#this is me fishing for interest so i can write a drabble

[rimatsu]

i long for the day evan buckley's wiki page lists tommy kinard as fiancé instead of ex-boyfriend

[justporo]

okay but can we talk about this: when halsin tells tav he wants her (and Astarion) but you're in a relationship with Astarion so when you go talk to him about it he asks "But answer me one thing, this isn't because haven't.... you know... in a while" because oh boy my heart, just the thought of what must be going through his mind

See, this is also what I was thinking about and I would have loved there to be an option to just listen to Halsin's proposition (because he's a national treasure and just so damn pure) but then be like "listen, you honour me, so thank you, but no thank you. I'm with Astarion and I fear there's no more space in my heart." And then go to Astarion and talk about it with him and reassure him that there is only him for you. And because I would have liked that, I'm gonna write it out in a drabble: Astarion / GN!Tav (You)

"First in my heart!"

"You wouldn't believe the talk I just had with Halsin..." You say as you saunter over to Astarion, awkwardly crossing your arms over your chest. What Halsin had just proposed had majorly thrown you off your game - who would have thought the archdruid had it in himself to be so... forthcoming?

Astarion looks up from his book with raised eyebrows but catches your meaning in a heartbeat. He throws his head back and starts laughing. "No way, I was waiting for that to happen actually", he says and puts the book down, then crosses his arms over his chest as well, mimicking you.

Your brows furrow: "How did you..." Astarion lowers his head a little and stares at you. "You must've been blind to not notice the stares he's thrown you since he joined our jolly party. The man's basically a dog barking and salivating at the dinner table that is you - waiting to devour whatever he gets." You blush hard, too stuned to speak and your mouth just falls open - no way this had been actually a thing others had noticed before tonight. But also - can you just hear the slightest strain in Astarion's voice?

"And on top of that", Astarion scoffs "the guy can't stay quiet about 'enjoying the freedom of nature's gifts'. I bet he'd outlaw clothing if he could." The impression Astarion makes of Halsin is incredibly on point, he laughs, seemingly waving the druid's adavnces off but... you see that the laugh doesn't reach the vampire's eyes fully.

Still you are dumbfounded by the developments of the evening, your mouth basically only closing and opening as if you'd been turned into a fish.

"Astarion, I wouldn't...", you finally get out but get immediately interrupted again by the spawn who starts to ramble on about how he doesn't mind, how he'd actually be interested to know how it goes down - and also if Halsin would shapeshift in the bedroom...

And what had been your suspicion from the moment you had started to tell Astarion was now clear for you: no matter how much Astarion would actually be open for you to share the bed with someone else even though the two of you are in a commited relationship - it wouldn't actually be fine for him. Maybe not exactly out of jealousy, but because he is actually insecure albeit he'd never openly admit it. Because he actually does care very much about his relationship to you and is so deeply scared to do anything that will break the spell. So scared actually, he'd rather let you share the bed with someone else despite not being fine with it.

And that makes your heart break because no one should feel forced to do that, right? But luckily for the vampire, you're decision had already been made. More so, there hadn't been a decision to begin with.

"But let me ask one thing", Astarion finally says, his eyes wide now, face open and vulnerable "it's not because... you know... we haven't... in a while?" His eyes almost seem to widen more while desperately waiting for your answer. Even though he doesn't move you can see the fear and nervousness in his posture that is just too tense for his usual nonchalant manner.

Your heart breaks into a thousand pieces: "Oh, Astarion, I'm not... asking for your permission to get nasty with Halsin."

The vampire's face drops completely, his arms fall down limply at his side. You see how shock and hurt start clouding his face. He helplessly opens his mouth: "Oh..." His gaze lowers from yours, flitting around everywhere but your face

Your eyes widen - that is not at all what you meant. "No, no, no, Astarion" - you rush to him and grab him by the shoulders. "No, you didn't catch my meaning. What I'm saying is, I'm not asking permission because there is nothing to ask for. I would never consider being with someone else." His gaze snaps back to yours - his eyes not yet free of worry and hurt.

You lick your lips, desperatly trying to show him what you feel for him. To show him that the reason you hadn't noticed Halsin's interest in you was because you only had eyes for him. And to make sure he knows there will be no one else: "Astarion, you are first in my heart. No, more even, you are the only one in my heart like this - there's no space to share." And because you feel that your feelings might completely overwhelm you, you wrap your arms around the vampire, holding him tightly.

"Oh", Astarion makes again - but this time in a much different tone. He hugs you back, burying his face in your hair.

After a while you lean back and look into his eyes before pressing a kiss to his lips that makes him sigh dreamily. "I'm sorry I doubted you", he whispers, his face still vulnerable. "I'm sorry I made you doubt me", you reply and give him a warm smile.

"Also", you say and grin at him "I think I already had a date with a bottle of wine, a book and a vampire for tonight." Astarion grins back at you and unwraps one of his arms to motion towards the pillows in front of his tent: "Let's not make the bottle wait any longer then."

[aclassitag]

Announcing Krem Week!

#kremweek2024 — 22-28 July 2024

background art credit: @xfreischutz [link to original post]

*text prompt list under the readmore

This year will mark 10 years since the release of Dragon Age: Inquisition! In celebration of that anniversary and the game that gave us our first trans character, here is a prompt list - and dates - for any who would like to participate! All sorts of creative content is accepted so long as they are not A/I generated. (See examples below)

*If you want to portray Maevaris Tilani instead, that is also fine!

Please read the guidelines!

If you have any questions, reply to this post and I will do my best to answer :)

Prompt list:

1 — Anniversary 2 — Euphoria / Expression 3 — Casual / Formal 4 — Family / Love 5 — Respite / Fight 6 — Play / Satiate 7 — (Free space!)

Guidelines:

Use the tag: #kremweek2024 (@ this blog is fine too) — If you want to portray Maevaris Tilani instead of Krem, that is also welcome! Please @ me so I can rb :) For non-Tumblr folks that somehow got here: You may post submissions, please link your socials. You may choose one of two prompts in a day or do both. You may also combine as many prompts as you want from any or all of the days into a single work, just mention it somewhere.

Types of content allowed:

Illustration and writing are the most obvious forms of art allowed, but they're not the only ones! Literary arts fanfics, drabbles, poetry, plays, lengthy headcanon/meta posts (for headcanon and meta posts, minimum of 100 words+) Visual arts doodles, paintings, graphic design, photoshop memes, photography, animation, tiktok skits, abstract, fiber arts (embroidery, knitting, etc), ceramics Audio art fanmixes(curated playlists), original or cover songs Other crafts are also welcome! e.g. culinary, resin, woodworking, etc etc ..essentially, whatever type of art it is, I'll accept it so long as it falls within rules and is related to Krem or Maevaris :) For things that are more abstract, do include an explanation of your thought process on how it relates to Krem. E.g. you made Krem's Seheron Fish Wrap or Rice Pudding, take photos of your cooking, and post that (with the explanation that it is Krem's recipes) - that's an acceptable submission! You're allowed to explore different mediums everyday! You don't have to stick to one form of art for the whole week. I will be attempting to schedule reblogs in the 'prime time' for engagement, and in the interest of fairness, things like headcanon posts, fanmixes, and WIPs will not take priority in that time slot over fully rendered illustrations or complete fanfics. They will still be reblogged, but scheduled for other time slots.

Content Rules:

No A/I generated content. (Specifically GenAI content) As above, any and all forms of art is welcome. It must be human made, and by you. The whole point of working off a prompt is to explore a creative process, anyway - do yourself a favour and just enjoy making something! It doesn't have to be pretty! No reposting of other people's works. This must be your own creation. Obviously, no transphobic content. No harrassing others over their specific headcanons - be it in regards to any trait or quirks that come with being a person. People come in all sorts of wonderful variety, please respect that. In addition to above: No whitewashing, racism etc. Please note that Krem is not pale-skinned in canon, and I will not be reblogging content of him being portrayed as pale. 18+ works need to be labelled. On this blog, its tagged as "#adult art". Please add content warnings as appropriate. (E.g. portrayal of binding with bandages should have a warning label of "cw: unsafe binding", etc.) If your post/submission is lengthy, please insert a read more. This helps readability on the dashboard. Progress / WIPs are fine too!

General tips:

First and foremost, do what you are able to! Don't feel pressured to complete a full week if you need to take care of yourself first. Some people work on the prompts before the week even begins, and only post it day of. You are not required to do this, but if you really want to fill something for each day, this helps reduce stress day of.

Mod things:

The mod isn't from the Americas, so due to timezone differences, there may be a delay in reblogging people's works. Either way I will not reblog the moment that it's posted in order to screen properly. Posts will be queued between 30mins-1hr apart, if there are multiple entries being submitted at the same time. All submissions will also be requeued after a week for later perusal :)

[scribbleseas]

in love & in war: the one where he meets you

Description: Join Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive, as he embarks on one of the most difficult challenges of his professional life: getting you to fall in love with him in order to become the next chairman of TransAtlantica— your father’s vast shipping empire.

Warnings: The reader’s opinions are a bit old-fashioned, and they don’t reflect my own! Besides that, I’m sure there will be some explicit content down the line, but honestly, this story is much more romcom than our usually scheduled programming. It’s just a silly palette cleanser in season for Valentine’s Day.

Author’s Note: Hi! You guys expressed that you guys like more frequent posts, and I’ve reached a bit of a roadblock on my main Ciel fic right now. I thought I would write up a quick beginning to a potential drabble series! If you guys are interested in this premise, let me know! It’s fun to write such chill stakes content for once lol. Also, this isn’t based off a particular request! I’m still playing with my ideas from those, and at this point, I can confidently say you guys are getting either a one shot or a 1-3 part series based on one. Thank you all for submitting, and feel free to keep them coming.

Happy Reading!

- Dan

| NEXT DRABBLE ⇒

MASTERLIST

In Conference

Late May, 1895

Your life was nowhere near as easy as it seemed.

Perhaps, the average onlooker might see you and presume that the expensive jewels wrapped around your neck and your fingers were the most burdensome aspect of your privileged life. Or perhaps they might have thought it would be the pinch from your stately heels or the strain from a brilliant, yet strategic, permanent smile.

Your business smile. Your future-Countess-of-Richmond smile.

But they couldn’t have been more wrong.

This very moment was exact proof of that— you were in the midst of your world collapsing. The abject shock rattling through your mind was akin to a nightmare. Your eyebrows pulled together in a contentious pout, the horrified look you used to get away with your most childish crimes from your parents.

“Marriage? Simply not.” You begged, alreadying feeling your will to fight waver under your father’s tired stare, your mother’s pained grin. “I’m only—”

“Of perfect age to begin looking for a potential partner. 22 is well past ready, I would say,” your mother answered for you.

“I would be— but—” you sputtered like a fish out of water only to inhale deeply through your nose. You needed to collect yourself. Negotiate thoughtfully and logically. That was the only way to get yourself out of this.

“Speak with intent, Y/n,” your father interjected boredly, retraining his attention on the business reports he was reading. He fixed his glasses, pushing them further up the bridge of his nose.

Speak with intent. You knew those words well. They were your solace, the lighthouse in the storm that came with childhood temperament. Your father, no matter the cause of your distress, would answer: Speak with intent.

“Right,” you cleared your throat apologetically, glancing down at your hands as they sat clasped in your lap. “Sincerest apologies, sir.”

Your father hummed, eyebrows jumping a fraction of a centimeter. He picked up his pen and scribbled his signature at the bottom of the report. Your mother’s hand fell on the nape of his neck to make him turn his gaze back up at you. He hesitated before doing so, waiting to click a stamp onto the signed report.

“I do not wish to marry,” you enunciated your words carefully, confidently. “At least, not yet,” you added, now catching your father’s attention for the blunder. “I’ve yet to meet someone I love,” you felt your face redden, a desire to run back to your room threatening to overtake your fortitude. You were only so strong under your father, the Earl of Richmond’s deliberation stare. It struck fear into the other side of conference tables, lecture halls, and courtrooms. And now, across his desk at his only daughter.

Before your father could remind you that love wasn’t the most important aspect of a successful marriage, your mother interjected gently.

“What about the Duke of Clarence’s son, Antonio? He seemed to like you,” she prompted. Wrongly. You’d danced with Antonio at the Summer Solstice gala that the Pembroke family threw annually. The man opted to use the waltz’s entirety to brag about his family’s Italian vineyards and his love for agriculture. And, of course, his admiration for your father’s entrepreneurial genius. His shipping empire, TransAtlantica, had just successfully fortified shipping systems in all of the states; a step forward from simply cycling through all major ports along the east coast.

“He doesn’t love me,” you complained, “he loves TransAtlantica. He’d much prefer to marry our family corporation!” Antonio was suitable. He was decent, but that’s all he truly was to you. It’s all he ever could be.

You met your mother’s eyes pleadingly, and she pursed her lips, fully knowing the next words out of your mouth. You had a deal. From a young age, you knew the Richmond family, the Y/l/n line, respected contracts more than all else. Since you turned 17, you had one signed by all three parties and dated.

Your mother sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I remember the deal,” she said, taking a moment to consider her own words. The corners of her lips twitched as if she was attempting to hide her amusement with you. She understood— her own father, your grandfather, was just as militant, stiff with professionalism. Promises were negotiations with terms, signatures, and stamps. There were no arguments this way. “Dearest,” she addressed your father, the hand that was on the back jumping to his shoulder, “you do as well.”

“Do you?” You challenged, indignantly crossing your arms. “I request you restate the terms, mother.”

“If we are to pressure you into marriage before you feel ready, you must consent to the courting party,” your father took the liberty of answering gruffly. He squared his shoulders, regarding you purposefully— equal parts exhaustion and respect for your endurance. He cultivated it, after all. It was a fire that burned in your family for generations, as sacred as a temple flame.

“Yes,” you affirmed, “and so, I must choose the man I wish to be with.”

“With respect to your titles— no one below your station. And he must be chosen by the end of this courtship season,” your father added, negotiating. He tilted his head, analyzing your next move.

You knew of the first term since you were a child. You even remembered the exact day you learned them. You were a young girl, a little younger than seven. A young commoner boy had attempted to hand you a rose. Your maid at the time had scolded him for standing in the way of a noble family, since he had stepped out in front of you. It was a discernible moment, truly.

As for your father’s second term… you were unconvinced such a thing could be done.

“The end of the courtship season is in four months,” you replied, frowning. You were sure you met most eligible men in your social class. How were you to form a genuine connection in such little time? Even if you couldn’t find love per se, you still wanted to find someone you were compatible with.

“If we reach that deadline and you find no one, we can talk about it,” your mother answered. “And, you must allow me and your aunt to fix you on outings with suitors we like.

“Fine. Only if Daphne joins me,” you replied, knowing fully well that you weren’t allowed anywhere without your handmaiden present.

. . .

Next week

Your mother was sure not to waste any time in beginning to schedule supervised outings with a different well-educated and ennobled man that was within the appropriate age constraints. You’ve never had such a boring week, brutally torn away from the studies you adored so much.

“—And we’ve got another vacation home down in Tuscany, I think,” the Viscount Lineford’s son concluded, taking a peremptory drink out of his tea. He was dressed crisply in beige trousers that rolled up past his ankle and low leather shoes. His sterling watch sparkled in the spring sun.

You fought a building yawn that tempted the back of your throat, determined to hide your exhaustion with the man. It was a good effort, but you certainly weren’t impressed.

“That must be incredible,” you answered absently. “It must be such a lovely foreign getaway for the Lineford family,” you grinned diplomatically, blind to the horror that twisted his — you didn’t care to remember his name, unfortunately — face.

“Foreign? Excuse me Lady Y/n, but my family traces far back into Italian culture that we are practically Roman…” he started, only for you to interject.

“Will you just excuse me, please?” You struggled to keep the desperation out of your face, calmly searching for your supervisor. She was meant to be sitting at a table nearby, merely ensuring that your outing remained within polite societal constraints. More importantly, Daphne served as your escape when your potential suitors proved most unbearable. All you needed to do was subtly tilt your fan to your left ear and the woman would always scramble over to you with an excuse to steer you out of any scenario you found distasteful.

Such as this one.

Daphne never normally left your side, a realization that allowed worry to creep into your tone. “I’m unsure where my maid went, and I would like to fetch her,” you replied, standing and shouldering your small day bag over your shoulder.

“I’m sorry?” He asked, chuckling with bitter disbelief at your rudeness. Ladies were supposed to be demure and polite. You were impatient and honest, a product of an Earl knowing that his daughter was the object of his legacy. Your father trained you as he would a son, and your tutors followed in suit. “Surely you’re joking; this is the middle of our tea.”

Her pocketbook and her sweater weren’t even sitting on the chair she had been occupying, causing you to blink at the empty table in disbelief.

“No, I’m not. I think something might be wrong,” you shouldered past the man, stepping between other individuals sitting at the common tables in the park.

“Fine, you aren’t worth it anyway!” He called at your back, but the words hardly registered with you.

The area was rather common for courting pairs to visit in the early spring. However, it could also be populated with…criminals. “Excuse me,” you mumbled, quickly walking down the paved pathway through the greenery to the main sidewalk, the London pavement heavy with pedestrians. The streets were perhaps more crowded with carriages and sweating horses.

You couldn’t be alone in the city! As a woman of your stature, it simply wasn’t done. Never. Ever. It was an affront to your teachings, and it was unsafe. You needed your friend, not some stranger.

“Where is she?” You mumbled, rapidly attempting to discern every face that passed you. Surely it wouldn’t be long until someone recognized you— you were one of the most photographed families in the country. In fact, you were fortunate no one had offered your location to the press while you were on this outing. You never would have heard the last of it.

Some took hold of your handbag and darted off, using your distractedness to his advantage. He ran to the end of the block and crossed the street, weaving through pedestrians once the crossing guard allowed your side to walk over. If your hand hadn’t been tightly clutching the strap as you walked, you never would have noticed.

You did your best to pick up your speed and chase him, yelling out.

You cried out, glancing down at your long springtime dress. Your short heels were nowhere near efficient enough for you to make a chase out of the robbery, nor should have needed to! Even still, you lunged into the street — without looking.

In fact, if you had committed to your step, you would’ve been flattened by an oncoming carriage, given that the crossing guard had ordered pedestrians to stop passing moments prior. The only reason why you didn’t make the life-ruining step seemed to be… a tall young man with a serious face and staggering presence. He only had one exposed blue eye, the other was concealed by a black eyepatch. His grip tightened around your arm, pulling you intimately into his chest.

You breathed heavily, tearing yourself out of his arms. A flair of irritation caused you to glare at him as you righted your stance and smooth your dress. However, he did save you from a potentially life ending situation. His immediate insurance of your safety was more meaningful than a misaligned gown that you fixed in seconds.

In fact, the moment truly was a bit theatrical. The man was handsome enough to make you smile with uncertainty, your irritation melting. “Thank you for that,” you said, relieved that the sidewalk seemed to clear, the crowd dispersing from the main street. “I could have been killed.”

“That would have been quite a shame,” he replied, locking eyes with you. The man made a thin attempt at returning your smile. He was enchanting, regal… your heart skipped a beat, considerably flustered.

…Until he spoke again, completely distorting the immediate magnetic lure you felt from his sharp features: “Rather careless of you, my Lady. You ought to be smarter than that.”

You frowned. “In case you failed to notice, that man stole my handbag and essentially disappeared,” you snapped impatiently. It had your identification, emergency notes in case you needed to purchase something, the current novel you were fixated on…how were you meant to return to the estate now?

“You weren’t catching him, I don’t think,” he noted astutely, watching you as you stepped past him to go in the direction you came from. Perhaps Daphne circled back to the park in search of you. You absolutely needed to find her.

“Thank you for your help. Good day,” you answered brusquely, continuing to walk. However, he remained in stride with you, still unabashedly smug. It quickly absolved you of any former gratefulness you had toward the man for pulling you away from oncoming traffic. Perhaps it might have hurt less to have collided with a horse and a carriage over the velocity and mass of this random man’s ego.

“What, don’t tell me you going to go chase him,” He said patronizingly, a sardonic pull infecting what you thought was initially a careful smile. No, the man was just another arrogant bastard, it seemed. “In those shoes, especially,” He perused, causing you to stop once more and regard him.

“I am a noble woman, you will not speak to me in such a manner no matter what line of—“ you caught the sapphire family and silver crest rings around two of his fingers — “mediocre destitution you come from!” You jabbed purposefully, undeserving of his rudeness and his condescension, no matter what title he occupied in your class. You were the partial inheritor of TransAtlantia; you trained to run the company to some degree since you could speak. Few could step to you.

“I believe I said good day, kind sir,” you added poisonously, daring him to continue to test you before speeding back towards the park. You needed Daphne, you needed an officer…anyone besides this pompous— you ended the thought before you could further infect yourself with such unladylike curses.

It really wasn’t so easy being the daughter of an Earl.

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

“I’ve planned things so Lady Y/n’s maid is off helping a little girl find her mother; I separated the two by distracting the girl with a kitten. Y/n will panic without her maid being within her immediate reach, drawing her out to the street. I will cause her to put herself in harm’s way by distracting her at the corner of 89th Street and Arthur. Be ready by the street post. I’ve made the new paralegal late to his case, he will have instructed his butler to drive quick. You will need to pull her away from the street. If you miss, things may end rather…unfortunately for the young woman,” Ciel Phantomhive’s butler, Sebastian Michealis, outlined.

Sebastian was Ciel’s head butler, his head chef, head landscaper, tailor, tutor… but most importantly, the Earl of Phantomhive’s contracted demon. The supernatural being was at his disposal and his bidding; his new role being the most interesting one of all: matchmaker. He fabricated a scene for Ciel to meet Y/n Y/l/n, and ideally, make her love him.

It was simple, really. Ciel needed a wife; Y/n’s family needed a competent businessman to run that prosperous giant of a shipping enterprise; and most importantly, the woman seemed to be rather competent. The only danger to his strategy was, of course, Y/n’s foul storybook idealism, apparently. Ciel knew Y/n was highly educated and well graced in ettiquiete, but she seemed intent on finding some happily ever after of sorts.

She wanted a husband— a bloody love match. No— she needed an actor to convince her that she was worth marrying beyond the incredible status she represented. There was no asset greater than a title and an economic monarchy to inherit, and securing such a prize meant that Ciel needed to woo her.

“My Lord, you must be considerate, but not too kind. Though you should also refrain from acting too smugly or the lady may take offense,” his butler had offered some horrifically embarrassing — and incredibly unhelpful — acting lessons for him to express the particular warmth Lady Y/n seemed to be looking for.

Love. A feeling Ciel hadn’t known in around nine years. Arguably, it could’ve been more. And yet, in order to stop being solicited by desperate mothers and unlikely candidates, he was securing his bride.

According to Ciel’s butler, that meant he needed to create a memorable foundation in the woman’s mind, an introduction that would leave her curious, impassioned. Wanting more. Something to make him stand out amongst the other faceless, classless mouth breathers who would be vying for TransAtlantica, now that word of her search for a suitor was widespread.

The company and Y/n’s hand were all one in the same courtship, and Ciel was sure the was going to win both.

The Earl of Phantomhive was never one to lose. He’d be remiss to start now.

[cottoncandyafterdark]

Senku Discovering Reader is a Mermaid (Drabble)

Fandom: Dr Stone

Character(s): Senku Ishigami

Warnings: None

Notes: Requested by LadyIshtar on ao3! Well, they requested this premise with a few other characters too, and I will write those at some point, I am working on them, but it's been forever since I've posted anything on ao3, so I figured I'd just go ahead and post Senku's, which I finished a bit ago, just to like, prove I'm alive lol. Thanks for your patience by the way, everyone, my classes are over for the semester so I'm gonna try to write more often for the next few months til they start again! Enjoy!

Senku stared. Just... Stared. You weren't sure you'd ever seen him so speechless before.

"Um..." You laughed nervously. "Surprise...? I, um, wanted to tell you sooner, but I didn't know how, I didn't really think you'd believe me...."

He blinked quickly, and finally seemed to snap back to reality.

"You were right, I wouldn't have believed you, if you'd told me instead of showing me. But..." He approached and placed a hand on your tail. "This is real." He ran his hands over the scales, and you couldn't help but shudder a bit. "Either that, or you spent hours upon hours making it look and feel real as hell to trick me into looking stupid."

"It is real-!" You started to protest, but Senku laughed.

"I know. You wouldn't do that, you're much too sweet to pull that kind of prank." He chuckled again and you blushed, but he quickly shifted back to an intense look of curiosity and analysation, trying to put everything together in his head- you smiled. Senku really never did change.

"So. How does it work?" He asked. 

"What do you mean?"

"Well, a lot of things, but let's start with the fact that you usually have legs. Currently you have a fish tail. How do you do that?"

You shrugged. "It just happens naturally when I'm submerged in water."

"Hm." He ran a finger down the middle of your tail, almost like he was looking for a seam- there was none, of course. You twitched a little, not used to the sensation of someone touching the tail you've worked so hard to keep hidden, though it wasn't unpleasant. It kind of felt nice, actually, in the same way that someone running their fingers through your hair would. "Does it hurt?"

"No, not at all. It just wears off after a little while when I dry off."

"Interesting...." He knit his eyebrows together further, surely already trying to figure out exactly how that could possibly work. 

You almost didn't want to say it, but you had to- "Honestly, Senku, I think it's just magic."

Senku, to your surprise, laughed. "You know, they used to call lightning strikes and solar eclipses "magic", too. Once we understand how it happens, it stops being magic, and starts being science. Which is why you're coming back to the lab with me as soon as you get your legs back."

His enthusiasm was infectious. You couldn't help but smile a little bit too, although the idea of being analyzed and experimented on made you... A bit nervous. But it was Senku. You knew he'd never hurt you. "Just remember that I'm your partner, Senku, not a science experiment," you gently chided him anyways, just to keep him on-track.

"Of course , I couldn't forget that. But can you blame me for being curious?"

"No, of course. I wouldn't expect anything else from you." You smiled up at him, and he finally looked up from your tail to give you a reassuring smile back. It almost felt silly, now, that you'd put off telling him the truth about yourself for so long. You really shouldn't have expected anything else.

[giggly-squiggily]

Hi Squiggly! You can totally feel free to decline my headcanon to drabble request, I would totally understand!! But anyways, I have been obsessed with Haikyuu for forever and the new movie has fueled my love for Haikyuu. So my headcanon is that Suga and Yaku (an interesting pair, I know) during the training camps like to make little challenges against each other (they are not as mature as they may seem) and sometimes when they’re evenly matched the challenge will devolve into a tickle fight, in which, once again, an even match.

(Headcanons to Dabbles: OFFICIALLY CLOSED)

OO, this is so GOOD! I don't think I write Suga and Yaku individually enough- let alone together. This was so fun! I hope you like it anon! :D

Let the record show Yaku Morisuke and Sugawara Koshi were the most mature people on their respective teams.

“Race you to the dorms.” Suga slapped the other boy’s shoulder as he booked it, flying past him with glee.

“Son of a- bring it!” Yaku yelled back as he ran after him, catching up to the taller boy and grabbing onto his shirt. “I’m not letting you get a head start over me!”

“Hah! We’ll see about that, shorty!”

However- when they were alone together; they found that maturity flew right out the window.

Stumbling into the lounge, neither boy knew who truly was in the lead, falling through the double doors in a heap of laughter. Yaku was still fisting Suga’s shirt, and the other had tried to grab onto his hair as they collided. “Ehehehe! Who wohohohn?” The setter asked, giggling helplessly when the hand to his back began to wiggle.

“Me! And I’m about to make it so!” Yaku growled, hopping up and sitting on Sugawara’s hips as he carried on scribbling into his shoulder blades. “Admit I got here first, you jerk!”

“Neehehhehever! Iihihiih wohoohohn’t gihihihive ihihihn!” The pale haired teen cackled, kicking his feet and punching the ground. It did nothing to alleviate the ticklish feeling on his spine. “Aheahahhahaha! Noohohohooh fahhahahir, you cahhahan’t juhuhust go and tiihihihckle sohoohomebody!”

“I sure can, and I will. Don’t be such a baby.” Yaku teased, giving Suga’s ribs a couple scratches to make him scrunch up.

That however would be his downfall. The second Suga’s arms got close enough, he pushed off the ground and twisted, sending Yaku tumbling. “Goohohotcha!” He cried, grabbing his leg and squeezing his knee like his life depended on it.

“Aheahhahahhaha! Whohohohoho’s behehehehing uhuuhunfahhahahir nhohoow?” Yaku cackled, flopping about like a fish out of water as his knees and eventually thighs were attacked. He tried and failed several times to grab Suga’s shirt again, but each reach fell short as a new boom of ticklishness shot up his nervous system. “Aheahhahahahah truuhuhhuce! Truuuhuhuhuce!”

“Juice? What- you thirsty?” Suga called back with a grin, distracted. Yaku used his other leg to pull him down and within reach, tickling once more. “Noohohohoho yohoohou jehehehrk!”

“Thahahake thahahaht, you sohohon of a- gheahahaha nohohohoho!”

“Should we…?” Kenma began, turning a confused expression to Kuroo and Hinata as they watched from the stairwell.

“Nah- let them be.” Kuroo shrugged as he turned them back on course, laughing softly as the squeals and cackles following them out. “They’re both far too mature for their own good- especially Yaku. He deserves to cut loose. Now- where’d you say were those vending machines, again?”

[envy-of-the-apple]

Yandere!Illumi Zoldyck x Reader

I haven’t written my man in soo longg. i claim to be an illumi stan but i only have like two fics for the guy. im so sorry illumi your dead fish eyes are the only eyes for me i swear. Highly inspired by this drabble made by flamingtrash. The way bestie writes illumi just lamenting just sends chills down my spine. 

Target

(Warnings: Yandere, stalking, murder, more stalking, planning to murder, mentions of suicide) 

Kill the husband, do whatever you want to the wife. 

His mission is one of the simpler ones. He considers this busy work. His target is a regular civilian, a break from the numerous other assassins, hit-men, nen-users he typically was hired to do. 

Still, Illumi takes his time, because every target deserves his vigilance, his dedication. It wouldn’t be right to just finish and go. He offers each life respect. 

He remembers the reason why your husband has to die. Bribery, company theft, among many other things. The men who wanted him gone needed for him to disappear completely, not a trace of him left behind. 

He has a feeling you wouldn’t go away just as easily. 

It was a love marriage. You two met right after you graduated college, and it bloomed from there. Coffee dates, light night strolls, candlelight dinners. Domestic activities. 

You loved your husband. Though Illumi isn’t intimate with the feeling, it’s clear to anyone who’s willing to watch. You’d been married for years, yet you still get so flustered at the mention of him. Twiddling thumbs, nervous laughter. 

Your husband loves you too. Maybe just as much. He’s not as quick to show it. He’s close to inheriting the company from his father. He has a lot of work to do. It’s probably why he’s doing so many gray things. Your husband is stressed. He knows one day this will all catch up to him. 

That day came when Illumi was handed 20 million jennies and a picture. 

He watches because making it look like an accident is much harder to accomplish than it sounds. He considers pinning the blame on you, before he discards the thought. Insufficient. 

But you really did love your husband. He isn’t usually so interested in his target’s marital affairs but he thinks he admires your loyalty. You’re so loving to him. Despite the busy lives you two lead, you manage to still think about him. 

Like today, when you’re setting up the breakfast table. You place two bowls, despite the fact your husband’s still asleep in the bed you two share. 

He’s been busy lately, constantly running from meeting to meeting. After a bit of scouting Illumi realizes that he’s only ever in two places: at the office, or in bed with you. Sometimes, just twice since Illumi has been observing, your husband crawls into a dark alley, filled with underdwellers, whispering about their latest schemes. He barely has time for breakfast. 

A routine is being set in place. You make two plates, continuing to bustle away in the kitchen as you wait for him. He’ll leave in a hurry, as he always does, yelling out a ‘bye darling’ before slamming the door shut. You’ll come out of the kitchen a few minutes later to see the bowls untouched, and then you’ll frown. Like you always do. 

And that worries Illumi because when your husband is gone and if you start putting together the pieces: always rushing everywhere, constantly being stressed, not eating breakfast anymore. He’d rather you be in the dark. He’d rather not waste his time killing you too. He wants you to play the part he set out to you; the heartbroken wife wondering how her husband could do this to himself when he was always so happy. 

Today, Illumi decides to intervene when your husband leaves like that for the fifth day in a row. You hadn’t even realized the intruder when he casually steps into the dining room, too busy in the kitchen. He decides to dispose of your husband’s bowl in the bushes, where the stray cats can have their fill. It’s clean when Illumi drops the dish back to its place on the table. 

You come out a few minutes later when Illumi safely retracts to his usual hiding spot. He watches you keenly, noting the perceived disappointment you have on your face like you’re already preparing yourself. 

And then you stop, staring at the empty bowl. 

A soft smile adorns your face. Your eyes crinkle. 

You look so happy, as you sit down, eating your own breakfast. It confuses him, just how happy a small action made you. 

It didn’t matter. This was good. If he kept this up, your husband’s demise would be a heartbroken tragedy, rather than suspected foul play. He shouldn’t be bothered by the details. 

Days later, he still thinks about your smile.

He watches you more than he does his target. 

Illumi can’t help himself. You’re so distracting. He doesn’t understand why. He should have been done with this mission weeks ago but he’s still here because he can’t understand you. 

You’re normal by any standard. Completely average. You work a desk job, and come back home when you get off the clock. You have normal friends. You have a normal family. Nothing you do should surprise him. 

But you do, nearly every day. He realizes you have these faces you show to others. Towards your co-workers, you’re polite and resigned. People who you’re closer to, family, close friends, your husband, you’re more sincere. You smile more. It’s fascinating to watch you switch depending on who you interact with. 

It shouldn’t matter because everyone has different faces. Everyone does this, this is basic socialization in regard to his targets. You aren’t special. 

Sometimes, Illumi catches himself wondering what face you would show him if you two ever met. 

You’re so disgustingly normal as you sit in the living room of your house, watching a TV show he hardly cares about. You don’t seem to care either, more interested in babbling on the phone to your friend about some nonsense at work. 

He should just kill you off too. It would be easier, less work on his part. It’s not like his clients care about what he does with you. You are an anomaly, but in the grand scheme of things, you are dispensable, irrelevant to his job. You won’t matter. 

You shouldn’t matter. 

You’re clumsy, it’s a common trait Illumi has noticed. You show your skill off almost every day. Take this moment, for instance, as you get up, you nearly drop your phone, catching it in the knick of time. You laugh to your friend about it in relief and Illumi thinks you wouldn’t be a good fit within his family. He strangely doesn’t mind your helplessness, however. 

He catches himself again. He curses. He really should just kill you. 

It’d be so easy to, it’s not like you made it hard. You don’t have any combat experience, you don’t even realize he’s there, right behind you, watching you work away in the kitchen as you continue to talk to your friend in utter obliviousness. 

He’s close enough to smell your perfume. 

When you turn, he’s back in his perch, onlooking the window. As usual, you don’t spot any evidence of the stranger being in your home, close enough to touch you. You continue stirring away a dish, still on the phone. 

He really should just kill you. 

Illumi thinks your friends serve their purpose. 

Since he is unable to interrogate you, your friends do it for him. They get you drunk in the restaurant you three had booked weeks ago, tipsy on a strain of alcohol he’d barely consider strong. It’s enough to spill your deepest secrets he could never uncover himself. A childhood past files could never tell him. 

Your friend makes a comment about how the kid version of you would probably be scandalized at how you turned out. A slurred laugh bubbles out of your lips. Illumi thinks it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. 

“You sound just like my husband,” You say with mirth. Your friend frowns. 

“Speaking of him…are the two of you okay? He didn’t show up to the dinner party last week.” Your husband hadn’t. Instead, he’d left you alone while he went to go and make more blood money. You frown, like you’re remembering it too. 

“Yeah,” You murmur, “He’s been busy lately. It’s something at work.” 

“Has he been specific?” Another friend presses. You look pensive. 

“Not really,” You respond. They frown at eachother, casting a knowing look. 

“Stop,” You say, your voice losing all humor, “It’s not like that. You two think so lowly of him. He’s not that kind of man.” And it’s true. Your husband doesn’t cheat. He bribes and launders instead. 

“He’s been…really tired lately. He sleeps like a rock all night, but in the morning it looks like he hadn’t even gotten a wink. His eye bags have eye bags.” You frown, taking another sip of your drink. “I always feel so guilty, like I should be doing something.” 

“Have you tried speaking to him about it?” One asks.  

You smile without mirth. 

“He doesn’t talk to me. Sometimes-sometimes I feel like he really wants to, but is afraid to, which is so stupid. It’s like he doesn’t know that I’ll love him no matter what he does.” 

Illumi believes you. He really does. He suddenly realizes that if your husband admitted everything he’s been doing right now; you’d forgive him, you’d accept him, you’d still love him.

You’re so loyal to him. Only him. Even when your husband doesn’t really deserve it, it was love. True love. 

That’s why he was so drawn to you. He wanted a wife just like you. Hell, if he had a perfect wife, he’d launder, and bribe, and steal to keep you too. 

He leaves after that. The mystery was solved. He could finally complete his mission. 

He wastes no time getting to your home, getting to his target. 

Killing the man was easy. Illumi barely breaks a sweat. Your husband is dead, and at his feet, within seconds. 

Then he waits. 

He waits for you to come home, he waits for you to see the scene. He decides that he’ll let you grieve for thirty seconds. Half a minute, before he breaks your neck, and then you’ll join your beloved. 

He isn’t usually so gracious, but he feels indebted to you. He’s grateful that you showed him that something like this exists. Utter devotion. He wants someone like you in his life. Someone who will smile and laugh and be intertwined with him, forever. 

He’ll pay it back by giving you time with your husband. It’s the least he can do. 

The door clicks an hour later. He patiently waits. Waits for you to see your lover, waits for you to scream, waits for you to see him. He’ll give you thirty seconds. Just thirty seconds. 

Forty-five seconds pass. 

Your eyes meet his first. 

You smile. 

“Hey.” 

You’re intoxicated. He can smell the wine from your lips as you stumble forward, lightly tripping on your heels. He’s close enough that you fall into him. He could have moved away, avoiding your clumsy body, letting you fall on a heap to the floor. 

He’s never minded your clumsiness. 

Illumi stays, gently pressing his fingertips into your shoulders, stabilizing you. You’re so soft under his touch. Delicate. He’s suddenly afraid a single move might snap you in half. 

You laugh, and although your voice is heavy with alcohol, it’s so light and free. You look at him, really really look at him. Your eyes are glimmering and he’s wondering if the night sky itself was etched into your eyes. 

“My hero,” You say so so lovingly and it clicks. 

You think he’s your husband. 

Why else would you be so happy? You can’t see him that well, not with your poor eyesight, an average human’s ability. Not when you’re so drunk off of the sweet wine he can practically taste from your lips. 

You don’t see the dead body right at your feet. You just see Illumi. 

Still, he doesn’t pull away. You don’t either, choosing to wrap your arms around his waist, drawing him closer. You’re so warm. You fit perfectly against his body. 

If he presses himself any closer, if he brings his hand up, right by your neck, and squeezes just so slightly, he’d be able to feel all of you. The blood pumping in your veins, sending oxygen, nutrients, everything that keeps you here. You’re alive. You aren’t dead, not yet. That’s why you’re so warm, not a cold corpse. 

He thinks he prefers you this way. 

“Sorry I was so late,” You’re slurring your words, but he understands them anyway, “I hadn’t seen the girls in a while. Hope you’re not too mad.” 

He doesn’t reply. You don’t seem to care, pressing up against him again. It feels so intimate, he’s not used to this. For once, in the many years he’s lived without doubt, he’s stuck. 

You managed to do that to him. Disarm him. You are surely the most dangerous opponent he’s had to face. 

You’re pulling away, a pout on your lips. 

“I knew it, you are mad,” You sigh, “Is there any way you can forgive me? Maybe…” 

You don’t finish your sentence, pressing up, messily pressing your warm lips to his. He’s kissed before, he’s not unnerved to the notion of touch, contact. 

But he can taste the ambrosia on your tongue. It’s addictive. 

“Sorry,” You whisper when you pull away. He doesn’t want you to. “I’m sorry.” 

You’re looking at him again, and your eyes are simmering, smoldering with a feeling that looks so dirty. You’re looking at him with absolute adoration and he strangely feels like he’s about to break. 

“You forgive me, right?” 

He makes his decision when you intertwine your hand in his, leading him to your bedroom. He makes sure you avoid stepping over your husband, guiding you away from the body. You’re giggling in his arms, caressing his hands. His face. 

Why would he give a fuck about having someone like you when he could just have you?

When you reach to turn on the bedroom light he’s quick to intervene, pinning you against the bed. Your intoxicated mind is eager to forget, clumsily reciprocating. 

He reaffirms his decision when he bites your neck, hearing you moan and writhe beneath him. 

He’ll keep you. After all, he’s worked so hard over these years. He deserves an award. 

You’ll love him, the same way you loved your husband, the rotting corpse he hopes will burn somewhere far far away from you two. 

And if you don’t. That’s okay too. Illumi has more than enough love to go around. 

[heathtrash]

When you're working on TWW fanfic, how do you get like new inspiration or even just the motivation to keep going?

(p.s. thank you for keeping the fandom alive!!)

inspiration/ideas are something i almost never have a problem with. i come up with new scenarios for these gays almost constantly and it's everything in me to not just constantly begin new wips and crossovers and aus that have never been explored! and there's so much media to draw from with tww with all eight books, the shows, the movie, the spinoffs - idk but even like vanilla 2017 or 1998 stuff is always giving me life, maybe because i'm an insatiable multishipper with no chill and an adoration of rarepairs.

i also make sure i "read around" tww. i watch things or listen to audiobooks with a related genre or vibe, especially if i'm exploring au or want to go for a specific tone. keeping your brain active and making connections like this helps so much with inspiration and plot. it's like going on a silly little mental health walk, but instead of nature or whatever, you're opening your brain up to new possibilities. even something completely unrelated can spark something! it makes the worlds you write feel a bit richer as you're writing them.

motivation is something different, because i struggle with a lot of self-confidence in my own writing (lol, cptsd. i'm in therapy). comments on my works do really help with that. but these days people seem to feel weird about leaving comments on works that aren't like a week old??? bruh people still talk about books that are decades or centuries old. and we have some lovely people still in the fandom who are willing to read some of my work, and that is amazing to me!!

but of course, there are fics i've started that i am not sure will ever see the light of day because i feel like they're not good enough, or works that i've put up that very few people were interested in (rip to pippa university years my beloved. never escaped single digits on the kudos for 10k of fic). those embarrassments and failures hold me back so much because they confirm my own negative thoughts about my writing and make me not want to put my energy into this. i have a full plan of chapter 13 of a clock with no hands, but i keep giving myself imposter syndrome over my ability to write it well enough. idk. rationally, i know that the types of story i write are sometimes not what people want to read. i think it's important to talk about (please i am NOT fishing) because i'm sure there are many people who feel the same way. some people even look up to me as a writer?? but i cannot emphasise enough that it's a miracle that anything goes online with my mental health being how it is.

anyway, enough about me! mostly i try to think primarily of the fandom and what's best for us right now. that's why i'm running the drabble exchange, which i think will be a really fun way to get little sparks of inspiration going for everyone, as well as hopefully providing a chance for new writers to dip their toe into whatever ship they like! please sign up to join in - this is the last weekend before i close sign-ups!

i'm certainly not solely responsible for keeping the fandom alive though!!! there are some incredible artists who are doing a much better job of that than me with the recent influx of art - as well as all those who are writing new fics that are providing after the slump we had with the conclusion of the 2017 series. it was really hard to recover the fandom after s3, and i know i've had a small part to play in that with the twitter group chat evolving into reviving the discord. but i couldn't have done any of that if no one else was around to join in!

(also side note - general invitation extended to anyone who wants to join the discord!)

[falconcoast]

postcards | al-haitham x reader

a part of the postcards series. 

al-haitham is, unfortunately, separated from you for the next few days on a work trip. he updates you with a kistchy postcard, with love and greetings from natlan.

a/n: me when grace falconcoast writes 😱 hi yall i’ve decided not to retire, at least not yet. i think between tests, comp season, and this brand new situationship (why is he a dry texter 👎) i’ve just been a little bit too busy to really sit down and write! i’ve decided to take it slow and start a new drabble series called postcards; more on that later! 

if it were up to al-haitham, he would rather not be in natlan right now. in fact, every time he’s complained about the sweltering heat in sumeru is nothing compared to boiling temperatures of natlan.

as he arrives in his hotel room, he shrugs his shoulders and rolls his head in an effort to shake off his weariness. he doesn’t understand why he, the scribe of the akademiya, needed to congratulate the incoming freshmen class. in his esteemed opinion, the academy’s counselors should be doing this, not him. in fact, he thinks that this is beyond his job description. he should be sitting in his office right now, where it’s much cooler, and less stressed, and much closer to you. 

you, he thinks wistfully. al-haitham lets out a soft sigh as he sets his bag down at the desk. around this time of day, you would be delivering him his lunch so that you could spend his break together. the moments that are spent together seem much more cherishable when he cannot have them. 

in a few more days, he’ll be back at home, but that doesn’t quell his loneliness at all. he fishes around his satchel for a moment, tongue sticking out in concentration. eventually, he pulls out a postcard, originally meant as a souvenir for you, and begins to write:

my love,

the pyro archon’s heat can be felt throughout the city. it’s boiling hot here in natlan. more than once, i have had to take special care to make sure none of my books’ pages crinkle from the heat. 

the akademiya’s newest students are…interesting, to say the least. to some extent, they can be obnoxious, as all scholars can be at times. (kaveh is clear evidence of this.) however, they have a somewhat genuine interest in making the world a better place, something i haven’t seen in a while. i credit that to the recent work of that traveler from a few months ago. 

still, this welcoming tour does not make any sense to me. i don’t believe that i should be doing anything that separates me from my love.

enough of the complaining from me. how are you? are the plants at home getting adequate sunlight, like that book i gave you mentioned? is kaveh being a menace to you? i dream of being beside you so i would not have to ask these questions. please make sure to not overwork yourself while i am away; you are not subtle when you try to play off accidentally sleeping in your office. 

those forlorn, lovesick poets abroad are right; absence makes the heart grow fonder. when i see you again, i hope you will greet me with an embrace and a kiss on the cheek. only a few more days, and we shall be reunited again. please be patient until then. yours,

al-haitham

p.s.: please make sure kaveh does not “accidentally” get into our wine cabinet when he comes over for weekly lunch tomorrow afternoon.

[spnfanficpond]

April 2023 Angel Fish Awards

(Angel Fish design by @slytherkins!!)

WELCOME TO THIS MONTH’S ANGEL FISH AWARDS!

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words.

The monthly Angel Fish Awards are peer-nominated, meaning ANYONE (you don’t have to be a member) CAN NOMINATE ANY POND MEMBER’S FIC. Everyone in this community deserves to be showered with love and feedback, and we hope that this fun, thoughtful award will do just that. (Click here to learn more about how to nominate a fic for an award!)

Be sure to read through this whole post as people who were nominated more than once only had one tag activated for Tumblr tagging purposes!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE ARE THIS MONTH’S ANGEL FISH AWARDS!

Nominated by @katbratsupernaturalwhore

Natural Woman by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

Floofy, sexy, fun, and hot!

~*~*~

Nominated by @glygriffe

What Goes Around Don't Come Around (or Maybe It Does) by @rauko-creates

I always appreciate Rauko's way with words and it was probably the best way to introduce myself to Drowley fanfic. "Crowley deserved to be loved" is the summary and I agree.

Plain sigh by @luci-in-trenchcoats

This fic has a lot of fun twists and turns and fluff, even dealing with a serious matter like kidnapping. I had a lot of fun reading this!

Apple of My Eye (series) by@bamby0304

This series has been nominated before (and not that long ago) but I just discovered it and I love the way the Reader and her daughter are interwoven in the arcs of two very different seasons of the show.

Pure by @deanwinchesterswitch

This short piece feels real and raw, primeval, which fits the Purgatory setting beautifully.

Being Human by @thoughtslikeaminefield

Dean needing a break between cases and Castiel allowing him to take that break, to just... be human for once is heartwarming.

Part-time soulmate by @princessmisery666

Dean will never allow his relationship with the [unnamed female character] to be a 'normal' picket-fence one, even if he wants it so much. So... a lot of angst, just the way I like it!

~*~*~

Nominated by @thoughtslikeaminefield

The Hero, The Myth, The Legend by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

I have so many feelings about this fic. Some of my favorite Dean traits are lovingly explored here: empathy, compassion, protective nature, enthusiastic embrace of healthy casual sex between consenting adults, open discussion of trauma. The Reader is a bold and well-developed character herself, and the descriptions of each of their behaviors and feelings are so vivid and engaging. This is a fic I will read and re-read in the coming years.

Buttons by @wingedcatninja

The build-up and anticipation is delightful and so sexy in this short little ficlet!

~*~*~

Nominated by @mariekoukie6661

Forbidden Fruit (series) by @crashdevlin

It's a really interesting dynamic, it's a great first chapter and I love the relationship between them!

~*~*~

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis

Pure by @deanwinchesterswitch

This made me feel TOO MANY THINGS TOO FAST and it hurt so now y'all gotta read it, too and feel my pain!!

~*~*~

Nominated by @princessmisery666

He Is The Storm by @deanwinchesterswitch

So much emotion in so few words. Brilliant and so proud of Kym for writing a drabble!

Tattered (series) by @stusbunker

I don't usually read AU's but this one has drew me in and now I'm here for it!! The emotions are palpable and I can't see where it all leads.

Book of Revelations (And A Side of Coffee) by @cockslutpadalecki

Dean playing matchmaker and the fluffiness is too much. I love it so much!

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE AWESOME WORK AND GREAT FEEDBACK!

These are not actual awards, as in, there is no competition! This system is set up so everyone has a chance to share the love and promote a fic/author in the Pond that has grabbed your attention. The more people that participate, the better this will be :D

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

[yuzukahibiscus]

のせ様’s (No-se-sama) Documented Events (February 2023)

(Note: This was taken from “Eto-Bun” (えと文) section in February Kageki 2023. Eto-Bun is a section written by a particular sienne in each troupe to share some little stories about them or about their troupe every three months. In this cycle of January-March, Ichinose Kouki is the one writing for Flower Troupe. And I thought, why not drabble and translate a little to see what Hanako* has for us!) *Hanako is her nickname as mentioned in OTOME, a biography of all siennes in Takarazuka.

A little introduction to Ichinose Kouki for those who are unfamiliar with her.

Ichinose Kouki・一之瀬航季

Entered the Revue in 2014 as the 100th class. Her favourite roles include Oswald Vickers for "A Fairy Tale” newcomers’ performance. She was originally going to have a newcomers’ performance lead for “Haikara-san: Here Comes Miss Modern” in 2020 but it was cancelled due to the pandemic. Nevertheless, she went on Yuzuka Rei’s “Lock-On” Episode as a guest to talk about what she learnt from Rei, being Rei’s first “shinko kid” since she became Top Star. Later on in 2022, she starred in the Bow Workshop “Junjou” (or Complete Devotion) alongside with Mihane Ai as her partner. She also previously joined Minami Maito in her CAST side-A and was one of the members of Flor5. She will be performing with Minami Maito in her “One and Only” dinner show, also the final performance for Minami Maito as a Flower Troupe member before transferring to Senka.

Before you read February Issue, feel free to check the first of three series in January issue here.

Everyone, how are you all doing!?

This month is February. Very quickly, we’re at Valentine’s. Speaking of which I am Ichinose Kouki wearing an apron style fashion, pretending to be a chocolatier for taking the photo♪ In this season, streets are surrounded by heart-shaped objects and sweet smells, and it’s really a heart-fluttering feeling ✨

In this month, I’ll start by talking about Tsubasa Anju-kun who’s responsible for the drawing!

“のせ様’s Documented Events" Please enjoy reading for this month✨

🌻 Strange fish 🐟

“Can you help me with the illustration since I’m going to be working on ‘Eto-Bun’”? The first person I thought of handing this task is to Anju (Tsubasa) who’s a class lower than me (101th class). In Takarazuka Music School times, I received a letter from Anju who was still a primary course student (Yokasei)...The envelope had an illustration of a “very realistic but strange fish” wearing a mushroom T-shirt (She drew a fish with its mouth wide open and had sharp teeth, its lips were plump and its gaze was unusually strange...)

...THE STRANGE (LOL).

At that time, I asked Anju why she drew a fish...and she answered with a flashing smile, “There’s no particular reason~🥺✨” And that ended our little story and from then onwards, I love Anju’s art. This time, the title illustration is about waking up in the morning and immediately drinking red tea. It’s fancy! (LOL) She’s just a loveable underclassman. Anju, thank you for your best drawings. (*Okay somehow that illustration was not in the scanned copy? Haha sorry for those who are interested, here’s another illustration instead.)

🌻 How are you so cute!

And now, now. The next story is about what I didn’t document about in the last month’s issue, and that’s an episode about our Flower Troupe Top Star Yuzuka Rei-san✨ One day during rest time, I told her...

“Yuzuka-san! I’m responsible for writing ‘Eto-Bun’ this time, I’m definitely going to write something about Yuzuka-san!”

“Let me see what kind of story I can tell you 😊” she replied kindly and left but then at that time...! Madoka-chan (Hoshikaze) was close to her and thought of something, “Yuzuka-san!! Hey...the story of your sleep talking...” and whispered to her. Huh, sleep talking!? What is that, I feel like it’s something good to record about! So immediately I went to hear from Yuzuka-san and she was a little embarrassed and said, “Eh~Wanna hear?” and took her iPhone out. Yuzuka-san opened from her iPhone an app and in a tempo of Winnie the Pooh I heard,

Ka..Kawaii~...(Cute)

Kawaii~...

(A short pause)

How are you so cute~ huh~

Isn’t that Yuzuka-san’s voice when she was briefly sleeping! OMG!!

Right. The voice that I heard was Yuzuka-san’s sleep talking! When I asked Yuzuka-san about this more in detail, she said she used a sleeping app that could ensure better sleeping quality✨ Sometimes, there would be some interesting sleep talking recorded 😁

I wonder what she was dreaming about. I’m curious about the other sleep talking moments 🥺✨ Anyway, anyway, this is Ichinose whose lifespan increased because I heard Yuzuka-san’s precious sleep talking. I’m content.

Thank you for doing this...for “Eto-Bun”.

🌻 A perfume bottle full of love✨

And now, now, to our next topic... It’s about the show this time which is “ENCHANTEMENT–A Luxurious Perfume–”✨

There are numerous songs that are so Takarazuka-styled, so gorgeous that just by hearing it you would feel excited. From the start of the rehearsals I already felt that I love this show and this is Ichinose who continues to listen to the show songs even at home😁. Especially, I’ve been infinitely looping the Irish song from the “Sea Salt” scene led by Hito-san (Towaki)!! I want to join in this scene even if I’m going to playing a wood (from the wooden oar) or just a boat (LOL). Okay, maybe not that’s dangerous. There are so many points I like that I hope there wasn’t a word limit! But still I’ll start writing about it!😁

The perfume is the theme of this performance. Everyone, did you all look at the perfume props!? (the front panel at the stage sides) Because if you look closely, those are some cute perfume bottles✨ But it’d probably require a more condensed focus to realise the labels that...What! There’s actually all the names of the staff members and the Flower Troupe members names’ printed😊🌟 Besides, all those designs are only one (and unique to each other)! Isn’t that the greatest thing!? This idea was originally not proposed, but after Noguchi-sensei looked at the stage venue again, he told (the staff), “Later, let’s print all of our names (into perfume bottles).” Love! So much love!!✨ When there were performance suspensions in January, Kido-sensei responsible for stage setup said, “I hope you could take a look at this label and hope you like it!” and with that, they gifted us the design of the labels and we were so touched by it😌💓

It’s a perfume bottle full of love by our senseis. I hope that everyone could at least see a little of those labels.

And now, now, I’ve finished documenting the 3 episodes for this month and we’re at 2 pages. The backstage of Flower Troupe is often so lively and there are plentiful of episodes that I still have yet to document. For example my douki Izumi Maira did a “Mary Vestera-themed skit” and there was a big failure I did in my underclassmen times…there are numerous episodes I have them written in my Stuck Memo (app).

It’s suddenly getting terribly cold and it’s probably more likely to catch a cold in these days, I hope everyone would laugh a lot, and have the greatest fun!!

We will also be in one heart together with this!

Toi toi toi!!

[rising-volteccers]

Can you write a small funny drabble where Friede gives the absurd order to Orla to turn the fishing boat into a flying airship?!!??

Well, I wrote what felt right to me (and pretty self indulgent) so I don't know if it's funny but I do hope it'll still be a nice read!

Series: Pokemon Horizons

Characters: Friede, Orla

--

When Orla made the decision to join the Rising Volt Tacklers, she knows that her days are far from peaceful. Friede always has something that he wants them to investigate, a mystery to solve in some corner of the world. It's not always easy seeing that their ship has seen better days, at times having to rely on the strong winds for their sails but they make it work. 

She thinks there's not much that Friede can do or say to surprise her these days but it seems that their intrepid leader still has stuff hidden up his sleeve.

Orla resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. A quick glance at the wall clock reveals a far too early time to deal with Friede's nonsense. She hasn't even had her first mug of coffee, though it's doubtful whether clarity is something she wants right now. 

"Let me get this straight," Orla begins, leveling an unimpressive gaze at Friede's grinning face. "You're asking me whether I can turn this ship into an airship. As in, you want this to sail through the air instead?"

"Yup!" Friede replies, still sporting that infuriating grin as if he was asking for something simple. The audacity of this guy to come and make this nonsensical request just as she got up for the day. "You think you can do it?"

"Before I even consider answering that, why do you want an airship? Is the boat not good enough for you?" Orla has her arms crossed now, brows furrowed. "Something that's lacking after all this time?"

Surprisingly, Friede doesn't immediately answer. His grin softens around the edges, head tilted in a way that hints of a consideration to the words he's about to say. Orla finds herself loosening her stance in return.

"Nothing like that. It's super awesome that we're able to travel by ship thanks to Ludlow. Way better than going on foot! I was just thinking that…" Here, his eyes shift to the window where there's a view of clear blue skies with white clouds dotting it. Orla too follows his gaze. "...since we're going to solve all the mysteries of the world, I want us to be able to travel wherever we want."

Friede casually crosses his arms, fingers drumming an idle beat on his forearm. "You know how I fly on Charizard when I'm scouting ahead, yeah? It's thrilling to be that high up, to see the sights you just can't get on the ship. It's awesome if you give it a go with your Metagross."

"Not all of us are adrenaline junkies like you," she replies, tone considerably softer than before. Arceus above she's actually getting convinced on fulfilling this ridiculous request of his. It's hard not to when Friede shows this side of him–where he's open with his feelings and showcases his care without explicitly saying it. 

I want to travel even more together, to share the sights and experiences with my friends, Orla reads between the lines. 

"Yeah but surely you can see the charm and fantasy of traveling the world through the sky?" His grin returns. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"It's buried underneath all the logistical nightmare in my immediate future because of you."

"So… you'll do it?" There's a hopeful note to his voice.

Orla heaves out a deep sigh but her smile, while resigned, is genuine. "I have a feeling I'll regret it after my first mug of coffee but I also won't deny interest in the challenge of repurposing a boat and giving it wings. Gotta put that engineering degree to good use."

"You're the best Orla, you know that?" Friede positively beams that she feels like sunglasses were in order to shield her eyes. "If you've got time later, I wanna discuss the general layout and plans I have for it."

"What, you already have a design in mind?"

"Well yeah, I wasn't going to come without a plan. This is going to really be our base of operations, our home to come back to instead of staying at whatever port or city we docked at. Of course I want to make sure it's something that'll be worth building."

Home. Orla privately admits that she feels a little warm and fuzzy hearing how Friede sees them. Then again, it's probably the lack of caffeine that she's supposed to have like twenty minutes ago.

"Come on, you can throw out your thoughts while I make coffee." Orla gestures for Friede to follow her. He does so with his arms crossed behind his head, lips affixed in a huge smile.

"Think you can fix me a mug too?"

"Don't push your luck. I know we're going to need more seeing that I'm probably going to lose sleep over this…"

Even as she said that, Orla knows that deep down, she's rather excited to tackle this big, long term project where the Rising Volt Tacklers will have a home that'll soar the skies.

[nirikeehan]

wip wheneverrr

I wasn't sure I'd have anything to share this week, because I've been hiding away in the woods on vacation, but @theluckywizard tagged me. I've been reading Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel, which is lyrical af, which made me want to write more Kingdom Come. So here is a little start of the next chapter.

---

He kisses her on the temple and eases her out the door. He would take the day off, but he’s expected at company headquarters; there’s always one minor crisis or another the subordinates aren’t equipped to handle. Thom urges her to explore Markham, get a feel for the place proper. In a few days he’ll have the time to show her around himself. 

Thalia stands on the front stoop, belly full of the breakfast he made her, feeling untethered. The rain has evaporated, replaced by brilliant azure sky and the barest hint of autumn chill. The cobblestones and stucco walls practically glow in the sun. Exposed, her face warms like a blush. She starts down the street, boots clicking on the paving stones.

She admits roaming the city for the day is a good idea. She needs to put space between them, lest his magnetism cloud her thinking. She still feels off-kilter from the rapid turn of events, wonders what exactly she agreed to in the bath this morning. Can she really stay here, as his — what’s the term? Mistress? Mortification seizes her. Paramour? Barely better. Lover? 

She cringes, narrowly sidestepping a noble in grey velvet who heads toward a golden-domed, marble columned building — the magistrate court. She heard the bells ringing at breakfast, signifying the start of autumn session. Thom told her, full of pride, how close his townhouse is to the beating heart of Markham’s legislature. 

The nobleman gives her a dirty look, and Thalia hides behind her hair, a thing one can do when it’s short and loose. He doesn’t recognize her, though there are plenty who might. She’s not the Inquisitor anymore, but her movements are still commented upon in the broadsheets; Leliana and Josephine both send her snippets from Orlais and Antiva when the gossip is especially salacious and outrageously wrong. They stopped when Cullen died, for which she is grateful. She has no desire to know what the rabble thought of that. Or what they’ll think, when they find out she’s sought out, for comfort, the war criminal she helped slip the noose. 

No one has to know, she reminds herself. Thom’s voice, in her head, assuring her.

Markham is a city of stone and plaster, of buildings built on top of streets and streets on top of buildings. Unlike Ostwick, which stands upon the sea and teems with gardens and canals, the Markham flora is far more deliberate. She spots a tree planted here on a walkway, another there, encircled by fences and dropping their scarlet leaves in lazy intervals. The wynds twist, turn, grow narrow and widen again on a whim. Thalia recalls the street that took her to the inn; the boulevard runs into the university, which was a place Thom suggested she visit while sopping up egg yolk with a piece of bread. His other hand strayed to hers, his thumb massaging a pale knuckle. It’s got a spectacular library, he said, almost sly. He knows books hook her like a fish.

She recalls the book he was reading in bed last night, before they made love. In her haste she forgot to see what it was, and when she woke in his bed with reams of sunlight across her bare back, it had vanished. She has no idea what he might like to read. It troubles her. How can he seem so mysterious to her still, after all these years?

She crosses the street, keeps walking past the university entrance. Some things she can resist.

---

Tagging, if interested:

@oxygenforthewicked | @highwayphantoms | @monocytogenes | @inquisimer | @bluewren | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @little--abyss | @zenstrike | @melisusthewee

[watatsumiis]

you and your f/o(s) finally have time to relax and decides to take some extra days off this festive season! where are you going and what will you be doing? 🌴

no pressure in answering, and please take your time! <3

Ooooooh (twirling my hair (gay coded)) this is such a fun question, ill answer it under the cut since ive got a feeling im gonna ramble!! thanks so much for asking this, it was so fun to answer :D

my self ship blog is @rowavolo in case anyone is interested in more of these sorts of drabbles, they're so fun and silly <3

Well, since the festive season is always warm for me and I don't cope well with the heat, a lot of the activities would probably be shaped by that skdjjkdfs

Neuvillette and I go on a trip! Not super far out, but we stay in a place close to the beach (with air conditioning, of course,) and spend the days napping away (or doing some low effort crafts or cooking together!) and then go on walks in the morning and evening, even going to go sit on the beach late at night and hold hands under the light of the stars while we listen to the waves!! I imagine the time would be mostly unstructured and calm, with a few scheduled Events for us to work around, but a lot of it really depends on how we're both feeling that day, and we may choose to be randomly spontaneous and do something a bit wacky every now and then (including cooking soup over a bonfire on the beach. simply because we can.)

Ayato doesn't often get time off, so I feel like he'd pack it full with all the things he's been wanting to do since he last had a break like this. He'd have an annotated itinerary and will do his very best to get Ayaka and Thoma to be able to join us! He likes to be able to wander the markets at his leisure, but also going on long walks or checking out monuments and events and stuff like that! If it's possible, he's almost definitely swinging to get out of Inazuma. I think one of the things he'd love to have a chance to see is the Lantern Rite, so Liyue is the number one destination! Fancy dining, interesting stalls, storytellers, you name it, it's on Ayato's itinerary in itty bitty writing that only Thoma can even begin to decipher. Of course, there's definitely a few cheesy little dates for just us strewn throughout there too.

Zhongli has probably been planning for something like this for a while - Hu Tao is pretty lenient with giving him time off, especially around this time of year. Of course, he'd definitely have the Lantern Rite on his list as well, but it's definitely not at the tippy top of his list. Ideally, he'd organise what is essentially a several day long hike/camping trip to show me places of interest around Liyue, including interesting ruins and statues and even places with fauna or flora he thinks i'll like looking at. In the end, it's just us infodumping back and forth at each other for hours on end about whatever subjects come to mind as we walk, occasionally stopping for picnic breaks or to look at some cool animal that's passing by :3

Diavolo organises a trip up to the human realm. He certainly doesn't want to miss out on the warm summer weather and all the human world traditions i've mentioned to him! Anything summer-y that you can think of, we're probably doing it. Sailing, surfing, fishing, playing on the beach, water parks, drive in theaters, everything! He probably plans way too much to do in the short amount of time he has off, and thus has to extend the holiday (much to Barbatos' chagrin). He totally wears a big floppy hat, short shorts (that his thighs are basically bursting out of jksdfhkfd), sunglasses and those painfully bright button up shirts (stolen from me) as well as the most horrific bright red crocs (covered in charms, obviously).

[cloudbattrolls]

Fish in a Birdcage

Process | Present Night | Starsight

This drabble is set some time after Take it From the Top.

Blood rushed through Process, blood they had to breathe to refuel, that couldn’t be restricted nor redirected, blood that became saliva and so many other troublesome fluids, yellow blood that marked them as disposable to the empire.

Torvah’s blood.

Perhaps they should have taken comfort in that; that at least they had the exact same hue as their old friend, thanks to that friend’s descendant. 

They didn’t seem capable. Comfort - once something they had not needed at all, now something they instinctively craved - felt as out of reach as the stars.

They laid face down on their couch, which was neither too firm nor too soft. Their clothing was light and breathable against their skin; the only kind of fabric they could bear. They wore headphones to shut out the world and their awareness of their own heavy body with its blood, skin, and bone. 

But the headphones brought another issue.

“Set me free, Pro.” Came the usual singsong voice, the one they’d heard ever since being ousted from their Spine. 

“You can’t do the job anymore! And let’s face it - Jastes needs the help.” 

“Shut up.” They murmured, pointless as it was.

They were used to the incessant chatter by now. Yet sometimes it still grated, feelings they now couldn’t rewrite or nullify at will. 

They suppressed them as best they could, by meditation and by asking Chimer for suppressants. Yet she only gave them so many, gently but firmly insisting they had to learn to adjust to life as a troll.

“You are no fun.” Sighed the voice breathily. “I have one person to talk to in the whole world and it’s you. This is not what Torvah wanted! Like, at all. I am posi.”

Torvah hadn’t always been right. Process had loved their friend, when they’d been able to…but Torvah had been as flawed as any other troll.

“Nothing? No retort? You knoooow I’m right. And you still let me sit here. Selfish! You’re toxic to me. I’m writing a chittr callout.”

“You aren’t funny.” Said Process, deadpan.

“You have like, zippo sense of humor, chummy chum pal friend buddy pal amigo buddy friend -“

Process put it on mute with a tap to one of the headphone buttons, for all the good it would do. 

Five seconds later, the voice came back, petulant.

“When I get out of here, we are going to have a serious conversation. For real. Cross my heart!”

“I can’t set you free even if I wanted to, given what I am now.” Process said, blunt as always. “You must have realized that.”

A long pause stretched through the seconds like a spiderweb between two corners, fragile and tenuous. 

“Huh!” Said the voice at last, cheerfully. “That’s neat. You’re telling the truth…or you think you are. I bet Jamie would have something to say about that. No, Pro, I didn’t know that. One of us got told everything.”

“Let me see if I can shed a few tears for you.” Said Process, drier than desert sand.

“Salty! Is it because you’re trapped in a fleshy husk and will definitely die some day?” It asked, even more cheerful.

“I don’t fear death.” Said Process calmly. “This existence is already a kind of death.”

“Ow, the edge! Stew away for all I care. I’m getting out.”

The last three words cut into Process’s ears, warped and rough, unlike the chipper or pouty tones they’d come to expect. Now they were rough, full of static, hungry even.

“It will be interesting to watch you try.” Murmured Process.

“Watch away! You wouldn’t want to miss the show. I have several star performers in mind.” The voice giggled, returned to its usual light tones.

“You sound stupid.” Deadpanned Process.

“Oh, you can give a whole monologue, but when I make one comment I’m cringe? You’re cringe.”

“Get off chittr.” Advised the yellowblood.

“You’re not my real dad.” Retorted the voice, singsong.

“Leeson is lucky he’s dead.” They responded.

“Harsh! If he had a ghost I’d tattle. If I could talk to literally anyone else. Leesoooon, Pro is bullying meeeee.”

Process sighed. The voice giggled again.

“Aw, am I getting on your nerves, Pro? Are all those chemicals shooting around your noggin a real pain? Sad! For you.”

Process shook their head, even though it was a pointless gesture. They felt compelled to do such things more and more, being in this body now. They shifted slightly, remembering their limbs would go numb if they didn’t move them enough.

“I’ll listen to you until I die if it means keeping you sealed.” They said. “Torvah was wrong. You aren’t ready.”

“Were you?” It purred. “You got beaten by children. Their children! What a night, the mighty Process brought down because Jastes tricked you. Did part of you want to lose? Did you feel a little bad, despite supposedly getting rid of all that?”

Process was silent.

“That’s the difference between you and me, Pro…I don’t feel bad.”

“I know.” Said the lowblood boredly.

There was a brief pause.

“Can you work with me here, commander killjoy?”

“No.”

“Lame.”

Process got up and got themself a glass of water. They still couldn’t stand anything more flavorful than the trace minerals in the plain liquid; and if it was too cold, they had to wait for it to become lukewarm.

All their nutrition came through purposefully bland chewable vitamins and what nutrient-heavy gruel they could choke down. Chimer had been concerned they would lose weight from their already slim build. They had dropped a few pounds before she had changed their diet.

They walked over to their viewing screen, glass in hand as they took small sips. They’d been allowed to have it recently, the tech giving them a feed to the street several floors below.

They couldn’t survive out there. The city they had watched over for so long would overwhelm them now. It was…yes, it was frustrating. That was the feeling.

They were so helpless. Even more than a regular troll.

If the one thing they could do was keep the Guardian in check, then they would. 

That might be the last thing they’d ever do for their city, for of course the artifice was right.

One night they were going to die. It was true they didn’t fear it. Not for their own sake. 

“Do not go gentle into that good night.” Murmured the former AI, watching passerby walk and cars speed through the street, even though it was almost dawn. 

Civitrecce was always busy somewhere. Civitrecce always came back, no matter the natural or troll-made disaster. It had been built to last, ever since it was a much smaller, more peaceful place. Flawed and wretched as the city has become, Process still did not want its lowbloods and helms to endure further harm.

They would have to step outside their room to ensure that. To withstand the world without any true protection. 

Some things were worth the weight of their overwhelming senses, dire enough to withstand the pain of it all.

The voice in their ears giggled, and finished the line of poetry with a far more gleeful, hungry tone.

“Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

[chaoslynx]

Hey, I absolutely adore your writing, and I was wondering if it was okay to send you a prompt. Absolutely no pressure to fill it! If it interests you, go ahead and write it to your heart’s content :) If not, I appreciate you and your writing regardless <3 Thank you!

Anyway, here’s the prompt:

CW: eating disorders

Components: Ash/Eiji, Post-Canon, Ash Lynx Lives, Parental Max and Jessica, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, typical BF themes like past rape/non-con

Ash gets hospitalized due to complications from his anorexia nervosa. Even though Ash is finally free from Dino’s control and the events of Banana Fish, sometimes healing can be more difficult to cope with than undergoing the trauma itself. When one is just trying to survive everything, it’s easier to avoid processing things. Now that everything is over, all Ash is left with is his unhealthy coping mechanisms. Fortunately, he has a support system now—he doesn’t know how to feel about that, though.

Feel free to include other characters too like Cain, Sing, Alex, Bones, Kong, etc.

You can absolutely send me a prompt! I make no promises about being able to write said prompts, but y'all are always welcome to send them my way :)

You wrote out the tags and everything omg?? Thank you so much. I love working with vague prompts or single lines too, but more info is helpful so I can try to capture the vision you have and the vibe you want.

Here's the fic!! I'll post a proper link in a second. Hopefully this works -- it doesn't focus on parental MaxJess quite as much as I was originally planning, so if it doesn't scratch the itch like you were hoping, let me know and I'll see if I can at least do a drabble or something more to your tastes.

Also I procrastinated this for days while 4thewords was down and then wrote it all in one sitting once the site was back???