#smokingbomber

it only occurs to me now that it shoulda been 'I shall be your opponent!'

For @smokingbomber. AU. A scene featuring Kunzite, Mamoru and Usagi, in which Kunzite and Mamoru are best friends and Kunzite and Usagi are siblings. For a fic not yet published. This is semi-unedited drivel and snark. Sorry not sorry.

**

The commencement ceremony for his sister’s class at the Greenwich Academy features raindrops on roses and girls in white dresses (without blue satin sashes) and a Pulitzer-winning journalist as the commencement speaker, and of course, their whole family was there for Una’s big day. Kent’s mother, Isabelle, had also attended the school in her own teenage years, and had been sloppy with sentimentality all morning at the thought of her only daughter following in her footsteps. His dad, of course, was a bit more prosaic, though he did approve of this year’s choice of commencement speaker as opposed to last year’s staid and rather boring senator.

Una isn’t Valedictorian-- that particular honour falls to her good friend Molly O’Shea, the heiress of a chain of jewelry stores. Molly’s family is a bit new-money, and her mother is undeniably a little crass by their standards, but she’s a sweet girl, undoubtedly with a bright future ahead of her, and certainly, Una could associate with worse people.

The graduating class of an elite, private all-girl’s school is typically less than 100 students, and this year’s is no exception. Kent had heard tell of the local public school holding their ceremony at an actual sporting stadium due to the plethora of students, family, friends and staff involved, and it’s almost comical. Who would even be able to get a good picture of their kid’s face as he or she got their diploma from some spot in the stands fifty feet up? It would make sense for a college graduation, of course, but seems to lack the sort of sentimentality and ceremony that kids always enjoyed.

“Hey.”

The voice is familiar, and while his best friend’s presence isn’t a complete shock-- Matt has been promoted to almost-an-honourary-Crawford-Tate since the events of a year ago, it does strike Kent as a bit odd that his friend would be standing there in full-on black tie and carrying a bouquet of red roses like it’s a wedding or something.

“Hi there, Miss America. Lose your tiara or something?” Kent jostles his friend’s arm good-naturedly, but rather to his surprise, Matt doesn’t say anything smart-alecky back in response and watches the proceedings without a word.

They sit through the speeches, the music and ceremony, and of course, everyone applauds when Una receives her diploma and a yellow rose as her name is announced. She beams and waves at them as she follows the rest of the procession down the line, and Kent is struck with the fact that his baby sister is now all grown up, wearing a long white dress that isn’t all princess ballerina ruffles, her hair down her back rather than in pigtails. Una is petite and bubbly and probably would love sappy nonsense like fuzzy little kittens and Disney movies for the rest of her life, but she is no longer a kid, and it makes Kent, at the advanced age of twenty-two, feel ancient.

The ceremony ends shortly, and Una breaks away from her friends to join them, and that is when all Hell breaks loose.

That she smiles and runs towards them, not quite graceful in her kitten heels, is not super surprising. She’s a soft-hearted little thing, after all, and unlike Kent, who’d grown up on a steady weekly diet of private tennis lessons and captained his rowing team at Yale, generally hated sports and athletic activity. But that she only spares her parents and Kent the most perfunctory greetings before making a beeline for Matt on the other hand stops Kent in his tracks, and when Matt hands her the roses, then opens his arms, and she jumps in, arms looping around his neck and blonde hair mingling with Matt’s black, Kent is almost certain his jaw made an audible thump as it hit the floor.

It isn’t the type of hug a girl would give a friend, or a brother, and the kiss Matt has the audacity to plant on her isn’t exactly fraternal in nature, either. Kent doesn’t even register his own parents’ reactions-- whether they were as shocked and appalled as he was, or whether, worse, they somehow knew about this. Matt picks up a giggling, blushing Una and swings her around, then sets her down and, even more horrifyingly, pulls out a small black velvet box out of a pocket. It’s like the climax scene of every fluffy chick flick ever except in Kent’s head, some 80s era Wes Craven horror movie soundtrack is playing over it.

Matt pulls a ring-- an actual RING!-- out of the box, classic antique platinum band with a flawless white pearl flanked by two small diamonds, and offers it to Una. “It’s not-- well, it’s my mother’s. I know we’re young, and you have college and I have med school. But I want you to wait for me. Someday, I want to do this again, with something just for you.” It’s an old-fashioned notion-- a promise ring-- but even more shocking is the fact that his normally quiet friend is doing this in front of everyfuckingbody like it’s not some huge spectacle, let alone the fact that apparently Matt and Una had been carrying on for goodness only knew how long before then, because she seems thrilled and misty-eyed rather than horrified and shrieking. She kisses Matt again, accepts the ring and the roses, and then, FINALLY, Matt manages to meet Kent’s eye, and Kent has no choice but to move his brain and body out of the fog and react.

He hauls Una none-too-gently out of Matt’s arms, and then punches Matt in the face, his friend’s head snapping back at the contact of Kent’s fist against his jaw. Matt almost falls down, but then Una is screeching and yanking Kent off like a baby kitten attempting to move a mastiff, and her ire is apparently at Kent for punching Matt rather than Matt for laying hands on her in every single violation to the Bro code in the history of ever.

“DON’T HIT MY BOYFRIEND!!! WE ARE IN LOVE AND YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!!” Undoubtedly, this is the liveliest graduation scene the hallowed grounds of Greenwich Academy has seen in at least a decade, and perhaps later, Kent would be reading about some pearl-clutching old biddy having a stroke because of this almost-brawl that would certainly be more in character at a dive bar that served cheap beer and twangy country music or whatever than here. But for now, Kent turns, open-mouthed, to stare at his sister. The petulant words and tone are definitely hers-- classic riled-up Una-- but since when was Matthew Darien Clark anything but his friend?

“Matt is NOT your boyfriend! Since when is Matt your boyfriend?! YOU JUST TURNED EIGHTEEN LAST JUNE SINCE WHEN DID YOU START HAVING BOYFRIENDS?!”

“Kent, you’re making a scene and embarrassing your sister.” His mother’s voice cuts through the haze and whatever undoubtedly furious retort Una has for his remark. “It is extremely unseemly to engage in this boisterous contretemps in public like an uncultured ruffian. Una, dear, do stop screaming. Do you think we might be able to find a place with some privacy to resolve this situation?”

“Why the need for privacy? HE’S the one who wanted to freaking damn near propose in front of all these people! He should suffer the consequences of his actions that HE chose to do publically!”

“I have nothing to say to you about Matt and myself, and until you get off your high horse and leave whichever awful Victorian planet where women sit cross-legged at home and bat their eyelashes while patiently waiting for the men to find something to do with their lives that you seem to be living on, I have nothing to say to you, period. Matt’s your FRIEND and you just punched him because, what, we’re in love?” Una clenched her jaw, then raised her chin in stubborn defiance. “If you’ll excuse me. I need to find some ice for my boyfriend’s face.”

“Kent, kindly don’t conduct yourself like a hooligan.” Even his father, apparently, was in on this horrifying scenario. Kent Crawford-Tate, Jr. looked his usual unruffled self, slightly bored and slightly disapproving with the scenario playing out. “Matthew is not a stranger or an unsuitable fellow, and he even asked my permission to do this beforehand. Your sister is happy.” He waves a hand at the crowd starting to gather around them, bequeaths a jovial smile. “Everything is perfectly fine, folks. Isn’t it a beautiful day? Are you all right there, son?” This last bit is directed at Matt himself, who is rubbing his jaw gingerly, but meets his eye with a wan smile.

“I’m fine, sir.” Matt then turns his dark-blue gaze towards Kent, and though his eyes are somber, they’re unapologetic and meet Kent’s without any fear. “I’m okay with you punching me. I guess we should have told you, but everything was happening so fast. I’m sorry you’re upset over it, but I’m not going to stop seeing Una just to appease you.” An awful, sappy smile crosses Matt’s face. “She’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Okay, that’s my sister, and that’s disgusting, and never do that again.” Kent shudders. It’s incredibly demoralizing to learn that not only is he the last one to know about this outrageous new development, but Matt’s focus is completely on Una’s happiness. “Do I even want to know how long this has been going on?”

“Since the time my grandmother got sick. Una caught me on a bad day, and just… she understood. We must have talked for hours.” Matt, the noble idiot, brushes lint off his stark black lapels and makes that lovesick face again despite Kent’s stern injunctions just a moment prior. “Your whole family has been incredibly supportive, and I can’t thank them enough, of course. But Una-- she’s like light shining through the darkness. I don’t know what I would have done this last year without her.”

“Ugh.” It’s an uncouth nothing of a word, but Kent finds that he doesn’t have anything else to say. The idea of being friends with a boyfriend of Una’s has literally never occurred to him before, nor the idea of his own best friend eyeing his little sister, nor even the idea of his best friend being in love, period. Certainly Matt was not the sort to tomcat around the Yale campus like some of the other rich, privileged douchebags of their acquaintance, but they were too damn young to settle down for 2.4 kids and a white picket fence. Or, more likely in their case, 2.4 kids, a live-in housekeeper, and a six-bedroom mansion with a three-car garage.

His asshole disgrace of a best friend has the nerve to smile. “You’ll know what I mean someday, bro.”

“Why, you have any long-lost sisters?” It’s a snotty remark at best, but Matt is too nice of a guy to care, and Kent privately finds the idea of continuing to pick a fight with someone who, goddammit, is just not willing to engage, about equal to the idea of arguing with a six-year-old about the existence of Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Sure, it may be an easy battle to win, but the victory would feel dickish at best, unjust at worst.

“No, but you’ll fall in love yourself someday. And when you find the right woman, nothing will be as important to you as bringing a smile to her face, and all you’ll want from your friends and others around you is the support and goodwill to share in your happiness.”

“Sounds like a hocus pocus curse, so you should probably stop that shit. I didn’t punch you that hard, you ass.” Kent doesn’t want to shake on it and call it good, not in front of all these people, especially since they’ve already given everyone at that year’s graduation more than enough of a shit show, so he hunches his shoulders, well aware that a multitude of young, white-gowned debutantes are eyeing him like something beneath a microscope slide, and hightails it out to the parking lot.

His car is… noticeable, even in this sea of luxurious, flashy Range Rovers and Mercedes Benzes and Bentleys. The sleek black Maserati with the custom gold trim had been a present for his own graduation a month earlier from his parents. Sure, he rarely ever drove it into the questionable parts of town, and certainly it is a vehicle that screams ‘PLEASE HIT ME WITH A SPEEDING TICKET AGAIN, OFFICER, AND MAKE IT A GOOD ONE!’ the way a BDSM fetishist might scream at some leather-clad dominatrix plying a cat-o’-nine-tails on his backside, but it is a Thing of Beauty and a Joy Forever. Kent makes a beeline towards it, then stops in his tracks about two feet away.

Una had certainly NOT been fetching ice for Matt’s jaw in the interim. Keyed into the exorbitantly-expensive custom paint job, in loopy, girlish handwriting, are the words “SCREW YOU, I DO WHAT I WANT!”, followed by a bright pink lipstick heart on the side mirror.

I’ve got three shout-outs here.

@smokingbomber (fanfic HERE) - Just as I felt my interest in fandom wavering, you showed up and completely revitalized everything for me. You made fanfic fun again. I love your enthusiasm, I love the way you write Mamoru, I love how you explore rarepairs and polyships right alongside the classics. I love how your work can range from silly to dark to nightmare fuel. I don’t know how you’ve been so prolific in such a short amount of time, but I hope you keep going.

@fadesinthesun (fanfic HERE) - Your Kunzite gives me life. I just love your prose, I love your version of the Silver Millennium, I love the clever way you look at things. I hope you’ll keep writing so more people can see the absolute genius that you are.

so i was @smokingbomber‘s secret santa this year....and i heard u liked threesomes.....specifically mamoru sandwiches :3 

(this was the first iteration, but then i reread the rules which said SFW and PG-13 at most....and this felt a little too saucy for that. SO posting it separately. You can find my PG secret santa gift here :3)

I wrote this for @smokingbomber during my travels. We actually spoke on the phone during my layover in Newark which was fun. It is set in a ficverse also written about for the @ssrevminibang and related to the last thing I wrote for her. Features Mamoru, and A/Z. 

**

The request had seemed innocuous enough. Could some hard-working and intelligent Harvard Pre-meds access the lab after-hours, while he was in the building no less, to finish up on some work? They would not be in the building alone, and really, who would jeopardize their standings and astronomical tuition payment to get up to anything untoward. There wasn’t anything of value that would invite theft-- this was a chemistry lab, not a computer lab-- and besides, most of them had more than a decent chunk of disposable income. Who in their right minds would invite a criminal charge and college expulsion so early in their lives? So Matt had agreed, and not thought too much about it until two weeks later when it was his turn in the rotation to prep the lab for one of the organic chemistry professors the next day.

In a container labeled “Acetone” is some dusky off-white substance that looks nothing like the universal solvent.

Matt isn’t stupid: he has no idea what, precisely, the unknown substance is. However, it is almost certainly a Class-A controlled substance of the variety which can cause irreversible health damage to its users and lengthy prison time for its procurers. He also knows that it will fall on him for letting the kids in after-hours, and he has all of twenty-four hours to deal with the situation. He also, also knows that he is woefully out of his depths. It’s a sticky situation, to say the least. Lots of unpleasant possible outcomes, all of which jeopardize his own future, and not a great number of people whom he could simultaneously trust to help him deal with the situation AND not give him admittedly well-deserved shit for being a naive, soft-brained idiot with too much faith in the decency of humanity. As a matter of fact, only one person comes to mind at all.

“Hey, Alice. I sort of need your help.”

Alice Marshall is in his graduating class for medical school, though she’s about a year younger. A Bona Fide Genius even by lofty Ivy League standards, she’d been his lab partner since Organic Chemistry, Honours Section, in their freshman year of undergrad at Yale, then both had went on to Harvard for medical school after graduating. She’s a scholarship kid from somewhere in BFE, soft-spoken and calm and diligent, who’d grown up comfortably well-off but definitely not in the bubble of moneyed New England privilege like Matt or Una. Outside of their classes, she mostly keeps to herself, and Matt has very little idea of what she likes to do outside of their shared world of lectures and labs and practicals. She’s unflappable, though. Not to mention discreet and non-judgmental, and when he calls, answers in her usual pleasant way.

“No problem. What is it that you need?”

Alice, to Matt’s eternal relief, shows up promptly, and doesn’t scold after Matt tells her the bare bones of the problem which had befallen him. She does raise her eyebrows, however, and remain quiet for a good fifteen minutes as she mulls over, in all likelihood, the same set of unpleasant options that Matt has already contemplated. Finally, she sighs.

“You’ve got yourself in a rough spot, that’s for sure.”

“I know, and I’m a moron. I guess if there’s nothing that can be done about this situation, I’m just going to have to suck it up. I don’t think they can actually arrest me, considering that I knew nothing, right?”

“Let me just... make a quick phone call. I know someone who may be able to help, if I can convince them.”

She steps into the other room, and talks too quietly for Matt to hear, but returns after only a few minutes to give him a wan smile.

“Well, I found help. If anyone can get you out of this predicament, he can. So you’re in luck. He’s on his way.”

The mysterious friend of Alice’s turns up a few hours later. He’s a good-looking young man with sandy blond hair that’s a bit too long, and sharp, piercing green eyes, an arrogant smile on his lips. He barely spares Matt a glance, and heads straight for Alice, taking both her hands in his and kissing her forehead in a way that all but broadcasts his intentions towards her. It’s only after this salutation that he turns towards Matt. 

“So you must be the latest stray. Alice, sweetheart, wherever do you find these people? Put it back, it might have rabies.”

“Be nice, Stephen. He’s a good guy. Matt, meet Stephen Zimmerman, once upon a time of Harvard Law. Stephen, meet Matthew Clark, my lab partner from undergrad.”

“Ah. So YOU are Matt Clark. Small world, isn’t it? I recently accepted a job offer at the firm which employs your brother-in-law, I believe.” Stephen Zimmerman links fingers with Alice. “I’m going to state for the record that I’m only doing this to please Alice. I doubt even you could afford my rates. No offense.”

“None taken.” Zimmerman was, perhaps, every stereotype of a cocky, hotshot lawyer come to life, down to the silk pocket-square in his perfectly pressed suit which perfectly matched his tie, but for all that, there’s something sort of comforting about his blunt, somewhat condescending manner. This is not someone who’d play mind games with him, or mince any words. Zimmerman, like Alice, was the type of smart so confident and comfortable with his abilities that he’d never feel the need to loudly show off just to prove a point. In the weirdest way, that made Matt feel better.

“He’d never get up to anything illegal, Stephen. That much I can reassure you.” Alice, bless her peace-loving heart, vouches for him, but Zimmerman simply smirks.

“That’s not important. No one cares about that. It’s all about how likely others can be made to believe it, or failint that, figuring out how to make this all just quietly go away.”

Matt watches with not a little awe as Zimmerman-- definitely not on friendly enough terms with him to be on a first name basis-- and Alice get to work. The latter calls a friend, who calls another friend connected to the forensic science division of the local law enforcement agency, and somehow all without asking any questions, the network of people send over a field test kit for narcotics. After ascertaining the contents of the “Acetone” container-- some clumsily and potentially dangerously synthesized MDMA, Alice proceeds to help him scour the lab down with a fine toothed comb, locating and destroying any other remnants. Meanwhile, Zimmerman gets the names of the students in question from Matt and holes himself up in a computer lab with a legal pad, a laptop with an external hard drive, and a collection of pens-- black, blue and red. He curtly tells Matt to leave him alone when the latter attempts to help, or at the very least figure out what the plan is, and is still in there with the door locked at some indecent hour of night after Matt goes off to bed.

The next morning, bright-ass early, campus police descent upon a frat house wherein resides two of the students, armed with a warrant as well as apparent evidence of them on a bank ATM CCTV dispensing their ill-produced haul. It had been called in by some little old lady whom Matt had never met or heard of, whose apartment apparently overlooked that street. Any record of Matt’s involvement in helping the troublemakers access facilities or ingredients are nowhere to be found. It’s possibly the most efficient, ruthless and cold-blooded sting that Matt had ever seen outside of some far-fetched police procedural on TV. He has no idea exactly how Zimmerman pulled it off, but figures that it’s best if he doesn’t know.

“Crisis averted.” The brilliant and possibly evil mastermind who had orchestrated this entire chain of events finally reappears, ghost-like, looking not at all worse for wear after pulling an intense all-nighter putting God knows how many plays in motion. Zimmerman smirks at Matt, then inspects his nails. “I do fantastic work, if I may say so myself.”

“I can’t thank you two enough.” Matt gives the other man a weary smile. “Kent’s firm is in good hands if you’re their in-house counsel.”

“Of course. Mind, as I said, I did this as a favour to Alice. She says that you have a few redeeming qualities, this unfortunate episode notwithstanding. As a matter of fact, I ran a background check on you before I came.” At Matt’s look of surprise, Zimmerman simply gives an expansive shrug. “Know thy enemy. Or thy client. It’s not smart to go into these things without all the facts. I will admit, your academic record is commendable, especially for a bastion of privileged wealth such as yourself. How you manage to be so smart while still being such a naive lost child, however, I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

“I guess I didn’t count on anyone being so reckless, or having such a callous disregard for others who may be harmed as a consequence of their actions. Either way, thank you. Alice is lucky to have you.”

Zimmerman’s eyes warm, and it transforms his face into something almost approachable as opposed to haughty and calculating. “Maybe I’ll convince her of that one of these days. Our Alice is an incredibly independent, strong-willed woman.”

“She didn’t call anyone else to help straighten up this mess, wich speaks to her trust in you.” This was more even ground for them. A man in love, after all, recognized a fellow man in love with automatic, unconditional sympathy. “She’s a very nice girl. Probably would enjoy being appreciated, being courted. Please be good to her.” The last bit is spoken aloud before Matt can think better of it, but Zimmerman takes no offense.

“As if I could be anything but. Don’t get yourself involved in any more idiotic situations. Just remember: people are, with only a few exceptions, greedy, selfish, inconsiderate and stupid little buggers. Don’t ever expect them to do the right, or smart, or sensible thing.”

With that little bit of sage advice, Zimmerman seeks out Alice and prepares to take his leave. Matt watches as he bends his head to whisper something, dark blond curls brushing over Alice’s blue-black locks. Whatever he says has her blushing, and glancing up at him almost timidly. Zimmerman cups her face in his hands, presses his mouth to hers in a tentative sort of way, then when she doesn’t draw away, pulls her close and kisses her for real. Alice is still blushing well after he walks away.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “So, umm, thank you both.”

“I did very little, really. I’m not nearly as good with this sort of thing as Stephen is. I’m glad it all worked out, however. You worried me.” Alice gives him a brief, sideways glance. “I think perhaps you place too much stock in people’s good intentions.”

“You two even sound alike.” Matt gives her a long look. “Clearly, your respect for each other is mutual. Do I need to ask him, in most likely a comically incompetent way, what his intentions are?”

“I don’t think he’d take that very well, actually.” Alice says it with a smile, though. “Just stay out of trouble. I think he’s going to have his hands full, dealing with that firm.”

Matt thought, briefly, about calling Kent to warn him, then decided against it. The bastard had the nerve to hit him over a strictly honourable relationship with Una, after all. It’d be karmic justice to see him subjected to the whims and caprices of Scary Lawyer Man.

Not that Kent would do anything stupid or reprehensible to draw the man’s ire, of course. Kent was far too smart and honest for that sort of thing, career as a Wall Street shark notwithstanding.

Probably. He hoped, anyway.

And Kneel and Say an Ave There for Me by Smokingbomber - narrated by Pigsocks Rated: G Genre: Unrequited love Characters: Setsuna Meiou, Endymion Summary: Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Setsuna wondered, here on the Nth go-round of a closed loop that promised infinity, if the mask was even something he could take off anymore. Links: AO3