#whoever might have read this hope you have a fantastic day!!! :D

[hawkeish]

3. You made me a Christmas playlist but it’s just Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas is you”. I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me or if it’s a joke --- for (you know it) Carver/Merrill :D

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS PROMPT IT IS FANTASTIC, here’s 1400 words of modern Carver/Merrill fluff written for @dadrunkwriting because I have no restraint and too much time <3 I hope you like it!

no CWs, but there’s some swearing (I promise my Hawke siblings love each other, in a brutal way!)

also my modern Merrill’s a postgrad studing Art History & Cultural Studies - repairing the eluvian is her research project.

read on AO3 if you want!

It’s the evening before everything shuts down for Satinalia, and it’s started to snow.

Which would be nice, if only Carver wasn’t stuck outside Merrill’s door, trying not to break a magical mirror which possesses far too many poky bits as it pokes right into his side. Fingers numb with cold, he’s too busy fumbling with the ridiculous amount of keys she gave him to appreciate the beauty of the Alienage in Firstfall. Bedecked with wreaths, shining baubles and flickering garlands of lights, the vhenadahl is like something from a fairy-tale, dusted with a gentle sigh of snow.

Snow, lights, whatever. Any other night, Carver might let himself be enchanted. But right now, he has one priority—get the damn mirror into the damn apartment without breaking it even more.

And yet here he is, falling at the first hurdle: locked out, with Merrill’s most precious possession leaning on him at an angle that’s making him nervous. It’s not exactly going well. But it needs to go well. He promised he’d get the eluvian - carefully swaddled in some enchanted cloth to “protect him”, whatever that means - from her studio at the Viscount’s College of Art back to her Lowtown home in one piece. If he doesn’t, he’s not sure what might happen. He doesn’t want to know what might happen. Her degree? Ruined. A vital piece of her people’s history? Lost. And as for Merrill herself?

She’d probably never speak to him again, and shit, he can’t think of much worse—

Click.

The random key he’s shoved in the lock twists, and the door swings open before him.

“Thank the fucking Maker,” he mumbles, then picks up the mirror and barrels into Merrill’s tiny home.

Merrill’s flat is much like Merrill. As in, modest, pretty, and filled with a frankly terrifying amount of knowledge. There are small cairns of books dotted between potted plants and thrifted armchairs, alongside art prints leaned up against walls and notebooks littering her paint-flecked desk. Though she doesn’t celebrate Satinalia, there are a couple of decorations over the tiny fireplace, too. And—is that spice he can smell?

As Carver carefully sets down the eluvian by the window in the corner like she’d instructed, he catches sight of something in his peripheral vision. Two steaming cups of wine-dark liquid set on the coffee table by the fire, and beside them, a neatly-folded note.

Curiosity gets the better of him. Carver wanders over and gingerly picks up the paper, a frown puckering his brow as he unfurls it.

C. Merrill’s handwriting is pin-point neat. I just wanted to say - I do really appreciate you doing this for me. Creators, there’s no chance I could lift that thing on my own! You really are my chevalier in shining armour. I’ll send you a little something to say thanks. M x

That x does something strange to him; a small chill runs up his spine, and Carver puts the note back down in a fluster. Just as he does, the phone in his pocket vibrates. Still frowning, he pulls it out, then squints at the text that’s screaming up at him from the too-bright screen.

alright dickhead! hope you’re having a lovely day of being a burden on society! did you get the message?

Carver doesn’t need to read the sender’s name to know it’s from his sister.

Go back to making shit coffee for people who’ll never sleep with you, he types. And what message?

Surely Ri wouldn’t mean the note. Why would she know about the note? As far as he can tell, Merrill only asked him for help after Aveline and Fenris made some excuse about being far too busy washing their hair, or dancing round their townhouse full of half-decayed corpses, or whatever the fuck it is that they get up to instead of being friendly, helpful people.

Carver wasn’t the first choice. He never is. Which is fine. Totally fine. He’s used to it. Knowing he’s never a first thought definitely doesn’t itch at the back of his mind, or keep him up at night—

“Maker’s breath,” he scolds himself, trying to focus back on his phone.

And then, just as he presses send, another notification pops up. Unknown number; something in him tells him to tap anyway. When he does, a little jolt of static runs through him, warm and fuzzy and disgustingly sweet.

For you, the new message reads. To say thanks. I knew I wouldn’t need to ask anyone else. You’re all I need for Satinalia. Enjoy! <3

Below it, there’s a link to a playlist. A playlist which, he notices, contains about twenty versions of the same song, All I Want For Satinalia Is You. One’s in Elven. One’s a country version with, inexplicably, some late-night TV host caterwauling over the chorus. One’s by some Orlesian crooner called Michel de Bublé. There’s even one that’s just someone playing the recorder extremely badly over a muffled backing track.

It’s an…interesting mix. As he skips through the songs, though, he can’t help but smile. Whoever this truly ridiculous playlist was meant for is a lucky person. It certainly wasn’t for him.

At least, that’s what he thinks, until he taps back onto his messages app.

Then, his heart does a weird twist in his chest, and the phone suddenly feels like a searing hot coal in his hands. Because, in bold, in the small gap above the text where the sender’s name usually lies, there’s a small line that makes his pulse skip every time his eyes trail over it.

Could this be: Merrill Alerion

Carver nearly drops his phone.

This is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. Carver feels slightly seasick. Quicker than he knew his fingers could work, he’s sent a crappy screenshot to Marian.

This???????

A few seconds pass.

Ri replies with a voice message. The voice message is a long, horrible, joyous screech.

Fuck, Carver thinks. “Fuck!” Carver says, and stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

His heart’s going wild, now; his palms are sweatier than they’ve maybe ever been. The mulled wine suddenly seems like a very good idea: he takes one in each hand, trying to convince himself he doesn’t fucking hate star anise. Time to chug—

Halfway through his first glass, there’s two light knocks at the door.

Carver freezes, glass still at his lips. Then, he realises that in his haste to get the mirror in, he’s left the door open. Panic spears through him, until he remembers that he’s a six-foot-stupid ex-farmer and could definitely take on a burglar. And that burglars probably don’t knock.

Still, this is Kirkwall. Better to be safe than sorry. Carver holds his breath as he sets the glasses down as quietly as he can and starts towards the door. He’s not punched anyone in a while. Maybe the anxiety coursing round his body from that text will finally give him a decent right hook. Maybe if he catches someone trying to steal Merrill’s stuff, it’ll add to the whole chevalier-in-shining-armour thing. Maybe—

A gentle gust of wind flutters through the apartment, and the door swings open, just as Carver’s barely steps away.

When he sees who’s behind the door, he makes a tiny squealing noise that instantly makes him want to cease existing. Rosy-cheeked and smiling, Merrill stands before him. Flecks of snow are caught in her dark hair and on the chunky knitted scarf wrapped around her neck, and her eyes are glittering beneath the Satinalia lights strung up on the street outside. It’s as if she’s haloed, glowing, a beacon against the dark winter’s night.

She looks beautiful.

“Merrill,” he breathes. “I thought you were...”

“Studying?” She’s smiling, and he feels a bit dizzy. “I was. But I finished - just in time, I think! Did you get the message?”

“Uh—the playlist?” he offers. “Yeah.”

“But did you get the message?” she asks again, a grin tugging at the edges of her lips.

Carver frowns. There was a message to get? “I—what?”

“Creators,” Merrill says, half-laughing, glancing up at something above him, then back down. When her gaze locks with his, he feels his heart flutter. “Hawke said making you a playlist would be very smooth. I’m not sure I’m ever very smooth. I guess I’ll not trust your sister again.”

“Smooth?” he echoes, like an idiot.

Then, he remembers what’s hanging above her door. A sprig of mistletoe, tied up with a neat red bow.

Merrill answers him with a laugh, and a kiss, and Carver thinks oh.

[internalsealpanic]

I Will be Your Tim Drake for Tonight (3) (Jason Todd/ Reader)

Summary:  Preferring to do anything but your physics project, you decide to accepts Tim’s proposal. It’s simple. He does your project, you try to figure out whether Jason Sionis is criminal. Easy, right?

masterlist

A/n: This takes place in a world where Jason is adopted by Black Mask. Inspired by Building Interest by Zoeleo.The events and characterization in this story are very heavily based on Zoeleo's Long Term Investment series. It is fantastic and I really highly recommend all of her fics.

a/n: For clarification, Reader does have psychic powers but it only lets her sense people's emotions physically. No mind-reading. Her power is more like an overactive sense of empathy which may force her to dissociate into someone else.

There will be violence and mentions of alcoholism (used as coping mechanism for physical pain) and chronic pain.  

As for the additional warning, an animal is harmed but it is barely described. I could not bring myself to actual describe it but the aftermath is described.

I also just converted this from an OC so I apologize for any grammatical mistakes.

Without further a do:

Your stomach drops.

Fuck.

Of course, Damian just had to be the one to pick up.

"Hey baby bro, could you pass the phone to dad?"

"I'm sorry who is this?"

This little shit.

"You're such a kidder! Dami, it's me, Tim. "

“Ah yes, Drake-” You can hear Tim choke in the background. “What do you want?”

“Please Dami just pass the phone to dad, I- I really need to talk to him”

“Very well,”

“Tim?” The voice sounded like Bruce’s but the intonation was all wrong. The voice changer Tim and Babs were working on seems to have made progress.

“Hey dad, I- uh. I might have gotten kidnapped.”

Tim makes another choking noise. “Might have?”

“I was at the party. I think I had around 13 drinks. 13 ! Can you believe it? I felt like a right sailor after that, like the harbor workers, y’know? Anyway, I was taking a smoke-”

“Enough!” The large man roared, snatching the phone from you. “Send us $100 million by tomorrow or your kid’ll be shark bait!” Who says that anymore?

“Of course! Of course! I’ll have the money sometime this evening. Please don’t hurt him.”

Tim, God bless him, does not laugh. Tim’s acting needs some work but he sure does know how to act worried.

The line dies and they tie you back up to the post.

“What the hell?!”

“We have to make sure you don’t just runoff.” The large man says tightening your bonds. Truthfully, you’ve felt far worse. After all, corsets exist. However, this was still a close second.  

“Do I look like I could outrun a snail?”

“He’s got a point boss. He looks like he hasn’t even seen the sun in ages.”

This, you decide, is true for Tim. When was the last time he went out before dark? Maybe he got sunlight when he stayed over at Eddie’s place.

The large man grabs Jason by the collar and throws him to his men.

The 3 men kick and curse at him. They mock him and beat him down. They wail on him with their fists, their steel-toed shoes, and sometimes brick. Jason takes it all with a crooked grin and a sharp tongue. You watched in awe. Even on the floor, Jason looked sturdy, ferocious, and indomitable.

"They all break, sweet girl."

Jason is on a tiled floor. No, he should be on concrete. His blood is on the tile. They’re hitting him. They’re hitting him with a bat. No. They aren’t supposed to be holding a bat. They were kicking him but now they’re holding a bat. No, She’s holding a bat. There's supposed to be three of them, three men,  but their forms coalesce into her .  You can hear his ribs cracking. Next are his legs. His legs are always next. Then his arm. She'll break each bone in his arms and his hands.  He’s wheezing. His voice sounds hoarse. His voice is too hoarse. He sounds like he’s been starved and dehydrated for at least a day. They’ve only been here for an hour. That isn’t right. Oh God! Now she had a cleaver in her hands.

No!

No!

He doesn’t need to die. She can’t.

no.

No.

No!  

 The scene crescendos as the tall, dark, sinewy silhouette towering over Jason raises the butcher's knife above her head.

“Harder, daddy!”

“Son?”

The scene of the kitchen fades and the shit-eating grin on Jason melts into view which shifts from amusement to confusion then back to amusement.

You blink seeing his stupid grin far too clearly.

You let a bark of gut-busting laughter out as you strain against the rope. Your brow pinches with concern but based on the scowls you’re receiving they're more focused on the fact that you were laughing like a mad man.  

Jason looks like he’s about to laugh from the absurdity as well when the man in charge picks him up again tossing him into a chair. The other men tie him down binding his wrists and ankles.

"I've had worse." He spits out.

The phone rings again, the dial tone echoing. Jason looks like hell with his face swollen and bruises beginning to bloom on every surface but he still looked like he was 5 seconds from starting a fight.

The large man punches Jason hard in the gut knocking the air out of his lungs as the dial tone cuts off.  “Hear that, Sionis? Your little bitch is pretty soft.”

Oh God, are they serious?

“Who is this? Nevermind. You ok there, sweetheart?” Roman Sionis’ ‘concerned’ voice carries over the line.

They are.

“Nothing I can't handle, daddy.” Jason chuckles with the utmost casualness. You, on the other hand,  instantly want to disinfect your brain. Thankfully, before your mind could wander somewhere it can't return from,  the big man growls into the phone.

“Don't you recognize the voice of the man whose life you've ruined?!”

“You've gotta be more specific than that. I've ruined quite a few lives but I would like to know whose brain I need to put a bullet in.”

“IT'S ME  BRUNO HARDIN!”

“Doesn't ring any bells.” Roman deadpans almost sounding completely disinterested. “Sweetheart, you remember anyone like that?”

“Nope,” Jason replies letting the p pop. It seemed like a strange sort of triumph before it all crashes down with another swift punch to the ribs.

You stare at the strange scene torn between amusement and horror.

“Take this seriously!” Bruno roars.

"I'm taking this about as seriously as it deserves."

A part of you thought 'yeah this is ridiculous enough to warrant nonchalance' while the other part wanted to scream.  On one hand, even you found his identity anticlimactic. Doesn’t he know just how many small-time businesses Roman has ruined? He’d be lucky to get into the top 50. It’s not like he was running a pretty ethical establishment either.  On the other hand, your freaking kid is getting the shit kicked out of him. Emote damn it.

“Jason. Don’t you worry. Daddy’s going to take care of this. Your Uncle D happens to be in town. He’s on his way to pick you up. Love you, baby. See you soon.”

The line dies. Your stomach sinks further somehow. You don’t know if the nausea is due to the fact that the line died, the threat, or the number of times the word ‘daddy’ came up. Who the hell is Uncle D? How is he supposed to help? Your gaze trails to Jason who is now lowering his head to the floor seemingly tired. Maybe that last punch finally drained the fight from him.

“You're all so fucked.” Jason barks out in a fit of laughter. The men around him, jumping from the volume of his voice.  

Bruno grabs Jason by the collar and begins to shake him as if the  “Shut the fuck up you little bitch! Whoever your Uncle D is he's-”

“Deathstroke”

You feel like someone kicked you in the chest. First of all, Uncle D? Really? You guess that there are worse hills to die on. This was somehow weirder than hearing Faust and her siblings call him pops. Second of all, Fuck. You'd never gotten your asshanded to you by Deathstroke but based on how banged up the Titans looked after fighting him this wasn't gonna be pretty.  All you could hope for was that you wouldn't get caught in the crossfire. Although, the image of Deathstroke grudgingly letting a kid call him Uncle D lightens your mood a bit.  

Bruno throws Jason on the floor hard enough for his body to bounce. Like Jason earlier, Bruno is radiating murder.

Just run, you thick motherfucker.

You, being the ‘nice’ Wayne kid that you are,  try to tell him as much but sadly that was halted by shattering glass. A flurry of black, orange, and metal crash through the glass and cut through the crowd of men.  

They fire at him, panic making their faces even paler. They hit him, bullets sinking into his flesh, blood splatters but none of it fazes him. He skewers and cuts them down with ease. His swords and suit are liberally decorated with their blood when it’s all done.

He steps over Bruno’s body. From the grunt that comes out, Bruno is still alive. Dumb bastard doesn’t know how to play dead. He’ll die from blood loss anyway.

“Hey, kid-” Deathstroke greets tersely,  picking up Jason’s nearly limp body.  “We’re gonna get you home.” He slings Jason’s arm over his shoulder.

“Wait!”  

Deathstroke stops sounding slightly annoyed.

Jason turns to you, who’s still unhappily tied to a post.  “We gotta get him out.” He rasps.  

“Kid, you’re the only one I’m getting paid to rescue.”  Deathstroke helpfully informs as he carefully adjusts his hold on the struggling young man. You blow out a breath somehow more irritable than scared.  “Just cut me out. I can make my way back just fine.”

“Walk in Gotham, are you stupid?” Jason hisses. The concern bleeding through.

“Which one of us charged at their captors while they were armed?”

Jason scowls at you with a petulant twist in his lips. “Yanno what,  Leave ‘im.”

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry and yeah I’ll be fine. I know where to avoid. Just please don’t leave me with them” you plead, throwing away any pride you held as you glance at the most likely dead bodies. Deathstroke cuts you out. Your skin feels raw but you’re otherwise unharmed.

You walk out of the warehouse and Dick practically throws himself at you. “Oh thank god, they didn’t shoot you in the head.” He mumbles into your wig.  

"Why would you think they would shoot me in the head?"

Dick pulls back and frowns at you through the domino mask.  “You aren’t exactly the most pleasant-”

“ We were model hostages.” you squawk.

Jason snorts far too loudly to be helpful.

You glare at him but you weren’t about to say fuck off to him while he has one of the world’s deadliest assassins right next to him.

Deathstroke coughs.  “Well if you don’t mind we’ll be taking our leave.”

Dick holding you protectively, glares but says nothing. Maybe he does but you faint before you can hear it.

A/n: Thanks for reading!

[lu-undy]

Coffee shop AU? Where Lu works as a bartista and Mundy visits that specific shop religiously just to get a glimpse of Lu. They talked a few times before, so one day Mundy decides to try and ask him out, but Lu being so observant already knew and requited his feelings. They have a lil' date right after ^^

Here we go for coffee shop AU :D !

"Ugh… What a mornin'…"

It had been Mundy's first day at his new job and he already felt overwhelmed. It wasn't the job itself that was causing his headache, but the number of people surrounding him. Despite having an office job where the telephone barely rang, his colleagues had turned out to compensate with a lot of chats here and there. 

Mundy much preferred working undisturbed, with a bit of music or radio, but no other human to answer to. Each time he had to raise his head to answer whoever entered his office, he felt annoyed as they cut his pace and task always at an odd time. 

But his shift was done and now, Mundy was after some peace and maybe some paracetamol. 

He walked along the streets when a small shop caught his attention. It was relatively new in town and it had to be the smallest coffee shop he had ever seen. However, it looked fantastically modern and very nicely decorated. Mundy's eyes lingered inside and realised there was no one. He read the name of the shop, written in black cursive letters: Chez Lucien. 

[At Lucien's.]

Mundy passed the shop and went straight back home. 

Time passed and the days flew. Mundy had managed to work only morning shifts which he noticed were usually a bit more calm in terms of the number of people bothering him. It proved to make him all the more efficient. That end of the morning, as he passed in front of the coffee shop, he decided he could do with a well earned cup. 

He pushed the door and a gentle jingle tickled his ears before the faint accordion music did. The shop was as small as it looked from the outside and as Mundy scanned the inside, there was no one else. He sat at the counter and waited when a man appeared. 

He looked older than Mundy as his salt and pepper temples and front lock of hair betrayed his age. He was wearing a white shirt and Burgundy vest and trousers. On top of them was a black apron with the name of the shop in cursive white letters. 

"Good morning."

"Hey there, uh, can I get a black coffee please?" 

"If you were to get it, then I should give you my apron." The coffee shop worker answered with a smile. 

"What?" Mundy raised a confused and surprised eyebrow as the man had spoken with a foreign accent.

"My apologies, it was only a joke. What you mean is 'May I have a coffee please?', not 'Can I get a coffee please?'. What kind?" 

Mundy was still confused but he answered. 

"B-black, no sugar, and large please." 

"But of course. What blend of beans would suit you best? You have the selection of the month on the menu in front of you."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped. It was the first time he was asked about that…

"I will let you choose. Just call for me whenever you are ready." 

"Okay…" 

The waiter disappeared in the back while Mundy studied the menu. There were a dozen or so blends of beans with their origins and a description associated with each one. It took him a couple minutes to go through all of them but in the end, he was still clueless…

"S'cuse me?" 

After a few footsteps, the man with the salt and pepper hair re-appeared. 

"Oui? You have made your mind I suppose?" 

"Uh, not really…"

"May I help?" 

There was something inviting in those very light blue eyes of his that made Mundy yield, where he would have normally just refused and exited the place. 

"Yeah, please."

"What mood are you in right now? Are you looking to get some strength to bite in the day or…?"

"N-no actually I've just come out of work and wanted to relax a bit." 

"Ah, then I know what you just need. Do you trust me?" 

Mundy flicked his eyes from the menu up to the man's eyes. 

"Yeah, go ahead."

The coffee shop waiter got to work as he talked. 

"Thank you."

"No worries."

"And sorry if I come across as a bit… different." He added. 

Mundy smiled to himself. People used to call him different too. 

"You see, the mistakes you made while asking me for a coffee are very common and come from how Americans have spread their mistakes through their cultural influence. If you were to 'get' a coffee, that originally means that you make it, as opposed to receiving it from someone else. As for the second mistake, it is very very common too. People tend to forget the difference between 'can' and 'may'." 

Mundy stared at the busy man. 

"But enough with my grammar lesson when I can barely speak your language." He turned to face Mundy. "Here is your coffee, bon appétit." 

"Uh, 'scuse me?" 

"Oui?" 

[Yes?]

"Can I smoke here? I mean…" Mundy thought again.  "May I smoke here?" 

The man in the apron smiled. 

"I see you learn fast. Oui, you may smoke." He answered before disappearing through the back door.

Mundy was left to enjoy his coffee and cigarette in the small shop, accompanied by the faint radio tune that was broadcasting some accordion, and surrounded by no other living soul than those of the plants around him. He liked it in there. It was peaceful and the right volume of ambient noise. 

He took the first sip of his coffee and nodded to himself. It was good, very good. It almost tasted sweet despite it not having a single gram of sugar. The warmth of it soothed him too and his shoulders sank as he relaxed. Yes, the man was right, it was just what he had needed. 

And it became a habit. Every other day, Mundy would stop on his way back home to have a cup of coffee at that odd, off-brand little coffee shop. There were more clients too but it was mostly to have a take away.

"So, uh, what's your name?" Mundy asked.

"The one written on the front window." 

"Lucien?" 

"Oui." Lucien nodded with a smile. "And your pronunciation is quite good."

"Oh, how d'you say it?"

"Lucien." Lucien said it a bit slower. 

"Lucien?"

"Oui! You have it!"

"Ah, nice."

"What's yours?"

"Mundy." 

"Exotic."

"So is yours." Mundy answered and they exchanged a smile. "So you're Italian or something?" 

"Non, I am French." 

"Oh, explains the music…" Mundy said and Lucien chuckled. "I didn't know the French were big on their coffee." 

"Almost as much as the British are on their tea but we failed to market it as well as the Italians." Lucien answered, wiping the counter clean.

They were alone in the shop for a while. Lucien noticed that Mundy came more frequently and stayed longer. If at first he would leave him to drink his coffee alone, he wanted to have a chat and know more about his first regular client. 

"Do you work only in the mornings?" 

"Yeah, better that way."

"Lucky you."

Mundy raised his eyes. 

"Although to be honest I don't have many people coming into my shop. If I closed the afternoons, it wouldn't make a big difference. It has been a few months that I have started this business but I haven't met the success that I had expected."

The Aussie heard the disappointment in Lucien's voice.

"You thought you'd have a lot more clients?"

"Not a lot. I don't want a lot of people. I don't want people to order coffee from me if they don't know how to savour and appreciate it down to its nuances. But I had hoped that a few connaisseurs would be attracted."

"Ah sorry mate… You should have gone to the posh district. They'd love it." Mundy thought about some of his work colleagues who came from there. And he had an idea. 

"D'you work tomorrow, Lucien?"

"Oui, I do."

"Right, you might have more people coming."

"I hope so." 

Lucien thought it was only words of encouragement but Mundy had meant it otherwise. The next day, a lot more people showed up. Lucien was almost overwhelmed, the number of clients grew to a point where he really felt the weight at rush hour in the morning in particular. 

"Bonjour Mundy, the usual?" 

"Yeah, I wouldn't be against something a bit stronger, y'know, to go with the weather." 

Lucien's eyes went to the front window and indeed the sun was beaming beautifully.

"Fine, give me only an instant." 

"You're the boss!" Mundy answered and he watched as Lucien started the preparation of his coffee. 

They had a routine now. Mundy's usual was whatever Lucien chose for him. He would come in, tell his friend about his state of mind and Lucien never failed to nail the best of coffee blends for him. 

"How come you always know what coffee to make when I tell you how I feel?" He asked. 

"Ah, experience, mon ami." Lucien answered. "Experience and a bit of empathy I suppose. Here, enjoy." 

[My friend]

Mundy took the cup and a sip. 

"Oh, that's a fruity one… It's almost as if you mixed some fruits in there!" 

"Experience, empathy, and your exceptional sense of taste too." Lucien answered. 

Mundy raised his eyes and blushed when his gaze crossed the Frenchman's. 

"I wouldn't be able to give you the coffee you need if you weren't able to appreciate it." 

"I-I guess, yeah." 

Their chat was interrupted when a lady entered. 

"Bonjour Madame, how may I help?"

"Mundy?" She started and the Aussie turned to face her.

"Oh, Emma, hey, finished early today?" He recognised her from work. 

"No, silly, it's already five in the afternoon. You daydream too much!" She joked and his eyes snapped to the size of planets. 

Already five?! He had been there for hours without realising it!

"Uh, can I get your fruity mix, with one sugar please."

"As a take-away?" Lucien guessed at how she seemed in a rush. 

"Yeah, please, and make it large too." 

"Tr��s bien."

[Very well.]

Lucien got busy but his ears were still on Mundy and Emma's conversation. 

"What are you doing here in a coffee shop on your own, M?"

"I, uh…" Mundy did not know what he was doing there and why he had stayed so long… But something came to his mind. "Actually it's wrong."

"What?" Emma asked. 

"What you said, it's wrong. You shouldn't say 'can I get you fruity mix', but 'may I have your fruity mix'."

Lucien, who had his back to them, stopped sharp. 

"What are you on about?" Emma chuckled. 

"Think about it! When you get some coffee, that means you make it, not that you receive it." 

"Pfff, you're a weirdo, M…" She chuckled.

Lucien turned and put the cup on the counter. Emma paid for it and left, leaving Mundy and Lucien alone, at the counter. 

"I…" Lucien started. "You remembered what I had said about the grammar?" 

"It makes sense." Mundy answered. 

"I am sorry that your friend does not see it that way." 

"Bah, none of them do." Mundy answered, lowering his head to his cup. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I… I've never been good with people. I've never had many friends. I'm just awkward and most of the time, they say exactly what she did: I'm a weirdo."

Lucien heard the slight distress.

"You have me. I am your friend." 

Mundy raised his eyes. 

"And I am sure that you thought I was a weirdo when we first met." Lucien added. "I saw it on your face." 

"Nah, you're not-"

"No need to try and lie to me." Lucien chuckled. "I read you like an open book, as we say in French."

"Lucien?" 

"Oui?" 

"Do you have friends here?" 

Surprise flashed quickly across the Frenchman's face but it disappeared as soon as it had first come.

"Non, no one apart from you. I used to work in France and decided to leave and start a new life with what little money I managed to save throughout my life." 

"Oh… What about family and friends? They're still in France then?" 

"Non, I don't have friends per se and I don't have any family left." 

"Oh, wow… I'm sorry to hear that." 

"Don't be, you or I have nothing to do with it. It just is that way." 

"What was your job before? You were selling coffee too?" 

"Non, I had a different position. But I would rather not talk about any of this too much, if you don't mind." 

"Oh, sorry, yeah, o'course." Mundy realised that he might have struck a nerve with his questions.

"What about you? You said you had no friends, but I refuse to think that such a nice man as you are is lonely.

"Well, thanks, but uh, yeah, I have colleagues at best, but no friends. They all grew up and flew different ways, starting their families a good decade ago at least now." 

"And you haven't?" 

Mundy lowered his head. 

"N-no… Mum and Dad would have loved it for me, but no. I haven't found the right person yet." 

"Fair enough." 

"But you," Mundy raised his head to Lucien, "You're French and classy n'all…" 

The Frenchman chuckled as he turned to start tidying up. The sun was gently setting in the distance. 

"Oui, I have had quite a lot of success before." 

"Before what?" 

"A long time ago." He simply answered and took the dirty cups to the other room behind the shop. He appeared again and saw Mundy staring at him. "I apologise. I am not used to talking about myself." 

"Me neither, mate. But I like listening to you." 

Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy and saw a warm smile. 

"What do you say to continuing this conversation over some dinner?" He suggested to his Aussie friend. 

"O-oh, uh, where?" 

Lucien removed his apron and neatly folded it before storing it in one of the cupboards under the counter. 

"Wherever you want. I haven't tried any place here yet. Would you be so kind as to be my guide?" 

Mundy felt warm and fuzzy. His heart woke up and he could feel his cheeks turn pink.

"Sure, yeah." 

They exited the coffee shop together and soon found themselves in an Italian restaurant. 

"Mundy?" 

"Yeah?"

"I must thank you."

"Why?"

"Since the day you hoped for me to get more clients, it is as if God heard you and people started coming. I would see a lot of new faces, some I would see only once. But some would come back from time to time. Your prayer has been more than heard." 

"Ah, well, I just, I just talked about you at work." 

Lucien raised his head off the menu. 

"Really?" Seeing how shy and clumsy had been with Emma, Lucien couldn't imagine how he had talked about his coffee shop to other people. 

"Yeah, I thought it might help."

"And it did, greatly! It is very kind of you, thanks." 

Mundy was delighted to see his friend smile. He even saw a bit of his pearly white teeth. Lucien was handsome… Oh! Mundy shook his head and hid himself behind the menu, one hand clenching on the fork he was fiddling with. 

"Hey…" 

Mundy's head slowly rose from behind the menu. 

"I think you are as shy as I find it endearing, so please…" 

Mundy's eyes were open wide. 

"... Let me be your friend, maybe?" Lucien asked, his right hand hanging over the table for Mundy to shake. 

The Aussie's eyes darted from Lucien's eyes to his hand. He eventually lowered the menu completely and shook Lucien's hand. 

"Oh…?" Mundy's eyes went down to his fingers.

Lucien did not let go of Mundy's hand, not for years.

[hazbinextgeneration]

Down The Rabbithole Ch9

(Disclaimer: The songs sung by the Twiddle Sisters are Wonderland by Natalia Kills, Mad Hatter by Melanie Martinez, and Wonderland by Caravan Palace. I DID switch around and replace a few words, especially the Mad Hatter song, to match the storyland theme more, but I in no way own any of the songs or anything about them.)

Birds chirped along and the sky was a lovely blue as the lady in a red dress walked along the dirt road, even though this world had no visible sun that she could see it was still warm as if it was always summer here. And everything was always so bright, beautiful, and vibrant. The sweet smell of flowers was still in the air and lots of forest animals were about. Mostly birds and bunnies, but she saw some deer, a fox, and a turtle too. She wondered if they were regular animals or cursed princes or maybe they could talk like Cheshire or Marsh. They looked and acted like regular forest animals of her old home, and ran away from her as soon as she passed. Making her chuckle as she walked along. At least her feet weren't hurting anymore. Allison had shortly left the strange polka dot cottege after eating the food the kind Hatter and Hare provided her, once again reminding her of the way she needed to go in order to find these Twiddle Sisters. She certainly hoped whoever they were they would be as friendly as her previous guests were. She could only hope. Allison had followed the two crazy fellos' instructions and was already walking down her way towards the second fork in the road. So far she hadn't seen anything except for the lovely woods and creatures around her, that was until the path turned a corner to the left and as instructed she followed it. As Allison turned the corner she paused, and a big smile slowly spread across her face.

"Oh thank god! Finally!"

The second fork in the road! Finally! The second shiny GIANT silver fork stood tall and in the middle of the dirt path as she hurried towards it. Like the one before it, there was paths behind it but this time instead of two paths and two signs, there was three wooden paths and three wodden arrow signs. As soon as she got close enough she stopped and peered up at the signs that were somehow nailed to the giant metal thing. By now she stopped questioning things. I mean she just fell into a fairytale world of talking animals and storybook characters. How logical was that? As she approached, she blinked her eyes up to the three signs that pointed one each to the paths. One left, one right, and one pointing up probably symbolizing the path directly behind the giant fork. The left path apparently went somewhere called The Valley Of FarFar Away. The middle one lead somewhere called Godmother's Retirement Village. And the right which her old companions told her to go, said Enchated Vil. She smiled, before obviously turning and going down the right pathway. Everything looked the same as before as she walked along. Minute after minute passing as she continued to walk along for who know how long. The only difference was that the path began to slowly get bigger and bigger as Allison slowly walked along until it was as big and wide as a regular highway if the highway was made of dirt and smack dab in the middle of a dense and magic forest. The sweet flower scent in the air was nice as the gently breeze flowed throughout the air combined with...The smell of apple pies? She paused a little bit and sniffed the air a little more smelling the scents of foods in the air. And her stomach growled. Mini sandwhiches and cookies and tea didn't really fill one up so much. So naturally she sped up umbrella in hand as she folloed the smell down the road through the woods and-...And oh my goodness. She was now looking at the entrance of a small town the tree blocked off any buildings to the left and right, but from where she was standing she could make out the entrance to what looked like a mini town square of cobblestone and a fountain. Blinking she hurried forward. As she came closer the road slowly turned from dirt to cobblestone and she could hear her footsteps on it, and people walking around!.....WAIT! NO!! NOT JUST PEOPLE!! Walking talking animals and things! THAT THERE WAS A DEAR IN A FANCY DRESS CARRYING A BASKET!! AND THAT THERE WAS AN ELF!!....AND THAT THING WAS A TREE WITH ARMS, LEGS, AND WEARING AN OLD TIMEY SUIT!! She stopped where the forest met the town and her jaw dropped in absolute WONDER.

IT. WAS. A. VILLAGE. RIGHT. OUT. OF. A. FAIRYTALE!! Cobblestone everywhere, things out of stories walking around, and the buildings even looked like those old wooden cabins in storybooks, or cotteges with straw roofs. Either way it was fantastic. Umbrella still in hand and red eyes blinking around in wonder, she slowly stepped her way in looking at the brightly colored houses of different colors and designs and all the different people walking around. ...It really was real and so different and EXCITING AND AMAZING!! No one was the same from her first glance and she almost tripped from bumping into a giant walking spoon man holding hands with a giant plate wearing a dress and hat.

"S-Sorry," She called back before looking around again.

Her stomach growled smelling the good food again and she looked over and noticed there was a bakery opened not to far from her. Above the bakery's door it read "Muffin's and Gingerbread's Breads and Goodies." She guessed that must've been the Muffin Man's and Gingerbread man's family business. ...Too bad she didn't have any money or what was used for money down here. All this walking really worked up an appitite....What was she looking for again? OH YEAH!! Granny Cottege. She looked around and began to walk around aimlessly glancing at the many, many buildings around the place and peeking into alleyways. 'Mother Goose Library'. 'Town Hall.' 'GodMother's School House'....An actual one room school building with a bed like in ye olden days. 'Ye Olde Brave Tailor.' 'Merry Lane Doctor.' ...LOTS of fairytale puns. But no 'Granny's Cottage.' She must've been looking for what must've been an hour by now and still no signs of it. 'Can't miss it' huh? Against her better judgement she decided to stop someone and ask for directions. It looked like a wizard. The old man in a long robe and witch like hat stopped patiently and didn't seem too bothered by her question. In return to her question, he pointed down at an alleyway between two buildings and said it was just down that alleyway. She thanked him and hurried away towards where he had pointed. Darting between the mysterious people until she got there. The alleyway was dark but there was a light at the back of the tunnel, her desperation to find a way home somewhere overpowered any sketchy feeling she might've had and compelled her to walk down it. Allison was in complete shade for a few moments, but it disappeared as soon as she reached the end. The alleyway was nothing but a dead end with garbage cans and some litter laying about. But before her was a large black door and a sign above it read Granny's Cottage. FINALLY she found it! A smile came over her face as she approached the door and didn't hesitate to open it. Inside was NOT what she was expecting.

The loud sound of laughter filled the air and she catiously poked her head in and blinked at what was before her. LOTS of buff looking pirates and thieves she thought, witches and wizards wearing dark clothes, and other ruffians. ....Wow. She guessed there must've been ...'bad' people like classic story book villains and thieves but she didn't expect to stumble across a whole bunch of them. She took a few steps in and stopped wondering if maybe she shook turn around- She yelped and took a few steps aside as two buff looking men charged towards the open door with another third man in their grip she watched as they tossed him out laughing before one slammed the door shut and laughed even more and they turned and stomped back to a table of pirate looking men who held up mugs of she guessed beer towards them....She wondered if this is what Chesire meant by dangers of his world? She didn't have much chance to find out though as she sucked in a deep breath and began to walk towards the bar? This place looked like a tavern, an old version of a bar, only this one had a stage and giant old worn curtain near the far back. No one paid her any mind as she stepped around and under arms holding out mugs, dodging a few spills from the foul smelling beer. A man with an eye patch was wiping out a wooden mug at the counter and had that classic apron and small mustache like old bartenders had and looked up at her as she approached- Before yelping and ducking her head from a flying mug that landed on the floor behind the bar. The bartender didn't even flinch as it spilt at his feet and only gave Allison a bored look.

"Watcha want here girly? You seem kinda outta place in a crowd of rowdy ruffians like us." He sneered at her as she slowly looked around to make sure nothing would come back flying at her. Before blinking back up to the man.

"N-No! I d-don't want anything to drink. I-I'm just here looking for something."

"Uh huh. And just might who that be little lady? We don't usually see you're kind around here."

She looked at him and with a quiver in her voice said, "I-I'm looking f-f-for The Twiddle Sisters? I-I was told they perform here."

He huffed before going back to his cup. "Well, you're lucky then. They're about to perform now."

She didn't have time to even ask before the loud cheers of drunken laughter turned to cheers and whistles of joy and the bar tender looked past her, she looked over where he was looking and noticed everyone looking towards the stage near the very back of the whole place and she blinked.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" A lady's voice sung out from somewhere as the cheers and whistles grew. "It is with great pleasure that I present to you the Twiddle Sisters!"

The old raggedy curtain rose much to the cheers and she blinked again. WHAT THE WHAT?! What was revealed was not one but TWO women sharing one body....L-LIKE CONJOINED TWINS!! The strange ladies were dressed in a dark pink burlesque outfit and a long feather boa.Like one of those old 1920's flapper girls. One lady had dark pink hair which she had in a ponytail. Her sister she guessed had MUCH longer very pale pink hair, almost light also in a ponytail. As they were presented they really hammed up themselves by fluttering their eyes, one head waved white the other blew a kiss towards the cheering crowd. Behind them was three witches. Backup singers?? Everyone quieted down as music suddenly began playing from somewhere and she-..Uh..They got into a pose as she watched.

"I'm not Snow white but I'm lost inside this forest.~ I'm not red Riding Hood but I think the wolves have got me.~" The twin with the short dark pink ponytail sang as she walked along the stage and put one hand to her forehead while the one on her sister's side remained on their hip. " Don't want your glass slippers.~ I'm not, not Cinderella.~ I don't need a knight, so baby take off all your armor.~" She stepped along the stage again and men cheered and whistled as they walked past. "Your be the beast-" They leaned down to poke a guy's nose as they past and his comrade pulled him back from the stage. "-and I'll be the beauty, beauty.~ Who needs true love, as long as you love me truly, truly.~ I want it all but I want you more.~ Will you wake me up boy if I bite your poison apple?~"

"I don't believe in fairytales~," both girls sung out this time as they stopped center stage. The three back up witch singers sang 'Oh, no, no, no.' as they said that. "I don't believe in fairytales.~ I don't believe in fairytales.~ But I believe in you and me.~ Take me to Wonderland!!" All five girls sung as one for the next few verses now as the sisters danced and swung their hips expertly in place. "Take me to, Take me to.~ Take me to Wonderland.~ Take me to, take me to.~ Take me to Wonderland.~ Take me to, take me to.~ Take me to Wonderland.~ Wonderland, Wonderland.~"

"When I lay down to go to sleep at night.~," the dark pinked haired twin sang again as her twin and the back ground dancers stayed silent now, but the backup singers bouncing to the beat. "My dreams consist of things that'd make you wanna hide.~ Don't let me in your tower.~ Show me your magic powers.~ I'm not afraid to face a little bit of danger, danger.~ " At the last 'danger' they reached one of their legs out to kicked back a burly one eyed man back from the stage with the sweetest smiles. "I want the love, the money, and the perfect ending.~ You want the same as I, I.~ So stop pretending.~ I wanna show you how good we could be together.~ I wanna love you through the night.~ We'll be a sweet disaster.~"

"I don't believe in fairytales.~" Again both heads sung as another 'Oh, no, no, no.' came from the witches. "I don't believe in fairytales.~ I don't believe in fairytales.~ But I believe in you and me.~" Again as they repeated the next verses they all sung as one and Allison had to admit that they all had good voices, especially the one sister who was singing. "Take me to Wonderland.~ Take me to, take me to.~ Take me to Wonderland.~ Take me to, Take me to.~ Take me to Wonderland.~" That same expert swing dance in one place. Allison briefly wondered how long it took two sisters to agree and practice it? "Take me to, Take me to.~ Take me to Wonderland.~ Wonderland, Wonderland.~"

"Wonderlaaaaaand!!~ Oh!! Woah oh, oh!!" The dark pink haired twin sang loud and echoed throughtout the place. "Woah oh, oh!!~ Woah oh, oh!~ I believe in you and me!~ "

"I don't believe in fairytales!!~" Both heads sung together again only a little louder. "I don't believe in fairytales.~ I don't believe in fairytales.~ "

"But I believe in you and me!!~," The original sung out by herself.

"Take me to Wonderland.~," All five ladies on stage sung as one again, "Take me to, take me to.~ Take me to Wonderland.~ Take me to, take me to.~ Take me to Wonderland.~ Take me to, take me to.~ Take me to Wonderland.~" "I BELEIVE IN YOU IN ME!!~" The original singer sung out as the other four ladies continued to finish up the song. "Wonderland!!~ Take me to, take me to!~ Take me to Wonderland!!~ Take me to, take me to!~ Take me to Wonderland.~ Take me to, take me to.~ Take me to Wonderland.~ Take me to WOnderland!!~ TAKE ME TO WONDERLAND!!~"

The cheers and roars of the rowdy crowed was inevitable as all five ladies on stage took a bow, but that wasn't the end of the performance as Allison discovered when a different song began to play again from somewhere. The twins stood back up and took a stance as if to start another part of their performance. Allison blinked and found herself walking towards the front of the stage as the crowd began to die down from the first performance. This time a much deeper beat and music box sounding piano played from somewhere she couldn't see. Not that she was paying attention to anyone else but the two on stage.

"My friends don't walk they run.~ Skinny dip in rabbit holes for fun.~," this time the other sister with the longer very light pink haired ponytail sang out by herself as they slowly sashayed across the stage. "Poppin, poppin ballons with pins.~ Getting wild with barbarians.~ We paint white roses red.~ Each shade a different version of red.~ This dream, dream is a thriller.~ Getting wild with a small caterpillar.~" The paler haired twin suddenly reached up to run her gloved hand down her face. "Now I'm feeling the rush to my face.~ Cause I hate being so plaaa-a-ain.~ What's normal?~ They make me addled.~ The wilds.~ They make me feel safe.~" She suddenly sang in a louder tone when the next few versus came. "I'm nuts, baby.~ I'm mad.~ The craziest friend you've ever had.~ You think I'm Psycho, you think I'm gone.~ Tell our friends to follow along.~ Over the bend.~ Entirely bonkers.~ You like me best when I'm leading along.~ Tell you a secret.~" She made a motion as if to beckon the audience closer. " Im not alarmed.~ So what if I'm mad?~ The best people are.~ All the best people are mad, yeah.~ All the best people are.~''

Her voice like her sister's was very pretty, and sounded very different from her sisters. The light haired pink twin's voice was higher pitched but not enough to sound annoying. It sounded quite lovely and smooth.

"Where is my shrink potion?~" Allison was pulled back out of her thoughts as she began singing again. She now noticed the witch back up singers were gone and the dark haired twin who sung before was being very quiet smiling as her sister sang. "Witches, witches please listen.~ My forgetfulness is rattled.~ You can Alice, I'll be the Mad Hatter.~" She pointed out at the audience when she said Alice before pointing back to herself. "Now I'm feeling the rush to my face.~ Cause I hate feeling so Plaaa-a-ain.~ What's normal?~ They make me addled.~ The wilds.~ The make me feel safe.~" She once again spoke in a louder tone as she repeated the last verses from before. "I'm nuts.~ Baby, I'm mad.~ The craziest friend you've ever had.~ You think I'm psycho, you think I'm gone.~ Tell our friends to follow along.~ Over the bend.~ Entirely bonkers.~ You like me best when I'm leading along.~ Tell you a secret.~" Again the motion to beckon the audience but they stepped back when another man with a giant mustache was yanked back by his pal. "I'm not alarmed.~ So what if I'm mad?~ The best people are.~ You think I'm really?~" They slowly started to step around stage as they sang. "You think I'm mad.~ So what if I'm really?~ All the best people are.~ And I think your funny too.~ I know you're mad.~ That's probably the reason that we get along.~" They turned around and started walking back towards the center of the stage. "I'm nuts, baby.~ I'm mad.~ The craziest friend you've ever had.~ You think I'm psycho, you think I'm gone.~ Tell our friends to follow along.~ Over the bend.~ Entirely bonkers.~ You like me best when I'm leading along.~ Tell you a secret.~" They stopped back at middle stage and the twin currently singing held her hand up. "I'm not alarmed.~ So what if I'm really?~ The best people are.~" They stayed in one place and bounced to the beat as she sang. "All the best people are really.~ All the best people are.~ All the best people are mad, yeah.~ All the best people are.~"

The music cut out just as they finished singing and another loud roar of laughter louder than before came from the crowd as the girls bowed and blew kisses at their adoring fans and Allison reached up her own hands to cover her ears from the loud clapping and cheers. YOWCH!! THAT HURT!! Gripping the umbrella in one hand and stepping back, not noticing she stepped on one touch looking wizard's long robe. The music started up for a third time and Allison watched as they put their hands on their hips and just simply bounced along to the music this time, as the pale pink haired twin spoke.

"Just imagine a trip to a wonderous land.~ Of candy, and Jam.~ And ice cream.~"

"I gotta hit the road, you better watch it.~ With a little bag full of big tricks.~", The pink haired twin took over singing as her sister once again fell silent to her lead. "I got the voice, got the pitch, got to keep it undercover.~ All in the air, just to sing it out.~ See the stone cold face, try to knock it.~ I can't be stopped.~ Never walked.~ Gotta run it.~ I gotta be wit it, I gotta be with it.~ I gotta beda-"

A loud yell made everyone stop and look down into middle stage, Allison tripped and fell back on her bum just as the bartender was walking by with drinks. The wizard's cloak that Allison had accidentally been standing on had snagged on the wizard's neck when he tried to stand and choked him, he turned around furious not looking at Allison on the ground. Only seeing the baretender standing in her place. Angered he pushed the bartender without another word sending him flying back and spilling the beer all over the men behind him. The pirates yelled in anger as beer was poured all over them and in retaliation one threw his mug at the wizard who quickly ducked. The cup flew across the bar and hit another VERY large man sitting at a table of seven other beefy men and they immediately stood after their leader was hit in the head by a mug and covered in beer. Which lead to more beer and cups anf chairs being thrown, to people becoming more angry, to starting to throw punches, and TURNING INTO AN ALL OUT BAR FIGHT!! The women on stage covered their heads with their arms, before darting to the left of the stage as the curtains closed.

"HEY!! Wait!" Allison quickly scrambled to her feet and quickly made a beeline for the stage as the curtains closed. Lifting up her dress a little allowing her to jump over fallen men or chairs easier or move when ducking under something flying over her head. THIS IS WHY SHE HATED DRESSES!! Her heart beats picked up as she moved and once she got to the stage, she jumped onto the thing and pulled herself up onto it. Crawling umbrella in one hand fast to the curtain as it just touched the bottom of the stage. She took one last look behind her, winced at a glass breaking sound, and quickly pushed up the bottom of the old curtain to crawl underneath it. But she didn't stop there, quickly standing she looked left to where the twins ran and saw a brown door. She bolted towards it, ignoring the curtain moving or the noises of the stage as something hit them. The door burst opened and slammed when Allison pressed her back to it breathing heavily....before sighing and closing those red eyes, leaning her head onto the door. "Well, that went well." She looked back around and noticed she was in what looked like a hallway, blinking she pushed away from the door. The faint sounds of the bar fight still going on but fading as she walked along. It was barely lit and hard to see. But there was a few doors to the right, she looked at them pondering which ones the twins took.

"Well tonight was a disaster." She stopped and blinked at the sudden voice as it came threw the walls. "At least we won't get blamed for it. It's not our fault the guy made another person mad." "Ha! Yeah right. Did you see him tonight?" What sounded like two women laughing together was enough to encourage Allison to walk faster and followed the muffled sounds of talking and laughing until she found the source coming from the back of one of the very last few doors. She stopped in front of it. Should she knock? Taking in a deep breath, Allison shakily reached a hand over. And knocked on the door. The sounds of happy chatter on the other side disappeared immediately and Allison froze. .....A long silence passed until a voice spoke. "Who is it?"

She opened her throat to speak but her answer came out a nervous stutter, "I-I-I...I-I c-came to talk to you two...I n-n-need to ask you something."

Another long pause-.....

"You may enter." Allison's hand shakily grasped the doorknob as she took a big inhale. Pausing for a moment before letting it out and slowly....SLOWLY pushing the door open and letting it open by itself fully revealing the three women to each other. The room was filled with classic 'star' items such as a well furnished bed, a giant wardrobe, and a fancy vanity which the two were sitting in front of right now. The three of the held a small staring contest, before the sisters looked at each other then back at Allison. "Who are you?," The light pink haired one asked.

"A-A-Allison. ..*ahem* My name's Allison. I need your help...please."

...They blinked and looked suspicious. "And how can exactly can WE help YOU?"

"I-I need to know where to find the Fortune Teller." Both blinked in surprise as she frowned and looked at them. "PLEASE!! He's my only chance of getting home and...A-And I heard you two would know where to find him."

They must've heard the desperation in their voice because the dark haired one reached her hand out to come in. "Close the door." Allison quickly did so and the two relaxed back. Well the dark pink haired one was looking at her with a studying gaze as her sister still looked confused. "....Come in and sit down. I'm Deedee." The twin with the short ponytail pointed to herself as Allison slowly shuffled over to the bed to sit down. And then she gestured to her sister, the one with longer hair. "And this is my sister, Dumea. ...Why do you want to know where the Fortune Teller is?"

Allison swallowed under their hard gazes. "I-I...I'm really lost. I-I need a por-....Rabbit-thole to get back to there." Both looked surprised again before looking at each other. "PLEASE!! Please. I have a friend who might be hurt waiting for me and I was told you two might know where to find him!"

....."So the rumors were true." They looked back to her. "A human really did fall down here." They leaned forward and gave her a concerned look. "It's not safe for you here." "If the Queen or her guards find you," Dumea cut in tone worried, "You'll be forced to perform in one of her fights. And she never loses. Her magic's too powerful." Allison's eyes shrank and her eyes dropped.

"....W-W-What?"

"The Hearts are jealous and fearful tyrant family that's ruled for generations. They're a very old family with strong magic that gets stronger with each generation," They continued, "The worst was Queen Velvet Hearts' parents. They wiped out nearly all the Chesires and destroyed most of the rabbitholes almost fourteen years ago."

Allison's mind wretched back to Chesire...remember how he proclaimed himself last of the Chesires-....And leaned back with a disgusted look on her face. "...That's why he was against me coming here...That's aweful!" She looked back to them. "Why would they do that?!"

Deedee shook her head. "The family was always crazy. They blamed outsiders of treason for the history the Brothers Grim shared with your world. Since then all outsiders are viewed as enemies and if any of them were to come into the Hearts kingdom they would spend the rest of their lives in the dungeon...or worse." "Queen Velvet is MUCH better than her parents or other ancestors were, but she'll still see you as a threat and lock you away. But not before making you fight to earn your freedom back before she locks you up like she does with anyone else who upsets her."...."Like us."

Allison blinked and an even more annoyed look appeared on her face. "Make you fight her? What did you guys do to hurt her and What kind of punishment is that?!"

"A much fairer one than her anscestors would've given us." "The Queen...still has traits of jealousy and vanity in her heart as all Hearts do. We used to perform for the royal court, but the Queen proclaimed we were trying to ruin her performances. So she challenged us and...." "W-We lost and she banned us from ever stepping foot in the castle again. Now we have to sing and live her to get by." "It's not a bad punishment. I'd rather get banned than thrown in the dungeon-" "But that's why you must leave." Deedee gave her a frightened look. "She's too powerful for you to take on and already there's rumor's of the queen sending guards to capture you. If you look you'll be trapped here forever."

Allison face became wide in fear and she looked at them in desperation. "T-That's why I gotta find him! He's the only one who could know how to get me back! PLEASE!! PLEASE TELL ME ANYTHING!!"

...The two sighed. "It's true we heard rumors about where he lives, but we've never seen him. Only heard of where he might live and even we aren't sure."

"PLEASE!! I'll take anything! If it means I can go home!"

....."We do not wish you to end up in our situation." "So we will tell you what we know."

Allison thanked whatever deities were listening to her prayers and gave a shuddering exhale hanging her head and looking at them. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you so much!"

"No need to thank us. You might not even find the results you want." "We heard from whispers from the courtroom's nobles that he may live in the Giant mushroom Field east of the castle, but that's all we heard and it's not gaurenteed because no one's ever seen him and told the location of his hide away."

"H-How do I get there?"

"The mushrooms. Follow the glowing pink mushrooms, they always lead right to it.".....Another pause before one Twiddle sister pointed in the direction behind them. "There's a trail that just starts on the south edge of town. The farmers use them to go collect mushrooms on the edge of the misty field before coming home to not get lost." "You should leave now. While you still have time." They stood up as they ushered her off the bed. "We'll sneak you out the back way, but you MUST leave right away. Rumors travel faster than you think and if you can't find the Fortune Teller then you'll need the head start to escape the Queen."

Allison's heart picked up pace slightly as the sisters quickly ushered her towards the door and what would eventually be her back exit. ...Getting back home just got a whole lot harder.

[theaurorfileshq]

E D E N   B L U E  /  A U R O R   O F F I C E R

AGE:  Thirty-Seven

BADGE NUMBER: S91X22

BLOODSTATUS: No-Maj Born

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Agender, They/Them

IDENTIFYING FEATURES: Hamsa tattoo on forearm, several other tattoos on chest and back, Russian accent, pretty eyes, always carries tea leaves somewhere on their person. 

STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

(+): Sight, Empathy, Nonverbal Magic

(-): Disregard for the System, Fear of the Future, Combative Magic

BACKGROUND:

Volkan Şimşek doesn’t realize that the dreams they have aren’t dreams for a long time. Their parents have more to worry about than their middle child’s vivid imagination, after all, so they grow up assuming everyone has them, but no one talks about them. That’s just how it is, keep quiet unless it’s something serious. There are too many mouths to feed in the Şimşek house, seven children, not enough work to get by easily, they don’t have time for the trivial. Their parents talk about the glory they thought they would find when they left Turkey, swept up in the promise of a utopia, a notion that was quickly assuaged when they arrived in the Soviet Union, and found themselves stuck in a worse position. Everyone talks about change as the years pass, about things looking up, the streets becoming less dangerous, but he has dreams about his family, he sees what their future is like. Change like that for doesn’t happen when you’re poor.

When the strange woman comes to tell their parents that they have magic, and that there’s a school for them where they can hone their skill, their parents are shocked, never having seen any signs of it before. Volkan’s surprised, too, still not making the connection. The dreams are dreams, vivid and realistic, but nothing more than that.

When a second stranger shows up a day later, offering the same, but with the promise of power, mentioning they’ve seen them in visions, what they can be if they come with them instead, they all start to take it seriously. Suddenly they’re afraid of what the bad dreams mean. Their parents, though, see it as an opportunity for one of their children to have more. Any chance to get away is a good one, even if none of them can fully wrap their heads around a world existing where a flick of a wand can change everything in an instant. Their parents want them to take the second offer, Durmstrang. It’s far, an escape from this reality. But they’ve seen who they become if they follow that path, even if they hadn’t realized it until hearing the name of the second school. The words had just been gibberish to them, shouted in their nightmare. Sturm und Drang.

(Later, they’ll call it the difference between a small vision, and a big one, never having had anyone to explain it to them. The small ones are literal, a glimpse of a concrete future, no room for questions, possible to dissect and reverse with the right critical eye. The big ones, they’re full of symbols, and fantastical images. They feel like dreams in a way the others don’t once they’re more aware, and sometimes they happen with such intensity they can’t even remember them, a blank spot in their memory. But they always leave them with a sense of dread.)  

They choose Koldovstoretz, the first offer, the school too close to home. They beg, and they cry, and they make their parents’ lives hell, until they relent and agree, so afraid of becoming who they are in that nightmare. Divination isn’t a subject taught there, brushed off as archaic, not enough actual seers alive to make it worth it, so it takes their own research to begin to understandthat they’re a seer. They know they should tell someone, but that’s part of the nightmare. People knowing. (They were surrounded by crowds in the dream, chanting about eyes, about being seen.) They may have managed to keep their education from the ones who want the nightmare for them, but that doesn’t mean they won’t find them. So they don’t tell anyone, and none of their classmates or professors seem to look at them for long enough to notice. Unlike in the vision.

They teach themself to hide it, to control it, their Sight. Most of their Sight involves dreams, but they’re good at the more traditional methods, too, tea leaves, crystal balls, reading the stars, as foolish as they feel doing it at first. Over the years, on their own, they learn how to trigger the visions, although they have little control over the subject matter, even if they try to focus it as best they can. A certain concoction of herbs made into a tea, with the right ones burning at the same time, and it’s like falling into a trance, or a sleep filled with someone else’s dreams.

When they have a vision of their father and both of their oldest sisters being dragged away by the government, for crimes that weren’t even crimes, it feels like a jolt of lightning. There’s something horrifying about working so hard to change your own future, and realizing you can’t change the futures of those you care about the most.

After that, there’s only one possibility, stop that from happening to anyone else they can. They think the best way to do that is to stay in the Soviet Union, but too much in their vision is uncertain, and they’re afraid if they stay close to their family, they’ll be putting them at risk, too. The pain that comes with looking in any of their eyes, knowing they had seen what happened to their father and sisters, but did nothing to stop it, helps make the choice easy.

They do what their parents wanted, the go far, far away, all the way to America, accepted to Wizard Harvard Law, without anyone knowing about their Sight. They change their name to something lighter, less powerful sounding, hoping that might keep anyone from finding them, and keep them from becoming their nightmare. And it’s easy to get comfortable in the skin of Eden Blue. Everything is so simple with their visions. They don’t mind leaning on the tea leaves, the crystal balls, the stars in private to make it through, and they learn a thing or two about the system they’re walking into being just as awful as the one they had come from and with less excuse for it, magic and freedom making it so much simpler to be good, in their mind.

From there, it’s New York, because there doesn’t seem to be a better place to do their work. Mentors throw around words like prodigy, and when they’re in their own firm, the prosecutors they face like to shake their heads about how they could get even the devil off. They only take cases they’ve seen, that’s the thing. A lot of them are cases they see other defense attorneys screwing up, costing the lives of those either innocent, or simply guilty of breaking laws that shouldn’t even exist. They steal clients, and make enemies of a lot of people, but the people who matter always thank them, and that’s what matters. They’re not going to let any more of their nightmares become a reality.

They’re suspiciously good at what they do, but it takes a long time before anyone realizes how they can have such a perfect record of getting their clients off. The only reason anyone does is because one of the big visions happens unexpectedly, in the middle of a deposition. It catches them off guard, hitting so suddenly they can’t stop it, the sort of earth-shatteringly fierce visions that they don’t remember afterward. The bigones are few and far between since they started making a living off of the small ones, so it’s a shock. And looking around the room, when they come back to themself, it’s clear that it’s a shock to everyone else, too.

Even now they’re not sure what that vision was, and it’s always in the back of their mind, that they might’ve been able to help whoever it was about. They do it differently in America, apparently, collect visions, prophecies, they call them, and keep them safe for only the ears of those involved, so that’s where it goes. There’s not necessarily a law against what they’ve been doing, but once it’s in the open, as it goes through the system, apparently everyone seems to agree it’s not something that should be allowed. They’re disbarred, and suddenly it feels a whole lot like maybe they’re hurdling towards the nightmare they had as a child, as they watch all of their cases thrown out the window, everyone they helped suddenly in danger of the futures they had been trying to prevent again.

(That’s the problem with the future, they learn, and it terrifies them to realize it; too much is up for debate, there are too many choices people can make, even the smallest thing changing an entire life, there’s no way to guarantee they can ever do enough to stop something from happening, when they can only control their own choices.)

But there are other ways to help, they have to believe that, so they put themself on the other side of the system, with no indication of what else to do. They’re accepted into the Salem Academy with a dozen warnings; they make it through, and they’re offered a place on the Central Squad. The condition of their employment is that they can’t use their Sight the way they had during their years as a lawyer. The thing about that is that they have no way to know. The smallvisions, no one catalogues them, no one puts them in a little crystal orb, and files them away in some governmental department few people are allowed to enter. It probably says something about how poorly the rest of the legal system, and the aurors actually communicate that they don’t give them any other restrictions. But then again, maybe the reward of having a seer on the team outweighs the risk, of what they could do, as just one person.

The problem is that they can’t choose their cases, they can’t play this system to make sure they’re only on things that they’ve seen, things where they can try help. It feels a whole lot like they can’t make enough of a difference here, but they try, they spend a hell of a lot of time trying to force visions on the cases they do end up on, but it rarely works, and when it doesn’t, they do it the old fashioned way, like every other auror. And it makes them realize something strange, when one rough night they try to force a vision of their own future, to see if they’re on the right track here. They haven’t seen their own future since that nightmare nearly thirty years ago.

They made a choice when they were a child, afraid of finding themself in the future they had seen, and every decision they’ve made since then has been trying to be the opposite of who they were in their dream. Somewhere along the way, they might’ve gotten something wrong. To choose to try avoid what they’ve seen, means being in the dark, but to give into prophecy means choosing the nightmare. Their mind’s been filled with everyone’s choices but their own for so long, that it makes them worry that they changed their future so wholly that they won’t have one at all. In the meantime, all they can try is to help the ones who do.

[shortieandcoconut]

Valentine's Day Surprise! Part 2 (Digimon FF- Miyako/Yolei x Ken)

(Note: Asterisks = Thoughts.) The only things I've changed this chapter is a few words, some grammar and made Miyako's email situation make more sense. Part 2 of 'Valentine's Day Surprise'. Link to original: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12176931/2/ Also, RIP, formatting. ~~~ As soon as Miyako arrived home, she headed straight to her bedroom, took her school bag off and plonked onto her bed with a sigh. She did greet her family of course. Poromon looked a little worried and asked, "Miyako-san, are you okay? Did you have a bad day at school?", while flapping his little wings in the air, hovering near Miyako's head. "Oh Poromon...", Miyako said with affection, as she turned around and grabbed the pink feathery ball Digimon, into her arms. "I'm fine... Okay, maybe I'm feeling a little bit down, but I'll get over it eventually. Besides it makes things easier when I have such a great friend like you, Poromon. Thank you for always being here for me, you don't know how much I appreciate it", she said with smile. Poromon blushed, "Oh, th-thank you Miyako-san! You know I would do anything for you. Always!", the little bird monster said cheerfully, but he was also shy about it. "Thank you Poromon!" Miyako cried out, and squeezed the Digimon into a tight affectionate hug. "Mi-Miyako-san! ..Breathe!", Poromon was flailing around and gasping for air. "Oh! Sorry..", Miyako replied nervously. *Beep! Beep!* *Beep! Beep!* Miyako swiftly turned her head, "Huh!?" *Beep! Beep!* "My D-Terminal! Someone must've sent me a message!", Miyako was surprised, then curiously said, raising her eyebrow, "I wonder who though?" Motomiya, Daisuke «Hi Miyako, I've got a big soccer game on today, and I was wondering if you and the others wanted to come along to support me! I mean, you don't have to, I understand if you have homework or somethin', but y'know, I'd really like it if you did come along! But I understand though, I've sent the others this message so I'll be happy even if one of you guys just come along. Alright see ya then! :P ~ Don't forget how awesome I am!» Daisuke-kun. Miyako let out a chuckled sigh, "Daisuke-kun..." she then replied to her D-Terminal: «Hi Daisuke! I'm sorry, I'd really love to come, but unfortunately I'm just really busy right now. (Which was sort of the truth, she was going to do a little bit of homework and get Ken his gift, but she also just didn't want to go anywhere at the moment) But you know I support you, %100 of the way, I'm sure you'll have a fantastic game. One of the others would probably be there, so I hope that'll make you happy. Anyway, once again I'm really sorry, but I'm just busy. Enjoy the rest of your day.» From Miyako-san And with that she let out a heavy sigh and closed her D-Terminal. Pondering on her thoughts, she thought now it would be a good time to start some of her homework. "Who was that Miyako-san?", Poromon curiously asked. "Oh, it was just Daisuke, asking if I wanted to come to his soccer game.", she replied dryly. "Oh, Daisuke-kun! Are you going to go?", Poromon asked with a shine in his eyes, hoping her answer would be yes. He wanted to catch up with the other Digimon and Chosen Children. Seeing the cheerful look in Poromon's eyes, Miyako replied, "Sorry Poromon, not tonight. I have things to do". "Oh...", Poromon looked down. "Its okay Poromon, I promise we'll do something during the week together okay?", she tried to cheer him up. "Promise?". "Promise". As Miyako was doing her homework, Poromon had fallen off to sleep in his tiny bed, looking as peaceful as ever. She decided to check her emails. She know she shouldn't procrastinate, but she just couldn't help herself, besides her brain felt like it was about to explode with all the information she was putting out and taking in. Scanning through her emails, she found a rather unusual one. She hesitated to click on it, thinking it just could be one of those stupid chain emails, or some scam email that promoted some ridiculous product or holiday that looked too good to be true, basically spam; and she didn't want to click on it because she didn't want a virus. However the nature of this email wasn't like any of the aforementioned emails. There was no title or subject, well there was something written in the subject box but it just read "?", and there was no information about the sender. *Should I really open this?* To Miyako in this moment, it was a matter of life or death. What if it was sent from some crazy hacker trying to steal her computer information, or anything similar? *Well like they said, curiosity killed the cat* And she opened it anyway. - Much to her relief, it wasn't some hacker trying to hack her computer, but the contents of the email left her somewhat bewildered. Inoue Miyako, «Please go to the computer lab at Odaiba Elementary, today, 600 PM sharp. Something special is there for you.» "Eh?". Miyako felt really confused, and had a sinking feeling in her stomach at the same time. Did she have a stalker now? Was there something wrong in the Digital World again? Was an evil Digimon trying to get to her? Anyway, she thought if she didn't show up something bad might happen, so she mustered up all the courage she had and headed to Odaiba Elementary. But just before she did, *Oh! Poromon! Should I take him? He's so sound asleep though and I really don't want to bother him*. After thinking hard about it for a bit she decided to leave her feathery friend at peace. Which she thought, probably wasn't the best decision for a female in this day and age, but what the heck, she was a fighter. Time was ticking away, she really didn't have much time to head down to the school. After arguing with her parents for about 10 minutes about why she was going out at this time on a school night, or for a girl her age at all without a sensible reason, she was only left with 20 minutes to get there. So she hurried herself along. *Beep! Beep!* *Beep! Beep!* She received a message on her phone. "Oh, who on earth is messaging me now!?". Usually this wouldn't be a problem, but since she was stressed from her situation she really didn't need someone bothering her at the moment, she quickly checked it anyway. «Yo sis, where are you!? You should've been home from school ages ago? Are you okay? Did you get hit by a car? Did someone kidnap you? Did you do something really bad at school that you got detention for all this time? Please tell me, I need to know! I'm really worried about you.» Mantarou. *Oh Mantarou...* It made her feel somewhat a bit better that she had such a loving and caring family always looking out for her, she quickly replied to the message and told her brother to ask her parents about it. She really didn't have time to have a long conversation. Not soon after she got another text message, but she just ignored it. It was probably just Mantarou confirming he talked to their parents. She arrived at the computer lab at ten past six, not exactly 6 o'clock, but it was good enough right? Miyako hoped. *Even though whoever said it was 6:00 PM sharp... I hope they're not too anal about these things*. She was starting to wonder why the mystery person, or thing, or possibly a Digimon, wanted her to come here. As far as she could tell, there was absolutely no one here, not even the school staff, all of the computers were turned off, not to mention none of the inside lights in the school building were on. (So Miyako had to use the light from her phone to navigate.) She didn't have any messages from any of the other Chosen Children, namely Koushiro. So what on earth was all this about? *Is this some kind of prank? Because if it is its not a really funny one, and I want to go home. Whoever is doing this must have it in for me...* Miyako wondered, *Maybe its someone at school that really hates me. That's just great, that's what exactly what I need, more drama in my life!*. Just as she was thinking about that, she thought about how late it was, *And its so late, for a school night. School kids would be at home studying now, or eating dinner! Oh! I also promised Ken I would be going over his house tonight! Oh geez! I almost forgot about that, what kind of a girlfriend am I!?* She started to panic. *Poor Ken, he's probably sitting at home right now, wondering why I haven't come over yet, he probably hates me now, maybe he thinks I don't love him anymore and this is my way of saying that I want to break up with him. Oh I'm so sorry Ken!* She was about to send him a text message on her phone but then thought she was just overreacting about how Ken would feel. Suddenly one of the computer screens lit up. "Huh? Was this computer always on? I didn't notice it before...", she walked over to it. At the computer, she just realised this was the exact same computer that the Chosen Children had used for going to and from the Digital World a few years ago. She frowned, and her thoughts started running a million miles an hour, *Is the Digital World in trouble again? Do they need our help again? But why just me? Does it have something to do with my traits or my Digimon?* Her thoughts continued like this until she saw something on the screen. Much to her horror, what she saw was something she never expected in a million years to see again, or so she hoped.

[Thanks for reading! Part 3 coming soon! I know how the story ends but I don't know how to get to it... if you have any ideas please let me know, and I'll credit you for it of course!]

[comicteaparty]

September 21st-September 27th, 2019 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from September 21st, 2019 to September 27th, 2019.  The chat focused on the following question:

How would you describe the target audience for your comic?  Did you intend to aim at that audience, or did it just happen?

Deo101 (Millennium)

My target audience for millennium http://millennium.spiderforest.com/ was and is LGBT youth. Specifically teens. I know when I was a kid reading a story where gay people are just kind of... There? No jokes, no stereotypes, more than one... That would have helped me a lot. So I'm trying to make that for other kids! I think the story has reached a much wider/older audience then I intended, but I know it has helped at least some LGBT youth/young adults and that's all I could ever ask for.(edited)

spacerocketbunny

The target audience for Ghost Junk Sickness is definitely queer youth and young adults! Much like what @Deo101 (Millennium) is saying, basically we wanted something like the cool action scifi comics we read when we were younger with good queer rep that's integrated and normalized in the universe! As it turned out though, the audience we reached has been all over the place ranging from older women to big biker dudes?? Every time we go to cons we can never guess who'll purchase a book because the range is so varied! I'm sure we still reach the original target to an extent but the rest is all over the map it seems! I don't think it's a bad thing, it's just been pretty unexpected

Deo101 (Millennium)

Not bad at all ^^ more like a pleasant surprise!

spacerocketbunny

Exactly!

Deo101 (Millennium)

I think those other, older people are also looking for a story to reach their inner child... And I think that's great

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Lol, I feel the similarly way about my own story. My goal was definitely to make something me as a kiddo would have loved, which essentially would have been shonen stories but with a female majority cast. I think I already figured my target audience would be similar to me, but I've been consistently surprised by how many male identifying folks like it. I guess I do like that they can hang though X) Anyway, these are my floppy, post work out thoughts. Hopefully they make sense.

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

The target audience for Phantomarine (http://www.phantomarine.com/) was never super clear from the beginning - I just wanted to make something I'd like as a teen. Luckily (or unluckily! in terms of describing it to people ) the story is a mishmash of a bunch of different genres. It's not quite a ghost story, not quite a pirate adventure, not quite a fantasy epic, but it has elements of them all. And it does seem to have attracted people who like those different genres. It may not be easy if I ever want to publish it properly (it's a little difficult to describe my 'brand' ) but as it is, it's got everything I would have liked when I was between 14 and 18.

My happiest surprise is hearing about the younger kids who have read it, understood it, and really enjoyed it. Knowing that 10-12 year olds can appreciate my work is really awesome. I try to keep the language and scary/questionable content at Harry Potter levels, but I like having some of the depth/maturity of stories like The Golden Compass. If they like Phantomarine now, I really hope they find extra enjoyment with it as they grow up. It's going to be a ride!

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Gosh, I get that feel of being multi-genre and not knowing quite how to describe your Brand X') I feel like I've gotten better at defining it over time but it's still a struggle to briefly describe what my thing even is some days. Also Golden Compass I'm always excited to find other comic folks who were also influenced by that series.

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

It's my gold standard for the right blend of fantasy, reality, and maturity. It's just the best

keii4ii

The target audience for Heart of Keol (https://heartofkeol.com/) is extremely tiny, but it does have appeal for people outside of that niche. I make it for myself, and the relevant aspects of "myself" here are: a) Grew up in Korea, is living (or has lived for an extended period of time) in a predominantly English-speaking part of the world b) Bonus points if they spent some time living in rural Korea c) Is into slow burn drama about characters who could be described as being "genuine" and probably "lawful" as well d) Likes the aesthetics of fantasy settings, but is more into the mundane, almost slice of life, side of drama e) Is very much into reading between the lines for more emotional stuff. Reads a lot of heart from sceneries, possibly more than from faces. (I have face blindness and this affects how I experience comics both as a reader and as a creator)

Obviously people who meet both a) and b) are gonna be harder to find! But if one can meet c), d) and e), that's enough to enjoy the comic the way it's meant to be enjoyed, or so I hope.

The reason a) and b) matter is because it affects how the setting/aesthetics come across. To someone like me, the old Korea setting feels homey, warm, nostalgic. It's like a shorthand for "sit down and enjoy this heartfelt slow burn tale." But to others, Magical Asia might feel exciting and exotic, which isn't really what the story is meant to be, so there may be some dissonance.

seetherabbit

I haven't given much thought about the target audience for Vulperra. (https://vulperra.com/) other than then it's probably for people who like adventure, fantasy and cartoony-ish animals

Cronaj

My target audience is kind of all of the place. Initially when I began scripting my comic, Whispers of the Past, I was really into anime and manga, especially ones like Attack on Titan that were a gritty fantasy. However, since then, my style and story have changed tremendously. My target audience now tends to be young women, aged 15-25, who enjoy detailed world building in high fantasy and are definitely into family drama in story telling. Initially, I wrote the story to fit certain perameters that I myself enjoyed. For example, I am particularly obsessed with the idea of the mundane meeting the fantastical and amazing. The quiet lull of ordinary life juxtaposed by the rigor of magical entities. I specifically focus a lot on drawing beautiful artwork for the panels, because I myself am a picky-pants when it comes to selecting comics I want to read. Another one of my obsessions is a fantasy setting so detailed that you feel like if the story ended, the world would still live on. (One of my inspirations was the Inheritance series by Christopher Paolini, in which the author essentially wrote several languages, similar to Tolkien.) In reality, my readers tend to be women aged 30+ (probably who watch k-dramas like I do), and a lot of D&D players. It's fun really, discovering how much of my own hobbies bleed into my stories.

AntiBunny

Early on with AntiBunny http://antibunny.net/ I was hoping for fans of scifi and film noir. What I got were fans of classic cartoons and furries. Which is fine by me really. Furries are nice people who are passionate about their hobbies (and spend money).

Jonny Aleksey

A superhero audience was always the intention for J-Man (http://jonnyalekseydrawscomics.com/the-undefeatable-j-man/), but specifically, right now, I'm aiming for something all ages. Slightly teen drama, cartoony but grounded. My inspirations were Spectacular Spider-Man and the DCAU so anyone who likes that is the readership I expect. Hopefully I can reach people who are on the fence about superheroes. The all ages aspect is something newish relatively speaking. When I started my webcomic I wanted to stay away from the "deep real edgy" tone I made when I was in high school (shiver). It took me a bit to really get that tone down. I don't use curse words and only mild blood, but occasionally stuff that borders on teen+ go through. (there's one instance in #5 where J-Man's face gets burnt by the villain that might've been a bit much) I don't think the all ages banner is going to restrict me from telling certain storylines/character development. Just means it won't be excessively grim.

Erin/Leif & Thorn on Kickstarter

The target audience for my webcomics is LGBT nerds who want stories that give them strong feelings, and who like SF/F, anime, competent characters that don't have to take turns with the Idiot Ball to keep the plot moving, and cats. Admittedly that last bit might be redundant, since everyone on the internet likes cats.

Ash🦀

I’ll be honest with you, I’m the target audience of my comic. (http://www.fwmgofficial.com/) it’s not out yet (it’ll be out October 31st) but as the writer I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Mostly, it’s just targeted to young adults and autistic people. I never got to see people like me in comics, so I wrote a comic where an autistic person can be the hero too, even in his own way. For me, I figure whoever likes it likes it and that’s good enough for me. (also furries. Definitely targeted furries)

Kay Rose

@Ash🦀 cant wait to read it!

Ash🦀

QwQ thank you!!

MJ Massey

So far Black Ball is pulling in a mix of people who like the vintage aesthetic (1920s and art deco with some old-school macabre for some reason?) and people who like shonen manga, which is great. Even if Black Ball isn't specifically macabre or strictly shounen (though I myself have made shounen battle manga-esque comics in the past)

DaemonDan (The Demon Archives)

Audience of my comic... Per Google it's 18-35 year old men from the US and Russia XD Which makes sense given it's a pretty hard sci-fi with a lot of military action from dudes in power armor and etc. Though I try not to go too "high octane action!1!" and explore more psychological elements too.

[elizabethrobertajones]

if destiel became canon i hope no destiel fan go around saying 'I TOLD U SO' to other ships and telling other ships their ship is meaningless. :((((

Wow, thanks for blessing my inbox with such a fantastically awful leading statement. What, you want me to say Destiel shippers won’t do that? I mean, there’s a bazillionity of them and a lot of them think Destiel is going canon or should do or at least would take canon as utter vindication of everything they’ve read in the text, which is a quantifiable, serious amount of storytelling and tropes which all directly imply Destiel. If people throw a street party because it happened, that’s their street party, you know? 

I am not very well qualified to talk about wider shipping culture but Destiel fans who see it in canon have a certain axe to grind with the show because of the feeling that it’s textually present and many (myself included) would not have thought to ship it until something in the text flipped them and sheer incredulity about the depth of this story brought them to fandom and interacting with others to analyse and understand the story better. 

I don’t believe other ships including ones involving Cas and Dean elsewhere have anywhere near the same textual level of storytelling and tropes to give them a shadow of what Dean and Cas have. I posted last night about how early Destiel was ship teasing without storytelling intent, and other prominent ships never moved beyond ship teasing and one of them certainly never will and can’t. But for YEARS Destiel has been running on the rails of a narrative between and about the characters which can be taken romantically. If it went canon it would not be the show just randomly picking one of 12 out of a hat and giving it their blessing.

Like, yes I suppose it does make the shippers look entitled if you ship on different means, e.g. chemistry, blurred lines between actor and character, which ones are hot and you think would look good fucking each other, and all the reasons which are great for shipping characters (and I’m not judging - I like ships which are completely implausible, not implied in canon, or are otherwise deeply unsuitable for shipping like Destiel. 3 of my coda fics this season were Mary/Charlie, Mary/Ketch and Cas/Benjamin instead of Destiel, and of those only Mary/Ketch was actually based on canon, and Mary/Charlie was hauling out a dead character who I thought would be great to ship Mary with from the realms of implausibility. And I can understand if you have all or a main ship which is in these sort of brackets instead of rooting for the canon storyline and waiting for it to provide you with all your material, then it’s different and feels different.) 

But I don’t think Destiel shippers enjoying the idea of it going canon (because this is what’s upsetting you RIGHT NOW, not the idea that it POTENTIALLY goes canon and everyone’s a dick, you obviously feel like people enjoying it IN canon are being dicks RIGHT NOW) is offensive to other shippers, or that if you meet us on the grounds of fanon where all the shipping goes on, we’re anything more than more well-fed by canon than other shippers who don’t ship off of canon, because we get a lot of material for our ship from canon. 

But great transformative works always add to the experience, and there’s so many interpretations of the characters in fanon which have moved 1000 miles from canon, in every possible way, which really just end up on what people LIKE to read, if they like D/s or AUs where they’re socially awkward hipsters or tentacle porn or canonverse but huge drastic changes. EVERY ship in every fandom has variations and fanon lives of the characters and if the fandoms are large enough, sub-fandoms within them that specifically enjoy certain dynamics. Canon HELPS but it does not define Destiel shippers in what we write about and how we enjoy the ship, and some people enjoy it only in fanon because they think canon Dean is a dick or they hate what’s happened to Cas since whenever or they just like an old dynamic which is easier to wallow in in increasingly AU settings and end up just reading coffee shop romances where the mains happen to be called Dean and Cas, and some people can probably only get into it if it’s so gritty and canon they can still taste the last episode on their tongue when they read the coda fic. 

As a cumulative experience of what fandom is, Destiel going canon is ONLY vindication, because we can enjoy it in fanon as is, but the issues around the canon debate and representation and what have you are an entirely other thing and on THAT playing field canon is the only vindication.

But in that world, it’s not about other ships at all. I’m sorry, but something like Sastiel is just not part of the argument because in canon it’s not teased, not laid down in the depths of the show’s foundations as important, and it’s not part of the massive metatextual, media and fandom and show dance about the show sucking it up and making Dean bi and Destiel canon because that is only the MEDIUM in which the show needs to deal with the representation problem. If the thing had been swirling around Sam n Cas the entire time, then the debate would be about Sam and Cas. But it’s not. It’s about Dean and Cas. 

Like, I’m sorry if other shippers want in on the idea of ship going canon vindication but on this show there’s such an entrenched, weird battle about Destiel’s place in the narrative, it’s 9 years too late on this one for it to be any other ship in any other way on this show. 

I mean I’d say to other shippers, don’t go out and be a dick to people if it DOES go canon, just enjoy it and try not to be too horrible even if you do get involved in ship wars, like, just take the win and be the bigger person, but that comment isn’t exactly going to do much because I’m not the queen of this ship issuing decrees which seems to be the only positive outcome you’d ever think you could get out of asking me this ridiculous question. Like. What the heck were you expecting me to say? Oh no boo hoo we’re so nice, we’d never do that? It’s a gazillion shippers and a lot of them feel bitter and disenfranchised and they’re not going to consider that they are somehow being rude to other ships, because this is not the side of fandom where you ought to be respectful to people’s fanon practices, but essentially a conflict and we all walked into it where the battle lines were already drawn and it’s this ship and it’s inherently political to ship it if you do so from canon rather than politely excusing yourself to fanon.

If you feel threatened by the ship’s presence in canon because you can see as well as everyone else and are just pretending there’s an equivalence between Destiel and other fanon ships, as if the fanon stage and the canon battle are the same thing, then  you’re just being deliberately obtuse as a troll. I mean, I don’t even fucking fight the canon thing that hard, I am a chill shipper who enjoys watching it unfold in canon and don’t make strong demands of canon, but I still know my ship is politicised on this stage about being canon or not and we have to think abou that all the time and if I HAVE to I will wade in as fight hard that it has full right to go canon and should, and that is NOT disrespecting other ships, it’s working with what I already have in my hands immediately from the moment I went “shit, there really is something to all this lovelorn staring they do at each other, isn’t there?”

Anyway YOUR SHIPS, DESTIEL INCLUDED, ARE SUPER DUPER IMPORTANT IN FANON AS MUCH AS EACH OTHER AND BECAUSE THEY MEAN SO MUCH TO WHOEVER IS SHIPPING THEM. END OF. 

But fanon is fanon and you’re making a ridiculous argument equating “meaning” aka what fans draw from shipping and what makes them feel good about it into creating transformative works about their ship, to the idea of Destiel going canon as if it’s somehow going to do ANYTHING to the fanon.

Like, people with radically different from canon ideas ABOUT DESTIEL can cope with the show consistently not actually being what they really dig but use it just as a jumping off point to their personal interests in what they use fanon for - whether it’s kink or emotional healing or personal empowerment or just for writing and imagination like the fic writers who mostly just enjoy creating stories and like using fanworks rather than original works to hone their craft and feel confident and comfortable with what they’re doing. I mean, fan artists do the same. They might have the faces of the characters but they’re being depicted in a million different ways nothing LIKE the show.

Fanon is not threatened by canon. Even when canon trounces fanon, fanon rolls its eyes and carries on. And mostly fanon is so far beyond the realm of canon that it’s fairly untouchable anyway. The show can’t do much to fuck up my Cas works in a diner and Dean comes and hangs with him there AU because Cas does not work in a diner and Dean is not exactly up to flirting with a dude across a diner counter all day every day while Sam is literally sitting in the corner the entire time rolling his eyes. If Destiel still goes canon, I still hold the means of production here - I get to decide on my own terms if and when one of them snaps and asks the other to marry them. I would have the luxury to put off making them canon in my fanon even though in real canon they already were together. It’s a fearsome power :P 

And I mean, something like Sabriel has enough little connections to canon that its fans can at least show them in the same room interacting and draw from that, but 99.99999999% of that ship is built out of tropes and fun and reading each other’s works and building off of that and creating a ship pretty much out of nowhere for their own amusement and gratification. Canon Destiel’s going to have a hard job doing anything to upset that boat, you know? If you’re offended you WANT to be offended.

Anyway I have now finished my cup of tea so that’s enough grumbling from me but seriously what the heck did you even send me this for? It’s such a petty, miserable view about fandom. If you enjoy your ships you enjoy your fucking ships and nothing can upset that and everyone should leave each others’ fanon fun the hell alone. 

[ineffable--omens]

Dream Daddy Secret Santa

This is for @kuzeykirkland​, hope you have a very happy holiday season! (alt link)

Lost and Found

Mat x Brian Steampunk AU

Mat walked through the calm streets of Maple Bay. He looked up and saw large airships chug across the sky between thick plumes of gray smoke. The street was quiet, save for the familiar sound of clicking gears and a whistle from some distant steam machine, and Mat was thankful. The hustle and bustle of running a place like the Brass Spoon can be exhausting. If he had one more person leave crumbs all over his nice tables, or, god forbid, try to hold a conversation with him while he was handling a tray with multiple cups of scorching hot liquid-- Mat sighed. He could barely hold a conversation without balancing armfuls of heated drinks sometimes, and what kind of slob leaves a half-eaten tartelette between chair cushions? If it wasn’t for these afternoon walks, Mat might just go mad.

He hummed to himself as he continued his walk, some song from an obscure band that played at the Sound Garden a few weeks ago. This is nice, he thought. Stretching my legs, getting some fresh air… He glanced at the smokestacks looming above the city and frowned. Well, as close as you can get to fresh air. He eyed the dark fumes hovering above the rooftops and felt the urge to cough.

I feel like I’m the only one in this city who can’t stand all the smog and steam.

“Mat!” boomed a voice from down the street, jolting him out of his thoughts. Mat squinted and spied Hugo strolling down the cobbled road.

“Hello, Hugo!” Mat called, waving back. “How’ve you been?” Hugo crossed over to him and gave an enthusiastic clap on the shoulder, knocking Mat off balance more than he’d like to admit. Hugo wore a tawny twill vest over a cream colored shirt, coupled with dark brown pants and a nifty bowler hat.

“I’ve been well,” Hugo replied, holding up a cloth sack. “I bought some nice looking brie from the market and more than half the class actually read the assigned chapter of Copper Bones and Steel last night.”

“That’s great,” Mat said. “Carmensita is reading one of the Wheelwright classics for her class and she loves it. I get a line-by-line analysis of that day’s section over dinner.”

Hugo chuckled, “Glad to hear it. Next time you get a chance, tell her that a great way to annoy her teacher is to insist that Theodore is actually Professor Raven’s long lost son.”

“I have no idea what that means but I’ll let her know,” Mat laughed. “How’s Earnest?”

“Oh, the usual. He got in trouble the other day for lighting his homework on fire behind the school. Tried to say his teacher wouldn’t believe him otherwise. He was also apparently offering to burn his classmate’s homework as well in exchange for one of those new locket bobbles.”

“The Clockwork Hearts?”

“Yeah, you know them?”

“I actually bought one for myself the other day. It’s weird, you go to the shop, they take you into a backroom and have you write down three true loves, two deep fears, and they take one drop of blood. After that they supposedly mix it together and give you a locket imbued with your essence.” Mat held up his hand and wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

“Hm, seems a bit odd,” murmured Hugo. “Is it worth getting?” Mat shrugged.

“Yeah,” he said, “I actually like it. It helps with my anxiety a bit, somehow, even if it’s just a scam.” Mat reached into his coat pocket to so he could show Hugo the locket, and fished around for a few seconds before frantically checking his other pockets.

“It’s gone.” Mat groaned. “Yep, gone. Damn. I only got it a few days ago.”  

“That’s not good,” said Hugo. “Can I help you look? It must be around here somewhere.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I have time. We’re hosting an open mic tonight and I need to get back to set up for it. Chances are I left it at home anyway. Will I see you at the show?”

“Depends, are you playing?”

“Well, I- um..”

“I’m just messing with you. You know I’d love to hear you play, but it really depends on whether I think I can leave Earnest home tonight and expect the house to be standing when I return.”

“Oh, alright,” Mat replied. “I hope to see you there, but have a good evening regardless.”

“Thanks, Mat. You too.”

Mat hurried down the street towards the Brass Spoon. His mind was racing with the preparations he still needed to finish, and although he know that his Clockwork Heart was probably just an overpriced pocket watch, he felt a little empty without it.

Brian strolled down a candle-lit street, at ease in the evening dimness. He wore a crisp white button-up and crimson trousers under a long overcoat with silver buttons. He had also donned a rather dashing feathered top hat, or at least he thought so. As he mindlessly scratched at his beard, a glint of light caught the corner of his eye. He turned and saw a small heart-shaped locket on a silver chain resting on the cobblestone street. Brian paused, quickly looked down the lonely street to see if it’s owner might be nearby, and decided that whoever lost it must be long gone. He picked up the locket and squinted at it. He knew that he shouldn’t take it, but he also didn’t want to just leave the locket there, abandoned. After a minute, he placed it in his pocket. Maybe someone at the open mic will recognize it, he thought. As he continued on his path underneath the glowing street lanterns, he pondered who it might belong to. One of his neighbors? A hurried duchess leaving her forlorn husband? He made up elaborate fantasies as he walked. A clumsy pickpocket who was caught and ditched the evidence, or a lover who uncovered a marital affair and couldn’t bear to keep the locket, which had been a gift from their cheating spouse. Maybe the owner is a dashing prince who would sweep Brian off his feet. Brian chuckled. Whoever the mysterious owner was, Brian hoped he could meet them.

Brian pushed open the door to the Brass Spoon and was greeted with the sight of a hearty crowd. He spotted a few of his neighbors around the tavern, like Joseph and his herd of children in matching waistcoats, and Lucien with a group of his friends crowded at a corner table. Across the room he noticed Amanda and her father- what was his name again?- sparring with their forks over a bowl of chips and melted cheese. Brian smirked at his poor technique, he should know not to relax his wrist. He walked over to an empty seat at the counter. Pablo strutted over to him grinning, his seafoam green hair tied back in a high bun.

“What’s up, Brian!”

“Good to see you, Pablo,” Brian responded cheerfully. “I’ll have a green tea if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Sure thing,” Pablo replied. “Glad you can bend an elbow. How’s Daisy?”

“She’s great. She just designed a self-imploding lock in tinkering class.”

“A what now?” asked Pablo as he poured fresh tea into a cup.  

“It’s a lock that melts its insides after a failed attempt at unlocking it. Renders any lockpicking useless. She got an A+ for the project and a company has offered to buy her blueprints.” Pablo slid the warm cup across the counter to Brian.

“That’s pretty sweet.”

“Yeah, I’m proud of her.”

The other patrons began to cheer and Brian turned his head to see Mat walking onto the small stage in the back of the tavern. He wore a simple suit with embroidered shoes, and his hair had that messy, I-didn’t-have-time-to-style-it-but-I-still-look-good kind of look that Brian found himself really liking.

“Welcome to the Brass Spoon open mic, everybody!” said Mat. Brian felt the locket grow warm in his pocket. He fished it out of his pocket and held it in front of his face. Maybe it was just the glint of the lights but he could swear it had started to glow.

“We’re so glad to have you all here tonight. We have some pretty great people performing, so I hope you’re all excited. At least, I think they’re pretty great, and all of them are cool people so I think you should be excited.” Mat stuttered and tugged on the bottom of his jacket. “But I can’t control you so if you’re not, um, well, I think this intro has gone on way too long so I’m gonna introduce the first act. Please welcome Cecilia to the stage, who will be performing an original piece on her flute.” The audience clapped and Mat walked off stage as Cecelia unpacked her instrument from its case. Brian saw that Mat’s cheeks were bright red, and he sympathised with Mat’s struggle of being up on stage and not knowing what to say. Still, it was kind of adorable.

The lineup consisted of Cecilia, two kids who performed a singing duet, a “retro-steamwave” pianist, lackluster stand-up comedy from one of Lucien’s friends, and a small set by a local rock band. After they concluded their last song with a rousing D chord, Mat returned to the stage to end the night.

“Thank you, Gears For Fears, for that fantastic performance. Make sure you check out their new album, they’ll be selling some copies at the door. That brings an end to our night, everybody, thank you all so much for coming-”

“What about you, Mat?” rang Pablo’s voice from behind the counter. A chorus of echoes rose from the crowd. Mat winced and said, “Oh, I’m sure you all don’t need that…” Amanda started a whisper chant and the audience joined in until the room was bursting with, “Mat, Mat, Mat…” cheering for him to perform. Brian smiled and clapped along, but paused when he felt the locket turn ice cold. Mat forced a smile and raised his hands in defeat.

“You all are lucky I’m so susceptible to peer pressure.” The crowd laughed and Pablo raced up to the stage to hand him an acoustic guitar. As Mat slung the guitar strap over his shoulders, Brian noticed that he was fumbling with his positioning and wiping sweat off his forehead. He frowned and ran his thumb over locket’s clammy metal surface. Despite his anxiety, Mat sat down, took a deep breath, and began to play. The song was breathtakingly beautiful, wrought with passion and gentleness. Although there were no words, Brian knew it was a love song. The locket began to pulse with warmth in his hand. Brian was captivated by the music, but more so by the man playing it.

It wasn’t his first time performing in front of a crowd since Rosa passed, but it never seemed to get easier. Mat finished the song with a slow pick up the strings and the crowd erupted in a standing ovation. He fought every instinct he had to not bolt off stage, but somehow managed to thank the crowd and even remind them to check out the album selling at the door. After a few minutes of recuperating in the back, he finally reentered the room and and tried to quietly slip behind the counter. Mindless work like dishwashing was a great break from all the talking and performing, and there was a generous heap of dirty plates and cups that would gladly provide that relief. Mat grabbed soap and a rag and started scrubbing. He heard a voice from behind him,

“Excuse me, sir?”

Mat set down the plate and rag, dried his hands, and turned to tend to his customer. He locked eyes with a large, full-bearded man warmly smiling at him from the other side of the counter. Mat gulped.

Oh god.

He’s hot.

The man waved him over and Mat realized he had frozen up staring at him. His legs carried him over to the counter and he tried to casually smile and adjust his messy hair.

“Why, good evening, sir. How can I help you?”

“I just wanted to tell you I really enjoyed the open mic. Especially your performance, it was stunning.” Mat blushed.

“I appreciate that, thank you.”

“You wrote that song yourself, right? It was incredible. What inspired it?”   

“Well, um, it was about love. And, also the feeling of missing being in love.” Mat paused and tried to read the man’s reaction, but ended up just staring into his eyes for a few seconds and awkwardly looking away. Damn it, Mat, play cool. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been in a relationship.” The man grinned,

“No way!”

“What?”

“I don’t believe that after seeing you and hearing you play. Surely everyone is dying to be with you.”

Mat just stared.

“I know that I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like that.”

Mat squinted in mild confusion.

“After all,” the man smirked, “how could anyone resist someone so good with their hands?”

Mat’s eyes widened as he finally realized what was going on.

“Oh! Um, yeah I guess,” he stuttered, blushing even harder. Damn it, Mat. He tried to casually lean on the counter and look like those sexy men in the movies. “I mean, we close in 20 minutes but I think I could make an exception for a hot dude with a great beard and gorgeous eyes. Especially a hot dude who’s interested in my hands. Want to stick around?”

“Sounds like a plan.” the man laughed. “This dude’s name is Brian by the way,” he reached in his pocket, “and I think this belongs to you.” Brian held out an open hand with Mat’s Clockwork Heart. Mat stared at it in disbelief. He looked at the locket, then at Brian, and back at the locket before slowly reaching for it. He grabbed it and let his hand linger before pulling it back quickly.

“Wow. Thank you.” Mat smiled at Brian and returned to the sink, heart racing, trying to hurry through the heap of dirty dishes. The Brass Spoon was nearly empty but it might as well have been the lunch rush. He couldn’t stop thinking about who was sitting just a few feet away, and the gift that had just been returned to him resting around his neck. He had returned the locket, but Brian still had Mat’s heart, and Mat hoped he might have it for a long time.    

  @ddaddsss

[wexhappyxfew]

for the fanfic writer asks: H, J, and Z? i hope you're having a good day/night! 💙

OMG HELLO!!!!! :D thank you so so much for stopping on by, i hope you are having either a lovely day/night/morning as well my friend!! <3 thank you again for stopping on in, i’m super excited to answer these hehe!! :)

H: How would you describe your writing style?

Ooooo I love this question! I can proudly say that I’ve been uploading fic content in this fandom since about very late 2018 and I’ve been able to see progress in my writing grow and develop since then, and it’s been a fantastic journey! I’ve also been able to see my writing change and grow and strengthen as well!

I can definitely say that I’m very much into the descriptive and emotive aspect of writing — whether it’s going into detail to really put a focus on a certain point in the story or to express the emotions of such a beaten down character that it rips your heart out — I feel those are the things I enjoy most!

However, I do manage to dig in with the humor and a few snarky one liners and even inside jokes I have with myself that I go back and read on later with! Haha! I enjoy personifying beings; I personified Death as a character in my BoB fic “Landslide” and he became a real hit! I like the mysterious, ominous aspect of that dynamic a whole lot. I feel mystery stuff has been my mojo at the moment, but who knows that might change! I feel my style is always changing and developing as I continue to write which is pretty neat! :D

J:  What’s your favorite fanfic trope?  Have you written it?

I have to say that my top 3 are Friends to Lovers, Found Family and Platonic Best Friend Duo. I know the third one isn’t *really* one I feel, but in my heart it is haha! And I HAVE! I’ve written all three! Friends to Lovers shows up predominantly in my fic The Soldier of Stars (+Ad Astra Per Aspera). Found Family is present I feel in all my fics, it’s just something I find so massively important! It’s sprinkled in TSOS + AAPA, but I feel presents itself mainly in Sunshine Soldier and Landslide! I just love the dynamic of Found Family more than anything especially in a war fic because having that support group really gets you through times like that.

And Platonic Best Friend Duo is Landslide all the way. I really try to make friendship just as important or even more important than the romantic aspect of the fic, especially between Natia Filipska and George Luz who have to be my favorite duo of the entire fic!!

Z: Is there a story you’ve written that doesn’t seem to get much love?

To be honest, not really! I think fics find their way to people the way they should, if that makes sense. Sort of like there is a time and place for everything. I feel as writers and fic writers and human beings, when we share work we want it to be seen and I absolutely can’t deny that haha. Sharing stories and knowledge and facts and ideas is a part of human life and so I think that’s the most important aspect. As long as I’m sharing content that I love more than anything in the world I’m happy, and whoever sees it, ends up seeing it I’m happy at that. :) All stories deserve love <3

[fanfic writer ask meme - send stuff in if you want!]

[thebrightestringaroundthemoon]

anyway time to use this blog for what i created it for i guess and type out a big long thing about how im a worthless piece of shit and should pour myself a nice big glass of creamer, sugar, and clorox. i literally serve like? no purpose? in life? at all? im a completely directionless failure that operates with about the complexity of a fucking roomba, running into the same goddamn couch over and over again and slightly redirecting. if i get lucky, i run into a different couch, but nothing fucking changes. i do the exact same thing over and over again: surround myself with wonderful, fantastic people, fuck it up and make them hate me, and then spiral into a pit of my own pointless fucking despair until i realize im such a fucking failure of a person i cant even muster the energy it takes to fucking die so i just get up again in the morning and go again. rinse and fucking repeat. and its not like i have some horrible life or anything, im just profoundly unfit to exist on this planet. i have wonderful friends who actually, honest to god care about me and its evidently not good enough for me?? so i just respond to everything by assuming the worst, spiralling, and being too much of a dumb bitch to fucking talk to A N Y B O D Y about A N Y T H I N G cuz i guess i’d rather make a dumb edgy tumblr blog named after the lyrics to a fucking asia song than actually solve any of my problems. i guess its too much to solve a problem when the fundamental core of who you are as a person is the fucking problem. i mean, there is a solution, but ive already covered why nobody needs to be worried about me doing that! bnobody needs to be worried about me doing anytuhing! accomplishing anything! ever becoming anything! ever managing to do much more than drag myself out of bed in the morning and inspire a profoundly sad mixture of pity and annoyance in everyone iv’e ever come into fucking contact with! im sitting here debating fixing the fucking apostrophe in the last sentence and its driving me fucking mad while real people have real fucking problems and my cardboard cutout ass bad edgy teen novel stupid bitch excuse for a person ass is sitting here doing THIS with my fucking time. I have things i shuold be doing, could be doing, but this is legitimately all i can bring myself to fucking contribute to society at this point. the surest sign that the people around me are fucking saints is that theyve stuck around this fucking long but honestly i dont fucking undeerstand. i guess thats the whole point of shit like saints, you arent supposed to be able to understand, its superhuman compassion, even for those who dont fucking deserve it. or maybe its just because i fundamentally dont work. i dont have any sort of actual power when it comes to my life. these are the idle musings of a bewildered spectator, the one person who comes to the party, stays sober, and sits on the sidelines and watches the fucking idiocy unfold. except instead of drunkenly stumbling around and telling my friends how much i love them, im stone cold sober and sitting on the sidelines watching myself fail to take even the most basic fucking steps towards fixing literally any problem that im dealing with. broken. non functional. i dunno if i was born a failure, though. i think that might be giving myself a little too much credit. other people were dealt infinitely worse hands than i was and they turned out fucking wonderful. i know a couple of them. no, i think im the way i am because of me. i probably had all the chances i needed to become something resembling a human being, and instead im whatever i am now. how can i be excited about some sort of future for myself when i can barely manage a relatively privliged day to day existance? i have friends, im not starving, im in college, i have an apartment. im far from rich but im able to afford to go to college. that should be enough. why the fuck isnt that enmough. why cant i just be fucking satisfied why cant i muster some sort of positive fucking emotions why does joy last a few moments why can i do this so much easier than writing anything positive about my life why does this flow like it does like a fucking river why cant i stop my hands why why what the fuck why why am i like this why was i born why am i who i am it flows so easily it just comes out but i cant tell anyone and i cant rely on anyone because im not anyone in noone im the fucking nobody that people keep around them to make themselves feel better and the only reason i have the slightest bit of doubt about that is that i love my friends too much to ever accuse them of something like that but then again does it fucking count when its someone like me do i qualify as a fucking person does it count as hurting someone’s feelings or using them when that someone isn’t a someone is just an empty fucking shell that was only gifted with the capacity to retain HURT thats all i can fucking remember thats all that sticks with me HURT i cant fucking be rid of it and its not some sort of innate inherent biological failing its who i am as a person i did this to myself i do this to myself i dont know that i will ever stop doing this to myself. all i can hope for is that one day i gain the strrength the fucking self esteem and self respect to kill myself. maybe it isnt self respect i need for that but respect for my friends. its selfish to put them through me. the pain they’d feel from my death would last a short time if at all. it would be so much better than forcing them to know me for however long this failing fucking body will carry my empty shell of a spirit onwards thjrough a world that i dont deserve to fucking inhabit. my inner monologyue put on paper sounds like a fucking evanescence song and i hate myself for it so much jesus fucking christ. i fundamentally do not like myself. as a person. on any level. i do not like myself. i wouldnt be friends with me, and ironically i hate myself for that too. but who would? who the fuck would? why does anyone? do they? maybe thats my one fucking talent. convincing people im likable. worming my way into their fucking lives until they trust me only to realize that i am not a human being. im an empty shell, a fucking roomba of a person. i can tell when ive run into something and back up so i can run into it again. i cannot solve my own problems. i cannot even conceptualize them. im something below a human cursed with the fucking ability to think at the level of one. my ocd is really really desperately trying to get me to scroll up and fix all the spelling and grammar errors but i dont know if itll hurt more to ignore them or to have to read the dumb ashit i just wrote. earlier i said that i wanted this to flow less easily and here we are i guess. though earlier i meant it in the context of only being able to properly conceptualize negative feelings and never being abkle to hold onto anything piositive i feel, and that hasn’t been magically fixed or anything, im just having trouble feeling anything at all now. im a completely blank slate. i havent even cried once troday. i cant. i cant care about my own fucking inadequacy and failure as a very basic human being enough to even fucking cry. i cried about an anime a couple nuights ago. i can muster emotion for that. but as soon as i look inwards i dont see ahyuthing thEres NOTHING FUICKING THERE THERE IS NOTHING FUCKING THERE THERE IS NOTHING FUCKING THERE I AM NOT A HUMAN BEING I AM NOT A HUMAN BEING I AM BROKEN I AM EMPTY I AM A {PLAGUE ON WHOEVER HAS THE PURE FUCKING MISFORTUNE TO BE A GOOD ENOUGH PERSON TO TAKE PITY ON ME i dont want to die, even. too many steps, too much feeling, too much. i just want to stop. to end. i want to no longer be. ill lock tghat away with all the other things id love to happen but know never will. that ones at the forefront though. it always will be. until i grow the fucking compassion to put others out of my misery. my roomate just texted me an innocuous questiona nd i texte d bacjk normally emojis and all im normal dont you see everyone im normal nothings wrong with me. oh sure sometimes i have a bad day but im fine everybody IM FINE you aren’t you have to put up with me ill fucking worm my way into your life and convince you im a real human being you can hold a congersation with only to snatch the fucking rug out from under you as soon as you actually attempt to engage with me on any level and i just end up eiother hurting you or revealing accidently that there is no such thing as luna thats not a fucking person its a name assigned to a loose collections of disorders, bad habits, and a gaping emotional black hoile from which nothing can fucking escape, jammed into an ugly broken body thats going to kill me early and doesnt even compensate by making me hot. wHEE. and of course, unable to be happy with anything, i will simultaneously complain about my own impending death due to horrific nutrition, subastance abuse (just the fun kinds so people dont realize anything is wrong WHEEEE) and some fucky illness that ive now gone and stopped medicating because im a stupid worthless bitch, AND I WILL COMPLAIN ABOUT THIS WHILE SIMULATENOUSLY WANTING TO DIE what do i want? who the fuck knows! not me! that’s a redundant statement, of course “me” doing know bercause thats not a thing im not a person! id love to blame it on my complete and total internal faliure as a person that i always end up hurting people, but honestly its probably because i dont put enough fucking effort in. even right now,. literally hours after a good friend of mine ostaroted feeling like shit in a way that is almost for sure my fucking fault, im doing THIS instead of trying to right the situation (to b fair she made a point of not inviting me but inviting the rest of the group?) or did she am i just reading into this? who knows! who the fuck knows! everyone but “me”! ejveryone else knows! becayuse its probably REALALLY FUCKING SIMPLE BUT NOOOOO I CANT EVEN MANAGE THAT CAN I I CANNNOT EVEN FUCKING MANMAGE TO MANAGE THAT CAN I thats too much for lil ol me! i am aggressively pointless! i am the single least important collection of fucking atoms on this planet! every last fucking rock i stepped on walking to and from the class that i skipped half of today is more important and has contribtued more to the grand scheme of things than i ever have or ever will, and thats jkust the inanimate fucking objects on the ground. lets not even get started on all the actual people whose time my existance waste, who i am a fucking affront to  by sheer virtue of being in any way associated with them at any point in time ever. i guess this is it, this is what i get when my entire personlaity is a loosely cobbled together collection of self deprecating jokes and a fake ego, desperately attempting to patch over an interior that has holes in it less than it just is one giant fucking hole. i was, am, and will be nothing, not even enough to earn the use of “I” at the beginning of the sentence. dinner is in 15 minutes. my friends will be there. im paralyzed. i belive every word i wrote above so why

would i inflict myself upon them but i 

i cant not

i so deeply want to

to go sit in uncharacteristic silence and hope somebnody notices and asks me whats up so i can give them a dumb, abridged, mostly fake version and get the sad pity looks and then feel bad about exploiting them and then

rinse

repeat

because i am not a person