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lumdays · 1 month

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"cause you could be the one that i love"

a jade leech x izuku midoriya one-shot 😨

idea from @quartztwst 💥💥💥

trope: uuuh mutual pining+childhood friends to crush to maybe lovers when they maybe have the balls to ask eachother out

warnings: english isn't my first language so watch out for grammar errors 😞, jade being cringe (when is he not), lack of azul ashengrotto but it's only because he's actively avoiding downbad jade, jade being the bubonic plague personified, floyd using slang because he does, MY HERO ACADEMIA, strange mha x twst crossover in which quirks are unique magics cause i hate calling a super cool power a QUIRK, BAD WRITING!!!!!!

"and i become hypnotised by freckles and bright eyes, tongue-tied"

jade loved izuku. a shocker to no one but him, apparently.

"whaddya mean how'd i know about you like-liking sea sheepie?" his twin brother floyd drawled, "you ain't slick, that's how."

"stop asking me strange questions on your shift, jade." azul gave him a flat look before readjusting his glasses, "but if you must, i'd say i realised your... feelings for midoriya when you tried to name another one of your mushroom dishes after him for the third time in a row even after i denied your submission the first and second time."

it was an unexpected realisation but not one he found that surprising—now that he thought about it, he had always loved izuku. not the way he loved him now obviously but even when they were younger, he had always appreciated him some way somewhat—whether it was for his notebooks filled with almost scarily accurate and detailed information about famous mages' unique magics, his funny little quirks, the astounding determination and strength laying dormant within him, the cleverness he displayed in difficult situations, his optimism, his laugh, his smile, his freckles, his green eyes akin to grass, to leaves, to seaweed, to sea glass and to well, jade.

he sighed as he leaned over the counter of mostro lounge in a particularly dramatic way, woe is the poor eel who fell head over heels for a human, right? though he imagined it wouldn't be so bad if said-human loved him back. they could hang out like they used to at takoba bay, except they'd call it a date this time.

he started spacing out at the thought of izuku and him, holding hands, under the shade of an umbrella on the beach, laughing, swimming, him diving under the water and dragging the smaller boy with him for a few seconds, maybe kissing—

"ow!" jade whipped around to glare at his brother, who was giving him a dirty look—as if he had been the one to kick him in the shin.

jade shot him a pointed smile, "what could that possibly have been for, brother dearest?" floyd rolled his eyes as he turned away, "dunno, maybe for being a cornball in public??" he cackled, loud and mocking, as jade threw an empty bottle at him, his aim a bit off—enough to miss his twin's back as he slipped back in the kitchen. he could already hear azul berating him for this—for daydreaming on shift or for throwing a possibly harmful item, missing floyd and it hitting the wall instead, he didn't know yet.

throwing possibly harmful items at others and missing... that reminded him of his and izuku's first meeting, though he hadn't meant to throw anything at anyone with his projectiles... the first time, at least. he smiled giddily.

truly, how lucky and fortunate jade leech was to be able to love izuku midoriya.

——————————

"feelin' like a face in the crowd, i'm reaching for you, terrified"

izuku loved jade. he loved, jade. his childhood friend, the eelmer, the sneaky bastard with a silver tongue (endearment), the obscenely tall, nice (to him at least), caring (derogatory), sweet (questionable claim) guy named jade. he sighed into his palms before looking up and staring at a picture of them he stuck on the wall a few years ago, jade had been gushing about a new species of mushroom he had found on one of his hikes when his mom snapped it. he, on the other hand, had been... looking at the other boy. no, that wasn't the right word to describe the look in his eyes then—he had been admiring him. how could he not? the merfolk was so passionate when he talked about something he truly loved... he wondered if he would talk about him that way if they ever—oh.

this was bad, this was really really bad. he couldn't let this happen, but surely he could fix this some way somewhat, right? he racked his brain for a way to cover this mess up, he wasn't a good actor, he couldn't even entertain the idea of pretending he doesn't love him because that would only result in jade teasing him to death—which would be a really pathetic death, even for him. he couldn't avoid him either—that was simply impossible, one because he doesn't actually want to stay away from him and two because he knows for a fact that if he tried doing that, jade could and absolutely would find him and force him to talk to him again.

he flopped down on his bed to roll around on his mattress in self-pity, if it had been a passing crush like what he had felt for uraraka in his first year then maybe he could've ignored the pull—but the tide was clearly stronger than him this time, and the depths of his feelings was scary. the honesty this love would cost him terrified him. he shook his head, how hypocritical of him to fall for someone who could force the truth out of him anytime any day.

after a few more weeks (a month or two) of agony, he admitted defeat. there was no way to escape this, izuku would have to face his feelings, he would have to face jade.

and so he would, he would reach for his hand and it would be up to jade whether he'd take it or brush it off.

...he would rather if he took it though.

also scraps LOL:

though izuku would like to say so, jade hadn't always been his friend. with him running after katsuki and jade doing god-knows-what with his brother under the sea, they really had had no reason to meet when they were children.

until they did, and well, saying it hadn’t been the friendliest first meeting was an understatement.

they were both 10 when they first met, it was winter—just a little while before christmas. izuku had been looking for seashells or pretty rocks to gift his mom while narrowly avoiding the growing amount of trash on the surface of takoba bay's once beautiful shore.

jade, on the other hand, had been grudgingly dragging plastic bags to the surface—he was on cleaning duty that day. 'cleaning duty' mainly consisted of finding human junk in the sea and putting it back to where it came from—land. the little eel thought that cleaning up after others—especially complete strangers—was mind-numblingly boring, but kept quiet while his twin brother floyd complained, rather loudly, for everyone and anyone within reach to hear.

instead, he vengefully threw empty cans and other items like soggy shoes towards the beach. honestly, how unfair was it that he had to pick up some random landdwellers' trash? he didn't tell them to throw their junk in his home, did he? he kept on throwing stuff until one of his projectiles didn't meet the sand but a little boy's face.

in his defence, it had been an honest mistake—he really hadn't meant to throw a dirty swimsuit at someone's head.

——————————

jade wouldn't ever want to tell anyone he had always been izuku's friend, he thought that would undermine everything they went through together—which would be a shame, truly. their bond was really precious to him as it is something he earned—it was not natural like his and floyd's nor was it born out of mutual benefit like his and azul's. it was something that grew with them and soon enough tied them together like an invisible string. he thought that their relationship was fine just like that, more than fine actually.

but it seemed as though he was the only one who felt that way, that strongly.

the eel listened as izuku talked about a classmate, he then watched as izuku walked with a boy and a girl on the beach. he kept on watching and listening as the smaller boy grew away and apart from him—still, they were friends, so izuku kept visiting him. but it felt different, now that jade knew the boy treated him like every other friend he had, he felt... a bit of everything all at once. he was happy his friend had a lot of friends now, really. he was also maybe a bit jealous of how many friends he had too. or maybe it was that he was jealous of the friends because of how much time they got to spend with him? he wasn't sure. he also felt fear, fear that maybe izuku would leave him again, but to bask in the presence of others this time.

he hated that idea.

#definitely took longer than an hour or two sorryyyyyy #jade leech x izuku midoriya #jade x izuku #twst #mha #jade's is shorter than izuku because idk ig it's harder to write an eel-dude #but the quality of jade's is better #what have i done #if this was on ao3 i would've posted this with the tags The Author Regrets Everything+The Author Regrets Nothing #look up sea sheeps they look exactly like deku i swear #jeiku #??? APPARENTLY??????#twst x mha

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eskawrites · 9 months

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well, kids. i've done it. i've written tales of erathia fanfic. original fic? who even knows at this point

@sweepy-stringbean had the absolutely brilliant idea of not only making Vecna the villain of the fictional fourth movie in this franchise, but also having a flayed Moss/Max "betray" the group by quite literally stabbing Tenar in the back

and, well, it's all just kinda grown from there

(this is also the backstory to that incredible, soft tenlark art that i've been staring at for like three weeks straight. Rae, I adore your work and your mind and everything you've come up with in regards to these beautiful gay fantasy losers)

anyway

Tenar’s chambers always seem bigger at night. The bed is too wide, making her feel too small. The windows stand taller, darker, far more imposing than they feel when they’re letting the sun in. The air seems heavier, full of the grief she can never shake, the responsibility she’ll always carry, the doubt that fills every day.

And tonight—and most nights, recently—an inescapable sense of longing.

Tenar is no fool. She might avoid it, might do all she can to deny it in the light of day, but she knows precisely who she longs for, and why. How can she not, when Lark is the one who makes the grief and the responsibility and the doubt a little lighter? Lark can step into the room and fill it effortlessly, without even saying a word. She can bring the light through the windows, can sit beside Tenar and hold her hand and make her feel far from small.

And all Tenar can do is lay awake at night, thinking of her.

Maybe she is a fool. Or a coward, because despite all that they’ve been through, she still shies away from telling Lark the truth.

But in her defense, she really does think Lark should know by now. Everyone in the kingdom has spent the last few years questioning why Tenar chooses Lark again and again—to travel with her everywhere she goes, to sit at her right hand during meetings and ceremonies and decrees, to protect her and accompany her and advise her and challenge her in ways no one has ever managed before. Surely, surely, Lark has figured out by now why she is, consistently, Tenar’s first choice.

Though perhaps that is unfair. If Tenar cannot be brave enough to speak directly, why should Lark have to be bold enough to make assumptions?

Tenar rolls over, tangling the sheets further around her legs. She curls her arm beneath her pillow and tilts her head up to look for the moon through the window. It’s faint, nothing but a barely-there glow behind a screen of clouds.

She is a fool, but she doesn’t have to be. And maybe, just maybe, her room doesn’t have to seem so empty. Tenar pushes herself upright and kicks away the sheets.

Two guards stand outside her door—a precaution of her own doing, but one that she hates. They stiffen to attention when she steps out, then relax with a wave of her hand. She beckons one to come with her and starts down the halls.

Lark’s room isn’t far from her own, but the walk is cold in the castle’s drafty corridors. The guard following her holds his lantern aloft, causing shadows to flicker around the edges of the light. They pass no one.

There is no light seeping through the cracks of Lark’s door when they arrive. Tenar steels herself. It won’t be the first time she’s woken Lark from sleep, and she’s certain it won’t be the last. She can only hope it will be worth it.

But when she raps on the door, no one answers. Tenar waits and listens for any sound of movement on the other side. After a moment, she turns over her shoulder and looks at her guard.

“Have you seen her about tonight?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

Tenar frowns and turns back to the door. She raises her hand to knock again, but the sound of footsteps behind them stops her. The light moves as her guard spins to face the newcomer. Tenar turns, too, and relaxes when she sees who it is.

“Moss,” she says. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Moss’s grin is cheeky, if not a little stiff.

Tenar smiles back. “Looking for Lark, actually. Have you seen her?”

“Not tonight. But I’d be happy to walk with you until we find her. Save you from having to hang out with a stuffy soldier.” Moss smirks as the guard frowns and shuffles self-consciously.

“Be nice,” Tenar scolds her, no bite to her voice whatsoever. She turns to her guard. “You can return to your post. Thank you.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He leaves without another word. The hallway darkens as he turns the corner, taking the lanternlight with him, but Tenar and Moss are both comfortable enough with the dark by now.

“Shall we?” Moss asks, tilting her head down the hall. Tenar nods, and together, they walk away from Lark’s room.

Lark leans against the wall across from Moss’s room, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at the closed door. There is no light coming from beneath it. No answer to her soft knock. No sound or movement at all from within.

It’s not unusual for Moss to wander the halls, even this late at night. Just like it’s not unusual for Moss to snap at her friends when she’s frustrated, or avoid people when she’s overwhelmed, or hide what she’s really thinking when she believes her own thoughts to be too weak or vulnerable to share.

Logically, none of it is unusual. But Lark has never really been one for logic. That’s Tenar’s job, and even Tenar has been urging her to just talk to Moss lately, if she’s so worried.

And she is worried. So is Tenar. So are Arren and Ged.

“Fuck this,” Lark mutters to herself.

She adjusts the bow on her back and crosses the hall. The door is locked, but only for a moment. She and Moss told Tenar years ago most of the castle’s chambers were child’s play to break into. They’re working on it, but considering the fact that most of the threats they’ve faced wouldn’t be deterred by a locked door, it’s pretty low on the priority list.

Lark swings the door open just enough for her to slip inside and close it again behind her. Moss is nowhere to be seen, but there are still embers glowing faintly in her fireplace. Lark sighs and walks further into the room.

The desk is a mess of discarded books and crumpled papers. A jar of ink has spilled onto its side, seeping into a stack of blank parchment. The wardrobe is a mess, the door hanging open, clothes spilling out of it. None of this is unusual.

The bed is made—that part is unusual. The sheets are stiff, tucked in neatly. Lark frowns and walks over. The nightstand is empty, the lantern sitting on top of it dark and cool. She turns and walks over to the fireplace instead.

Heat still hovers around the hearth. The coals must have been recently scattered. Lark kneels before them and reaches a hand out. Very recently, she thinks.

She grabs the poker hanging by the fireplace and sifts absently through the embers. She needs to find Moss. She just—has no idea where to start.

She pulls the poker back, and it catches on something in the corner of the fireplace. Lark tilts her head and leans forward a little. A page—crumpled into a ball, half-burnt, but still solid enough for her to scrape out. She picks it up and smooths it out with shaking hands. Ink blots cover most of what hasn’t burnt away, but there’s enough to recognize Moss’s handwriting. Enough to make out a few phrases.

Sorry, jumps out at her. Then, darkness and I’m scared.

I don’t know what’s happening to me.

Lark scrambles to her feet. She stuffs the page into her pocket and runs from the room. Her hand goes to her bow as she starts down the hallway.

She still has no idea how to find Moss, but she has to be here somewhere. The embers are still warm. She can’t have gone far. Lark can still find her. She can still stop whatever this is. She can still help her, before it’s too late.

Moss and Tenar don’t speak much as they walk. Moss trails a few feet behind her, her steps so quiet Tenar keeps looking over her shoulder just to make sure she’s still there. She looks pale in the dark halls. Her hair is dull, washed out in the shadows.

“I’m not sure where to look for her,” Tenar admits. Lark has followed Tenar’s lead during most of their nighttime wanderings; she doesn’t know where Lark would go if left to her own devices.

“Perhaps she’s out looking at the stars somewhere,” says Moss.

But Tenar shakes her head. “It’s too dark tonight. All she’d see is clouds.” And she wouldn’t go sit and look at clouds—not when it’s so dark, and there isn’t even the glow of the moon to keep her company.

“She could still be looking for fresh air,” suggests Moss.

Tenar doesn’t think that’s the case, but she also doesn’t have any other ideas. Besides, Moss knows Lark just as well as she does, if not more. Maybe she knows something Tenar doesn’t.

Or maybe she’s looking for an excuse to step outside and have a quiet moment of her own. Something has been troubling Moss, lately. It’s been worrying Lark. It’s been worrying Tenar, too. Maybe, if they have a moment to themselves, Tenar can try to talk to her.

“Alright,” she says. She takes the next left, making her way to one of the balconies overlooking the gardens.

They don’t meet anyone else along the way. Everything is quiet as Tenar leads them through the double stained glass doors and out onto the balcony. The air is cold, biting even for the late autumn night. Tenar shivers as the chill seeps immediately through her nightgown, but beside her—covered only in simple clothes and a thin, hooded cloak—Moss seems entirely unaffected.

It’s obvious that Lark isn’t out here, but Moss doesn’t make any moves to leave. She stands in front of the doors and stares out past the balcony’s railings. It’s too dark to see the gardens. Too dark to see much of anything at all.

“Moss?” Tenar asks softly.

Moss shakes her head. That distant look lingers in her eyes. “I don’t know where she is.”

“That’s okay.” Tenar continues to watch her watch the night. “Is there…something else you want to talk about?”

This time, Moss’s eyes flicker toward hers. Only for a moment, though. Then she drops her chin and looks away again.

“What do you mean?”

Tenar shrugs and turns away. She walks toward the railing, giving Moss space to gather her thoughts, or her words. Or her courage.

“A lot has been going on lately,” she says, keeping her voice light. Behind her, Moss stays silent. “Farmers reporting decay in their fields. Sightings of strange creatures in the forests. Disappearances, in the border villages. I think everyone is a little uneasy because of it.”

“Are you afraid, Tenar?” There’s something almost mocking in Moss’s voice. Tenar almost looks back at her over her shoulder, but then she stops and sighs, letting her head hang.

“I would be a fool not to be, wouldn’t I? After everything we’ve been through…I know better than to doubt my own instincts.” She pauses, then, “You do, too.”

Moss stays silent.

“Moss?” she asks again. No response. Tenar lifts her head. “Please talk to me. I know something has been bothering you lately.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Her voice is dark—not angry, but furious. Tenar turns and sees Moss directly behind her, eyes dark, a shadow hanging over her face. A blade in her hand.

Their eyes meet, and Moss flinches, her arm jerking to the side even as it thrusts forward.

The whole world shrinks down to that balcony, to just the two of them—to the sharp, blinding pain in her back, and the overwhelming sorrow in Moss’s eyes.

Tenar’s hand moves of its own accord, finding the dagger at her waist and swinging up. Moss’s eyes widen as she stumbles back. She pulls her own knife with her, and Tenar screams as the blade tears through her again on the way out. She feels blood running down her back, soaking her gown. She shoves Moss away with another cry and throws the dagger—not at her, but past her. It crashes through the closed doors, shattering one of the stained glass windows.

They hear voices almost immediately, calling out in alarm. Moss bares her teeth.

“Moss,” Tenar whispers.

It’s like something breaks between them. Moss falters. Fear fills her gaze. Her arm falls, holding the knife loosely at her side. For the first time, Tenar sees tears streaming down her cheeks.

They hear footsteps, light and quick, then, “Tenar!”

Lark’s voice. Tenar could sob. She’s shaking, her legs trembling beneath her. She reaches out for Moss, but that dark, furious expression fills her face again—a look of hatred so cold that she doesn’t even look like herself. Moss backs away toward the railing just as Lark bursts through the doors.

She sees Tenar first. Terror crosses her face.

And then she looks at Moss.

Her eyes dart down to the bloody knife in Moss’s hand.

“Moss,” she breathes.

Moss shakes her head. She takes another step back. Lark starts after her, but she bolts and hops over the railing before she can reach her.

“Moss!”

Lark sprints forward. The balcony catches against her hips, stopping her even as she leans dangerously far over it, reaching for someone who is no longer there. Lark pulls her bow and starts to aim, but she lets out a frustrated growl and lowers it again before she even has the arrow nocked.

Tenar’s legs give out. She catches herself on the railing. She can hear her own harsh, broken breaths in her ears.

“Tenar!”

Lark grabs her and eases her down to the floor, but Tenar shakes her head.

“Moss—you need to help Moss.”

Lark ignores her. Her hand slips toward Tenar’s back, and burning pain courses through her veins. Tenar bites back a whimper.

“We need to get you a healer.”

“Lark, it wasn’t her. There’s something wrong, something—”

“I know,” Lark says through her teeth. “I know, she—but this looks bad, Tenar, we gotta get you help.”

“She’s in danger—”

“So are you.”

“I’ll be fine, I—”

“Tenar—”

“Lark,” Tenar says in the same voice that addresses her people, that orders her council, that leads knights onto the battlefield. “Go after your sister.”

Lark looks toward the railing where Moss disappeared, then squeezes her eyes shut. A tear slips down her cheek. Tenar wants to reach up and brush it away.

Lark’s grip on Tenar tightens. “No,” she says. “Not until you’re safe.”

She looks down again and meets Tenar’s eyes, and Tenar can’t resist it anymore. It hurts. Everything hurts. She can feel the blood on her gown, clinging to her skin. The night is already growing colder around them. Lark is moving against her now, stripping her overshirt and bunching it to press against Tenar’s back, and that hurts, too—enough to make darkness seep in on the edges of her vision.

Moss is gone, disappeared into the night. Something is wrong with her. She’s not herself. Lark knows, and Ged and Arren will believe her, but will anyone else? The guard who escorted her to Lark’s door—he’ll know Moss was the last one with Tenar. Will he think Moss was acting of her own accord? Will everyone else?

Lark is shouting something, her voice cracking as she cries out for help. If the council blames Moss, will they even listen to Lark? Or will they try to stop her from finding Moss and helping her?

“Lark,” Tenar whispers. Lark turns to her immediately, holding her a little closer. “My dagger—by the door.”

“Ten—”

“Please,” she says, because she knows it will work. And it does. Lark gently lays her down, then scrambles across the balcony to grab her dagger.

She returns within seconds. One arm wraps around Tenar again while the other offers her the hilt of her blade. Tenar takes it, then grabs Lark’s wrist.

“What are you—”

“Listen to me,” Tenar says, and Lark does. She always does. It makes Tenar want to apologize. But she can’t. She turns the blade and passes it back to Lark, pressing the seal that rests in the center of the cross-guard into her palm. “Moss needs you, okay? You—you have to protect her. You have to protect your family.”

Lark nods. “I will. You know I will. But Tenar—”

“And you have to protect this kingdom. Promise me you will.”

“I’ve already sworn that oath to you,” Lark says, her voice rough. “Stop talking like this. You’re going to be fine, and we’re going to find Moss, and we’re going to fix this. We are.”

“Lark, I…”

But whatever she wants to say—the words she was finally brave enough to share—fades away as darkness clouds more of her vision. She hears Lark call her name. She hears others, too, people finally running out onto the balcony to help, crying out when they see the two of them lying there in a growing pool of her blood.

Tenar wraps Lark’s fingers around the hilt of the blade and lets go.

“Tenar!” Lark catches her hand before it can hit the stone. Tenar doesn’t respond. She looks over her shoulder at the guards who stand frozen, now, staring at the scene. “She needs a healer! Now!”

It snaps them back into action.

“Sound the alarm,” one of them barks, sending someone else running back down the hall. “And you, run ahead to the ward, tell them what’s happened. You two, help me carry her.”

They all start moving at once. Lark forces herself to let go of Tenar as they lift her and start carrying her away. In the distance, she hears the ringing of the alarm bell, followed almost immediately by the cries of more guards. Torches and lanterns start blinking to life across the grounds.

“Lark!” It’s Arren’s voice, and Ged’s. Lark turns as they appear down the hall, running toward her.

They falter as they pass the guards carrying Tenar away. Ged stumbles a little, but Arren grabs him and keeps pulling him along toward the balcony.

“What happened?” Arren asks. “Tenar, is she—”

Lark closes her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s Moss?” asks Ged. Lark can feel the weight of Moss’s writing in her pocket. Maybe she’s still on the grounds. Maybe she’s tearing through the woods, running for her life. Maybe she’s already met up with whatever force has taken her from them.

Ged and Arren understand her silence enough to know not to ask anything else. Not yet, at least. Not here. Guards still hover around them, scanning the balcony for some hint as to what happened, or just standing there staring at the pool of Tenar’s blood.

Blood that is soaking into the knees of Lark’s pants, still. She pushes to her feet, feeling sick.

“What do we do now?” Ged asks instead.

Lark opens her eyes again, but before she can respond, one of the guards walks up to her.

“I was about to ask the same thing,” he says.

Lark stiffens. She doesn’t want to sit through their questioning now—not when she doesn’t know if Tenar is okay, or where Moss is, or—

“What would you have us do, Your Highness?”

Lark stares. Arren stares.

It’s Ged who breaks the silence.

“Oh, shit,” he whispers, looking down at Lark’s hand. “Tenar’s blade.”

Lark looks down, too. She is indeed still holding Tenar’s dagger in a white-knuckled grip. She hadn’t even realized it.

“What—”

“She put it in your hands, didn’t she?” the guard asks.

Lark forces herself to look up at him. “Yes, but—”

“Then she placed the fate of the kingdom in your hands, as well.”

“I—that’s not—it’s just a blade.” Lark stares at it in her hands. She will her fingers to uncurl and let it drop, but they don’t. She can’t.

“It’s tradition,” Ged says quietly. She turns to stare at him instead. “Especially during wartime. A quick way of establishing succession when a monarch is—”

“Tenar’s not dead,” Lark snaps.

“And if she wakes again,” the guard starts. Lark glares at him, and he holds his hands up. “When she wakes again, she will resume power. But until then…”

He steps forward, then lowers himself to kneel in front of her. Lark shakes her head. Behind him, the rest of the guards lingering on the balcony follow suit, bowing their heads. Ged kneels, too, elbowing Arren in the thigh on the way down so he takes a knee, too.

“Queen Regent,” the guard says to her. “What would you have us do?”

#i regret nothingggg #tenlark #erathia #writing things #sweepy-stringbean #celebrity fake dating au #(not really but i want it in the tag anyway)#can you believe #just. like. any of this #because i can't #i wrote this instead of writing max and nancy scenes in the cfdau lmao #for a niche audience of like. maybe 7 on a good day #which is 7 more than i ever would've expected <3 <3 <3

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