#sometimes the fic just Happens To You

[talentpiper11]

Okay so: what follows is a little ficlet drabble I wrote to respond to/ expand on @mapleapplepiee’s lovely Pie and Prince AU. It was made and posted with her permission, but is not necessarily canon to that au, just an idea taking place in the same space of thoughts. It’s seriously necessary to read her stuff to understand what I’ve got going here, but it’s great stuff and also not super long, so just go do it!

Also, please be aware that this isn’t beta’d— it isn’t even properly proofread, since it was just a fun little exercise for me rather than a full planned fic.

That said, I hope you enjoy!

Pie and Prince Continuation

The fact that Bitty has mistaken Jack for a guard actually comes in handy, for now. Once Jack pulls his foot out of his mouth— possibly he insinuated that baked goods have no place in the diet of anyone seeking to be any kind of athlete, and when Jack compliments his muffin-pan-bludgeoning, Bitty forces him to agree that the muffins themselves didn’t exactly slow him down, now did they, hun?

Jack relents, and at the price of being expected to try one baked good for every time he makes Bitty do this, he’s able to convince Bitty to join him at the castle’s sparring grounds under the promise that he won’t come to any harm.

Being the prince, he’s able to arrange for private training time, but lies and says it’s just the time the guards usually eat lunch— which it technically is, it’s just that he’s not a guard and wouldn’t usually be expected to eat with them, or at this time. The fact that he’s apparently skipping lunch, though, makes Bitty even more determined to get a little bit of pastry into him each time; he even starts mixing in things like quiches to count as both a baked good and a sensible guard’s meal.

When they meet for the first time, Jack decides to show Bitty a sort of sparring pattern that the guards (and he, because he was trained by the best of the guards), use to practice all the relevant moves for a sword fight in one flowing pattern. They start out flowing through the motions of it side by side, like a sword-based tai chi, but as Bitty gets faster and better, Jack convinces him to do it in a proper sparring session.

Now Bitty had some sort of training growing up which means he’s skilled at this sort of thing in general (jousting or fencing or something? The kind of thing that you would see on display at a gathering, not used on a battlefield) so he’s picked up the motions without much trouble, but actually facing Jack while his (wooden, practice) sword swings at him? It’s terrible. And Jack’s moving at an almost ridiculously slow clip, not the kind of speed he’d displayed in the bakery, eons behind the actual pace of battle. But Bitty only sees his trauma, and collapses into the dust before Jack can even get close.

They work through it— slow and halting— over weeks, fitting in time between Bitty’s bakery work and Jack's real princely obligations. As they do, they start to open up to each other, just a bit, just enough to see the light peeking through each other’s facade.

They’re eventually able to work up to crossing blades, and then from there they slowly increase the speed until they’re spinning around the fenced-in practice arena, complex footwork keeping time with the rhythmic hammering of their blades. It’s truly something like a dance— Jack swings his sword with enough speed, now, that it’d certainly hurt if it made contact, but Bitty’s (wooden) blade is already there to meet and redirect it.

They dodge and parry and weave and spin through the whole perimeter of the yard, their feet throwing up puffs of dust, breathing hard but focused entirely on the pattern of each other’s movements. When they come to the end of the movements, they’re standing chest to chest, crossed swords trapped and immovable between them as they heave from exertion.

That’s when cheering erupts from the edge of the practice ring. It’s the assembled members of the SMH! (The Samwell Majesty’s Honorguard, obv). They, and their frogs, ahem, sorry, their squires, have been watching from the lunch hall for months now, and finally made themselves known after that impressive and not at all sexually charged display. They applaud their well-toned asses off, then introduce themselves. Bitty is intimidated for a bit before he recognizes some of them as bakery customers, and then he’s in Work Mode.

He leaves that day with a collection of orders for baked goods, and a sinking feeling that he’s started to fall for this guard— who is almost certainly straight, and would definitely stop training with him if he let it get out that he’s got a crush. So he smothers that crush as hard as he possibly can.

Just in time for the annual dignitaries ball! Or, well, the several-month lead-up to the ball. Bitty is slammed with food orders as the delegations from various countries come into the city, and Jack is slammed with actual Prince work, so neither of them notices at first that they’ve gone longer and longer between practices— then they both notice at once, and assume instantly that the other has detected their budding romantic feelings and is trying to let them down easy.

In a moment of bravery, though, Jack arranges for an invitation to be sent to Bitty that he might attend the culminating event of the visitations, the masquerade ball itself. Bitty— caught off guard— agrees to attend, and the squire who’d come around to announce his invitation leaves before he can change his mind, just after depositing a beautifully inscribed ticket in his hands.

Bitty’s friends leap at the chance to dress him up for the ball, helping him out as much as possible to be presentable, and in the end, he looks ravishing— and very different from his usual garb. He feels a bit gaudy and strange, but his friends swear up and down that he looks perfect, so off he goes.

At the ball, everyone dances with everyone else. The aim, in theory, is to create a sense of equality— the masks mean that anyone could be anyone else, and so you must always treat your partner with respect, because they could be the king or a visiting dignitary as easily as they could be a random lady in waiting or, say, a baker. (In practice, the delegations almost exclusively wear the colors of their nation’s livery, so you can make an educated guess based on your partner’s age, colors, and dancing skill— but a baker wouldn’t be trained to make those calculations.)

When he gets onto the dance floor, Bitty gets passed from person to person, as is the tradition of the ball. He dances with a woman old enough to be his grandmother, a boy who couldn’t be older than him, a middle-aged man, a lovely lady just his height, the list goes on and on and on. Finally, he’s passed into the arms of a man in a stunning dark blue getup, with gold accents at the buttons, the shoulders, and around his mask. They make a dapper pair, with Bitty in scarlet.

Neither recognize the other at first. Jack isn’t sure what country this small blond belongs to, and the guy is certainly not a good enough dancer to be properly-trained royalty, anyway. Bitty is so focused on not tripping over his own feet that he’s not even trying to parse each new partner— though the quick glance he spares for this one tells him he’s definitely his type.

They speak in quiet voices, and Bitty makes a joke at his own expense that pulls a laugh out of Jack, and suddenly they’re both a bit more relaxed in the moment. Then Bitty puts his foot into a puddle of someone’s spilled drink, and he slips to the side. He recovers quickly, his hand in Jack’s firm one giving him plenty of purchase to pull upright, but suddenly they’ve slipped out of the rhythm of the circling dancers.

Bitty, frantic and unsure and embarrassed, falls back on what he’s been practicing for months, and takes the first measured step-step-turn of the sword dance. To his shock, his partner mirrors the movement, stepping in time and sliding backward as he turns so that they’re kept in sync.

After that, they just fall into the dance together. It’s a little different, doing the footwork without the swords, but they hold tight to each other and glide across the dance floor adroitly.

Everyone who’s anyone in the room, save Bitty, has already figured out that the dashing gentleman in blue is the nation’s prince, and nobody who’s anyone has any idea who this shorter man in red is, but they all move to leave room for the pair to spin across the floor in tandem. At the close of the song, the pair are brought chest to chest with each other— and then just as quickly, they’re separated. It’s time to switch partners, after all.

Bitty’s next partner can’t believe their luck, to get the first chance at the gossip scoop, and immediately starts asking Bitty where he’s from, where that dance is from, how does the prince know that dance?

The prince?

Bitty extricates himself from the dance floor after that dance. He’s tired, and he certainly must’ve heard wrong. The prince? No, surely not.

He looks towards the man, still at the center of the whirling maelstrom of dancing, standing out in both grace and color— those are, of course, the colors of the country that they’re in, and so… huh. The prince.

Bitty, having gotten entirely too close to two handsome and ridiculously unattainable gentlemen with blue eyes and dark hair, runs. He leaves the party entirely, making his way into the dark garden outside the ballroom. Of course, some partygoers have filtered out here, but really the only inhabitants of the space are the guards, posted two-by-two at each entrance. He finds himself on a bench, as far away from the glittering colors of the ballroom as he can get without leaving the grounds entirely.

He’s wasting an irreplaceable opportunity to network for his bakery, he tells himself. He should go back in. He’ll never get to be on the inside of a party like this again, either. He really, really should go back in. Come on, Bitty. Get up. Go.

He doesn’t move.

Some interminable time later, he feels someone sit down next to him, and pulls his face from his hands.

It’s Shitty, from the bakery event. From *Jack*. Like Bitty didn’t already feel miserable enough, here’s a guard from Jacks own team, closer to Jack than he’ll ever get to be, to rub his face in it.

But of course, Shitty doesn’t do that. He sits there, not touching Bitty, not even saying anything, but aiming an understanding and open expression at him. An invitation.

“I…” Bitty starts. His voice breaks a little, so he takes another go at it. “Have you ever…” He trails off again.

Okay, deep breath. He pulls off his mask, turning it over in his hands to look at the glittering garnet-red decorations as they catch the light. When he speaks, he’s talking towards the mask more than Shitty.

“There’s… something that I want,” he begins, deciding to keep it vague. “Something that would make me so happy, but I know I can’t actually have it. And I’m worried that if I keep wanting it, it’s going to ruin things that are already good where they are, you know?”

Shitty fixes him with a searching gaze, and Bitty flushes, feeling exposed, almost wishing he kept the mask on so that Shitty’s eyes couldn’t pierce all the way to the core of him.

“Bitty, you wonderful angel sent from above to bless this kingdom with pastry, thank you for telling me all that.”

Bitty didn’t think he’d told all that much, but he got the sense that now was not the time to interrupt, so he smothered his protest.

Sure enough, Shitty continued, “If you want the advice of this guard, all I can say is: if things are really that good, I don’t think you can ruin them so easily. You just gotta ask for what you want, and if the answer’s no, that doesn’t mean that every other nice thing in life has to go that way, too, yeah? And hey. I think there’s always a chance it’s a yes, you know?”

Bitty flushed further, and busied his hands fixing his mask back over his face, tugging the ribbons back into place to hold it on. After a long moment (and once he was safely hidden behind gaudy scarlet sparkles) he looked up at Shitty.

“Thanks,” he said, voice small in the expansive courtyard. “You know, you’re really good at this?”

Shitty laughed. “So I’ve been told. If guarding ever doesn’t pan out, I suppose I have a back-up profession being a supportive bench friend, huh?”

Bitty laughed at that, and the tension that had blanketed the area moved along like leaves in an autumn breeze.

Shitty stood and brushed invisible dust from his breastplate— clearly more of a habitual gesture than a necessary one.

“Look, man, I should get back to work now, but are you good?”

“I’m good, Shitty. Thanks.”

“Anytime, you incredible pie wizard, any time.”

Bitty took a few more moments on the bench to collect himself, but talking about his predicament with Shitty seemed to have shaken something loose in him, and now he was restless. If Shitty was here, surely the rest of his guard squad was as well— surely Bitty could find Jack, and maybe by then he’d know what to say.

He abandoned the bench and started walking back towards the balcony that looked over the garden, where the doors had been thrown open to allow the sounds of music and revelry to spill into the night.

When he came within sight of the balcony, though, he came to such an abrupt stop that he almost faceplanted on the flagstones. There, standing at the railing and looking out into the garden, was the prince. It was hard to tell with the mask, but Bitty was almost certain that he was looking right at him. Oh lord.

Before his brain could catch up with the situation, his legs had carried him behind the nearest hedge. The garden wasn’t quite a maze, but the paths that wound through it had clearly been designed to obscure the perspective of those walking along them— each one curved and planted such that you felt alone even when you knew, intellectually, that you couldn’t be far from the nearest couple taking quiet advantage of the evening’s shadows amidst the foliage.

Bitty wasted little time contemplating the garden’s clever architecture, though, instead devoting his attention to weaving deeper into the twisting paths— further from that balcony, and the prince’s stare. Two turns into his escape, he glanced behind him and was surprised to see the prince was following; when he saw Bitty had spotted him, he called out, “Wait!”

Was that a royal command? Was running away from this situation now technically a little treasonous? Bitty wasn’t sure, but he also wasn’t sticking around to find out. He increased his pace, grateful for the well-tended pathways under his feet as he took each turn faster than was strictly advisable. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he couldn’t lie to himself that it was from exertion— his workouts with Jack had done many things for him, but among them was certainly an increase in fitness. Even in his ballroom attire, Bitty’s breaths came smooth and even.

The footsteps behind him faded to silence, and Bitty heaved a sigh of relief even as he slowed his gait to a trot, then a walk. He took a moment to get himself in order: physically, to straighten his disheveled jacket, and mentally, to rearrange his thoughts. He still had to find Jack, and then—

Bitty turned the next corner and found himself facing the prince.

Of course the man who lived in the palace would know these gardens better than a random visitor. Of course. And now he was cornered— even if he turned back now, he’d still be in the prince’s territory. But just because there was no chance of escape didn’t mean he wasn’t tensing his leg muscles to give it an honest try.

Just before he spun off back into the darkness, though, the prince spoke up. Or, well, it was hardly speaking up, the man’s voice was hardly louder than a whisper, but it was enough to carry clearly across the narrow distance that separated them.

“…Bitty?”

Bitty froze. What? How did the prince know— why was he— why had he— what? Bitty’s thoughts tumbled over each other in a roiling mess. At a loss for what else to do, he cautiously replied, “… yes?”

A beat passed, and then he hastily tacked on a “Your highness.”

The prince, bizarrely, seemed taken aback by the formal address. Bitty watched as he schooled his expression— the parts of it visible beneath the mask, at least— into something neutral, though almost… sad?

“Are you angry with me, Bitty?”

I’m sorry, what? “I’m sorry, what? Your highness.”

There, again, the prince flinched. “No, no, it is I who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you, I just… I’m sorry, I’m doing all of this wrong.”

And then, before Bitty could muster any sort of response to that, the prince reached up and untied his deep sapphire mask, the ribbons trailing away as he pulled the elegant thing from his face.

Bitty came face to face with Jack, and nothing in the world made sense. He felt, distantly, that he ought to reply to this revelation in some way, but he couldn’t seem to find where he’d misplaced every word he’d ever learned. Instead, he stayed frozen to the spot, mouth agape like some kind of unfortunate fish, staring at the utterly un-processable sight before him.

Jack clearly took his silence (and probably his expression) as a negative sign, and he started to talk again. Bitty struggled valiantly to focus on the words as they spilled from Jack’s— the prince’s— Prince Jack’s mouth.

“Look, I know I should have told you before, and I’m sorry. It’s just— nobody ever looks at me and just sees ‘Jack’, you know? So when you didn’t treat me like I was something special… it was just nice to be a person for once, not a title. But I know I shouldn’t have lied, and I understand if you’re angry with me now. I’d get it if you didn’t want to see me again, and… and I promise to respect that, if that’s what you want. Just, please, Bitty, talk to me.”

Bitty held his hand up, cutting him off, heedless of the fact that he was being distinctly rude to the prince of his kingdom. He just needed a minute to process, okay? A minute, and perhaps a seat. Yes, this would be much easier to think through sitting, wouldn’t it? Bitty glanced around, and then, for lack of better options, sat squarely on the stone path. Jack reached for him as he did (trying to catch him?) and ended up on his knees before Bitty. With both of them on the ground, they were almost at eye level with each other. Bitty pulled his mask aside, much as Jack had, and contemplated him.

Jack sat there, eyes downcast, as Bitty’s gaze skated across his face, his elegant costume, his sapphire-studded mask. When he looked back to Jack’s face, he was surprised to see him restraining a cringe; it looked like he expected to be hit, and was preparing to take it with dignity. Dignity befitting a prince, which Jack apparently was. All at once, Bitty realized that it had been far too long since he had spoken, and that Jack— prince or not, this was still Bitty’s Jack— was bracing for the worst.

“I’m not angry,” he started, finally finding words in the revelation that Jack needed to hear them. “I’m just a little confused, okay? I just… this whole time?”

Jack mutely nodded. Duh.

“And Shitty was…”

“Sworn to secrecy. I made him promise not to tell you before I was ready. He didn’t have a choice.”

Bitty waved his hand dismissively though the air— he wasn’t mad at Shitty, either, and didn’t need the excuses right now. “And the training? The sword dance?”

“Taught to me by the head of the guards— that much was always true. I just thought it would help you, so I booked time at the training ground to show it to you, and then it became something l looked forward to, more and more each time. It was how I was certain it was you, in there.” He jerked his head towards the distant echoey music from the party.

Bitty chewed on that for a moment, turning the words over in his head, and found that he believed him. Jack had kept one thing from him— one enormous thing, to be sure, but he understood the reasoning— but had been unfailingly straightforward with him otherwise.

“Okay,” Bitty breathed.

Jack looked up at that. “Okay?”

“Okay, help me up.” Bitty offered his hand, not with the decorum of a ballroom dancer, but with the camaraderie of two men who had trained on the same field. Jack grasped it and pulled Bitty to his feet even as he stood himself, reasserting their height difference and pulling them in close.

Bitty didn’t release his hand, and Jack didn’t try to extricate it.

“Jack?” Bitty turned his face upward, meeting Jack’s eyes, their piercing blue softened by the low golden light of the garden’s lanterns. “I have one more question.”

“Yeah?” The word sent a puff of breath dancing through Bitty’s carefully coiffed hair, and he shivered despite the warm weather.

Bitty tipped his head even further back, raising himself up just a little on the balls of his feet, trying to ask his question with his body as much as his voice, as he felt the latter might abandon him at any moment.

“Would you like to—“ and then the rest of his words were lost, not to fear, but to Jack. They kissed, gentle and deep as the warm night around them, and the world made sense again.

[krysmcscience]

The Lamb is malicious in a funny way and the Goat is funny in a malicious way. No, I will not elaborate.

Anyway, everyone give thanks to the Lamb for interrupting what was sure to be a very boring and patronizing PSA from their grouchy cat hubby. Truly, they are doing God's work. Granted, the Lamb canonically is God now, so, uh. Mostly they're just doing their own work.

Speaking of their grouchy cat hubby, yes this is absolutely still Narilamb, Narinder is 100% into his goofy-ass spouse always no matter what and we all know it, he just wasn't expecting his brand new adopted kid to share the same single goofy-ass brain cell as the Lamb. :)

[aerknight]

@naffeclipse orcas beach themselves to hunt seals orca!eclipse beaches themself to hunt y/n :)

[arttsuka]

I LOVE Teen Stan and Ford, it’s sad they don’t get drawn enough, so thank you so much!

Does Ford ever help Stan when he gets overstimulated? Or maybe when he has a rage response and suddenly starts crying and calls himself stupid?

Here's the other post with Ford

[essektheylyss]

One thing that I feel is really interesting and often forgotten about Essek is that fundamentally, his characterization has been from the start based upon his desperation for external perspectives and connection, which, along with much of his narrative and mechanical positioning, means that he actually has an extraordinary and almost (but not actually, as I'll show) counterintuitive capacity for both growth and trust.

(Buckle in. This is a long one.)

In particular, I would argue, knowing now that many places where the plot touches Ludinus have long been marked for connecting back into the current plot, that he was quite possibly built as a prime candidate for radicalization by the Ruby Vanguard. He felt isolated from his culture, he was desperate for other connection, and he was certainly of the type to believe he was too smart to be drawn into such a thing, given his initial belief that he could control the situation and the fallout. If things had gone any other way, he easily could've been on the other side by now.

As such, he has been hallmarked by being fairly open to suggestion, perhaps for this reason, but the thing about that kind of trait is that it is both how people are radicalized and deradicalized. This is certainly true of Essek, who experienced genuine kindness and quite frankly strangeness from the Nein and was able to move from the isolation the Assembly had engendered to meaningful and genuine connection, largely propelled by his own internal reflection. By the time Nein are aware of his crimes, he's already begun to express regret to an extent and, furthermore, doubt in the Assembly, including explicitly drawing a line against Ludinus, even in a position where he was on his own and probably quite vulnerable.

Similarly, when the Nein reach the Vurmas Outpost some weeks later, he has moved from regret for the position he's ended up carrying a heavy remorse. This makes sense! He's fairly introspective, seems used to spending a lot of time in his own head, and was left with plenty to mull over. It's not some kind of retcon for him to have progressed well past where the Nein left him; it just means he's an active participant in the world who has done his own work in the meantime.

This is another interesting aspect to him. I've talked about this a bit before but I cannot find the post so I'll recap here: antagonists in D&D have significantly more agency than allied NPCs. Antagonists are active forces, against which the party is meant to struggle; allies are meant to support the PCs, which means they tend to be more passive in both their actions and their character growth. Essek was both built as an antagonist, in a position that gives him significant agency, and also was then given significant opportunity to grow specifically to act as a narrative mirror for Caleb's arc. Even when he becomes a more traditional D&D ally, he still retains much of that, though he occupies a supporting role.

I believe that this is especially true because of the nature of Caleb's arc, which I've already written on; the tl;dr of this post is that Caleb is both convinced that he is permanently ruined and also desperate to prove that change is possible. Essek is that proof, because he is simply the character in a position to do so. But this also means that his propensity for introspection and openness is accentuated! He has to do the legwork on his own, for the most part, because that's where he is in the meantime.

But he still ends the campaign necessarily constricted; he is under significant scrutiny, he's at risk from the Assembly, and he goes on the run fairly soon after the story ends. He spends most of the final arc anxious and paranoid, which is valid given the crushing reality of his situation. It would be very easy to extrapolate that seven years into this reality, he would be insular, closed off, and suspicious of strangers, even in spite of the lessons he's learned from the Nein and their long term exposure.

So seeing his openness and lightness now is surprising, but at the same time, given this combination of factors in his position in the narrative over time and his defining traits, it's not by any means unreasonable.

But one thing that I found so delightful is how much trust he exhibits, which is obviously a wild thing to say about Essek in particular, given much of what he learns is both earning and offering trust, which was something he says explicitly in 2x124 that he's never really experienced: "I've never really been trusted and so I did not trust." It makes up much of the progression of his relationship with Caleb, and the trust that he is offered by the Nein in walking off the ship is the impetus he needs to grow.

But I think it's easy to talk about trust when it comes to people who have proven themselves to you or to whom you've ingratiated yourself, and that's really the most we can say about Essek by the time he leaves the Blooming Grove. There is this sense in a lot of discussion of trust (not solely in this fandom) that it is only related to either naivete or love, but there's far more to it. Trust at its best is deliberate—cultivating an openness to the world at large is a great way to combat cynicism and beget connection instead. It allows a person to maintain curiosity and be open to experience, but it can be incredibly difficult to hold onto.

It is clear that the Essek we meet now is a very pointedly and intentionally trusting individual. He trusts Caleb and by extension Caleb's trust in Keyleth, as he shows up and picks up a group of strangers from a foreign military encampment and walks in without issue. He trusts the Hells to follow his lead moving through Zadash and to exhibit enough discretion so as to avoid bringing suspicion upon all of them. He trusts that Astrid will respond well to his entrance, but he also trusts himself and the Hells enough to execute a back-up plan in the case that she doesn't. In the end, he even trusts them enough to give them his name and identity.

He doesn't scan as someone who has spent half a dozen years living like a prey animal, afraid of any shadow he runs across in an alley, withdrawn into himself and an insular family, which would've been an easy route for him to take. He scans as someone who has learned the kind of trust borne of learned confidence and a trained eye for good will and kindness, which are crucial weapons one would need for staving off cynicism in his circumstances—as if he has survived thanks more to connection and kindness than paranoia and isolation. (If we want to be saccharine about it, he scans quite poignantly as a member of the Mighty Nein.)

So it is easy to imagine this trust and openness as a natural progression of his initial search for perspectives external to his own cultural knowledge. Though he makes those first connections with the Assembly to try to vindicate his personal hypotheses, he finds in them exposure to the deepest corruption among Exandrian mortals, which could've—and did, for a time—turned him further down that same dark path.

But it's also this same openness to exposure from the wider world that allows the Nein to influence him for the better, and in spite of the challenges he's certainly faced simply surviving over the past seven years, he seems to have held onto this openness enough to move through the world with self-assurance and a willingness to extend the kinds of trust and good will that he has been shown.

(I would be remiss not to mention that I was reminded about my thoughts on this by this lovely post from sky-scribbles and their use in the tags of 'light' to describe Essek's demeanor this episode, which is really such an apt word for it.)

[al-luviec]

I got so insanely mad while drawing this

+ closeup and normalness

[tennessoui]

it’s like baby gorl there’s no way I, the author who wrote the fic you’re commenting on and who is the intended audience for this comment, am gonna agree with you 😿🙏 some things can just stay on your chest 🙏

[findafight]

Why are some of y'all making Robin be so mean to Steve and having them friend break up or their relationship irreversibly damaged for the sake of romo ships why would you do that to them what the hellllll literally biggest case of She Would Not Do That ever.

Sure Robin will rag on Steve but it's friendly! It's as friends! Steve does the same to her! He literally immediately dragged her crush as soon as she came out to him! Their bickering is mutual! They want to combine!! Into one!! Being!! They care so much about each other Steve wants Robin to be happy Robin worries over Steve's injuries.

Why are you making her ignore him or not realize something is wrong with him? Stop trying to replace her with other teens or a romantic interest for Steve! If your (usually whump) fic cannot function with Robin actually being Steve's friend and him talking to her then like. Send her away to visit an old sick relative or something and unable to actually be there and help him. The stobin angst can come from her being unable to actually do anything besides talk him through it to help, being so far away. You don't! Need! To make!! Her mean!! To Steve!! Sure they can have conflict but that conflict should come from a place of deep care, not apathy!! What the fuck!!!

[it-happened-one-fic]

The Strange Case of Dr. Jade and Mr. Floyd (Part 2) - Jade

Authore Notes: So yeah, as indicated by even the first part of this fic, I decided to focus more on Jade for this little series (please note this was after quite a bit of deliberation on my part). So, I had quite a bit to get done in this chapter, though, and it took a surprisingly long while to write. But, I do feel like this fic is moving along at a fairly reasonable pace, and this marks the halfway point! Reader is gender-neutral and I hope you all enjoy!

Type: Gender neutral reader/ sfw/ sort of fluff/ romance implied/ platonic relationship/ kind of mafia AU/ some drama/ intrigue??

[Part One], [Part Two: You're Here!], [Part 3], [Part 4]

Word count: 1738

Trigger Warning: Mentions of blood

I determinedly kept my gaze pointed down at the papers in front of me as Jade leaned against my desk in silent amusement. His gaze resting weightily on me as he waited patiently for me to crack.

It had been like this ever since I’d initially met Mr. Floyd. The infamous criminal who, since that first day when he’d walked me home, had turned up at my home several more times since with a wide grin on his face as he’d ask me to patch up his newest injury.

Somehow, as perfectly ridiculous as it seemed, Jade knew that I was keeping a secret from him. An issue only made more frustrating by the simple fact that I couldn’t say why I was going along with ‘Mr.’ Floyd’s request to keep our meeting a secret. Just like how I didn’t know why I kept patching up every time he showed up.

But then, Floyd really didn’t strike me as nearly as horrible a person as people made him out to be. 

He was bad, yes. And he definitely got into plenty of fights, as evidenced by his numerous injuries. But he also didn’t just randomly attack people since he hadn’t shown the slightest bit of aggression towards me.

In fact, it was more like he found me amusing. Just like how Jade currently seemed to find me.

Yet another similarity the two almost identical men shared, which only made the entire situation that much more suspicious.

I’d yet to figure out what the connection between the two young men was beyond their appearance and that they definitely knew each other.

Twins seemed most likely, since the only other option to explain their similar looks was that they were mirror-image doppelgangers, which seemed highly unlikely. And though neither Jade nor Azul had ever mentioned anything about a secondary Leech, they both had their secrets.

I’d known that since almost the very start.

“You know… You’ll hurt my feelings if you keep avoiding eye contact like that,” I almost sighed at Jade’s faux-hurt tone.

So much for him being patient.

I shook my head slightly, continuing to flip through the papers on my desks that were filled with canceled appointments, requests to meet with the esteemed Dr. Jade, and gifts from his numerous admirers who were convinced they’d seduce him with their cookies in particular, despite the fact all others had failed.

“You really are quite the actor, sir. I almost believed you for a moment there,” My tone was dry, and I heard Jade chuckle. I didn’t have to look up to know exactly what expression he was making. He always was oddly pleased when I saw through his acting.

“And you’re quite the charmer. I can’t help but wonder who you’ve charmed this time that you’re being so secretive about, though.” I frowned slightly at his words, their meaning perfectly obvious. 

He wasn’t about to let this drop.

I merely hummed though, continuing to evade eye contact since I knew perfectly well that the moment my gaze met his would be the moment my secret-keeping came crashing down, “I don’t recall having charmed anyone, though you certainly have a lengthy list of new admirers.” 

He hummed back at me, amusement continuing to leak into his voice as he responded, “Do I?”

I nodded lightly, scanning the list of names that were increasingly feminine in nature, “Yes. But rumor has it that a single second of eye contact with you is enough to woo anyone.”

The sad thing was I hadn’t even made that one up. That was quite literally what people were saying. And while Jade was hardly difficult to look at, that was stretching things a little.

He may be perceptive, but eye contact hardly leads to instant wooing.

“Is that why you’re avoiding my gaze then? Attempting to protect your heart even though you seem rather immune to my supposed charms?” His voice was a barely restrained chuckle and I almost snorted.

“Hardly, sir. I imagine you know why I’ve refused to meet your gaze for the past few days,” I half rolled my eyes as I spoke, not even bothering to keep the smile off my face anymore.

Through my peripheral vision, I could see his gloved hand shift as he held out to me, almost like he wanted to shake, as he spoke, “A deal then; I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine?”

I finally lifted my gaze to meet his, staring at him in silence before I held up my hand. But rather than shaking his, I linked our pinkies together, causing his mismatched eyes to go wide as I stared back at him, “Only if you’ll be honest.”

A smile curved across his face, infinitely smooth as he held my gaze and curled his finger around mine responsively, “Will you trust me if I agree?”

I snorted, shaking my head slightly, “Hardly, but at least I’ll be able to say that I tried.”

Jade’s smile only spread at my words, like he was oddly pleased by the fact that I wasn’t just going to trust him based on his words alone. His words didn’t match his pleased expression, though, “I’m beginning to think that you really are trying to hurt my feelings.”

I smiled at his coyness that was so very like him and his teasing nature, “If I were, then I’d be failing horribly.”

His lips finally parted into a fully genuine smile that no longer hid his too-sharp teeth. They had been one of my first indicators that he wasn’t nearly what he presented himself to be. But I could respect that, even if it did cause a great many questions.

After all, I imagined that everyone had their secrets.

He tilted his head, the motion causing the dark grey strand of his hair to sway in an almost playful fashion as he eyed me, “I suppose I’ll go first, then. Did you meet my brother?”

I held his gaze, half-smiling at what his words indicated. Clear support for at least one theory I’d held about the connection between him and Mr. Floyd, “If ‘Mr. Floyd’ is indeed your twin and not some sort of doppelganger, then yes. I have met your brother.”

Jade hummed as he continued to gaze back at me, not breaking eye contact as our hands remained connected, “I imagine he told you to keep your meeting a secret.”

It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway, confirming his words, “He did, but I’ll just tell him you twisted my arm.”

Jade snorted, a surprisingly inelegant sound coming from him, “So you’ve seen him more than once?”

I nodded again before leaning forward, grinning back at him, “Yes, but I do believe it’s my turn for a question, don’t you, ‘Doctor’?”

Jade chuckled at my teasing, but nodded anyway, “Of course. My apologies for getting overexcited.”

“Why was he, Mr. Floyd I mean, worried about you being upset with him when I met him?” I tilted my head as I questioned him softly. Idly wondering how long our question and answer session might last. Until patients started coming in, or until one of us got done answering the others' questions?

I wouldn’t put it past Jade to cut me off if he felt necessary after all. Though, to be fair, I was quite likely to do the same I felt necessary, though I didn’t expect our conversation would shift in that direction.

Jade hummed, his gaze moving to our interlocked pinkies as his face shifted from one of amusement to a careful mask that I’d seen him use numerous times, “Perhaps I told him to keep you out of ‘that’ business.”

I felt my eyebrows arch suspiciously at his words as I continued to watch him, looking for any clues he might give away even though I knew how unlikely that was, “‘That’ business?”

I echoed his words back at him and surprise flitted across his face before his eyes met mine once more. And there it was. The expression he used when he wanted someone to do what he wanted.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine how a person could easily melt under that gaze, but I remained unmoved even as he spoke with a teasing tone slipping back into his voice, “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘Curiosity killed the cat’?”

I nodded, smiling back at him, “‘But satisfaction brought it back’ is the proper ending for that saying.”

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly at me, not disappointed in me in the slightest even as he answered, “Our family business isn’t the most well-accepted. I simply told him to leave you out of it.”

I tilted my head, doing my best not to think too much about what, exactly, his family’s business might be if it had something to do with the injuries Floyd had, “But you let him see the paperwork from my interview.”

Like him, I hadn’t phrased it as a question, but he nodded anyway, “He’s the one who helped me pick you as my receptionist.”

I felt my eyebrows arch as I laughed slightly, “So you lied when you told me I was at the top of your list?”

Mirroring my amusement, Jade smiled as he shook his head, “No, I was quite truthful in that statement. It was just that I wanted another’s opinion.”

He paused, glancing at the clock before me as his smile spread before his eyes locked with mine once more, “There’s enough time for one more question.”

I almost faltered at his words before nodding with a smile. It was a warning. My time was almost out. But it was also an offering. The last question would be mine to ask.

“Are you in danger?” The words slipped from my mouth with very little thought, but Jade’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, and I realized exactly how pointed, and perhaps accurate, my question might have actually been.

But that was what had come to mind when he’d confirmed that Floyd was his brother. What if their family business, which led to Floyd getting injured, also placed Jade at risk?

After a brief moment of silence, Jade swallowed, and a careful smile appeared on his face once more, “It’s under complete control.”

And with only those words, his finger slipped away from mine. Breaking the link between us and signaling the end of our conversation.

[earthspark-shockwaves-reduction]

EARTHSPAAAAAAARK (S2/S3/S???)

ACTUALLY ADDRESS HASHTAG'S MIND-CONTROL TRAUMA AND HOW IT IMPACTS THE FACT THAT SHE APPARENTLY JUST HAS AN AI IN HER HEAD NOW

AND MY LIFE

IS YOURS

[grahamcore]

if you’ve read a metric ton of fanfiction and had your memory of canon retroactively altered you may be entitled to financial compensation

[the-stove-is-divorced]

Remembering I can draw fanart for my own fics, SO BEHOLD! The most mentally sound halves of a fusion imaginable! Technically a redraw of art I did way earlier for the same fic! Flexing my art muscles and thinking about these two is good for the soul. Love them. Bastards to write though. I can't wait to write them fused back together, but we're not here yet and it's AGONY.

[possamble]

I'm not allowed to be on social media for more than two seconds today but I just wanted to say that Laios will absolutely have his own reaction to all this as someone who would die for Falin but has also imprinted on Marcille as his Emotional Support Comphet White Girl Not-Girlfriend along the way

[sammygender]

like. okay. im just imagining sam and dean as kids and they fight like siblings do (im talking in dean voice now). sometimes dean hits sam for being annoying cause that’s also what siblings do. dads gone all the time and when he’s back his feelings are too big for dean to handle and he cant be mad at dad cause it’s DAD, but that’s what dads do, but then sam‘s there when dad goes and sam’s being annoying as usual, can’t he understand what they do is important, can’t he put aside his own stupid wants for once, and dean’s so mad and he loves sam so much but he’s so annoying sometimes and he lashes out and hits him.

it feels a little different this time - dean actually feels kind of bad. but sam just goes quiet and takes it. and dad’s gone a lot. even when he’s there sometimes he gets really angry, too. especially when he’s drunk - sometimes he lashes out if provoked, swings for dean or for sam, sometimes he makes contact. but he never actually means it and besides dean gets what its like, dean understands. and he’s nice, really, most of the time, when he’s around, and he loves them more than anything, so it doesn’t matter. dean’s nice, too, to sam, he loves sam more than anything, so that doesn’t matter either. he’s dean’s dad and dean’s sam’s brother. this is what family is.

and if after a hunt sometimes dean’s still all fired up and sam makes a bitchy comment dean doesn’t like about hunting or dad or school or dean and dean laughs and punches him in the face? rarely sometimes sam hits back. usually more often he just scoffs, wipes the blood away, and turns back to his book or his homework or whatever he thinks is better than dean.

years pass and dad’s still never home and they’re both hunting and sam doesn’t hit back. he thinks he’s better than dean now, above the violence that’s been the language of the winchesters for so long. he just takes it. sometimes that bothers dean more than when they used to actually fight. sometimes it makes him feel guilty, sometimes it makes him more angry. but sometimes he likes it. sam’s not easily controlled and he’s always got something to say but this is a way dean can shut him up - most of the time.

its almost satisfying. it definitely makes him feel better. he’s pretty sure sam knows that, too; pretty sure it’s at least a factor in why he just takes it. maybe it’s his concession to dean, after all. something sam can do for him, does for him. maybe it’s that proof dean’s always searching for that sam does love him, no matter how often he talks about leaving these days. or maybe sometimes it just feels good to hit someone who you’re pretty sure will let you.

[tanjir0se]

One of my faaaav things to do in fic is pair up characters that don’t get a lot of screentime together OR that feel like opposites and try to find some common ground between them. Most recently I did this with Sanemi and Shinobu because I could go on and on and on about their shared anger issues in completely different directions. How sanemi probably knew her before Kanae’s death and maybe even misses the hotheaded sarcastic girl she used to be, maybe misses their bickering and squabbles because now she keeps it all so close to her chest and puts on a smile . Anyways

This becomes a problem when I can no longer identify who is in possession of the brain cell.

Sanemi is trying to juggle his newfound crush on Giyuu with his hatred for Giyuu’s surrogate brother (Tanjiro) and his complicated feelings about Genya. Genya is too busy trying to get Sanemi to notice him/talk to him to notice that Tanjiro has an extremely obvious crush on HIM. Tanjiro is trying to support Genya in his attempt to win Sanemi over while also actively not respecting Sanemi at ALL, and poor Giyuu is trying to set a good “brothers” example by being protective of Tanjiro and trying to give Tanjiro advice on what to do about his crush on Genya, while ALSO juggling his OWN crush on Sanemi.

So whoS FLYING THE FUCKING PLANE

[astrolotte]

Genuinely intrigued by the potential of Peri and Irep's dynamic but only in a platonic way so I end up not vibing with the fandom's portrayal of it 😔😔😔

(No but listen LISTEN they were kinda-almost-friends when we last saw them in FOP, yeah? Now they're enemies, with both actively fighting each other, and Irep going so far as to try and kill Peri's parents. What happened? When? What influenced it? Did they ever become friends, or did it nosedive the moment the cameras turned off? What about Sammy? How do Irep's parents factor into this? Could it ever be fixed? There's just so much we haven't seen, and romance just feels like too easy a solution to me. Let their friendship be easy to break, fragile. Let them have to work to keep the connection. Fairies and Anti-Fairies are literally made to be opposites, so what happens when two genuinely and truly become friends?)

((and yeah I guess a lot of this could factor into a romantic angle but ALAS the fandom seems to be leaning heavily into the funny toxic yaoi angle 😔 I don't mind it! By all means, please have your very harmless fun! But it ain't my jam :P Perhaps I'll have to write a oneshot myself...))

(((see tags for more rambles i guess. whoops a bitch spoke too much in there as he always does)))