one of them had the hindsight to release the other once Kuwabara’s energy began to stir around him. The comfortable silence coming to a close as he began to wake.

With a light squeeze of Kurama’s side, Hiei eased his arms from around him and darted over to snatch his cloak from Kuwabara’s body as the psychic’s face contorted while he wrested with the last vestiges of unconsciousness. Darting back to Kurama’s side, Hiei pointedly ignored the faint smile on the fox’s lips as he opened his book and resumed looking at the words. The teasing surge of youki wrinkling Hiei’s nose and he answered back with annoyed energy of his own.

Slowly, Kuwabara sat up and rubbed at his shoulders, chanting beneath his breath with a low groan. “Ow.. Ow…” Blearily, he rubbed at his eyes, scanning the clearing and looking to Kurama with a slight nod before narrowing his eyes at Hiei. “You could’ve taken it easy, y’know!”

Hiei rolled his eyes. It was Kurama who knocked him unconscious. Though, if Kuwabara wanted to blame him then he’d happily oblige.

“If you can complain, you can train.”

Kuwabara’s eyes widened and he held up a hand in the empty air, wincing at the sudden movement. “Gimmie a break!” He cried indignantly in an unholy screech that almost sounded like a whine.

“You slept. That’s enough of a break.”

“Tch.. Kurama! Talk some sense into him!”

Throughout their bickering, Kurama didn’t lift a finger nor seem to acknowledge but the amusement showed in the soft flares in his energy and the ghost of a smile on his lips. Hiei glanced up at the sky, marking the position of the sun and mapping out in his head how long it’d been since their last meal time.

He has to eat and so do you. Take him if you want.

I’m not particularly hungry, Hiei.

When was the last time you’ve eaten?

So demanding.

Hiei didn’t need to point out his bad habits and Kurama pressed his youki against his, proving he understood.

“He just woke up, Hiei,” the fox said in a soft chiding tone, snapping his book shut. “Let him have something to eat first.”

“Have it your way,” said Hiei, rolling his eyes and turning his gaze the other way, ignoring the amused youki Kurama coiled around his shoulders as if prompting him to glance his way.

Kuwabara’s shuffling against the dirt was evident of his difficulty getting to his feet but with a sideways glance, a sliver of pride swelled in Hiei’s chest as the psychic stood on his own two legs. Kurama rose with his book tucked beneath his arm and offered Kuwabara a hand, allowing him to lean against him to keep himself upright.

The pair slowly making their way through the trees on the dirt trail leading back to Genkai’s where Yuusuke’s energy was flickering in and out, evident of the detective’s training coming to a close for the day.

The pressure itself was building but Hiei was unsatisfied. He still had more in him. Much more.

“You are quite kind to them.”

Hiei stiffened up at the amused and playful tone. Rolling his eyes with a soft grunt at the words, his back turned despite Kurama no longer being in his presence.

“You’re seeing things.”

Drawing his sword from where it was buried in the dirt nearby, he brushed off the vines coiled around its blade and prepared to go through the motions of his own training.

“Of course.”

Hiei cursed under his breath. Kurama was never going to let this go.

[unsettlingshortstories]

Details

China Miéville (2009)

When the boy upstairs got hold of a pellet gun and fired snips of potato at passing cars, I took a turn. I was part of everything. I wasn't an outsider. But I wouldn't join in when my friends went to the yellow house to scribble on the bricks and listen at the windows.

One girl teased me about it, but everyone else told her to shut up. They defended me, even though they didn't understand why I wouldn't come.

--

I don't remember a time before I visited the yellow house for my mother.

On Wednesday mornings at about nine o'clock I would open the front door of the decrepit building with a key from the bunch my mother had given me. Inside was a hall and two doors, one broken and leading to the splintering stairs. I would unlock the other and enter the dark flat. The corridor was unlit and smelt of old wet air. I never walked even two steps down that hallway. Rot and shadows merged, and it looked as if the passage disappeared a few yards from me. The door to Mrs. Miller's room was right in front of me. I would lean forward and knock.

--

Quite often there were signs that someone else had been there recently. Scuffed dust and bits of litter. Sometimes I was not alone. There were two other children I sometimes saw slipping in or out of the house. There were a handful of adults who visited Mrs. Miller.

I might find one or another of them in the hallway outside the door to her flat, or even in the flat itself, slouching in the crumbling dark hallway. They would be slumped over or reading some cheap-looking book or swearing loudly as they waited.

There was a young Asian woman who wore a lot of makeup and smoked obsessively. She ignored me totally. There were two drunks who came sometimes. One would greet me boisterously and incomprehensibly, raising his arms as if he wanted to hug me into his stinking, stinking jumper. I would grin and wave nervously, walk past him. The other seemed alternately melancholic and angry. Occasionally I'd meet him by the door to Mrs. Miller's room, swearing in a strong cockney accent. I remember the first time I saw him, he was standing there, his red face contorted, slurring and moaning loudly.

"Come on, you old slag," he wailed, "you sodding old slag. Come on, please, you cow."

His words scared me but his tone was wheedling, and I realized I could hear her voice. Mrs. Miller's voice, from inside the room, answering him back. She did not sound frightened or angry.

I hung back, not sure what to do, and she kept speaking, and eventually the drunken man shambled miserably away. And then I could continue as usual.

--

I asked my mother once if I could have some of Mrs. Miller's Wednesdays of bringing the food over, I never even dipped my finger in to suck it.

My mum spent an hour every Tuesday night making the stuff up. She dissolved a bit of gelatin or cornflower with some milk, threw in a load of sugar or flavorings, and crushed a clutch of vitamin pills into the mess. She stirred it until it thickened and let it set in a plain white plastic bowl. In the morning it would be a kind of strong-smelling custard that my mother put a dishcloth over and gave me, along with a list of any questions or requests for Mrs. Miller and sometimes a plastic bucket full of white paint.

So I would stand in front of Mrs. Miller's door, knocking, with a bowl at my feet. I'd hear a shifting and then her voice from close by the door.

"Hello," she would call, and then say my name a couple of times. "Have you my breakfast? Are you ready?"

I would creep up close to the door and hold the food ready. I would tell her I was.

Mrs. Miller would slowly count to three. On three, the door suddenly swung open a snatch, just a foot or two, and I thrust the bowl into the gap. She grabbed it and slammed the door quickly in my face.

I couldn't see very much inside the room. The door was open for less than a second. My strongest impression was of the whiteness of the walls. Mrs. Miller's sleeves were white, too, and made of plastic. I never got much of a glimpse at her face, but what I saw was unmemorable. A middle-aged woman's eager face.

If I had a bucket full of paint, we would run through the routine again. Then I would sit cross-legged in front of her door and listen to her eat.

"How's your mother?" she would shout. At that I'd unfold my mother's careful queries. She's okay, I'd say, she's fine. She says she has some questions for you.

I'd read my mother's strange questions in my careful childish monotone, and Mrs. Miller would pause and make interested sounds, and clear her throat and think out loud. Sometimes she took ages to come to an answer, and sometimes it would be almost immediate.

"Tell your mother she can't tell if a man's good or bad from that," she'd say. "Tell her to remember the problems she had with your father." Or: "Yes, she can take the heart of it out. Only she has to paint it with the special oil I told her about." "Tell your mother seven. But only four of them concern her and three of them used to be dead.

"I can't help her with that," she told me once, quietly. "Tell her to go to a doctor, quickly." And my mother did, and she got well again.

--

"What do you not want to do when you grow up?" Mrs. Miller asked me one day.

That morning when I had come to the house the sad cockney vagrant had been banging on the door of her room again, the keys to the flat flailing in his hand.

"He's begging you, you old tart, please, you owe him, he's so bloody angry," he was shouting, "only it ain't you gets the sharp end, is it? Please, you cow, you sodding cow, I'm on me knees.... "

"My door knows you, man," Mrs. Miller declared from within. "It knows you and so do I, you know it won't open to you. I didn't take out my eyes and I'm not giving in now. Go home. "

I waited nervously as the man gathered himself and staggered away, and then, looking behind me, I knocked on her door and announced myself. It was after I'd given her the food that she asked her question.

"What do you not want to do when you grow up?"

If I had been a few years older her inversion of the cliché would have annoyed me: It would have seemed mannered and contrived. But I was only a young child, and I was quite delighted.

I don't want to be a lawyer, I told her carefully. I spoke out of loyalty to my mother, who periodically received crisp letters that made her cry or smoke fiercely, and swear at lawyers, bloody smartarse lawyers.

Mrs. Miller was delighted.

"Good boy!" she snorted. "We know all about lawyers. Bastards, right? With the small print! Never be tricked by the small print! It's right there in front of you, right there in front of you, and you can't even see it and then suddenly it makes you notice it! And I tell you, once you seen it it's got you!" She laughed excitedly. "Don't let the small print get you. I'll tell you a secret." I waited quietly, and my head slipped nearer the door.

"The devil's in the details!" She laughed again. "You ask your mother if that's not true. The devil is in the details!"

--

I'd wait the twenty minutes or so until Mrs. Miller had finished eating, and then we'd reverse our previous procedure and she'd quickly hand me out an empty bowl. I would return home with the empty container and tell my mother the various answers to her various questions. Usually she would nod and make notes. Occasionally she would cry.

After I told Mrs. Miller that I did not want to be a lawyer she started asking me to read to her.  She made me tell my mother, and told me to bring a newspaper or one of a number of books. My mother nodded at the message and packed me a sandwich the next Wednesday, along with the Mirror. She told me to be polite and do what Mrs. Miller asked, and that she'd see me in the afternoon.

I wasn't afraid. Mrs. Miller had never treated me badly from behind her door. I was resigned and only a little bit nervous.

Mrs. Miller made me read stories to her from specific pages that she shouted out. She made me recite them again and again, very carefully. Afterward she would talk to me. Usually she started with a joke about lawyers, and about small print.

"There's three ways not to see what you don't want to," she told me. "One is the coward's way and too damned painful. The other is to close your eyes forever which is the same as the first, when it comes to it. The third is the hardest and the best: You have to make sure only the things you can afford to see come before you."

--

One morning when I arrived the stylish Asian woman was whispering fiercely through the wood of the door, and I could hear Mrs. Miller responding with shouts of amused disapproval. Eventually the young woman swept past me, leaving me cowed by her perfume.

Mrs. Miller was laughing, and she was talkative when she had eaten.

"She's heading for trouble, messing with the wrong family! You have to be careful with all of them," she told me. "Every single one of them on that other side of things is a tricksy bastard who'll kill you soon as look at you, given half a chance.

"There's the gnarly throat-tipped one… and there's old hasty, who I think had best remain nameless," she said wryly. "All old bastards, all of them. You can't trust them at all, that's what I say. I should know, eh? Shouldn't I?" She laughed. "Trust me, trust me on this: It's too easy to get on the wrong side of them.

"What's it like out today?" she asked me. I told her that it was cloudy.

"You want to be careful with that," she said. "All sorts of faces in the clouds, aren't there? Can't help noticing, can you?" She was whispering now. "Do me a favor when you go home to your mum: Don't look up, there's a boy. Don't look up at all."

When I left her, however, the day had changed. The sky was hot, and quite blue.

--

The two drunk men were squabbling in the front hall and I edged past them to her door. They continued bickering in a depressing, garbled murmur throughout my visit.

"D'you know, I can't even really remember what it was all about, now!" Mrs. Miller said when I had finished reading to her. "I can't remember! That's a terrible thing. But you don't forget the basics. The exact question escapes me, and to be honest I think maybe I was just being nosy or showing off.... I can't say I'm proud of it but it could have been that. It could. But whatever the question, it was all about a way of seeing an answer.

"There's a way of looking that lets you read things. If you look at a pattern of tar on a wall, or a crumbling mound of brick or somesuch ... there's a way of unpicking it. And if you know how, you can trace it and read it out and see the things hidden right there in front of you, the things you've been seeing but not noticing, all along. But you have to learn how." She laughed. It was a high-pitched, unpleasant sound. "Someone has to teach you. So you have to make certain friends.

"But you can't make friends without making enemies.

“You have to open it all up for you to see inside. You make what you see into a window, and you see what you want through it. You make what you see a sort of door."

--

She was silent for a long time. Then: "Is it cloudy again?" she asked suddenly. She went on before I answered.

"If you look up, you look into the clouds for long enough and you'll see a face. Or in a tree. Look in a tree, look in the branches and soon you'll see them just so, and there's a face or a running man, or a bat or whatever. You'll see it all suddenly, a picture in the pattern of the branches, and you won't have chosen to see it. And you can't unsee it.

"That's what you have to learn to do, to read the details like that and see what's what and learn things. But you've to be damn careful. You've to be careful not to disturb anything." Her voice was absolutely cold, and I was suddenly very frightened.

"Open up that window, you'd better be damn careful that what's in the details doesn't look back and see you."

--

The next time I went, the maudlin drunk was there again wailing obscenities at her through her door. She shouted at me to come back later, that she didn't need her food right now. She sounded resigned and irritated, and she went back to scolding her visitor before I had backed out of earshot.

He was screaming at her that she'd gone too far, that she'd pissed about too long, that things were coming to a head, that there was going to be hell to pay, that she couldn't avoid it forever, that it was her own fault.

When I came back he was asleep, snoring loudly, curled up a few feet into the mildewing passage. Mrs. Miller took her food and ate it quickly, returned it without speaking.

--

When I returned the following week, she began to whisper to me as soon as I knocked on the door, hissing urgently as she opened it briefly and grabbed the bowl.

"It was an accident, you know," she said, as if responding to something I'd said. "I mean of course you know in theory that anything might happen, you get warned, don't you? But oh my ... oh my God it took the breath out of me and made me cold to realize what had happened. "

I waited. I could not leave, because she had not returned the bowl. She had not said I could go. She spoke again, very slowly.

"It was a new day." Her voice was distant and breathy. "Can you even imagine? Can you see what I was ready to do? I was poised ... to change... to see everything that's hidden. The best place to hide a book is in a library. The best place to hide secret things is there, in the visible angles, in our view, in plain sight.

"I had studied and sought, and learnt, finally, to see. It was time to learn truths.

"I opened my eyes fully, for the first time.

"I had chosen an old wall. I was looking for the answer to some question that I told you I can't even remember now, but the question wasn't the main thing. That was the opening of my eyes.

"I stared at the whole mass of the bricks. I took another glance, relaxed my sight. At first I couldn't stop seeing the bricks as bricks, the divisions as layers of cement, but after a time they became pure vision. And as the whole broke down into lines and shapes and shades, I held my breath as I began to see.

"Alternatives appeared to me. Messages written in the pock-marks. Insinuations in the forms. Secrets unraveling. It was bliss.

"And then without warning my heart went tight, as I saw something. I made sense of the pattern.

"It was a mess of cracks and lines and crumbling cement, and as I looked at it, I saw a pattern in the wall.

"I saw a clutch of lines that looked just like something… terrible… something old and predatory and utterly terrible ... staring right back at me.

"And then I saw it move."

--

"You have to understand me," she said. "Nothing changed. See? All the time I was looking I saw the wall. But that first moment, it was like when you see a face in the cloud. I just noticed in the pattern in the brick, I just noticed something, looking at me. Something angry.

"And then in the very next moment, I just … I just noticed another load of lines—cracks that had always been there, you understand? Patterns in broken brick that I'd seen only a second before—that looked exactly like that same thing, a little closer to me. And in the next moment a third picture in the brick, a picture of the thing closer still.

"Reaching for me."

--

"I broke free then," she whispered. "I ran away from there in terror, with my hands in front of my eyes and I was screaming. I ran and ran.

"And when I stopped and opened my eyes again, I had run to the edges of a park, and I took my hands slowly down and dared to look behind me, and saw that there was nothing coming from the alley where I'd been. So I turned to the little snatch of scrub and grass and trees.

"And I saw the thing again."

Mrs. Miller's voice was stretched out as if she was dreaming. My mouth was open and I huddled closer to the door.

"I saw it in the leaves," she said forlornly. "As I turned I saw the leaves in such a way ... just a chance conjuncture, you understand? I noticed a pattern. I couldn't not. You don't choose whether to see faces in the clouds. I saw the monstrous thing again and it still reached for me, and I shrieked and all the mothers and fathers and children in that park turned and gazed at me, and I turned my eyes from that tree and whirled on my feet to face a little family in my way.

"And the thing was there in the same pose," she whispered in misery. "I saw it in the outlines of the father's coat and the spokes of the baby's pushchair, and the tangles of the mother's hair. It was just another mess of lines, you see? But you don't choose what you notice. And I couldn't help but notice just the right lines out of the whole, just the lines out of all the lines there, just the ones to see the thing again, a little closer, looking at me.

"And I turned and saw it closer still in the clouds, and I turned again and it was clutching for me in the rippling weeds in the pond, and as I closed my eyes I swear I felt something touch my dress.

"You understand me? You understand?" I didn't know if I understood or not. Of course now I know that I did not.

--

"It lives in the details," she said bleakly. "It travels in that ... in that perception. It moves through those chance stare at clouds, and then maybe it might catch a glimpse of you, too.

"But it saw me full on. It's jealous of ... of its place, and there I was peering through without permission, like a nosy neighbor through a hole in the fence. I know what it is. I know what happened.

"It lurks before us, in the everyday. It's the boss of all the things hidden in plain sight. Terrible things, they are. Appalling things. Just almost in reach. Brazen and invisible.

"It caught my glances. It can move through whatever I see.

"For most people it's just chance, isn't it? What shapes they see in a tangle of wire. There's a thousand pictures there, and when you look, some of them just appear. But now ... the thing in the lines chooses the pictures for me. It can thrust itself forward. It makes me see it. It's found its way through. To me. Through what I see. I opened a door into my perception. "

She sounded frozen with terror. I was not equipped for that kind of adult fear, and my mouth worked silently for something to say.

"That was a long, long journey home. Every time I peeked through the cracks in my fingers, I saw that thing crawling for me.

"It waited ready to pounce, and when I opened my eyes even a crack I opened the door again. I saw the back of a woman's jumper and in the detail of the fabric the thing leapt for me. I glimpsed a yard of broken paving and I noticed just the lines that showed me the thing ... baying.

"I had to shut my eyes quick.

"I groped my way home.

“And then I taped my eyes shut and I tried to think about things.”

There was silence for a time.

"See, there was always the easy way, that scared me rotten, because I was never one for blood and pain," she said suddenly, and her voice was harder. "I held the scissors in front of my eyes a couple of times, but even bandaged blind as I was I couldn't bear it. I suppose I could've gone to a doctor. I can pull strings, I could pull in a few favors, have them do the job without pain.

"But you know I never ... really ... reckoned ... that's what I'd do," she said thoughtfully. "What if you found a way to close the door? Eh? And you'd already put out your eyes? You'd feel such a fool, wouldn't you?

"And you know it wouldn't be good enough to wear pads and eyepatches and all. I tried. You catch glimpses. You see the glimmers of light and maybe a few of your own hairs, and that's the doorway right there, when the hairs cross in the corner of your eye so that if you notice just a few of them in just the right way ... they look like something coming for you. That's a doorway.

"It's … unbearable ... having sight, but trapping it like that.

"I'm not giving up. See …" Her voice lowered, and she spoke conspiratorially. "I still think I can close the door. I learnt to see. I can unlearn. I'm looking for ways. I want to see a wall as … as bricks again. Nothing more. That's why you read for me," she said. "Research. Can't look at it myself of course, too many edges and lines and so on on a printed page, so you do it for me. And you're a good boy to do it. "

I've thought about what she said many times, and still it makes no sense to me. The books I read to Mrs. Miller were school textbooks, old and dull village histories, the occasional romantic novel. I think that she must have been talking of some of her other visitors, who perhaps read her more esoteric stuff than I did. Either that, or the information she sought was buried very cleverly in the banal prose I faltered through.

"In the meantime, there's another way of surviving," she said slyly. "Leave the eyes where they are, but don't give them any details.

"That ... thing can force me to notice its shape, but only in what's there. That's how it travels. You imagine if I saw a field of wheat. Doesn't even bear thinking about! A million million little bloody edges, a million lines. You could make pictures of damn anything out of them, couldn't you? It wouldn't take any effort at all for the thing to make me notice it. The damn lurker. Or in a gravel drive or, or a building site, or a lawn

"But I can outsmart it." The note of cunning in her voice made her sound deranged. "Keep it away till I work out how to close it off.

"I had to prepare this blind, with the wrappings round my head. Took me a while, but here I am now. Safe. I'm safe in my little cold room. I keep the walls flat white. I covered the windows and painted them, too. I made my cloak out of plastic, so's I can't catch a glimpse of cotton weave or anything when I wake up.

"I keep my place nice and ... simple. When it was all done, I unwrapped the bandages from my head, and I blinked and I was alright. Clean walls, no cracks, no features. I don't look at my hands often or for long. Too many creases. Your mother makes me a good healthy soup looks like cream, so if I accidentally look in the bowl, there's no broccoli or rice or tangled up spaghetti to make lines and edges.

"I open and shut the door so damned quick because I can only afford a moment. That thing is ready to pounce. It wouldn’t take a second for it to leap up at me out of the sight of your hair or your books or whatever."

Her voice ebbed out. I waited a minute for her to resume, but she did not do so. Eventually I knocked nervously on the door and called her name. There was no answer. I put my ear to the door. I could hear her crying, quietly.

I went home without the bowl. My mother pursed her lips a little but said nothing. I didn't tell her any of what Mrs. Miller had said. I was troubled and totally confused.

The next time I delivered Mrs. Miller's food, in a new container, she whispered harshly to me: "It preys on my eyes, all the white. Nothing to see. Can't look out the window, can't read, can't gaze at my nails. Preys on my mind.

"Not even my memories are left," she said in misery. "It's colonizing them. I remember things … happy times ... and the thing's waiting in the texture of my dress, or in the crumbs of my birthday cake. I didn't notice it then. But I can see it now. My memories aren't mine anymore. Not even my imaginings. Last night I thought about going to the seaside, and then the thing was there in the foam on the waves. "

--

She spoke very little the next few times I visited her. I read the chapters she demanded and she grunted curtly in response. She ate quickly.

Her other visitors were there more often now, as the spring came in. I saw them in new combinations and situations: the glamorous young woman arguing with the friendly drunk; the old man sobbing at the far end of the hall. The aggressive man was often there, cajoling and moaning, and occasionally talking conversationally through the door, being answered like an equal. Other times he screamed at her as usual.

I arrived on a chilly day to find the drunken cockney man sleeping a few feet from the door, snoring gutturally. I gave Mrs. Miller her food and then sat on my coat and read to her from a women's magazine as she ate.

When she had finished her food I waited with my arms outstretched, ready to snatch the bowl from her. I remember that I was very uneasy, that I sensed something wrong. I was looking around me anxiously, but everything seemed normal. I looked down at my coat and the crumpled magazine, at the man who still sprawled comatose in the hall.

As I heard Mrs. Miller's hands on the door, I realized what had changed. The drunken man was not snoring. He was holding his breath.

For a tiny moment I thought he had died, but I could see his body trembling, and my eyes began to open wide and I stretched my mouth to scream a warning, but the door had already begun to swing in its tight, quick arc, and before I could even exhale the stinking man pushed himself up faster than I would have thought him capable and bore down on me with bloodshot eyes.

I managed to keen as he reached me, and the door faltered for an instant, as Mrs. Miller heard my voice. But the man grabbed hold of me in a terrifying, heavy fug of alcohol. He reached down and snatched my coat from the floor, tugged at the jumper I had tied around my waist with his other hand, and hurled me hard at the door.

It flew open, smacking Mrs. Miller aside. I was screaming and crying. My eyes hurt at the sudden burst of cold white light from all the walls. I saw Mrs. Miller rubbing her head in the corner, struggling to her senses. The staggering, drunken man hurled my checked coat and my patterned jumper in front of her, reached down and snatched my feet, tugged me out of the room in an agony of splinters. I wailed snottily with fear.

Behind me, Mrs. Miller began to scream and curse, but I could not hear her well because the man had clutched me to him and pulled my head to his chest. I fought and cried and felt myself lurch as he leaned forward and slammed the door closed.

He held it shut.

When I fought myself free of him I heard him shouting.

"I told you, you slapper," he wailed unhappily. "I bloody told you, you silly old whore. I warned you it was time...." Behind his voice I could hear shrieks of misery and terror from the room. Both of them kept shouting and crying and screaming, and the floorboards pounded, and the door shook, and I heard something else as well.

As if the notes of all the different noises in the house fell into a chance meeting, and sounded like more than dissonance. The shouts and bangs and cries of fear combined in a sudden audible illusion like another presence.

Like a snarling voice. A lingering, hungry exhalation.

--

I ran then, screaming and terrified, my skin freezing in my T- shirt. I was sobbing and retching with fear, little bleats bursting from me. I stumbled home and was sick in my mother's room, and kept crying and crying as she grabbed hold of me and I tried to tell her what had happened, until I was drowsy and confused and I fell into silence.

--

My mother said nothing about Mrs. Miller. The next Wednesday we got up early and went to the zoo, the two of us, and at the time I would usually be knocking on Mrs. Miller's door I was laughing at camels. The Wednesday after that I was taken to see a film, and the one after that my mother stayed in bed and sent me to fetch cigarettes and bread from the local shop, and I made our breakfast and ate it in her room.

My friends could tell that something had changed in the yellow house, but they did not speak to me about it, and it quickly became uninteresting to them.

I saw the Asian woman once more, smoking with her friends in the park several weeks later, and to my amazement she nodded to me and came over, interrupting her companions' conversation.

"Are you alright?" she asked me peremptorily. "How are you doing?"

I nodded shyly back and told her that I was fine, thank you, and how was she?

She nodded and walked away.

--

I never saw the drunken, violent man again.

There were people I could probably have gone to to understand more about what had happened to Mrs. Miller. There was a story that I could chase, if I wanted to. People I had never seen before came to my house and spoke quietly to my mother, and looked at me with what I suppose was pity or concern. I could have asked them. But I was thinking more and more about my own life. I didn't want to know Mrs. Miller's details.

--

I went back to the yellow house once, nearly a year after that awful morning. It was winter. I remembered the last time I spoke to Mrs. Miller and I felt so much older it was almost giddying. It seemed such a vastly long time ago.

I crept up to the house one evening, trying the keys I still had, which to my surprise worked. The hallway was freezing, dark, and stinking more strongly than ever. I hesitated, then pushed open Mrs. Miller's door.

It opened easily, without a sound. The occasional muffled noise from the street seemed so distant it was like a memory. I entered.

She had covered the windows very carefully, and still no light made its way through from outside. It was extremely dark. I waited until I could see better in the ambient glow from the outside hallway.

I was alone.

My old coat and jumper lay spreadeagled in the corner of the room. I shivered to see them, went over, and fingered them softly. They were damp and mildewing, covered in wet dust.

The white paint was crumbling off the wall in scabs. It looked as if it had been left untended for several years. I could not believe the extent of the decay.

I turned slowly around and gazed at each wall in turn. I took in the chaotic, intricate patterns of crumbling paint and damp plaster. They looked like maps, like a rocky landscape.

I looked for a long time at the wall farthest from my jacket. I was very cold. After a long time I saw a shape in the ruined paint. I moved closer with a dumb curiosity far stronger than any fear.

In the crumbling texture of the wall was a spreading anatomy of cracks that—seen from a certain angle, caught just right in the scraps of light—looked in outline something like a woman. As I stared at it it took shape, and I stopped noticing the extraneous lines, and focused without effort or decision on the relevant ones. I saw a woman looking out at me.

I could make out the suggestion of her face. The patch of rot that constituted it made it look as if she was screaming. One of her arms was flung back away from her body, which seemed to strain against it, as if she was being pulled away by her hand, and was fighting to escape, and was failing. At the end of her crack-arm, in the space where her captor would be, the paint had fallen away in a great slab, uncovering a huge patch of wet, stained, textured cement.

And in that dark infinity of markings, I could make out any shape I wanted.

[dontbeallupinmyfriesdawg]

Imagine with me if you will: the entire squad go on a road trip in a giant RV.

Magnus brings the snacks because he’s the mom friend.

Luke brings the map, a first aid kit, healthy snacks like energy bars and a list of everybody’s names to make sure everyone is present when they’re ready to leave; cus he’s kind of the dad friend and the mom friend too.

Maia nominates herself as in charge of the music but she and Simon end up squabbling over genres until they finally find something they both agree on.

Jace and Alec object whole heartedly to music altogether because Izzy is likely to start singing and her carpool karaoke is atrocious.

Magus entertains everyone with stories about the various famous people he’s met in his life time and Alec just sits there rolling his eyes while everyone oohs and ahhs because he’s heard at least 3 variations of the same story.

Simon takes the opportunity during the drive to introduce Jace to the LOTR movies and takes personal offence when Jace shrugs and says “I don’t see the big deal”.

Simon then refuses to speak to him for the rest of the trip but Jace takes that as a challenge and makes it his mission for rest of the trip to get Simon to talk to him by any means necessary… Even if it means annoying him to death (“I said Star Wars sucks Simon… Simon, Simon? Simon!.. C'mon man, you’re going to have to talk to me sometime”)

Izzy face times Meliorn and everyone makes embarrassing kissy noises in the background.

Clary takes the time to catch up on the mundane celebrity gossip that shes missed out since being in the Institute and ends up accidentally getting Izzy hooked on the Kardashians.

Loud, terrible group singing.

World War 3 scale arguments about where they should stop to get fast food.

Luke threatening to ‘Turn this vehicle around and go home’ at least once.

A bunch of childish prank calls made to Raj and Sebastian back at the institute.

Everyone freaking out when Jace gets them lost after he offers to take over the wheel from Luke to give him a break.

Alec bringing a bunch of crosswords and sudoku and giving everybody judgemental looks from where he’s sitting like ‘Why am I friends with these people?’

Bonus points: Raphael spends the entire trip in the back, ignoring everyone wrapped in a snuggie with a travel pillow and a flask.

[wastedkookies]

snapstreak - two

genre: fluff pairing: jungkook x reader summary: in which your snapstreak with hoseok is in danger because he decided to go without internet access for ten days but he hires someone to maintain his streak words: 1.4k

read on ao3

day three

Jungkook has been staring at your name for the past five minutes now, wondering whether he should watch your story or not. It was last updated twenty four— nope, now twenty five minutes ago, and Jungkook’s urge to just click on it to see what your day’s been like is simply overwhelming.

Well, he shouldn’t be stalking your profile, especially since he barely knew you, not to mention this was on Hoseok’s account, no less. What if you start to get creeped out by him? You didn’t even respond to the snap he had sent you the previous day. Jungkook sighs, flicking over to look at the empty arrow that was beside your name along with the number indicating that Hoseok is now approaching a streak of three hundred and thirty days with you.

He flops onto his bed, only to lose his grasp on his phone and let it fall smack onto his face. He groans just as the phone slips off his face and onto his bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose while he reaches for his phone. Jungkook swipes to the camera and decides to take a picture of the rabbit plushie with the caption, “streak”.

He stares at the picture for a moment, then scrunches his nose and click the little cross at the top left corner. What if you found him childish, still sleeping with a stuffed bunny rabbit every night? Jungkook shakes his head, placing his phone on his bed so the camera is completely covered and takes a picture.

“streak”

That should do for now.

~

your hope sent you a snap!

“streak”

You sigh, disappointed that Hoseok’s friend didn’t send you another one of his selfies. It was a dick move by you, not responding to his snap for the whole day after you saw it, but what were you supposed to say? You couldn’t even take a screenshot or replay the snap because he’ll know, and you’ll be deemed as some kind of weirdo who deserves a restraining order.

So what are you supposed to do at a time like this?

“Stop frowning, the number of wrinkles on your forehead are gonna increase,” Yoongi says, leaning forward to knock your head. You pout, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.

“I’m still young.”

“You won’t be saying that when your forehead is permanently wrinkled.”

“Tch.”

You glance at your phone once more, praying that Hoseok’s friend would send you another snap. Maybe you should send one back? That’s how it normally works, doesn’t it?

Unlocking your phone and opening up snapchat, you swipe to the camera and hold it up so you were filming Yoongi.

“What do you want?” He asks, that one exasperated look back on his face once again. You giggle when he shakes his head, only to be startled by the sudden buzz of your phone, causing you to nearly drop your phone into your cup of ice cream.

your hope sent you a snap!

Yoongi snickers, but you can barely hear it over the sound of your pounding heart. He sent you another snap? You immediately delete the video you were recording and open up the video that he had sent you.

“Hyung—”

You gasp, and you feel your face reddening at how smooth and velvety his voice is. You turn the volume up as Yoongi raises an eyebrow at your actions. You slap his arm away, but continue smiling to yourself as you listen to his voice.

“What do you think Hoseok-hyung is doing now?”

“Probably displeased at the fact that you’re filming something on his snapchat account.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

“Why are you even filming in the first place?”

“To maintain his three hundred day snapstreak.”

The video cuts off when the two start squabbling, and you chuckle, holding down on the snap so you can replay it.

“Hyung—”

You close your eyes, trying to imagine what your name would sound like when he says it, before Yoongi clears his throat in annoyance. You glare at him, bringing the speaker closer to your ear so you could hear his voice clearly.

“Is that the guy Hobi hired to maintain your streaks?” Yoongi asks when the video ends, and you nod excitedly, setting your phone down and returning to your ice cream.

He smirks. “You do know that he can see that you replayed his snap, right?”

Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops. Slowly, your face starts to scrunch up while you let out a sob. How could you have forgotten such a vital rule? Now you would have to reply him in a way that doesn’t suggest that you replayed the video so you could hear his voice again.

“Yoongi! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”

“It’s now my fault?!”

~

empire miss <3 replayed your snap!

Jungkook begins to cough haphazardly when he chokes on his drink. Namjoon sighs and pats Jungkook’s back.

“Hyung!” Jungkook exclaims once his coughing fit went away. “She replayed my snap!”

Namjoon furrows his brow. “Uh… So?”

“She must’ve found it funny, right?” Jungkook asks with a huge grin on his face. “She must’ve liked it! Ah, I’m so glad…”

“Either that or she missed the first part of the conversation because she didn’t turn her audio on.”

With that, the grin on Jungkook’s lips dropped. Could that be the reason why you replayed his snap instead of finding his squabbles with Namjoon funny? He sighs, setting his phone down and rests his chin on his palm.

Namjoon ruffles his hair, smiling fondly. “Is Jungkookie in love?”

Jungkook looks up, his bottom lip jutting out. “She’s really pretty.”

“No way!” Namjoon cries out. “The impenetrable Jungkook has fallen in love?!”

“Hyung!” Jungkook groans, banging his head against the countertop, and Namjoon rushes to stop him.

“Stop! I paid good money to get this marble countertop so don’t you dare damage it!”

empire miss <3 sent you a snap!

empire miss <3 sent you a snap!

Jungkook automatically sits up, reaching for his phone to open your snaps. Namjoon peers over his shoulder, clearly interested at the girl who had managed to make Jungkook feel this way over a couple of days. Especially since it was only through social media.

The picture you sent shows the same mint-haired boy from your snap yesterday, this time with a little smile on his lips.

“what hope doesn’t know won’t kill him your secret is safe with me ;)”

It cuts to the next snap, with it being a video this time.

“Yoongi—”

Jungkook feels his heart skip a beat the moment he hears your voice.

“Say something to Hobi’s friend!”

“Uh… Please maintain the streak or else she’ll kill you.”

Jungkook laughs loudly, silently reminding himself to always snap you so the streak doesn’t break.

“You suck, Yoongi!”

“Well, you dated me, so that makes you more of a sucker than me.”

“Tch.”

The video ends, and Jungkook feels his heart sink. You dated that boy— Yoongi, was it? He looks over at Namjoon, and the next thing Namjoon knew, Jungkook was hugging him tightly.

“Yoongi looks so cool! I can’t compete with her ex!”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, rubbing Jungkook’s back as he continues to whine.

~

day four

Jungkook has been staring at your name for the past five minutes now, wondering whether he should watch your story or not. It was last updated seventeen— nope, now eighteen minutes ago, and Jungkook’s urge to just click on it to see what your day’s been like is simply overwhelming.

Did you spend the day with Yoongi again? The two of you seem to be really close after all, besides it’s not that surprising for two people to still be close friends even after they broke up…

He grumbles, limbs flailing wildly as he wriggles on his bed. He suddenly sits up, phone in one hand, and frowns. Why was he behaving this way? Is it really possible for one to fall in love with someone that he barely knew, and on top of that, through snapchat? Jungkook shakes his head, making a promise to himself claiming that he wasn’t going to let some pretty face sway him.

empire miss <3 sent you a snap!

He opens it to see a picture of you taken at an unflattering angle and without any hesitation whatsoever he smiles broadly, replying to your snap with a picture of him showing off his double chins.

empire miss <3 took a screenshot!

empire miss <3 sent you a snap!

“oh is this a chin war??? it’s on”

Jungkook takes a screenshot, and finds himself dissolving into laughter as the snaps between the two of continue, each one getting more and more ridiculous with every passing second.

Perhaps Jungkook isn’t good at keeping promises with himself then.

masterlist // request // ao3

[justasmallbloginabigklainefandom]

The Great ATOG Reread; Grey part 4

Holy fuck I am on a roll

Chapter 9

"Don't call my costume stupid! I love my costume!"

Really, what kind of life must you be living in order to joke about these things?

Nothing much happens in this chapter (compared to the previous arc). Blaine has suffered a lot and now he has to recover. It was yet again another turning point in his life.

What happens to Hector's son after Troy falls? Jesus. He's thrown from the walls of the city. Jesus, they were above that bridge, Blaine can't even think about it. And - Andromache -

They have gone through way too much. Like I said, I’ve read the Illiad after rereading Grey for the first time, but it didn’t do much for me so I can’t remember how it ended. Well Blaine, thanks for reminding me.

Meanwhile, Kurt is dealing with problem 2. He’s held a child. He slowly starts to realise that fuck, he kind of really wants a family on his own, but they can’t. Sure, Phalanx looked like he was about to die and the Ghost was emotionally exhausted, but for a second, while holding that child, everything seemed right.

You know who else is on a roll?

I've got nothing, fandom, I just don't have the *energy* to care about your pathetic childish shitfuckery right now. You want to judge her, and them, go right ahead. I hope one of these days you grow up enough to learn how to start judging yourselves too, since you'll never be able to control what she does but fuck knows you really ought to know how to control your own actions, or else what the *fuck* chance does humanity have . . .

Ghostly.

And righfully so. Remember what I said about fans tearing down other people on behalf of their idols. Blaine obviously knows fandom is capable of this, but it hurts Kurt like a ton of bricks.

People are harassing this woman???

BECAUSE OF HIM???

WHEREAS HER REACTION HURT, IT WAS COMPLETELY REASONABLE AND HUMAN???

FANDOM????

Jesus, how do Ghostly (and Blaine) keep up with this?

Kurt knows what he’s got to do.

"No." The thought of being near that baby - the thought of seeing that baby - has his guts like a snare; he can't. "I need you to. Please. And if you . . . you know, Detective, if you knew any, how shall I put this, sympathetic young female journalists who might be willing to put her side of the story out who you could introduce her to? Because . . . because I don't believe for one second that she's a bad person, she just needs . . . she just needs people to understand.

The fandom kind of calms down, but something else is happening. The fandom has always been the subplot: the craziness from the POV of three women. But things are changing. BB is no longer as active as she used to be, and Draxie has the feeling it’s got something to do with Ghostly.

Chapter 10

The team is back, and wow, they got a reality check. The moment iBorg got his head smashed against the helicopter, the others are dead silent. Even Incendiary. Sure, she’s impressed and amused, but fuck. The Ghost and Phalanx are not fucking around.

He doesn't like that she acts like she's better than everyone else, he doesn't like that she makes no effort to help the team bond - makes an active effort to stifle any attempts they make themselves to bond - he doesn't like the way she finds people's weaknesses and knows exactly how to push exactly there. She knows the Ghost is very unsure of how to interact with anyone here and while time could have made him more confident in that, she's gone out of her way to make him feel stupid and awkward and unwanted; she knows that Phalanx really does want to be friends with the other supers, so she makes sure to belittle his place among them - 'sidekick' - as often as she can. So they sit uneasily, the Ghost too tense and Phalanx already too angry, across from her.

This is exactly how I feel about Psyche. 

But this is her redeeming herself. Sure, she didn’t want to do this to them, but for the first time, she realised that they are actual human beings and that she really hurt both of them. To her it was a joke, to them, it was bullying. In fact, it was bullying, but Psyche just didn’t realise it.

She’s the first super on the team to really open up to them. By now, we’ve gotten some hints from Sam and Puckzilla’s pasts, but that’s it. This is Psyche, or Quinn, telling the truth.

There's something weird between them now, something Phalanx doesn't understand. He tugs a question at the Ghost's hand, and gets a quick swooping stroke of his thumb to settle him, hush hush. Psyche says, low through her teeth and right to the Ghost's eyes, "They took us when we had nothing and no choice. If I had any say in it at all I wouldn't trust them an inch."

When I first read this story, I didn’t understand what has happened. Neither did Phalanx, but the Ghost sure as fuck did, because he’s observant like that. But I (and Phalanx) didn’t get that that small moment changed their lives forever.

What Psyche had done to them was her wake-up slap, but it also slapped the Ghost and Phalanx in the face. This team could work, but there’s one major problem:

THEY. SUCK.

Really, they know absolutely nothing about being a hero. They don’t know what it’s like in the real world. They don’t know what they do every night.

He shakes his head, taking a breath. "I'll try harder. Because she's right." His eyes meet Phalanx's, and Phalanx stares for that second dumb, because, yes, so much prettier, through the grey of the mask so bright. "They want their powers but they don't care about them. God knows they don't care about us. And if we're not looking out for each other - Phalanx they don't have a clue, you know they don't, do you think those supers could survive a week of your life . . . ?" "I -" He thinks about the squabbling and the bitching and the whining and the laziness and the chaos and the pettiness, and then he thinks about talking a man rescued from a mugging through an anxiety attack in the freezing rain, he thinks about skidding into the road shields flaring everywhere as the girl comes off her bike in front of a bus, he thinks about performing CPR which is not like it is on the TV until the ambulance gets there, he thinks about standing with his hand over his nose and mouth at the side of the alleyway while the Ghost keeps a hand on his arm, talking quietly with the cell in his hood and turned away from Phalanx so he doesn't have to listen, because the suspiciously abandoned car turned out to have a body in the trunk. He thinks about all the crying and how when the Ghost isn't there he has to make people trust him after the worst things have been done to them. He thinks about all the blood, all the bullets and the knives and the baseball bats and the blood. He thinks about not throwing up while he calls an ambulance and the Ghost kneels to help the man whose eye is hanging out after a bar fight and who won't stop screaming. He turns his head away a little, eyes squeezing shut. And he says, jaw too tight, "No. Okay." He remembers their blanking faces, What do you think happens when people jump out at me -? They have to get those guys up to speed. They need to know what the hell they're actually doing. They have to let them know they'll help them, not just the people on the street, when they're going to need it. Because they are going to need it. Becoming a superhero, what do you expect? Not what it is. Not what their lives are. How can you expect that? How can you expect the things people are capable of doing to each other, before Phalanx started this he didn't have a clue -

I think at this point, the team starts to grow, but mostly based on mutual mistrust. Psyche is the team’s HBIC. 

And yet, she doesn’t trust them at all. She doesn’t trust this entire operation, the one she manages, at all. And she’s not the only one. While the Ghost is asking Mike for medical advice, Phalanx goes to Artie.

Artie bangs the helmet on the bench and looks right at it, like he's looking through its eyes, looking into its soul or something. "Power supply," he says to the helmet. "It's really expensive to run it, even for a short period of time. It's why I'm here. You never wondered why I was here?" "I just thought . . . I thought you volunteered. Like we did."

Phalanx is already on a rollercoaster of emotions AGAIN, so this comes as a shock to him. iBorg is the one who recuited them and told them to join, and now they found out iBorg didn’t even want to join in the first place.

Give me five years, he thinks, heading down the corridor. Give me another five years, I'll be just as good. (Yes, the voice murmurs inside him, you will. And he'll be five years even better.)

Goddamnit problem 1.

Chapter 11

He needs Blaine. He knows it. He knows it and he's terrified of him, sometimes. He needs him. No-one could destroy him like Blaine could. Whatever death he could face on the streets is only death; it's Blaine who would barely need words to ruin him worse than that, break him beyond mending, stamp his heart to mess with just a look if he ever looked at him like Kurt is . . .

Goddamnit problem 2.

Again, not much happens, because this time they’re actually on a break and most of their problems are quite small (compared to the ones I actually listed). They’re in the homophobic midwest, which is a problem. It kills you to read how trapped they feel in a place that they should call home.

Second, Blaine once again realises that his family doesn’t love each other- not really.

He doesn't know what to tell Blaine. Because honesty - being really honest with him, telling him exactly how much Kurt needs him and what it would do to him if Blaine left, telling him what future they can expect together and what the present will always be, telling him the truth would feel like blackmailing him. Blaine is a good person, and if Kurt tells him that he will never actually have the life he wants with Kurt but on the other hand Kurt's life will just disappear if Blaine leaves him, how is that fair? He doesn't want Blaine to stay with him because if he doesn't then Kurt will swim in the misery of the life he made for himself until he's got no strength left to keep his head above water. He doesn't want Blaine to stay with him because he feels guilty. He wants Blaine to love him. To actually want to stay with him. He wants this to be what Blaine wants, not just what he's settling for, for Kurt's sake.

Nevermind. Goddamnit problem 1.

Someone else is also having a problem. Ghostly has an anon, and in true Ghostly style, she finishes them off in an epic rant.

That little foot. He still sees it in the dark sometimes. That little foot, poking out of a trash bag, stiff and cold.

During their time away, they have the chance to take a fucking break and thinks things through. Especially after the bridge, everything’s been pretty rough. Kurt realises that he’s not as good with coping than that he originally thought.

I actually always skip the serial killer part. In writing, I can handle shit that usually triggers me much better, but not this. Oh god.

Chapter 12

Okay, meta roundup of the week! GeekingGreekly gave us a long meta post on Iliad-parallels in the Brooklyn Bridge fight, which for those of us who didn't have a clue was insanely interesting and informative. And that inspired in Paleandghostly a post on Modesty and the Ghost, from GeekingGreekly's thoughts on Andromache as good and modest classical Greek wife to the Ghost's costume's strange mixture of 'well that's a very fine ass you've put on show' figure-clinging suit and that cloak that covers him head to toe. Madalicelane gave her thoughts on the just kiss dammit debate, which sparked a lot of, uh, let's call it discussion, and Shieldbearingsoldier and Sociallyspooky are trying to work out the date of the superboyfriends' actual anniversary so they can throw a party for it, of course. We in fandom, our priorities, they are made of right <3

Fandom can actually be smart.

You know who isn’t smart?

RACHEL.

Fuck, at this point I kinda hate her more than Psyche. She’s so self-absorbed and she lets her stupidity blind her. She literally doesn’t understand what she’s doing. It’s not that she doesn’t care or anything. She cares a lot about the safety of the Ghost and Phalanx, and she would never betray them, but she doesn’t understand her actions COULD betray them and put them in danger. Everytime Kurt tries to make that clear to her, her pettiness and selfishness (and fucking stupidity) make sure she won’t even listen to him.

She meets no other than Jesse St. James.

This is where the tricky shit starts. I always say that ATOG has a lot of pysical damage, whereas Grey handles mental damage. Sure, they will work on it, because they’re strong, but it’s seriously messed up.

Jesse is one of the first bigger signs of that. By now, as a reader you’ve been introduced to their main individual problems, but they’re there with a reason. Jesse messes them up, big time.

". . . I don't know," he says, and the words are difficult in his throat, too big for it. "I - doubt. About - everything."

(He’s nothing compared to what’s waiting for them, tho)

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Shut Up, Dave!

Author: NonExistantPup

Year: 2010

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Mike/Dave

“Fuckin’ hell, Dave! Shut up,” Mike hisses as he’s pulled by one wrist into the back of a props van. Nobody’s looking at them, at course. There’s a scene being shot, after all, and neither Naboo the Enigma nor Joey Moose are needed. They won’t be for some time. “There’s nobody here, you ponce,” Dave says. “See what I mean? Empty. And look at all this free space...” Mike swallows, looking around the inside of the van. He can’t deny there is space. He’s still adjusting to this strange atmosphere; being on a set is bizarre, because everybody is working towards the exact same goal. Surely there is no other place where a van like this would be left, unlocked and unattended, at the side of a narrow road? Only certain people are allowed on set. Certain trusted people. Mike’s still not quite sure how he wound up on that list. “Go on, Mike,” Dave suggests. “Shut the door, then, or are you even more of a thrill seeker than I thought?” Mike gives him the finger. “You’re smug for a bloke in khaki shorts,” he mutters, pulling the van door closed and casting them into semi-darkness. “You’re one to talk.” Mike may have argued, but Dave actually does have a point. He hasn’t changed back into his own clothes after playing Naboo. Naturally, he’s not wearing the robe, cape, turban or wig. He left them behind with a costume lady called Deb. This effectively leaves Mike in dark blue boxer shorts and a rather tight t-shirt, hardly the most respectable outfit. “Shut up.” Dave snorts with amusement. “Ooh, ouch.” Mike glares at him through the darkness. “Bite me. And seriously, shut up!” “We’re not even doing anything wrong, you paranoid little tit,” says Dave. “Not yet, anyway.” Mike’s adjusting to the darkness now and glares at the older man. Since Dave’s back is to the light, he’s little more than a silhouette. The van wobbles slightly as he rises to his knees. There really is a lot of space in here; Mike could almost stand up. Almost. “This is ridiculous.” Dave snickers. “Come on then, get ye’ kit off.” Mike blushes, and hopes it’s too dark for Dave to see. “You first.” There’s a moment of silence, and then Dave gives a chortle of laughter. “Aren't you supposed to be in your twenties?” “Shut up!” Mike hisses, but this doesn't seem to faze Dave in the least. “Oh, yes. That’s much better.” Mike crosses his arms. “Seriously, forget it. This is stupid. Always was.” “You came onto me, you know,” Dave reminds him softly, making his way over to Mike in a weird hobble. Mike swallows, but doesn't relent. “Yeah, but this isn't just a reach-around in the shower or something.” He gives an embarrassing squeak as, without touching him in any other way, Dave slips one hand down the front of his boxer shorts. The sound resonates in Mike’s head, and he just knows somebody must have heard. “What are you afraid of?” Dave whispers. His body is quite close now, and when he speaks, Mike can feel the warmth of the other man's breath upon his neck and shivers ever so slightly. “How was - how was I supposed to know this would turn into an actual job?” he mumbles. Although Mike is still worried, Dave is being quieter now and it's getting harder to concentrate on anything save for the fingers that are now wrapped so gently around his cock. “What - you didn’t think the series would happen? That’s faith for you.” Dave’s hand tightens a little and he shifts closer still; Mike can feel the heat of his body now and it makes him feel all tingly. “No, I just - figured you lot would get a real actor. When it did,” Mike explains in a murmur. Suddenly, he feels Dave’s strong, firm hands grasping him under his armpits and moving him into the middle of the van like a toddler. Since he is not a toddler though, Mike's legs are dragged across the bottom of the van and he doesn’t move them quick enough to support his own weight. This (unfortunately) makes it quite impossible to stop Dave from laying him down on the floor. Propped up with his elbows, Mike looks at the older man. From this angle, he can see the light upon Dave’s face, the long, golden, Joey Moose hair and of course the startling blue of his eyes. “Seriously?” Mike shrugs. “Well. Yeah. I mean, come on. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. Can’t sing, can't dance. That’s one of the reasons I...” He trails off, swallowing. “Yeah. Seriously.” Dave is gentle, but also gives no room for objections as he parts Mike’s legs and kneels between them. “What were you going to say?” “Nothin’.” Dave’s grin is impish and smug as he leans down over Mike, using one hand to push him down further so Mike isn’t propping himself up, head and shoulders instead resting upon the floor. “Come on. I'm curious now,” Dave whispers. One hand rests above Mike's shoulder to keep himself balanced, and the other he slips smoothly back into Mike’s pants. Mike bites his lip. “What - is it a secret?” Dave asks teasingly, his eyes alight with almost child-like excitement. Except that his movements are very adult, of course, as he traces one finger around the head of Mike’s cock. “Got a little secret?” he asks in a sing-song voice. Mike props himself up on his elbows again very quickly (as if that will help), looking nervously at the back of the van and knowing - just knowing - the door will burst open at any moment. “Shut up, Dave!” “What if I don't?” “Then you can fuck yourself in here instead, you tosser!” Mike hisses furiously. Dave’s hand moves up from inside his trousers to slip beneath his t-shirt instead. Firmly, he applies pressure to Mike’s sternum, pushing him back down. “So we are going to fuck in here,” Dave says, not quite as loudly now. His hand moves over to one side, seeking out Mike's nipple and rolling it between his fingers. “Right here in the back of a van? Michael, you dirty boy.” Mike sighs, frustrated. “Oh, fuck off.” Dave just grins at him, leaning back for a moment. “Give us your hands.” Scowling, Mike obeys. He doesn't even question the command until his wrists are held tightly together by one of Dave’s hands, pinned above his head. Why did he just do as he was told without thinking? He has no idea. Dave pushes Mike’s shirt up with his free hand, though, which cuts off that train of thought. Mike shivers. “Now, tell me what you were going to say,” Dave commands softly. Mike closes his eyes as, one handed, Dave manages to get the t-shirt up over Mike’s head so it is bunched around his elbows. “What?” He’s faking ignorance, and for a moment it seems to have worked. Then, however, Dave clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Tisk, tisk,” he admonishes quietly. Then, all of a sudden, Mike hears himself squealing as Dave’s fingers skillfully dig against his ribs, tickling him. Mike looks up at him with alarm. “Fuck - stop it!” He tugs at his hands, but Dave’s holding on pretty tight. Mike bites his lip, stamping one foot against the floor and trying to squirm away. “Dave!” he hisses - or, it's a hiss at first, but turns louder and more high pitched as Dave finds a particularly sensitive spot on his belly, smirking as he tickles Mike for all he’s worth. It’s not until Mike gives a giggle that’s as loud as it is embarrassing that he finally gives up. “Alright, alright!” he squeaks. Dave strokes Mike's body thoughtfully with his palm and then licks his fingers. “Gonna talk then, Mike?” Mike’s body is growing increasingly sensitive, and he feels a jolt as Dave’s fingers return to keep playing with his nipple. It arouses him and tickles at the same time. “Fine - just, it’s not a big deal,” he says, never the less looking away. “I... Originally, I was mad at Noel ‘cos I thought he was just going to put me in the Pilot, make me the butt of a bunch of jokes, and get rid of me when the actual series was made, okay? I didn’t realise it was - didn’t know it was serious, underestimated him.” He hesitates a moment. “And that's one of the reasons I hit on you.” A moment of silence. Dave looks disconcerted. “Is it now...” “Look, in my defense, I was nineteen,” Mike says. It would be easier to concentrate if Dave’s quick and crafty fingers would just leave his Goddamn nipple alone. “It’s stupid, but I just thought... Revenge, yeah? If he caught me - with you - he’d be pissed off.” “True,” Dave says slowly. “But now that you know that wasn't his plan, you don't want to piss him off anymore. Don’t want him to find out about... this?” Mike shrugs, cringing at this wording. It does sound childish and awfully harsh, not his proudest moment, but at the time it hadn't seemed like a big deal. Just another element to a sibling squabble. He'd been in Australia for a year and didn't realise Noel had grown up quite a lot in that time. Julian's influence, most likely. “Well. Yeah,” Mike admits, pulling at his hands again. Despite the change in conversation, Dave is still holding on tightly though. “I didn't think I'd end up really liking you - it’d be, like, incest or something - but I do, and I don't want to fuck that up either.” Dave cocks his head to one side. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” There’s a long silence. They are still, save for Dave’s fingers, which continue to rub and flick and tickle his nipple. “Are you mad at me or not?” Mike finally demands. He's confused and nervous and fucking horny and he doesn't like being kept in suspense. “A bit, yeah,” Dave admits. “Don't like the idea of being a commodity.” Mike sighs. “Sorry.” “Got to admit, I never saw you as just an easy fuck.” Guilt. Mike hates guilt. “I know.” “Although,” Dave goes on fairly, “you were pretty easy. It’s nice to know you’re not just a tiny little slag.” “Ta,” says Mike sarcastically. “Not anybody’s tiny little slag, anyway. Just mine.” “Dave...” Dave looks down at him thoughtfully for a moment, but instead of speaking anymore, he bends down to kiss the inside of Mike's arm, and then his shoulder. Mike gives a little whine as he feels Dave’s tongue upon his other nipple. Dave chuckles, sounding pleased with himself, and sucks a little harder, his tongue drawing little circles upon Mike’s increasingly sensitive skin. “Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself,” Mike mutters, irritated. Dave stops. Fuck. “You trying to tell me you're not?” he asks. Mike bites his lip to keep silent as Dave’s hand makes the familiar trek down his body and into his boxer shorts once more. His teasing fingers run lightly over Mike’s erection, touching him only enough to make his heart race and his hips twitch and not giving any relief. “Lying little tit. You're liking this almost as much as I am.” Mike squeaks stupidly as Dave’s fingers move down lower, ghosting over his balls. “Maybe more.” “Shut up,” Mike hisses, his hips squirming although, with Dave kneeling between his thighs, he can’t move all that much. Dave sighs. “You're no fun.” “Right, let me up,” says Mike. For a moment longer, Dave holds him there, but then repents, kissing Mike’s forehead and sitting up once more. He seems surprised when Mike rises too and doesn't move towards the back of the van to get out. In fact, he drops his t-shirt on the floor and walks on his knees towards Dave. There’s a moment of stillness which Mike uses to catch his breath, and then he moves forward a bit more, reaching up to unbutton Dave’s khaki top. He’s very aware of the fact that Dave is watching him, but pays no attention, instead kissing down the front of the other man's chest as he undoes his trousers and pulls them down along with his pants. Mike is happier now that Dave is exposed. He kisses down the side of his body, hands loosely upon Dave’s hips. Dave chuckles. Mike scowls up at him. “Shh.” Dave grins at him, leaning back a bit against the side of the van, and Mike holds on tighter to keep his hips in place as he licks a trail down from Dave’s belly button. This is more like it. Mike squeezes one of his knees between Dave’s knees, which (along with the strong, khaki shorts) essentially locks the older man's legs in place. Mike hears a rumble in the back of his own throat and licks along the length of Dave’s shaft. Dave groans. He fucking groans, like a Goddamn porn star, and Mike looks up at him, utterly incredulous. Uncertainly, his eyes still fixed upon Dave, he moves down again, taking the head of the other man's cock in his mouth, only sucking gently. Dave groans again, wriggling his hips a bit and pressing them forward. “What the fuck is with that sound?” “You're fellating me, Michael,” Dave explains with a shrug. If there is anyone outside the van, they are hearing every word. Every. Bloody. Word. “Shut your mouth!” Innocently, Dave closes his mouth and mimes zipping it shut. They stare at each other for a moment, and then Dave nudges his hips forward invitingly. Very slowly, Mike parts his lips, taking the other man in his mouth again but still looking at him suspiciously. Dave is silent. He takes Dave in a little deeper. Still silent. Mike moves his tongue gently against the underside of the other man's cock. Silence. Dave pats Mike’s head, looking amused. “You're all tense,” he says, but it’s very soft so Mike doesn’t stop what he's doing, moving his head forward and back now, albeit only slightly. “Come on. I know you’ve done this before. Relax. My... funny valentine...” Mike pulls back now, coughing. “What the hell?” Dave shrugs. “Thought it might help you relax,” he says. His speaking voice is quiet now, but when he sang, it wasn't. It was like a cockney fuckin’ Pavarotti. Well, not literally, but it was loud. And it is loud again. “Sweet... funny valentine. You... make me smiiiiile... with your heart-” Hastily, Mike stands up on his knees and covers Dave’s mouth with both hands. They look at each other, both sets of eyes wide. Mike’s are utterly exasperated though, while Dave’s are like those of a cheeky angel. Mike slowly takes his hands from Dave’s mouth, but only momentarily. “Your... looks are-” “Dave, shut up!” Mike hisses. Dave pushes his hands away. “What? It’s not like somebody's going to hear an old jazz song and think, ‘hello, there's a blowie happenin’ in there’. Not with Julian off shooting a scene, anyway.” He laughs indulgently at his little joke and Mike gives a quiet moan, moving back from Dave slightly and sitting on his feet, covering his face with both hands. How can he so pissed off and yet also so horny he can’t see straight? Not that he’s seeing anything with his eyes covered, of course. Mike is vaguely aware of some scuffling and opens his eyes. Dave has tossed his trousers and pants aside, naked apart from his open shirt and Mike subconsciously licks his lips. “Alright,” Dave concedes, his voice hushed once more. “I won't sing. It was pretty shit anyway.” “Yeah,” says Mike. Dave rolls his eyes. “Charming. You’re one to talk.” “I am so close to just getting out of here and just having a wank somewhere.” There’s a pause, and Dave grins. “You are not,” he accuses. “Look at you, you’re gagging for it.” Mike looks down, his face flushed with embarrassment. There's a wet spot on his boxer shorts now and his hips are rolling slightly as his body seeks friction. He stops this the moment he notices it. “Shut up.” Although Mike is glaring as Dave wobbles over to him once more, he doesn’t object or resist. So deeply, he craves that touch. Slowly, almost tentatively, Dave sits down right next to Mike. “Mike,” he murmurs. Mike crosses his arms. “What?” Dave’s voice drops to a low, rumbling, utterly perverted tone. “Take off your pants.” There is a moment of silence, during which time Mike manages to keep a straight face. Then, he bites his tongue but it doesn't quite keep him from laughing. “If you whistle or cat-call or something, I’m punching your lights out.” “Fair enough.” Mike slips his boxer shorts down and then sits on his bum so he can pull them the rest of the way off. Dave is surprisingly well-behaved, as it happens, and Mike finds himself (just for one tiny moment) a little bit disappointed. This isn't a game after all; risks aren’t fun. Really, they’re not! He lets Dave take his boxers and throw them aside, and only now does the penny drop that they are naked (aside from Dave’s open shirt) in the back of a near-stranger’s van. “Now, assume the position." Mike blinks, and feels his face flush. “Uh. Excuse me?” Dave snickers. “Get on all fours, and show me that gorgeous arse." Mike's blush darkens significantly. Sure, he can hardly see Dave in the shadows and the reverse must be true also, but... Still, it's one hell of a compromising position. And embarrassing. Not to mention fucking vulnerable. “I - don't think so,” says Mike slowly. “Shall I sing again, get you in the mood?” Mike doesn't even bother to answer. Not wanting Dave to know that he’s secretly quite amused and a bit enticed by this unusual threat, he mutters, “Prick,” and turns around, getting onto his hands and knees and facing away from Dave. His back straightens as he feels one of Dave’s fingers running down the crease between his buttocks. “Arsehole,” Dave observes innocently, and Mike actually moans, crossing his arms and hiding his face by his elbow; it’s only a coincidence, of course, that this means his arse is pushed higher in the air. “Anyway, how am I supposed to fit anything in there?” Dave inquires. The volume of his voice is rising back towards normal. Mike is about to complain, but then Dave’s spit-slicked pinkie is pressed inside him and he gives a surprised little yelp instead, hips twitching. “Rather - rather like that, I should imagine,” he mumbles under his breath. Dave laughs. “Ah, wit,” he comments appreciatively. Mike's hips twist of their own accord as he feels Dave's finger wriggling a little deeper. “There’s quite a difference between my pinkie finger and my penis though, Mike.” Mike may have made some joke at this point, but instead he feels a dangerous kind of thrill at this comment. Not that they can really go that far right now. “You’re not barebackin’ me, and unlubricated. You’ll tear me in half.” Dave’s pinkie finger moves a little more quickly, in and out as it is fitting more comfortably inside now. Mike gives a low hiss. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” says Dave, and if Mike was a little more capable of thought, he’d probably have flipped him off. “So thanks. But pass me my shorts, would you?” Mike looks up. The khaki trousers are right by his head, and he unfolds his arms in order to pick them up. Curious, Mike doesn't give them to Dave, but searches for the pockets himself. At first, he thinks he’s holding Dave's wallet and a book or something, but when he pulls out the items, he’s rather surprised. “You brought Johnnies.” “Well spotted,” says Dave, sounding amused. He switches now, pulling out his pinkie finger and inserting a different one. Mike closes his eyes for a moment, passing the condoms to Dave, and then looks back at the items in his hands. “Valentine, the Lovers’ Long Lasting Lubrication.” “The kid can read!” Mike passes that back too. Then, he fumbles inside the other front pocket. “Pine-Scented, Deluxe-Weave Moist Towellettes. You presumptuous bastard.” Dave kisses one of Mike's buttocks and Mike throws the packet of what are essentially baby wipes in the direction of his head. “And what... Dave, why are there handcuffs in here?!” Mike exclaims, a bit louder than he intended to. He may have gotten up or something, but then Dave’s finger pushes into him deeper and Mike’s arms don't feel strong enough for that anymore. “I had an inkling you might be the one rifling through my trousers,” Dave responds in a cheerful tone. “Thought that would be a fun surprise. Didn’t know I'd already be out of them at the time, but-” “Quiet!” Mike hisses. Outside, a phone has rung. Nobody answers it immediately, of course, but then there are footsteps upon the gravel as somebody runs over to pick it up. “Yeah?” It’s one of the guys from lighting. Somebody... Croft? Or Crawford? Mike is listening hard, all of his focus upon Crawford (or Cray?) but then suddenly he feels Dave’s finger twisting inside him, rubbing right against his prostate and making the world seem a little bit blurry. Mike clamps his jaw shut, making only a tiny, pathetic little gurgle. He’s afraid to move though. Or just doesn't want to. “Well, I asked. I don't think they - no, well they pulled Shirley somehow, so somebody obviously thinks they’ve got something...” Mike is only vaguely aware of these words though, as Dave’s finger is still moving, so very slowly inside of him. Mike doesn't think he’s ever been this aroused, and at the same time he’s so fucking pissed off he doesn't know whether he’d most like to ask for more or describe to Dave the depths of his hatred for him. Mostly, he just desperately wants Cray (or Craig?) to get the hell out of here. “How am I supposed to know that? Look, I’ll ask, but we’ve only been shooting a few days now...” Mike gasps into the crook of his elbow as he feels a sudden shock of cold, dribbling down between the cheeks of his arse. So tingly and tickly and Dave inserts another finger, this one covered in Valentine, the Lovers’ Long Lasting Lubrication. He squirms, but then Dave wraps his free arm around Mike's thighs to keep him still. “No, I do know what you mean. Cam told me the same thing, actually, although... Yeah, knowing him it could have been bullshit.” Craig (or Carson? It must be Carson) laughs. “Anyway, did you end up going to the thing last night?” Then he leans against the side of the van and it wobbles ever so slightly. Mike feels like he could just fucking cry. If he gets any more turned on, he is going to explode and there’s nothing he can do about it. Mike is oddly comforted though, as he feels Dave’s lips press gently against his hip. Then, he stuffs his fist in his mouth to choke back a moan as Dave presses a third finger inside him. “Well, you can't say I didn't warn you... Yeah, but - Kitty, you didn’t have to go if you really didn’t want to... Well, I don't know, you could have said your babysitter cancelled or something...” Mike is losing his mind. His eyes are squeezed shut, and three of Dave’s sinful fingers are moving inside him. In and out. In and out. Twisting ever so slightly each time. And always rubbing very deliberately against his prostate. “Look, I'm not going to argue about this with you. Anyway, I'm at work, so... No way. She did? What did Bree say?” It’s only very, very soft, but Mike could swear he heard Dave chuckling. He makes a mental note to kill Dave later on. And kill fucking Elias Croydon too. Croydon! That’s it. Not that Mike gets any opportunity to celebrate his little victory. He’s panting, and although it’s quite a feat, managing to keep it almost silent. “You’re fucking kidding me. You’re fucking kidding me! What did he do? ... Well, after that, obviously...” Apparently satisfied that Mike’s not going to reflexively run away, Dave withdraws his arm from around Mike’s thighs. He keeps fucking Mike with his fingers, but there's also a very quiet crinkle of plastic. “No fucking way,” Mike whispers. He can’t be sure that Dave heard this, but it seems likely since he then nips Mike's thigh. It stings and is a surprise, but thankfully when Mike yelps, Croydon is in the middle of a word. “Oh, piss. I've got the light... The call light, Kitty, what light did you think I meant? Means we're setting up the next scene...” There’s a pause. Mike can feel his heart thumping hard in his chest. “Yeah. No, I'm serious, it’s on. I’ll call you when I'm done... Love you too.” There’s a beep, and Mike lets out a long breath he has been holding. Dave, apparently unsatisfied with Mike in any state of relaxation, speeds his fingers up and Mike gives a tiny little squeak. He can't even think about whether Elias Croydon heard this though, since his mind is focused only on Dave’s fingers. He is still and silent, and wound so tight, Mike hardly even breathes until he hears Dave say jovially, “Well, wasn't that fun.” Presumably, Croydon has walked away. This whole incident has left Mike even more conscious of how close they actually are to everybody. After all, Croydon had apparently not had trouble hearing his ringtone, or indeed getting to the phone in time. “Fuck you.” Embarrassingly, these words then melt into a rather high-pitched whine as Dave’s fingers slip out of him completely. The van wobbles slightly as he moves away, and Mike swallows. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean no...” Dave chuckles. “I know. Come over here.” Mike turns his head to see Dave - the outline of Dave, anyway - against the side of the van. His cock shines with lubrication, jutting proudly forward. Mike swallows and crawls over obediently. He’s really too desperate by now to do otherwise. Docile, he lets Dave change his position. He is turned around once more, legs parted so his knees touch the floor on either side of Dave’s thighs. He’s still panting, leaning forward so his hands are touching the floor, and there is silence. “Dave,” Mike whispers impatiently. “Sorry,” says Dave. “Just. You should be naked more often.” Mike gives a breathless, pitiful sort of laugh and is relieved when he feels Dave’s firm hands grasping his hips, pulling him into position. One is then removed, presumably to adjust himself, and then Mike yelps. Instead of moving his hips down, Dave has thrust his own up, taking Mike by surprise and pushing all the way into him in one go. What’s worse, though, is that Dave himself gives a deep, throaty groan. And then another one as Mike allows himself to relax and put more of his weight onto Dave, effectively taking him even deeper. “Mike, are you aware that you sound like a vaguely distressed little puppy right now?” Mike is about to reply when Dave wriggles his hips slightly, and the words are swallowed up by sensation. Well, most of them anyway. He does manage, “Shut up, Dave.” Slowly, Mike begins to move his body, lifting his hips and then moving down once more and spearing himself upon Dave’s cock. Although he moves at a steady pace, Dave’s hips thrust upwards to meet Mike’s at utterly random moments, making it even more difficult to keep silent. The difficulty increases threefold as Dave’s hands start getting adventurous again. He runs his fingers over Mike's legs and hips, and although he doesn’t touch Mike’s hard and leaking cock, he explores everywhere else. Every now and then, those fingers find some sensitive place to pinch, forcing a sound from Mike’s mouth - but not once does he ask Dave to stop. Dave’s getting closer. Mike knows this because Dave’s also getting quieter; apparently, the risk isn't so much fun when he’s nearing orgasm and doesn't wish to be interrupted. Without saying anything, he reaches for Mike’s upper arms, pulling them behind his back and keeping them there. This effectively bends Mike backwards so he’s leaning against Dave’s body, utterly exposed. His head falls back to rest upon the other man’s shoulder and he hides his face against Dave’s neck, breathing heavily. So close. So fucking close, and yet he knows he won’t come without anything touching his cock. And Dave won’t touch him until he comes. Mike wriggles his hips as much as he can, grinding down against Dave, trying to coax it out of him. They are both breathless and sweating; the air in this van is limited, after all, and the temperature has risen exponentially during the time they’ve been here. Mike isn’t aware that the van is wobbling now, rocking ever so slightly with every thrust. He isn't aware of the sounds they are making, nor the squeaking the van is making, nor is he aware of the thumping outside. When Dave comes, it’s with a long, resonating growl and his spare hand is gripping Mike’s thigh so hard it hurts. But it also makes sure he can't move away, not by an inch, as he feels the strange warmth of Dave’s climax deep inside him. Dave bites Mike's shoulder then, and his spare hand goes straight for his cock. After having nothing touching his erection for so very long, Mike's whole body would respond to the slightest contact. So when Dave’s tight, unmerciful fist is wrapped around it, Mike lasts only moments. His skin is so sensitised, the intensity of Dave's hand wanking him almost hurts. He moans against his lover's neck, for the moment utterly oblivious to the necessity of keeping quiet, and Mike comes before Dave has even softened inside him. They both lie there, breathing heavily, and Mike feels like he’s been dropped on a cloud somewhere. His whole body is so numb with pleasure, his skin tingling and eyes closed. Dave is still pumping him, but gently now as they are both riding out the aftershocks of orgasm. “Better explain ourselves before somebody breaks in,” says Dave. Mike opens his eyes, still very dazed, his hips twitching under Dave’s continued touch. “Hmm?” As the very thick fog in his head begins to clear, Mike finally notices that, although they have stopped, there are still noises. Close by too. In the van. In the van? Mike frowns; of course there’s nobody in here. But outside... “Dave! Get out, or I swear I will drive this van over a fucking cliff!” Mike swallows. “As if you can drive,” says Dave, and it’s apparently loud enough to be heard from outside because the thumping stops. “Seriously, you don't need to stay here,” comes the calmer voice of a producer Mike should definitely know the name of by now. “Just-” There’s a click. Dave only just has time to let Mike’s arms go and Mike only just has time to sit up a bit before the doors in the back of the van fly open. Mike can’t even see, blinded by the light, but he doesn't really need to. “I'm going to be sick,” says Noel, as somebody wolf-whistles. A moment passes, and only then does Dave take his hand off Mike’s cock. Presumably, he’s blindsided by this too - if not the appearance of people outside, he at least didn't expect somebody would open the van door. “Wise move,” mutters Pete’s voice. Mike squints, slowly bringing the outside into focus. Luckily, there is only Noel, Pete and the Producer man (Stewart something?). Stewart (or Stephan?) tosses something large - a sheet of some kind - into the van, and Mike climbs off Dave. His body is quite limp though, so he really just stumbles forward, and the surprise of Dave’s cock slipping out of him doesn’t help either. Finally, Mike’s vision is almost cleared. Noel looks murderous. Not at him though, weirdly enough. When Noel's mad, it’s strange and rare for it not to be directed at Mike. Despite his predicament though, Dave’s still looking rather pleased with himself. Apparently, this doesn't take the sparkle off his conquest. If anything, he looks like a kid who’s been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin and is proud of the fact that he’s already eaten most of the biscuits before getting caught. “I thought you were shooting a scene,” says Mike stupidly, and Noel gives him a look that couldn’t possibly be less impressed. “Well, obviously, I'm not.” “Rich is dancing,” explains Stephan (no, Steven. It’s definitely Steven). “Shut up, that’s not the point,” snaps Noel. “What - just... What?! What the hell is wrong with you?” Dave has the good sense to look ashamed. But only slightly. “Sorry,” he says, and then gives a pause. “Actually, that’s a lie. I'm not.” Dave shrugs helplessly and Mike has the intense desire to either kiss him or kick him in the balls. “I said I wouldn't kill you if something were to happen with you and Mike.” Noel sounds incredulous. Somehow, not as out of control as Mike would have anticipated though. “What - how the hell do you translate that to mean, ‘by all means, bum my little brother on the set!’ Fuck sake...” He shakes his head, breathing out and turning away. Mike can understand why though; he once walked in on Noel getting a blowjob from Annie Winters when he was in highschool, and this would have to be worse than that. “Can we talk about this later?” asks Dave carefully. “You know, when we’re not covered in-” “Shut up, Dave,” says Mike. This time, Dave takes his advice. Noel opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it again, apparently lost for words for the first time in about a dozen years. Then, he shuts the van door, his expression a combination of reluctance and relief. It’s not until now, when he and Dave are alone (or as alone as they can be at this point) that the words Noel said actually penetrate into Mike’s head. He looks at Dave, who smiles innocently. “What did that mean?” “I believe it means Noel isn't pleased about me bumming you on set.” Mike scowls. “Stop smirking, wanker. Noel said - he didn’t know? Did he?” Dave just looks at him, still grinning. “And you...” “Asked his permission before accepting any advances, yes,” says Dave, looking all the more smug. “He’s my closest friend; I wouldn’t risk that.” Mike blinks, feeling very, very stupid. The apocalyptic image of what would happen if Noel found out was not only false but impossible. Because Noel already knew. “But... I thought...” Mike trails off, frowning and not sure whether he wants to laugh or cry. “How could you - I was really scared!” Dave pauses, looking ever so slightly guilty. “I was going to tell you it was okay. But - being used as ammunition in brotherly bickering?” Dave shrugs, and Mike crosses his arms over his belly uncomfortably. “Guess it made me a bit of a bitch.” He pauses. “And you were just the full-on sex. It was fun.” They fall into silence, and Mike vaguely hopes Noel has left the scene by now. “It was a bit. The way you - the thrill,” he admits idly, putting down the sheet that’s been covering him and looking down at his skinny belly. It’s streaked with his own come. “Poor Noel.” “Are we going to be alright?” asks Dave sounding, for the first time, unsure of himself. Mike doesn't answer immediately. “I... I think so,” he says. “I hope so.” “I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.” And Dave accused him of being childish? Mike rolls his eyes. “Alright.” Dave stretches, giving a satisfied sort of sigh, and peels off the condom he’s still wearing. “In that case, would you help me find my Pine-Scented, Deluxe-Weave Moist Towelettes? Or shall we try for another round first?” Mike scratches his head, and knows he must be grinning very stupidly right now. Interestingly enough, he doesn't care though. “Shut up, Dave.”

[samanthasroberts]

Obama Wanted To End ‘Childish Things’ In Washington. Instead, He Got Trump.

On a frigid day in January 2009, after the chief justice of the Supreme Court bungled the oath of office, Barack Obama delivered his inaugural address to a crowd of millions and implored them to understand the gravity of the moment.

The time for recriminations and worn-out dogmas had ended, the president declared, in a nod to the bitter campaign that had just concluded and the crumbling U.S. economy he was inheriting. We remain a young nation. But in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things.

Eight years later, the economy has improved. But those childish things very much remain, and they have clouded Obamas swan song in office and complicated his legacy.

As Obama prepared for his final speech last week in his hometown of Chicago, his successor, Donald Trumpa reality television host with little grasp of policy issues, save a desire to upend much of his predecessors agenda faced accusations that hed watched Russian prostitutes urinate on his hotel bed.

It is an inharmonious and depressing bookend to the Obama years, which will be defined by historic legislative achievements, relentless partisanship and the fusion of media, entertainment and governance. And for many veterans of the administration, that failure to move beyond the immaterial distractions and endless squabbles that often consume politics is the sore spot of his legacy.

The toxicity of the environment here, we were not able to change. That doesnt mean it cant change in the future. It just means we fell short of where we hoped to go. Valerie Jarrett, senior adviser to President Barack Obama

We were not as successful as we hoped we would be [in changing the culture of Washington], said Obamas longtime senior adviser, Valerie Jarrett, in an interview. But I will say this: Notwithstanding that, we still made enormous progress here. We were able to get some extraordinary accomplishments done that have benefited our country. But the toxicity of the environment here, we were not able to change. That doesnt mean it cant change in the future. It just means we fell short of where we hoped to go.

Though it is dwarfed by his legislative successes, Obamas inability to change the culture of Washington is no small failure. It was the keystone to his 2008 campaign, and arguably the main ingredient in his upset primary win over Hillary Clinton and his general election triumph over John McCain.

But for some Democrats, the notion that childish things could ever be truly set aside was always a touch naive. Howard Dean, who chaired the Democratic National Committee when Obama first ran, recalled a conversation the two had after Obama had secured the Democratic nomination.

He said, Im through the hardest part now, Dean recalled Obama saying. And I said, If you think that, you have another thing coming. These guys are ruthless and their only mission is that you dont succeed.

To a large degree, Dean was the more prescient of the pair. The night of Obamas inauguration, House Republicans dined with top operatives, plotting how to put the brakes on his agenda and win back power. Months later, Republican leadership announced their opposition to the Recovery Actbefore Obama had even finished a meeting to pitch the economic stimulus package to members of Congress. It was a sharp and early illustration of the GOP id. The fact that it took Obama years to recognize it as such, his aides now concede, was a strategic miscalculation.

But it wasnt just the knee-jerk opposition of Republicans that confounded the Obama White House. A host of distractions and quasi-scandals during those early months and years proved maddening as well. There was the absurd cable catnip, like the infamous terrorist fist jab that Obama exchanged with his wife; the partisan-hyped controversies, like the conservative talk radio complaints over the presidents efforts to secure the Olympic Games in Chicago; and the rhetorical missteps that sucked the oxygen out of the room.

None were quite as memorable as what transpired on June 22, 2009. That day, Obama gave a press conference in which 12 of the first 14 questions involved his efforts to construct and pass health care reform (in between was a question on financial regulatory overhauls). The question that ended up getting the most attention, however, would be the very last, when Obama responded to a request for comment on the arrest of Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. at his Cambridge home by suggesting the officer had acted stupidly.

It would take a week for that micro-scandal to die down, and only after the officer, Gates and Obama met at the White House for a beer summit to talk things over.

Jim Young/Reuters

The infamous beer summit.

For Obamas staff, the challenge quickly became figuring out which crises were real and which were ephemeral. Sometimes, they arguably made matters worse, like informally blacklisting Fox News amid a torrent of conspiratorial coverage from its then-host and chalkboard aficionado Glenn Beck or elevating talk show host Rush Limbaugh as the face of the GOP in 2009 rather than dismissing him outright.

But on the whole, Obamas aides learned to distinguish between the substance and the noise. They also figured out which battles to pick and which to avoid. Obama, for example, became notably more deliberate about addressing racial issues following the beer summit because, aides said, he recognized that his involvement often only further polarized matters.

The problem was, Obama had pledged to lower the noise and not simply skate around it. And as time went on, it became increasingly malignant. A congressman could scream you lie at the president during a bicameral event and raise a quick million dollars in donations. End-of-life consultations could be depicted as death panels not only on the conservative fringe, but byRepublican senatorsthe White House was trying to woo. And a reality television star could push a racist conspiracy theory about the presidents birthplace and, instead of being laughed off the air, turn it into a foundation for a White House bid.

Dan Pfeiffer, the presidents longtime aide, argued that the key element in all this was a political media culture that not only enjoyed the spectacle but profited from it. One reason that the White House ultimately decided to release Obamas birth certificate in April 2011, for example, was because aides felt they couldnt move past Trumps provocations during the daily briefing.

I remember that period very well, because there was a lot of real serious shit happening in the world, a European financial crisis, and the economy was in a bad place, Pfeiffer told HuffPost last fall. But Donald Trump kept going on TV and he would make these claims, and it was treated as: Well, Trump says this. It wasnt with great scrutiny. He was being given a bullhorn to shout racist shit without being called on it.

While it became clearer that childish things werent going away, the president still attempted to forge through them. For months, he searched around for a Republican to support his health care bill, to no avail. He made an abrupt shift from Keynesian stimulus to deficit reduction to calm his conservative critics in 2010. And in the summer of 2011, he sought a grand bargain on entitlements and taxes with then-House Speaker John Boehner (R-Ohio) when there was little indication that Boehner would, or could, ever get his caucus to go along. Sure enough, the deal fell apart, replaced by a series of sharp and indiscriminate budget cuts known as sequestration.

Larry Downing/Reuters

Barack Obama and John Boehner during the 2011 debt ceiling negotiations.

The presidents closest aides were fond of saying that the GOP fever would eventually break, first after Republicans won control of the House in 2010, then after they lost the election in 2012, and finally after they shut down the government in 2013. But it never did. And eventually, Obama went his own route, famously deploying his pen and phone strategy of executive and administrative actions.

For his close advisers and friends, it is a testament to Obamas character that he continued believing, up until that moment, that Washington could, indeed, change its stripes. But even they recognize that his earlier reluctance to acknowledge that childish things would remain was not without sacrifice that the pursuit of comity sometimes came at the cost of sound messaging and policy.

No one can look back eight years and say we couldnt have done a better job somewhere, given the outcome, said Anita Dunn, Obamas former adviser. The policies will stand the test of time, the presidents personal standing is high as he leaves office (as it should be), but somewhere along the way, too many people stopped seeing the Democratic Party as relentlessly focused on improving the economy and their lives, which opened the door for Donald Trump.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/09/obama-wanted-to-end-childish-things-in-washington-instead-he-got-trump/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/07/09/obama-wanted-to-end-childish-things-in-washington-instead-he-got-trump/

[adambstingus]

Obama Wanted To End ‘Childish Things’ In Washington. Instead, He Got Trump.

On a frigid day in January 2009, after the chief justice of the Supreme Court bungled the oath of office, Barack Obama delivered his inaugural address to a crowd of millions and implored them to understand the gravity of the moment.

The time for recriminations and worn-out dogmas had ended, the president declared, in a nod to the bitter campaign that had just concluded and the crumbling U.S. economy he was inheriting. We remain a young nation. But in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things.

Eight years later, the economy has improved. But those childish things very much remain, and they have clouded Obamas swan song in office and complicated his legacy.

As Obama prepared for his final speech last week in his hometown of Chicago, his successor, Donald Trumpa reality television host with little grasp of policy issues, save a desire to upend much of his predecessors agenda faced accusations that hed watched Russian prostitutes urinate on his hotel bed.

It is an inharmonious and depressing bookend to the Obama years, which will be defined by historic legislative achievements, relentless partisanship and the fusion of media, entertainment and governance. And for many veterans of the administration, that failure to move beyond the immaterial distractions and endless squabbles that often consume politics is the sore spot of his legacy.

The toxicity of the environment here, we were not able to change. That doesnt mean it cant change in the future. It just means we fell short of where we hoped to go. Valerie Jarrett, senior adviser to President Barack Obama

We were not as successful as we hoped we would be [in changing the culture of Washington], said Obamas longtime senior adviser, Valerie Jarrett, in an interview. But I will say this: Notwithstanding that, we still made enormous progress here. We were able to get some extraordinary accomplishments done that have benefited our country. But the toxicity of the environment here, we were not able to change. That doesnt mean it cant change in the future. It just means we fell short of where we hoped to go.

Though it is dwarfed by his legislative successes, Obamas inability to change the culture of Washington is no small failure. It was the keystone to his 2008 campaign, and arguably the main ingredient in his upset primary win over Hillary Clinton and his general election triumph over John McCain.

But for some Democrats, the notion that childish things could ever be truly set aside was always a touch naive. Howard Dean, who chaired the Democratic National Committee when Obama first ran, recalled a conversation the two had after Obama had secured the Democratic nomination.

He said, Im through the hardest part now, Dean recalled Obama saying. And I said, If you think that, you have another thing coming. These guys are ruthless and their only mission is that you dont succeed.

To a large degree, Dean was the more prescient of the pair. The night of Obamas inauguration, House Republicans dined with top operatives, plotting how to put the brakes on his agenda and win back power. Months later, Republican leadership announced their opposition to the Recovery Actbefore Obama had even finished a meeting to pitch the economic stimulus package to members of Congress. It was a sharp and early illustration of the GOP id. The fact that it took Obama years to recognize it as such, his aides now concede, was a strategic miscalculation.

But it wasnt just the knee-jerk opposition of Republicans that confounded the Obama White House. A host of distractions and quasi-scandals during those early months and years proved maddening as well. There was the absurd cable catnip, like the infamous terrorist fist jab that Obama exchanged with his wife; the partisan-hyped controversies, like the conservative talk radio complaints over the presidents efforts to secure the Olympic Games in Chicago; and the rhetorical missteps that sucked the oxygen out of the room.

None were quite as memorable as what transpired on June 22, 2009. That day, Obama gave a press conference in which 12 of the first 14 questions involved his efforts to construct and pass health care reform (in between was a question on financial regulatory overhauls). The question that ended up getting the most attention, however, would be the very last, when Obama responded to a request for comment on the arrest of Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. at his Cambridge home by suggesting the officer had acted stupidly.

It would take a week for that micro-scandal to die down, and only after the officer, Gates and Obama met at the White House for a beer summit to talk things over.

Jim Young/Reuters

The infamous beer summit.

For Obamas staff, the challenge quickly became figuring out which crises were real and which were ephemeral. Sometimes, they arguably made matters worse, like informally blacklisting Fox News amid a torrent of conspiratorial coverage from its then-host and chalkboard aficionado Glenn Beck or elevating talk show host Rush Limbaugh as the face of the GOP in 2009 rather than dismissing him outright.

But on the whole, Obamas aides learned to distinguish between the substance and the noise. They also figured out which battles to pick and which to avoid. Obama, for example, became notably more deliberate about addressing racial issues following the beer summit because, aides said, he recognized that his involvement often only further polarized matters.

The problem was, Obama had pledged to lower the noise and not simply skate around it. And as time went on, it became increasingly malignant. A congressman could scream you lie at the president during a bicameral event and raise a quick million dollars in donations. End-of-life consultations could be depicted as death panels not only on the conservative fringe, but byRepublican senatorsthe White House was trying to woo. And a reality television star could push a racist conspiracy theory about the presidents birthplace and, instead of being laughed off the air, turn it into a foundation for a White House bid.

Dan Pfeiffer, the presidents longtime aide, argued that the key element in all this was a political media culture that not only enjoyed the spectacle but profited from it. One reason that the White House ultimately decided to release Obamas birth certificate in April 2011, for example, was because aides felt they couldnt move past Trumps provocations during the daily briefing.

I remember that period very well, because there was a lot of real serious shit happening in the world, a European financial crisis, and the economy was in a bad place, Pfeiffer told HuffPost last fall. But Donald Trump kept going on TV and he would make these claims, and it was treated as: Well, Trump says this. It wasnt with great scrutiny. He was being given a bullhorn to shout racist shit without being called on it.

While it became clearer that childish things werent going away, the president still attempted to forge through them. For months, he searched around for a Republican to support his health care bill, to no avail. He made an abrupt shift from Keynesian stimulus to deficit reduction to calm his conservative critics in 2010. And in the summer of 2011, he sought a grand bargain on entitlements and taxes with then-House Speaker John Boehner (R-Ohio) when there was little indication that Boehner would, or could, ever get his caucus to go along. Sure enough, the deal fell apart, replaced by a series of sharp and indiscriminate budget cuts known as sequestration.

Larry Downing/Reuters

Barack Obama and John Boehner during the 2011 debt ceiling negotiations.

The presidents closest aides were fond of saying that the GOP fever would eventually break, first after Republicans won control of the House in 2010, then after they lost the election in 2012, and finally after they shut down the government in 2013. But it never did. And eventually, Obama went his own route, famously deploying his pen and phone strategy of executive and administrative actions.

For his close advisers and friends, it is a testament to Obamas character that he continued believing, up until that moment, that Washington could, indeed, change its stripes. But even they recognize that his earlier reluctance to acknowledge that childish things would remain was not without sacrifice that the pursuit of comity sometimes came at the cost of sound messaging and policy.

No one can look back eight years and say we couldnt have done a better job somewhere, given the outcome, said Anita Dunn, Obamas former adviser. The policies will stand the test of time, the presidents personal standing is high as he leaves office (as it should be), but somewhere along the way, too many people stopped seeing the Democratic Party as relentlessly focused on improving the economy and their lives, which opened the door for Donald Trump.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/09/obama-wanted-to-end-childish-things-in-washington-instead-he-got-trump/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/162764993337