#no concrit on this piece please

[belgianreader2]

What do you think of this attempt to simplify my art style? I thought that one scene from Wild Blue Yonder with its absolutely neutral expression was a good way to start. This piece took only 3 hours and I’m pretty pleased with the results, but this is one instance where I’ll happily accept concrit (dangerous game I know)

Commissions | Ko-Fi | Art Prints | Art Merch | IG | Carrd

[iknowsescapingjourneys]

(A/N: I have literally never written a fan fiction in my life so this is going to be an adventure. I have an eighteen chapter series planned for this if things go well. I am a white girl that grew up in the middle of nowhere, USA, so if I get any British slang wrong or accidentally mess up something when it comes to his culture, please correct me! I am completely open to concrit.

Other than that, there’s not many triggers in this chapter. Kinda new to Tumblr, I was an embarrassing teenager the last time, pls don’t look at my posts, so I don’t know what needs to be tagged. There’s some fighting, but nothing graphic or gory. Mentions of theft. That’s about it. I am going off of the interview with the directors that say that he is an adult, and there will be smut in later chapters.

Please let me know what you think! I will also do requests for one-shots if anyone has anything in particular they’d like to see.)

Reckless Driving

Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Chapter 1

The crunch of glass beneath the PVC of Doc Martins seems to become an increasingly familiar sound. The stretch and curl of fingers in her gloves causes the sound of metal claws scraping together to echo through the showroom of the commercial jewelry store, barely audible as an alarm blares heavily above her head. The night vision equipped in her helmet makes it easy to see the glass case she’s peering down at, and with a slam of a gloved, clawed fist, the barrier shatters into a hundred sharp, sparkling pieces that fall to the floor and the display below. Claws curl easily around necklaces and rings, dropping them into the cargo pockets of her pants.

She knows how long it takes the police to show up, and she knows that she has three minutes left, if she’s lucky. She’s been here longer than she usually prefers to be, having had a difficult time busting the first display open. The police scanner in her ear chatters away, reports of her misconduct and theft a hot topic. She scoots to her left, repeating her earlier process, and zipping up the pocket when it feels heavy against her thigh.

She turns on her heel to dash to the employee exit in the back, but finds herself colliding with something, a mix of blue and red and black. She stumbles back, eyes widening beneath her masked helmet. Her first instinct is Spiderman, who she is more than well acquainted with, and not in any way that could be deemed positive. Her fist flies through the air without thought, stopped short when it’s grabbed mid trajectory and used to push her back into the broken display case. Her back arches to avoid sharp shrapnel, and she kicks a leg up, outsole colliding with a denim clad knee.

Denim? She pauses her onslaught long enough to get a good look at who exactly has wandered into her crime scene. An eyebrow raises beneath the LEDs of her helmet as she takes him in. This, this was not Spiderman. What looked to be heavy liner circled the mask’s eyes, dripping down below the eye holes. The suit was covered in spikes, both built into it and adorned with bracelets, and belts, and even protruding from the leather jacket that hung loosely on his frame. A guitar was strapped across his back, strings messily sprouting from string trees.

She was pulled from her analysis when a heavy boot made contact with her chest, sending her flying back into the cash register of the jewelry store. She could hear sirens approaching over the sound of the alarm screaming, and she knew flashing lights were only moments away. Her eyes flickered back up to the man encroaching on her space like a predator stalking its prey.

“Man, look at the time,” She spouts, notes of sarcasm and nervousness sprinkled throughout her otherwise surprisingly even tone. “Guess I should probably head out.” She continues, throwing her upper body to the side to avoid another well aimed kick. This time she notices the yellow and blue of ladder laced cords.

“Blue laces, huh? Seems like an odd color for someone working with the cops.” She taunts, managing to pull herself over the counter of the cash register, shoving open the door to the back room with her own boot as she backs herself up.

The man seems to pause for a moment, running his eyes over her figure with a look of confused conflict. “Y’know lace code?” He asks, and she can’t help the laugh that bubbles from her throat.

His accent is thick, and it’s immediately apparent to her that he is not from around here, though New York was known to have a melting pot of people. His voice is deep, but not intimidatingly so, and she finds she actually quite likes it, even from the small sampling she’s heard so far. Her eyes glance down to her own laces, strung up in a similar fashion. One side yellow, the other side purple.

“I might,” She finally answers with a grin, knowing that the duration between the question and her answer was probably long enough that he knows she was taken aback by his accent.

She turns the lock to the back exit with clawed fingers, being as delicate and quiet as possible as she continues to attempt to distract him long enough to get herself out the door.

The heel of her palm presses against the metal lever of the doorknob, her eyes locking on a shelving unit just a leg’s distance away.

“I like the pin,” She mentions, gesturing with her head towards the large A of the anarchy symbol adorned on his jacket. When he glances down in an effort to see which one her eyes have locked on, she kicks her leg out, sending the shelf crashing between them, creating a makeshift barrier.

She knows if he’s anything like the Spiderman she’s used to, he’ll make quick work of throwing it to the side, but it’s a divider long enough for her to slam her hand down and barrel out of the metal door keeping her from her motorcycle.

The pads of her non-gloved fingers press down hard on a button strapped to her thigh and the bike roars to life in a brilliant light show, greens and purples illuminating the dark alley. She throws a leg over the seat, straddling across the leather as her foot slams into the gas, lurching forward as the metal door flies open again to reveal the lanky frame of the man she’d fought with moments prior.

By that point though, she was practically a bat out of hell, motorcycle weaving through alleys so fast that she wasn’t much more than a blur. To be fair, she’s well aware that he could probably catch up to her if he wanted to, using the webs to leap from building to building. Track her down, wrap her up, deliver her to the police.

For some reason, it doesn’t surprise her when he doesn’t.

______________________________

He couldn’t be arsed to chase after you, if he was being honest. First of all, this was a chain, and the markups on the shit they sold was enough to make his anarchist blood boil. Combined with the fact that the cops were out to get her, (and he would rather die than be seen working in collaboration with pigs), it seemed less than important to go swinging through a city he wasn’t entirely familiar with to repossess some cliché engagement rings and some overly gaudy necklaces.

So he knew it wasn’t guilt about letting her get away that rattled around in his head a day later. That conclusion lead him to where he was now: staring down at his boots as they moved him through the night, barely cognizant of what was going on around him as he shifted through thoughts that seemed to pop up faster than he could shoo them away, akin to pop-ups on a shady website.

His tongue ran back and forth over the metal of his lip ring, feeling the shift of piercing to flesh with each passing movement. A stem he often found himself utilizing when he was overwhelmed with his own mind.

He’s only pulled from his thoughts when a familiar sound erupts through the silent air from across the park he’s meandering through. His head snaps in the direction of the noise, pierced brows furrowing slightly. The rumble of a bass guitar, clearly played by someone with experienced fingers, because the tune sounded incredible.

Through the light foliage, definitely planted by a city council in order to make the area look more ‘organic’, he was just capable of making out a feminine frame propped on the black plastic playground border. He couldn’t say he recognized the song, but it definitely had an edge to it. A bite. He liked it.

She didn’t seem to notice him as he made his way over, eyes locked on the way her fingers caressed four thick strings, and the way they reverberated as she pulled away from each one, the timbre of each note filling the air.

“A little late to be putting on a show, innit?”

He can’t choke back the laugh that climbs from his chest when her head swings up to make eye contact with him, her fingers stuttering on strings that release a roar upon her mis-strum. He makes note of the way her eyes widen, akin to a deer stuck in the headlights of a car. Clearly she wasn’t used to people stumbling upon her little solo jams.

“Not much of a show.”

The woman in front of him mumbles, her eyes downcast once again in embarrassment, though he was just capable of making out the dusting of blush that adorned the apples of her cheeks. He settled himself on the plastic divider next to her, brushing off a piece of mulch that threatened to fall to the grass outside of its designated area.

“Not sure about that, princess. Can’t say I wasn’t enjoying it.”

He watches her blink a few times, face twisting in confusion a little as she glances up at him. He takes the chance to let his eyes wander the details of her complexion: the little laugh lines on the corners of her lips and nose, the way her eyes shimmer in the dim light of the lamp post, the gloss applied to her lips.

“Princess?”

She asks, and he realizes that she thinks he’s some prat trying to harass her in the middle of the night. He gives an apologetic smile, his lip ring reflecting the lighting and enunciating the gesture.

“Seems like I’m about to make a total cock-up of this whole situation.”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead, warm flesh brushing cold metal bumps of thick metal captive beads.

“Promise I’m not tryna chat you up. It’s just a ‘abit.”

He watches her frame deflate from the bristled posture it held moments prior, and he relaxes slightly as well, leaning back as palms dig into rough wood shavings. His eyes wander her before he gets to her shirt and the back of his large, ringed hand hits her shoulder.

“You like R&B?”

He asks, fingers gripping on the hem of the black material and pulling it slightly to flatten the material so he can get a better look at it. Her lips twitch in discomfort for a moment, an action he doesn’t miss, and he pulls his hands away, not embarrassed but feeling a little bad for what definitely seemed like harassing this girl now.

“Erykah Badu is the background track to just about every trip I’ve been on.”

She says softly after an extended silence, and the little grin that climbs the corner of her lips is not lost on him. Maybe she wasn’t completely under the impression he’d lost the plot. He pulls his phone from his pocket, glancing at the time.

Then he glances at it again, eyes widening. How had he managed to fuck around until two in the morning? If people weren’t pissed because they were looking for him, they’d be pissed the next morning when he couldn’t drag his arse out of bed.

He was honestly a little disheartened by the fact that he’d managed to absolutely flounder the entire conversation, just to pick himself up right as he had to leave.

“Really should get going. I’m absolutely gutted I couldn’t ‘ear you play more of that bass.”

He says with a grin, long legs pulling to a stand as he tried to remember what direction he’d come from and how to get back. His spidey-senses tingle right before his hand wraps around his wrist, and he yanks it away at the last second out of instinct. She seems dissuaded by the rejection, and he does his best to soothe the burn with a grin.

“Sorry, doll. Just not used to being touched.”

He apologizes, raising horizontally pierced brows as an invitation for her to speak her mind. It’s the least he could do for harassing her and then fucking off right as they started to actually have a conversation.

“Do you think I could have your number?”

He’s no stranger to being hit on. He’s no stranger to being the one to hit on others, either. And he can’t deny that she’s a very beautiful woman. Still, he knows better. This isn’t his universe, and he’s not here to make friends, and especially not here to shag around whatever version of New York this was.

“I’m flattered, really. Can’t say I think that’s the brightest idea though. I could be mad, y’know?”

The woman’s shoulders drop slightly at being pied off, and he reaches out to set a hand on the pewter gray of the shoulder of her shirt.

“Don’t take it personal though, princess. I’ve just got a lot on my shoulders at the moment.”

He reassures, letting his hand drop back down to his side and turning on his heel before he stared at her too long and changed his mind. The last thing he needed to do was find himself attached to a civilian, especially one that he’d have to dimension hop for. The cons far outweighed the pros.

Hobie Brown was a rebel, but he wasn’t daft.

[love-overdrive]

Ordinary Miss Yazawa Pt. 1

Summary: The house for sale next door to the Higashikata's was quickly bought by someone. Josuke wonders who it could possibly be before he finally gets to meet his new neighbor, a young woman named Mary Yazawa. However, Tomoko can't help but think something doesn't add up with this new arrival.

Relationship: Platonic! Tomoko and Josuke Higashikata x OC (gen- no romance)

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~3.5k

Notes: Nothing I think needs to be warned about. Mostly bantering between Tomoko and Josuke (I love them dearly). No spoilers for Part 4.

A/n: Aaaaa my first fic with my oc <3 please enjoy! More information on my OCs can be found on my pinned posts. Concrit is always appreciated and welcome, too.

You can read this on my AO3 here!

(Please feel free to let me know if you'd like to be tagged whenever I post a new work!)

“Huh? Someone bought that house already?” Koichi pointed to the ‘for sale’ sign that had a big ‘SOLD’ sticker slapped over it. “I thought they only put it out a few days ago.” 

“Who’s that desperate to come here?” Okuyasu commented, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I guess I’ll find out soon enough,” Josuke sighed. “Mom said that no one even came by to look inside.” 

“Damn, real desperate.” 

“Why would you buy a house without looking inside it?” Koichi pondered. “What if you don’t even like the inside? Isn’t that kind of a waste?” 

“How should I know?” Josuke shrugged. “I mean… at the end of the day, it’s just a house, right? You just go home and sit there. It’s not like these houses are bad or anything.” 

“But what if you wanted a big one!” Okuyasu shouted. “I know I want a huge living room in mine. Something awesome for parties.” 

Koichi tapped his chin. “Well, if we’re talking about what we want in houses… maybe many rooms. One for a library to put all my manga, a guest room for my family if they want to stop by, and rooms if you want to start a family.” 

“I would want a huge fridge,” Josuke added. 

“The fridge isn’t part of the house, dude! You buy that!” 

“What? No way, when we moved in our house, the fridge was there!” 

“That’s because your grandpa had bought it…” Koichi grimaced at the two. Josuke pouted for a moment at Koichi’s correction before waving his hand. 

“Well, that’s not the point! It’s still kinda weird to buy a house without looking at it!” 

“Who do you think bought it?” Okuyasu’s eyes widened. “What if it’s secretly a celebrity?” 

“Why would a celebrity come to live here?” 

“Damn,” Okuyasu deflated. “You’re right, you’re right.” 

“It’s probably just a family.” Koichi stated. “Probably couldn’t afford the prices in places like Tokyo and so they would come here to pay a cheaper rent or mortgage.” 

“How do you know so much about houses in Tokyo?” Josuke raised a brow. Koichi bashfully smiled and chuckled. 

“I saw it on the news yesterday. Apparently prices have been going crazy over there.” 

“Whoever bought this house probably has no clue what’s been going on here, though. I kinda feel bad,” Josuke commented. “I’m sure we’ll meet them soon. I just hope they’re not totally annoying or something.” 

Scratch that thought. It was not even 8 am on a Saturday and already the moving trucks next door had bothered Josuke. He sandwiched his head in between his pillow and huffed. Who the hell moves in so early?! 

Already cranky from being woken up, he glanced to his mirror and noticed his hair was a mess. What a great way to the start the day. He opened the window and was about to give his new neighbor a piece of his mind when he saw a young woman twirling her hair while the movers unloaded the truck. 

“Wait, careful with those ones, please,” she pointed at a box with the word ‘fragile’ on them. “Those were like, pretty expensive.” 

“Yes ma’am!” The men nodded, making her grin widely. 

“Thanks~, you guys are so sweet,” she replied, continuing to watch them. “Uh, put that box by the kitchen, and that one by the window.” 

Josuke raised a brow as he watched the scene. His new neighbor was definitely not what he expected them to be. 

He didn’t realize he was staring until the woman called out to him and waved. 

“Yoo-hoo!” She cheerfully yelled from below. “Hello! I’m your new neighbor!” 

He was taken aback by her peppy attitude- seriously, it was 8 am on a Saturday- but waved back awkwardly. “N-nice to meet you.” 

“Sorry for all the noise, I hope I didn’t disturb you!” 

“It’s alright, not like I was sleeping or anything,” he lied, feeling guilty at the thought of unleashing his previous anger at her. Josuke had to wonder how she was up this early. Was anyone else ever- 

“Josuke, who the hell are you talking to right now?” Tomoko snapped from the hallway. “What did I tell you about hogging the phone?” 

Right. How could he forget? 

“I’m not on the phone, mom,” he tiredly replied. Tomoko swung open the door without a second thought, only to find her son indeed was not on the phone, but still in his tanktop and pajama pants and leaning out the window. 

“Then what are you…?” She shook her head and strode over to the window, looking to see a slightly confused but smiling young woman. “O-oh! You must be our new neighbor. Welcome!” 

The woman chuckled and nodded. “Thank you. I’m happy to be here. If it’s not too much, I have some gifts for you all. Can I drop by soon to introduce myself properly?” 

Tomoko nodded quickly. “Of course, yes, you can. Stay for some tea, too!” 

“I’d love that! I have to finish with this, but give me about… um… like… three hours and I’ll be over,” the woman replied, waving one last time before turning around and ordering the men to drop off another set of boxes in a specific place. 

“I love her shoes,” Tomoko mumbled to herself as she closed the window. 

“I didn’t think it would just be some woman. I thought it would be a family,” Josuke rubbed the back of his neck and yawned. 

“I didn’t expect that, either,” Tomoko casually replied. “That being said, what the hell were you thinking!” 

Josuke’s eyes widened at his mother’s harsh tone. “What? What did I do?” 

“What did you do? You just introduced yourself to our new neighbor in your pajamas! Do you know how bad that makes us look? We have to make a good impression, not make her think we’re a bunch of slobs or something!” 

Tomoko frantically paced around Josuke’s room. 

“It’s not that big a deal. It’s just our neighbor. Not like she’ll die if she sees me like this,” Josuke sighed, knowing his mother’s rant would continue. 

“I can’t believe this. I knew she’d be here today, but I was trying to plan a welcome visit and everything, and now it’s all ruined! Now she thinks my son is a delinquent who just sits in his pajamas all day and that we’re a bunch of bums!” 

“I really doubt she thinks-” 

“No, no, no. Fix yourself up, now. I want you to put on your best clothes and make the best impression you can.” 

“But it’s so early and I’m tired! She won’t even be here for another few hours and it takes me less than five minutes to get ready!” 

“No. You will not be sleeping right now, you will be cleaning yourself up and- oh, for the love of god- clean up your room, will you?” Tomoko gagged as she stepped on a pile of Josuke’s dirty clothes. 

“She’s not coming in my room!” 

“What if she asks to see it, hm? You’re just gonna let her walk in and see how messy your room is?” 

“Why would she be in my room in the first place?” Josuke retorted exasperatedly. “She’s coming to have tea, not a house tour!” 

“That doesn’t matter! What if she wants a house tour? You don’t say no to your guests! Now clean up, that’s final!” Tomoko pointed at Josuke, leaving no room for any disagreement. Josuke rolled his eyes as Tomoko slammed the door shut behind her, leaving a grumbling and exhausted Josuke. 

Well… she won’t know if I sleep for another fifteen minutes, right? 

All too quickly, a fifteen minute power nap became an almost three hour long sleep. He only woke up due to hearing the door knocking, and that’s when all the panic set in. 

“Josuke, she’s here!” Tomoko called from downstairs. 

Shit! He thought as he tumbled out of bed and threw off his pajamas. “C-coming! Give me a sec!” 

Knowing his mother would get on his case about his clothes, he rummaged through his closet for anything nice he had that wasn’t a huge, wrinkled mess. He settled, for some reason, on his school uniform and threw it on haphazardly, nearly tripping over himself as he went to grab his comb from his mirror. 

He already knew he was taking too long, and he could hear his mother’s threatening tone when she called his name again, despite Tomoko trying to hide it under a veneer of saccharine sweetness. Josuke barely managed to get himself ready before he almost fell down the stairs to greet their new neighbor. 

“Well, you know teenagers, always doing their own thing-” Tomoko said to the woman, not realizing (or, more likely, not caring) that Josuke was in earshot. Tomoko placed a cup of tea for both her and the woman, who graciously thanked her. 

“I don’t mind, really. It’s good that they’re taking a moment to like, explore and stuff,” the woman mused. Up close, Josuke could get a better look at the woman. She had dark brown hair that went to her shoulder, but curled upwards at the ends of it. She wasn’t as pale as Tomoko, and her face was covered in freckles and beauty marks. Large, gold hoop earrings dangled from her lobes while her eyes had on some eyeliner and blue eyeshadow, which coincidentally, matched the baby blue sweater she wore. 

Josuke cleared his throat awkwardly so his mother could introduce him. Tomoko turned to him with a smile before her face fell. She shot him a death glare when she noticed how slovenly his appearance looked- a warning for what was to come after their guest had left. 

“Miss Yazawa, this is my son, Josuke. Josuke, this is Miss Yazawa.” 

Josuke bowed politely. “Nice to see you again.” 

“It’s nice to see you, too. But, you know, I’m not at work and I’m still pretty young, so you can just call me Mary,” Mary casually stated. Tomoko shook her head to Josuke, telling him not to do so. “And since you’re both here now, I hope it’s alright for me to give you my gift?” 

Mary pulled out a pink box wrapped with a golden, glittery bow. Josuke leaned over curiously, wondering what was inside. 

“Thank you, you didn’t have to give us something this big,” Tomoko said as she took the box. “I’ll just set it aside and-” 

“Oh no, feel free to open it! I think it’ll go great with the tea!” Mary giggled. 

Tomoko undid the bow and opened the box, gasping alongside Josuke as they saw many tarts, macarons, and other desserts they couldn’t even name within it. 

“W-wait a minute, this can’t be,” Tomoko quickly said as she examined the cover she just removed. “Is this really from that French bakery? Patisserie Chic? That one?” 

Mary nodded. “Yeah. I heard it was good. Have you tried it before?” She asked, fiddling with her cup. Both of them shook their head. Patisserie Chic was hailed as the bakery in Morioh, but it was, frankly, very expensive. As a teacher and single mom, Tomoko just didn’t have the funds to splurge that much on a slice of cake or a cookie. 

Especially not a whole box of them…

“No, we haven’t.” 

“Well, then that means it’s the perfect time to try them!” Mary grinned, clasping her hands together. 

All of them took a pastry and took a bit. Josuke and Tomoko gasped at the taste and covered their mouths. 

“Mmm! This is amazing!” Tomoko said, not caring she was talking with her mouth full. 

“Mhm! Sho good!” Josuke agreed, chomping down on the sweet. 

“I guess they were right,” Mary hummed, taking a small, ladylike bite of her pastry. She didn’t react much to the taste, but neither Tomoko or Josuke were paying attention. 

After indulging in her sweet, Tomoko wiped her mouth and looked at Mary. “So, Miss Yazawa, what made you move all the way to Morioh?” 

“Oh, it wasn’t a big deal or anything,” Mary responded. “I wanted to experience more things, so I took a position at the bank as their receptionist.” 

Tomoko raised a brow. “You moved from…” 

“Shibuya,” Mary answered. 

“Shibuya,” Tomoko repeated. Explains the makeup. “You moved from Shibuya… to here? For a receptionist job?” 

“Yes,” Mary nodded casually. Josuke tried to imagine what that would feel like, but he couldn’t think of anything. He loved Morioh, would live here forever, no questions asked- but moving here from Shibuya? That seemed a bit crazy. 

“I heard the housing prices and mortgages are high over there,” Josuke commented, trying to keep the conversation going. He’d thank Koichi later for that. Tomoko shot him a confused look, wondering why the hell her son, who was always too busy playing video games and could never clean his room, was suddenly discussing mortgages. 

“Yeah, they are. Morioh looks like a nice change of pace. I do like the quieter towns, too. And everyone’s been pretty friendly so far.” 

“It’s a very nice town, even if it’s smaller than what you’re probably used to,” Tomoko replied. “I hope I’m not coming off as too rude or anything, but are you living with anyone? A fiance or a husband? I didn’t see anyone else with you right now.” 

“Oh, no, I live alone. Again, I just moved for work and stuff,” Mary answered, not at all offended by the question. Josuke briefly wondered if all Shibuya women were like her. He did like that she was a bit more casual than some of the ladies here. 

“You are? I didn’t expect that. You look very young. I’m surprised you aren’t with someone,” Tomoko gasped, starting to feel her previous holdups wear down. Even though she was stern at times, she still was a young woman, too, and she hadn’t talked to another woman her age in a while like this. 

“I just haven’t found the right guy, you know?” Mary explained. “Like, I’m usually pretty busy with my job, so sometimes I just don’t have the time to really meet guys. My supervisor once said I should try a small town guy once in a while, instead of the big city ones.” 

“They’re pretty rough, aren’t they?” Tomoko replied. Mary nodded in agreement. 

“Right? Some of them are so pushy and don’t even listen when I talk,” Mary sighed. “All they do is talk about finances or the stock market or something, like, can we just talk about anything else?” 

“And don’t they always complain about you working, too?” 

“They do!” 

Josuke cleared his throat as the two women got caught up in their conversation, making them both silently return to their previous positions. 

“Well, in any case, this is a pretty nice place to settle down in. I don’t think you’ll have many complaints here,” Tomoko said casually. 

Josuke, wanting to be involved after sitting around boredly, looked at Mary. “So, Mar- Miss Yazawa, how old are you, anyways?” 

“Josuke!” Tomoko hissed, glaring at him. Mary giggled again and waved it off. 

“20,” she answered. 

“W-wait, 20?” Tomoko and Josuke said at the same time. 

“Yeah. Is there like… something wrong?” Mary cocked her head to the side. 

“No, I just… I didn’t think you’d be that young,” Tomoko responded, the surprise evident on her face. She mumbled a, “you could be my daughter at that age…”

“Woah, you moved out and everything by yourself at 20?” Josuke’s eyes sparkled, seemingly impressed with the fact she could do all that. 

“Mhm. It’s nothing crazy. I know lots of people who do the same.” 

Before Josuke could talk more, the phone began ringing. 

“Josuke, answer the phone, will you?” Tomoko asked. Josuke looked at the house phone attached to the wall and raised a brow. 

“It’s not ringing,” he replied, seeing as there was no light flashing on it. 

“No, that’s me, sorry,” Mary chuckled. “Is it alright if I take this call over there?” 

Tomoko was about to nod before her and Josuke gasped again at seeing Mary pull out a large, thick cellphone. They huddled together as Mary walked to the living room to answer. 

“Is that a-” 

“No way-” the two whispered to each other. 

“How the hell can she afford a cellphone?” 

“It’s the newest Nokia, too. I heard you can use it all around the world!” Josuke said with wide eyes. 

“Are receptionists really paid that much?” Tomoko asked. “Maybe I should consider a career switch.” 

“It’s not fair, how can she get a cellphone at 20, but I can’t?” Josuke whined. 

“I don’t even have a cellphone! Why would I get you one?” 

“Because… pleeease?” Josuke gave Tomoko his best puppy dog eyes before she shook her head. 

“No way. You don’t need a cellphone to waste more time on. You’re already slacking on your chores and schoolwork.” 

“Come on, I promise, I’ll do all my chores if I get one!” 

“No.” 

Josuke rolled his eyes and slumped against the seat. “One day, I’m gonna get one. And when I move out, I will not be yelled at about my room.” 

“You have to actually go to college and get a job for that,” Tomoko teased. 

“I will! You’ll see!” 

The two bickered a bit longer before Mary came back, Nokia in hand. Mary, true to her youthful age, had decorated her phone with some rhinestones and two pink phone charms. Josuke wondered once more if women in Shibuya did this sort of thing. They must be loaded. Or bored.

“Sorry about that, my supervisor was calling.” 

“Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, just some things are gonna need to be done sooner than expected. But, not a huge deal. I’ll just pull an all-nighter or something,” Mary shrugged. 

“Ugh, never mind about me getting a job,” Josuke joked. 

“Aw, work isn’t so bad. It’s kinda fun!” Mary replied, a wide grin on her face. 

Josuke lost track of the time until Mary had left, citing her need to begin unpacking and organizing her house. Once she was gone, Tomoko folded her arms and stared quizzically at the door. 

“Something up, mom?” Josuke asked, wondering why she was just standing by their door. 

“I just can’t put my finger on it, honestly.” 

“Put your finger on what?”

“Obviously, I mean Miss Yazawa.” 

“What about her?” 

“I don’t normally like to gossip about others but something’s a bit strange about her, don’t you think?” 

Josuke shook his head. “Nah.” 

“What do you mean, ‘nah’?” Tomoko deadpanned. 

“Was there something weird about her?” Josuke scratched his cheek. 

“I mean, the fact that she lived in Shibuya and then decided to move here for a receptionist job, her being only 20, having a new cellphone- none of that was off to you?” 

“Is it supposed to be off to me?” 

“Well, yeah, it’s not really…” Tomoko paused, scrunching her nose at what she was tryna say. “Oh god… am I getting old?” 

“What?” Josuke shouted, confused where his mother would get that idea from. “What does this gotta do with anything?” 

“I think I’m getting too old. I know I look younger than my age-” 

“So humble.” 

“Quiet. But, jeez, she’s only 20! Are younger women these days working that hard and doing that much?” 

“I guess?” Josuke replied, not knowing much about women. “Maybe it’s what the women do in Shibuya.” 

“It’s gotta be that. I heard they got some crazy stuff going on there,” Tomoko commented, fanning herself. “And I guess you would need to work extra hard to afford that place.” 

“So then, it’s just cuz she’s from Shibuya.” 

Tomoko let out a breath, before nodding. “Yeah. Shibuya. Must be a Shibuya thing.” 

“So that settles it then?” Tomoko hummed back. “And you’re not worried about being old?” 

Tomoko tried to remain serious, but her lips twitched upwards as she let out a short laugh. “No. I’m good. I guess even the way I did things when I was her age was unconventional, too.” She rubbed the back of her neck. 

Josuke knew what she was referring to and pursed his lips. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t have you any other way.” 

“And I wouldn’t have you any other way, either. Mmm… maybe just a cleaner room but that can be worked on.” 

“Whatever,” Josuke laughed. 

“But, really, you should go clean your room. And if you have time one day, you should go stop by her house and help.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s just a good thing to do. She’s all by herself and she probably needs help moving things around.” 

“Yeah, I’ll do that tomorrow. I’ll call Koichi and Okuyasu over, too, since they wanted to know who it was.” 

Tomoko smiled, a proud look on her face. Josuke gave a questioning expression back. “Why’re you smiling like that?” 

“Nothing,” Tomoko shook her head before sighing wistfully. “I guess I just realized that you’re really becoming a man.” 

Josuke’s face softened alongside his mother’s. Well, he wasn’t really all that eager to do so, but maybe helping Miss Yazawa wouldn’t be so bad if this is how his mom would react. 

[snycock]

Weekly chat reminder

Please join us for the weekly TS chat on Saturday, September 14th, at 7 pm Greenwich Mean Time (GMT)/19:00 UTC. That could be as early as 12 pm if you’re on the west coast of North America, or 3 pm if you’re on the east coast, or 7 pm in the UK, or early Sunday morning in Australia or New Zealand.

We’re in the usual place: http://us25.chatzy.com/81935648447483. There’s nothing to download or install, just choose a name and a color and click on “join chat.”

Our topic this week: who is your favorite guest star and why? Someone in Major Crimes? One of the many antagonists Jim has battled with? Naomi, William, or Steven? Or one of the Babes of the Week?

And next week we’ll be restarting our concrit chat. The topic will be Alternate Universe. Pieces should be no more than 1000 words, uploaded by Sept. 18th. And don’t forget, you can post something you’ve already written if you want to get feedback on it. You can upload your pieces here: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1-DHTigvH-30uCRSCvno3iJzRRL1EPXZ6

See you there!

[212thappreciation]

Event Rules

~*Submissions*~

1. If you post your pieces on Tumblr, please tag us so we can reblog it! Our Tumblr blog is @212thappreciation

2. Whether you're posting on AO3 or not, please please *please* tag and warn for any possible triggers.

3. You *do not* have to use all of the prompts in the list for any given day. Whether it's the Regular, NSFW, or AU list, we encourage you to find inspiration wherever you can and simply have fun! The lists are to provide options, not pressure.

4. If you are posting NSFW fics or art on Tumblr, we ask that you hide the NSFW part underneath a read-more break. Please warn properly for NSFW. (If you don't know how to do a read-more break, feel free to ask and we'll show you how.)

5. All fanworks are welcome! Fanfic, fanart, podfics, moodboards…if it fits a prompt, it’s welcome.

~*Content*~

1. Angst is welcomed if that's what you feel most inspired to write. We just ask that you please make sure that your fics are properly tagged. We even have a channel specifically for angst in the discord server if you want to engage with others who like writing angst.

2. Collaborative efforts are welcome, even encouraged. For example, if an artist and a writer want to work together, or a writer and a podficcer go for it!

3. Please do not add any DNIs (Do Not Interacts) on any fanfiction or art posted as part of this event. While the mod team recognizes that DNIs are often used as a way to indicate where one falls on social issues, we also acknowledge how DNIs can be used to harass members of fandom communities for much more trivial matters. As this is meant to be inclusive of all characters and ships, DNIs are exclusionary and, in the case of using them on Archive of Our Own, is contradictory to the purpose of the archive.

4. Harassment of anyone or anything that they post (even if said fic is something you personally find morally reprehensible) will not be tolerated.

5. If an author or artist has asked for constructive criticism, you may give it (with constructive being the key word). However, unsolicited concrit is Not Allowed as it can be discouraging for the author or artist.

HAVE FUN!!! This is meant to be a fun event, and we're really excited to see what you all create!

[hey-august]

Working on some WIPs so I don't have much to post right now. Instead, I'm going to work through the questions from this post by @ahdriking and share them bit by bit.

If there are any questions you'd like to see answered before I get to them, let me know!

1. Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics? I like both - sorry for the lame answer. I enjoy one-shots for the quicker dopamine hit, but they don’t really have that sweet build-up that multi-chapter fics have.

2. Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go? I plan longer stories and chapters. I adore outlining, so that is one of my favorite things to do. Sometimes I’ll plan shorter pieces, but that makes it more likely for them to turn into longer fics.

3. Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

Get idea and think about it for a few hours.

Drop 1-2 lines in the junk drawer doc.

Keep thinking. Consider that it might be a bad idea. Actually, no, it is a good idea. It’s alright. Whatever.

Outline main points, then work through different ideas in the outline.

Go through the list of quotes and dialogue I have for reference and pull out any that feel right. (Forget to include most of them by the end.)

Start writing, even if I’m not in the mood to write for long.

Read other fics for inspiration, compare myself to others, let the imposter syndrome fester before remembering that I’m doing this for myself and all that matters is having fun.

Come back and see that the first few sentences are written and that was the hardest part, so the least I can do is write a few more sentences until it’s done.

Look up definitions and synonyms ad nauseam. Repeatedly. All the time. Every step of the way.

Stare into the void while thinking about everything and nothing for a few minutes.

Refer to previous chapters to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. Realize I forgot something and jam it in somewhere.

Take a break and write other things for a bit. Leave the WIP doc open so I feel guilty leaving it alone for too long.

Finish the story. Resist the urge to end every single fic with dialogue.

Reread it 1-100 times, depending on how long the story is.

Edit. Edit. Edit. Edit.

Give up on editing and post.

Immediately look at the post for the 5+ errors that were missed earlier and fix them before anyone realizes.

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas? Everywhere, really. Things that happen in daily life, ideas from stories, movies, shows, and tropes that I enjoy, my own self-indulgent daydreams… 

5. Do you like constructive criticism? YES please. I try to improve by obsessing over the writers I adore and the skills they use, because I like to write what I’d like to read, but that is no replacement for real feedback and concrit. ♡

[takeariskao3]

two questions! 1. would you mind sharing a piece (or type) of feedback that makes you feel good about your work (and why), and 2. feedback that you wish you'd gotten on something but didn't? please be as specific or general as you'd like.

ok ok ok

i love keysmashes. i love knowing that i rendered such an emotional response that a person doesn't even have words they just have KSLDJFLSKDAFJ... because i know what that feels like for me when i do it and knowing i made someone else feel that way is super gratifying and puts a big ole grin on my face... i also really love when someone picks up on something super subtle that i put in a piece and expounds on it.. @heartstopping-waves is notorious for this. her comments always astound me because she picks up on intentions behind story decisions and then yells them back at me in infinite detail. sometimes she catches things that i didn't even know i was consciously doing. she's incredible. i adore her.

i don't think there's anything that i wish i'd gotten feedback on.. as far as like concrit or feeling like a story didn't get as much love as i expected. i try not to have expectations at all as far as comments & kudos... that being said there are some clues in the path from you that i keep waiting for people to pick up on but i haven't seen any comments about them yet.. that's been the most fun for me. hearing people's theories and dropping little hints about random things along the way. i'm always so surprised by what sticks out in a person's mind after they read a chapter, because there are things that are common and then there are things that i never would've thought in a billion years that someone would latch onto. it's a very humbling experience.

ask me anything!!

[thegracefullwitch]

After seeing Fluffy Kawaii Jo's video about making a coord with pieces from HT, and watching Cupcake Kamisama's video on why Rockabilly dresses can't really be used in EGL, I decided to at least take a peek in my local HT.

I was honestly surprised, I feel the blouse and skirt are rather cute and I was able to go home with a coord today.

Shoes not pictured because I can't fathom putting shoes on my bed.

There are a few things I'd change with the pieces to make them better suited for lolita fashion.

I want to make lace to go along the bottom hem of the skirt, so I'll probably design a cherry lace trim to use for that, and make lace using the same color thread/s for the headdress.

I also need to make bracelets or wrist cuffs. I have my time cut out for me!

Brands:

Blouse, Skirt: Sweet Society

Hat: vintage

Basket bag: Longaberger (of all things! I felt it looked great in a few more mature sweet coords I did back in the day, and I like it here too).

Lace Choker: hand tatted by me. I'll likely make something with a better match in the next few months.

Bloomers: Some hand-me-down Taobao bloomers that were missing the tag when I got them. They're quite comfy so I hope they last me a long time.

Socks: Hot Topic. I realized after getting home that the lace is horrible- I didn't scrutinize them enough in the store. I'll make sock toppers, so in the end it won't be a deal breaker.

Concrit welcome but keep in mind that I'm also being critical of the coord, so different insight than what I've shared would be optimal.

Here's some of the problem areas I've already picked up on and am trying to figure out.

Please don't mind the black ribbon on the hat! I'm trying to tie together the shoes, bag, and hair accessory all together since not much is left of my old collection. The brown natural material of the hat and bag, the black of the hat's ribbon and my black shoes, it's imperfect, but it's a start. After I make a better hair accessory, I'll try tying a black velvet bow under the blouse's collar to match the shoes instead of relying on the hat.

I know I need at least some sort of wrist accessory. I've already raided my jewelry drawer, so I'm hoping to luck into some good jewelry.

[dru-plays-starbound]

Universe: Starbound CW: None Words: 850 Context: For the 2022 Starbound Spring Prompt "Picnic".

"Enticing. Have another diodia and coralcreep scone." Ironquill hands me a slice of savoury scone, slathered with feathercrown jam. "Why thank you," I say, accepting the slice and licking my fins as the sticky-sweet jam dribbles onto them.

The sun is glorious today, warm and luxuriant. A zephyr brings the heady scent of flowers and the burble of water from the fountain behind us. We've come up to the tropical garden on Level Five – Ironquill the Baker, with a packed basket of baked treats; Asua with her tea service; Suri the traveller with some very unique blends of tea and a tale (or five); and me, Mio, who arrived half an hour late and without the quiche I was supposed to bring. Ironquill, Suri and I are sitting in the shade of the red boba tree, a gingham cloth between us, while Asua is supine in the sunshine ("Floran don't burn", she said when I questioned if she ought be under the shade). "Another cup of apple and jungle-bush tea, dear?" Suri asks, tucking a stray skein of slate-blue hair behind an ear. Her hair's been freed today from its usual practical bun and hangs in a wave down her back – though, I note, she hasn't quite been able to forgo her standard practical shirt and chinos. "Please," I say. The scone is delicious but claggy, and another cup would wash it down nicely. "Asua?" Suri asks as she fills my cup. The grass around the floran undulates, and a burgundy and green head pops up. "Yes," she says, drawing out the sibilants. Suri raises an eyebrow. Asua rolls her eyes. "Please." Suri flashes a grin at me. "We'll tame the savages yet," she jokes, filling Asura's cup. Asua and I exchange a glance; I shake my head, she shrugs and reaches for her tea. "Content. This was a fine plan, Mio," Ironquill says, as he relaxes back against the tree, a strip of toxi-bolt candy – marshmallow boltbulb and candied toxitop – in his hand. I glance up from my tea, tilting my head. "This isn't my party." I nictate, waving at Suri. "I was off-world, arranging a trade deal with a novakid settlement I ran across, when I got a message from Suri demanding I come home, I'd been gone too long and needed a break." Suri puts down the teapot. "While that's not incorrect, I didn't send that message." Ironquill sits forward, the three of us staring at each other.

The vigorous rustling of leaves has us turning to where Asua shakes with mirth. She spots us watching, and her face cracks open, dewdrops creased in the corners of her eyes as she howls with laughter. "Asua got you good," she cackles. "Gots you very good." I press a fin to my nasal ridge. Suri looks incensed. Ironquill… Well, it's tough to know what a glitch is thinking. "That is not funny," Suri snaps. "You can't impersonate people like that!" "Unimpressed," says Ironquill. "Your intent may have been noble, but your execution was flawed. Asua's laughter dies off, as she looks between us. Her leaves wilt. "Asua's joke… not funny?" she asks in a small voice. "Oh sprout," I say, and open my arms. "Come here." Floran mature so fast, it's all too easy to forget that a fully-fledged adult doesn't necessarily have the benefit of experience or a wise Greenfinger to guide them. For a long moment, Asua fiddles with her wrists, eyeing the others warily, before scuttling over to cuddle into me. "Asua did bad?" I hawed. "Asua did mixed." I settled her in closer to me. "Sprout, we're gonna have a long chat about why impersonating people is bad later. But… I… may have needed a break-" Suri snorts. Ironquill grumbles. "-and you did get me to haul off that planet to do so. Thing is, Sprout," I lift Asua's chin so she's looking at me, "I would've done that even if the message was from you, and not Suri." Asua blinks and extracts herself from my arms. "Really?" "Really really." "Just…" She picks at her wrists again. "You're very important now. Lots of people depend on you." I tap her on the chest. "And I depend on you. I depend on all my friends. I'm not so important that I'm going to stop listening to you." I boop her nose. "Someone has to tell me when to stop." Asua smiles at me again and I relax back against the tree. "Wait," says Suri, "aren't you going to-" "Not now," I cut her off. "Let's enjoy the rest of the afternoon. I'll speak to Greenfinger Zelai about this later. Ironquill, are there any more of those spiced boneboo tartlets?" Asua returns to sunning herself. Ironquill, blinking, hands me a tartlet. Suri sighs. "This does remind me, a little, of a time I was investigating the ruins of a junk planet. This was many years ago, of course…" Above us, a zephyr jostles our tree, the leaves sighing along as Suri settles back into telling her tale. Birds twitter, the warm sun shines, and I feel I can finally breathe.

[eusuntgratie]

How do you feel about events like femslash February receiving less attention than an event centred around cis men? I know it's a chronic problem in fandom and I have no solutions.

ooh this is such a good question. you're better at questions than me.

i mean... it sucks. but i don't think there are easy answers from the fandom side of things. we know why its easier to ship cis guys. they get way more screen time, more nuanced backstories. we just get MORE. so i get why people (myself included) tend to get attached to male/male ships.

we can keep creating femslash work and work that centers trans and nonbinary characters, and sharing it, and people who are comfortable with and excited about those ships can engage with it and share it.

yelling at people and guilting them doesn't work imo. the posts that are like comment on every fic and reblog every piece of art you see or you're a garbage human don't make me want to do those things. i can't guilt anyone into wanting to read a f/f date or a trans story or explicit smut that features not-cis-men. people are gonna read what they want to read, what they're excited about it.

we can keep creating content, and sharing that content, and we can support media that does feature awesome characters who are women trans and nb so that we'll get more content to work with. we can keep asking for more. we can take criticism about our characters when we fuck up so that we can write them better (i'm not talking about unsolicited concrit; i'm saying i should stop and listen if a trans person tells me i, a cis woman, wrote a trans character in a way that feels disrespectful). i don't know. i think its complicated and there aren't easy answers.

@femslashrevolution does a great job of featuring femslash content across fandoms. i don't know who half the people are who show up on my dash from them but i'm always happy to have more femslash on my feed! i'm sure there are other similar blogs that boost the kind of content that tends to get looked over.

if y'all know of other blogs like that or have other ideas please share!

sleepover weekend | ask grace

[palavapeite]

5, 8, 13, 19, 47 please 😘

5. have you ever made a playlist about something you were writing as an elaborate means to procrastinate when you could have been actually writing and if yes drop a link, son

I have! I like making playlists for longer projects and I don’t think it’s procrastination. But like… on my phone/laptop? I don’t ever use Spotify or other online platforms for it? So there’s no links to drop, sorry.

8. what’s your relationship with constructive criticism and feedback like? do you seek it out? how well do you take it?

I welcome feedback and concrit from beta readers and friends with whom I share my work. Advice and feedback given kindly and constructively and from a place of trust is something I want to embrace, even if it sometimes makes me feel a bit stupid and lacking.

Unsolicited criticism from strangers on the internet and people I would not go to for advice makes me annoyed at best and angry at worst. I’m a Leo. Underneath the humility and anxiety and perfectionist tendencies I am actually confident that what I put out there is pretty good, actually, and it’s everyone else who’s the problem. :P

13. talk about a writing experience that has pleasantly surprised you.

When I embarked on the leggy blonde sequel I was half braced for it fizzling out halfway through and never really going anywhere. It’s what happens to 90% of potential sequels I ever contemplate, for good reason. But weirdly, I felt like the more I got into it the more it started to write itself and I actually love how it’s turned out.

19. what are some books or authors that influenced your style the most?

I’m sure every piece of fiction (including fanfiction) I’ve read that made an impact on me as a reader has influenced my style in some way or another. Idk. I don’t really think about my writing style as a style? I’m not sure I have one, for me it feels like it’s the story I’m telling that dictates what the voice of the writing is going to be like, and not so much some voice that is “my style”. (Should I reflect about this more, idk, am I sounding really dumb?)

47. what story are you most proud of?

YOU KNOW IT’S THE GODFREY ONE, YOU ASK THIS QUESTION EVERY TIME.

😘😘😘

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - A special night

Prompt: Any Fandom | Any Characters/Pairings | Ordering a sweet treat to be delivered to the other person at home/work

Word Count: 2,136

Author/Team: LadyMonotone

Fandom/Original: Redacted ASMR (Gavin/Freelancer. Vincent Solaire/Lovely) 

Rating: T

Triggers: NA

Summary: Having an Incubus boyfriend comes with many perks. The Freelancer and Lovely really should have seen it coming. 

ConCrit: Y 

Well, I guess this can be a sequel to my previous oneshot, REDACTED verse - Those that stood above the rest. I really wanted to write the Freelancer and Lovely interacting after their first, proper meeting so this oneshot suddenly comes to mind! 

-

Exam week is the bane of every student, everywhere — even for the magical ones. 

An uneasy atmosphere lingers around D.A.M.N as the current semester hurl the students into an intense week of revisions, study groups, and extra classes; all for the upcoming exams. 

The seniors are frantically cramming for their final papers and projects under the watchful eyes of the lecturers. The Freelancer doesn't envy them one bit when they caught a Sonal Energetic screamed into his backpack for a solid ten minutes. 

His scream shakes the student lounge, and the windows shattered. 

Once he got that out of his system, he focused back towards his textbook, expressionless. The rest of the students around the Energetic hardly bat an eye over what just happened. 

On that day, the Freelancer learned to avoid a large group of seniors until the exam week blows over. 

"The tension alone in that lounge could make a Serenity Daemon hide underneath a bed." The Freelancer narrates their experience to Lovely. The two of them are currently having their own study session over at the Freelancer's apartment. 

It's a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and yet here they are - flipping through textbooks, reviewing and swapping notes and downing cans of coffee and Red Bulls from as early as 9 AM. "Even the janitor wasn't fazed by it. He just snapped his fingers, and the windows were good as new!"

That night after their proper introduction, Lovely and the Freelancer had become quite good friends, much to Vincent's annoyance and Gavin's pleased smirk when the Freelancer told him that Lovely would be coming over for their study session. 

"Aww, look you, Deviant. Arranging a little study date with that friend of yours," Gavin teased during breakfast this morning. They both woke up early to prepare meals that could last the Freelancer and Lovely throughout the whole day. When his Deviant absentmindedly replied, "Uh-huh" as they were busy chopping the vegetables, Gavin couldn't help but plant a fond kiss on top of their head. "Anyway, I'll be popping into Aria for a bit today. A few of my, ah, older brothers and sisters called for a meeting. Can I trust that you two won't be having too much fun without me?"

The Freelancer stopped chopping to gave their boyfriend a deadpan stare. "Gavin, we'll be studying." They explained. "Our first paper is literally next week. So I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but there won't be any fucking happening." They then stop themselves. They suddenly recalled something. "I don't want to be on that Solaire Prince's hit list too."

Gavin just cooed at their disgruntled partner, as if the genuine possibility that the both of them being shred to pieces by Lovely's possessive boyfriend amused him. 

Nonetheless, Gavin pulled his weight to ensure there was enough food and comfortable pillows and blankets in their shared apartment so that his Deviant and the Electro Energetic would be comfortable for their revisions. 

An hour before Lovely arrived, Gavin kissed the Freelancer goodbye and Rifted into his home dimension. 

And now we're back in the present. 

"I think those students around that guy were his classmates," Lovely commented. They take a quick sip of the lemonade that Gavin prepared to refresh their parched throat. Even in a simple pair of slacks, baggy t-shit, and hair pulled up in a bun, they still look as breathtaking as ever. "They reacted as if it was like a regular Tuesday for them. It's so crazy to think that we'll be seniors like them soon."

The Freelancer pours more lemonade into their glass from the pitcher beside them. Their books, notebooks and snacks are spread all over the dining table. A large and fluffy pillow is propped behind the Freelancer so they can lean back on their chair comfortably. "Urgh, mood. I can already imagine the coursework we'll be forced to do in our final semester." They groan. Their brain is fried from all the information and notes they've been reviewing since this morning. On top of that, the thought that they will be getting even more work once they hit their senior year is starting to freak them out. 

Seeing the Freelancer is having an internal crisis, Lovely quickly glance at the time on their phone and decides, "OK, I think we seriously need a break. You look like you're going to pull a stunt similar to that Sonal Energetic, and I don't think your boyfriend appreciates coming back to a half-destroyed apartment."

"Gavin can fix the apartment with his magic, don't worry." The Freelancer is quick to assure Lovely. "He did that after he and Vega trashed the place anyway."

"Uh, what? Who's Vega?"

The Freelancer snapped their attention back to Lovely once they realised the name that they accidentally dropped. "N-Nothing! I didn't s-say anything!" They laugh awkwardly, doing their best to brush off Lovely's concerned expression. "Anyway, break! Yeah! That's a good idea! Are you hungry? We can watch something on Youtube and eat in the living room. You're OK with that?"

Lovely gingerly nods; it's best not to comment or ask about this Vega person since the name alone made their friend jumpy. They push their chair back, stretch their stiff spine, and get up to help set the plates and cutleries while the Freelancer heats the lunch they made in the morning. 

They then move to the living room with a tray of food and drinks, where the couch and coffee table are surrounded by pillows and blankets thrown around messily. 

"You play video games, right?" The Freelancer asked after Lovely settle down on the couch with a blanket over their lap. "Do you want to watch a playthrough or something?"

"Sure! Do you and Gavin play video games too?"

"Gavin does, though he usually only plays those dating sim games for girls. It's a guilty pleasure of his."

"Oh, Otome Games? My respect for your boyfriend just levelled up. Has he ever played Hatoful Boyfriend?"

"Uh... I don't remember he ever mentioned that title. What is it about?"

"We're watching a playthrough of that game. Right now. You can watch it with me, but you can't tell Gavin anything, OK? I promise you're going to love his reactions."

Lovely's eyes light up with glee and grin widely as the Freelancer switch on the Smart TV. When thumbnails of pigeons with pink hearts in the background pop up on the screen, they immediately throw an incredulous look at the Energetic. 

"That top playlist is good to watch. Come on, sit beside me." Lovely pats on the empty spot on the couch beside them, unperturbed at the look the Freelancer is giving them. "I think you're going to like Okosan."

The Freelancer press play on the first video and kick back on the couch with the Energetic. What's better than having a break after a long study session? Hanging out with a friend with some good food while watching a crazy romance video game about pigeons! 

However, when the fourth video starts to play, the doorbell rings. 

"Uh... are you expecting someone?" Lovely asks curiously; their head is tilting towards the door. Their plate of eggplant pasta and buttered abalones are polished on their lap. The Freelancer internally preened when they enthusiastically complimented on theirs and Gavin's cooking skills. 

Anyway, the Freelancer moves their empty tray onto the coffee table and flip over the blanket to get up. "Not really. Gavin said he'll be coming back home at night." They explain and went towards the door when the doorbell ring once more. 

A delivery man greets the Freelancer with a stoic face, an armful of flower bouquet, and a thick, rectangular item wrapped in hot red packaging. 

"I, uh, think you got the wrong address?" They said, confused to hell and back. 

The delivery man blinks, unfaze at the Freelancer's greeting. "Good afternoon. Delivery for..." He pauses to read the card attached to the bouquet. "Deviant? We received a request from Gavin to arrange a flower bouquet and some... special chocolates. He also left a message for you: My Deviant has been working so hard lately~ So I got you something to... help you relax. PS: give some of the special chocolates to that gorgeous friend of yours and their boyfriend."

The Freelancer could only gape when the delivery man finished reciting Gavin's message. From the living room, Lovely is also doing an excellent mimicking of a goldfish. Their stunned expression made the man sigh tiredly. "Look, I'm not going to judge your... bedroom activities. Just take the packages already. I still have more stops to deliver."

"O-Oh my god! I'm really, really sorry about my boyfriend!" The Freelancer finally snaps out of it and stammers an apology. Their face is bright red. They hurriedly accept the flowers and package, shoot a quick thank you and slams the door shut. 

Lovely watches as the Freelancer stares into the bouquet with a mixed feeling, something between fondness and extreme embarrassment, before they scream into the large sunflowers. 

They patiently wait for the Freelancer to get it out of their system before Lovely delicately asks, "So, uh, does Gavin do these sort of things often?"

"No. This is the first time ever." The Freelancer replies. Their voice is muffled because the flowers are still pressed onto their face. "That's what I get for dating an Incubus, I supposed..."

"Aww, don't be embarrassed, dude! I think it's super sweet how much Gavin loves you. Flowers and chocolates? Boy got some serious game; might even give Vincent a run for his money, and you should've seen how we first met."

The Freelancer peeks through the petals and is relieved to find that Lovely wasn't put off by Gavin's forward nature. In fact, they are very accepting of the Freelancer and Gavin's relationship.

Feeling the warmth on their cheeks slowly disappearing, the Freelancer made their way back to the couch. The rectangular package is tossed onto the couch, and the bouquet is on the coffee table. The Freelancer figured they could put the fresh flowers in a water-filled vase later. 

"The guy said that Gavin sent you some chocolates?" Lovely reiterate as the Freelancer began to untie the ribbon and unwraps the box. 

"Special chocolates, and knowing Gavin, I kinda have an idea of what kind of chocolates they are." They admit and make quick work of tearing the paper wrappings. 

Apparently, Gavin ordered two types of chocolates for his Deviant. One box holds a fancy gourmet assortment of salted almonds dipped in rich Belgium chocolate, double chocolate raspberry truffles, vanilla pieces powdered with light matcha and some white praliné hearts. 

Lovely whistle, impressed over the spread. "Your boyfriend really went all out for you!"

The box below it contains rows of heart-shaped chocolates, but the short message written on the card of said box proves it's anything but ordinary treats. 

'These are homemade chocolates made by one of my close associates. She's a Succubus, by the way, and renowned for her aphrodisiac desserts. You can try some first if your Energetic friend doesn't mind being a voyeur.'

The Freelancer promptly throws away the card and cues them, and Lovely shrieking in embarrassment. Neither of them expects the second batch of chocolates. 

"These are sexy chocolates? Like, legit aphrodisiac chocolates made with magic!? Oh my god, I didn't know they were a thing!"

"I didn't either! I was expecting sex toys below the chocolates!"

"Wait - didn't Gavin wants to give these to Vincent and me!? Dude, does he has a thing for Vincent? Because at this point, I should tell you: he noticed that Gavin was purposely riling us up when they first met, and he's been thinking that your boyfriend is out to get him. But, uh, not in the sexy way, but I'm thinking otherwise now. And if that's the case, then you can warn that Incubus to be ready and catch these hands."

The Freelancer groans and hides their face in their hands. "OK, you know what? I'm going to put the special chocolates in the fridge, and then we'll continue watching a few more videos from the playthrough and get back to studying."

"... You're in denial."

"I'm just trying to keep whatever sanity I have left. It's been a crazy year."

"Urgh, tell me about it."

-

That night, at Lovely's and Vincent's apartment: 

"Vincent, baby? I'm back. Look what I got!"

"Welcome home, Lovely. Dinner's ready if you're hungry. Hmm? What's that?"

"It's homemade aphrodisiac chocolates made by a Succubus. Gavin and the Freelancer gave some to us."

"...I'm gonna punch that Incubus in his smug ass face."

"...Does that mean you don't want them in the bedroom tonight?"

"OK, I'll punch him tomorrow. C'mere, Lovely. I've missed you."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

[krethes]

Hi! 4 and 8, if you want to share please? :D

Hi! Thanks for the ask~! 4. what is the plot bunny you’ve been carrying for the longest? optional bonus question: do you ever wonder why you haven’t written it yet and experience deep existential dread? Oh man. I have wanted to write Wolfstar Raises Harry for a loooong fucking time. It's bad. Real bad. I've danced around it in several fics, dropped little headcanons here and there, but the Task...is big. I know most of the big pieces (save the Longbottoms, reconnect with Andromeda, keep Sirius from Azkaban, Defeat Voldemort?), but it's GETTING there that's terrifying. Also, I'd have to reread the books and ughhhh. But I WANT to write this sooooo badly. In the meantime...I let it out in small, verbose bursts of headcanons. :D 8. what’s your relationship with constructive criticism and feedback like? do you seek it out? how well do you take it? IF and only IF it's true concrit and not a fucking read on my stuff, I take it very well, actually. I know my writing is flawed and I am farrrr from perfect. I like getting feedback on my writing as I'm writing, especially if I can't figure out how to word something or aren't sure if my writing is hitting the way I want it too. I have a good resource of people I can go to for that, which is great, but that's not always been the case. If it's a topic that's sensitive that I DON'T have personal experience with, I try to find someone who can give me some insight and act as a sensitivity reader to make sure I'm not grossly out of bounds or accidentally stepping on toes that really don't need to be stepped on. I think fic is a place to explore different things and no one should be stuck writing about their own experiences (can be boring, it's fiction!!), but just being mindful is very important. You can be sure DYMM went through so many fucking fine-toothed combs, lol.

[lavendershowcase]

FYI - please let your beginning writers know that posting something here will probably be counted by publishers/magazines as a first publication. So, just like if they’re looking for concrit, it’s better to link a Google Doc for unpublished pieces rather than post them directly if they want to take a traditional route later. Or if they don’t care, then fantastic, I will happily read it either way. This blog could also be a great place for people who have a piece they’ve written and published a few years ago to find new readers :) Anyway, fantastic idea and mazel tov!

I think there might be some confusion. This blog isn't going to accept submissions of any sort. It's only meant to be a place for archiving already published stories and promoting writers' blogs/journals/accounts. This is not a magazine or a publishing house. It is going to function like a library.

If a writer posts something on Tumblr/Tapas/Wattpad that later affects their ability to be professionally published, that is their responsibility.

I will also not be reblogging Google Docs. Works must be published somewhere on the Internet.

[snycock]

Weekly chat reminder

Please join us for the weekly TS chat on Saturday, September 7th, at 7 pm Greenwich Mean Time (GMT)/19:00 UTC. That could be as early as 12 pm if you’re on the west coast of North America, or 3 pm if you’re on the east coast, or 7 pm in the UK, or early Sunday morning in Australia or New Zealand.

We’re in the usual place: http://us25.chatzy.com/81935648447483. There’s nothing to download or install, just choose a name and a color and click on “join chat.”

A new month, which means it's time for an episode watch. Last month we watched Siege, so this month we're going to watch it again, but with the commentary podcast Danny and Paul did as the audio track. Come and hear about how hard it was to keep Garett's hair from flying around.

And on September 21st, we’ll be restarting our concrit chat. The topic will be Alternate Universe. Pieces should be no more than 1000 words, uploaded by Sept. 18th. And don’t forget, you can post something you’ve already written if you want to get feedback on it. You can upload your pieces here: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1-DHTigvH-30uCRSCvno3iJzRRL1EPXZ6

See you there!

[regnigt]

Gintama shortfic - Joui Four

I wrote this shortfic for the Chocolate Box Exchange over on AO3, now reposting it to Tumblr. It's a Joui Four shipfic, poly. Rated PG for language and sexual situations. Title: The Opposite of the Opposite of the Unexpected, Times Four Characters/Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura/Takasugi/Sakamoto Summary: Things each of the Joui Four are not terribly known for: the silence of Sakamoto, the languor of Katsura, the gentleness of Takasugi, and what of Gintoki...? Rare glimpses, given to precious few. Author's Notes: This piece is not always terribly precise in its setting, but when it talks about Takasugi you can mostly assume it's from wartime unless otherwise noted, while the time setting can be more ambiguous for the other three. Vague spoilers for the final arc. Concrit and other feedback welcome and appreciated.

The silence of Sakamoto

Sakamoto always seem to be noisy somehow, his words and laughter ringing out louder than anybody else’s. Quiet in Sakamoto terms means talking in a soft voice, mumbling, humming; intimate and close, but still not silent. Like the times when he washes and combs Zura’s hair sometimes, showing greater facility with the task than the other two, who got oddly hostile the very first time, as if they were jealous. Zura was just delighted with it. Sakamoto was more quiet than usual, then, but he was still humming and sometimes erupted into small talk.

Gintoki and Takasugi might say crassly that he only ever shuts up when he’s either asleep or has someone’s cock in his mouth. But in the former case, he still snores half the time – as Zura will point out – and in the latter, he will suck and slurp and pant so enthusiastically that ‘silence’ still doesn’t seem the right word. A truly silent Sakamoto is an outlandish idea.

But it does still happen. There are times when Sakamoto watches the autumn leaves tumbling down, or the stars starting to light up on the night sky, and says nothing, eyes pensive, with a boundless faith in his smile. Gintoki thinks he looks very comely in those moments, but he is still always relieved the next moment, when Tatsuma starts talking. Whether he says something dumb and crass or thoughtful and yearning, just the sound of his voice is nice. Gintoki, for his part, does not much like it when Tatsuma is silent. Sometimes those deep blue eyes seem to see right through Gintoki all too clearly.

Most usually, though, a silent Sakamoto is only caught in the corners of their eyes, as he watches the others with warm eyes, perhaps stretched out on a futon waring nothing at all. That fleeting silence may end quickly. Gintoki tends to get self-conscious and embarrassed when he notices, making him go, “What? Why are you looking like that? What’s on your mind?” which just makes Sakamoto laugh. Zura on the other hand doesn’t seem to mind, but he does get more blushy and giggly than usual when Sakamoto is being silent. As for Takasugi, he just gives Sakamoto a long, unsmiling languid stare right back, then huffs and turns to his pipe or his shamisen.

***

The languor of Katsura

Katsura is all diligence and dutifulness, as a wartime leader, as a postwar revolutionary, even as an energetic boke full of strange radio waves. Even he can be tired sometimes, limbs heavy and eyes bleary; in fact, it is often only when he’s already worn down that he gets softened enough for a roll in the hay, persuaded in the small hours to indulge in such a luxury. He still tries to do his bit dutifully to please his partner or partners, and is the one most likely to direct the others when they are more than two. Gintoki seems to take it as a personal challenge to “get Zura to let go more”, which can awaken Takasugi’s competitiveness. Sakamoto just laughs about it, and that’s probably what makes Zura relax the most, in the end.

But in the morning, he is always the first one awake, futon neatly rolled away, already busy eating breakfast – or, in war days, giving his men the first orders of the day outside the tent – by the time anyone else is rubbing his eyes with morning-heavy head. He is not a man who believes in lingering in bed.

In his late twenties, Zura will start to discover laziness, usually while playing videogames or spending idle times on the internet, or even just watching TV with Elizabeth at his side. But even that is an ordinary kotatsu-esque kind of slouching, nothing sensual about it.

It is so rare to see him in the early morning light, stretching out in a happy yawn with rumpled bedclothes and unruly hair, bare arms beside his head, reddish-golden sunlight on his face, his expression not just sated with the nights’ activities, but fully content with that fact. At peace. It is so rare, in fact, that when Sakamoto first sees it he does a doubletake and even wonders for a moment if Zura is putting on a show, trying to impersonate one of the others. But when Sakamoto glances at Gintoki, he can see him watching Zura with an expression not of surprise or annoyance but wistful fondness.

Takasugi’s gaze is more unreadable, but he joins Sakamoto in getting dressed and moving about with unusual quiet and caution, as if they’re trying to prolong this unusual sight as long as possible. It’s only when they leave the room to get something to eat that Zura blinks and shakes himself out of it, jumping to his feet and going to get washed. Gintoki groans and glares at the other two over breakfast. That image of a languid Zura will linger in Sakamoto’s head in years to come, and it is to a great delight when he finally gets to see it again, on a cold day in Edo, drinking hot chocolate together in the snow.

***

The gentleness of Takasugi

Takasugi is easily roused to anger when Gintoki is around, but he has a calmer side as well, for instance when planning for battle or directing his troops. He retreats, sometimes, into a solitary kind of quietude; strumming his shamisen, composing poems, reading reports, reading books, or just sitting and thinking.

He can be quiet, he can be careful, but you would usually not call him gentle. Even when they’re having sex, if he’s taking things slowly it comes across more like he’s teasing the other or others, rather than being considerate. As for times when somebody truly is sick or wounded and needs more careful handling. he acts short and grumpy about it. It is almost like he’s embarrassed, not just to be seen to show such care, but also embarrassed for the other person, too, and the weakness they’re showing.

But rarely, very rarely, on the eve of upcoming terrible battles, when the odds are against them and they all know that many will die, when life is thin and the four of them seek joy in each other’s bodies one more time; it’s only then, hovering so close to infinity that every small gesture between them is like poetry, that he can rest within tenderness without being bothered by it, without trying to hide it. When, in the gray light of the early dawn, his eyes as he looks on his brothers in arms are large and gentle and weary, the weight of impossible softness hanging on the small edge of his smile.

The others tuck those memories away and hide them deep in their heart. In years to come that moment will both warm and hurt.

Katsura will not see that look again; the trysts he and Takasugi sometimes keeps, before Benizakura, never even brush up at the edge of that kind of softness. Sakamoto will imagine he sees it, once, on Rakuyo, which might be a delusion. Gintoki truly will see it again, on a boat going down the river to Edo, Takasugi taking Gintoki’s head into his lap and smoke his pipe in quiet.

***

The ??? of Gintoki

1. Katsura thinks of Gintoki as a man of enormous strength and with a truly remarkable amount of different traits and qualities, some very open and blatant while others are a little more hidden. He might at first just seem like a lazy slacker, but he can summon a great deal of energy when he wants to, and not only for fighting either. If Katsura had to pick just one noun that doesn’t feel very Gintoki-like, he might pick ‘shyness’. Especially honest, quiet shyness that doesn’t hide behind a grumpy tsundere facade. The very first couple of times they kissed, unsure and clumsy, Katsura was able to see that unusual shy look on Gintoki’s face; it was still a treasured moment, a revelation in its own way. He saw it again the first time they slept together, the awkward, blushy fumbling as Gintoki took his own clothes and put his arms on Zura’s shoulder, neither of them having any clear idea what they were doing. It feels like a long time ago now.

It’s natural, Katsura thinks, that familiarity and comfortability would chase that momentary shyness away. Gintoki seems usually to be incredibly self-possessed, even in times when he’s weighed down by self-loathing. And usually he simply doesn’t talk about the things that would bare his inner self too awkwardly, nor does Katsura try to initiate anything romantic in public. But there are moments still, few and far between, when that old, odd timidity seems to return on Gintoki’s visage, and they seem as young again as they did back underneath a willow tree by a river, the taste of their first kiss lingering on their lips.

2. Takasugi would not deny that Gintoki is a man of many facets, but there is no question in his mind which trait he thinksfits him the least: ‘weakness’. The boy who kept defeating him in the dojo for such a long time, till Takasugi slowly began to catch up; the warrior who fought like a demon, seemingly invincible, with his unparalleled use of unpredictable movements and uncanny flow; even now, in his beaten-down peacetime persona, where his fighter skills are wasted on petty ordinary activities, it’s still the case that whenever he’s pushed to the brink, he will step up and summon forth his stupendous power and fighting skills that remain with him, indelible. His soul might be wounded now, deeply stricken and suffering; but his body can always fight.

Of course, Gintoki could be soft, towards those who were sick or wounded; or even sometimes when they fucked. But the sinuous, resting strength in those marvellous muscles always remained. He was no mean some perfect lover, but even if he got too over-enthusiastic at times with a tendency to blow his load (which Takasugi always scathingly pointed out, enjoying Gintoki’s scarlet flush and “Shut up! I’m doing the best I can!” in response); but that was always due to lack of technique, not a lack in strength. As for the battlefield, even when he’s bleeding from many wounds, with broken bones, there almost always seems to be still a residue in strength in him.

But there have been a couple of times when that was not the case. Gintoki caught a bad Amanto virus, once, during the war, and had to be isolated in his tent riding the sickness out. Katsura who never gets sick was the one who mostly took care of him, but Takasugi sneaked in there a couple of times. That pitiful figure, the feverish sweat, the trembling; the lack of resolve in Gintoki’s stricken face… It had shaken Takasugi, who went out to fight the enemy with even more fury than usual. He wasn’t even sure if it had been the sight itself that shook him the most, or the unwanted surge of tenderness that it had provoked in him. He had no idea what to do about that. Gintoki wasn’t supposed to be weak.

3. Sakamoto thinks that by and large, what he wished was a more common trait for Gintoki is just plain open joy. Not just battlefield frenzy, not just manic, not-quite-honest cheerfulness; not even just a mellow contentedness with a small, fond smile at those that he loves. That last thing is very nice and all, and so is raucous drunk companionship, even if those bar nights always feature copious puking, especially on Sakamoto’s part… But that’s beside the point. It would just be even better, in Tatsuma’s opinion, if Gintoki felt secure enough in his happiness, and in his own right to be happy, to express it more fully and openly. Even when sober.

He wonders sometimes if he should talk to Zura about that, or maybe Shinpachi and Kagura, or even someone like Gintoki’s landlady, who seems to have a good head on her shoulders. But as stubborn as Tatsuma Sakamoto can be, he can recognize this objective as a longterm one that will require a patient and subtle campaign. So he will just laugh even louder and turn up when least expected and coax Gintoki into sharing a few drinks with him at least.

And in the privacy of a hotel room, he is sometimes -- rarely -- rewarded by unexpected happy giggles from Gintoki as Tatsuma nibbles his ear. Those are very, very good moments.