#probably half a dozen AT LEAST per match that they could have chosen from

[rolandkaros]

only one of karo's points made it to the us open top 10 vid and of course it was the behind the back and you know what!! shame on them!! that was the easy and obvious choice but NOT the right one!! probably not even top 5 of her best points in the tournament. us open youtube DO BETTER you ought to be ASHAMED of yourselves FAKE FANS.

[antipodeanpineapplelump]

Dear Starshot, I recently saw your latest artwork for #Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura and I am DYING to learn more about this AU. If you're comfortable sharing, is there anything you can disclose about it?? Is this related to the ItaShi Indiana Jones AU you mentioned before?!!?!?!?!!

Hi Birk, thank you so much for dropping by with this ask! Are you really voluntarily asking me to talk about my current obsession and fanfic baby though? Because I warn you, you may live to regret that!!!

"Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura" is now the official title of my ItaShi Indiana Jones AU. I realise it’s been over a year since I first mentioned it, and it’s still a WIP! Pretty sure that says absolutely nothing good about the speed of my writing, but a lot about how busy my life outside of fandom is. Anyhow, it’s definitely one of those AUs that’s got away on me. I was planning one story initially, but now it’s kind of turned into three (plus a cracky oneshot), and this is just the first.

I’ve planned nine chapters total so far, but the bane of my life is currently number four. It’s sitting at 16,000 words and counting. Succinct writing? I’ve certainly never heard of it… So anyway, I kind of hit a wall there and decided to take a little break to come back with fresh eyes. That’s how I ended up working on the art instead. But I’d say I’m probably about halfway through the first draft (47,000-ish words).

I recently shared the opening scene and my draft cover artwork here. Ummm… what else can I tell you? Madara is the main bad guy, and he’s definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Shisui is an agent of disaster and chaos. Itachi is really… not. So their initial interactions go about as well as you could expect.

All the main characters have extensive back stories. I’m pretty sure you’re already familiar with my Machiavellian worldbuilding tendencies from reading Red Dawn, so it goes without saying I have just as many notes and plans, and as much fleshed out worldbuilding for this story too. And it will take a long time for all of that to be revealed! But the overarching theme is probably found family, which is different to anything I’ve done before.

At this risk of revealing too much, or boring you to tears, I’ll finish with another sneak peek, this time from Itachi’s POV:

When Itachi wakes, there’s nothing to suggest his day is going to be anything but routine.

He gets up at dawn as per usual, eating breakfast at the dining table alone, legs tucked beneath him on a comfortable zabuton. The solitude at this hour of day is something he prefers. It’s the only time the family home is quiet anymore—lacking the cold disapproval of his father’s increasingly judgemental lectures, the anger of his younger brother’s rebellion, or the resigned acquiescence of his mother.

By now, Fugaku should have left for work, and it’s still too early for Sasuke to be awake, given how late he’s been staying out at night. Either to irritate their father, or just avoid him entirely, he’s taken to frequenting the clubs and bars in Osaka. Mostly, he comes home. Some nights, he doesn’t.

More often than not, even when he is home his door is closed, the thumping bass line of some song or another seeping out from beneath it. Likely because he knows this angers their father even more than the leather jackets and spiked punk-rock hair style he now sports.

Part of Itachi has been glad to discover his brother possesses more of a spine than he ever has. But at the same time, Sasuke’s rejection of every last one of their father’s rules has only brought more unwanted scrutiny to Itachi’s far more minor transgressions. It’s as though, having decided his younger child is a lost cause, Fugaku now wants to be absolutely certain his eldest son and heir to the Uchiha family fortune is beyond reproach. To smother him with expectations until he emerges, a diamond from beneath the pressure.

But unbeknownst to Fugaku, Itachi has one flaw he can’t change. And it means that, no matter what, he’ll always be a failure in his father’s eyes.

Sighing, he swallows a mouthful of rice and fish, washing it down with the sweetened barley tea he favours. Pulling this month’s edition of Modern Archaeology across the table, he inspects its glossy cover and promptly chokes on his drink.

The face that smiles up from the page stokes a knot of hot irritation in his gut. Furiously, he skips to the article, skim-reading the text, despite the fact he knows it will only annoy him further.

"An up-and-coming star in the field of archaeology, particularly specialising in South-American cultures, Shisui Uchiha is an increasingly well-known fixture of the San Diego research scene. Curiously for someone so entrenched in the study of history, he is famously reticent when it comes to his own. ‘I did spend my early years in Japan,’ he confirms when pressed. ‘But I haven’t been back in a long time. The United States is my home now.’ Asked about his connection to the famous Uchiha family, he merely winks enigmatically. ‘Never heard of them,’ he says, before asking if we’d like a one-on-one tour of the dig site.

Equally at home in dusty ruins as surfing the palm-lined SoCal beaches, or scaling the cliffs of his native Joshua Tree National Park, he nonetheless shines in group settings too. At the party we attend that evening, to celebrate the opening of a new Aztec exhibit at the Museo Nacional de Antropología in Mexico City, he easily charms the crowd, finishing the night with at least half a dozen new admirers. It’s not hard to see why they like him. A conversation with Shisui is exercise in passion and obscure historical knowledge. Even so, much like the dig sites he frequents, it’s hard to say just how much of what he presents to the world runs more than surface-deep.

His motto in life? ‘Fall seven times, stand up eight,’ Shisui says with a charismatic smile. Where did he learn it? Chuckling, he brushes us off. ‘The school of hard knocks.’

Love him or hate him, one thing is certain—we haven’t seen the last of Shisui Uchiha’s brand of archaeology.”

Hate him, Itachi thinks, sipping his tea viciously enough to scald his tongue and immediately regretting it. Definitely hate. Hate how he’s reckless, impulsive, irresponsible, and doesn’t seem to take a single thing seriously. Hate that it looks like he’s never had to work hard for anything a day in his life—people only too happy to hand him whatever he wants on a silver platter, charmed by a pretty smile. Hate the fact that, despite their shared family name, he’s free to do whatever he likes. Hate the way people flock to him, falling into his orbit—and by all accounts, bed—like it’s somehow inevitable. And hate, most of all, that there’s a small part of Itachi which understands why.

Because hate or love him—and it’s definitely hate—there’s no denying that Shisui Uchiha is, objectively, a very attractive man.

Coming back to his senses and realising he’s been leaning over the magazine, frowning so hard his forehead hurts, Itachi straightens, closing his eyes and massaging the knot of tension out from between his eyebrows.

“Itachi—”

The tension sinks in even deeper. He opens his eyes. “Father.”

Fugaku takes in magazine, then his son, and Itachi really hopes his cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. It’s stupid, but merely knowing he feels the way he does about the man on the page makes him fear being caught. As though his father might somehow divine his deepest darkest secret, just by looking. Truthfully, Itachi sometimes wonders if he might not already know, or at least suspect. But if he does, it’s clearly a truth he’s chosen not to acknowledge.

“I take it you’re prepared for our meeting this evening?” Fugaku asks, grim as ever.

Attempting a composed sip of his tea, Itachi nods. “Yes. Of course.”

Mouth a hard, unyielding line, Fugaku makes some indiscernible noise of disapproval, sweeping an appraising glance over Itachi. “Well, I suppose it’s too much to hope that anything can be done about your hair between then and now. But they’re a modern family. New money. Perhaps it won’t matter so much.”

Fingers tightening into the flesh of his thigh, Itachi has to remind himself to breathe. “I will do my best to make a good impression,” he says, inclining his head towards his father, penitence for his innumerable shortcomings—not least of all the choice to grow his hair out. It’s a small act of rebellion compared to Sasuke’s effort, but one his father seems determined to curtail as promptly as possible.

Poker face easing ever so slightly, Fugaku’s brows trend downwards, though their slant is still severe. “I know. You are my son, after all. And it is high time you were married with a family of your own. Perhaps then you will see the value in giving up these frivolous academic pursuits, and taking your rightful place at the head of the family business.”

He might as well build a box and stuff Itachi into it. Mold him to fit his own vision of the future. But Itachi has long since learnt that what he wishes he could have from life, and what he can have, are two very different things. So, just like his infrequent clandestine trips to the less desirable areas of Osaka’s nightlife, this too, he realises he will have to sacrifice. Duty before self.

“Yes Father, I’m certain you’re right,” he says, bowing once more as Fugaku leaves for work, closing the front door behind him with a click that reeks of finality.

As his footsteps crunch away on the gravel path outside, Itachi can’t help clenching his fists, until long after his knuckles turn white.

Theoretically, it’s a good match. From a family of good standing, his potential bride is quiet and well spoken—the perfect future housewife and mother. Their marriage would kill two birds with one stone, giving her father the son he never had, and Itachi—and therefore by extension Fugaku—control of their biggest competitor’s business.

All it requires is for Itachi spend the rest of his life pretending to be something he’s not.

The weight of it burns tight in his throat, threatening to break free on a rising tide of bile. He longs to cast off his gilded shackles, take a leaf from Sasuke’s book and do something completely crazy.

With a sigh, he rises from the table, collecting his dishes and depositing them circumspectly into the sink. Another day of work awaits.

[lonelypond]

Jingle Bell Jazz, Chapter 7

Love Live, NicoMaki, 2.3K, 7/?

Summary: And Bibi gets back to...business?

Chapter 7

Maki woke, shivering, heart still racing from the memory of Nico just off the tip of her nose, lips glistening like the frosting on a cake, eyes lit like stars with burning cores shining after the coldest midnights, whispers of songs or symphonies or…Maki shook herself. She’d fallen asleep with the sofa in sofa mode, not sleeper, and the blanket was on the floor. Too stiff. She stood, stretched, and started pacing. It felt so strange, now, alone in someone else’s home, not like it had earlier, when the rooms were full of Yazawas, rowdy and noisy. The opposite of what Maki was used to with her family, at her mansion, but this half a rowhouse was at the heart a big enough home for Nico and her family to fold Maki into. It had been a great feeling, especially on Christmas Day, but now, in the middle of the night, it had turned to a lonely one, with nothing familiar, and too too many pictures behind her eyes, some from the pin-up girl photo shoot, some still shots from the home movies of today, Nico vivid in the snow, playful, caring in the kitchen, teasing in the evening, emotions and thoughts flashing across her expressive face with quicksilver lightness, but bone deep weight. This was too small a room for this mood, Maki had already been back and forth across it more than a dozen times. At her house, Maki would be sitting at the piano, finding notes and chords, playing uncertainties into conclusions, hesitations into strategies. Maybe if she unpacked the bed from the sofa, her brain would catch the hint and drift into sleep, not race through every song she’d ever played with Nico, every touch, every near brush.

                                                     ###

The drive had been mostly silent. Nico was ready early, the goodbyes had been quick, and the roads clear. Ideal conditions for flying along at top speed and not thinking about anything, just enjoying the feel of the road.

Nico had been staring out the window, but shook herself out of the fugue, “Hey, kid.”

“I prefer genius.” Maki drawled, shooting for a "posh" tone.

Nico snickered, “Really.”

Maki frowned, refusing to take her eyes off the road, “Actually, as I have stated quite clearly before, I prefer my given name, but given your proclivity to ignore my requests, genius is the better of bad choices.”

Nico snapped her fingers. “Relax, Professor. Nico was just trying to ease the atmosphere. Maybe if you weren’t so stiff, being Nico’s backup wouldn’t be so hard.”

“Maybe if Nico had more respect for her backing musicians, I’d be more motivated.”

“HEY!” Nico yelled and it echoed in the car, Maki thought the roof might have flexed upwards, “Nico has a band, Bibi, not backing musicians. Nico respects Eli, Nico respects that you’re trying…”

“But?”

Silence. Maki was surprised. Nico was back to looking out the window, subdued again. “It’s not something Nico can afford to get used to.”

“So if you call me by my name, you’ll get attached?”

Nico shrugged, still looking out the window, “Why find out?”

Maki slammed her foot onto the accelerator, Nico’s words tearing into her, and the responses roaring at 100 miles per hour through her head not ones she wanted to hear resounding off the windows and echoing for the next half hour.

                                                                                  ###

Maki pulled up to Nico’s apartment. Nico hesitated before she opened the door. “Thanks for making sure I had Christmas with my family,” a pause, “Maki. Nico appreciates the thoughtfulness.”

Maki nodded as she prepared to shift gears. “You’re welcome.”

Nico tapped Maki's shoulder to get her attention. "Nico will see you at rehearsal. Wear something not boring.”

Maki whirled, looking Nico in the eye for the first time that day, and struck by the mischief glinting, “What?”

“Nozomi’s taking photos. We need to look good. Try not to....” Nico scratched her chin, “look too much like an actual school marm.”

Maki blew out exasperation, “I have style…”

“Yes, you have A style.” Nico confirmed, her tone sardonic, “But your style needs to be a closer riff off Eli’s and mine or you’ll be this off note for the audience. Nico knows these things.” Nico grinned, “Ask Kotori, she likes dressing pretty girls.”

Maki had a retort ready and then her brain tripped on Nico’s lips pursing around the phrase “pretty girls” in a near kiss.

“So see you later.” Nico opened the door, stepping out with a wave.

Maki kept staring, Nico laughed and slammed the door, jarring Maki back to street side. It was already a long day, And now Maki had to find an outfit.

                                                                                      ###

Maki, standing in her closet, was reviewing what she’d seen Nico wearing so far...and Eli. Eli was obviously going to channel bright and feminine, Nico would probably go for....pin up girl, Maki sighed, vowing to keep all her attention focused on her piano keys. But Nico, off stage, obviously liked casually mixing in menswear. Maybe something like that could work for Maki. Maybe she should be searching her father’s closet.

Maki was happy with what she’d come up with. A simple pencil skirt combined with an oxford with a purple stripe, a tweed vest, and a lilac tie with red highlights. She topped it off with a favorite dark gray fedora she’d never really gotten to wear much. Tugging her hat down over one eye, Maki walked into the rehearsal room with confidence that at least Nico would see she’d made an effort.

Nico had chosen a simple swing dress but in very now black and white checked pattern with a red sash at her waist. Eli was dressed in a short dark blue skirt, white tights, and a fluffy knitted pale blue top that piled nicely atop the curve of her bosom. Nozomi was dressed in capris and a turtleneck, her camera hanging around her neck, helping Eli with her hair, which Eli had let loose from its usual ponytail. Nico had a small hat clipped to the top of her head, with black netting piled around it. Her lips were a very vivid shade of red, matching the sash. And her eyes. Maki blinked, frozen for a moment, taking in details as Nico rushed her.

“Not bad…” Nico paused, lips twisted in a smirk that was as magnetic as true North to a compass, “genius.” Nico’s hands reached up, Maki started back, but recovered herself as Nico's fingers started to fumble at her tie.

“Hey.” Maki choked out.

“Don’t worry, Nico’s not a suspect on one of your detective shows. You just need to loosen up a little, longhair.” Nico eased the knot on Maki’s tie, and undid the button at her collar, a fingertip or two just grazing Maki’s throat with a tingling warmth, then her hand resting near Maki’s shoulder. Maki was at a complete loss for any kind of syllabic response, instead gaping and taking in air that smelled of the fruity musk she’d come to associate with Nico. What kind of perfume…

Nico waved her hand in front of Maki’s eyes, “Hey, genius, say something. Nico loosened your tie not tightened it.”

Maki nodded. Nozomi snorted and Nico turned to frown at her.

Which discouraged Nozomi not at all. “If you’re done petting the pretty pianist, Nico-chi, we can get started.”

Nico growled, Maki reran Nozomi’s sentence in her head and stared at the photographer, who winked. Maki decided that that was a good moment to warm up on the piano.

                                                                               ###

Why wasn’t Nico looking at her, Maki found herself thinking. This wasn't how they worked. The breakthrough rehearsal in her music room, she and Nico had clicked, started to communicate, there had been a link between them, one that let Maki sense what the dynamo would do, which way she’d make the song veer, would her voice drop into the sensual range that had pricked up the hairs on Maki’s neck, or would Nico’s pace take them on bop that would have every audience member tapping their feet and reaching for a dance partner. Nico had been alert to Maki's every impulse and Maki could sense Nico's every intent. But today, Nico was focused on the camera and posing and leaning into Nozomi’s range, sliding across seats with a simmer in her eyes, perching on window sills, circling her heels, Maki, just a spectator pounding out a rhythm that Nico skated over indiscriminately. Maki noticed a twitch in Nico’s shoulders when the her piano slowed or scattered an obvious transition, but Nico's main concern was Nozomi and camera angles, not music. Eli, presumably used to the attention from her...friend, was relaxed and happy, merrily musically adventuring in a sunbeam that gave her a glow while Maki plugged painfully away behind a piano, fedora forgotten and hanging off the music holder in front of her, any gleam of playfulness dissipated by the tediousness of keeping Nico in time.

“Let’s get all three of you in the same shot.” Nozomi decided, letting the camera hang down from her neck and pushing Eli toward the piano. “Nico, why don’t you…”

Before Nozomi could finish her sentence, Nico had angled behind Maki, sliding her arms around Maki’s shoulders, “Got it. Nico knows what looks good.”

“Yes, yes, you do.” Nozomi raised the camera and clicked almost as rapidly as Maki’s blood pressure rose, Nico’s hair flying loose and tickling her ear, Nico’s breath a warm brush against her cheek.

“Is this a good angle?” Nico asked, “Play something so I can sing, Maki.”

Maki’s thoughts were pinballing frantically, trying desperately to sort whatever Nico was saying into some comprehensible order. Hadn’t Nico loosened her tie, Maki thought. Should breathing be this difficult? Why did Nico’s arms feel like so much lead?

Nico decided to make it worse. She leaned even further into Maki’s shoulder, reached down to grasp Maki’s wrist, moving the pianist’s hand to the keyboard. Nico then suggested, in a tone she surely thought would sway her one person audience, “Nico’s seen you do it. You just put this hand he…”

Maki stood, urgently, as if the bench had caught fire, pushed it back, forcing Nico to dodge out of the way.

“Don’t touch me.” Maki was now at the center of the room, glaring around her as fiercely as a hissing, cornered animal.

“Did Nico startle you?”

Maki shook her head emphatically, her curls bouncing freely, “I am here to play music.” She pointed to Nozomi, finger trembling, “Not be part of your collective pin up fantasy.”

Nozomi snorted, Nico looked confused as she repeated Maki’s words, “Pin up fantasy?” The diminutive diva came out from behind the piano. “Sure Nico looks great, but this is…” Maki was still giving off a dangerously trapped vibe but Nico's momentum was picking up, “This is a professional photo shoot. For publicity photos. Nozomi always takes them.” As Nico continued, she got more animated, arms windmilling, voice reaching shrill near shout, “Publicity photos the venue requested.”

Nozomi and Eli had both fallen back to the windowsill, watching with concern as Nico literally backed Maki into a corner, “What do you know about being a professional? Artists probably take a year to paint a fancy portrait in your fancy mansion. Photos are the future, Beethoven. Pay attention.”

Maki leaned down, nose to nose with Nico. “I know about photographs…I take…” Maki raised her hands, exasperated or furious, it was a coin toss. “You know what, never mind. Your professional future is no business of mine.” Maki grabbed her coat, “So please call me when you want to get back to musical rehearsals, Miss Yazawa, so I can be done with this...this…” Maki couldn’t think of a word scathing enough and let the door slam provide punctuation.

The three women left behind let the echoes fall away.

“Damn.” Nico dropped onto the chaise.

“I thought you said your trip went well.” Eli said as she and Nozomi slid into chairs near Nico.

“I did.” Nico sounded uncharacteristically thoughtful.

“Oh.” Eli had no insight to offer.

Nico watched the door, face scrunched as she considered options. Then she rubbed her forehead with a sigh, “We’ll give her a chance to cool off, then I’ll go apologize for…” Nico paused, sounding uncertain, “something.”

Nozomi offered a theory. “Maybe she just didn’t like being startled. She seems pretty uptight.”

Nozomi and Eli could barely hear Nico's mutter, “Maybe that’s why she’s friends with Umi. They can avoid physical contact together.”

“Some of us can’t do that.” Nozomi wrapped Eli in a hug, smacking a kiss on her cheek, and the blonde blushed, “because our girlfriends are just too cute.”

Nico rolled her eyes at her friends. “Go home if you’re going to do that. Professor Square will wig if she comes back. We need to get her back in the mix, so we can get solid for the concert.”

Eli leaned back into Nozomi, relaxing, “Let’s get Honoka and her crew to sit on a session. Having an audience might cut the personal tension. And we can see how much work we need to do.”

Nico bounced up. “I like that, Eli. You find Honoka, I’ll go apologize. Let’s set something up for tomorrow. They’re usually around before lunch, right?”

“I think so.”

“Nico will get Maki here at 10.”

A/N: This is a short chapter, but I wanted to get back into the writing swing. The last three weeks have been taken up with getting The Importance Of Being Earnest started, but rehearsals have started. My January's been cold; how's yours?