everything after....

Fiction theft...

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 09:55:58 GMT

My xXxholic fic Balance has been posted as a mobile pdf, mobipocket etc file on http://www.feedbooks.com

http://feedbooks.com/userbook/6634

by some person named blk_dragonfly http://feedbooks.com/user/30582/profile

I really hate people sometimes. Especially when they go about publishing my work for me on other sites, which I've specifically requested that people not do.

S/he did not post is as her own, but s/he also didn't respect my request on my account here and on ff.net that my work not be posted anywhere else on the internet. So I'm pissed.

As she used my user name it wasn't terribly hard to notice, a user name like orpheneritus just doesn't pop up!

I'm about to go and comment nicely, with any luck she'll take it down. I keep such a low profile I'm surprised this happened!

So sad.... A confession of my obvious illness...

Tue, 25 Nov 2008 11:35:32 GMT

I knew I shouldn't have watched it, but I did.

Fond fond memories of Fame, after school specials and the original Degrassi High surly influenced my decision. I thought, 'you probably won't like it, the dancing and singing won't be as good as fame,' and I was 2/3 right, but I fucking LOVE it! Like cackle with glee the whole way through.

He sang about DYSLEXIA! A tense after school moment of a poor boy in front of an audience who can't read, the moment is so humiliating I feel sorry for him and then BAM... he breaks out into a dream vision song about the pain and confusion of dyslexia..... It's been a long time since I've laughed that hard. So good, I quiver with anticipation at the thought of the next inappropriately timed, but ethically profound, song.

It's like Fame and S-Club 7 collided into a TV show...

I'm so worried about my mental age... but hey at least when I have kids I'll be able to communicate with them on at least one level.

Exercising your democratic right... Barack Obama, on Proposition 8, enfranchising Aboriginals

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 09:14:03 GMT

A bit of a muddle of 'yay democracy' type thoughts and some hopes for the future, I think this is the first time I've ever used 'optimistic' as my mood setting...

Well I'm not American, but I think everyone is invested in the American election, and I have to say that I was pulling for Barack Obama this past year, and at the same time was completely consumed by the thought that despite all predictions the republicans would still win.

I think my faith in the democratic system was shaken in 2000, with the questionable circumstances of Bush's win. But in a way I'm grateful for the example (though not the results of his terms!!) I have never appreciated my right to vote as much as I appreciated it that day. I feel that Australia's compulsory voting law is a sound and hopefully enduring policy.

But back to the USA, who have shown the difference that can be made if those who have a voice choose to speak. Barack Obama's election has gone a long way to restore some faith that's been lost. I look forward to better international relations from the US in the future, a non-aggressive and multilateral approach that takes into consideration the world opinions and doesn't dictate rather so much.

As for proposition 8 in California seeming like it will pass (banning same sex marriage and basic civil rights to a minority) it is sad news, especially that it may pass on the same day as Barack Obama has finally stood as proof of the enfranchisement of Black civil rights. However, with this recent hope I turn to the wisdom of Gandhi:

You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.

And so perhaps I should speak of Australia's own need for enfranchisement... This year is the 100th anniversary of Victorian women being granted the vote. Victoria was a democracy in 1856, even before the Federation of Australia in 1901, but women weren't allowed to vote until 1908 (SA and WA women had the vote in 1901). I think it's great that Australia was one the the first countries to legalize the vote for women, however on this day especially, it's important to note that Aboriginal Australians did not get the vote until 1962. In so many ways the Aboriginals are still not enfranchised and in my lifetime I would like to witness a revolution between White and Aboriginals as I have witnessed between White and African American today. 'Sorry day' was just one small step, there's flights of stairs to come and change is badly needed...

So.... BearTrapping Spam... Seems like it's Bad News Bears

Sat, 25 Oct 2008 09:54:37 GMT

Well, I've heard a few other LJ users complain about receiving spam from BearTrapping.com (gay meet site for bears) and I have also received spam, one yesterday and one today, less than 24 hours apart.

One thing is certain I have never opted in, signed up or even visited this or any of the other websites operated by Gary Niederhelman. For many reasons, the first being I'm not gay/male or interested in meeting gay bears, furry and delightful though they may be. As a salient point on sexual orientational equality I'm actually not interested in meeting people in general - this anti-social affliction appears to be permanent.

There's been some speculation that there's been a breach of LJ's email security, if anyone has any information on that please let me know.

Right now I'm frustrated because there seems to be no indication of how he got this email which I use only for very specific things. In addition there seems to be no point in contacting the site directly as from all accounts found online here the guy's a real arsehole and emailing him will probably only increase the amount of spam I'm receiving.

I'm sad because this was my 100% spam free account... its even bad spam, not at all amusing, no bad spelling mistakes to mock (largely because of the use of small simple to understand words)... just stiff (no pun intended) awful comic strip dialogue.

I despair!

Ficlet for any one with pertinent news! ^_______^

Joss Whedon is breaking the mold...

Sun, 13 Jul 2008 01:05:22 GMT

If you ever liked a Joss Whedon anything, which you probably have even without knowing, you should check out his new project.

Dr Horrible will be a web miniseries that will air for free starting Tue July 15 and stay up until Jul 20 when it will then be available for download for a small fee.

Don't skip over "the plan" its a laugh.

Jelly Baby Eugenics...

Fri, 09 May 2008 04:59:57 GMT

Does anyone else racially segregate their jelly babies according to the colour of their skin?

Is it wrong to think that the jelly babies with red red skin are probably smarter and superior to those of green skin in every way...

Why do I only feel guilty when separating jelly babies and never gummy bears, am I species-ist ?

okay, history of the 'White Australia' policy is now ruining my candy!

[FIC] House of Echoes [R, PoT, Gakuto/Yuushi]

Wed, 16 Apr 2008 09:32:53 GMT

Title: House of Echoes
Author: orpheneritus
Pairing: Yuushi/Gakuto
Rating: R
Summary: 'It's ugly,' Gakuto says following him into the house, '…and old.'
He smiles and wraps his arms around Gakuto's shoulders, and leans in close to his ear. 'Gakuto… can't you see,' he presses his lips against the shell of his ear. 'It'll be ours.'
A/N: Written For subrosa_tennis

Yuushi takes off his shoes at the front door, turning them around to face the door.

'It's ugly,' Gakuto says following him into the house, '…and old.'

'It's affordable,' Yuushi corrects him, plucking the real estate leaflet from his hand and stepping onto the smooth and uneven wood of the hallway.

'What about-'

'Too expensive,' he interrupts. He doesn't have to turn around to know that Gakuto has scrunched his face up in annoyance, but still when he reaches a hand back behind him Gakuto grasps it tightly.

'But the commute-'

'Is only forty minutes,' he says soothingly.

'Yuushi,' Gakuto says stopping and tugging on his arm. He turns to face his lover, looking down into his upturned face. 'It's practically the countryside.'

'Hardly the countryside, it's still in the outer wards of Kobe.' He rests his hand against the side of Gakuto's neck, he can feel the stickiness of his skin in the humidity and the racing of his heartbeat.

'There's a rice field out the back, this place is probably infested with mice,' he says pleadingly.

He smiles and wraps his arms around Gakuto's shoulders, and leans in close to his ear. 'Gakuto… can't you see,' he presses his lips against the shell of his ear. 'It'll be ours.'

His hair rushes against your cheek as he nods slowly. 'Ours.'

Yuushi opens the kitchen windows to let the spring breeze clear out the stuffiness of rooms that have been closed for a time.

'This one's stuck,' Gakuto complains as he grunts and tries to slide the window open. The wood is warped.

They spend the day planing the frames and sanding them back until the window opens with only the minimum of resistance.

That night he fucks Gakuto for the first time in their house. On a thin and worn futon, laid out on the straw matts in the full moonlight that shines through the window, he presses Gakuto's legs back into his shoulders and slides into the tight heat of his body.

Gakuto smiles widely up at him. 'Guess we can be as loud as we want now,' he says with a suggestive raise of his eyebrow.

'Guess so,' Yuushi replies. 'It's our house.'

Yuushi slides the doors back on the runners opening the room to the hallway, letting the light from the windows filter through the soji screens. Gakuto likes the rooms to be open, every thing in the sun.

He sits in the tatami room in the mornings. Cross-legged with his hands wrapped around his teacup. Slowly sipping tea and allowing the sun to creep across the straw mats until it strikes him full in the face, hair lit up to a burning red, he closes his eyes and absorbs the warmth.

Next to him the cat, Tsukime, lays stretched out to her full length. Yellow eyes open only a slit, she purrs contentedly, every so often pressing her claws into the matting in deep satisfaction.

Gakuto reaches out to scratch the cat behind the ears, she presses back against his hand.

Yuushi sits beside him and strokes Tsukime absently. 'She's getting fat.'

Gakuto takes offense. 'She's getting older.'

'Will you be that forgiving, when it's my belly that is getting flabby,' Yuushi asks quietly.

'What do you mean when?' Gakuto replies tartly.

'Hmpmh,' Yuushi grunts in reply, his stomach isn't as tight as it used to be.

'I'm getting soft too,' Gakuto moans poking at his own stomach.

Yuushi glances over and tries to look on him critically, but to him, Gakuto still looks perfect. 'What are you doing?' he asks, touching the navy kimonos that pool over Gakuto's lap.

'Kimonos…' he replies quietly. 'For us to wear.'

Yuushi turns the fabric over to see the stitching Gakuto has done.

Cranes. They stand for commitment.

Yuushi places fresh towels under the counter in the bathroom, avoiding his reflection in the mirror.

Gakuto sits on the edge of the bath, hands covering his face. He kneels in front of his lover and gently peels his hands way to reveal red and teary eyes. 'I'm sorry, Gakuto,' he says laying his head in his lovers lap.

He feels Gakuto's long fingered hands thread through his short-cropped hair. 'I didn't think… I shouldn't have.'

'They called me the housekeeper… Yuushi. The housekeeper!' Bitter tears fall onto his head.

'I told them, Gakuto. A hundred times… a thousand,' he clasps his lovers hands tightly. 'They won't listen, they don't want to know.'

Gakuto rubs his eyes angrily and crosses his arms over his chest petulantly. It's endearing. 'If your father brings one more eligible woman around I swear, Yuushi… I swear I'll… Well I don't know what I'll do… but something,' he finishes lamely.

It turns out Gakuto slaps her.

Yuushi pulls the weeds from around the roots of the climbing wisteria. Gakuto planted it the first spring.

The table under the wisteria is filled with their friends, old and new, to celebrate their tenth anniversary. Chairs left empty by those that refused to come are removed quickly and quietly. Yuushi suspects Atobe of orchestrating this kindness before Gakuto comes out.

They wear their navy kimonos.

Gakuto is animated by the company of old friends, and shares his outrageous and sometimes lewd stories into the morning hours.

Yuushi's surprised that everyone brought gifts, but Gakuto's not. 'Of course they brought gifts. It's an anniversary celebration,' he says.

'But we never got married.'

Gakuto leans back into his arms and tilts his head back so he can see you. 'Only because we can't… besides I asked everyone to bring gifts.'

'You asked?' he replies.

Gakuto nods. 'I need to ask for them while I'm still gorgeous enough to get away with it.'

'So I'm off the hook for next year?'

Yuushi draws the box out from the attic space and brushes the dust from the top, before carrying it down to the bedroom.

'Yuushi,' Gakuto's voice calls brokenly from the attic.

He runs up the stairs as quickly as he can without loosing his footing.

'Yuushi, quickly, I found her.'

Yuushi steps onto the ladder behind Gakuto, pressing in close behind his to peer over his shoulder. The three-day search for Tsukime is over.

Gakuto looks at him pleadingly, his hands clutching the ladder.

Yuushi reaches over his shoulder and gently strokes the soft black and white fur. Tsukime is still. 'I'm sorry, Gakuto. She's dead.'

Gakuto sleeps restlessly, until he pulls him in tight to his body. Gakuto sighs and Yuushi knows he's awake, he can feel the wetness against his chest.

'I know,' Gakuto sighs again. 'I shouldn't cry over a cat.'

'I think it's okay,' he replies in a whisper. 'She was a pretty great cat.'

Gakuto gives a choked laugh. 'She was a terrible cat, really. She never caught a mouse, she couldn't walk a fence, and she was always falling off the chairs.'

Yuushi smiled and kissed his forehead. 'I remember the day we found her.'

'Stuck under the oven,' Gakuto replied. 'Do you think she suffered?'

'No, I think she found a warm spot and drifted off into sleep.'

Gakuto rolls onto his side and rests his head on Yuushi's shoulder. 'Sounds okay, I mean… that's how I'd choose to go.'

Yuushi sits on their bed. Creasing the crisp white linen. He reaches his hand across to the empty space beside him, allowing it to come to rest on the empty pillow.

'I'm glad I've come home,' Gakuto says as he laces their fingers together tightly. 'It's great to be here again.'

Yuushi pulls the covers back up over Gakuto's pale legs and then sits beside him on the bed, as close as he can get. He wants to say everything, he wants to say anything, but he can only squeeze the hand held in his tightly.

'I bet you're grateful I insisted on a thousand thread count sheets now,' Gakuto says spreading his thin hand out across the sheets. 'The sheets at the hospital are shit.'

'They are. And I am… grateful. Not just for the sheets, but for-'

'Let's watch a movie,' he interrupts.

Yuushi puts the movie in the player, but it's only fifteen minutes in when Gakuto falls asleep.

He spends the nights with his back pressed up against Gakuto's chest measuring, cherishing every breath. He doesn't even realise he cries until Gakuto's hands ghost across his face to brush hopelessly at the never ending wetness. 'Yuushi, please,' he whispers.

'I'm so helpless,' he cries, pressing their mouths together.

'There's nothing can be done,' he replies. 'I just want to stay with you, be with you now.'

Yuushi opens the box and folds back the protective papers around the fabric, the years haven't faded the brilliance of his work.

Atobe stands in the entrance way to the bedroom, tucking the envelope of papers under his arm unobtrusively. Atobe came the moment he'd called. Filling in paperwork, making arrangements, taking calls.

'The house,' Atobe says hesitantly. 'Will you sell it?'

He shakes his head. 'No. It was our house.' Yuushi finishes covering the fabric with the protective paper. He tapes up the box and slides it over to Atobe. 'Can you put that in the attic before we go?'

Atobe nods and picks up the box. 'Do you think you'll come back? All the memories…'

Yuushi sits back on his knees and slowly stands up. 'I'll come back because of the memories… in the spring.'

Atobe nods and leaves with the box.

Yuushi spreads the kimonos over the bed. The golden cranes stand out against the navy fabric. He'll hang them on the wall, above the bed where they slept.

There is pain in the echoes of Gakuto left behind, but one day there will be only comfort. He can live in their house, together, he can think of nothing better.

So mad! Can't Sleep... must kill old hag of a uni student!

Thu, 20 Mar 2008 14:15:48 GMT

Have to get this one off my chest!

Perhaps I should've known better than to fill that gap in my uni schedule with a writing subject, but hey I love writing... but in every writing class, there's always one...

This one's name is Nellie, and I have fostered a raging hate fuelled by her extreme ignorance and a seeming love for telling others the rules.

Here's the short version of the story:

Assignment one has a Haiku task, with very loose rules and open direction. So I post to the workshop forum my ideas on how a 3-5-3 format is more true to the Japanese aesthetic than the 5-7-5 rule taught in high school. Here is her response...

"We have been given a Set Task in the Assignment
That is to Produce a Haiku in English with 17 Syllables in the 5/7/5 Format So it doesn't matter what we think what is better or not
The aim is to make us produce to the rules laid down
ie we have to answer the question as in any essay that the Tutor sets
That is the Challenge to find words that fit
So no point arguing or wondering is there anyone who agrees or disagrees with the format given"

So infuriating. The aim of any writing course is to explore form, style and function, part of that exploration is to bend, break or circumvent all or any of the rules you please, with the intention of improvement.

But here I see a woman who will NEVER write well, she will write mediocre dribble all whilst following some rules she believes are unbreakable. Her lack of creative anything sickens me.

But the one thing that has just tipped me over the edge is this....

Not only is she suggesting that writing is about sticking to the status quo, she is saying it in away that is discouraging others from experimenting asking them to walk the same safe path she chooses.

Writing is about challenging the status quo.

I have no doubt that Nellie will pass, in that she will complete each requested task, but I would rather fail a thousand times than produce a piece of work that so violates the very essence of writing.

Here was my (2nd) very polite reply, in which I refrained from calling her an old cunt.

"Hi Nellie,

I believe Jane has left the Haiku quite open to interpretation. I quote from the detailed FAQ. "5-7-5 is easy enough for the Haiku, as is 14 lines for a sonnet, but I care more for originality than merely form..."

I am only opening up a line of thought on the form of Haiku, that others may also be interested in. Believing or following in this idea I have presented, is entirely up to the individual. I believe sharing thoughts on form and style to be in the spirit of workshopping.

I respect your choice to regard or disregard the information I have presented, but I believe that there is always a point to discussing form and rules, and I imagine that even if there had been a hard and fast rule about form for the Haiku, I would still have presented this opinion in this open forum.

Many thanks for your comments."

[FIC] Cage of Gold [Original, NC17]

Wed, 09 Jan 2008 12:29:47 GMT

So... I won't deny it's been a long time. Thank you to everyone who has commented in recent times trying to kick me out of my funk. I hope I have now kicked it and that 2008 will be a successful writing year, in spite of my study load.

This is for pixxers who wanted a drabble to help her feel better, how could I resist.

Title: Cage of Gold
Author: orpheneritus
Fandom: Original M/M
Note: Gay (Japanese) office/bathroom sex

Summary: On the outside you are the same, your wardrobe the same, your briefcase the same. You are one of the masses shuffling through the crowded platforms, swaying the same way as everyone else as the train rocks through the underground.

You live in the subtle undercurrent of sidelong glances and gestures that linger a moment too long, or hands that squeeze a fraction too tight.

You are always seeking out a set of eyes that are also always seeking.

On the outside you are the same, your wardrobe the same, your briefcase the same. You are one of the masses shuffling through the crowded platforms, swaying the same way as everyone else as the train rocks through the underground. A faceless sea of grey and black suits.

At work you have the same conversations, with the same people and about the same things you discussed the day before. Will the Hanshin Tigers win the series or will the Yomiuri Dragons be the victors for the third year in a row.

Some days you think you don't care at all, but then you find yourself on Thursday night watching the broadcast live. The same as everyone else.

It happens unexpectedly. You're drifting in thought whilst standing at the urinal, blankly staring at your own reflection in the mirror above, wondering who you are... when your gaze lifts and the reflection of another can be seen seeing you. Your eyes break away and when you glance back he is already zipping his trousers and moving off to the sinks, without another glance in your direction.

You consider the fact that he may just think you strange. You were standing at the urinal doing nothing, but holding your dick.

But you catch his eye again the very next day. A quick pass in the foyer, you walking with your people, he walking with his. In the aimless chatter that surrounds you, you send your secret message. I see you... I see you.

He lowers his head as he turns away, but you see the smile that momentarily breaks through. It's a promise...

...and now the world is different.

You spend an hour looking though the company employee files, nameless faces in black suits, they all look the same. Your own picture flicks before your eyes and yet you can hardly tell yourself from the picture before nor after. But his picture brings your search to a decisive halt. You're pleased that you found it first time, that it wasn't skipped or missed amongst the hundreds of self same workers.

The kanji reading of his name is unusual, and you feel that you have claimed a small part of him. You now own a small part of Kawakaze Keisuke.

He works in the design department. It's awkward at best, but you manage to find an excuse to walk past the fifth floor department, when the copier on your level finally obliges your curiosity by jamming in such a manner that a service needs to be called in.

You practically sweep the stack of paper out of the receptionist's arms in the midst of her complaint, offering to copy it for her since it's on your way. She smiles at you in a way that you hope will not cause problems at a later time, and hop into the elevator before she can call out a word of thanks.

You walk down the hall twice, slowly, eyes seeking him, searching...

You spot him on the second pass, he sees you. You pretend not to notice and don't stop until you reach the photocopier at the end of the hall.

His hand rests on the lid of the copier, beside yours, as the green light runs endlessly back and forth. He's taller than you and in profile his face is quite angular, and you wonder if he is half.

'Don't you work on the thirteenth floor, Yamada Haru?' he asks with a widening smile.

'I do,' you reply.

'That's a long way to go for some photocopying...' he comments leaning in closer to your ear.

Your cock is now hardening quickly against your thigh, and your underarms are damp with sweat. 'I didn't come for the copier...' you whisper tightly.

The bathroom is empty. He heralds you through the door quickly with only a brief glance over his shoulder. You push his jacket off his shoulders as he backs you into the end stall, until your foot strikes the edge of the toilet and you loose your balance, only to be pressed harder against his chest.

'Okay?' he asks with a full smile, his teeth so evenly sized.

You can't help but reach towards his mouth with your own. You feel his smile briefly spread against your lips before you greedily suck his lower lip into your own mouth.

His breath is hot against yours and moving roughly along your jaw and down your neck as his tugs relentlessly on your tie trying to loosen it. You skip over his shirt and tie and wrestle with his belt, pulling it from the belt loops to clatter to the ground.

You are eager to see his cock. You've been thinking about it endlessly, since you found his picture in the employee files. It's also rather unfair that he has already seen yours, and rather unfortunate that it was flaccid at the time. He doesn't resist as you dig your hands into the waistband, sucking his stomach in slightly so you can manipulate the fastening easier.

You take his underwear down with the pants sliding them just past the crest of his buttocks, running your thumbs along his crease on the way. He moans wordlessly into you ear at that.

His cock is beautiful, a dusky rose tip revealed as you slide the foreskin back, rolling it over the ridge of the head. His hand tightens in your hair with a distinct downward pull, a suggestion you have no hesitation in filling.

You quickly unfasten your own pants as you sink down to the floor, fabric pooling just above you knees. He closes his eyes and raises his face to the ceiling in the moments before you take his cock into your hand, he looks almost in pain, until you press your tongue against the underside of the head and all the tension runs from his face, dropping away from his body. He pushes forward urgently sinking into your mouth as far as he's able.

You grasp your own cock in one hand, and jerk in time to his shallow thrusts, running your tongue over and under the head, saliva escaping from the sides of your mouth to run endlessly down your chin and neck.

'Stand up... stand up...' he urges tugging on the collar of your shirt.

You stand up so quickly your head connects with his chin and you hear his teeth clack together, but it doesn't put him off from grabbing your cock and rubbing it against his own spit slicked one. His other hand fumbles in his pocket, 'there's condom and lube,' he says.

You nod and turn around in the direction he is urging. You fold your arms over and brace them against the wall, jutting your hips back towards him, legs slightly spread.

His hands clench around your waist briefly before dragging down along your ass, his thumbs trailing your crack, until with a chorused moan they press against your hole.

His hands disappear and you can hear the crinkle of the condom being opened. Your legs are almost shaking with anticipation, your cock swinging awkwardly between your legs with nothing to press against. He grunts and uses his teeth to open the sachet of lube.

Then his finger is pressed relentlessly into your hole. You're so unprepared for it for a moment you wonder if it's his cock, and clench up around him.

'Sorry,' he mutters giving his finger a wiggle and sliding a second alongside it. 'Ready?' he asks.

You're not. You could never be ready for the hard press of his cock against your hole. Never ready for the slide, the feeling of fullness, the burn.

You're never ready for the release.

You can't muffle the long hiss of satisfaction that escapes from you, letting your eyes un-focus and close as his hands tighten around your hips and his balls begin to slap earnestly against your ass.

Your cock swings uselessly against your stomach and thighs, your arms brace against the wall to prevent you from hitting your head. He randomly strikes your prostate sending unexpected flares of pleasure racing through your body. His breath is ragged and heavy, sweat trails down your back, mixing with his sweat.

He quickly adjusts his grip, slipping his arms under yours and pulling your shoulders back towards him, doubling the pressure on your hips. He presses his face into the back of your neck, his thrusts become shallow and erratic, his grunts less controlled. You press eagerly back against him clenching a little tighter, until he sinks into you with a long moan of relief.

You struggle to release an arm so you can just grab your cock, but he beats you there, his hand sliding down your chest to squeeze your balls as he softens inside of you and slides free. 'Turn around.'

You lean back against the wall watching as he slides down your body. When his mouth closes over your cock, it is like being consumed. His nose presses into your pelvic bone. What he lacks in finesse he compensates with pressure, and you are wild for it, thrusting back towards his throat, your modest size gives him no concerns. You imagine the head of your penis rubbing over the roof of his mouth, and sink your hands into his hair. Your balls tighten and you force yourself to open your eyes because you desperately want to see yourself come into his mouth…

…and just the thought of it makes you come.

He lets your cock gently slide from his mouth a trail of come momentarily coats his lips, before he licks it a way and stands up.

You quickly get dressed, doing your best to straighten your hair and clothes. Hoping you won't look like you were just fucked, but knowing that you won't be the first to return to work after lunch looking thoroughly debauched.

You're just about to invite him to a hotel for the evening, when a small object falls from his coat pocket and clatters dully against the tile, coming to rest by your shoe.

And just as suddenly as the world had broken free of its sameness, it is caged again.

Caged in a little gold band.

He picks it up and tucks it back into his pocket. 'Let's do this again,' he says with a smile.

You nod.

As he leaves you notice how similar he looks to everyone else, and wonder how you could ever pick him out in a crowd again.

I seriously have some bad luck on occasions! ^____^

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 16:47:59 GMT

I was being all responsible today. I rode my bike to Kurashiki station so that I could catch the late train and enjoy Amber's going away, but still be home before 1am and get some decent sleep.

Kurashiki stations about a 35min bike ride.

I caught the 12:10 train and got on my bike and just as I crossed over the train tracks about 5mins in I felt a horrible jerk and I just knew something had gone wrong.

Sure enough I have a flat tire.

Do I have a tire repair kit? No. If I did have a repair kit would I know how to fix it? Not really.

Anyway Josh was nice enough to walk with me most of the way home, but walking my bike home took about an hour.

I didn't get home until 1:40am and now I have to get up early in order to walk my bike to the mall where I'll be able to get it fixed, and I work a split shift 9am-2pm the 5pm-9pm URRRGGHHHH!!!

At least all my bad luck happens at once.

I don't want to go on about LJ stuff, but check out this comment...

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 01:32:03 GMT

I saw this comment on one of the discussion threads about the whole LJ mess and I basically couldn't believe the blatant idiocy of it.

I'm sure my flist will get a kick out of it.

This was said in regards to the content of fanart and fanfic on LJ.

"...A lot of wank that could have been avoided if people didn't feel the need to walk up to the line, stick a toe over it, and dare something to happen."

Can you even imagine what the world would be like if no one ever pushed the line. Throughout history in times of oppression, discrimination, genocide and tyranny, it has always been the artists and writers who challenged the status quo.

It is wrong to believe that a society, even a liberal one, shouldn't have it's boundaries constantly tested and pushed.

On LJ we're pushing the moral boundaries and so we should. I shudder to think of a society where no one ever tried to walk up to that line. (No that LJ has managed to put a clear line down yet)

LJ and the whole moral judgement issue....

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 13:48:08 GMT

I've been following the bumbling attempts of the livejournal staff as they struggle to do what no one has been able to do and define the a distinct level of morality for us to all adhere to.

I take issue with their unclear double talk on several levels. The first being...

Interpretation of the law is better left to, you know... people who studied it. Even then interpretation of law can be as diverse as the interpretation of the bible.

They're actually ticking me off quite a bit as they are passing their own personal struggles onto the community. The first being their recent run in with bad press. They don't want to be known as a company that restricts freedom of speech, and yet at the same time they desperetly want to shut up those few communities that are making them uncomfortable and drawing critical attention to LJ.

They want to appear all good things to all the diverse people of the community.

Well I'm sorry, but that's just not possible and they're making everyone else suffer with their inability to make a fucking decision for themselves.

Here's a truth about Morality. It's a FAD A simple trend in society; and it will constantly be changing at different rates around the world for the rest of time. What was immoral 200 years ago (eg. homosexuality) is morally cool now, and what was moral 200 years ago (eg. foot binding and marrying 13yr old girls) is immoral now. It's a cycle, like fashion, and wether you consider it an improvement or a degredation is based on your opinion, country, society or culture.

So... suck it up bitches. You're not going to make eveyone happy no matter what your final decision. And here's a quick clue for you... You are not the Supreme court, you don't have to decide what is legal, obscene, artistic or pornographic.

You are a private company. Make your bed, then lay down in it. Create a clear simple TOS that fits within your moral compass (or the moral compass of the man holding the money strings) and stop being so goddammed wishy washy.

Give everyone a month to review it and make a decision about what they are going to do. Users will either:
1. live with it
2. leave
3. Or try to decieve you

But at least all this bullshit will be over and you can stop trying to please everyone while actually driving us completely crazy with your indeciciveness.

Stop wanting everyone to like you and make a decision. If that decision is to restrict the content users can write in a fictional context, then we will leave. Writers will never be controlled by rules or moral fashion, in fact our very purpose in this world is to contest the status quo, to move and stretch the comfort zone. We will simply move on.

That I love my livejournal and will miss it greatly should I be forced to leave is a fact. For even though it is unlikely that my personal writing would be affected by changes, what would be the point of staying on if the community has moved away. One thing I am sure of is that we will migrate together.

My last and final thought on this matter is in regards to this comment (abridged):

..."Nobody can dispute that it (assessing fiction) involves some very subjective elements, and raises some difficult-to-answer questions: Whose community standards? Who defines "literary, artistic, political or scientific merit"? This evaluation is subjective, forcing us to carefully consider everything in context.

An example of some of the questions we'll ask in order to determine if material falls into this category are: is this writing intended to eroticize the sexual abuse of children? Is the fact that someone's underage, a critical element of the work, or is it incidental? Is the language excessively graphic instead of suggestive? Is there context beyond the sexual situation, or is the material designed just to focus on the sexualization of minors and nothing more? Does the work have an overall message, or is it written only to appeal to an adult's potential sexual fascination with children? These are only some of the questions we'll ask, and we have to consider everything that's reported to us in context and as a whole.

... If the content is similar in tone, context, feel, and level of explicitness to something that could be found on the shelves of a national chain bookstores, we'll take that into consideration as well." (abridged from here)

Fabulous.... a bunch of rank amateurs will be judging the artistic and literary merit of our fiction, from a place where classics such as Huckleberry Fin, Of Mice and Men, Forever, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, the Colour Purple, a Handmaids Tale and To Kill a Mockingbird are still challeged and sometimes censored on a regular basis.

[FIC] The Substitute (LoTR, RPS, Ian/OMC)

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 07:49:53 GMT

Title: The Substitute
Author: orpheneritus
Pairing: Ian/OMC
Rating: PG13
A/N: So once upon a time way back when I wrote a little RPS fic. For prosterity (not that my writing really requires it) I'm backdating it into my LJ. I wrote it before I had an LJ, so the date of publication is not correct.

Ian sat warm and dry under the pavilion as the rain pattered down fiercely about him. He was warmly wrapped in his 100% all-natural New Zealand wool coat and sheltered in a small park across the road from a strip of seedy shops. Armed with his copy of Nietzsche and a packed lunch of sandwiches and coffee this particular spot had become a favorite haunt.

The reason was currently huddled underneath the short eaves out the front of Rick’s Public House. He wasn’t perfect, but he was close, finely featured with brown hair, brown eyes and a handsome set of teeth. And although the resemblance was only passing, he found the more he observed the more pleasing the boy became.

There were many boys renting along the strips of nightclubs in downtown Wellington. But the problem was finding the combination of features he was looking for coupled with a sense of discretion. There were other boys he’d seen, who were a closer match in coloring and body type, but whose general dress and uncouth behavior signposted them as rentals.

Discretion was of the highest import, and of great difficulty. If they were in a larger country, a larger city, if they had less publicity it would be easier. But all of New Zealand knew they were here, in reality the movie was hiring a significant proportion of the populace. Even a suspicion that the great Sir Ian Mckellen was entertaining local boys in his spare time would incite the press. The last thing he wanted for PJ and his hardworking crew was to bring negative attention to the Lord of the Rings.

Even if he was not recognized himself, a well known working boy might be, or he might sell the story to avoid more work. He had long ago accepted that any indulgence of his sexual desire was going to be risky. But after many months of intensive work and self denial coupled with a particularly attractive cast had weakened his resolve. The open hearted glee of a particular elvish cast member had pretty much driven him to distraction with his casual contact and innocent closeness.

After observing more than a couple of rents that resembled Orlando in passing an idea was conceived that he could not ignore. Orlando had been a constant source of joviality and laughter who had developed into a friend and confidant after getting over his extreme awe of being with an A list actor. Ian could not in good conscience press the advantage of experience and admiration, and in truth he feared that such a move would permanently damage their camaraderie and potentially spill over to the rest of the cast, unbalancing their relationships. So he had began his search for the right boy.

It was amusing that his first sight of this particular boy had been in an ice cream parlor. He was seated at an upright piano on a humid Thursday night playing a variety of Joplin tunes for tips. He was keeping the crowd seated in the garden out front the parlor with a rousing rendition of the Maple Leaf Rag. The jaunty tune was punctuated and staccatoed by bright smiles, suggestive brow waggling, and a few sly winks all put on for show. And really it had been his smile that was most reminiscent of Orli.

If asked to be critical he would have to admit that his hair was too straight (though charmingly unkempt) and too dark, being closer to black than the chocolate brown of Orlando. He was also younger, more tanned and a little wider across the shoulders. However the height and body type were close. He had the same lean muscular stature that tapered at his waist and if side by side with the original would be but an inch in difference.

He had tipped him a twenty just to hear him speak. ‘Ta, old man,’ he’d replied with a nod of his head. Not a New Zealander. Cocky, but educated. More importantly, not local. Disappointingly he did not seem to be renting.

Then Ian made a discovery about the nature of New Zealand. When he had met the substitute it was high tourist season, lots of cash in hand jobs hanging around. And in the next couple of weeks he spotted him busing tables, cleaning dishes, and playing piano for several cafes spotted along the coast of New Zealand.

Then the seasons changed, the tourists’ left, the cafes shortened their hours and he spotted the boy climbing into an executive Holden close to the parliament houses. The fact that he had not picked him as a possible rent convinced him that he was the one to choose. As the weather got cooler his rents, though still scarce, became more frequent and the quality of client was diminished. He was a reluctant rent, but it became obvious that the pickings on parliament hill were thinning out, and his quest for nightly shelter became more important with the dropping temperatures.

Until, finally, here he was. Caught out in the rain outside Rick’s Public House, the sky dark and threatening a cold night, with no rent or shelter in sight. Except for him. He could feel it, in the same way that he could feel a great performance, that today his timing was perfect and all conditions had accumulated for his purpose.

The substitute leant back against the brick wall, arms crossed in defense of the wet wind, attempting to warm himself. His backpack slouched mostly deflated at his feet. It was obvious he had no jacket; he wore only a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. The blue of his jeans was darkened in patches where the lashing rain had caught him. Every once and a while Ian could feel the boys eyes rest on him. He was obviously chewing at his current predicament. Ian let him chew, certain that his decision was close. It would not take much longer, and to his glee the wind picked up its whipping pace, pitching the heavy rain at an angle aimed to soak everything. He felt the rest of the boy’s attention on him again, and this time he looked up to catch his gaze, holding it until the boy looked away.

Ian calmly pulled out his mobile and phoned the cab company. The metaphorical hook if you will. A dry, heated, comfy cab, which could take him wherever he desired. The boy’s gaze rested on him more often now, and he slyly smiled into his book. There was not another soul on the street when the cab came around the corner. Monday night, shops were closing, lights were dimming, and the empty weeknight in a small city was encroaching.

Ian opened his umbrella and stepped out into the beating rain, walking towards the cab. The boy hadn’t moved yet. He opened the back door and slid into the warm interior. Perhaps he had mistimed the cab call. Perhaps he needed longer. He took his time closing and shaking out his umbrella and was rewarded with a drowned curse and the slap of running feet on wet asphalt.

With a contained smile he leaned over to unlock the roadside door. His wet bag was tossed to the cab floor and his shivering body slid into the seat beside him. Ian quickly spoke before he had time to say anything. ‘You’re late, I almost left without you,’ Ian slightly inclined his head towards the driver.

The boy nodded and the corner of his mouth quirked. ‘Sorry,’ he replied with a wide smile.

Ian silently exalted at the quick response to his silent request. Obviously previous politicians had requested discretion as well. ‘Regent Hotel, please.’

The cab ride passed in silence. The boy ran his hands through his hair, squeezing out the excess water and spent the rest of the ride picking uncomfortably at his clinging damp jeans. Ian was happy for him to be silent, in public anyway, there was less chance of him drawing attention to himself.

The cabby pulled into the elegant driveway of the Regent, stopping under the canopied entrance to let them out. The concierge opened his door and paid the cab driver, passing a brief but curious glance over the wet boy.

He dropped back into step with Ian and leant in to whisper. ‘They’re not going to let me in here.’

‘Of course they will,’ Ian removed his three quarter length jacket. ‘But you have to look like you belong here. Put this on.’ He pushed the jacket into the boys’ arms, who quickly slipped into the pre-heated coat. Casually, and in a fraternal way, he slung his arm across the boy’s shoulder and directed him into the lobby of the hotel up to the desk.

‘Ah, Mr. Mckellen. I hope you did not get too wet.’ The manager on duty, George, greeted him cordially. ‘You have three telephone messages and a fax waiting for you.’ George handed a closed folder over the counter towards him. ‘And your guest?’ he vaguely gestured towards the boy.

‘Nephew,’ he smoothly replied.

‘Of course. He will be staying with you?’ George notated a guest against his hotel account.

‘Until his mother demands his return,’ he replied vaguely.

‘Very good, sir. Would you like the desk to continue holding your calls?’

‘Please.’

‘Very good, have a pleasant evening.’

Ian smiled triumphantly at the ease and lack of suspicion. Perhaps it was just the refreshing naïveté of the New Zealanders untouched by the gossip mongering of LA and London.

Safely concealed in the elevator he regarded the boy. ‘That went well, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Nephew? That’s a little far fetched don’t cha think?’ he causally leaned up against the mirrored wall, one foot resting against the wall.

‘I don’t know. There’s a faded grandeur about me that could be seen as a reflection of your beauty,’ he gently teased.

‘Sure,’ he snorted. ‘Look, whatever you say goes, so I’m your nephew if anyone asks.’ He exited the elevator, Ian followed close behind directing him to the correct room.

‘Whoa,’ he exclaimed. The hotel door swung open to display a well lived in sitting area complete with TV and DVD. The coffee table scattered with Tolkien and script notes. ‘Very nice. Nicer than I expected, though what I expected was pretty nice too.’ He smiled, flashing a set of white teeth. Ian watched him wander into the hotel room, delighting at his little exclamations of surprise or appreciation. ‘Hey, cool bar. But your fridge has no food,’ he said passing on his way to the bathroom. ‘Mini Jacuzzi…eh? What’s…oh, bidet, freaky that is…’ He nosed his way through the public areas of the hotel room, avoiding the bedroom, but thoroughly examining the features of every other area ending with a slump and a sigh in the comfy armchair. ‘Cool place you have. Do they pay for it?’ he asked.

‘Sorry, who are they?’

‘You know the movie people,’ he replied a little self-consciously.

Ian smiled. A clever revelation, a way to say, ‘I know who you are.’ The only question remaining, what was the purpose of his cleverly crafted revelation?

‘No, of course not. The movie people, as you say, pay me to act for them. However, in situation where we are on location in a remote area for several days, they will provide accommodation. But before you get too excited at the thought, I’m telling you to think trailer park rather than luxury suite.’

He nodded thoughtfully at his comments, and then broke out into a cheeky smile. ‘But, you get your own trailer right?’

‘Yes, I get my own trailer. Why don’t you get out of your wet clothes,’ he suggested.

Ian noticed a slight start of surprise, but he nodded and began to shed his shirt. ‘Don’t you want to talk price first? Get the business out of the way?’ he enquired.

Ian hid his small smile by turning and walking towards the bar. ‘You’ve misinterpreted me.’ In the mirrored wall of the bar Ian could see his confused expression, which again reminded him of Orlando. ‘Wine?’

‘Um… sure.’

‘I meant that you should maybe take a shower or something, before you catch pneumonia. Put on one of the complementary robes.’ He popped the cork on a red, as the boy padded up behind him barefoot.

‘Morris Valley Muscat. Where’d you get that from?’ he enquired of the wine.

Ian regarded him with some surprise and amusement. It was always a bonus when they were amusing as well as pretty. ‘From a specialty wine shop in Wellington. Why? Is it a good red?’

‘Sure, just surprised me. Muscat’s not a popular red. It’s usually made from white grapes. When you make it with red it’s called rose, it also contains grain liquor…’ he trailed off at Ian’s quizzical look. ‘I’m from the Yarra Valley in Victoria, it’s a grape growing region,’ he supplied with a shrug.

‘And is this a Yarra Valley wine?’

‘Nope. High country, King Valley prob’ly. Aussie wines are pretty good…and um… I’m going to take that shower.’ He quickly escaped further scrutiny by escaping into the bathroom.

Well, it was turning out to be more interesting than expected. In some ways he regretted letting the boy tell him where he was from. It ruined the illusion of Orlando. But then again his company, so far had turned out to be rather charming. The delight, straightforward innocence, and easy embarrassment reminded him of Orli, without replacing him. In other words he had the gist. Although each moment was revealing him to be less and less similar to Orlando, the general atmosphere created had the same dynamic. He had certainly been surprised by the wine comments and that had an unpredictability that was fun.

Filling two wine glasses he cleared away some of his script notes into a tidy pile and placed the glasses on the coffee table. Settling into the comfortable armchair, recently abandoned, he took a slow sip of his Muscat. He held the wine in his mouth for a moment attempting to divine the subtleties that wine tasters always spoke of. With a shrug he swallowed. It would only ever be a nice red to him. Maybe smoking in his late twenties had ruined any latent ability he might have had for wine tasting.

The steam and smell of wet boy wafted past, with the opening of the bathroom door. It incited in him a warm feeling of tenseness and desire. Not the forceful lust of his youth, but the slow burn of passion. Wrapped in the white terry toweling robe of the Regent hotel the boy sat cross-legged on the floor between the couch and the coffee table and took a sip of his wine. ‘Nice,’ he commented.

Yes very, he thought. The boy’s skin was damp and still radiated the heat from the shower. His dark hair trailed droplets down his sun browned neck to be absorbed by the robe. His legs were long and browned showing a nice definition of muscle without being built. ‘Are you warm enough?

‘Yes, fine thanks. So, what should I call you?’ he took another sip from his wine glass.

‘Ian is fine. I would like to call you Orli. Is that okay?’ Orli nodded, not seeming put off by the request.

‘What do you want?’ he asked.

Surprisingly the majority of Ian’s scheming had revolved around the finding and securing of a substitute, and not really around the actual sex. And now that he had him here he wasn’t really sure exactly what he wanted to do beyond a vague desire for sex. ‘What do you do?’ He decided to let Orli open the parameters of their encounter.

‘It’s forty for head a hundred for a fuck, I don’t do bareback and I don’t like medical bills.’ He said this all into his wine glass without turning to look at him.

‘You are aware that I require you to be silent on all particulars of our arrangements?’ It was always difficult to judge trustworthiness, but he felt that Orli could keep his mouth shut. He’d already given him several dangerous details, but it was difficult to judge his reaction, emotions he hid well betraying little to no surprise. As if famous people picked him up off the streets everyday.

‘I understand. On the same note, I’d appreciate if we stuck with the nephew story both ways. You know, for consistency,’ he vaguely gestured at some greater concept.

‘Good, fine.’ But what did he want? ‘How much for you to stay the night?’ Orli raised his eyebrows at the request. It was obviously not a common one.

He shrugged. ‘Um… two hundred I guess. No tie me up tie me down, but I’ll go as many times as you can manage,’ he smirked a little at the last bit.

‘Brat,’ he exclaimed. And Orli smiled widely. ‘Fine, deal. But don’t but surprised if this old man is more virulent then you’d expect.’ Now that the business side was dealt with he felt more at ease with Orli. ‘I want you to come over here,’ he requested.

Orli climbed to his feet and walked over placing his glass on the table. Ian was a little surprised when the weight of damp boy settled firmly in his lap. It was a creative interpretation of his request that effectively skipped over the awkward small talk and left him with a lapful of boy. This pleased him.

Orli gently slid his hands up his chest and undid the top two buttons on his shirt. ‘This okay?’ he quietly asked. Ian nodded assent and gently slipped his hands into the front of Orli’s robe, caressing his soft naked skin. Orli’s fingers gently played through his hair. Ian let his head roll into the pressure of his gently kneading fingers, remembering their dexterity when he played the piano.

‘That feels nice,’ he encouraged.

‘Yeah?’ Ian nodded as Orli shifted in his lap, moving closer to him. Ian took the opportunity to slide his arm around his back, supporting him. One hand firmly splayed in the small of his back Ian let his other hand rest high on Orli’s thigh, just under the hem of his robe and kneaded gently at the muscled leg.

His palms were sweaty, slick against Orli’s smooth thigh. Slowly his hands sliding higher, his breath hitched and hard from behind his teeth. At any moment he was sure to protest, pull back. Maybe in disgust; maybe with callus laughter. He should not be touching one so young, his hand stilled at the hot juncture of Orli’s hip.

‘Ian?’ he softly enquired ducking his head to look into his face.

Ian turned from the doe eyed gaze. ‘What’s wrong?’ he pressed.

‘Up. Get up.’ He demanded suddenly desperate. Orli practically tumbled to the floor in his haste to stand, his expression confused and a little angry. And in that exact moment Ian could not reconcile the boy with Orli at all.

Orlando would never act in this way. He would not press eagerly into his hands. Nor run his slender fingers through his grizzled and graying hair. The boy. He was all wrong. How could he ever think it would be enough? Ian turned his back on the sprawled boy, went to the bar and got himself a whiskey. Neat.

Orlando’s touches were innocent of insinuation if teasing. The hug of a true friend. The sprawl of a young man, body confident and raised in a generation of declining taboo and rising acceptance.

The boy had artifice, his touches were meant to tease just as his well placed winks riled the crowds as he played the piano. It struck him as strange that a rising actor from London should have less artifice then a boy living in Wellington, New Zealand.

Perhaps that was what made Orlando so unique.

‘ What’s the problem, mate?’ Ian was startled that the voice was so close, and sounding a little pissed.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered quickly swallowing his whiskey. ‘Sorry.’

He turned to observe the boy, robe half pushed off his shoulders, hair wildly mussed, and arms defensively crossed in front of his chest. ‘Sorry, huh? Care to explain that one?’

Ian offered the boy a whiskey and he accepted with an acknowledgement that it eased the pain of being tossed on his arse. ‘Perhaps, I did not think this through well enough. I’m beginning to think it has been a bad idea all along.’

‘Oh.’ Ian was gratified to note that the boy actually did look disappointed. He also noticed that his attention rested on the balcony doors that were trembling under the hard pelt of the rain. But he wanted to think that some part of that crestfallen look was due to him.

‘Don’t worry I won’t kick you out into the rain. You can stay, watch some movies or something.’ He vaguely gestured to the sitting room. ‘How about we order some food?’ The change of expression on his face was such a rapid flash from disappointed to gleeful, that Ian very nearly suspected him of a bipolar disorder.

The smile he flashed was one tinged with devilry. ‘Ah, lucky for you, watching me eat is a service I provide for all my clients free of charge,’ he slyly replied, then paused with consideration and amended. ‘Beyond the charge of the actual food anyway, cause you’re paying.’

‘Of course,’ he replied highly amused at his forthrightness. ‘Although it’s always good to back yourself up with policy.’

He was positive that they had ordered too much food. The amount of food that rolled in on the trolley was surely too much for the two of them. And yet here he sat observing a miracle, for the food must be disappearing into thin air. It was not possible, within the realm of physics that all the food had gone into such a skinny individual.

The boy had absolutely crowed with delight when his noodle box arrived. He had announced his craving for a rice noodle satay hot box, so Ian had ordered him one. And surely enough the hotel staff had trotted down to the Noodle Canteen to get him one, which seemed to bring and endless stream of chuckling glee from him.

Sprawled on the floor with his noodle box and the duvet from the hotel bed (which he’d called a doona) he proceeded to watch the cable TV with absolute ferocity and an intenseness of concentration that it hardly deserved. The things he watched were incomparable. A bizarre Japanese marathon was on, that he thrilled and chortled his way through, and thought he was generally clueless on what was happening, he enjoyed watching him.

He was a fidget. He started on his stomach propped up on his elbows. Then scrunched the blanket into a pillow and lay on his back. Cross legged, splay legged, and knees tucked he only sat in the same position for ten minutes before moving. He never seemed to reach that state of relaxed calm that he and Orlando had spent many hours in. Plus he disliked tea. The turn of nose when he offered was of such dislike, he shortly expected the boy to stick his tongue out at him. Though it never happened, the sentiment was there.

Then he noticed the silence. The TV had been turned off. ‘I like this book.’

‘Sorry?’ Ian replied.

‘Oliver Twist. I like it too.’ The boy had Ian’s small leather bound Dickens clasped in his hand.

‘Most find him a little too detailed,’ he replied.

‘Yeah, he can be I guess… Bleak House and what not. But I liked Oliver Twist. He was lucky.’

‘Lucky? I wouldn’t see the fate of a workhouse as very lucky.’

‘No, but still, there were people who wanted him. His family missed him and wanted him back. The workhouse wasn’t his real life just this big mistake, a moment in history before he could take back the life that really belonged to him. The rest of them…’ he trailed off and gently placed the book back onto the coffee table with a shrug. ‘I liked it, anyway.’

‘You like to read then?’ Ian hoped the question would lift the slightly strange moment that had settled between them.

‘Sure,’ he rallied. ‘Library’s open until 9.30 at night Tuesdays to Fridays.’ He said this with an overly forced sense of glibness, but Ian did not push. They were comfortable. The truth could make them uncomfortable.

‘You like music too, don’t you? I saw you playing the piano at a few places.’

‘I saw you too. Tipping me twenty dollars and all. I hope that wasn’t an attempt at subtlety, cause it failed miserably,’ he smiled.

‘Well in that case I’ll discount myself twenty dollars for the night’s proceedings.’

‘Ha, as if I’d let you get away with that.’ The boy dropped to the floor close beside Ian’s legs, back resting against the chair. ‘I like the cello. I mean better then the piano… I play it better.’

‘Where did you learn to play cello?’ He hadn’t meant to sound so disbelieving, and immediately regretted it at the offended look on the boy’s face. ‘Sorry,’ he quickly amended. ‘But, I am surprised.’

There was still bitterness when he spoke. ‘It’s okay. No one expects it of me. But just to let you know, I haven’t spent my whole life doing this,’ he vaguely gestured between them. ‘I’m screwed anyway, my cello’s busted. It was like fifty years old or more. My father left it behind. My mother said he was a great concert cellist.’

‘That’s impressive,’ he replied.

‘Don’t be too impressed. She’s also told me that my father was Burt Reynolds, Martin Rothschild, and the King of a small principality in Eastern Europe. She’s a pathological lair. Only, the cello in the closet makes it seem real. It doesn’t mean anything.’ The boy gently rested his head on Ian’s thigh.

Ian tentatively placed his hand on the boys’ head, trailing his fingers through the silky brown locks. ‘No I suppose not, but it doesn’t hurt anyone for you to think your father was a concert cellist. As an actor I indulge all the time,’ he replied closing his eyes to the sensuous trial of hair sliding across his hands.

‘Oh thank you Gandalf for your wise words,’ he snarked.

‘Hey’ he lightly clipped the boy up the back of his head. ‘None of that now.’

‘Going the right way for a spanking am I?’ he smiled into the fabric of Ian’s pants and gently pressed his face to his leg. Ian relaxed into the sensation. Brown hair trailing lightly over the back of his hands, the hot press of a boy against his leg, and the gentle rub of his questing nose. ‘Is this okay?’ Ian felt the boys’ hands at his belt. Without opening his eyes he nodded languidly.

The fumble of hands brushed against his stirring cock. Sensation deadened by the layers of fabric. A gentle moan escaped his mouth as his hot hands grasped his girth and freed it from the constraints of his slacks. He firmly stroked him… one…two… a gentle rocking motion. Soft wet butterfly kisses were trailed along the shaft, hot and wet, and then cool as the air drifted over. His hip involuntarily bucked as he closed his mouth over the head of his penis. Then gently began to suckle.

‘Oh… god, Orli.’ Ian’s hands grasped the boy’s head more firmly and tried to increase the intensity. The boy firmly pressed his hips back into the chair, continuing with the gentle suckle, his tongue firmly stroking the underside of his head. Ian opened his eyes the merest slit.

He knelt between his legs, white robe slightly askew, his brown head lowered over him, hair gently tickling the exposed skin of his hips. He gently grasped the boys’ shoulders, petting and kneading as he went. One gentle thrust into his wet mouth was met with out resistance, two thrusts and he quickly increased the pace. The boy began a low hum in the back of his throat that quivered right down to his balls, which he’d gently begun to massage.

It was a slow build up of tension that gathered and tensed waiting for a catalyst. Hands caressing the boys’ hair, he looked up to meet Ian’s intense gaze. Ian groaned at the expression on his face and begun to move faster into his mouth. That expression, an eagerness to please him, vulnerability that he hadn’t before exposed. Desperation to be approved of, that all his pleasing antics aimed to cover. A puppy that wags his tail too hard. He made a small whimper as Ian pushed farther into his mouth and came to release. With a swallow and an exaggerated lick of his lips, he gently rested his head on Ian’s leg.

‘Can I kiss you?’ Ian asked.

‘You want to?’

‘Yes.’

The boy straddled his legs, one knee resting on the chair and leaned in. The kiss was a sweet gentle pressure. His lips parted readily when Ian flicked along them with his tongue. He tasted himself strong and saltly, and wrapped his arms around the boy. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Orli,’ he replied lips flushed and wet.

‘No. No, what is your name? I want to know.’ He carefully looked at the boy before him. Dark haired and tanned, his cheekbones were higher and wider, with a square jaw line. Not Orlando. Different, maybe someone he could enjoy being with. He nodded at his uncertainty.

‘Hunter,’ he replied simply.

‘Hunter. Would you like to join me in the bedroom?’ Trying to replace Orlando had been unfair and unrealistic; the illusion had not lasted above an hour. And it couldn’t.

Hunter replied by striding of towards the bedroom door. Cheekily dropping his robe before entering the room.

[FIC] Tuesdays and Wednesdays (GundamWing, PG, 1x2x1)

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 07:38:53 GMT

Title: Tuesdays and Wednesdays
Author: orpheneritus
Pairing: 1x2x1
Rating: PG
A/N: This is a backdated entry, I probably write it in 2003, but don't know where I posted it, so I'm finally adding it to my lj.

Tuesday 01/05

Dear Tenant,
Please remember to clean crushed popcorn out from between the couch cushions, after having special friends around for movie nights.
Your Landlord

Wednesday 02/05

Dear Landlord,
I will try to be more careful about my popcorn droppings. Do you know when the glass will be replaced in the first floor lounge room? It is getting drafty.
Your Tenant

Tuesday 08/05

Dear Tenant,
The glass will be replaced as soon as legal issues have been resolved.

Perhaps this would be the opportune moment to remind you that horseplay should be confined to the downstairs rec room, to avoid the inconvenience of broken windows and ambulance trips with special friends.
Your Landlord

Wednesday 09/05

Dear Landlord,
The ancient form of Aikido is a highly respected martial art. I am certain it does not fall under the title ‘horseplay’. However, I have referred the comment to my sensei, in case he shares your opinion. He may contact you on the issue.

In my defense regarding this particular incident. Perhaps the ‘accident’ may have been avoided had the rec room not been strewn in various computer parts, which I have expressly been forbidden to touch under any circumstance.

Your Tenant

PS. He didn’t fall that far, only one floor.

Tuesday 15/05

Dear Tenant,
Maybe if your hunk of junk motorcycle wasn’t in pieces in the garage, I could’ve set up my computers in that area as originally planned. As it is the oil stains on every surface make it unclean for my computer lab. Not to mention the constant smell of turps makes me high.

I think it best you park your historical rust heap on the street, and then I will move my computers.

Your Landlord

PS. Base trick informing sensei, ½ hour lecture on injustice endured, but not forgotten.

Wednesday 16/05

Dear Landlord,
Completely unreasonable. That bike’s a classic. CLASSIC. Like, worth a ton when it’s restored. I won’t do it. I recall something being mentioned about off street parking, when you convinced me to move in here.

No Way! It stays.

Your Tenant

PS. ½ hr Lecture deserved twice over for calling my baby a rust heap

Tuesday 22/05

Dear Tenant,
Omae O Kuroso!

Your Landlord

Wednesday 23/05

Dear Landlord,
Give me back my conditioner, I’m going out tonight. Without you!

Your Tenant

Tuesday 29/05

Dear Tenant,
Please refrain from engaging in extracurricular actives with your special friends in the hallway.

Your Landlord

Wednesday 30/05

Dear Landlord,
Jealous?

Your Tenant

Tuesday 05/06

Dear Tenant,
Of who? Him? Certainly not. I am not so flexible and would be at best severely uncomfortable. Perhaps you would break fewer toys if you did not attempt to bend them so far.

Your Landlord

Wednesday 06/06

Dear Landlord,
Please refrain from slobbering on her Royal Highness within view. I have not been able to eat for several days.

Your Tenant

Tuesday 12/06

Dear Tenant,
Really? I have not noticed any reduction in the hyperspace speed that food in this house is consumed at. Either you are feeding several special friends sequestered in your room or your appetite is fine.

I suspect the latter due to the fact no one has tried to escape by throwing themselves from a first floor window and there is no reduction in the size of your love handles.

Your Landlord

Wednesday 13/06

Dear Landlord,
LOVE HANDLES!

Shinigami comes for you tonight, then we will see…

Your Tenant

Tuesday 19/06

Dear Tenant,
Please return MY ice pack to the freezer. I cannot go to work looking like I have had my wisdom teeth removed.

Your Landlord

Wednesday 20/06
Dear Landlord,

No. You broke my leg. I’m calling Quatre.

Your Tenant

Tuesday 26/06

Dear Tenant,
I think the fighting has gone too far. I am sorry I broke your leg. It was an accident.

Your Landlord

Wednesday 27/06

Dear Landlord,
You are only apologizing because Quatre made you. You hate me, and as soon as I can hobble reasonably I’m leaving.

Your (ex-) Tenant

Tuesday 02/07

Dear Tenant,
What have you done? Why does Releena think I am going to marry her? You baka, I know you sent those flowers. ‘My Aphrodite…’ I would never write such drivel. I take back my previous apology, I do not forgive you.

Your (ex-) Landlord

PS. Wish I had broken more than your leg

Wednesday 03/07

Dear Landlord,
You deserve each other I hope you lose your hearing with constant exposure to her high decibel shriek. I often told my guests that we kept a banshee in the basement.

Your (ex-) Tenant

PS. You wish

Tuesday 09/07

Dear Tenant,
Not that it is any of your business, but Releena and I are in a professional relationship. My kisses are only EVER chaste and friendly. And you have seriously jeopardized her safety by encouraging her. Badly done.

Your (ex-) Landlord

Wednesday 10/07

Dear Landlord,
Don’t shame me like your opinion means anything. You are nothing. Nothing to me. I am alone, I like it that way. Don’t ever think I need you.

Your (ex-) Tenant

Tuesday 16/07

Dear Tenant,
Hn.

Your (ex-) Landlord

Wednesday 17/07

Dear Landlord,
Omae O Kuroso

Your (ex-) Tenant

Tuesday 23/07

Dear Tenant,
That’s my line.

Your Landlord

Wednesday 24/07

Dear Landlord,
Ah, tired and over used platitude. You’re right, it is your line! Should’ve copyrighted.

Your Tenant

PS. We are being forced to have dinner with Quat, Trowa and Wuffie, but don’t expect me to converse with you. Leg breaker

Tuesday 30/07

Dear Tenant,
Duo?

Your Landlord

Wednesday 31/07

Dear Landlord,
I am not talking to you.

Your Tenant

Tuesday 06/08

Dear Tenant,
I bought pocky at the shops, chocolate AND strawberry.

Your Landlord

Wednesday 07/08

Dear Landlord,
I want an apology, not bribery.

Your Tenant

PS. Eat the strawberry and I’ll break something of yours (laptop is in easy reach and often unguarded)

Tuesday 13/08

Dear Tenant,
Fine.

I apologize profusely for breaking your leg, etc.

Your Landlord

Wednesday 14/08

Dear Landlord,
Etc? Really sincere…

Your Tenant

Tuesday 20/08

Attn: Tenant
Re: Broken leg & outstanding apology

I, Heero Yuy, on this day the 20th of August AC 198, hereby apologize to Duo Maxwell for breaking his femur and inciting several contusions upon his person.

In the future we could avoid broken limbs, if you did not jump me in an ally, during official surveillance, dressed in black, screaming of death and vengeance.

Your Landlord

PS. I don’t hate you

Wednesday 21/08

Dear Landlord,
Quatre and Wuffie being really hard on you?

Your Tenant

Tuesday 27/08

Dear Tenant,
Yes.

Your Landlord

PS. The doctor tells me I may have a hairline fracture on my skull accounting for my severe headaches.

Wednesday 28/08

Dear Landlord,
Are they phoning you daily, telling you how terrible you are? Did I catch you off your guard? Was I fear inducing?

Your Tenant

PS. Codeine is hidden in my toolbox

Tuesday 03/09

Dear Tenant,
Yes. Yes. Terrifying.

Your Landlord

PS. Thanks. I lied about the love handles; you are extremely trim and well shaped

Wednesday 04/09

Dear Landlord,

Okay. Consider yourself forgiven. I could use a hand washing my hair; cast is making it really difficult.

Your Tenant

PS. As if I wasn’t aware

Tuesday 10/09

Dear Tenant,
Have replaced first floor glass, no charges pressed. Do you need anything from the shops I will be going after work.

Your Landlord

Wednesday 11/09

Dear Landlord,
Yep. Graham crackers, chocolate, marshmallows, cola and baby oil. We could make ‘smores and watch movies together.

Your Tenant

PS. Could use help with the hair again, your hands are very strong

Tuesday 17/09

Dear Tenant,
Had a very good time watching movies. I have never watched Red Dwarf before. It was humorous despite the technological inaccuracies. Can we do it again sometime?

Your Landlord

PS. I am not sure it is correct for me to assist you with washing your hair

Wednesday 18/09

Dear Landlord,
Correct? Heero, we’re not playing a trivia game.

Your Tenant

PS. Absolutely on the movie thing. I have every episode of Sliders ever made! I just know you’ll love it

Tuesday 24/09

Dear Tenant,
What game are we playing?

Your Landlord

Wednesday 25/09

Dear Landlord,
I’m not playing a game with you.

Your Tenant

PS. You are better at talking when we are not, why?

Tuesday 31/09

Dear Tenant,
If we are not playing games, what are we doing? I need to think.

Your Landlord

PS. It is easier to talk when I do not have to watch your reaction.

Wednesday 01/10

Dear Landlord,
I want you to be my guest, my special friend, permanently...

Your Tenant

Tuesday 07/10

Dear Tenant,
At least we know I can manage a leap from the first story.

Your Landlord

Wednesday 08/10

Dear Landlord,
God, Heero! Is that a joke I hear!

Your Tenant

Tuesday 14/10

Dear Tenant,
I am a funny guy.

Your Landlord

PS I am still thinking, but I have a question… How many special friends do you allow yourself?

Wednesday 15/10

Dear Landlord,
There isn’t a quota, Heero… but I have had many, you’ve seen. But if it were you, it would only ever be you.

Your Tenant

PS. I’m glad we’re not fighting. I hate it when we fight.

Tuesday 21/10

Dear Tenant,
If we both hate fighting, why do we do it so much?

Your Landlord

PS. I want to make it up to you, for the leg

Wednesday 22/10

Dear Landlord,
Sometimes anger is all I can get from you.

Your Tenant

PS. Come visit me when you get home, I’ll show you how I’d apologize

Tuesday 28/10

Dear Tenant,
Sorry for running out. I was surprised. The kiss was…nice. Would this be one of my duties?

Your Landlord

Wednesday 29/10

Dear Landlord,
Duties? Heero there are no… never mind.

Yes. Kissing would be a duty, but a shared one that we do for each other as well as ourselves. Um, we’d do other duties together too, things that would make us close like best friends. Hugging, sitting together holding hands, touching…sex.

Your Tenant

Tuesday 04/11

Dear Tenant,
You are my best friend. You are the only person I am close to.

Your Landlord

PS. Researched sex on the net. I am a little confused on the ergonomics of the situation when there is no girl.

Wednesday 05/11

Dear Landlord,
Well, here’s how it goes… um, I’ll get you a book.

Your Tenant

PS. Try refining your search with ‘homosexual’

Tuesday 11/11

Dear Tenant,

Thanks. Very helpful. I accept, should we start on page two or skip the beginner section and start on page nine? I have always been advanced in physical dexterity; I think it would be safe.

Your Landlord

PS. Is page thirty-eight the reason you cannot look at me without blushing?

Is page forty-one what you were attempting in the hallway with your hapless victim?

I’m not sure I want to do that one, is that ok?

Wednesday 12/11

Dear Landlord,
I accept too, but not mission accept, normal accept, ok? Why don’t we watch some movies together, forget about the book and start wherever it starts?

Your Tenant

PS. I’m blushing because I’m kind of nervous.

Yes, page forty-one was the hallway incident…he was hardly being victimized.

Heero, you never have to do anything you don’t want to, not with me. Ok?

Oyasumi, Heero.

Tuesday 18/11

Dear Tenant,
I liked our weekend together. I am glad we saved many pages for other times.

Your Landlord

PS. I feel, happy, maybe. Not a nice happiness a vindictive one. I am joyful that all your other special friends have left. Is that incorrect?

Wednesday 19/11

Dear Landlord,
So kawaii, you were jealous. I’m glad you’re feeling vindictive happy. I’d be jealous if you were seeing others. And while we’re on topic, I want us to be exclusive. Just us, only us...no one else, ok?

Your Tenant

PS. And maybe Wuffie

Tuesday 25/11

Dear incredibly handsome Tenant,

Oh Duo, you are so hot… I want to have sex with you… everyday and twice on Sundays.

Heero? Hello. Talk to me please. I was SO kidding about Wufei. Joke, funny, haha…

Please, I don’t want to fight.

Your Tenant

Wednesday 26/11

Dear Landlord,

Heero?

Your Tenant

Tuesday 01/12

Dear Tenant,
Tuesday’s are my day. Don’t write on my day.

I don’t want to share you with anyone, not even someone I feel great respect and friendship for. Is that ok?

Your Landlord

Wednesday 02/12

Dear Landlord,
You had me sweating there, Heero. I don’t really want to share, just to prove it; we can try page twelve if you want.

Your Tenant

PS. You ‘gotta admit Wuffie’s a total hottie

Tuesday 08/12

Dear Tenant,
I need admit no such thing. On Friday I was the sexiest thing to ever draw breath. I think you called me God; I do not know much about your religion. I would like to try page twenty-two now.

Your Landlord

Wednesday 09/12

Dear Landlord,
Page twenty-two? You sure?

Your Tenant

Tuesday 15/12

Dear Tenant,
Ai Shiteiru. Duo, I think I love you. I want to tell everyone.

Your Landlord

PS. Please clean the saucepan you made spaghetti in last week. I am worried we are breeding a super bug

Wednesday 16/12

Dear Landlord,
Heero, you say the sweetest things. Saucepans and super bugs excluded.

Your Tenant (for always)

PS. Your ass is much nicer than Wuffie’s, I’m sorry I implied otherwise

Flist please help! Should I get a grip or get out?

Sun, 01 Jul 2007 19:40:49 GMT

I'm not a superstitous person, and yet here I am at four in the morning sitting at my computer after only 2 hours of unrestful sleep feeling freaked out.

This is the second night I've suffered from really intense and strange dreams and the third time I've experienced some kind of strange feeling whilst half awake. I'm a very practical realistic kind of girl with very little room in my heart or mind for spiritual or supernatural, but I can't explain why I sat up with a fright only twenty minutes ago the words I reject ringing in my head.

Right now my throat is dry and tight and my heart feels strangly erratic.

I think that I might be sick or run down, I've often had bizarre dreams when sick, or maybe I've been watching too much sci-fi/supernatural and my subconscious is working overtime. But right now I'm wanting a protection charm if only for the nice placebo effect that might allow me to sleep.

It's hard to say what's happening, I've had bad/strange dreams aplenty, but never one that closed my throat or made my skin feel... so hard to explain... thrilled and then I don't know. Something bad.

The dreams are muddled and make no sense, I feel that thrilling sensation once and pulled away. Then in my dream I'm in a store of some kind seeking help. A man, the owner I think, is leaning towards me, he sees a mark on my arm and becomes strange and forces me to leave.

I have this horrible sensation of giving in, I see some thing strange in the dream, my hands sqeezing together. My skin ripples with that strange sensation and I'm feeling choked and hot, and I really don't like it. In my dream my semi-rational conscious interjects and I say I reject three times in my head and I shake the feeling and wake up. In my mind the words are still going through my head.

I now have a glass of water and I'm sitting with my back to the room trying to get my throat to loosen up some. I'm just trying to stop this creepy feeling.

I feel like calling head office and asking how long this apartment has been on their books... and then I think I'm just overreacting to a bad dream, or I should've skipped the chicken for late night dinner. After all three nights of strange disturbed sleep is really 3 nights out of the 75 nights I've slept here.

So because polls are frivolous and delightful things and I seriously require that right now...

...here are my theories, please vote:

View Poll: Get a Grip or Get the Hell Out

[FIC] Happiness (PoT, Kabaji/Atobe) Yes! Kabaji

Sat, 26 May 2007 14:28:09 GMT

Title: Happiness
Pairing: Atobe/Kabaji
Rating: R
Summary: He’s not skilled at understanding his own feelings, only at understanding Atobe’s.
A/N: This has been hanging around on my HD for quite some time and this afternoon I spotted pixxers post about a scorching hot Ato/Kabaji dj, which reminded me of this unfinished idea so, I've finally done something with it...

Kabaji’s aware of how others in the company feel towards him.

He doesn’t need to hear the whispered comments that follow his exit to know what they say.

He didn’t earn the job, they whisper.

He doesn’t try to persuade them otherwise, because he knows that they wouldn’t understand. Each one of them is sure they would do a better job as Atobe’s assistant…

…but Atobe doesn’t need an assistant.

He doesn’t need someone to work his Blackberry and follow him around at dinner parties reminding him of names of wives and children of important and influential people.

Atobe sat on the laps of influential wives and played with those influential children, and any attempt to change the settings on his Blackberry is likely to get someone fired.

This job is his job. Watching out for Atobe, making sure he eats enough vegetables, not allowing him to wallow or mope, it has always been his job. From the day they met.

Kabaji turns up at the hotel everyday, seven sharp. It is one of the many hotels owned by Atobe's family, and is also the hotel that his boss is currently living at.

Miki is at the door when he enters the suite. He gives in as the dog rolls over and gives the mutt a brief belly scratch. He found Miki in the park wandering about scrounging for food. He took the dog to the shelter, but they had no room for it, so he brought it back to Atobe.

'What is that?' Atobe asks reaching over the counter to pinch an apple from the bag that he's unpacking.

'A dog,' Kabaji replies moving the rest of the groceries out of reach.

'Are you sure?' Atobe slides into the barstool and adjusts his robe more securely. 'Doesn't look like any dog I've seen. Is it yours?'

Kabaji shrugs. 'I found him in the park. I thought you might like him.'

'Why would I like it?' He says tucking his feet under him. 'It's an ugly mutt.'

Kabaji is used to his tone of voice. 'You like me well enough,' he replies.

It's quiet while Kabaji organises a glass of juice and two slices of toast. He slides the plate across the counter to Atobe, who stops it with a finger.

'I was reading an article the other day about an inbred Dalmatian that turned on its owners and mauled two children… pure breeds don't always make the best companions.' He takes a bite out of his toast and chews as elegantly as it is possible, while still resting his chin upon his knee.

Kabaji doesn't comment. He spreads his toast with strawberry jam.

Atobe sighs and abandons his toast, only half eaten. 'What's my schedule?'

'You're leaving for Shikoku at eight-thirty to view the proposed location for the new resort. At two forty the meeting with JAS to discuss the tender for the Tokyo Sports and Aquatics centre. I've packed your presentation and laptop.'

Atobe nods thoughtfully, still observing the mutt curled up on the floor. 'What am I wearing?'

‘Yves Saint Laurent suit…'

'Green or grey?'

'Grey.'

Atobe nods again, still watching the dog. 'Looks like a Shiba crossed with some kind of terrier… he has good blood.'

The dog wags his sickle shaped tail in reply.

'I packed your tennis gear.'

'Oh?'

'Murai Toshiko's played Nationals in school. You should invite him for a game,' he replies.

'Oh… What time?'

'The courts are booked for eight.'

Atobe's nose scrunches as he frowns and takes another listless bite of his toast. 'How do you even know he want's to play me?'

Kabaji smiles. 'I spoke to his secretary.' Atobe only grunts. ‘Try make the game last. 7-4…'

'5-2,' he counters.

'6-3…'

'Sometimes I wonder who's in charge…' Atobe mutters.

He hears Atobe mutter something about three-nil, but doesn't comment.

'Well,' Atobe sighs getting down from the stool. 'If it's going to stay it needs a name and a bath… maybe a bed and other dog things.'

Kabaji nods in reply and waits until Atobe has closed the door to his room before pulling the dog food out of the grocery bags and placing them in the bottom cupboard.

He pauses to give the dog a rub behind the ears. 'Good boy,' he comments to no one in particular.

While Atobe is away during the day he does the personal accounts, supervises the cleaning and repairs, and manages Atobe's dairy; booking and changing appointments. At first Miki spends the days with him, asleep in the corner or out on the patio, and he walks him once in the morning when he arrives and again in the evening.

Until the day when Atobe decides to take Miki with him.

'How do think he'd go in the car?' Atobe asks as he pushes his bare feet underneath the dog to keep them warm.

Kabaji regards his boss momentarily. 'Fine. I take him with me on errands.'

'He's well behaved then?'

'Mm.'

'Sit, stay, lie down…?

'Yes.'

'He's turned out a nice red-brown colour hasn't he?'

'Yes.'

'A fine looking dog.'

'Very.'

'It's a nice collar you got him,' Atobe says, toeing the sensible soft grey collar with his foot. 'Does the leash match?'

'Mm,' Kabaji replies taking a sidelong look at his friend.

'I'd like to take him with me tomorrow. I'm stuck up at that rotten social my father’s organised. I get half bored to tears at these things.'

'You'll need to clean up after him,' Kabaji comments.

'I know that,' Atobe replies with a scowl. 'I am capable of cleaning up after a dog, Munehiro.'

'Of course. I’ll put his things together?'

Atobe nods, still in a bit of a mood, but happily rubbing Miki's tummy with his foot. As Kabaji leaves the lounge to retrieve an overnight bag for the dog, he glances back at Atobe's sudden laugh. Miki is licking his feet.

Atobe’s back earlier than expected, a little tipsy and he’s in a foul mood. Kabaji chooses to say nothing that doesn’t need to be said, and only agrees with each of Atobe’s increasingly erratic demands.

He draws a bath for his boss having sent a member of the kitchen staff halfway across town in search of fresh abalone. An item that isn’t on the menu at the hotel, but then Atobe surely knew that.

He sulks in the lounge chair, one hand resting on Miki’s head, giving the little dog an absent pat every now and then.

When the bath is hot and steaming he adds Atobe’s favourite oils and calls for him. He appears in the door, his silk yukata tied loosely about his waist, Miki close on his heels. ‘I’ll go’ he says.

Atobe shakes his head. ‘Stay,’ he says allowing his robe to fall to the floor. Kabaji catches the silk before it reaches the ground and averts his eyes as Atobe sinks into the water.

Miki peers over the edge and Atobe splashes him playfully, causing the dog to bark and jump away.

‘You’ll spoil him,’ Kabaji says sending the dog to his bed in the other room. ‘Bad enough he sleeps in your room. He should be sleeping in the kitchen.’

‘Spoilsport,’ Atobe pouts. ‘I need him in my room, else I’d be lonely…’ Atobe sinks lower into the water allowing the water to close briefly over his face before sitting up again. ‘This is nice Munehiro.’

He nods with a small smile. There’s something about Atobe and baths. His mood can never help but be cheered by a bath.

‘Am I ungrateful?’ Atobe asks out of the blue.

Kabaji breaks his practice of not looking at his boss during bath time. ‘Why do you ask?’ he says with genuine surprise.

‘Am I?’ he asks sinking lower into the bath water, so only his head is above the water.

Kabaji reaches for the shampoo and pours a small amount into the palm of his hand. ‘No. You’re a good person, Atobe.’

Atobe sighs as he lathers the shampoo into his scalp, firmly rubbing his thumbs in steady circles.

‘I’m not so sure Munehiro,’ he says distractedly. ‘What have I done that’s so very good?’

‘Miki.’

Atobe laughs, it’s almost a choked sob. ‘Miki? I would’ve never taken that mutt, not if you hadn’t brought him to me.’

‘All the same, you took him.’ Gently he rinses water over Atobe’s hair, washing out the shampoo. ‘There are other things as well.’

‘Like what,’ he asks quietly.

‘Sponsoring the local schools, hiring Takayami’s sons, helping Saito’s brother with his legal troubles… paying for Mukahi’s funeral…’

‘Gakuto,’ he says softly. ‘He needed a good name.’*

Kabaji nods. ‘He did.’

‘I was happy at Hyoutei. I miss it…’

‘Me too.’

‘You’re the only thing I have left, Munehiro. You’ve stayed with me,’ he says unsteadily.

‘I wanted too.’

‘I have a favour to ask.’

Kabaji is surprised as Atobe looks briefly away from him. ‘Okay.’

‘I want you to call me Keigo…’

‘Ah,’ he hesitates uncertainly.

‘Just when we’re alone. Please,’ he says quickly.

Please. He’s certain that Atobe has never uttered that word to him before.

‘Okay,’ he agrees.

Atobe smiles and relaxes back into the warm water. ‘Because we’re friends, right Munehiro?’

‘Of course… Keigo. We’re friends.’

He has to help Atobe to the bed where he falls asleep almost instantly. Kabaji has to shoo the dog off the bed.

‘She called him a mutt you know,’ Atobe murmurs sleepily.

‘Sorry?’

‘That bitch, she called Miki an ugly mutt.’

‘Oh?’

‘I told her I’d sooner fuck an ugly mutt than an inbred like her… or something like that…’ Atobe rolls over and Kabaji pulls the covers over his legs and up to his chin. ‘Father’s mad the party didn’t go well… he wants me to marry her.’

‘Oh.’

‘Munehiro?’

‘Yes.’

‘I love Miki,’ Atobe murmurs quietly grasping his hand tightly.

Kabaji settles on the edge of the bed, and pats Atobe’s perfectly manicured hand. ‘I know.’

‘Can I tell you a secret?’

‘Mm,’ Kabaji nods slightly.

Atobe pulls on his arm. ‘You need to come closer.’

Kabaji doesn’t resist as Atobe pulls him down towards him. He doesn’t resist when Atobe pushes his hand down to his erection, he only closes his fingers tightly around the silk covered erection and watches as Atobe lets a weak moan escape from between his lips. He’s done this a couple times before.

‘Is this the secret?’ he asks lightly, giving Atobe’s erection a firm stroke.

Atobe slaps his shoulder. ‘Of course not,’ he grunts.

Atobe beckons him closer. Kabaji follows until he’s lying against his boss, their faces only inches apart. One hand propping up his head, the other gently rolling over Atobe’s hardness.

Atobe leans into him, giving a little thrust into his hand, mouth wavering over his ear. ‘I’m happy like this.’

‘Like this?’ he asks firming his grip on Atobe’s flesh.

‘Yes,’ he gasps. ‘And more… You, me and Miki… I’m happy like this.’ Atobe closes his eyes briefly and rests on his chest. Kabaji barely hears his next words. ‘Are you?’

He’s never been asked before. He wants to think about it a bit longer. He’s not skilled at understanding his own feelings, only at understanding Atobe’s.

But he does want to kiss Atobe. To touch more of him than just his hardened flesh, to reach inside and touch him where others haven’t… where others couldn’t. Because they don’t understand.

‘Munehiro?’ Atobe’s voice trembles. ‘Please…’

He’s no good with words. What he thinks inside can never be translated by his words, but Atobe has always been able to hear what he doesn’t say, what he can’t say.

So he says nothing…

… but rises up to his knees and grasps Atobe by his silk clad hips and pulls him down the bed with a grunt. Then he dares.

Dares to part the silk, and bare his cock, the tip glistening and wet, and close his mouth over it as Atobe lets out a strangled cry of surprise.

He’s always wanted to do this. To grab those hips and press them down, to run his hands over the swell of Atobe’s arse.

Kabaji runs his tongue along the ridge of his cock and sucks down the shaft. Allowing his hands to wander over the cleft of his arse, to ghost over the tight opening, drawing a firm line along the perineum to grasp his balls, eliciting a fierce cry that forces him to press the hips back down into the mattress as Atobe’s bitter taste floods into his mouth.

Atobe’s hands clench desperately in his hair as he whispers unheard words.

He kisses his way up Atobe’s body, all the places he’s most wanted to, his hips, belly button, nipples, neck, until finally he can press their lips together, Atobe’s arms wrapping hungrily around his neck.

‘The drawer,’ he murmurs wetly between kisses. ‘They’re in the drawer. Quickly, please,’ he says working the clasp on Kabaji’s pants.

Kabaji watches his face as Atobe straddles him, familiar with all his expressions, but sure he hasn’t seen this one before. Trepidation, maybe.

‘I’m happy, Keigo.’ he says quickly, brushing his hand along Atobe’s cheek then letting it drop to his thighs. ‘We don’t—’

The sensation of his prick pressing into Atobe halts all words. It’s hot and tight and he is desperately fighting the urge to come when Atobe’s hands grabs his tightly reminding him of what his job is, what his job’s always been.

What he promised himself more than fifteen years ago.

Make him happy.

Atobe sits with his feet tucked up beneath him, eating strawberry jam on toast, while Miki attempts to fit in his lap. Atobe’s hand drops to the dog’s head and gives him a little scratch, causing the sickle-shaped tail to thump against his leg.

‘I think the mutt needs a holiday…’ he says picking up his coffee from the table. Kabaji doesn’t comment, handing him a second slice of toast a sitting down on the couch beside Atobe. ‘Miki likes the beach.’

‘Fukuoka?’ he suggests.

Atobe smiles slightly, ‘I was thinking south of France.’

‘That’s pretty fancy for an ugly mutt,’ Kabaji comments to no one in particular.

Atobe leans into him, wrapping an arm beneath his elbow and resting on his shoulder.

‘Not for my mutt,’ he murmurs softly.

Good News for my websites...

Mon, 16 Apr 2007 07:17:01 GMT

Since I posted this morning it's been nothing but good news.

Love Complicated will have a new home with the very generous fencer_x Details are to be worked out but I will update my links.

All Japan!2006 The website will be hosted by the lovely and kind postingwhore Details to be worked out but I will update my links when more is known.

Also....

All Japan!2007 has been given CPR by playingmyrole it may yet go ahead this year. For the time being please keep your eye on both all_japan_comp and alljapan_07 until details are finalised.

I thought I might see if I could go four for four... Is anyone interested in running a fledgling Atobe/Jirou archive? If so please let me know. I have exported it to a zip file for download to its lucky new owner if there are any takers.

-- News -- All Japan!, gakushi.net and more...

Mon, 16 Apr 2007 03:40:00 GMT

I'm leaving for Japan tomorrow, it's exciting and all that and it's giving me the opportunity to resolve some issues that I've been sitting on. All are good news for me, but maybe dissapointing for others.

-1-

The All Japan! Competition

I really enjoyed running the competition and I hope all participants had a wonderful time, but undeniably it was a lot of hard work and a lot of money for myself.

Two things have happened since the end of the competition last year. The first is I've left my job to go to Japan and work part time, this will be significantly less money than I have been making previously. The second is I've decided to complete a Dip Ed, so I may not return to full time work for a long period of time and also the study will be an added strain on my time.

As sad as it makes me I'm afraid that there will be no All Japan!2007. I apologise to any who were looking forward to participating. I hope that in the near future there will be others interested in taking up the position.

The all japan community all_japan_comp will shortly be deleted.

-2-

gakushi.net

My poor website! Alas I have not updated you in an age. Due to my reduced circumstances (how very 1800's of me) I decided I could only afford to have one paid service online. I chose my .Mac account. I get alot more storage space and functionality for the money and I use it constantly and couldn't bear to part. So I regret to announce that the following websites will be closing:

My domain: http://www.gakushi.net
Love complicated: Yuushi and Gakuto Archive: http://lovecomplicated.gakushi.net/
Afternoon Delight: Atobe and Jirou Archive: http://afternoondelight.gakushi.net/
Secrets: Fanfic Archive: http://secretworld.gakushi.net/
All Japan! Competition: http://alljapan.gakushi.net/

However! I will spend some time creating a post that will link you back to the authors works that were originally posted. I will post these entries in my journal and place a page holder on the site that will last for about 6 weeks.

-3-

email/websites

As I'm deleting my domain orpheneritus @ gakushi.net is no longer a valid email address. Please feel free to comment or contact me via orpheneritus @ mac.com

Currently I'm hosting my pictures of japan at http://web.mac.com/orpheneritus/

I'm also hosting files for download at http://homepage.mac.com/orpheneritus/
(From Eroica with Love scanslations are the current download)

With all of the slightly sad news in this post, I'd like to leave you on a high note (or what I hope you think is a high note). I hope that these changes will leave me mre time to write, which I really miss a lot.

Off to Japan!

Mon, 02 Apr 2007 10:58:35 GMT

Hello LJ Friends....

I've not been around much lately for many reasons. At the end of last year I was working full time and trying to complete a difficult course and then early this year I've been looking for a new job in Japan!

Happy to say I have a job in Japan and I leave in 2 weeks on April 17 I'll be very poor for a while but you will all be blessed with pictures, so I hope you'll be happy for me.

I've been placed in Kurashiki in the Okayama Prefecture. If you've ever visited Kurashiki and have some hot tips please let me know.

Doujinshis for Sale

In light of my impending departure I find myself a little bit poor. So I'm selling many of my doujinshis. There is Prince of Tennis, Saiyuki, Full Metal Alchemist, Hikaru no Go, Samurai Champloo and ~~Bleach~~

View the Doujinshi

Doujinshi's are all $8.00 AUD (aprox $6.50USD or $4.85 EUD) unless a reduced price is listed in the table.

-- SALE CLOSED -- Doujinshi Sale: Tenipuri, Bleach,Hikaru no Go, Death Note

Sat, 31 Mar 2007 11:51:54 GMT

EDIT: 16/04 I've closed the sale. Thank you to everyone who purchased items I hope you will all be pleased with them. All items have now been posted as I leave the country tomorrow. However if there is some problem with your item you can still contact me on: orpheneritus @ mac.com, but please give me up to 10 days to reply.

Hi flist. It's been a while since I've been around and that's largely due to my life being a little crazy. Part of the craziness is...

I'm leaving for Japan in two weeks! On April 17th for 1 year to 18months

Only problem is I'm a little short on funds, and I won't be paid for around 10 weeks >____<; So I'm selling some of my beautiful doujinshi in the hopes that I can sort out a few last minute things.

Prince of Tennis (39)
Hikaru No Go (5)
Samurai Champloo (3)
Saiyuki (3)
Bleach (2)
Full Metal Alchemist (1)

Dounjinshi for Sale

Price

It's first comment first serve.

Doujinshi's are all $8.00 AUD (aprox $6.50USD or $4.85 EUD) unless a reduced price is listed in the table.

All dj's are in excellent condition.

Payment Methods
ANYONE: Paypal (orpheneritus@mac.com)
AUSSIES: Paypal or Direct Deposit

Paypalers please list your paypal email and I'll invoice your account, that way I can track the books a little more easily and ensure it's in AUD (Aussie dollars).

EDIT 5/4: All payments need to be finalised by Sunday 15 April as I leave on Tue 17 and will post anything last minute on Mon 16.

~~Please pay within 5 days of your request. The last day wish to post on is April 12 with emergency posting going out on the 13 & 16 April.~~

Shipping

Prices in AUD

AUSTRALIA
- Single DJ $3.00
- up to 250grams $4.50
- 250g-500g $6.50
- 500g- 3kg $12.00

INTERNATIONAL
- 1-2 Dj's $8.00 (must weigh under 250g and be less than 2cm thick)
- 0-500grams (any thickness) $15.00

Please allow 5-7 days within Australia and 10-14 days for international deliveres.</i>

Prince of Tennis Doujinshi for Sale...
Shishiso/Ohtori
1. Happy Life, 38 pages: 280g	2. Pink, Pink Junk, 16 pages: 93g	3. Dog Biscuit, 22 pages: 110g
4. Welcome Heven, 18 pages: 105g
Atobe/Jirou
5. SOLD No Pets Allowed!, 22 pages: 126g	6. Tiffany, 22 pages: 106g
Yuushi/Gakuto
7. 20!, 14 pages: 102g	8. Better Days, 16 pages: 89g	9.SOLD Renai Logic, 23 pages: 114g
10. Propeller, 22 pages: 112g	11. Teikoku Lyric, 18 pages: 91g
Mixed Hyoutei
12. Sabrina Heaven, 20 pages: 94g Jirou/Ohtori/Shishido	13. SOLD Jive, 30 pages: 131g Jirou/Yuushi	14. SOLD Why don't you come with me?, 20 pages: 108g Jirou/Yuushi
15.SOLD Katura Natume, 32 pages: 139g Ohtori/Shishi/Sakaki/Yuushi	16. SOLD Elegiaco, 22 pages: 111g Yuushi/Atobe	17.SOLD For your Eyes Only, 26 pages: 131g Yuushi/Atobe
18. Bitter Chocolate, 25 pages: 136g Yuushi	19. Aqua Lovers, 18 pages: 86g Atobe/Akira	20. Dadada, 22 pages: 110g Hyoutei Gen (Gakuto focus)
21. SOLD 2006 Turnovers (?), 14 pages: 81g Hyoutei Gag	22. Gotta Flavor, 20 pages: 101g Hyoutei Gen
Seigaku
23. SOLD Going Walking in the March, 26 pages: 140g Golden Pair	24.SOLD Seishun Blossom, 40 pages: 165g Seigaku (pairing hints)	25. Grip L/R, 20 pages: 146g Tez/Fuji Eiji/Oishi
27. SOLD Haitouchi Sen (?), 55 pages: 232g Inui/Kaidoh
St Rudolph
28. Taitoru(?), 30 pages: 149g Fuji/Yuuta	29. SOLD Sweet Luck (?), 40 pages: 152g Akazawa/Mizuki
Fudomine
30. Character Select! (?), 24 pages: 83g Akira/Shinji	31. Kaleidoscope, 21 pages: 109g Akira/Ishida	32. SOLD Hunny Hunt (?), 18 pages: 93g Akira Bunny/Atobe
33. SOLD Jelly Beans, 19 pages: 130g Akira/Shinji
Rikkai
34. SOLD God Save Me, 24 pages: 122g Rikkai Gen	35. SOLD I still Love you Boy, 32 pages: 137g Nioh/Yagyu	36. SOLD Mix Maniax, 28 pages: 115gNioh/Yagyu
Yamabuki & Other
37. Hot, 22 pages: 142g School Mix	38. SOLD Boyfriend, 12 pages: 84g Sengoku/Aktsu	39. Kon Nanitsu no ....(?), 28 pages: 153g Sengoku/Ryoma Bunta/Yagyu
Hikaru No Go
40. Poisoning (?), 20 pages: 108g Kaga	41. La Cage, 36 pages: 147g Kaga/Hikaru	42. 32 Fahrenheit, 20 pages: 114g Kaga/Hikaru
43. SOLD Manatsu no Yoru no Yume, 17 pages: 137g Hikaru/Akira	44. I Miss You, 26 pages: 122g Akira/Ogata
Samurai Champloo
45. SOLD Michikusa, 22 pages: 117g Mugen/Jin	46.SOLD Re:Run, 32 pages: 143g Mugen/Jin	47.SOLD Imeushi (?) , 24 pages: 139g Mugen/Jin
Saiyuki (SECTION REDUCED $3.50/DJ Preloved, some minor wear on the cover.)
48. Missing You, 24 pages: 115g Goku/Homura-Tachi	49. My Dear Master, 30 pages: 113g Sanzo/Goku	50.SOLD Spermatic Crisis, 36 pages: 140g Goku/Hakkai
Bleach
51. SOLD The Natural Catastrophe,32 pages: 138g Renji/Shuhei	52. SOLD Love and Febrile Disease, 26 pages: 122g Ukitake/Hitsugaya Hitsugaya/Gin
Death Note
53. (??)...Umeko, 24 pages: 119g Raito/L	54. (?Can't Read), 26 pages: 185g Raito/L
Full Metal Alchmest
55. SOLD Paranoia of Shamballa, 70 pages: 185g Roy/Hughes

From Eroica With Love

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 20:00:18 GMT

EDIT: I am hosting the From Eroica With Love files on my iDisk for everyone. If you haven't read it, try it out.

A big thank you to esda who was amazingly generous about uploading the Erioca scans to make this a possiblity.

Scans are available for download here

Does anyone have the scanslations for From Eroica with Love from Volume 8 (Chapter 11) upwards? I tried the free manage communiy, but all the links are broken or it's stored on Mega upload, which is a mega pain since it never works except to tell me all the slots for my country are full. YAY fun.

I just think it's time for more Klaus and Dorian....

End of 2006.... my personal comments on my work and plans

Mon, 15 Jan 2007 10:34:43 GMT

You can tell I didn't consider it a great year as it's taken me over two weeks to build up to looking back on it.

Bascialy 2006 was a little crap. But here's the writing break down

I only completed and posted 12 stories this year. I have 28 unfinished/incomplete/abandoned stories hanging around on my harddrive.

Prince of Tennis

Still my main fandom for 2006 and it still seems to be all about Hyoutei. ^_____^

Love Fool
Comments: Yuushi/Gakuto if you count the rapid dissolution of a fragile relationship a pairing. I do ^_____^. They never feel so together as when I just smashing everything to shit.

Something Stronger
Comments: Yuushi/Gakuto. One day someone is going to review with the following comment. 'Please stop writing in second person.' My answer is, 'Sorry, I can't.' I kind of threw everyone for a loop by chucking Sakaki in there. I have this other (unfinished fiction) where Gakuto has severe daddy replacement issues... much like I have an unfinished fic where Gakuto has severe mummy issues. Obviously have some issues... don't know how my parents are lovely.

Rites of Passage
Comments: Yuushi/Gakuto
There are things I really like about this one. The heartless physical sex and the obvious dissassociation Gakuto had from Yuushi. I like that a lot.
I also wanted to bring something about teen stress and sucicide. Most of the time the teenagers around me on the trains etc drive me nuts with their over exuberence for life, but when one threw themselves infront of an express train I spent the time during the disruption of public transpornt to wonder, what could make a 15 year old girl feel so helpless. So I prefer to suffer their innane half shouted conversations in the hope that this is what keeps them all out from under the trains. So a bit of a personal one for me.

The Weight of Lives
Comments: Yuushi/Gakuto
This is definitely about there being no right answer and no clear path and what can motivate someone to take an action that they know will betray and hurt everyone they know. I guess therefore it's about a selfishness, that if you really want it you have to have it. I like that nasty sort of selfishness I looked at it 2005 as well in Seasons Between.

A Reason for Fighting
Comment: Yuushi/Gakuto
What will make someone fight for something against difficult odds? And what will make the person right next to them just roll over and accept fate? Who knows. Obviously this bothers me on some subconscious level. I see myself as both someone who would fight and someone who won't. Certainly if opposition is weak I'll jump in and try to clinch it, but I wonder what would happeen if the opposition was strong. I have an unfinished sort of flipside to this story where Gakuto fails under the pressure and gives up, but I didn't quite reach the level of heart rending I was looking for.

Achilles Heel
Comments: Yuushi/Gakuto
I few funny one liners I'm okay at, but I just can't seem to sustain a completely amusing fic. So I really think of this one as one of my least crafted works of the whole year. And yet, I just couldn't let go of the idea of Jirou as some boyfriend stealing mastermind, so I posted anyway. I'm glad the intermittant humour carried it throug, but I hope not to subject anyone with such a weak peice of work again... ^_____^

Bunnies Heads Up Kittens Tails First
Comments: Atobe/Jirou
The whole plot was extremely weak, but it was a valentine's day fic so I give it a little leeway. But I do think the relationship between Atobe and Jirou at the end was rather sweet. But again not my best work.

Between Normal
Comments: Yuushi/Gakuto
By far my best story of the year. I couldn't believe how it came together. I worte it so easily and the style just felt so solid and it said something I really wanted to say. This fic was my Seasons Between of 2006. Just abstract and yet focused. This style doesn't suit everything, but for this fic it works so well. I suppose any year is worth it if you produce something you're happy with.

Clouds Up
Comments: Yuushi/Gakuto
This is also a favourite of mine. Again dealing with the disconnection of emotion, this time Yuushi's sense of disconnection. I also like how Yuushi isn't really a good or nice person, but you can just tell there's some sort of repressed emotion there, but it's like he can't touch it. I also liked playing Gakuto as athe more insightful character. That he's firey, implusive and maybe has a temper actually means he's more emotionally intellegent rather than immaertu which is often a popular assessement. You know just moving things around.

xXxHolic

New fandom in 2006. I've like several CLAMP works over the years, but I never felt 'supernatural' stuff would be a genre. But I really love the xxxholic manga, I can't explain why, maybe it's that good people aren't always rewarded and bad people aren't always punished, I don't know. But I do know that Watanuki Kimihiro has drawn me in.

Balance & Everything After

Comments: Watanuki/Doumeki, but on the edge between friendship and something else.

Well, I stuck with my strengths. I didn't try to break out any spirits or big story lines, I stuck with what the character is feeling, because that's where my strengths are (going to have to challenge my weaknesses very soon). I like both these peices. I fell that though I didn't originally mean for them to be connected in the readers minds, I think that readers could tell that for me they were connected. I love insigtful readers ^___^ livejournal is chock full of them too. I think that what I like about Doumeki and Watanuki is their spiritual closeness, I feel like they are so cut off from eveyone else in Everything After, living in this endless world with only each other, and the intensity of their feeling doesn't come from a physical place though they may express it that way.

Ouran High Host Club

This was a surprise to me. There were twins and Hunny and Mori all ripe fanfic boys love material and in the end I wrote Kyoua. Gentle Vices Not just Kyoua, but Kyoua gen fic. I just found the tiny tidbits dropped about his family so obssessive.

On the list for 2007...

I have two certain plans.

1. An Atobe/Kabaji fic. It needs to be done ^_____^
2. A long fic of Aotbe/Jirou, working on a nice insightful Jirou

Possiblities...

1. More xxxholicI'm thinkin that Watanuki and Doumeki have been left with the shop and have slipped outside of time as Yukko lived.
2. Harry Potter Fandom
Maybe something to fill in the between places in Empty Places That fic was so cerebral for me I'm sure it wasn't making sense on the otherside.
Other character options for me are 1. Severus Snape childhood vingettes (there's a poison tea thought that keeps bugging me) 2. Draco Malfoy as the schemeing wonder brat. 3. Millicent Bulstrode, sucks to be ugly, but I betcha someone loves her. Maybe just a little follow up ona 100 word drabble I did.

YAY pixxers... and other Torchwood mutterings

Tue, 26 Dec 2006 02:09:17 GMT

pixxers gave me lj presents, the rumor is each box holds a Yuushi. ^_____^

Mutterings on Torchwood....

Torchwood has been one of those shows that I hear about every now and then, murmured on LJ, by the IT guys upstairs etc. But I never watched it because people kept describing it in the following manner.

'It's a Doctor Who spin-off.'

Using the word spin-off, isn't really going to catch my attention unless I absolutely loved the original show. In this case I never watched the Doctor Who it was a spin-off from.

What they should have said

'If you watch Torchwood you have a 25% chance of a gay kiss in each episode, a 50% chance of a suggestion of gay or bisexualism and in every episode each characters sexuality is completely suspect.'

SOLD!

I'm not even sure how much I like the show, I'm just riding the high of anticipation.

Biggest Work Rant.... over a goddamn mug.

Tue, 19 Dec 2006 10:48:00 GMT

I've really been trying to hold this all in, but my anger is becoming unmanageable.... This is probably the meanest I've ever gotten on LJ!

In the four years I have worked in my position there have been 7 managers. That alone should give you a fair idea of the issues I have been dealing with.

Honestly, I'm probably not the easiest person to work with at the moment, I've had it with all the shit and basically I'm just biding my time until I piss off to Japan next year to be happy (and teach English).

So, if I'm calling the shots a little too bluntly at work for a couple of the managers, I feel they should just get a fucking spine and tell me to my face... as opposed to getting it printed on the side of a mug.

I'm fairly well known for my directness of opinion and my line manager (who I thank the vast emptiness for everyday of work) loves me for it. But the managers above have issues with it. In which case I request they do 1 of the following things in order of preference:

1. Leave the company
2. Stop asking me for my well informed opinion, then I won't tell you how shit your idea is.
3. Say you don't like how direct and honest I am and I'll pretty you up a vacous 'yes, boss.' answer that will make you feel like you were just given the best blow job of your life.

...But don't backstab and snipe me with these petty little slanders, that you are not even brave enough to say to my face but that filter their way through the company grapevine to those who love nothing better than to repeat the insults of others.

And don't do it with a MUG... yes a MUG

Before I get onto the what the mug said, for prosterity I will state that a) Everyone knows I don't celebrate Christmas and b) I don't drink from mugs.

So this woman manager, let's call her Evil Bitch Queen, has to preface the gift with, 'No don't be offended...' so I'm already braced to have to force my self to say something nice and non-commital. Then she has to deflect the so obvious insult by saying, 'I bought this for you when you were stressed about school.' Great a situation gift that is no longer relevant. Then she give me the mug.

I open it and it says...

drama queen

...yep, words I have only ever spoken with a venomous tongue.

First I would like to note that the following things which I have done, are not the acts of a 'dramma queen':

1. Stonewalling stupid ideas
2. Calling a spade a spade
3. Pointing out the hypocrisy of action verses word
4. Refusing to do work that isn't even remotly related to my position
5. Refusing to allow 2 new points of responsibility to be added to my position without a wage raise
6. Requiring non-direct managers to justify my attendance at meetings that are basically 2 hour sessions of three managers triing to leech my brain for good ideas and then land me with all the work.
7. Pointing out the realities of systems vs. your ideal dream world
8. Pointing out spelling mistakes in documents already posted
9. Correcting the number on a run of 10,000 business cards, cause Evil Bitch Queen can't seem to remember her extension
10. Being cleverer than her in almost everyway

Now, I see how all of these things could ilicit a good dose of meanness, but not one of them is the act of a drama queen. The act of a hateful autocractic insurgent maybe, but then that's not what my mug said was it?

Now lets review her recent actions that can land in the realm of drama queen...

1. Slips of her chair in the most mild and gentle of falls. Claims work cover and is not at work for a week and then only works 1/2 days for the second week.
2. Complains to general manager when I am away sick for a week, with the flu. Is not sufficently chastised when she finds out that I'm in the hospital
3. Visits the second floor one afternoon and when she isn't served in a quick/poliete enough manner returns to the fourth floor to complain verbally for 45 mins then spend the rest of the day writing a letter of complaint to their manager
4. Verbally complains about marketing and how they aren't doing what they want her to and it's taken a month and the project hasn't gone anywhere. Dumps project on me, where I copletely rewrite it and have in turned around with marketing and printed within a fortnight. Is furious with my success, but happy with brochure and proceeds to hand it out to everyone (taking all the credit) including walking into a staff farewell and handing it out to everyone there. What the fuck?
5. Asks me about my (very stressful) course in the mornings, to which I reply, 'It's quite stressful and time consuming.' Then tells my line manager in the afternoon that I was complaining all morning.
6. When she fails to submit the copy for the guide, goes up to marketing and blames in on me not finishing. Little does she know I blind copied the email to her to marketing and they know she is lying.
7. She is asked not to communicated directly with the marketing staff due to previous issues and actually stamps her feet.
8. Is furious with me when I tell her I can't fill in the 28 pages she requires me to type in 40 mins because the template is a PDF. When she asks me to explain I repeat . 'The template is a PDF.' She says 'That's not a reason.' Am I not speking english? It's a fucking PDF. Where's the word document doesn't see to clear up her confusion.
9. She calls me an obstacle when she wants me to write a newsletter (like I'm going to do that) in columns and to add pictures and send it in a html email and I ask her if I supposed to achieve this with Microsoft Word. She replies that she knows I know how to do it, implying that I should take my ass home to my super stylish MAC and used skills that I learnt through hard personal hours of trial and error to benefit her. I think fucking not.
10. Gives backhanded insults disguised as christmas gifts.

So... what should I do with the offensive mug, my ideas have run the gamut. Should I:

1. Smash it and post it to her from Japan. A little childish
2. Smash it and make a brooch out of the piece that says drama queen and give it to her for xmas
3. cross out drama with a marker and place 'bee' so my mug reads Queen Bee. Then use it as much as possible.

[Fic] Love Fool [M, Gakushi]

Sun, 17 Dec 2006 07:18:35 GMT

Title: Love Fool
Author: orpheneritus
Pairing: Gakuto/Yuushi, Oishi/Eiji
Summary: ‘Why are you showing this to me?’ he asks. Gakuto thinks about it for only a moment. ‘Revenge.’
A/N: For pixxers and ataraxistence requests. Though sort of only half of pixxers request.

The apartment is littered with broken glass, the remnants of their last six years together. He pulls the ring from his finger and places it on the kitchen bench beside the rest of the jewellery.

Gakuto steps over the glass and grabs his long winter jacket from the back of the chair. He pulls the fur trim close to his cheek and closes his eyes momentarily at the sensation. As he steps out into the chill of the November nights, he lets the door swing open behind him.

He breaks the false beauty of the snow with his footsteps, revealing below it the rotting leaves of autumn.

He’s taken nothing other than the clothes he’s wearing, and perhaps if it were summer he would’ve walked away with nothing at all. None of it belongs to him.

He smiles and tucks his hands into the trimmed pockets of the coat. It feels better than he thought it would. Walking away. But really he can’t leave without sending a heartfelt parting gift.

Gakuto bites back on the bitter taste that fills his mouth. That he has no friends and no career was his own choice. He gave them up to spend a lifetime with Yuushi. A lifetime of waiting on the sidelines, staying out of sight and being discreet… but with Yuushi.

He made that wrong choice.

But Yuushi… he can’t be allowed to go unpunished. Unpunished for his duplicity, for his skill of character, his charm, his success, his polished façade. Unpunished for fooling him so deeply.

For that he needs to leave a truly thoughtful parting gift. One that will never be forgotten.

Gakuto regards the dilapidated building with a sense of irony. It is not so unlike the apartment he and Yuushi first shared during University. An apartment of idle dreams and wishes. Cheap food, crappy beds, low paying jobs, beer and sex. The memory of happiness is almost unbearable.

They couldn’t have stayed like that forever. Both he and Yuushi are far too greedy. He should’ve left the day Yuushi made good.

And the same thing will happen to the couple that lives in this run down apartment complex. In reality he’s only hastening the inevitable. Though he won’t spare them any pain. The pain is the part that really makes the lesson stick. Ensures that he’ll never be so foolish again.

He knocks on the door, the light in the window revealing that he is home. The door opens to reveal a tall broad shouldered young man. Not really his type, but still more handsome than he remembers him to be.

The young man regards him quietly, running his hand back through his short dark hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says kindly. ‘Do I know you?’

Gakuto steps into the shabby entrance way and closes the door behind him, though it hardly reduces the chill in the apartment. ‘You do,’ he replies slipping off his leather shoes.

The young man cocks his head to the side and regards him intently for a moment before a glint of recognition lights in his eyes. ‘Mukahi Gakuto?’ he questions in disbelief.

‘Oishi Shuichiro, it’s so nice to be reacquainted don’t you think?’ Gakuto holds out his hand and Oishi hesitates momentarily before shaking it heartedly.

‘Of course, it’s wonderful,’ he smiles. In the flash of white teeth Gakuto sees a young man who is a good deal better looking than initial inspection reveals. ‘I almost didn’t recognise you. It’s been six or seven years… your hair’s so long.

‘Yuushi likes it long,’ Gakuto replies, noticing Oishi’s flush of embarrassment, he’s cute really. ‘You’re a doctor?’ he asks surveying the framed photos and documents on the shelves.

‘Not quite, one more year.’

‘I see you and Kikimaru Eiji are still an item.’ It’s typical really. Classic Yuushi. If there’s a redhead around Yuushi will have him. If he’s attached it’s all the more fun. After all Yuushi first got him by stealing him away from his first love interest in Junior High.

Oishi nods, but his smile falls a little. Gakuto sees the signs. ‘Is he working late?’

‘Yeah, he didn’t say when he’d get in. Can I offer you a beer?’ He asks opening the fridge.

‘I’d love one,’ Gakuto replies casually, knowing approximately when Kikimaru would be back. ‘I hope my visit isn’t too unexpected.’

‘A little unexpected… good thing I love surprises,’ he says with a laugh.

Gakuto smiles tightly. ‘I’m not so sure you’ll like my surprise all that much.’

‘What do you mean?’ Oishi asks sinking down onto the futon serving as a couch.

Oishi cries when he sees the photos.

It’s touching. Gakuto didn’t cry. He screamed, yelled and smashed every breakable item in the house, but he never cried. He wonders if that reveals a cruelty in him that he never before realised, or if he just didn’t love Yuushi as much as Oishi loves Kikimaru.

The young man looks up, his eyes red and face tear tracked. He’s so tall and strong its disconcerting to see him so broken.

‘Why are you showing this to me?’ he asks.

He thinks about it for only a moment. ‘Revenge.’

Oishi shakes his head. ‘Do you feel better?’

‘No,’ he replies taking a sip of his cheap beer. ‘I really thought I would.’

‘How long have you known?’

‘For a long time. I just didn’t know who until today. It figures though…’ he replies.

‘What do you mean?’

‘To Yuushi, you’re not worth anything unless someone else wants you. Maybe that’s why he lost interest in me, ‘cause I only wanted to be wanted by him.’ Gakuto places the empty bottle on the table. ‘Do you want another?’

‘No… I never thought you and I would ever have something in common,’ Oishi says bitterly.

Gakuto glances back over his shoulder. ‘And what is that?’

‘Faithfulness.’

Gakuto snorts disdainfully. ‘This isn’t faithfulness, Oishi. It’s foolishness. We’ve been taken for a ride. Traded in for more exciting versions of ourselves,’ he spat.

‘Eiji wouldn’t—’

‘He already did. Maybe you took too long to get rich…’ The comment hung in the dead air momentarily before the beer can whips by only just missing his head. ‘Sensitive topic?’

Oishi doesn’t reply. His head is resting in his hands.

Gakuto pads over and kneels down in front of him resting his hands on his friend’s jean clad legs. ‘You know what always makes me feel better?’

Oishi shakes his head. ‘No.’

‘A blow job…’

He’s tense so it hurts more than usual. Oishi’s taller and heavier than Yuushi, his weight bears into him roughly, driving deeply on each stroke. So deep it hurts. His knees are pressed back to his shoulders as Oishi’s fingers bite deeply into the flesh, bruising reminders into his legs, so that he’ll never forget.

Never forget that it’s over.

Things escalated quickly his casual comment inciting a rage of denial from Oishi that quickly dissolved into him being pushed to his knees.

Undressing Oishi is a revelation of everything different. He is built where Yuushi is lean, rough where Yuushi is soft.

He’s beautiful, and it’s awful.

Oishi’s eyes are wild and teary as he drives himself to a quick climax, fingers tangled in his red hair.

‘Gakuto,’ he whispers. ‘Please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I was too rough. I’m sorry…’

But he can’t stop.

Can’t stop the sobs that squeeze his chest and choke in his throat. The cries that escape his mouth unwanted, un-asked for. The hands that stroke his hair gently, don’t belong to the man he loves. The whispered words of comfort come from a man he hardly knows. He wants nothing more than he wants Yuushi. And still he did it.

He slept with someone who wasn’t Yuushi… and soon Yuushi would know.

The cold blast of air heralds the opening of the door. Eiji looks the same as ever, excepting the look of shock etched into his face. ‘Shuichiro?’

Gakuto quickly brushes aside the last of his tears and stands up from the couch, not bothering to cover himself. He picks up his clothes that lay next to the table. ‘If you’re interested,’ he comments to Eiji. ‘We did this one.’ He flicks the photo off the table and watches it flutter to the floor at Kikimaru’s feet. ‘I’m going to have a shower, now.’

His exit is the cue for a flurry of motion, Oishi struggling to remove the condom as Eiji begins to yell.

The water drowns out the specifics of the argument, but not the volume. He takes his time, somewhat delighting in the irony of using the very soap and shampoo that his lover came home smelling of.

Gakuto steps out of the water and flicks on the fan to clear the air. He jumps when something crashes against the wall, but it doesn’t appear to be aimed at him really. He dries off to the sounds of a relationship dissolving.

His reflection is pale and misty. His long hair dripping water across his shoulders and back, making it impossible to be completely dry. It’s strange how he doesn’t even know the person reflected in the mirror. The roundness of his face dropping away to strong and angular features as grew older. The strictly styled hair of his youth, growing out loose and wild, he didn’t know this person. And that was a problem, as he has to be this person for the rest of his life.

The scissors sit on the second shelf of the cabinet. Gakuto doesn’t hesitate. Allowing the crimson strands to fall unchecked to the floor. He cuts it short. Shorter than he’s ever cut his hair. Unexpectedly he remembers the day Shishido reinvented himself and smiles.

Not bothering to get dressed, Gakuto brushes the last of the hair from his skin. He opens the door to a scene of destruction. Oishi and Eiji are silenced by his exit.

Stepping over the glass he picks up the long jacket and slides it over his naked skin. The feeling of fur against his naked skin hardens him. He could never leave the jacket. He slides on his boots, which feel a little funny without socks, and leaves.

He’s walking to the station, feet crushing the dirty well-trodden snow. Feeling the strange sensations of the cold air against the back of his neck and other intimate places. He hears his name called in a familiar manner.

‘Gakuto! You crazy bastard, stop.’

Yuushi is running down the street. His stylish three quarter length jacket flying behind him, revealing an equally stylish three-piece suit. Yuushi is holding his clothes in his other hand.

Gakuto stops. Maybe because he wants to or maybe because he is psychically unable to deny Yuushi’s presence.

‘What are you thinking?’ Yuushi exclaims. ‘It’s freezing out here.’

Gakuto cocks his head to regard his lover. ‘I’m thinking I want nothing of yours. Except the jacket. I want the jacket.’

‘Gakuto, I don’t give a fuck about the jacket. Where are you going?’ he asks.

‘I think I’m going to visit your boss,’ he replies easily.

‘Are you trying to destroy me, Gakuto?’ he cries.

‘Yes… No, I don’t know. But I am leaving you.’

‘Because I made one little mistake?’ Yuushi asks, pleading forgiveness with his eyes. Just like he used to plead forgiveness for everything else. For the times he had to pretend they didn’t know each other, for the times Gakuto had to stay out of sight, for the times he left early and the times he came home late. ‘I love you Gakuto. You know that. I love you like I love no one else. Don’t you love me?’

It’s sad. Sometimes when a path is chosen, there is nothing to do but walk it. Even if there are regrets. ‘I do love you, Yuushi. I saved myself for you. Gave myself to no one but you… I love you. I just don’t believe a single word you speak.’

‘Gakuto,’ Yuushi pulls him into his embrace. ‘You know me, you know me better than anyone knows me.’

‘No, I don’t.’ Gakuto slips free from his arms. ‘Do you know what’s worse than not knowing your lover, Yuushi?’

Yuushi shakes his head.

‘…not knowing yourself.’