ダリの宝石店

On Holiday

2008-05-05T02:48:29Z

I'm away in the Galapagos and Ecuador until the 27th, so no comments will be answered until after that point. See you all then!

emmayori @ 2008-04-25T20:01:00

2008-04-26T00:02:22Z

Today was the last day of classes that I will ever have at college. That still hasn't completely sunk in yet, and actually, I'm not sure it ever will.

Birthdays!

2008-04-21T02:25:59Z

The 20th of April is a day full of celebration for me. So very very happy birthday to green_icemice, to Marui-kun, and to my beloved Fox. If I didn't have tons of schoolwork to do, there would be art and fic and cake; as it is, I'll have to settle for review sheets and SuperANOVA print-outs and poorly-constructed PowerPoints.

emmayori @ 2008-04-19T22:23:00

2008-04-20T02:25:56Z

Galen and I may have macro-ed the puppy last night. Maybe.

WHY YES, I AM AN ASS, GOOD SIR.

Fic Post: The Long Wait [TeniPuri]

2008-04-17T19:03:53Z

Author reveals are up for subrosa_tennis, and apparently I'm rather good at disguising my writing. As such:

The Long Wait: Oshitari x Atobe, G/PG. In which Oshitari's soap opera hobby becomes Atobe's humiliating addiction. For the subrosa_tennis short fic round. Major thanks to Miss Justine and to repto, who betaed for me.

The Long Wait

There were very few films that could hold Atobe Keigo’s attention for any considerable length of time. He’d been entertained by Hitchcock’s talent for subtlety and suspense, could speak appreciatively of the gritty drama of The Godfather pantheon, and had even been enthralled (if privately) with several of Spielberg’s pieces. The masterpieces of cinema held their charm for Atobe, but his affections had never ventured beyond the realm of the best that the Academy could offer. Indulgence in less-refined movies, or (God forbid) television, was something for uncultured, plebian blue-collars. One would certainly never find the heir to the Atobe fortune watching anything that had received fewer than four stars, never mind trashy talk-shows, made-for-TV movies, or soap operas.

There is, however, always an exception that proves the rule, a realization that brought Atobe little comfort as he fumbled in the pale glow of rolling credits for the next tape of “The Long Wait,” Oshitari’s beloved soap. Originally billed to him as the tragically exquisite tale of a mother’s heartbreaking search for her lost son, Oshitari had neglected to mention the contrived plot twists and complicated love polygons that inevitably landed each and every character on one side or the other of a loaded gun. It was awkwardly-acted and poorly scripted, cliché and ridiculous and the very epitome of low-brow programming.

It was also disgustingly addictive.

The VCR shuddered threateningly as Atobe pressed the next tape into the slot; even the decrepit black box could sense how awful “The Long Wait” really was, and every click and whir it issued forth seemed in protest to Atobe’s obsession with such idiocy.

It wasn’t even really his obsession; it was that swooning moron Oshitari who looped him into this. Atobe’s incredibly magnanimous decision to allow Oshitari to screen the first fifteen minutes of the pilot episode during their Friday night movie date had turned around and bitten him quite squarely in the ass. He could tell from the onset of the opening scene, where the twin sisters Lorrea and Lorrinda were introduced, that “The Long Wait” was cut from the very cloth Atobe had spent his life disdainfully avoiding. That hadn’t stopped those fifteen minutes of film from pervading Atobe’s brain, though, and by the time Oshitari had gone home for the evening, all rational hatred of soaps had been dissolved in a fever of “what happens next?”

Nearly seventy episodes later, Atobe was sitting cross-legged on his bed, quilt coiled around him, still trying to answer that very question. The VCR whirred as the tracking readjusted, pulling at the right edge of the picture as the title music began to waft through the room. It was mortifying, finding himself sitting rapt in the fierce glow of the television, unable even to tear his eyes away long enough to grope around for the bag of chips that had disappeared somewhere in the sprawl of his bed linens. And this could go on for months; Atobe had read on the internet that “The Long Wait” had somehow persisted, writhing in glorious melodrama, for two hundred episodes before ending.

Atobe bit down on his thumbnail and ground his teeth against it. This was the final volume of season two, and the last tape of “The Long Wait” available from the video rental place. If he were ever to truly slake his thirst for this ridiculously awful program, he’d have to find another source for the remaining episodes.

*****

A soap opera addiction is a very serious matter, one that is intense and gripping but also extremely delicate and potentially quite humiliating. It absolutely wouldn’t do for Hyoutei Gakuen’s perfect son to be exposed as a teary-eyed sap with a closet penchant for spectacularly bad television dribble; Oshitari and his miserable bleeding heart had already cornered that market. Atobe’s need for the next set of episodes was matched only by the urgency of discretion, withholding this embarrassment not only from the entire student body, but from Oshitari as well. If that bastard ever caught wind of Atobe’s affair with “The Long Wait,” Oshitari would never let him hear the end of it, and they’d end up watching that badly-acted filth every weekend for the rest of Atobe’s life.

Thank heaven for underclassmen like Ohtori Choutarou. They were easy to bully and eager to please, qualities that made for quick, efficient and, most importantly, quiet dealings. According to Atobe’s extensive sources, Ohtori’s mother had caught the same compulsive disease currently devouring Atobe’s sensibilities and self-respect, but unlike himself, she’d been consumed while “The Long Wait” was still being televised. More importantly, her fanaticism had penetrated her brain so deeply that she had recorded the entire series onto VHS cassettes. Mrs. Ohtori’s collection of “The Long Wait” tapes was Atobe’s ticket to salvation from this soap opera nightmare, and mild-mannered Ohtori had been only too happy to bring him a satchel full of videos.

There was, of course, the issue that a bag full of VHS cassettes did not fit comfortably into the standard issue Hyoutei Gakuen locker. The very fact that Atobe hadn’t considered this earlier was proof that soap operas actually made their spectators even less intelligent; in retrospect, this is probably what had happened to Oshitari, that after years of subjecting his poor brain to such filth, all he could do was keep watching. It would certainly explain Oshitari’s persistent belief that everything Atobe found “embarrassing” was, in his soap-scrubbed mind, “romantic.”

“Why Atobe, what a surprise.” The hand that dropped onto Atobe’s shoulder startled him, and the precious sack of incriminatingly addictive tapes clattered to the ground. Atobe spun on his heel, determined to keep himself between Oshitari and the source of shame now rumpled at his feet. Oshitari had that idiot grin plastered on his face, the one that meant he was about to follow up his greeting with an embarrassing comment.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” Like clockwork. Atobe frowned and squared his hands on his hips. He absolutely did not have the time or the patience to deal with this now.

“I go to school here, you idiot. This is my locker.” Oshitari’s shoulders sagged as he heaved an exasperated sigh. He readjusted the black strap of his schoolbag, shifting the weight off of his clavicle.

“You’re no fun at all,” he lamented playfully, shaking his head. The slow, deliberateness of the gesture splayed Oshitari’s bangs handsomely across his forehead, and Atobe looked away. Oshitari’s uncanny ability to make the disheveled appear dashing made it easy to forget what an ass he really was.

“Did you need something?” Atobe growled, “Or do you just enjoy being an irritation?” Oshitari pressed one hand against the neighboring locker and leaned against it, dropping his face forward and making eyes at Atobe, as though the words spat at him had been an invitation rather than an insult.

“Hmm…” Oshitari purred, “Maybe a little bit of both?” Atobe shoved Oshitari aside but stayed firmly planted in front of his locker. So far, he’d managed to keep the sizable bag at his feet out of the conversation, but the longer Oshitari stood there pestering him, the more likely he’d start asking questions.

“What do you want?” he hissed, narrowing his eyes and tightening his brow. Oshitari took a step back and broke eye contact, tipping his head to one side and running his hand through his hair. This kind of shift, from suave confidence to a more bashful charm, almost always preceded some sort of unpleasant request, and the whole dance drove Atobe simply mad. Oshitari was easy to fend off as an overconfident prick, but Atobe always had trouble refusing this softer side, even when he didn’t have a hundred episodes of shame and dribble bagged at his feet.

“Actually, it’s about Friday night.” Friday night was movie night, when Atobe had first been exposed to the drug-like horror of “The Long Wait.”

“What about it?” There was no way Oshitari could know how Atobe had spent every afternoon since that fifteen-minute snippet of mind-numbing rubbish.

“I wanted to make a movie suggestion.”

Atobe nearly melted from the sheer vibration of relief pulsing down his spine. He snapped his eyes shut and jerked his chin to one side, feeling the air sweep across his cheeks as his hair swayed with his head.

“More trashy soap operas?” Maintaining his classic haughtiness would further divert Oshitari’s attention from what Atobe feared was becoming a prominent eye-sore. “Because I’ll have you know that even ten minutes of something that vile and unpleasant is more than someone of my upbringing should ever have to—”

“It’s Gone with the Wind,” Oshitari interrupted, grabbing Atobe’s arm just above the elbow and tugging him forward slightly. His eyes met Atobe’s, soft with his request. “You’ll enjoy it, Keigo, I promise. It’s a classic, one of the greatest films ever made.”

It was obvious that this was an attempt to appeal to Atobe’s impeccable cinematic tastes while still making a ploy for the romance Oshitari so desperately adored, and normally Atobe’s reply would have been a curt and clever refusal. At that moment, though, Atobe just wanted Oshitari to go away before the contents of Atobe’s bag piqued his curiosity. The fastest way to accomplish that was to just agree, which is exactly what Atobe did.

“Fine, Gone with the Wind. And don’t call me that at school.” Use of Atobe’s first name was a privilege reserved for the privacy of Friday night movie dates only; Oshitari’s free and public treatment of it was not acceptable. “Now if you would kindly get out of my way—”

But Oshitari did not leave. His eyebrows knit with suspicion, and he raised one hand to his chin, contemplative—not a good sign. Oshitari was many things (impetuous, irritating, an insufferable flirt—on days like today, Atobe could write a novel about his numerous “quirks”), but he was not an idiot. Perhaps he’d been too quick to agree, should have made more of an argument, and now Oshitari was apprehensive and was going to start with the questions and the prodding. He was already leering at the crumpled, bagged humiliation Atobe had tried so hard to shove into his locker.

“Atobe, what’re you hiding there…” and Oshitari stooped forward, eyeing the satchel of tapes at Atobe’s feet.

This could have been a moment of tragic exposure, where even a slight fumble on Atobe’s part would make Oshitari even more suspicious of the contents of the bag. However, there must have been a tiny little bit of positive karma that hadn’t abandoned Atobe, and it manifested that moment in a blonde flash of enthusiasm.

“Atobe!” Akutagawa could knock down a wall with the sheer shine of his animated excitement, and Oshitari, as the only thing planted between Atobe and his Number One Fan, was bodily shoved aside.

“Atobe Atobe, you promised we could have a match today at practice!” he squealed. “I’ve been practicing all week and I’m so ready so can we please go play now? Please please please?”

For once, Jiroh’s incessant enthusiasm was welcomed with open arms, and Atobe swung around to face Oshitari, grinning victoriously.

“Sorry, Oshitari, but it’ll have to wait,” he smirked. “My tennis prowess is being called for.” Without giving Oshitari the opportunity to respond, Atobe hoisted his bag of borrowed tapes over his shoulder and took off down the hallway towards the courts, Jiroh in elated pursuit.

*****

Life was not supposed to be this cruel, not to a member of the Atobe family. His soap opera addiction had been unpleasant and unfair, and Oshitari’s unintentional mockery was salt in a sore wound, but this was the final insult. Two episodes away from the finale, where estranged mother and son would finally be reunited and Atobe would be free of this wretched program, and what did Ohtori’s tapes give him? An out-of-focus home video of Ohtori’s third-grade piano recital, complete with note-by-note commentary by the obnoxious man recording.

“I’m terribly sorry, Atobe-san!” Ohtori’s voice quivered pathetically through the speaker on Atobe’s cellphone. “I really didn’t know! My father must have taped over the final episodes and forgotten to re-label the tape.”

Unacceptable, this was just unacceptable. This wasn’t how the world worked for Atobe; those episodes should be quivering across his TV, delighted that such an incredible being would stoop even momentarily to the level of such an indignantly melodramatic series. To have the final two episodes withheld from him at this moment of humiliating desperation was almost more embarrassing than being addicted to such a terrible series in the first place.

On the other end of the line, Ohtori, clearly mortified at his senpai’s silence, had begun babbling in an effort to break the frustrated tension.

“If you would like, I could ask Shishido-san. I know his mother also—”

“No,” Atobe interjected, too quickly. Shishido had been on the warpath since the whole incident with his hair had been leaked to the other members of the tennis club. Though Atobe really didn’t see what the problem was (“Diva” really was a very appropriate and clever nickname for Shishido), what he needed right now was the series finale of “The Long Wait,” not that obnoxious prick telling him how lame he was for watching soaps. Atobe was already fully aware of how embarrassing his obsession was; he didn’t need Shishido rubbing his nose in it.

“Atobe-san—”

“I’m sure Kabaji will be able to get the episodes for me,” Atobe lied. It was because, for once, Kabaji hadn’t been able to provide what he’d been commanded to acquire. In retrospect, Atobe had been secretly glad that Kabaji had failed in this particular endeavor; any errand Kabaji ran was unquestionably assumed to be at Atobe’s request, and discovery of the nature of this task would have put Atobe’s reputation at greater risk than if he procured the tapes himself.

The speaker on Atobe’s phone hissed as Ohtori sighed into his cell.

“Actually, I think Oshitari-senpai has the entire series on DVD.” Of course Oshitari had the complete collection; he blubbered over its seductive brilliance for at least twenty minutes every time Atobe set foot in his room. “Maybe you could ask him if you could borrow it?”

Ohtori really wasn’t very bright, was he; what he was suggesting was tantamount to announcing that yes, Oshitari had been right, and “The Long Wait” had been nothing short of irresistible. He’d rather get the tapes from the Diva.

“I’ll consider it.” Atobe clapped his phone shut and tossed it onto his desk. There really wasn’t much to consider, actually; the last tape had ended on a bitter cliff-hanger, the orchestra swelling as the heroine, silhouetted against the bright spotlight of a docked ship, raised her smoking gun as the dark pulse of her past in the drug-runner underworld loomed ominously like fog. Atobe absolutely had to know what happened, and it was looking like asking Oshitari was going to end up being the only option. Here he was, between the metaphorical rock and hard place, which, considering the miserable affliction he’d come down with the past week, should perhaps not have been so surprising.

Movie night was tomorrow. Maybe Atobe could sneak the DVDs out of Oshitari’s room while he wasn’t looking, and somehow replace them before he noticed they were missing. Or maybe some benevolent deity would strike Atobe dead before his infatuation with “The Long Wait” was revealed.

Or alternatively, that same deity might also take a stab at Oshitari, thus leaving his DVD collection unguarded, so Atobe could finish the series without fear of discovery. Yes, that sounded like a good scenario. Atobe would get Kabaji working on it first thing in the morning.

*****

As it turned out, it didn’t matter that Gone with the Wind might have been a cinematic masterpiece worthy of Atobe’s approval; his mind was still trapped in the final frame of the third-to-last episode of “The Long Wait.” He’d already suffered for nearly thirty-six hours in this state of suspense; another thirty-six might permanently damage his incredible intellect and psyche. If not knowing didn’t drive him completely insane, the stifling inability to acquire those two damn episodes surely would. There had to be an answer, and sitting cross-legged on the bed in Oshitari’s room, Atobe was turning his brain inside-out looking for it.

It wasn’t until Oshitari paused the movie halfway through that Atobe realized just how distracted he’d been; not only had he somehow missed nearly an hour and a half of the film, but also the weight of Oshitari’s arm draped over his shoulder.

“You,” Oshitari said accusingly, poking Atobe in the ribs with one hand while tightening the arm wrapped around him, “are not paying attention. At all.” There really was no escape, but Atobe’s pride wouldn’t roll over quite that easily. He jabbed his elbow into Oshitari’s ribs and scooted back, out of immediate reach.

“It’s exactly the kind of tedious, tacky garbage I’ve come to expect from you,” he spat, hoping the confidence in his voice would conceal the fact that Oshitari was completely right, and he had not been paying attention.

From his new position, though, Atobe could now see what Oshitari’s mop of hair had previously been blocking: the shiny array of DVDs squatting temptingly on the shelf beside his bed. “The Long Wait” occupied a considerable niche, glinting teasingly in its glossy red cases, commanding rather than begging for Atobe’s immediate attention. He wouldn’t even need to take them all, just to pilfer that last DVD, maybe while Oshitari was in the bathroom. Then Atobe would be free of this wretched addiction and could move on to more important things, like exacting revenge on Oshitari for so afflicting him in the first place.

Unfortunately for Atobe and his grand plans, he’d neglected to account for Oshitari’s observant nature (though at this point, even that brainless ass Sanada would probably have noticed how intensely he was staring). An intrigued purr rumbled in Oshitari’s throat as he followed Atobe’s gaze to where it had attached itself firmly to the shelf of DVDs, and he turned back to face Atobe fully, confused delight apparent on his face.

“You watched it,” he stammered, voice a mixture of glee and disbelief. Atobe snapped his gaze from Oshitari’s collection and folded his arms crossly.

“I did no such thing.” Which was the wrong answer, of course; an innocent individual would have feigned ignorance, perhaps complained that Oshitari was being weird and that he’d like to go home now so send for the driver. Atobe knew this, which meant Oshitari also knew it.

“You did, you watched ‘The Long Wait,’” he said pointedly, leaning forward to examine Atobe’s expression. “And you liked it!”

“I absolutely did not!” Atobe huffed. “I can’t imagine how anyone would enjoy such a convoluted, unbelievable story, with ridiculous characters and absurd scenarios and just completely over-the-top—”

And suddenly, it was too late. Oshitari, that sly bastard, had baited him, and Atobe had taken it. Temporarily defeated, Atobe closed his mouth and sat back down on Oshitari’s bed. For his part, Oshitari, victorious but still apparently confused, did not gloat or tease but kneeled down in front of Atobe, folding his arms across Atobe’s knees.

“I don’t know what to say,” he grinned, “but I’m touched, Keigo.” His eyes lit up with a glint of sincerity that stole uncomfortably into Atobe’s gut, making his skin burn where the pressure of Oshitari’s arms pressed the fabric roughly against his body.

“I didn’t watch it for you,” Atobe grumbled, folding his arms and trying to look away.

“But you watched it.” The words hung in the air as Atobe fumbled for a response. The cat was already hopelessly out of the bag, and though he’d already lost a considerable amount of his dignity, Atobe was not about to walk out of this without a victory, no matter how tiny. He tightened his shoulders and glared down at the far corner of Oshitari’s quilt, focusing pointedly to avoid looking Oshitari in the eye.

“Not all of it. The last two episodes didn’t work when I tried to watch them.” The ball was in Oshitari’s court now, and as Atobe had expected, he climbed onto the bed and reached past Atobe for the DVD shelf. Settling down next to him, Oshitari squared the final DVD of “The Long Wait” in his hands, offering it almost encouragingly. Atobe snapped it from Oshitari’s grasp and pressed it into the quilt beside him.

“You’re welcome,” Oshitari prodded, and Atobe glared at him momentarily. It was hard to stay irritated with Oshitari for any length of time, especially on movie night, and as Gone with the Wind flickered back to life across the television screen, Atobe relaxed. After tonight, he’d be through with “The Long Wait,” and he’d managed to keep his suffering relatively undercover.

“You’d better not say anything to anyone about this,” he muttered as Oshitari closed the meager distance between them, dropping one arm around Atobe’s waist.

“There are worse things than watching soap operas,” he sighed. There was a tug at Atobe’s hip as Oshitari hooked his thumb into a belt loop.

“Like?”

“How about dying?” Even without making eye contact, Atobe could hear the slight twinge of exasperation that must have been apparent on Oshitari’s face. Time for a little revenge.

“I’m quite certain I’ve died quite a bit as a result of this garbage,” Atobe said morosely, prompting a groan that caught in Oshitari’s throat, and he stopped the movie again.

“Come on Atobe, it wasn’t that bad.”

“…maybe an excruciatingly painful death,” Atobe replied, trying for a pensive tone of voice but carrying a revealing degree of enjoyment. “Alone, with sharp sticks piercing through your entire body.” Oshitari laughed nervously.

“Are you saying that’s worse than watching soaps, or what you’re planning to do to me for getting you hooked?”

That little twinge of discomfort in Oshitari’s voice was rather pleasing, and Atobe couldn’t suppress a smirk as he reached across Oshitari’s lap for the remote control. Gone with the Wind had to be almost three-quarters over, but Atobe was feeling charitable, so he pushed down on the menu button with his thumb and restarted the movie. As the opening credits began to appear onscreen, Atobe leaned into Oshitari’s shoulder.

“Maybe a little bit of both.”

-fin-

AN: "The Long Wait" is a /real/ soap! My aniki repto became addicted to it while he was in Tanzania last year, and yes, it really is as bad as Atobe makes it out to be.

Still not dead. Mostly.

2008-04-16T13:28:33Z

It's been a while since I made a post, so here's an update. A lot of really good stuff has been happening in my life lately, and I'm still pretty busy with school. K-chan and I finished our Vertebrate Zoology experiment (we cleaned it all up yesterday) and just have to crunch our data and write it up. I'm down to three tests left until the end of the semester, and three papers (one of which is, granted, twenty pages minimum, but hey).

The job front has been less than promising. I finally heard back from SoundWaters, where I'd applied to do environmental education, and I didn't get the job. Basically, I'm not sure anymore where I'm going to end up after graduation, and that thought is kind of frightening. I do feel that my not getting this job is a sign of some sort, and I hope that the meaning will become clear to me soon.

On a better note, now that comps are over, I've had more time for a social life, and in addition to spending more time with friends, I've actually started seeing someone (who, ironically, I met through comps study group). He has been a very positive influence on me, getting me up and out of the house to go do things, and I've been having a great time.

This is a time of great change in my life, but honestly, for the moment, I'm enjoying it. And that in itself is noteworthy.

Ur exams, I passes dem with honors.

2008-04-08T21:30:11Z

!!!!!

I PASSED COMPREHENSIVES WITH HONORS!

There will be celebratory semi-drunk bowling tonight!

emmayori @ 2008-04-08T00:48:00

2008-04-08T04:53:17Z

And just when I have resigned myself to be something less than what I'd so wanted, the wind changes and with it my luck. I cannot even begin to describe what has gone on today, but suffice it to say that I cannot remember a time when I have been so elated.

emmayori @ 2008-04-06T20:02:00

2008-04-07T00:44:14Z

reddwarfer has given me an excellent and much-needed distraction.

1. Reply to this post, and I will pick four of your icons.
2. Make a post (including the meme info) and talk about the icons I chose.
3. Other people can then comment to you and make their own posts.
4. This will create a never-ending cycle of icon squee!

She selected:

Sell your brother for fun and profit!
This is an image from one of Kousaka Tohru's "Okane ga Nai" series (from one of her doujinshi, but I can't remember which one). This series is just so terribly ridiculously disturbing, and features the sale of siblings in order to alieviate gambling (if I remember correctly) debts. Sadistic Mode is Kousaka's circle name, by the way. I can't remember why I iconed this (it's one of the oldest ones I have), but I do know that I'm kind of morbidly entertained by this series.

DO YOU EAT CRABS?
This is an image from L'Arc~en~Ciel's "SMILE" album. I'm not even that big of a fan of the album, but I thought the photos from it were just fantastic. I was lucky enough to see L'Arc in concert a few years ago, and Hyde's little spurts of English (such as asking the entire Baltimore stadium if they ate crabs, because earlier that day, he ate two) will make me giggle obnoxiously until the day I die. This is one of my simpler icons, I think, but I really like it (perhaps because of that).

Yay death!
Oh X. This icon is of Seishirou, from that monster set of CLAMP creations, "Tokyo Babylon" and "X" (specifically the "X" TV series). Seishirou and Subaru were one of the first really canon pairs I liked, and their relationship (both in the canon and the fanon) is still something I like to talk ~~and joke~~ about. Speaking of which, I should really do some fic here, or at least a drabble. Hmm.

Nikoniko Marukkiri
This is one of many icons I have from a TeniPuri doujinshi; I'm pretty sure this is from a TeniPara anthology, but honestly, I don't remember. It's Marui and Kirihara, who are my OTP. This may be my most-used icon; it's happy and cute and really simple.

Hope that was entertaining! I look forward to playing with all of you :D

This is just not my week. Also fic stuff.

2008-04-03T16:02:45Z

It's official: senioritis has hit me like a Knuckle Serve to the face. Now that comps are over (I hope), I'm finding it so difficult to focus on working. Which is bad, considering that the semester's still got a good amount of homework with my name on it.

1. Animal Behavior essay (twenty pages on diadromous fish)
2. Animal Behavior exam #3
3. Japanese Arts exam #3
4. Japanese Arts final exam
5. Vertebrate Zoology experiment
6. Vertebrate Zoology write-up
7. Galapagos seminar paper (eight pages on fisheries)

The Vert Zoo project is a real monster; K-chan and I have really bit off quite a bit here. This weekend, we have to weigh eight hundred tadpoles, then we have to do it again in about a week and a half. After that, there's the write-up, which is going to be just all kinds of unpleasant.

Also, not included on the list are all the things I have to do that /aren't/ related to my classes, namely packing up my house and the like.

In other news, I have a couple of fic deadlines right around the corner (megane_o_hazusu stuff and Bunta's birthday come to mind right off the bat, but rikkai_exchange needs some serious attention before I head off to the Galapagos), but a miserable case of writer's block has hijacked my brain. Is anyone interested in doing a flash-fic session with me sometime next week? It worked like a charm last time, and was tons of fun to boot. Leave me a comment or a message if you're interested.

emmayori @ 2008-04-02T10:05:00

2008-04-02T14:24:11Z

So I may or may not be posting from my Vertebrate Zoology class. The only reason I say "may not" is because there is a very good possibility that I am actually still asleep, or that I have fallen asleep in Vert Zoo and am dreaming about posting. That is how exhausted I am.

Saturday was Earth Hour, so to celebrate, Rachael, Leah and Evan came over and we all played cards by candlelight. For us, it actually ended up being Earth Two Hours, since we were having so much fun that we neglected to check the clock. I was sad to find out that most of my friends didn't know about Earth Hour, particularly since my school prides itself on being very Green. I will make more of an effort to make people aware next year.

Sunday, Miss Justine and I finally got to pick up where we left off in AniPuri (we were smack in the middle of the Hyoutei training camp and hadn't had time to watch for the last three weeks). I really miss having new geniuses to read every week; it gave me something to look forward to, something I could be excited about. Lately I feel like that sort of passion is missing in my life, and the result is, I suppose, exasperation and exhaustion.

Sales Post!

2008-03-29T02:43:03Z

I'm going to be moving in a couple of months, and am really hoping to get rid of some stuff before the Big Day. So, it's a doujinshi, artbook, and other fun anime stuff garage sale!

Please read before commenting! At this time, I am accepting Paypal only. I'm fine shipping internationally. If you see something you're interested in, leave a comment with your zip code and country. I'll get back to you with a shipping quote, and if you're fine with that, I'll send you an invoice via Paypal. I usually ship 1-2 days after I've recieved payment. All prices are listed in US dollars.

Regarding doujinshi marked as "18+" - I will check your LJ profile for your birthdate, and if you're not over eighteen, sorry.

That said, please take a look! If you have questions, feel free to leave a comment, message me, or email me at yukimachi [at] gmail [dot] com.

Artbooks:

Arc the Lad Oficial Chara Visual Collection
106 pages - $10

Azuma Mayumi Second Treasure
Star Ocean Illustrations
79 pages - $15

Eita Mizuno Spiral
Spiral ~Suiri no Kizuna~ Illustrations
87 pages - $20

Minekura Kazuya - Salty Dog I
Saiyuuki Illustrations
95 pages - $30

Minekura Kazuya - Salty Dog II
Saiyuuki, Bus Gamer Illustrations
95 pages - $30

Oda Eichirou Color Walk I
One Piece Illustrations
107 pages - $10

Doujinshi:

Hikaru no Go:

HIKAGO 2005
PURE HEART CLUB
Hikaru x Akira
17 pages - $6

Inuyasha:

Ground Zero
Ryuzaki Raiya [Q's]
Miroku x Inuyasha
30 pages - $6

Naruto:

Butai no Kairaku
Tsuta Hiroko/Mizushima Yui [Iikamoshinnai]
Naruto x Sasuke, Kakashi x Iruka, Kabuto x Sasuke
18 pages - $5
18+ only!
ON HOLD

Deep French Kiss
Tsuta Hiroko/Mizushima Yui [Iikamoshinnai]
Naruto x Sasuke
30 pages - $6
18+ only!

Lovely?
Tsuta Hiroko/Mizushima Yui [Iikamoshinnai]
Naruto x Sasuke, Kakashi x Iruka
38 pages - $6
ON HOLD

SASUKE vol. 4
Nattsu
Kakashi x Sasuke
~15 pages - $5
ON HOLD

I also have a /ton/ of doujinshi anthologies, including many of the Guruguru Paradise and Shinobi no Okite series. If you're interested in any of those, I'd be asking between $3-5 each (depending on the shape of that volume), and would be happy to provide a list for interested parties.

Shaman King:

Hoshi no Utau Melody
Majime Takako
Silva x Yoh
~25 pages - $6

Love, Peace & Trance
LAIKA
Gen, all characters
~15 pages - $5

Prince of Tennis:

creamy style
Sakurazaka Haru/Yamada Mitsubachi [Dokudoku Strawberry]
Tezuka x Fuji
50 pages (2/3 is novel) - $6

Saiyuuki:

Let it Go
Shinora Sakami [Warau Datenshi]
Sanzo x Goku
49 pages - $7

Clear Folders:

DNAngel Clear Folder - $2

Full Metal Alchemist Folder and Shitajiki Combo - $3

Full Metal Alchemist Folder - $2

Keychains and Charms:

DiGi Charat PKO fastner charm - $3

Full Metal Alchemist keychain, Roy Mustang - $3.50

Naruto Netsuke Charms - $4 each
Sets are Naruto/4th Hokage, Sasuke/Sakura, Kakashi/Iruka, Shikamaru/Kiba, and Lee/Gaara

Naruto fastner charms - $2 each
Characters are Sakura, Kakashi, Gaara, Lee, Naruto, and Iruka

Shitajiki: All are $1 each

Ah! My Goddess I

Ah! My Goddess II

Harukanaru Toki no Nakade

Back! And still mostly alive!

2008-03-28T22:42:13Z

Senior Comprehensives are officially finished (barring, of course, an unexpected no-pass on one of the short answer questions), so I'm back from hiatus! And with only four weeks of school left, I hope to have a lot more time for fandom-related stuff. Either way, not sure if anyone's interested, but I want to be able to remember this stuff in the future, so here's how the examinations broke down:

Long Answer:

Our long answer questions turned out to be one on central dogma (DNA to RNA to proteins) and one on evolution; as I'm a macrobio person, I picked the evolution one. It was basically a question on how speciation happens, and wasn't very difficult at all. I think I wrote about six or seven pages, and I'm almost 100% certain that I passed. Really, any macro person who didn't know how to answer that question must have been really checked out during almost every class they've taken here--we talk about speciation in /every/ macrobio course.

Short Answers:

Oh man. The short answer questions are the ones we got in advance (though they didn't tell us which four of the sixteen they gave us would be selected), and they were really hard this year. Here's the breakdown:

Rubisco, the enzyme involved in carbon fixation in plants, in the most abundant protein on the planet, and arguably one of the most important. However, rubisco can also cause photorespiration to occur when oxygen competes with carbon for fixation. What is photorespiration? Under what environmental conditions is photorespiration especially costly to plants? What are the biochemical pathways and specific energy costs involved in carbon fixation and photorespiration by rubisco? What specific adaptations have evolved which reduce the incidence of photorespiration?
...I really hate photosynthesis. It's so complicated, and there are so many compounds with long, hard-to-remember names. Still, I somehow managed to write three pages on this one, and am pretty sure I got the pass. I will say, the adaptations (C4 and CAM pathways) are pretty cool; C4 plants fix carbon differently, and CAM plants build up organic compounds in their leaves during the night to power the Calvin Cycle during the day.

The role of carbohydrates as fuel is well studied in cell biology, often at the exclusion of studying other roles for carbohydrates. What are some of the non-metabolic roles of carbohydrates? Discuss both intracellular and extracellular oligosaccharides and polysaccharides.
As much as I loathe cellular biology, this wasn't a bad question at all. I got to write about the glycocalyx, which is the carbohydrate coating on the outside of cells and (among other things) is how the ABO blood type system works. I also talked about ground tissue (glycosaminoglycans specifically), post-translational modifications via glycosolation, and cellulose. Not too shabby, considering microbio stuff doesn't really interest me.

Competition (both past and present) has been viewed as playing a primary role in determining community structure. Many ecologists disagree rather strongly and point to other factors like predation and disturbance. Review the arguments pro and con for each view. Use the concepts of “equilibrium” and “non-equilibrium” communities effectively in your essay.
I swear there was a collective groan from the entire room when they announced this question. This is a /really difficult/ set of concepts; I ended up writing three full pages (short answers are usually 1.5-2.5 pages) and I still feel like I barely scratched the surface (and I know what I'm talking about). Basically, predation and competition are equilibrium models because they keep the communities stable over time, while disturbance is non-equilibrium because it causes change in the community. It's really more complicated than that, but that's the basic gist. Either way, everyone was really mad at Brent (who undoubtedly came up with this awful question).

One of the key characteristics of arthropods that is credited with their biological success is the exoskeleton. What are the functions of the exoskeleton and the structural components that allow for such amazing diversity of form? What are the major constraints imposed on animals with an exoskeleton?
This was a ridiculously easy question; I think it took me maybe twenty minutes to write two full pages. All you really have to talk about is protection and support as functions, protein-chitin ratios and tagmentation for diversity of form, and locomotion and ecdysis for constraints. Piece of cake.

Orals are supposed to be the "fun" part of comps, where you get to meet with a scientist from another institution and have a half hour session answering questions for them. You also get to present a five minute bit on some research that particularly interests you; I talked about large sharks as apex predators on the eastern seaboard of the US, and about how they maintain the diversity of the lower trophic levels in their communities. My oral went incredibly well; I answered every single question asked of me correctly, and I think my examiner really liked my presentation (she asked a lot of interesting questions about it). Peter (who was observing for the department) said I did a really excellent job.

So that was comps. I've still got a lot of work left for the semester (there will probably be a list up here at some point...), but for now, I'm semi-relaxing and starting Spring Cleaning! Which, because I am me, I am really excited about.

This is all very Scientific. Really.

2008-03-27T17:29:19Z

Still on hiatus until orals are over Friday afternoon, but as I've said many times before, stress makes idiots of us all. As such, courtesy of our five hour study session yesterday afternoon:

Graphs really do make everything more official. Also, to quote Brent Smith, "life at carrying capacity sucks."

Comps report on Friday afternoon.

Hiatus

2008-03-20T14:26:51Z

Back from visiting the Coast with repto, Kathryn, and Miss Justine, but even though I'm still technically on vacation, there's still a lot of work to be done. Biology Senior Comprehensives are all next week; that's long answers on Tuesday, short answers on Wednesday, and orals on Friday. While I'm in better shape than some people in terms of studying, I still have a long way to go. That being said, I'm on hiatus until the last few days of March.

Once Comps are finished, I hope to have time for more fic and scanlations, and I'm also planning on doing a sales post to clear a little space off my doujinshi and CD shelves.

I'll miss you all as I'm studying and taking tests. Wish me luck!

Fic Post: Truffled [TeniPuri]

2008-03-13T18:08:21Z

Happy [early] White Day everyone! To celebrate, a ficbit that probably should have been finished/posted for Valentine's Day, but come on. It's never too late to feel the Love. Posted a day early because I'll be in the car all day tomorrow.

Truffled: Marukkiri, PG-rating. Kirihara's Valentine's Day plans are foiled by chocolate not once, but twice. For the "Valentine candy mishaps" prompt on megane_o_hazusu.

Truffled

Jackal-senpai had warned him what Valentine’s Day would be like; he’d painted an excruciatingly vivid picture of second-year Marui’s unabashed quest for as many candy handouts as possible. This meant that there would be bags of sweets to carry and swooning girls to fend off as gently as humanly possible; a love-struck female student was still a Rikkaidai student, and was thus capable of summoning up the same fearsome spirit that made their tennis club regulars so terrifying.

Though he’d have to tread lightly, Kirihara was mostly prepared for that part. He’d had several months of practice teaching himself the restraint necessary to avoid chasing off or injuring anyone who came near his Marui-senpai with anything wrapped in ribbons or red paper. The plan was just to keep his head down long enough for classes to end for the day, and then it would be Kirihara’s turn to bask in the Valentine’s Day glow.

What Jackal-senpai had conveniently neglected to mention, however, was that Marui generally had his own evening plans on Valentine’s Day, plans that had nothing to do with the dinner and movie on which Kirihara had his heart set. Marui-senpai’s intentions appeared not to include Akaya at all, actually, and seemed to consist entirely of ingesting as many pieces of Valentine chocolate as physically possible.

“Senpai, I really want to see this movie.” And it starts in twenty-five minutes, Kirihara wanted to add, glaring at his watch for what must have been the fifteenth time. None of this seemed to concern Marui, who was sitting cross-legged on his bed, peeling the red foil off of yet another chocolate heart. At least one of them wasn’t going to go hungry, Kirihara thought wistfully as he watched his senpai’s teeth close over the swell of chocolate; their dinner reservation had expired over two hours ago.

“Would you chill out? We’ll be fine,” Marui groaned, rolling not only his eyes but his entire head. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you? Niou put itching powder in your pants again?”

No, Niou-senpai hadn’t been anywhere near Akaya’s clothing since that extremely unpleasant incident, and didn’t Marui-senpai understand that Valentine’s Day wasn’t about gorging yourself on the two pillowcases of loveless candy while ignoring the person who adores you more than anyone else? Kirihara ground his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. At least the neglected dinner plans hadn’t cost him anything; the tickets burning away in his back pocket had left him effectively impoverished for the next two months. It was supposed to be worth it, though, when in the dark privacy of the theatre Marui-senpai would entwine Akaya’s fingers with his own. At this rate, though, the only darkness would be Kirihara’s mood when Marui slipped off into a chocolate-flavored food coma.

“Senpai, do you even want to go?” Kirihara asked, standing up and squaring his hands on his hips. If Marui was going to be an ass about this, Akaya was going to call him on it.

“How can you even ask me that!” Marui spat accusingly. “Of course I want to.” He shifted on the bed, dropping his arm across his stomach and pursing his lips together uncomfortably before looking up at Kirihara pathetically. It was an expression Kirihara was unhappily familiar with; it came up any time their date money came from Akaya’s wallet.

“It’s just that my stomach is…well…” Marui finished his thought by rubbing his hand in a short round of circles on his abdomen, looking pleadingly and pitifully at Kirihara. Oh, he really should have seen this coming, even without any warnings from Jackal-senpai. Even Marui-senpai the Bottomless Sweet Pit could only handle so much chocolate before his insides coiled and contorted in protest.

“So no movie.” He didn’t even bother to disguise the frustration in his voice. Marui looked up at him again sweetly but unapologetically.

“No, not tonig—hey, where’re you going?” Marui had brought this on himself and on his unwilling boyfriend, and if Akaya was lucky, he could make it to the theatre, catch the movie by himself, and get home without taking out his frustrations on some unfortunate bystander. If he was really lucky, he could do it without crying.

“Hey wait, don’t you want your gift?” Kirihara’s hand stopped just short of the doorknob, that last word catching sharply and enticingly in his ears. He turned away from the door, the tight agitation in his shoulders softening and slipping out of him.

“You…got me a gift?” He shouldn’t have sounded so desperate and shocked, but Kirihara really couldn’t help it. The thought of Marui-senpai carefully selecting some trinket with the single and specific intent of giving it to Akaya made his head feel light and his knees rubbery. Marui laughed and patted a spot on the comforter beside him.

“Of course I got you something,” he said as Kirihara crawled onto the bed beside him. “It’s Valentine’s Day.” Marui leaned forward as if to stand up but stopped short, hand clapping down on his stomach as it growled threateningly.

“I, ah…it’s on the desk,” he said sheepishly. It could have been on the far side of the moon for all Kirihara cared, and the few meters to and from the desk disappeared in his eagerness. He hopped back onto the bed with the tightly-wrapped gold square, vice-grip nearly burning his fingerprints deep into the foil.

Kirihara must have sat like that for longer than he’d realized, with his prize clutched against his chest, because Marui leaned into him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“You gonna sit there all night with that idiot grin on your face, or are you planning to open it at some point?” The thought of opening the gift had scarcely occurred to him; just possessing it seemed like more than enough, but Kirihara pulled up the thin strip of tape along the pressed side of the box. Marui’s chin dropped against his arm as he peered over Kirihara’s shoulder, bringing a swell of heat up Akaya’s spine.

Beneath the gold paper was a simple but stylish cardboard box, and upon removing the top, Kirihara discovered four of the most perfectly round chocolate truffles he had ever seen in his life.

“They’re really rich, so don’t eat them all at once. Fine chocolate like that is meant to be savored.” Marui didn’t bother with his usual foray into extravagant culinary description; such commentary was usually wasted on Kirihara. For once, though, Akaya was entirely in agreement with his senpai. These chocolates were special, and if he ever even considered consuming them, it would be with unparalleled zeal and appreciation.

“So you forgive me about the movie?” Marui asked, rolling his head back so his eyes could meet Kirihara’s. Akaya inhaled deeply and sighed noisily, conceding, and Marui grinned at him.

“And of course,” he added, licking his lips in a manner that filled Kirihara’s stomach with butterflies, “this means you have to get me chocolate on White Day.” Kirihara groaned exaggeratedly as he dropped his arm around Marui’s shoulders.

“Of course, Marui-senpai.” His new mood made him bolder, and Akaya took the opportunity to press a kiss to Marui’s cheek. “You’ll get your White Day chocolate when the movie credits are rolling.” Marui pulled away slightly and narrowed his eyes.

“Still bitter, huh.” Kirihara thought once more of the now-useless movie tickets in his wallet, of the impossibility of a refund and of the next few weeks of leftovers for lunch instead of a freshly-bought bentou. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Maybe just a little.” Marui nodded and reached across Kirihara’s chest, pulling them closer together.

“The chocolate will fix that,” he said, fishing the box of truffles out of Kirihara’s hand and popping it open. “Chocolate fixes everything.”

- fin -

AN: Good God I love those boys. And in case people aren't familiar with it, there's info on White Day here. Poor Akaya really is going to be poor after that.

Reality Check

2008-03-11T14:27:10Z

Break is right around the corner (I'm leaving with repto, Justine, and Kathryn on Friday at noon), but there's still so much to do.

1. Vertebrate Zoology quiz today at 1:00 PM
2. Japanese Arts exam on Thursday at 8:30 AM
3. Animal Behavior exam on Friday at 8:00 AM
4. subrosa_tennis fic due Saturday
5. Senior Comps study group Thursday, 4:00 PM to God Knows When (this is on the list because I'm in charge of organizing it)
6. Finish Comps short answer questions
7. Read and annotate Comps paper
8. Close up the house for the weekend

This is just the stuff that /has/ to get done. The list of stuff I /want/ to get done is twenty-three items long. Buh.

In other news, Kozue is at the vet's office for the next twenty-four hours, being spayed. I hope she forgives me for this.

emmayori @ 2008-03-08T20:28:00

2008-03-09T02:02:57Z

So the Midwest is now buried under about nine inches of snow. Normally, I'd be rejoicing about this, but it's /March/, and I'm really ready for spring to get on with it. Moreover, I hope the snow doesn't follow me back East when I'm home for break in two weeks. It really is beautiful, though, and it's so deep that Kozue can't really run through it effectively; the end result is this cute hopping that I really should get some film of before the snow melts.

The deadline for subrosa_tennis really snuck up on me, and while I'm pretty sure I'll have my bit done by then, it's really shocking how fast the time has just flown by. I signed up before repto got back from Africa, I think, and now it's almost the due date. Buh D:

Perhaps adding ~~significantly~~ to my lack of ficcage lately, I seem to have become horribly addicted to NCIS. Netflix just cannot get the DVDs here fast enough.

One final thought: repto and I figured out today that, unless we bomb our research projects in a most epic fashion, we're done taking exams for Vertebrate Zoology. As graduating seniors, if we have an A in that class, we don't have to take the final. If I really don't have to take that exam, that leaves me two final papers (one eight pages, one twenty pages) and only one exam the last week of classes. Alright!

More Bio-idiocy

2008-03-07T02:11:42Z

repto and I have a huge-ass exam for Vertebrate Zoology at 10:00 AM tomorrow, so we're up studying. And by studying, I mean this:

Me: So teeth are plesiomorphic in amphibians.
Him: No they're not. Fish don't have teeth.
Me: Fish do too have teeth!
Him: Only sharks. And they're not really fish.
Me: ...you think they're whales?
Him: Don't be ridiculous. Everyone knows that whales are fish.

Stress makes idiots of us all.

Fighting Clouds!

2008-03-04T18:54:31Z

Kozue is getting big enough now that, when she and Fox play, they pose a significant threat to the safety of our furniture. I attempted to document such carnage this morning when they knocked over two chairs and the vacuum in the course of about thirty seconds. However, they calmed down quite a bit while I was filming them. Still, it's pretty entertaining, and as megu_megu put it so eloquently, they do look like fighting clouds:

Kozue is so violently alpha, it's a riot. repto and I have been talking about making them jerseys, and while we've known for some time that Fox belongs on Hyoutei (gorgeous and gay), we've recently come to the conclusion that vicious Kozue (who is not above smacking her brother in the face with toys while they're playing) is probably Higa material. Creepy.

MoeTeni and Cupcake

2008-03-03T14:48:52Z

I really need to stop going to bed so late; I'm really tired today, though I suspect that my exhaustion is actually the result of a series of bizarre dreams I had last night.

.

In this episode, my nefarious plans to scanlate with Bunta were foiled by an exam, which we both failed (despite being beautifully attired in classy Moe-tan style). After that, Moe!Bunta and I discovered that Akaya had stolen our scanlation of Akari's "Tenohira" book and had posted it himself! I cried and Moe!Bunta yelled and Moe!Akaya was sorry and we forgave him, because damn, Akaya looks disturbingly cute in the Tempera costume.

These dreams are often highly "interactive" with my real-life environment, which is disturbing in a number of ways. I suppose the scanlation bit is because I'm paused in the middle of two scanlations (including "Tenohira," interestingly enough) and have been prevented from working on them because of comps studying. Which may or may not be represented by Moe!Akaya and his cute little tennis racquet of death. Also by the dream exam.

I'm also still tired from the Open House on Friday, where I worked for nine and a half hours straight. And that was on top of the twelve hours I spent the day before making two hundred and fifty cupcakes. Icidentally, if you've ever wanted to see what that looks like, I've got photos:

We could only fit about three-quarters of the cupcakes on the table in the kitchen, so we ended up having to put them other places too:

And I did have some help cooking:

Mary did these adorable little Smilodon marks on a bunch of the cupcakes (the Open House was partly to celebrate the unveiling of our new Smilodon skeleton).

Rachael (who was not part of the initial Cupcake Brigade but stopped by to help anyway) had recieved a lacross injury a few days prior from our mutual friend Kathryn. Knowing that it was Kathryn who did the inflicting, the whole "lacross injury" thing jokingly starts to sound like the "I fell down the stairs" excuse.

I like this one a little better though:

The whole finished presentation?

Open House photos later today; I'm off to class now.

Fic Post: Family Values [TeniPuri]

2008-02-29T18:10:07Z

Now that the author reveal's done on silentlikestone, I can post this here. This was a pinch-hit fic for theprerogative, starring the Sanada Family Stone. My first stab at the SanaYuki pairing and only my second time writing as Sanada, but I hope she liked it :D And much love for my wonderful beta, repto--you rock. Hahaha I'm lame.

Family Values: Sanada x Yukimura (with a tiny little Marukkiri freeshot), PG rating. Recieving his family's most treasured heirloom forces Sanada to consider the dichotomy of his responsibility to his father and his feelings for Yukimura.

Family Values

There existed, in the Sanada family household, a rather long list of Subjects Not to be Discussed. Included in its volumes were Mrs. Sanada’s penchant for—and unfortunate lack of culinary skill in—Italian cooking, Mr. Sanada’s complete collection of Shirley Temple films, and the family’s annual failed attempts at growing their own vegetables in the small plot of land that made up the Sanada family yard.

The most recent addition to the list, however, was of greater significance: the apparent but as yet unaddressed attraction between the Sanada family’s youngest son and the captain of his tennis team, Yukimura Seiichi. It was an uncomfortably subtle sort of desire, the kind that is intimate only with secret smiles and drawn eyes and is careful to only look and never, ever touch. And though it was thoroughly established that this blooming affection was Not to be Discussed, it was certainly not something that could be easily ignored. The whole business made Yukimura’s frequent visits to the Sanada house awkward, and the family dinners he attended were observed with hawkish discomfort by Mr. Sanada while the rest of the family chewed their food just a little longer than usual.

It was right about the time that Sanada’s father began to express rather vocal concerns about the amount of time he was spending with this Yukimura boy that Genichirou found himself seated formally in his family’s parlor, preparing to receive a family heirloom. His father, eternally gruff and uncomfortable, was kneeling in seiza across from him as though his spine had solidified into steel, and at his side was a large, shapeless silk purse, pinched closed at the mouth with two red, tasseled cords.

In any other household, the passing of an ancestral object might be more ceremonious, with a good deal of pretense and celebration. For the Sanadas, their most treasured heirloom was handed down with only a handful of words.

“This has been in our family for many generations,” Sanada’s father began, “since the time of Meiji. My father gave it to me.” He dropped his chin slightly, allowing his eyes to catch momentarily on his own hands before continuing. “Now I am giving it to you.”

He rose grandly, bracing his entire weight on one powerful leg effortlessly and hoisting the cloth-covered artifact as he stood. Sanada bowed his head, as expected and demanded, receiving the bag in silence. Up close, he could see that, though the exterior was plain, the inside fabric, spraying out of the open lip like silk petals, twisted with intricate embroidery and color. The cool coil of the tie slid away easily between his fingers, and the fabric slipped away from the precious object hidden within.

What the cloth revealed was, unquestionably, a most unexpected sort of heirloom: a non-descript, smooth swirl of plain, gray stone. It wasn’t even a particularly large stone, definitely smaller than Sanada’s head, and moreover, it lacked any sort of emblem or crest signifying its importance to the Sanada family. He wondered if this wasn’t some sort of terrible prank, perpetrated on him by his family for forsaking kendo for tennis, or for failing to obtain perfect marks in English last semester. Surely the prominent and proud Sanada family would not hold a rock as their dearest treasure. Unsure of what to say or even think, Sanada raised his head in confusion and looked to his father for some explanation.

“Remember your responsibilities,” he said gruffly, scowling down at Sanada for one intense moment before stalking out of the room, offering no further clarification. And with that, the Sanada Family Rock, and the expectations it embodied, passed from Sanada’s father to him.

* * *

Despite its overtly unimportant appearance, the Sanada Family Stone did possess a bizarre sort of palpable presence, which Sanada discovered later that evening. Perched at his desk over a vocabulary workbook, he felt himself growing gradually more aware of the company of his new charge. It was strange at first, but after a few hours passed in the surreal silence of being alone in body but not in spirit, the aura of the stone was beginning to alarm him.

It was planted humbly on his futon, still swathed in the silk purse; the more Sanada looked at it without its dark cloth covering, the more uncomfortable he became. His father’s cryptic command had served only to intensify Sanada’s agitation. What were these responsibilities he was supposed to mind, and more importantly, what could they possibly have to do with an ancient piece of rock?

Most distressing of all, this whole business had left an unfamiliar and unpleasant pit in Sanada’s stomach, a pool of some emotion he couldn’t quite place. Trying to pin it down just made it stronger. Sanada had the feeling that it might remain there, lodged unwelcome in his gut like a bout of indigestion, until his fathers expectations regarding the family stone became clear. If, that is, they were ever to be illuminated at all. Sanada hung his head and sighed.

If it really became distracting, he could always ask Yanagi, who was blessed with the uncanny skill of unveiling at the cryptic intentions people often hid behind their words. Sanada sometimes felt that Yanagi’s ability to read people was as dangerous and formidable off the court as Yukimura’s tennis was on.

The image of Rikkaidai’s captain moving across the green clay of the court flooded Sanada’s mind. Yukimura’s play style was the pinnacle of tennis, a sublime fusion of grace and power that would leave opponents awestruck even as they fell defeated. No one else in the world could move like that; Sanada himself had tried, more than a few times, to imitate that inexplicable elegance, but his efforts were in vain. There was only one Yukimura in the world, and there would never be anyone else like him, and though Sanada would never be able to explain why, this knowledge was intensely reassuring.

And oddly enough, as Sanada drifted back from his thoughts of Yukimura, he noticed that the unappealing sensation from earlier had subsided considerably. That was really one of the best things about Yukimura, Sanada thought as he returned his attention to his homework. Just thinking about him made the world a more peaceful place.

* * *

If there had been any doubt in his mind before, Sanada was now absolutely certain that his father (or possibly God, working through his father) was trying to punish him for something so terribly wicked that only a pronounced humiliation could restore the karmatic balance of the universe. Why else would his stoic and sensible father have burst out of the house that morning, family stone in hand, and demand that Sanada fulfill those mysterious responsibilities and take the heirloom to school with him?

It was awkward enough just fitting the thing into his schoolbag, never mind trying to make it as inconspicuous as possible (which, it turned out, was still quite noticeable). The side of his bag extended grotesquely with the stone’s bulk, the flap open in an obvious belch, unable to close around the solid girth. It had this garish, unavoidable presence that simply refused to be shielded or disguised.

As it turned out, he couldn’t even hide the rock in his locker during practice; the mangled padlock on Kirihara’s locker that morning suggested that Niou had somehow recovered his bolt cutters once again, thus removing any possibility of the stone’s safety in Sanada’s own locker. Unattended in the clubroom, it would be defenseless against the cruel mischief of Rikkaidai’s regulars, so Sanada had no choice but to carry it out onto the court with him.

“Genichirou, a moment.” It had taken Yanagi all of fifty seconds to register the source of Sanada’s shame and, in classic Yanagi style, he had chosen to call immediate attention to it. Scuffing distractedly up to where Sanada was observing Marui drill a dozen first years, Yanagi flipped open his notebook and thumbed through it momentarily before addressing Sanada again.

“If you feel that the regiment I have provided you is not sufficient, I will of course reassess it,” he said without looking up from his notes, “but it is not in your best interests to augment your weight training so arbitrarily.” Sanada had been unprepared for this and had expected Yanagi to bluntly ask about the lavish but large silk sac stationed at Sanada’s feet (though in retrospect, this was not so surprising; Yanagi never asked questions himself, but rather forced you to offer up whatever answer he sought by confusing you with long sentences and polysyllabic words).

Sensing Sanada’s confusion, Yanagi poked his pen in a downward direction, at the stone in its pouch.

“Twelve kilograms is too much weight for your exercise plan,” he said pointedly. “Particularly when it is improperly balanced. You should know that uneven weight distribution during training will create unnecessary strain and be thus counterproductive.”

This was obviously a front for Yanagi’s undeniable curiosity. Sanada sighed.

“It is not part of my training.” At least not for tennis; who knows what terrific humiliations Sanada would now be able to face stoically for having endured the embarrassment of carrying a twelve-kilogram piece of Sanada family history around with him.

Yanagi was still sporting that placidly expectant expression, clearly waiting for Sanada to explain what, if not weights for training, was occupying the bag placed so carefully at his feet. Admitting the truth to Yanagi was probably safe, but there was always the risk of that gaping hole of affection Yanagi bore for Rikkaidai’s junior ace Kirihara. If Yanagi’s resolve was weak, news of Sanada’s “pet rock” would be unleashed upon all of Rikkaidai. Still, the potential costs far outweighed the benefits of Yanagi’s insight, and besides, Sanada wasn’t sure just how long he could continue toting a twelve-kilo rock to and from school unnoticed anyway.

“It is the Sanada Family Stone,” he said as softly as possible, folding his arms across his chest and refusing to look at Yanagi standing beside him. “My father bestowed it upon me last night, and has insisted that I carry it with me at all times until I am able to effectively mind my responsibilities.” He could hear Yanagi grinding his teeth lightly, the way he did when he had come into knowledge of a new series of data but did not yet know how to apply it. Pencil scratched onto paper momentarily before Yanagi responded.

“That’s quite unusual.” Sanada was pretty certain that this was another one of Yanagi’s non-question inquiries, but wasn’t sure what he was asking. If he wanted Yanagi’s opinion on the matter, he was going to have to play along.

“I would like to be able to leave it at home,” Sanada coughed, hoping this was enough of a prompt. A few more strokes in his notebook and Yanagi looked up.

“If that is the case, then you need to establish your loyalty to your family line.” His tone suggested that this was actually quite obvious, and shame on Genichirou for making him say it out loud.

“Family line?”

“The passage of a family heirloom is symbolic,” Yanagi explained. “It represents continuation, the flow of the past to the present and into the future. The act of receiving from one’s parent and then in turn giving to one’s child is likely what your father finds important, and he expects that you continue this tradition yourself one day.”

Sanada’s confusion was surely plain on his face, for Yanagi furrowed his eyebrows in distress; it always bothered him intensely when, despite his careful elucidation, his observations were met only with increased bewilderment. That didn’t change the fact that, for Sanada, further clarification was still needed.

“So what does that mean?” Yanagi turned away from him and scribbled something onto the open page of his notebook.

“Your father thinks that you are gay,” he said bluntly, “and is worried about your feelings for Seiichi.” At this, he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving Sanada with his frank observation.

* * *

Yanagi’s comment was still biting at Sanada’s consciousness as he made the rounds, locking up the equipment shed and the tennis courts after practice. It wasn’t that the definition of “responsibility” he was supposed to work with was entirely based on future marriage and children that had so distressed Sanada, or even that his father had pegged him as smitten with Oscar Wilde’s famed “love that dare not speak its name.”

No, it was the thought of sharing something more than just friendship with Yukimura that had frozen him in front of his locker, halfway through changing out of his tennis uniform. Hearing someone else vocalize what he had secretly known for years was disconcerting but also relieving; it gave his feelings substance, possibility.

“Sanada-fukubuchou!” Akaya’s voice jerked him from his thoughts, and the hair on the back of Sanada’s neck stood up in distress. He’d made it through morning and afternoon practice with only Yanagi discovering his secret burden, and was on the verge of escaping the threat of exposure for the day.

“What is it, Akaya?” Hopefully the brat would just ask him some inane question about footwork or English and be on his way; Sanada would even settle for one of Akaya’s bitterly self-conscious “Marui-senpai doesn’t like me what should I do Fukubuchou?” whines, as long as it wasn’t about the rock. Kirihara was the one regular who absolutely could not be trusted with any secret, no matter how important; whenever the well at Rikkaidai had been poisoned with gossip, Akaya was often the perpetrator.

Kirihara blinked a couple of times at Sanada, eyes following the black brim of his hat rather than risking direct eye contact. He shuffled his feet, agitated and fidgety but clearly not anxious.

“I…it’s just…um…” Akaya stuttered, dropping his gaze to Sanada’s left shoulder. Sanada made a mental note to bring up the importance of eye contact at the end of this conversation; a Rikkaidai regular who could not look his opponent in the eye would never be seen as ruthless and brazen.

“It’s just…” and Akaya suddenly offered up full attention, locking his intense, sharp eyes with Sanada’s. “It’s just that Yanagi-san said that you brought your family’s heirloom to school today and that it’s a giant rock and then Niou-senpai said Yanagi-san was lying and that he saw you bring in your real family heirloom which is a Hello Kitty mirror that lights up when you open it, and then Yagyuu-senpai told Niou-senpai to knock it off but Marui-senpai said Niou-senpai is right and that he’s seen it too and it’s pink with sparkles and now I don’t know what to believe.” And then he waited.

There was no good way to answer Kirihara’s…well, Sanada wasn’t sure what Akaya was asking, or if it was even a question, for that matter. Whatever Sanada said in reply, there was no way this was going to end well for him.

“Yanagi is telling the truth,” he admitted, trying to feign a proud expression and tone of voice. “The Sanada Family Stone has been in our family for gener—”

Akaya’s unrestrained laughter cut him off, and Sanada was so taken aback that, for an instant, he wasn’t sure what to do. His instincts returned to him momentarily, however, at which time he whacked Kirihara upside the head. Nothing kept Akaya quiet better than the sting of a well-timed slap.

“Sorry Fukubuchou,” he stammered, rubbing his cheek where Sanada’s palm had impacted. Though the blow had stopped his laughter, Kirihara’s lips were still contorted into a hyena-like grin. “It’s just…Niou-senpai is such a bad liar.” And he laughed again, nervously, as though testing to see if Sanada was likely to hit him again. When Sanada’s hand remained still, Kirihara excused himself abruptly and skittered out of the clubroom, leaving Sanada to lament over the new expanse of his misfortune. That smack wouldn’t keep Kirihara’s mouth shut for long. When Sanada came into school the next morning, he would was sure to hear stories of the Sanada family’s caveman ancestors and the fabled stone they worshipped in their quest to unify the warring states of Japan.

* * *

At the very least, Sanada had been right about Yanagi; the depth of his perception was frightening, and his conclusions disarmingly accurate. His bluntly personal interpretation of Sanada’s problem had worked itself into a series of unpleasant knots intent on little more than torturing his subconscious at all hours.

This didn’t make Yanagi any less right, though, and that brought Sanada little comfort. He lay back on his bed, family stone deliberately out of view beneath his desk chair, and closed his eyes. There was a lot at stake, all represented by that infernal piece of rock that some Sanada ancestor had decided was worth passing down. Perhaps they had been concerned about their son’s sexual orientation as well. Maybe that Sanada had found a Yukimura of his own but had been forced to deny what had been in his heart.

That image brought back the swell of discomfort in his belly, and he sat up and looked over towards his desk. The drawn curtains had reduced the light in the room to an orange twilight, giving the dark fabric of the stone’s pouch an almost sinister glow. Yanagi may have been right about Sanada’s father’s intentions, but the family stone was not a symbol of continuity in the house of Sanada. This was a choice, a test to see if he would comply with his father’s expectations or pursue something more with Yukimura. The Sanada Family Stone was a catalyst for change in Sanada’s life.

This was all too complicated and there was too much to assess; he’d need more time to think, time to let things fall into place. Sanada’s temples were beginning to throb, so he rose from his futon and walked over to his desk to begin the evening’s homework. He could decide tomorrow, or the day after, or whenever the proper road appeared to him. Until then, the stone at his socked feet would serve as a reminder of the choice he would soon have to make.

* * *

“Is that a Family Rock in your pants, or are you just thrilled to see me?” The lazy sway of Niou’s Kyuushuu dialect wormed its unwelcome way into Sanada’s ears as he straddled the bench Sanada was currently occupying.

He was getting really tired of the jokes. The strict regiment of extra laps for the past week and a half (punctuated with at least one backhand a day) had done little to deter Niou’s barrage of crude commentary regarding Sanada’s new acquisition. Even worse, similar remarks were beginning to well up in the other regulars, and even in some of the underclassmen; Sanada could hear whispered titters and giggles in the locker room and occasionally even on the courts. Whenever he could identify the voices, the generous number of laps assigned to the offenders served as a sufficient deterrent against further discussion.

Even so, there was a significant difference between “sufficient” and “complete,” which was why Niou now had an extra hundred laps tacked on to his already formidable sentence.

“Yagyuu is going to complain that he has no one to practice with,” came Yukimura’s voice, and Sanada craned his neck around to see him reclining casually against the mesh fence behind the bench.

“Niou’s comments are inappropriate for tennis practice.” And for anywhere and everywhere else, for that matter. “It is necessary to make an example out of him.” The pliable white rubber of Yukimura’s sneakers crunched against the clay as he stepped onto the court and approached the bench where Sanada was seated.

“You’re not wearing your jacket today,” Sanada observed as Yukimura sat down beside him. It was almost the end of October, and the afternoon breeze had a crisp and almost unpleasant bite to it. If he was chilled at all, though, nothing in Yukimura’s posture betrayed him. He leaned back slightly, bracing himself by gripping the edge of the bench with both hands.

“It’s just such a clear day, I thought it would be nice to feel the sun for a little while.” Sanada followed Yukimura’s gaze up and past the treetops, into the cloudless vault of the sky. The sounds of the surrounding courts seemed to echo off the empty blue vault, dissipating into the air like smoke.

“If it bothers you so much,” Yukimura said at long, “why keep bringing the rock to practice? If you left it at home, everyone would soon forget about it and stop teasing you.” Sanada wondered if Yukimura really believed that; he himself certainly didn’t. It was unlikely that any of his teammates were going to let him forget about the twelve kilogram rock that was the Sanada family’s most treasured heirloom.

“My father says it will help me to remember my responsibilities,” Sanada offered quietly, honestly.

“Oh?” Yukimura’s gentle features had sharpened just slightly into that almost imperceptible expression of superior knowledge he wore when conversing with Hyoutei’s Atobe or Seigaku’s mouthy first-year. His eyes were smiling, even though the corners of his mouth hadn’t turned up even slightly. “And what responsibilities might those be?”

Sanada stared at his feet, mind caught helplessly between the deep furrows of his father’s frown and the subtle suggestion offered so plainly in Yukimura’s countenance.

“I don’t know,” he lied, trying for as much self-assurance as such a statement can contain. Without even looking up, Sanada knew Yukimura’s eyebrows had arched and his lips had pursed together; it was the expression he would make when he had all the answers but no interest in sharing. His suspicions were furthered at the tug of air pulling gently at him as Yukimura rose, smiling down at Sanada just briefly before starting out onto the court before them.

“You should probably figure that out, then, hmm?” he said, the yellow back of his jersey rippling slightly as the wind picked up again.

* * *

Figure it out, Yukimura said, like sorting through this complicated mess of family and friendship and feelings was like solving a math problem. Math was easy; numbers had no expectations, wouldn’t be disappointed if you admitted to loving your male best friend more than the gray slab symbolizing the family line. Sanada’s life would be so much simpler if his family would be more like a math problem.

He climbed the stairs to his bedroom without even realizing it, and tossed his bag, still cradling the Sanada Family Stone, at the foot of his futon before he himself dropped down onto the navy blue comforter. He could practically feel his father’s aura emanating from that damn rock, creeping up through his feet like a draft. The air in the room was heavy and oppressive.

Even engulfed in such a tense atmosphere, however, Sanada’s mind slowed as he remembered the wind in Yukimura’s hair as it swept through the courts that afternoon. He replayed it, relived it looped like a film short, feeling the blood rush to his head as Yukimura turned to face him. He’d seen sunlight trapped in those eyes, and strength, and today, when Yukimura had smiled at him, Sanada had seen himself there.

There was no longer any question where Sanada’s responsibilities would fall. His loyalty was there, in that perfect smile, and even the Sanada Family Stone, and all the expectation it embodied, could not change that. Sanada needed to speak with his father, and then with Yukimura.

* * *

He waited until the rest of the regulars had left the courts before asking Yukimura to help him to lock up. Practice had been unusually long that day, and exhaustion was apparent in Yukimura’s shoulders as they pressed against the clubroom door, propping it open so Sanada could follow.

“So I noticed you don’t have your heirloom with you today. Have you figured out where your responsibilities lie?” Yukimura asked, head turned in attention to the jacket hanging in his locker. His face in profile seemed so gentle, his eyebrows sloping softly as he ran his fingers along the flow of the yellow sleeve. The heat rushing into his throat and cheeks momentarily robbed Sanada of his voice. He cleared his throat, and Yukimura looked up.

“I ended up requesting that my father entrust the stone to my older brother instead.” He’d thought it had taken all of his courage to confront his father and his expectations, but now that Sanada had made his choice, the pressure of that conversation paled in comparison to steeling himself to talk even casually with Yukimura. That was, Sanada thought, probably to be expected. After all, how do you tell someone that you have changed the course of your life for him, because of him. Because of your feelings for him.

“Well, that certainly solves your problem, doesn’t it?” Even though Yukimura smiled, he sounded disappointed. He released the jacket and let the yellow fabric fall.

“Actually,” Sanada offered, eye contact wavering momentarily, “I have had a lot to think about, and I thought that…well, I wanted to ask you…” He stumbled, pulling a breath sharply between his teeth and trying to suffocate the pounding in his rib cage before it exposed his affections. Yukimura’s eyes lit up in the space of Sanada’s pause.

“I thought you would know what I should do.”

Yukimura’s hopeful face fell slightly as Sanada finished, and he tipped his head to one side, allowing his hair to curl across his dark eyes. He rolled one shoulder back in mild agitation before turning away again.

“Sanada,” he said softly, purposefully. “I can’t tell you that. You have to figure it that sort of thing out for yourself.” There was a sweet sort of sorrow in his voice, a terrible wisp of unhappiness that pierced into Sanada like a thorn. It was just unbearable, the fallen expectation in Yukimura’s voice and face, and Sanada succumbed to the one impulse that rose up inside him: he stepped across the space between them and pulled Yukimura against him.

He’d never even imagined himself like this, never imagined what it would feel like to embrace Yukimura so tightly. Nothing he could have dreamed could match the tempting scent of Yukimura’s shampoo and the fall of worn cotton shirt between his fingers. Sanada felt his arms tighten of their own accord around the curve of Yukimura’s waist.

“But…” The word was breathed into his shoulder, warm and moist and hopeful. “But if you’d like to know what I think…” Sanada felt his grip loosened, and warmth radiated through Sanada’s palm as Yukimura’s fingers threaded between his. Slowly, carefully, Yukimura pressed Sanada’s hand into his dark curls, against his pale cheek. Yukimura’s eyes dipped shut, long lashes feathered and frayed. There had never been the opportunity for such a touch before, though the intimacy of connection had always been present. His palm held gently against Yukimura’s sweet face was a new and yet natural sensation, as though Sanada had been living without this his whole life and had only just realized it.

Yukimura’s eyes fluttered open, soft and sweet but still the same eyes that Sanada only just recently realized he had come to adore. Still clutching Sanada’s hand gently to his face, his lips parted in exhalation and the faintest shadow of a smile.

“I’d love to tell you.”

And even though, in that moment, there was no doubt in Sanada’s mind regarding where his loyalty and love belonged, he nodded. Words that Yukimura wanted to share with him were words he would always want to hear.

- fin -

TeniPuri Genius 379 Pre-Comments

2008-02-29T03:47:24Z

So Genius 379 is to be the very last chapter of Tennis no Oujisama ever.

I think I'm actually relatively new to the TeniPuri fandom. I didn't really get into it until about a year ago, and when I finally did jump in, that was all thanks to green_icemice and placidmage. And not a day has gone by since then that I haven't been so glad of that. This fandom has really changed my life, and in the best sort of way possible. Not only have I spent many enjoyable hours reading the manga, watching the anime and the musicals, listening to RajiPuri and rocking out with character vocals, but I've also made some incredible friends, have gotten back into writing and drawing, and have picked up playing tennis again.

Additionally, this fandom has given me something to feel passionate about, and in my life right now, that is very important. It's really easy when you're in school to get lost in the daily grind, and to start feeling like you're just going through the motions. I had a lot of those feelings last semester, and the TeniPuri fandom helped get me through them. I would have failed my PoCo Eco final if I hadn't had RikkaiMyu Second Service waiting on the other side of the deadline. If you don't have something in your life that lights you up like that, everything loses meaning. So, silly as it sounds, loving TeniPuri makes me love other parts of my life that I might otherwise not appreciate or enjoy.

So it's all about to end, and I'm very sad about that. lady_of_water pointed out that the fandom hasn't quite dried up, and that Japan will still be giving us a couple more OAVs and musicals (hopefully). It's the end of a very important era, though, with the manga ending. I hope that people will stay with the fandom for at least a little while longer, and won't (as Arii put it) "jump ship" right off the bat. I'm planning to stick around as long as I can, bringing you more scanlations and fic and mountains of Marukkiri love, because really, I've never had an OTP that's been quite so OT as this one.

So in summary, thank you, Konomi-sensei, for creating this wonderful series about youth and friendship and teamwork and (even though we forget it sometimes) tennis. And thank you, fandom, for being so amazingly uplifting and entertaining. It's not goodbye (at least not yet), but I just wanted to get that out on the table.

Of course, this does not mean an end to the fandom rants in this journal. It just means that I mostly have to stop telling Konomi where not to be pissing.