#╰ * LJ : interaction ⧽

[ellzilla]

I am so sorry for posting old art but I find it so funny that I used to draw RLJ in mainly orange and made him bake a lot back in the 2018 ask blog days, considering what I'm doing with his character now.

I wonder if that part subconsciously stayed with me into the rewrite and manifested into malewife baker Jack Grossman or if it's just a coincidence lmao.

[samuraiondo-mace-1177]

Ik no-one cares but I fuckin love my RK AU, dude

[everythingcounts2007remaster]

I miss having bigger (and multiple) profile icons like in the lj days

[divinekangaroo]

The strange thing of being online only partially is, now I feel even more awkward “””interacting””” because I don’t have the contextual ebb and flow

[lionofstone]

listen i had read a lot of 911 fanfiction before i started the show so i know a lot of what’s to come and when Buck and Abby were talking and he goes “I’ve got your back, okay?” and she did not say one single thing my jaw actually dropped

[overdevelopedglasses]

Tojoctober Day 7 - Alliance

(Everything's in gray, waiting to be saved)

Alt title is from “The Answer”, the ending song to Astral Chain

Yagami takes a break to calm himself down. But it's in the most unexpected times that help arrives.

(slight spoiler warning for Lost Judgment, as this fic takes place in Chapter 8 of LJ, timeline wise.)

—-------------------

Yagami, whose head is spinning with way too many thoughts, finds himself grateful for the quiet time that he needed to kill. He had to go back to Seiryo High today, as Amasawa mentioned a couple of clubs were looking at progressing their tasks, and they still needed to look for the Professor. But with everything that had happened last night, Yagami just stares out at the waters of the city with a cigarette in his hand, trying desperately to get what he saw and experienced out of his head.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice breaks Yagami's daze.

"Wooooooah!"

Yagami looks toward his left, and sees a man absolutely gawking at him. What the hell?

"Uh, can I help you?"

The man seemingly registers his actions and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

"Oh, sorry, you just… you look so cool!"

He's certainly… enthusiastic. Yagami thinks, but isn’t going to deny a compliment.

"Oh! Thanks."

The two men stand a bit awkwardly, and Yagami takes the opportunity to size the other one up. Funnily enough, the man in front of him reminds Yagami of his partner. He looks slightly older than him, his hair is styled in a wild looking afro, and with the bright red suit and bat strapped to his back, he sticks out like a sore thumb. 

Then again, now that Yagami's out of Kamurocho, he does too.

"Uh, sorry, I don't mean to pry, it just looks like you were a bit lost in thought."

Yagami doesn't know how he drew that conclusion. Wildly, he finds himself being honest. Maybe it's the resemblance to Kaito.

"Well, a bit, I guess…" Yagami hesitates, and decides Fuck it, what else can go wrong in these 24 hours? "Bit of a weird question, but are you familiar with the underground of the city?"

The man looks at Yagami with a strange expression. "Why? Are you on their bad side or something?"

"Yes and no? It's complicated.” Yagami lets out a sigh, “A lot's complicated right now." He puts his cigarette out, staring into the water. In the water’s reflection, he sees the man lean on the railing next to him. 

"Yeah, I get that. It's like… you get way too much information all at once, and before you have the chance to process it, your whole world gets turned upside down, and you're left to pick up the pieces."

Yagami looks over, the other man's face in a solemn, yet soft expression. A flicker of understanding passes between the two of them.

Woah, this guy is perceptive.

"Right, to answer your question," the man clears his throat a bit, "Yeah, I know a couple people that work in that space. All nice people, honestly."

Yagami's eyes narrow slightly.

“Well, regardless of who you know, could you ask around for a handyman named Kuwana?” 

"Kuwana?" The man looks slightly confused.

"Well, he may not even be Kuwana…? I'm not so sure. This group, if you've heard of RK," the man gives a nod of understanding, and Yagami continues, "they're looking for Kuwana, or whatever the hell they’re calling him, and I have a feeling something bad is gonna happen if they get their hands on him. My friends and I are just trying to get to him first, and maybe figure out why RK is after him."

The man looks like he's deep in thought. It's at this point that Yagami’s conscious thought catches up with his instinct.

Wait, why am I being so open with this guy? Did I really just tell him about Kuwana? This could be really b-

"Yeah, I can ask around. You seem like a decent guy, so I can also put a good word in for you with my friends, uh…"

Oh right, my name.

"Yagami. Takayuki Yagami. I'm a detective, visiting from Kamurocho."

"Yagami-san! I'm Ichiban Kasuga. I'm from Kamurocho too! Anyway, yeah, I'll ask around for you. Do you have an easy way to be contacted?"

"Yeah. I'm good friends with the people at Yokohama 99, and here's my card in case I'm not there." Yagami digs into his jacket and hands Kasuga one of his business cards. Kasuga flips the card around in his hand before placing it in his jacket.

"Neat! Look for a buzz from me, Yagami-san. See you around!"

With a turn and a wave, Kasuga walks away. Yagami gets lost in his own thoughts, as he watches the wild man wave enthusiastically at someone in the homeless camp. 

Kasuga-san, huh? I'll have to keep him in mind. It's nice to know there are still good people around, despite their appearances. And despite… everything.

Yagami turns back to the slowly flowing waters of Ijincho, and he finds his mind has, thankfully, slowed down.

[honestlyvan]

As the pendulum is swinging back to “stop shaming people for leaving likes”, I am going to go on record to say I don’t like like because they’re a purely “number go up” metric that most people do not treat with the kind of thoughtful affection people who talk about leaving “little kisses for the people they follow” treat them as. I feel this exact same way about kudos in that mindless interaction from a potential audience is a real “good for you” kind of situation that simply does fuck all for me.

And before someone can call this grind culture brainrot, I also feel this way about reblogs without commentary. Good for you. I'm glad I was a good dancing monkey, enough for you to go “hey [people following me], lookadis guy”, even if you’re not gonna actually tell me that. We can talk about our choices for engaging with things and people on this site all we want, but intent isn’t magic, and I’m gonna reserve the right to complain about how that treatment feels regardless.

[woundedheartwithin]

[dragonofeternal]

So the hardest part of the LiveJournal au that I'm cowriting with Pat and Killian is that I've realized while I did use lj in high school....

I was more of a forums sorta person

[badass-at-fandoming]

🏁 Why the Devil Stalks Death 🏁

Walkthrough 🐪 Maybe: Interactive Stories

[trashquisitor-shirozora]

🥰 How do you feel about reader interaction? Are you open to receiving questions about your fics?

Y'all I am ALWAYS here and ready and dying to answer any quesitons people have about my fics. Seriously, my ask box is open. My Twitter is available. And of course there is the comment section of all of my AO3 fics.

I swear I only nip politely.

Play ask games, win ask prizes!

[wantonlywindswept]

Skybird abandoned sequel ficlet

for @lucdarling <3

So Skybird is a fic I wrote many many many years ago, back when fandoms were still on Livejournal and we had writing kinkmemes (which were honestly only like 50% kink/smut tbh) where you could post story ideas and invite people to write something on that idea. I had been on an Inception kick and was current up to like, 2.5ish? seasons of White Collar, and found this prompt:

Arthur and Eames adopt a kid and raise that kid into Neal Caffrey.

Thus began a descent into a fevered writing fugue that involved far too many hours of researching art and resulted in 30k words of fic written in the space of a month.

This is a snippet of what had been the vague idea of a start of a sequel to that fic. Looking back at it, it’s actually a surprisingly coherent/self-contained little story intro, so I don’t mind posting it. Unedited b/c I cannot be bothered, please have pity and remember that this was written *checks* thirteen years ago jesus god i am so fucking old

---

They tricked him the first time.

Neal came to his senses by way of a hand slapping across his face, jolting him out of a bleary haze. He squinted up through the gloom of the—basement? cellar? something underground, at the very least—into angry brown eyes that stared out from two cut holes in a ski mask.

Neal resisted the urge to groan.

Amateurs. And even worse: clichéd amateurs.

“What do you know?” demanded the blurry figure. Male, middle-aged, hint of a foreign accent covered up by years of playing at New York posh. Unfortunately, the question held no ground with Neal, not without context. He could think of a hundred—a thousand, really—things that he knew, locations and names and numbers and faces and plots and conspiracies, all of which he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to talk about.

So he collected that information and buried it away, pushing it into the furthest reaches of his mind as he affected a serious expression.

“The earth revolves around the sun,” he replied, nodding decisively.

The punch to the mouth was hard and disorienting, but disappointingly predictable. It also made Neal realize he was sitting tied to a chair as it tipped dangerously beneath him.

“What do you know?” the man gritted, grabbing a handful of Neal’s hair and yanking his head back, pressure put on the exposed line of his throat. Neal let out a huff of exasperation.

“It would help if I knew what you wanted, wouldn’t it?”

The man scoffed and dropped his head.

“You know what we want.”

“I really don’t,” Neal replied mildly. He craned his neck around as the sudden whir of power tools echoed through the stone room, trying to catch a glimpse of the noise. He knew that noise. He knew it like he knew New York, like he knew the feel of lockpicks in the dark. That was the sound of a drill, and it was going through a Class TXTL-60 grade safe.

“Robbery?” Neal asked, perking up instantly. “Where are we? Some old bank vault? An old heiress’ abandoned wealth?” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m going to go with the heiress.”

“Shut up,” the man snarled, and this time the punch sent Neal toppling back onto the floor, the chair and all his pressure on it landing atop his bound arms. His head smacked against the floor and he bit his lip against the pain, the room spinning and a low rumbling in his ears.

“What is that?” a new voice asked. Also male and younger, maybe twenties, rough and unpolished. He walked upside-down into Neal’s line of sight, wearing the same boring black outfit that every small-time thug had grown attached to ever since Hollywood decided to buy stocks in ski masks.

“This wasn’t in the plan,” Middle Age snapped, because apparently Neal wasn’t the only one hearing things. The younger man just spread his hands as the noise grew louder, looking around the room in a decidedly nervous fashion.

“Don’t look at me, I had nothing to do with this,” Twitchy declared. Middle Age snarled and stalked over to Neal, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and hauling him up, chair and all.

“What have you done?”

“Bees,” Neal replied at once, a little groggily. “Thousands of honey bees migrating—”

And then the far wall smashed in because there was a bulldozer driving through it, and at the wheel of the bulldozer was Arthur.

“Huh,” Neal said blankly, even as he was dropped back down. The chair stayed blessedly upright this time as both Middle Age and Twitchy grabbed for their guns. Arthur leapt out of the bulldozer in a smooth motion that was almost inhumanly graceful, a pistol in each hand and a murderous look on his face.

Two shots took out Middle Age and Twitchy. A third, aimed at a point Neal couldn’t see, stopped the sound of drilling.

“Pѐre,” Neal sighed as Arthur strode toward him, relief warring with embarrassment in his chest. But when he looked up he saw the guns still in Arthur’s hands, and a look on his face that sent a shiver down Neal’s spine.

The look on his face was wrong. It was all wrong. His eyes were cold and his face was a blank mask and he wasn’t Neal’s father. He was something else, something inhuman and wrong and bad and he wasn’t Arthur.

“No—” Neal struggled to scoot back, to break free, to do anything to escape the implacable force moving toward him. But all he could do was stare, helplessly, as the not-Arthur came to a stop in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut as one of the guns rose, turning his face determinedly away.

“Wake up, Neal.”

Neal’s eyes snapped open in understanding just as the bullet entered his skull.

[yther]

Usually prompts don't give me such a viscerally poignant sense of a complete story, but I instantly felt how a theme otherwise too complex would blossom through this as a character driven plot...

The element of a questionably reliable narrator really excites me. This prompt is phrased so perfectly, as it seems to imply knowledge encompasses a space outside of both relative and empirical truths.

I'm dying to know why nothing is as it seems, which is means I need to write it out. That is delicious motivation.

#cheatcode: blame the character for plot holes, experience true freedom

You are a criminal wanted by multiple planets, various afterlives, across several different timelines. Yet, you have no idea why. You have never tried to committed any crimes to your knowledge.

[idnull]

like this post for ask memes.

[miriel-elenna]

I just don't understand why people continue to interact with parts of fandom that piss them off. Don't like someone's take? Unfollow them. Is someone being an asshole? Unfollow them. Is someone yelling at you in your dm's? Unfollow and block them.

I'm not here to give a fuck about people being "wrong" on the internet. I'm here to vibe, look at pictures of Dean and Cas, and giggle at the slumber party. Hope that helps.

[iamthescalesofjustice]

thinking about it, if [author name redacted] had just started posting her stuff to teaspoon instead i would probably not be on tumblr lol