#and beni carries a flip phone so

[silbeni]

Dude what time period does reapfreak take place?

Hmmmmm it's modern-esque???? Late 90's - early 2000's I think

[peachnewt]

Midnight Snack - Playing House

Fluff to the max. Intimate times between two men insinuated but not graphically described in text.  Deep kissing is present.  Skip between the &&& if you prefer to not read it.  The Getting In Deep series and it’s short stories are my own creation.  Do not steal or alter.  

 Papers, magazine cutouts, and equations sat in piles on Will's desk.  Will, headless of the slippery magazine paper that threatened to kiss the ground, kept taking notes from his screen.  

When Reese arrived, he was surprised to see Will at work before everyone else in Main Tech.  

"Getting a head start on a case?" asked Reese.  

"No."  Will tabbed his screen and frowned.  "I'm helping Louis find a house."  

"Really?" Reese wondered how far Louis and Will had gotten in their relationship.  "Why would he want to move?"  

Reese walked around Will's desk to look at the screen.  

When house hunting, most people imagine realtors, property tax, curb appeal, square footage, and zoning issues.  The average challenges one would find on HGTV shows.  Reese expected to see Zillow listings, or Homefinder.  He hadn't expected Barbie's Malibu Dream Home from Toys-R-Us.  

Reese blinked, wondering if the morning caffeine had yet to kick in.  "A dollhouse?"  

Louis walked into Main Tech with two mugs.  "Yeah, because everything I found is, in Will's words, "dinky plastic trash"."

"They don't even have it proportioned right.  I did the calculations," said Will, scrolling through the preview images of other child- sized dollhouse.  "The bathtub is right next to the door, who does that?"  

"Those things are meant for playing with, not living in," said Louis, nursing his second cup of coffee and handing Will his tea.  They had spent the last half hour descending into a research spiral of toy sites looking at houses and miniatures.  Louis began thinking this was actually worse than real house hunting.  

"I have a civil engineering degree, I'm allowed to be offended," said Will.

"You would be offended at the construction of a gingerbread house."  

"Those are for decoration and eating.  It's not the same thing."  

"One moment.  I feel like I need a little bit of clarification."  Reese struggled to catch up with the train of thought Louis and Will had gotten on, apparently leaving him behind at the station.  "Louis, why are you in the market for a dollhouse?"  

Louis sat and spun his chair to catch the slipping pile of magazine clippings.  "Because some nights I'm sleeping in a shoebox on Rachel's desk."  

There had been nights when Louis was too exhausted to switch back from his tiny sized self and had to sleep in Rachel's office.  His "room" consisted of a shoe box with a tiny flat pillow for a mattress, a linen square for a blanket, a charging stand for his large sized phone, and a rectangle hole for a door.  

"I feel like a kitten awaiting adoption by the side of the road," Louis continued.

"I see.  I wouldn't mind sleeping in a shoebox on Rachel's desk," said Reese, a dreamy look in his eyes.  

Beni, carrying a dozen doughnuts in one hand and a RockStar energy drink in the other, paused as she entered Main Tech.  "I think I need context."  

***

Ten minutes later, Beni had been pulled into the communal craze of looking up tiny dollhouses.  They pulled up everything from antique houses made in the 1950s, to Lego replicas of Hogwarts.  By a stroke of a keyword during Beni's search, she hit the mother load with DIY Dollhouse kits sold on specialty hobby sites.  They ranged from Modern loft apartments, to Chinese homesteads complete with a throne room.  They even had miniature cafe's with tiny pastries.  Each dollhouse listing came with a video on how to construct it.  Of course, with a specialty hobby, it came with a specialty price.  

"It's a friggin' bed," said Louis, gesturing to the miniature furniture on the screen. "How hard is it to make a proper bed for at 1/24th scale that isn't going to cost a fortune?  That's what... eight popsicle sticks?"  

"If you want quality at that size then you are going to pay what its' worth," said Reese. "What is more expensive, a Rolex, or a bedside clock?"  

Will pulled up a video with a house similar to a few of the magazine cutouts.  "Most of these do-it-yourself kits use either hot glue or E6000.  Not keen on having a building kept together with hot glue."  

Louis grunted, mesmerized by large hands setting up a tiny living room.  "Are we spiraling again?"

"Yes, but it's a very satisfying spiral."  

Louis, Will, Reese, and Beni gathered around one screen, tallying the pros and cons of certain designs, and pulling up more DIY dollhouse videos.  

When Cetz arrived at Main Tech, he saw four of his agents picking out dollhouses.  

Cetz felt a headache coming on.  "Know what.  I don't need context.  Meeting in ten."  

**

Eventually Louis picked a DIY kit for a cabin that put him back sixty dollars.  It arrived a week later and Louis set up shop in a spare workroom at the Watch.  He proceeded to burn his hand with a hot glue gun while trying to assemble the walls.  Will approached with ice, tweezers, and a small tube of craft glue.  They finished the small dwelling in an afternoon.  

Half of the tiny furnishings, flower pots, pictures, cute figurines of boats, never made it into the cabin.  They were pasted together for posterity to say it had been finished, and they left in a heap by the dwelling.  None of the furniture went where it was supposed to; Louis didn't trust the stairs to hold if he walked up to the second floor.  The bed ,made of thin wood, looked better than the tiny pillow in his shoebox.  If nothing else, it looked more like a bed.  It looked like a dwelling meant for a human. It even had lighting he could turn off and on with a switch at the bottom of the display platform.  

Louis stood back from the cabin and cracked his back.  His fingers had nearly been glued together while applying wallpaper, and his eyes ached having to look through a magnifying glass.  Will clicked on the light to the house.  They looked proud of their creation, showing it off to Beni, Reese, and Rachel when they came by.  

"It's a good starter home," said Rachel, handing Louis a bag of coffee grounds with a bow taped on it. "Happy housewarming."  

Louis grinned.  The cabin itself was slightly wider than his shoebox but twice as tall, and the platform it stood on was as big as a desk blotter.

"I want one," said Beni, flipping the switch on and off.  

"Make your own," said Louis.  

"I will!" said Beni, a spark of competition in her eyes.  "I'll make one so nice you'll want to sleep there instead!"  

Reese, enticed leaned over. "Care to make a wager?"

The next day, Beni and Reese also ordered DIY dollhouses.  

Louis vowed to never set foot in any of their deathtraps.  

Will vowed to make sure neither of them burned their fingers or used adhesives that could cause respiratory distress.  

While Beni and Reese awaited their kits, Louis ended up exhausted after a long day of testing, and unable to switch back to normal size.  The first night in his new, self-made home.  Rachel left him on her desk, the shoebox on one side, and his cabin on the other.  Louis stumbled wearily to the cabin.  When he laid down on the bed he immediately regretted the thin bit of padding he had mistaken for a mattress.  It had looked fluffy enough when he had glued the stuffing down.  He dragged the cheap pillow out of the shoebox and into the cabin.

Will found him the next morning splayed akimbo on the cushion, wrapped up in the thin "bed spread" like a croissant.  

"Bed not work?"

"I could feel beads of dried glue under the mattress."  Louis snuggled tighter into the pillow until Will coaxed him onto his palm and into the lab to "grow up".  

Louis had been so miserable with the construction of his tiny bed, he actually looked forward to Beni and Reese's dollhouses

The two kits arrived and Will made sure the construction was a surprise to Louis, warding him from the workshop as Beni and Reese unpacked their kits with child-like glee.  

They wondered if the two former thieves ever got something like a dollhouse in their younger years.

Instead of cranking out the houses in an afternoon, Beni and Reese took half hours off between shifts to work on them.  Both seemed to find contentment in their distraction.  After a week, they were finished.  

Reese had constructed a gothic themed Victorian home with a tiny staircase hidden behind a bookshelf full of miniature books.  Several windows were painted to look like stained glass.  And the bed was a four-poster with a canopy.  His pride had been renovating the kitchen area to have a tiny fridge that actually worked and held tiny shots of pudding he had made himself. And on one wall he had put up a tiny grandfather clock, made with a working clock face.  

"Somebody likes their gothic," said Will as he squinted to see inside the hidden staircase. "Good detail."  

"Classic taste is good taste."  

Beni had gone modern with a split level house.  White on silver furnishings with touches of neon purple and one of the accent walls for a workout room consisted of an entire mirror.  The bed was covered in multiple pillows, each a shade of gray or white.  Her pride was adding a slide from the top level to the bottom, the landing cushioned with a layer of cotton balls.  

"Very playful," said Will.  

"Got most of the style stuff from a Home & Garden magazine.  But who wouldn't want a slide in their house?"  

Louis shrunk, bypassed all the fancy additions and special furnishings, shooting like a tired arrow towards the beds.  First the canopy bed, then a gray bed with all the pillows.  

Louis groaned in defeat. "It's still not comfortable enough."  

However, he did try the slide, the hidden stairs, and the pudding in the tiny fridge.  Beni and Reese then made Louis promise to shrink them so they could experience the houses themselves.  

Will eyed the beds and the shoebox a warm glow coming to his eyes.  It had been a while since he had done a construction project.  

***

The magazine clippings came back out; Will organizing different furniture pieces and photos from Architectural Digest.  Over the next month, between date entry and retrieval missions, Will peppered Louis with random questions.  

"Dark stain or light?"  

"Oriental, log cabin, industrial, modern?"  

"How much do you cook verses eating out?"  

"Do you like gardens?"  

"How about koi ponds?"  

"Silk sheets or cotton?"  

"How do you not know the answer to that?" said Louis, setting aside another patent.  "Cotton."  

"I mean if you won the lottery and could afford anything, silk or cotton?" said Will.

"Still cotton."

It wasn't until Will pulled Louis over to look at a blueprint that he caught on to what Will had been doing.  

"Are you designing a custom dollhouse for me?"  

"Kinda.  I'm not an architect, but I thought I could make you something more than a shoebox or a DIY kit."  A light blush bloomed on Will's neck.  "I want your input on it.  You'd be sleeping there after all."  

"All I want is a better bed," said Louis.  "I respect that little pillow, it's gotten me through some rough nights, but I want a real bed."  

From the blueprint it looked similar to some of the custom DIY dollhouses the three of them had constructed.  Everything from the steps to the sofa had equations measuring out its diameters so it would match Louis' stature when he shrunk.  Multiple chambers, the front wall of the house on a hinge so the insides could be exposed or not, a set of stairs, all on a platform with an outside space with a...

"Is that a gazebo?"  

"Yep," said Will. "Do you want a pond or a pool?"  

"It's a place for me to sleep when I have to stay the night, fanboy," insisted Louis.  "You don't have to go all out with this.  I just wanted something better than a shoebox."  

"But I want to."  

Louis smirked. "Feeling a little competitive after Beni and Reese made their own houses?"  

"...little bit."

"I thought so." Louis brushed his lips to the side of Will's mouth, leaving a coffee ghost of a kiss, and grabbed Will's empty mug. They both needed refills.  "Have at it, fanboy.  Surprise me.  Just... no koi pond.  Especially no koi; those suckers can get huge."  

***

A month later Will led a blindfolded Louis to Rachel's office.

"Are we there yet?" asked Louis.  

"One moment." Will let go of Louis' hands with a squeeze.  "Stay here.  No peeking."  

Louis heard the flicking of switches and the opening of a door.  

"Okay, you can see."  

Louis peeled off the blindfold.  Rachel's office was dimmed, the majority of the light coming from another dollhouse. His jaw dropped.  It spanned half of Rachel's desk.  The house was modern, mostly white trimmed in dark blue and splashes of red.  Like most of the DIY dollhouses the insides were exposed for "play", but this one had a full roof and a panel that acted like a door to the whole front half of the house.  However, the house only took up a third of the platform.  

Behind the house stood a stately garden of green moss, flat pebble paths, and a gazebo overlooking the rise of real seedlings from a small herb patch.  In the center of the garden rose a bonsai strung up with tiny lights like a Christmas tree, and a swing.  The bonsai stood small in comparison to a regular sized shrub, but to an almost three inch human, it would look like a grand tree.  

Louis came closer, leaning in to see the tiny details of the dollhouse.  "How in the world did you do something like this?"  

"Civil engineer, remember.  A lot of my college projects were making models of infrastructure.  That and a lot of model kits."  

Louis motioned to the hinged front of the house.  "Can I...?"  

"I made it for you, yes!"  

Louis opened the front of the house to an open floor plan, tiny lighting, bits of shiny tile, and dark stained furniture.  The DIY houses had similar plans, but this one seemed polished, more real than play.

"Cetz and Reese helped assemble most of the house," said Will.  "Beni picked out the bonsai."  

"The furniture." Louis gently picked up the coffee table from the living room.  I weighed heavy in his hand, not balsa wood or cardboard.  "Those aren't popsicle sticks.  How the hell did you...?"  

"I have some crafty friends on the con circuit that were willing to do some detailed commissions. A lot of it was 3D printed, but the finer furniture was done by hand.  Not a hot-glue stick in sight."  

Louis set down the coffee table and took a closer look at the kitchen.  "Those drawers actually pull out?"  

"Yep."  

"The sink... holy shit there is actual water."  

"Yeah, actual plumbing. We'll have to do the dishes by hand, no dishwasher that size.  But there is water in the kitchen area and the bathroom, both connected to a gallon water heater under the desk."  

Louis noted the "we".  One of them washing while the other dried with the tiny towels and the tiny drying rack. A domestic image he never thought he'd get in real life.  Well, really tiny life.  

"Reese installed his patented snack fridge, I see," said Louis.

"Snacks are a must," said Will.  "Fully stocked with bits of cheese, chocolate, pudding, and a slice of pepperoni. Eating like borrowers."

"Every window has curtains."

"And blackout curtains if you need some dark space."

A refuge, Louis realized.  If I need space or time and I'm stuck, I don't have to feel like a lab rat.  

"That's actual leather on that couch," said Louis, dragging his mind back to the house tour.

"I could afford a quarter yard of real leather."  

Louis saw two charging ports for phones set into the wall so the screens could act as a television. He could imagine the movie nights. One giant kernel of popped corn between them.  

"The doors actually shut and lock?" asked Louis.

"Tiny magnets in the door and door frame.  Also..." Will pointed to where the front of the house closed, hiding the view of the inside.  "Push a latch here, and the whole front of the house will lock from the inside so you can have privacy."  

Louis reopened the front of the house.  He followed the line of sight from the living room, up the stairs, to the bedroom. Dark wood furnishings and soft gray upholstery.  The bed looked neat and tidy as a stuffed envelope, lined in silvery blue and deep red pillows.  

"I made the bed."

"Like you folded the sheets or you made the bed and bed frame personally?"  He had to ask because it seemed Will had been willing to spin his own thread for the sheets.

"Both.  Took a couple of live video tutorials for the frame. No craft glue, or double sided tape. Half a drop of wood paste, tiny dove joints, and teeny finishing nails.  I know you said cotton, but I got denier microfiber silk fabric for the sheets so the thickness is comparable what you would have at normal size."

Louis pressed a finger down on the tiny bed, eyeballing the measurements.  "California King?"  

"Yep."  Will skipped over the fact he had carved by hand a bed definitely made for two.  "Cut the mattress out of memory foam."  

Louis examined the rest of the bedroom.  Interesting that Will had included a washbasin and washcloths when there was an en suite bathroom.  No closet or wardrobe, instead an empty trunk lay at the foot of the bed.  Louis wouldn't need changes of clothing since whatever he shrunk with would have to grow back with him.  The lamp on the bedside table gave a golden glow.  When he opened the bedside cabinet he found a few extra amenities that made the back of his neck heat up.  

Will's bashful look said it all.  

"Wow." Louis cleared his throat, trying to draw his mind away from the bedroom.  The gesture of it all struck him deep.  Will and he still lived in separate places.  Will had made a place for them to be together.  A home that belong to them, not one or the other.  

Okay.  No tears.  Suck it up.

Louis sniffed, needing a distraction.  "So, random question, what was the most expensive thing in this whole house?"

"Well, parts of the electrical plan and plumbing nearly cost me my patience."  

Louis snickered, pulling Will in by the back of the head to kiss his temple.  "Your poor brain.  Let me guess, the leather couch?"  

"Nope.  Made from scraps.  Very cheap."  

"The tiny fridge?"

"The way Reese made it, no.  It cost me a dozen maple bacon doughnuts and a cheesecake."  

"The bonsai. Gotta be the bonsai."  

"Actually the bonsai was the second most expensive thing.  But Beni did some good bargaining."  

"Really?"  

"Mh hm."  

"What was the most expensive then?"

Will touched the fine sheet on the bed.  

"The bed?" said Louis.

"The sheets," Will clarified.  

"How are a tiny set of sheets that expensive?!"

"When you include express shipping from Japan."  

"Fanboy!"  

"You said the bed was the most important thing, so I made sure it got the right stuff!"  

Laughter took over when Louis refused tears.  He hugged Will closed, his nose brushing into hair that still smelled of soap.  

"C'mere.  Thank you.  I can't believe you went so far for this."  

"I wanted to," murmured Will into Louis' neck, leaving a soft touch of breath.  

Will had wanted to give him a home.  Louis wanted Will to know he was home.

&&&

It sent a shiver down Louis' back, making his belly flutter.  He leaned back on the desk until he sat on it, his thigh close to pushing off a pencil box.  Then he pulled Will by the hips until he stood between his legs, chest to chest. Louis curled his head under Will's neck. Will's hands draped across Louis shoulders as if a buoy to a drowning man and breathed in deep.  Warmth surrounded them like an atmosphere growing around a new planet.  

Louis looked over at the house and smirked.  He wouldn't mind spending the night, if he had company.  

"Wanna test out the bed?" said Louis, pulling back.  "Make sure it's up to your standards?"  

"You mean you want to see if you can wreck the bed," said Will.  

"I know I can wreck you on the bed; if I can wreck the bed with you, bonus."  

The blush at Will's neck charged over the hinge of his jaw and conquered his cheeks and nose.  Louis knew by experience the blushing army had already conquered collarbones and sternum.  He planted the final flag of victory by drawing Will's head down for a kiss, deeper than the rest.  Will relaxed into his embrace like a puddle needing earth to sink into.  Their chests expanded wider with each breath, trying to catch each other in the air around them to pull into their lungs and keep.

Will pulled back, nipping Louis' jaw.  "I dropped the bed, twice."  Nip.  "Survived both times."  A kiss on the chin.  "I'd like to see you achieve what my clumsiness and gravity could not."  

"That a challenge?"  Louis bent his head down, pressed his lips around Will's Adam's apple, and sucked.  

Will moaned, his voice buzzing against Louis' mouth.  Louis pulled Will in by the shoulders as he leaned back further onto the desk, and then focused on the light.  In a breathless flash, they both sat on the desk, just short of three inches tall. After a moment to orient themselves, and calm down enough to get to their feet, they both ran to the door of the dollhouse.  

 The bed did not break. Though they tried.  

 They collapsed under sheets of light silk, catching their breath as sweat cooled on their aching bodies. Will had been wise to include a wash basin, thought Louis.  He didn't want to go all the way to the bathroom for a washcloth.  

&&&

Will tucked himself into the curve of Louis' body.  "So... home sweet home?"  

"Maybe." Louis leaned down and kissed right below Will's sternum, tasting heated skin.  "I've got a home here too."  

Oh, that blush would not go away for hours now.  

"Yeah, you do," whispered Will.  

A well deserved exhaustion overtook them.  

 Louis woke before Will. Making sure Will kept dreaming, Louis scurried out of the house and over to the side of Rachel's desk that still held the cabin.  To the side lay the pile of extra frills that had come with the DIY house; bits of potted plants, fake books and posters.  He picked up a piece of thick printed cardstock about the size of a large postage stamp, and carried it back to Will's house.  It had been a miscellaneous bit of inspirational word art one could find in any furnishing or poster aisle at a craft shop, but it seemed very appropriate.

"Where there's a will, there's a way".

Louis set it by the front door of the new house and then went back in.  He would see if Reese had put anything in the tiny fridge that could help construct a breakfast in bed.

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

 If you enjoyed this short, consider buying me a ko-fi!  

[hakuyamazakisensei]

The Rescue

This is chapter one of a two or three chapter story...its is a ‘what-if’ from the scene where Mink kidnaps Aoba. What if Koujaku actually acted on Clear’s insistent call about Aoba being missing? Let’s find out! Happy Birthday, @flower-dragon!! I hope you like this. <3 Thank you @kondo-hijikata and @eheartangel for beta reading!

Koujaku looks at his coil in confusion when the call comes in. It isn’t a number that he recognizes and he considers not even answering, but thinking it might be a dissatisfied customer quickly makes him change his mind. Hitting the receive-call button, he answers with a terse “Hello?” and then holds the phone away from his ear as a breathless, erratic voice spills into the air.

“Master is far away and might be in trouble so we need to go save him right now!!!!”

“Whoa, slow down! Who the hell is this?”

“Aaaaah! Sumimasen, Koujaku-san! It’s me, Clear! Master is missing!”

“Do you mean Aoba? What do you mean, missing? He’s probably at home in bed.” Koujaku is ready to hang up. How on earth did this weirdo get his number, anyway?

“Noooo,” Clear whines on the other end. “He’s far away! I can barely hear him!!”

“You’re crazy. If he’s so far away, you wouldn’t be able to hear him at all! Just...go to bed and you’ll see that Aoba is fine in the morning. And stop calling him ‘master’. It’s fucking weird.”

He hangs up and tries to get back into the show he’s watching, but it’s impossible. He’s pretty certain that everything is fine, but a little niggle of doubt is beginning to grow. What if Aoba is in trouble? Whipping out his coil once again, he punches in Aoba’s number, just to be on the safe side. It rings several times, but there’s no answer. He hangs up and tries Tae-san’s number with the same result. The worry grows, and he waits for a few minutes before trying again.

When he still receives no response from either phone, Koujaku licks his suddenly dry lips, and considers his options. He could follow his own advice and just wait until morning, knowing that Aoba is probably only sleeping. But then, why didn’t Tae-san answer her phone? Were they both sound sleepers? Somehow, he doubted that. It would be no trouble to take a quick trip over there, make sure everything’s okay.

Once the thought enters his head, Koujaku knows that’s what he’s going to do. There’s no use trying to deny that he’s more than a little worried. He quickly dons his kimono and sword, grabs his coil and heads out the door. He doesn’t run, though he wants to, but he gets there much more quickly than usual, his steps hurried and his agitation growing with each block that takes him closer. When he rounds the last corner, he’s surprised to see that Aoba’s house is dark—not a single light is on. And the door is standing ajar.

Stopping just short of the small porch, Koujaku tries to call Aoba one more time. Still no answer and he can’t hear it beeping from inside the house. He tries Tae-san’s number—no response, no ringing. Making up his mind, Koujaku steps forward cautiously, just as a cry from above makes him jerk his head upward.

“Koujaku-san!!!!”

“What the fuck?!” Koujaku shouts as he dives to the left, just as Clear lands face first on the ground next to him.

“Koujaku-san, you came! I knew you would. Master isn’t here. We have to find him!” Clear says, jumping to his feet unharmed and flailing his arms wildly.

“Why the hell are you just...falling from the sky? How is that normal?” Koujaku asks as he dusts himself off.

“That isn’t important! We must find Master! He’s gone!”

Koujaku heaves a weary sigh and then turns to face Aoba’s door once again. “I’m going to check out his house first. He might just be...sleeping,” he says, trying to convince himself along with Clear.

“No! He’s far away! I can barely hear him!” Clear was becoming frantic.

“You’re crazy! How can you hear him if he isn’t here? Just...back up and let me check things out, will you?”

Clear falls silent, though he bounces on his toes impatiently. When Koujaku enters the dark house, Clear is on his heels, peering over his shoulder.

“He’s not here,” he whispers, earning a sharp glare from Koujaku.

Creeping forward, Koujaku presses a button on his coil, filling the room with a faint light. He stops in his tracks, taking in the scene. Furniture is knocked askew and glass is broken all over the floor of the living area. Progressing into the room slowly, Koujaku nearly trips over a body he hadn’t been able to see in the dark. Clad in black, it was hidden in the shadows halfway under the stairs.

“What the...” he whispers, kneeling down to check for a pulse. “He’s alive, but who the hell is this?” Taking a closer look, he mumbles—more to himself than to Clear—“Is this...a Dry Juice member?” Another body lies a few feet away, in the same state as the other—unconscious but breathing.

Light suddenly floods the room and both Koujaku and Clear jump before turning to see who’s flipped the switch.

“You!” Koujaku snarls, rising to his feet and facing the newcomer.

“Noiz-san!” Clear calls out, waving from behind Koujaku.

“Idiots,” Noiz mutters as he strolls lazily into the room. He takes in the scene and snorts. “Lose your temper, old man?” he asks Koujaku with a smirk.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Koujaku counters, balling his hands into fists, ignoring the younger man’s question.

“Same thing you are.”

“And that is?” Koujaku moves to step in front of Noiz.

Noiz pushes past him to get a better look at the men on the floor, not bothering to answer his question.

“Master is missing,” Clear pipes up, shooting his hand in the air. “Will you help find him, Noiz-san?”

Noiz lets his gaze move toward the gas mask, his brow arched. “Missing?”

“Yes! He is far away and in trouble!”

“How do you know he’s in trouble?” Koujaku asks with exasperation. “You’re only guessing.”

“Seems he guessed right,” Noiz said, looking pointedly at the mess in the room.

Koujaku growls in frustration, not wanting to admit that either one of the men with him might be correct. Pivoting on his heel, he moves to the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reaches the second-floor landing. Turning to the left, he hurries to Aoba’s bedroom, opening the door a small crack and calling out to his friend. Receiving no answer, he feels along the wall and turns on the light.

The bed is made, everything looks to be in order, and Koujaku can’t see anything that might be missing other than Aoba himself, and his AllMate, Ren.  Backing out of the room, he hears a commotion down below and quickly shuts the bedroom door before heading back to the living area.

“Wait Noiz-san!!” he hears Clear say as he reaches the last step.

“Don’t touch me,” Noiz’s impassive voice carries into the hall.

“AAAH! Sumimasen, Noiz-san. But I want to go too! Take me with you!”

Koujaku’s jaw tightens as he tries to rein in the anger he feels rising. He might be able to handle one of these morons at a time, but what did he do to deserve both of them? He didn’t have time for this shit. He had to locate Aoba.

“What’s going on in here? Be more respectful of somebody else’s home!” he tells them as he marches into the room. He spots Noiz by the couch with Clear’s hand wrapped firmly around his wrist.

“Please, Noiz-san. I want to help!”

“I don’t need help. Let go.” Noiz shakes his arm and Clear reluctantly releases him.

“What are you doing?” Koujaku asks, his eyes narrowing. “It’s not like you give a shit about Aoba.”

“Jealous?” Noiz asks, an insufferable smirk tugging at his lips.

Koujaku scoffs and runs a hand through his hair. “Unlike you, I’m worried about the family that lives here. Since you aren’t, why don’t you just get the fuck out?”

Noiz grins and shrugs before moving toward the door. Clear, upset and not knowing what to do, looks from one man to the other while wringing his hands. He takes a step toward Noiz, stops, and then takes another step.

“Waaaa! What should I do?” he cries out.

“Go with the bean sprout,” Koujaku says, pointing toward the door, just as Noiz replies, “Stay with the old man.”

Clear purses his lips and shakes his head. “That’s mean! I want to help find Master, too. I don’t know if I want to be friends with mean people.”

“I told you to quit calling Aoba that! Fuck, you’re so weird! And who the hell said anything about being friends?”

Noiz snorts and comments, “Look who’s talking. You’re more weird than he is.” He pulls a small cube from the loop at his waist and holds it close to his face. “Locate AllMate Ren, dog type, owner Aoba Seragaki.”

Two pairs of eyes focus on Noiz as he speaks, one full of curiosity, the other with animosity. As the small cube begins to spout information, Koujaku makes a move toward its owner, who ducks out of reach and opens the door.

“Stop right there you little shit!” Koujaku shouts as Noiz trots down the front steps and onto the sidewalk. “How can you track Ren? Did you tag him?!”

Noiz snorts with derision. “AllMates have internal tags. Any of them can be tracked if you have half a brain.”

A gasp from behind Koujaku has him whirling to face the man in the gas mask. “What?!” he demands of Clear.

“We can find Master! All we have to do is follow Noiz-san!”

Noiz cuts his eyes to Clear, his expression unreadable. Koujaku grunts in dissatisfaction. “Like I would trust either one of you,” he mutters.

“Waaaaaa?!” Clear cries out. “I am very trustworthy!”

“I’m out of here,” Noiz says, continuing down the sidewalk. Clear looks to Koujaku, who is frowning as he stands rooted to the spot, and then turns to follow Noiz.

Koujaku watches them leave, his mind swirling with indecision. Should he follow? Should he head out on his own? It infuriated him to know that the kid—Noiz—had found a way to track Aoba. Was the boy lying? Could anybody locate a person through their AllMate? He felt in his pocket for his own AllMate and lifted it up. Brushing a finger across the small bird’s head, he waited for the familiar voice to chirp before asking it that very question.

Beni cocks a head to the side and makes a few whirring noises as it searches for the answer. Finally, he speaks. “The little brat tells the truth. I’m not happy about this. I’ve been infested!”

“Can you track Aoba, too?”

“Afraid not. I would need a code. I can only do what I’ve been programmed to do.”

“Shit,” Koujaku mutters as he rubs his neck. “Alright, fine. I’ll believe the bean sprout. Let’s go.” He waits for Beni to fly off in the direction that Noiz and Clear went, and then he follows.

***

Koujaku keeps his distance and watches the two troublesome men in front of him. Noiz walks with his nose in his screens, not even bothering to watch his step, while Clear bounces around him, chattering like a rabid squirrel. Koujaku refuses to interact, instead focusing on where they’re going. He soon begins to realize that they’re heading directly for the North district, a place condemned by the so-called police of Midorijima—a ghost-town.

Suspicions rising, Koujaku slows his step. There is only one thing he knows about the North District, other than its off-limits status, and that is that it is said to be the home-base of a Rib team completely made up of criminals and ex-cons, Scratch. Koujaku has not had any dealings with Scratch, but he’s heard about them. They don’t play by the rules. Their leader would just as soon kill you as look at you, from what rumors say. A sinking feeling fills Koujaku’s stomach and he calls out to the other men.

Clear stops immediately and grabs Noiz by the arm. When Koujaku catches up to them, the silver-riddled boy asks point blank what the hold-up is, his expression in no way showing the vexation Koujaku hears in his voice.

“This is Scratch territory,” he tells them in hushed tones.

“Yeah, so?”

“Soooo...it means we need to be careful. There are only three of us, and only one I trust in a fight,” Koujaku seethes.

“Is it me?” Clear asks, raising his hand.

Noiz rolls his eyes, but sits down and brings out his coil. Tapping a few buttons, he brings up a holographic map of the area, and Clear begins to point out specific areas he’s familiar with.

“How do you know so much about the North District?” Koujaku asks, suspiciously.

“Ahh, I used to live near here!” Clear explains. “Just up that way are some very mean dogs, by the way. I wouldn’t go that way if I were you.”

“We’re about to take on the whole of Scratch, and you’re worried about a couple of dogs?” Koujaku asks.

“Shut up,” Noiz pipes up, his brow furrowing as he tries to concentrate on his task. “There’s a lot of interference here, but I am picking up quite a few AllMates in the area.”

“Damn it! Could Scratch have taken Aoba? But why? Aoba isn’t into Ribsteez. He’s not even into Rhyme.” Koujaku paces in front of the two men, lost in thought. Finally, he brings his coil out and makes a call. “Kou, I need the team. Aoba might be in serious trouble. Contact Mizuki, see if he’s willing to help out.” He waits for a response before turning back to Noiz and Clear. “We’ll wait for my team to show up, and then we move in. Can you pinpoint where all the AllMates are at?”

Noiz scoffs, but nods. “Easy enough, but who made you the boss? Why should I listen to you?”

“Look, I don’t care if you listen or not. Go get yourself killed. But if you want to help Aoba, you might want to stop and think before you just go in with fists swinging. Scratch doesn’t play nice. They have no problem playing dirty.”

“You think that scares me?” Noiz asks, but remains seated. “I’ll wait, but only because I want to.”

“No fighting please!” Clear says, settling down next to Noiz. “Koujaku-san, do you think Master is okay?”

“Of course he is!!!” Koujaku shouts, knowing instantly that he’s overreacting, but not caring.

“Tch,” Noiz mutters, closing his eyes. “You’re too loud.”

“You have delicate ears or something?” Koujaku retorts, pacing back and forth as his patience runs out. “Come on, Mizuki,” he mutters, looking down at his coil and tapping his foot.

What seems like hours later, the first of the two Rib teams begins to drift in, and Noiz looks at them with mocking eyes.

“You don’t think this “Scratch” is going to notice two whole teams of idiots moving into their territory, dumbass?” he asks Koujaku flatly.

“If you aren’t going to be helpful, just keep your fucking trap shut?” Koujaku told him, at the same time turning to the arriving men with a hurried motion. “Try not to be so...conspicuous!”

All the men stop and look at each other in confusion but Noiz cuts through their chatter with a curt, “You’ve been discovered!”

“What?! Fuck! Get ready, boys! Here they come!” Koujaku shouts and he crouches into a fighting position.

[72bread-pasta88]

Happy Birthday

Word Count: 1,512

Jealous birthday sex

TW: smut, minor swearing

“Happy Birthday to you,” You sang softly as you put coffee and a bagel with cream cheese on the nightstand. “Happy birthday to you,” You sat on the edge of the bed next to him as he slept. “Happy Birthday, dear Andrew, happy birthday to you,” You moved his hair out his face and kissed his cheek, stirring him. “Good morning, birthday boy,” You told him as he woke up. He pulled you on top of him, causing you to laugh, and kissed you, “Good morning.”

You spent the morning cuddling and sharing coffee and cream cheese kisses. Andrew was snuggled into your side with his head on your stomach while you were playing with his hair. “How’s twenty three treating you so far?” You asked.

He rolled onto his back so he could look at you, “If this morning is an indication of how my year is going to be, twenty three will be the best year yet.” You laughed at his cheesiness, but appreciated the sentiment.

After losing the finale and their winning streak in Arlington, the team worked hard in the series opener against Tampa. You talked to a couple of the guys and told them that you wanted to surprise Andrew for his birthday by going out for drinks after the game. They all were on board and happy to celebrate, especially after Andrew’s performance on Tuesday. After the game, you told Andrew that you wanted to go out for a drink to celebrate his birthday, leaving out the fact that his team would be there too.

Andrew was surprised to see his teammates and a few friends from college whom you had contacted just for this occasion at the bar. He gave you a hug and you kissed his cheek, “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” You wiped the faint pink lipstick off his cheek and said, “Go on, I’ll get the drinks. We’ll catch up later.” You made your way to the bar and ordered a round of drinks. You looked back to see Andrew smiling at you and mouthing “Thank you.” You shook your head and blew him a kiss.

While you were waiting at the bar, an old friend from your hometown came up to you. “It’s been a long time. How have you been?” You asked, touching his arm. The two of you had dated in high school, but it was nothing serious. You talked for a bit while you waited for the drinks, laughing as you discussed old memories. “It was so great seeing you,” You smiled, hugging him. As you carried the drinks back to the table, you noticed Andrew was no longer smiling.

You sat down next to Andrew, putting your hand on his arm, “Is everything okay?”

He knocked your hand off of his arm by reaching for a drink, “I’m fine.”

You frowned, “Are you sure?”

He knocked back about half of his drink, “Oh yeah, everything is just great.” You tried holding his hand, but he shifted away from you.  Trying to shake it off, you reaching for your own drink, but you knew something was off with him. He was rarely ever like this.

The rest of the night passed on similarly. He was standoffish and seemed like he was avoiding you. It had gotten to the point where a few of the guys even noticed it. Usually Andrew always had an arm around you or was holding your hand, but tonight he was as distant as ever. “He’s just jealous. He’ll get over it,” Brock told you while you were staring at Andrew, trying to decipher what the problem was.

Your brows came together in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“Who was that guy you were talking to at the bar? An ex? Old high school sweetheart, maybe?” Brock questioned.

You laughed, “Barely. We would just drive around town with each other because there was nothing else to do. Nothing serious.”

Brock nodded, “I figured as much, but big strong Beni’s got his ego bruised.” It was hard to keep yourself from laughing. Ever since you met Andrew it was like no one else existed. But you knew you’d be jealous too if his ex showed up.

After talking to Brock, you decided to show Andrew that no one was coming between you two. You sat next to him, placing a hand on his arm and before he could push you away, you nipped at his ear and whispered, “Let’s get out of here. I need you.” He checked his phone for the time, trying to appear disinterested, but he stood up to leave with you anyway. As you were leaving, your ex waved to you, but your pretended like you didn’t see him. Instead you reached back to take Andrew’s hand to hold and ducked under his arm so he was holding you to his side.

Since the hotel wasn’t far, you decided to walk. “Did you enjoy your birthday?” You asked him. He nodded, looking down at his feet as he walked. You stopped in front of him and went on your tip toes to kiss him. “I’ve got one more present for you,” You said, “And I can hardly wait to give it to you.”

He shook his head, “I don’t know. I’m kind of tired, long day.”

You sighed, “You know that I dated that guy when I was 16, right? That’s nearly seven years ago.”

His face went red with embarrassment, “What?”

You stroked his cheek, feeling the heat radiating from it, “I know you were jealous in there and you don’t have to be, Andrew. I don’t even think of people like that anymore. Not since I met you.”

He sighed and put his hand on top yours, nodding, “I know. I was just being stupid.” He kissed the palm of your hand, “I guess I just needed to hear you say it.”

You smiled and laced your arms around his neck, “There’s only you. I promise.”

“Did this conversation change your mind about wanting your present?” You asked, tugging at his hair a bit. He nodded and leaned down to kiss you. His kiss was gentle and soft, almost apologetic in a certain way. “Good, because you turn me on so much when you’re angry,” You said once he pulled away. “You just get so..” Your hands massaged from his chest to his shoulders and down his arms, “tense.”

He leaned down to kiss you, “Let’s get back to the hotel before I have to take you in some restaurant’s alley.”

By the time you got to the correct floor, the only thing holding up your dress was your hands. Andrew made quick work of stripping you of your bra and panties, but tonight was supposed to be about him. You undressed him and pushed him onto the bed, kissing from his thighs up to his lips. His eyes were closed in pleasure as you worked his length in your hand and reached into the bed side drawer to retrieve something else. His eyes opened when there was a click. “What the fuck?” He said when he looked up to find himself handcuffed to the headboard. You gave him a devilish smile as you made your way back down to his cock.

You wet your lips and pressed kisses to the head of his cock, collecting the precum that had begun to drip down his length. You took him deep into your throat and maintained eye contact while you pulled off of him slowly. You heard him struggle against the handcuffs, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to touch you. You straddled his face, leaning down to fondle his balls and take him back into your mouth. A moan escaped your lips when his tongue licked up and down your folds, causing vibrations against his cock. He sucked on your clit as ropes of his cum hit the back of your throat. The moans you let out sent him into ecstasy.

You straddled his cock and kissed him, tasting your juices on his tongue. Your hips involuntarily bucked against his shaft. You kept at this for a bit until you felt him get hard again. You rolled a condom onto his cock and unlocked the handcuffs. As soon as he was free, Andrew flipped you onto your back and thrust into you. When he was inside of you,  a string of expletives left his lips. His hands held your hips in a tight grip while your calves rested on his shoulders. His thrusts were fast and deep. “Fuck Andy, I’m going to cum” You moaned. Your back arches when you do, hands grabbing the sheets so hard while he thrusts into you that your knuckles become white. His forehead rests against yours when he cums, rolling his hips into yours a few more times. He shifts onto his back with you on top of him, his hand stroking the small of his back. “I should get you jealous more often, huh?” You tease, kissing his cheek, “Happy Birthday, love.”

This was submitted by the wonderful anon, E. Thank u so much!!!

[sensitivefern]

Day after day, Boswell treads water. His flurries of zeal at court come to little... Boswell is mostly in Edinburgh, and I, rather lost in the petty social swirl there, found no character as continuously engaging as the hero’s big toe, with its ingrown toenail; this pathetic digit, already familiar to readers of the Continental journals, makes its reappearance on April 24, 1779 (‘My sore foot was troublesome’), and inflames and remisses, is maltreated and suffered and dreamed about (‘I dreamt that I saw the cause of my toe being so painful’), and at last, to our great relief, before dinner on January 27, 1780, is decisively cut into by the shilly-shallying surgeon (‘I felt myself resolved to bear the pain, so he cut a good deal of the nail of my great toe out of the flesh. The operation hurt me much. But as soon as it was over I perceived that I was much relieved for I felt only the pain of a green wound instead of the pain of my toe irritated by the nail in it’), and henceforth slowly heals, to fade finally from notice on the 6th of May... Like doctor and patient, reader and writer grope together through a puzzling mass of symptoms and uncathartic crisis that unfold with a maddening organic slowness toward the ambiguous optimum of further survival.

[John Updike]

===

The state closest to the Beni was based around Lake Titicaca, the 120-mile-long alpine lake that crosses the Peru-Bolivia border. Most of this region has an altitude of twelve thousand feet or more. Summers are short; winters are correspondingly long. This ‘bleak, frigid land’, wrote... Victor von-Hagen, ‘seemingly was the last place from which one might expect a culture to develop’. But in fact the lake is comparatively warm, and so the land surrounding it is less beaten by frost than the surrounding highlands. Taking advantage of the better climate, the village of Tiwanaku... began after about 800 B.C. to drain the wetlands around the rivers that flowed into the lake from the south...

[1491]

===

T’ville, from Aug. 6, 1966. The house looks better with new screens in the windows, the roof and the back bedroom painted. [...] It was the day of the fireman’s fair and parade. Both Mary’s girls were in the parade, which went by just after we had finished dinner. Susan was playing the clarinet... The whole thing was touching and cheering. Each town had sent its delegation, and they competed with one another in music, display, drum-majorette stick-twirling and other tricks. In one, there was a girl who did flips; in another, the girl would suddenly sink to the ground, then quickly start up again.

[Edmund Wilson]

===

No eaves; so that very quickly one of the hallmarks of compound work, never referred to in the manifestos, became the permanently streaked and stained white or beige stucco exterior wall.

Then there was the principle of ‘expressed structure’. The bourgeoisie had always been great ones for false fronts (it hardly needed saying), thick walls of masonry and other grand materials, overlaid with every manner of quoin and groin and pediment and lintel and rock-faced arch, cozy anthropomorphic elements such as entablatures and capitals, pilasters and columns, plinths and rusticated bases, to create the impression of head, midsection, and foot, and every manner of grandiose and pointless gesture – spires, Spanish tile roofs, bays, corbels – to create a dishonest picture of what went on inside, architecturally and socially. All this had to go.

[From Bauhaus to Our House]

===

That one Holstein cow should produce 50,000 pounds of milk in a year may appear to be marvelous... But what if her productivity is dependent upon the consumption of a huge amount of grain (about a bushel a day), and therefore upon the availability of cheap petroleum? What if she is too valuable (and too delicate) to be allowed outdoors in the rain? What if the proliferation of her kind will again drastically reduce the number of dairy farms and farmers? Or, to use a more obvious example, can we afford a bushel of grain at a cost of five to twenty bushels of topsoil lost to erosion?

[Wendell Berry]

===

Unlike Benjamin Rush, whose medical theories and practices have been relegated to the slops of American history, Nathaniel Hawthorne has remained one of the canonical elect, a certified literary genius... But Hawthorne was hardly isolated from the great currents of nineteenth-century American gastrosophy. His sister-in-law, Mary Tyler Peabody Mann (Mrs. Horace Mann), wrote one of the most representative books of Hawthorne’s time, Christianity in the Kitchen. [...] One of Hawthorne’s short stories from 1846 carries the epigastric title: ‘Egotism; or, The Bosom Serpent’. The story’s protagonist, Roderick Elliston, is a ‘lean man, of unwholesome look’, his complexion ‘a greenish tinge over its sickly white’. As it turns out, Elliston’s problem is more than your garden-variety dyspepsia. He is the ‘man with a snake in his bosom’. And thus Elliston’s convulsive alimentary refrain: ‘It gnaws me! It gnaws me!’

[A Short History of the American Stomach]

===

SKUNK: Many investigators have made detailed food studies of skunks and have shown that their principal food is insects and most of the insects taken are injurious to plant life. When fruits are ripe and plentiful, they constitute an important part of skunk diet. Most of these are gathered from the surface of the ground, so represent waste as far as man is concerned. Mice constitute another important food item and their destruction is favorable to man. An occasionally bird is taken and not infrequently they were previously injured or already dead when taken by the skunk. Under these circumstances, this too is a service to man.

Skunks deserve much credit for digging out the June bug or May bettle in both the larval and adult stages.

===

spiny restharrow | Ononis spinosa Mediterranean region, extending out Turkestan way... the root is used medicinally – its constituents include ‘glycosidic iso-flavonoids and their aglycones formononetin and onogenin, the triterpene α-onocerin, the little known ononid’... ‘Along with parsley root, licorice rhizomes and juniper berries it is an important component of diuretic herbal tea mixtures’... in the wild it is found on dry banks, forest edges, rough grasslands principally on limestone soils... is prickly... Leguminosae...

===

Liatris L. spicata ‘pioneers plant succession in strip-mined spoils and in old fields’... chief pollinators are bumble bees and bee flies; the glorious flower moth (Schinia gloriosa) feeds upon it as a well camouflaged caterpillar... ants and lady bugs... sheep find numerous species tasty; deer, the opposite... voles are said to collect the corms, storing them in their pantries...

[The Book of Field and Roadside]

===

❚David Frum Retweeted Sky News Australia BREAKING Sky News sources say Donald Trump was 'yelling' during his phone conversation with PM Turnbull and hung up after 25 minutes

Shy Shelter Dog FLIPS OUT After Realizing He's Been Adopted

The Trump Era Is Al Franken’s Time to Shine The Minnesota senator has emerged from the shadows to make life hell for Republicans.

Donald Trump Grabs National Prayer Breakfast By The Pussy This dumb ritual happens every year, called the National Prayer Breakfast. It’s a bipartisan shindig, where politicians on both sides of the aisle, of all faiths, can come together and agree to spend the morning praying to Jesus. It’s super evangelical, run by a creepy cult of right-wing dominionist Christians called The Family. So obviously our secular government should embrace it as a tradition, right? ANYWAY. Donald Trump got to go to his first National Prayer Breakfast on Thursday morning, and instead of doing like a common Obama, making nice speeches about faith and family, while the wingnuts in attendance rock back and forth and pray for the unborned babies, Trump urged everybody to pray REALLY HARD... for Arnold Schwarzenegger to get better ratings on “The Celebrity Apprentice,” because that’s what these folks really care about.

HOW TO WIN FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE MOTHERFUCKERS

Doctor, writer, and all-round polymath Thomas Browne (1605-1682) is now better known for his literary work but in his own time was legendary as the greatest – and first – scientific populariser of his day. Browne’s best-selling Pseudodoxia Epidemica, or Common Errors, debunked myths in botany, geology, geography, anatomy, and zoology, as well as history and scripture. Going through seven editions during his lifetime and translated into several European languages, it made him the first public “expert” and a pioneer of popular science. Common Errors is a landmark work of myth-busting. In it Browne tackles important questions such as: do elephants have knees? Why do we say “bless you” when we sneeze? Is the earth a magnetic body? Did Jesus have long hair? Who would win in a fight, a toad or a spider? [...] One of Browne’s most prolonged experiments involved the ostrich, acquired by his son Edward. A flock arrived in London in the early 1660s, brought by the Moroccan ambassador as a gift for the king, and immediately caused a splash – exotic animals were rare in England at the time. Edward managed to get hold of one and kept it in his stables. A frenzy of letters between father and son followed, discussing its eating and sleeping habits, the shape of its feet, and the noises it made (“a strange odde noyse … especially in the morning and perhaps when hungry”). This experiment in collaborative zoo-keeping came to an abrupt end when the ostrich died in its sleep one night, as Browne had predicted, being unused to the cold of a London January. It was immediately dissected. Browne was nothing if not thorough.