#and I do. I need to learn it. I need to try. I need to grow

[aegagrusdissemination]

also being able to do the research without needing something to aggregate all the information for you first is an important skill.

i could go on about how chatGPT is bad at aggregation too but even in the very generous assumption that it manages to give you approximately the right place to start- the point is still that you should learn how to do research. you should learn how to find a starting point by yourself. you need to be able to tell how you've found a trail worth pursuing instead of letting someone else tell you where to go, because with the right (or wrong) starting point you can and will be led down the wrong path too.

and this assumes you don't just get false information outright!

Why are you using chatgpt to get through college. Why are you spending so much time and money on something just to be functionally illiterate and have zero new skills at the end of it all. Literally shooting yourself in the foot. If you want to waste thirty grand you can always just buy a sportscar.

[hrrtshape]

a real tried and true guide on how to survive hogwarts

part i , disclaimer, context, credentials

hi. if you're reading this, you're either about to shift into hogwarts, you already have and need help, or you're nosey and looking for gossip. all three are valid.

anyway. this isn't a spellbook or a diary or whatever. it's just a guide. a stupid little guide written by a girl who shifted into hogwarts the summer before her seventh year. that girl being me. obviously. hi hello.

i'm half veela. i'm a gryffindor. i'm a pureblood and head girl. technically (allegedly) related to russian royalty (dad's side, no one fact-check that, thanks). also james potter's cousin, which is either a blessing or a lifelong comedic hex. we'll get into that.

currently, in my dr, it's march. it's 1977. yes, it's the marauders era. yes, it's sadly as complicated as you've been told. so i've been here long enough to know what's worth your time and what isn't.

this guide isn't anti-anything. it's not anti-harry era or pro-marauders or whatever tribal loyalty people feel the need to swear by. and i'm just a girl who saw a castle full of moving portraits and violently unregulated boarding school dynamics and thought, hm. better write some of this down.

expect inconsistencies. expect ellipses. expect brackets and edits. this isn't a perfect object. it's not even aesthetic. it's information, tempered with experience. and a little whining. and a lot of caps lock. i'm not neutral but i'm fair. if i tell you to avoid a corridor, it's because i tripped there and dented my knee against a suit of armour. if i tell you not to trust the astronomy tower at night, it's because i've been dragged out of it by two prefects and a howler.

– e.

part ii , the houses. dos, don'ts, notes, secrets

okay let's get one thing cleared before the owl post starts piling up: none of the houses are better. i wish. not in the way you think anyway. they're just differently annoying. it's like living with four different niche twitter cults who all think they invented......anything. you're not here to choose the best one. you're here to learn how to survive the neurotic interior of four medieval social experiments without losing your wand or your mind. so. welcome. let's start breaking this down. house by house. alphabetically. fair's fair.

　　　　　　gryffindor ,

　꒰ gryffindor ꒱　do:

know who you're friends with. the tower has cliques like it's a bloody court. if you're not in the quidditch lot or the prank lot or the girl-in-the-bathrobe-eating-dried-figs lot, you'll get lost. and trust me, once you're cast out of the rhythm, it's impossible to catch up without some kind of public redemption arc.

keep snacks under your bed. someone will raid your trunk. it'll be your fault if they find nothing. chocolate frogs disappear fastest. bertie botts are currency during exam season.

back your friends in public. you can fight in private, that's what stolen bathroom mirrors are for. loyalty here is loud. you defend your people or you find new people. it's that simple.

get good at hexes. not big ones. just enough to make a point. people respect a girl who can disarm someone.

　꒰ gryffindor ꒱　don't:

ask about the portrait passwords more than once. people will think you're daft or a spy. or worse, a ravenclaw.

ever speak badly of lily evans within earshot of literally anyone. ever. even if she's wrong. she's not wrong. even when she is.

think you're above house drama. it will find you. it's like poltergeist fog. you breathe it in.

try to make peace between sirius and james when they're having one of their competitive breakdowns. just leave the room. leave the building. floo somewhere else.

　꒰ gryffindor ꒱　notes:

our common room smells like treacle, smoke, and someone's broken dream journal. the rug hasn't been cleaned in 40 years. it's alive.

you'll develop an immunity to boys screaming at 3am. embrace it. eventually you won't hear it. it becomes ambience.

at least three people have kissed on every windowsill. probably more. watch where you sit.

there's a secret corridor behind the second years' dormitory that leads to a trapdoor in the library. don't ask how i know. just be careful. it squeaks. use it for late-night escapism or very niche dares.

if you lose a sock, check the fireplace. the raccoon has black friday sales.

　꒰ gryffindor ꒱　secrets:

the first year with the biggest eyes is usually the one who will hex you first. don't underestimate them. especially if they knit.

someone once summoned a raccoon into the tower. it lives in the fireplace. we feed it sometimes. it knows too much.

marlene mckinnon's perfume has been banned on two floors. still not sure how she made it. allegedly involves rosewater.

there's a love letter carved behind the girls' staircase. it's in latin. no one knows who it's for.

　　　　　　hufflepuff ,

　꒰ hufflepuff ꒱　do:

be honest. they'll know if you're fake. they're terrifying like that. they read body language.

bring extra quills. someone always forgets theirs. and they'll remember if you helped.

help clean the common room when they ask. it's a test. pass it and you're in.

compliment their plants. especially the named ones. yes, the ones with names. and histories.

　꒰ hufflepuff ꒱　don't:

mock herbology. not even as a joke. you will be hexed with something fungal. a boy sneezed spores for a week.

try to flirt during study time. they have boundaries. it's revolting. save your seduction for the courtyard.

underestimate their memory. they remember everything. birthdays. betrayals. your essay title from october. you'll be confronted.

mess with their food. they will find out. they will seek revenge. it will be edible. and poetic.

　꒰ hufflepuff ꒱　notes:

the dorms smell like parchment and cinnamon and sometimes....... chalk? don't question it.

there's a tunnel behind the fourth table in the dining hall that leads straight to their kitchens. don't try it. you'll be caught. and possibly recruited.

their prefects have a secret meeting schedule. not even mcgonagall knows it. or she does. she's just letting them win.

they trade biscuits. it's currency......kind of? shortbread is the galleon. oatcakes are for petty debts.

　꒰ hufflepuff ꒱　secrets:

the password to their common room changes based on mood. it's... sentient?? or nosy. possibly both.

they keep an unofficial journal of the year's drama. it's charmed!!!!!! to be invisible to outsiders.

if you ever cry in their bathroom, someone will hand you a full skincare kit within minutes. i don't know how they do it. it's disturbing.

one of them dated a ghost once. no one talks about it but we all remember. it was a phase.

they've won the secret best-kept dorm award six years in a row. not officially. but we all know.

　　　　　　ravenclaw ,

　꒰ ravenclaw ꒱　do:

knock before entering. even if it's a public space. just do it.

carry a notebook. not to write into it to pretend you have thoughts. doodle some runes at least.

memorise the library's quiet zones. they will excommunicate you. and hiss.

fake knowledge about obscure magical theory if cornered. confidence is key. say "as aquinas wrote" and walk away.

　꒰ ravenclaw ꒱　don't:

correct them. even when they're wrong. especially when they're wrong. and if you do well.....godspeed idk. be ready to have a debate.

joke about rowena. seriously. just don't. you'll be hexed. and then footnoted.

ask to copy their notes. just no. they watermark them. you'll be exposed.

try to bond over books unless you've actually read them. they'll test you. it'll get socratic.

　꒰ ravenclaw ꒱　notes:

their dorm smells like ink and lemon tea and something vaguely metallic. one time it smelled like ozone. still no answers.

they hex their door with riddles. if you fail one, you have to wait. yes. really. it once took me two hours to get in.

some of them live like victorian ghosts. shawls. candles. unexplained sighing. and yet somehow........chic?

the girls' dorm has a wall that writes back.

　꒰ ravenclaw ꒱　secrets:

there's a ghost cat that only appears during exams. pet it for luck. avoid it if you've cheated.

the top floor of the tower hosts midnight debates. you need an invite. and a thesis.

someone keeps rewriting hogwarts: a history with footnotes and scandal. it's 400 pages now.

the portraits in their corridor gossip. say anything near them and it'll be everywhere by breakfast.

they have a drawer of confiscated enchanted pens. don't ask and don't take.

　　　　　　slytherin ,

　꒰ slytherin ꒱　do:

keep secrets. even dumb ones. it'll earn you points. they clock loyalty fast.

make allies, not friends. at least at first. friends come later. after the blood pacts.

know the rules better than they do. use that. loopholes loopholes loopholes.

compliment their robes. they'll pretend it doesn't matter. it does.

　꒰ slytherin ꒱　don't:

mention gryffindor.

ever say the word "mudblood." even here. especially here. that's not clever. that's outdated. and stupid.

try to sneak into their dorm. it'll spit you out. and then curse you. and then tell everyone.

touch anything labelled in green ink. it's not for you.

　꒰ slytherin ꒱　notes:

their dorm smells like stone and mint and disappointment. it's weirdly comforting.

their beds have curtains so thick you could murder someone and no one would know. not saying anyone has. just saying they could.....

their prefects are terrifying. but also hot??? unclear.

they have a mirror that tells you things you don't want to hear. avoid. unless you hate yourself. then it's a party.

　꒰ slytherin ꒱　secrets:

the lake window shows things that aren't real. or maybe they are. depends on who you ask. or what mood the squid's in.

someone keeps brewing perfume in the potions room. smells like rain.

one of them cursed the scales to always say 7lbs less. nobody's fixed it. people just plan outfits around it now.

if you bring them blood pops, they'll tell you anything. literally. even who snuck into the staffroom last tuesday.

there's a staircase behind the second potions closet. it leads nowhere. or somewhere. or maybe just down.

part iii , the core classes

okay so let's talk about classes. like yes you're here to learn magic blah blah but also. you're in a castle full of kids with issues and sugar highs and everyone's wand is like one wrong flick away from becoming a sentient hazard. the classes are where the chaos concentrates. the professors are mostly unhinged. the curriculum makes NO GODDAMN sense. sorry. ahem. half the textbooks contradict each other. some of the ghosts help. some of them haunt.

this is the 70s so everything's about ten years out of date. the robes itch. the desks have been cursed at least once. and everyone is tired. so. here's the guide.

　 　 　 　 　 　 　  　  　  　  　 　 　 　　 　┊

　transfiguration , professor mcgonagall. icon. terrifying. if you don't cry at least once in her class you're either soulless or very very lucky. she does NOT tolerate lateness or whispers or incorrect posture. but if you're good at it, she'll like you. and if she likes you, you're safe. for now.

　꒰ do ꒱　 sit near the front. show you're serious. even if you're not. practise every day. it's not a theory class. it's kinetic. your wand hand will ache. embrace it. volunteer answers. even if you're guessing. she respects boldness. it's gryffindor-ish. learn the difference between switching spells and vanishing spells. FAST.　 

　꒰ don't ꒱　 bring food. once a kid brought a treacle tart and transfigured it into a ferret. interrupt her. you will be called a disgrace and compared unfavourably to a rock. try to cheat. flirt in class. she will hex your lips together. happened last year. we remember.　 

　꒰ notes ꒱　 the desks shift. don't ask. just sit quick. the textbook is full of lies. go off the blackboard. her animagus form has been known to spy on us. act accordingly. transfiguring live animals is banned. for good reason. no one wants a hamster lamp situation again. 　 

　꒰ secrets ꒱ if you leave her a good cup of tea in the classroom before a test, she grades softer. the back left drawer in her desk has notes from when she was a student. cursed notes. there's a transfigured toad in the wall. it sings. no one talks about it.　 

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　　 　┊

　charms , professor flitwick. tiny. delightful. will take points and still smile at you. he's got a high tolerance for chaos but not for rudeness.

　꒰ do ꒱ sit in the middle row. safest zone. practise wand movement until it's muscle memory. ask questions. he LOVES them. bring colour-coded notes. he will notice. he will coo.　 

　꒰ don't ꒱ speak over him. ever. skip homework. he checks. obsessively. mock his height. obviously. you'll regret it. laugh during levitation lessons. the feathers have feelings.　 

　꒰ notes ꒱ he sometimes gives extra credit for neat handwriting. his quizzes are riddles disguised as instructions. his lessons are fun until someone's eyebrows get set on fire. which is often. he names the classroom objects. the chalkboard is mildred.　 

　꒰ secrets ꒱ he collects chocolate frog cards. if you gift him a rare one, you're untouchable. there's a charm that makes ink smell like anything. he'll teach it if you ask nicely. once levitated an entire row of desks during a duel demo. wore a bowtie. if he whistles during class, it means he's about to call on you.　 

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　　 　┊

　potions , professor slughorn. obsessed with potential. if you have a famous relative, he knows. if you have talent, he wants it.

　꒰ do ꒱ show up early. claim the good cauldron. befriend the slytherins. they get the best ingredients. pretend to be modest. he loves a "humble genius." write neatly. sloppy handwriting = disappointment.　 

　꒰ don't ꒱ question his methods. he gets pouty. bring weak ingredients. he'll sniff them and go "oh dear." mock the slug club. even if it's stupid. breathe too loud when he's mixing.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ the classroom is too warm. always. cauldrons WILL explode if you stir wrong. someone lost eyebrows. slytherins run the room. navigate with caution. start dating one, you'll be fine. why do you think i started dating coryo?? love? soulmatism? please. i need a passing grade. the fumes are mildly hallucinogenic. it's fine.　

　꒰ secrets ꒱ he keeps a vial of unicorn tears in his pocket. always. the third shelf has a jar labelled "confiscated." don't touch it. if you write your essay on bezoars, he'll nod like he discovered them. once cried during a lesson. said it was allergies.　

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　　 　┊

　defence against the dark arts , professor merrythought retired last year. current one's name changes like every term. this year it's professor dorian clare. new. weird. probably cursed.

　꒰ do ꒱ act impressed. he eats it up. ask him about his travels. he WILL monologue. copy his notes exactly. he marks for phrasing. be ready to duel. at all times.　

　꒰ don't ꒱ mention previous professors. especially if they died. point out when he contradicts himself. duel unless you're ready to be humiliated. fall for him. i beg. it's not worth it.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ his lessons feel fake deep but the spells are real. the classroom changes temperature based on vibe. he's allergic to frogs. unrelated but fun. he quotes poetry in lectures. ignore it.　

　꒰ secrets ꒱ keeps a cursed locket in his desk. once sparred with mulciber and won. barely. the mirror behind his desk isn't a mirror. rumoured to be part veela. denies it. suspiciously well.　

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　　 　 　┊

　herbology , professor sprout. earth goddess. mum. will help you even if you're awful. but don't touch her plants without asking. seriously.　

　꒰ do ꒱ wear gloves. always. label everything. she loves organisation. work with hufflepuffs. they know things. compliment her earmuffs. she has twelve pairs.　　

　꒰ don't ꒱ laugh at the plants. fake knowledge. she'll know. mess around with mandrakes. even baby ones. steal seeds. that's a one-way trip to detention.　　

　꒰ notes ꒱ the greenhouses are HOT and GODDAMN HUMID. dress light. the dirt is charmed to not stain. mostly. screaming is normal. ignore it. sprout hums when she's in a good mood.　　

　꒰ secrets ꒱ there's a cactus that predicts rain. don't ask how. she grows peppermint near the windows. it's enchanted. one of the plants eats essays. it's contained. mostly. the watering cans are alive. they judge.　

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　　 　 　┊

　history of magic , professor cuthbert binns. maybe this will be biased but i liked history of magic.........

　꒰ do ꒱ sit near the door. for a fast exit. write the date at the top of every page. it's the only thing that'll make sense. learn names and years by brute force. use flashcards. hex them to float around your bed. sleep learning. it's the only way. bring food. binns won't notice. or care.　

　꒰ don't ꒱ ask questions. he won't hear them. and if he does, he'll ignore them. raise your hand and he'll glide through you. try to take notes the normal way. you'll lose your mind. make eye contact with a hufflepuff. they're always asleep. it's contagious.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ binns is a ghost. died in the staff room. came back to teach and never left. the room is always cold. bring layers. he doesn't breathe so the lectures never pause. it's like being waterboarded with centuries. no one knows how he grades. the essays just come back. marked in blood? ink? ectoplasm? unclear.　

　꒰ secrets ꒱ sometimes he mutters things not in the syllabus. listen closely. once he whispered about a goblin conspiracy and the fifth floor mirror. another time he named a centaur like he was in love. if you answer one of his rhetorical questions, he nods once. that's how you know you're still alive.　

part iv , the electives

so. electives. you don't get to pick them straight away. you're like fourteen when they hand you the form. and if you're me, you picked based on what sounded the least like maths. or what your cousin dared you into. or because someone older said something cryptic in the common room and you spiralled. whatever........... point is, some people treat electives like side quests. they're not. they're real. they eat your timetable and your sleep and sometimes your dignity. choose wisely. or don't. i didn't. and i'm fine.

except divination. divination has personally ruined my life. but we'll get there.

　astronomy , professor sinistra. who is indeed very peculiar. ("wait wasn't she from the golden trio?" YES. and i still scripted her in).

　꒰ do ꒱ bring your own star maps. the school ones are outdated. selwyn does not teach by textbook. she teaches by memory, myth, and whatever the hell she scrawled in the margins of her doctoral thesis. sit at the front of the dome if you can stomach vertigo. the best angles are up there. know your greek. know your roman.　

　꒰ don't ꒱ mention horoscopes. mention "mercury retrograde." mention co-star. i beg. this is astronomy. not tiktok's pet branch of astrology.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ the observatory is always cold. dress accordingly. do not fall asleep during moon tracking. she'll mark your chart in blood-red. she brings coffee in a thermos shaped like saturn. this means nothing but also everything.　

　꒰ secrets ꒱ the notes she gives are coded. not metaphorically. actually coded. she uses constellations as mnemonics and once buried a test answer in a kepler footnote. one time, she said she'd been to the moon. didn't elaborate. someone found a vial of moon dust in her drawer. it glowed.　

　 　 　 　 　 　 　　 　　  　 　 　 　　 　 　┊

　ancient runes , professor vesta rowan. terrifying. dressed like a victorian librarian who survived ragnarok. smelled like ink, iron, and lightly scorched vellum.

　꒰ do ꒱ memorise your alphabets. all of them. futhark, younger futhark, anglo-saxon, proto-cuneiform if you're ambitious. she doesn't believe in "translation." only "unveiling." sit near the fire. you'll need the warmth. copy her annotations exactly. they read like spells and might be.　

　꒰ don't ꒱ joke about tattoos. do not try to "guess" meanings. if you get it wrong, she'll break your quill. happened to me in november.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ there's a crow that sits by the window during full moons. we do not acknowledge it. the runes etch themselves into your memory if you study hard enough. sometimes literally. 　

　꒰ notes ꒱ there's a drawer in her desk full of unsolved inscriptions. you can look if she likes you.

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　　 　┊

　divination , professor selwyn. she's loco in the coco. no notes.

　꒰ do ꒱ act respectful. she reads doubt like others read palms. bring your own tea leaves. school supply is weak. nod even if you don't understand. especially then. her lessons are 70% metaphor, 30% trauma flashback. 　

　꒰ don't ꒱ mock the art. she'll say "not everything real is rational," and stare until you feel medieval. don't fake visions. she'll know. don't ask her to predict grades. someone did and got told "do you want to die before june?"　

　꒰ notes ꒱ she burns herbs for clarity. you'll cough. she says that's part of it. the crystal balls are real. they reflect your fear. her deck of tarot is older than the castle.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ once wrote a prophecy on the ceiling and erased it the next day. no one knows why. she once said "the tower will fall." no one knows what tower. we pretend it's metaphorical.　

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　　 　┊

　　　and here comes the word of mouth editions !!!!

　care of magical creatures , kettleburn. missing half a leg. and most of his patience.

you will get clawed. bit. burned. one student got winged in the face by a hippogriff. another fainted at the sight of a thestral. kettleburn says things like "well if it doesn't kill you, it teaches you something." he is not joking.

　꒰ student reportings ꒱ bring raw meat to class. not as a snack. as a shield. bow properly. always. every creature is either insulted or flattered. there's no in between. 　

　꒰ lore ꒱ there's a forest ledger. kettleburn updates it by hand. not magically. with a pen. says the trees don't trust charms. the creatures don't listen unless you do the voice. what voice? you'll know.　

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　　　 　　 　┊

　arithmancy , from the archives of the insufferably bright (my boyfriend's yappings)

professor vector is mean. but fair. but mostly mean. she teaches like she's on a clock. possibly literally. the math is real. the stakes are theoretical. the board changes mid-equation. if you don't get it, she doesn't slow down.

one time, someone cried into their notes and they rewrote themselves in binary. vector called it "progress." there's no spell in the curriculum. it's all logic.

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　　 　　 　┊

　ghoul studies , student consensus: what the fuck but also....... maybe genius?

　　professor: finch. first name unknown. maybe doesn't have one.

　꒰ heard ꒱ it's not about ghouls the way divination isn't really about teacups. it's about haunting, but in the bureaucratic sense. ghosts are romantic. ghouls file paperwork. there are theories. finch talks a lot about "undead sociology" and "post-human civic integration."　

　꒰ report ꒱ the textbook is three inches thick and mostly footnotes. no gossip to read here, everyone comes out of that classroom a shell of themselves.　

do not skip class. the ghouls will notice. and they keep attendance. somehow.

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　　 　　 　　　　 　┊

　muggle studies , aka the elective people took when they thought it'd be "easy." they were wrong. professor ellis. ex-ministry.

it's not about what muggles are. it's about what wizards think they are. which is worse. half the class is just unlearning magical propaganda. ellis starts every term with "muggles invented plastic. your wand can't do that."

(i got lazy, you're not getting alchemy. but then again literally does anyone take alchemy?)

part v , the before-part

let's pivot back a bit. because before you're elbow-deep in essay deadlines or crying in a third-floor girls' bathroom because someone transfigured your quill into a metaphor for emotional repression...... you have to actually get there. hogwarts doesn't just scoop you out of your boring little life and plop you into an enchanted sociopolitical fever dream without a little foreplay.

so here's everything you need to know before you even step foot on the school grounds. this is the real prologue. the chaos before the curriculum. the orientation they don't put in the welcome packet because they assume you'll just... "figure it out." okay.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆　　˖　　౨ৎ　˚

　　꒰ step one ꒱ the letter. theeeeee letter. it's not a prank. yes, it looks like one. yes, it arrives via bird. yes, the handwriting is suspiciously nice. still not a prank. if you're muggle-born or raised, act surprised. it gets deliver weird.　　

it'll be on heavy parchment, folded with unnecessary drama, sealed with red wax. you'll get a supply list. there will be no prices. they assume you're either rich or resourceful. start budgeting now.

　　꒰ step two ꒱ diagon alley. ok. here's the dealio. diagon alley is like a magical version of a tourist trap. except you're the tourist and the trap is very real. bring someone who knows the layout. or fake it. walk fast. look busy. pretend you've been there before. where to get your shit:　

robes and uniforms . .  madam malkin's. yes, she will pin you too tight and ask rude questions. survive.

wand . . ollivanders. awkward. you will knock something over. they'll clap.

books . .  flourish and blotts. expensive. the discount section is cursed but manageable.

cauldrons and glassware . .  bring gloves. the shop reeks of vinegar and broken dreams.

pets . .  no one cares if you don't get one. don't let them pressure you into buying a frog. frogs are maintenance.

which shops are scams , most of knockturn alley. anything with a name you can't pronounce. any place that smells like burnt thyme. if someone tries to sell you "dragon essence," walk away. that's not dragon anything. that's snake oil. or worse...........piss.　

how not to get mugged , keep your coins hidden. don't pull out your pouch in public. don't say "i'm new here!" like it's cute. it's not. you'll be followed. talk less. glare more. especially if you look rich or muggleborn or lost.　

　　꒰ step three ꒱ platform 9¾. yes, it's a wall. yes, you walk through it. no, you're not being hazed. the trick is momentum. commit.　

how to find it , go to king's cross. look for platforms 9 and 10. find the barrier. wait till no one's watching. walk into it. trust physics. or magic. same thing here.　

who you’ll see there , purebloods with overpacked trunks. muggleborns with fear in their eyes. one kid with a suitcase shaped like a coffin. he's fine. just dramatic. prefects pretending they're too cool for this. families crying. families not crying. someone's owl is always loose. someone's cat has trauma. everyone looks vaguely amish.　

　　꒰ step four ꒱ the train. welcome to the hogwarts express. you'll be sitting on a train for about.....7 hours. with no radio. no wi-fi. everyone's too loud. someone's crying. 　

first-years get shuffled around a lot. no one wants to sit with the wailing ones.

upper-years claim their spots fast. if a seventh year tells you to move, move. unless you have an older brother who is scary and has hexed someone.

prefects sit together. mostly.

slytherins take over the last three compartments. don't barge in unless invited. seriously. gryffindors are loud and snack-heavy. sit with them if you want gossip. or a biscuit.

trolley etiquette , the trolley witch is unbothered. she takes no sides. but she's not stupid. don't try to rob her. pay exact change. don't haggle. and don't order everything unless you want to be known as "that kid who puked before scotland." 　

train politics , stuff happens on the train and it never leaves the train. alliances form. breakups occur. this is your soft launch. people will remember your entrance. so sit well. speak carefully. don't cast. and never admit to bringing contraband in your trunk. they search randomly. and mercilessly.　

and part two is incoming. sometime. 😀

[p2onypretty]

Thinking about slut boarding school again.

By the end of the first week, most of the girls are broken in. They're well behaved, taking cock like good little girls, moaning on toys in class.

Everyone except me. I still fight, and the last couple days, I've hidden in my room to avoid the boys. During one of my classes, a professor has me stay back.

"You're not behaving," he tells me. "You haven't learned your place yet."

"I'm not going to behave," I say defiantly.

He comes up behind me, hands coming around me so he can grope my tits. He toys with my nipples gently.

"You need tutoring," he says. "Lucky for you, I'm a great teacher."

I try to protest, but he drags me to his desk at the front of the room, revealing straps that he uses to tie me down to it.

"My hypothesis is that the boys just haven't played with you enough," he says. "So I'm going to fix that. I'm going to play with you until you beg me to rape you."

"I'm not going to do that," I say.

His fingers trace the inside of my thigh.

"You will, little girl," he coos, and his fingers brush my clit.

He slides a finger into me. So torturously slow. He laughs at how wet I become instantly.

"After I've had my fun with you, you get to be the class slut. Up here on the desk every class, getting that tight little pussy pounded by all of your classmates."

His thumb brushes across my clit, and he adds a second finger.

He pumps them in and out of me, and when he adds a third, I can't help but moan.

"Good girl," he says softly. "Such a pretty little whore. I can't wait to rape you."

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Sylus' non-mc significant other. part3

Imagine as Sylus stood outside your door longer than he should have. The air was thick with the weight of everything unsaid. He had rehearsed a hundred apologies, but none of it felt right. None could undo what was already done.

Imagine when you opened the door, you did not look surprised. Just tired. He offered a small greeting as you stepped aside without a word and he walked in like someone returning to a memory. The apartment looked the same, but the air was different.

Imagine the way it smelled of something else, something he wasn't familiar with. Like someone had been trying to scrub away memories but couldn't reach the ones buried too deep. So he watched you as you sat down on the edge of the couch like it was the only place that didn't still echo his presence.

"You're not here to explain." Your voice calm but distant. "No." He said sitting across you. "I think you already know everything." Then there was a pause. The kind that used to mean safety, now it just felt like holding breath before a storm that never came.

"I should have told you." He added. "The mission. MC. Everything." You nod, eyes never meeting his. "But you didn't." "No." He whispered. "Because I didn't want to lose you." "But you did anyway." That silence returned. Heavy, but not angry. Just resigned.

"You know what the worst part is?” You spoke after a moment of silence. "It is that I would've understood." You close your eyes and clasp your hands together. "I've always tried to understand you, Sylus." You sound so soft yet tired. "I know." His voice sounds almost like a whisper. "I didn't need perfect." You said. "I just needed the truth. Even if it hurt. Even if it scared me."

Imagine the way Sylus sat across you. Elbows on his knees, his hands clenched. "I thought I was protecting you." He pause. "That the less you knew, the safer you were. That if I could just hold everything together for a little longer." Silence, a long deep silence. Then his voice soften but not in the way that it send butterflies to your stomach but in a way that breaks your heart. "I'd come back and you'd never have to carry any of it."

Imagine your smile was small and sad. "But I was carrying it. Every day. I was carrying the silence. The confusion. The nights you didn't come home. The days you smelled like someone else. I carried it all without knowing what it meant." He looked at you, eyes red-rimmed but dry. "I didn't love her." "I know." You said. "But that wasn't the point, was it?" "No."

Imagine as the two of you sat in the stillness for a while. Neither knowing how to move forward but there was a strange peace in the honesty between the two of you were now like pulling back the curtain and realizing the storm has passed, even when the damage is still there.

Imagine then you looked at him. Like really looked at him. And he looked older. Or maybe, just wearier. His eyes, once unreadable, now looked hollowed out by guilt.

"I loved you" You finally said. "I still do." There was a moment of silence. "But I think we started building something in the wrong season. You were still surviving, and I was hoping you'd learn how to stay." At your words, his throat tightened. "With you, I wanted to. I tried to."

"But love that hides behind missions and silence?" You said, voice gentler now. "It doesn't get to last. Not unless it's willing to stand in the light." He nod slowly. "I see that now. I see everything I didn't before. Everything I asked you to carry without knowing."

Imagine the way you lean back slightly, staring at the wall, not in anger but in reflection. "You weren't the villain. Not to me. Not ever. But you made me feel like I wasn't enough to be chosen outright. And I can not go back to that."

Imagine, he reach across the coffee table, fingers brushing upon yours. And you didn’t pull away. But you didn’t lean in either. You just met him halfway, hands touching like two people who knew how much it hurt to let go.

"I don’t want to lose you." He said quietly. "You already did." You answered, not cruelly. Just honestly. "But that doesn't mean we're finished. Maybe we're just…" Taking a break. Trying to find a better version of ourselves. "Maybe the version of us wasn't built to last. But that doesn't mean we can't try again someday. When we're different. When we've healed."

Imagine the way he exhaled shakily before nodding. "Then I'll come back." Those red eyes were staring at you intensely. "When I'm someone who deserves the kind of love you gave me so freely."

Imagine just then you stood up slowly in which he followed. This time the door felt heavier than before. "Take care of yourself." You said, reaching for the knob. "You too." He replied. "And thank you. For loving me when I don't know how to be loved."

Imagine you opened the door, letting the cool air of the hallway in. But then you turn to face him one last time. "Promise me one thing." You said. "Promise me that when you do come back. If you come back. You come back as someone who doesn't make me question whether I'm first."

Imagine he did not speak. He just nodded. Once and firm. Like a promise in silence. Then he stepped into the hallway and you closed the door behind him.

Imagine he stood there for a while. Not out of regret, but cherishing it. Because sometimes, the bravest thing two people can do is stop fighting to hold on and start learning how to let go. So they can meet again, not as what they were, but as who they've become.

Imagine, inside you lean your forehead against the door, breathing in deep. Because love wasn't gone. It was just choosing to heal, for once, before trying again.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: i kept dying mid round and barely manages to edit the whole thing after I stopped playing because wtf where did my aim in valo go.

[borderlinereminders]

do you know how sad it is that as a recovery blog you can’t manage your disorder and don’t realize you’re experiencing it?

Do you know how sad it is that you’re taking the time to send me asks like this?

I do actually want to talk about this though. I don’t see a need to fix everything. Some things aren’t hurting me, or are low priority when I want to focus on other things.

Meds haven’t stabilized my moods and with my coping mechanisms, I have control of my impulses and know how to handle depressives and anxiety.

Instead, I just accept my disorder. I use times of being manic to prepare for depressives. I meal prep and freeze it. I pre make products for my business. I sometimes queue a bunch of posts.

“Accepting it” really bothers a lot of people but trying so hard to fix it was causing me so much anxiety and stress. And some things aren’t fixable. So, I learn to live with it. And I think that’s valid.

I work on my behaviours that are harmful (impulse control, lashing out at people, sabotaging my relationships, etc), but I can’t just fix my disorders.

It’s a disorder that isn’t ever going to just “go away”. I’ve learned to adapt to work with it instead of trying to fight against it. And let me tell you, my mental health has never been better 🤷‍♀️.

[imstillalexcomic]

I’m not a linguist, so there’s every possibility in the world that I’m not defining things correctly, but in the same way that cold is the absence of heat, I do think that shame is the absence of pride.

It’d be easy to say that it’s silly to be ashamed of aspects of yourself, but that’s neither true nor fair.  If you’re ashamed of the circumstances of your birth, that doesn’t come from you, that comes from a world that has socially conditioned you to believe you are less than.

I grew up in a politically conservative family.  I’d be in the car or on the couch or in the kitchen and my parents would have on conservative talk radio or fox news or similar, and I was conditioned to think that my gender issues were something that I should be ashamed of, something I needed to keep hidden. 

My shame was a learned behavior taught to me by my family.

It took decades, but I did learn to love myself.

I did come out.

I did develop a sense of pride over who I am.

If you’re someone who’s in the closet, or someone who is struggling with their identity, or feeling shame over who you are, you’re not alone. 

You’re also not to blame for feeling that shame.  There are always going to be people who try to “other” folks.  Those people are the issue, not you. 

It takes time to overcome the feeling; it doesn’t happen overnight.

Someday, I hope you can feel the same pride I do now.

Happy pride.

[elbiotipo]

To me there's a deeper meaning, though I don't know how to express it, on people using pathologizing language in education i.e. "cognitive atrophy" "brain damage" as an explanation for learning issues.

Which to be fair, the authors of that paper asked specifically not to be used, but the twitter thread linked on that post (which has 38k notes as of this post, jesus christ) did use, extensively. Using language such as "brain damage", "cognitive atrophy" and how could I forget, "soulless".

However, the authors of the paper also didn't have a good methodology, other people have gotten into it better than myself, but the paper does not really point to any cognitive decline, and the methodology used does not offer long-term explanations. But what I do think is that when we're talking about things such as AIs in education, or any other new technology, we should investigate them as tools used in a social context. Why do people use AI as a tool? How do educators and instutions handle this? In which way this tool worsen education or might, god forbid, enhance it? Here the focus, as so much Usamerican education research at least in my experience, is on almost purely numerical and anatomical (EEG? really?) results rather than any pedagogical studies on the tools and their users. (and those results are very poor too)

And once you go down the road of finding pathological answers to educational issues, you will start finding pathological solutions instead of social ones. Why try to confront social or familial issues, when these students obviously have something wrong with their brains? Hell, why even provide them with education, their brains can't even handle it. Eventually you might as well give up and just educate the worthy ones. If you don't believe me, see how education and mental healthcare in the US works.

For someone like me who believes that education is fundamentally a social institution and that every student comes from a social and cultural background that needs to be understood before the process of learning begins, these studies (or rather, unhinged twitter threads) that claim that a complex process like learning can be understood in pathological terms are profoundly hostile to me.

[cursedbycrossovers]

Help Wanted ≠ Send Sacrifices

Danny gripped his bangs in his fist, staring down at the paperwork before him with endless frustration and not a lick of comprehension.

Why was there so much paperwork, anyway? Pariah Dark hadn't exactly seemed like the type to keep records. Had he done this on purpose? As punishment to whomever wound up taking the throne from him? Danny had to admit, that sounded like a really devious plan. Unless the next ruler had been, like, The Secretary Ghost or something.

… that gave Danny an idea.

Clockwork had told him about this "Kingly Connection" thing he had yet to try out. Supposedly, it made it so that the king could address his subjects all at once, no matter where they may be. In case of an urgent announcement or Realms-threatening danger, or something.

To Danny, it sounded like a really efficient way to send out a 'Help Wanted' ad. Everyone would be able to hear it, and anyone who for some reason didn't could learn about it through word of mouth. Those who felt they were qualified could come see him at the Keep, and those who didn't could just continue on with whatever they'd been doing. It was the perfect plan.

Danny flopped back in his seat, relieved for the reprieve as he shut his tired eyes. He followed the pull, down, down, into his core… and then even further, til the light behind his eyes got brighter, til he reached the power of the KING.

Hey, everyone. This is your King speaking. I need like, a secretary or something. Someone who can help me handle literal millennia of paperwork. So, if y'all could come on down to the Keep, or pass the offer on to the smartest person you know, that'd be dope.

Danny felt as the power pulsed within his chest, sending his message out along the millions of tiny strings tying all Undead souls back to his. He sighed and slouched in his chair, exhaustion finally catching up to him. All he had to do now was wait. A little nap in the meantime couldn't hurt, could it?

— — —

Jason felt simultaneously floaty and more grounded than he had since his mysterious resurrection. All his anger and uncertainty was just gone, replaced by pure drive and direction. He wasn't thinking very deeply, but he knew what he was doing. It was like laying on the surface of a sunlit lake, letting the gentle waves take him wherever they wished.

The Red Hood finished the chalk circle in the middle of the wide, empty warehouse floor and stepped back. The lines and starbursts that decorated it were drawn immaculately, without a single smudge. Now, all he needed was…

… the smartest person you know…

… Where was Tim?

[hope-for-the-planet]

Perhaps it's just me. But right now, with the rapid global transition towards green energy, reforestation and conservation efforts, laws, genuinely crazy and huge innovations that can help us adapt to the changing world... it feels like we're on the right track.

Perhaps it's just me. But the geopolitical insanity that I see and learn from my peers all over the world, doesn't feel like the end. No, it... it feels like change. The last horrible and panicked gasps of the dying old, because it refuses to accept that it is not sustainable anymore, and the world is moving towards the better, through protests and unity and human goodness. I've seen this before - in stories from the older generation, and in history books.

But I also feel terribly guilty whenever I start thinking like that, for some odd reason? I feel guilty whenever I try and rationalize that despite it all, the world will continue existing, and even in the worst case scenario (which we already have avoided), there would be forests and oceans and species and biodiversity and ecosystems and people and cities and countries to see and love, because after all, nature is resilient and adaptable - just like our species are.

I feel guilty for feeling this cautious curiosity about what the future might hold for us, the bad and the good. Because I feel like I am obligated to be grieving and panicking and angry, like many people are - but that's just... so tiring.

Hi Anon,

This is going to be a long one because I think your ask gets at something difficult that I have a lot of thoughts about.

Your phrase “cautious curiosity” made me think of psychology researcher Jamil Zaki’s idea of “hopeful skepticism”. Which is not assuming that everything will inevitably get better, but open to the possibility that it could and curious to see the paths it might take to get us there.

Our society tends to view a cynical outlook as more intelligent or even more moral, but research shows that a cynical outlook actually makes people worse at predicting outcomes, worse at cognitive and problem-solving tasks, less likely to vote or protest, and even measurably harms their physical and mental wellbeing.

I think the guilt you describe is likely coming from the feeling that while we have been significantly improving conditions for humanity on this Earth and will likely continue to do so in the long run, in the present there are many real humans suffering--it can be hard and uncomfortable to hold these two truths together.

Even if this last dying breath is temporary and brief, it is destroying real people’s lives and many more live in fear that they will be next. The fact that child mortality has absolutely plummeted even just in my own lifetime is both a miracle of humanity and means little to the parent who has lost their child to a preventable death. To quote the philosopher Max Roser, “The world is much better; the world is still awful; the world can be much better.”.

You don't need to feel guilty for having hope for the future. Carrying feelings like hopelessness, grief, and fear all the time is entirely valid, but like you said it is also exhausting—and there is nothing inherently moral about emotionally suffering particularly if it’s harming your ability to live your life or take positive action.  

You are right that we are still making progress in the correct direction in many ways. You are right that history is rife with examples of forward momentum provoking a reactionary backtracking but that the forward momentum usually ultimately prevails.

The key here, is to understand that the future path you describe is possible—even likely more probable than a lot of people think—but it is not inevitable. We still have to take action to make it happen. The arc of history bends towards progress only because so many millions of mostly unnamed unknown people have put the work in to bend it in big and little ways.

I’ll end with one of my favorite quotes from Rebecca Solnit: “Hope is not a lottery ticket you can sit on the sofa and clutch, feeling lucky. It is an axe you break down doors with in an emergency. Hope should shove you out the door, because it will take everything you have to steer the future away from endless war, from the annihilation of the earth's treasures and the grinding down of the poor and marginal... To hope is to give yourself to the future - and that commitment to the future is what makes the present inhabitable.”

Reminding others that progress is still happening and that there is hope for a brighter future is important work in getting members of your community to pick up their own axe and make that future happen. Hope in dark times is not just ok or reasonable--it is a precious, vital tool.

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi!! I hope you're doing well! I've been watching wildlife rescue shelters videos all day and that led me to have this idea for a small fic and I immediately thought of you! Okay so imagine reader is dating Hotch and she's working at one of those shelters and so she always sends him cute videos of all the tigers/leopards/lions etc. she's taking care of! And like he'd be so proud of her for doing that job but also low-key scared because she's literally cuddling a giant tiger there (you can also include the other BAU members' reactions!!)

No worries if you don't feel like writing this I just thought it could be fun/cute!

Okay have a nice day/night bye!!!

Wild at heart | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!reader | WC: 0.5k | CW: Mentions of potential danger.

Hotch's phone buzzed on the table with a new message, and despite the never-ending paperwork in front of him, he reached for it immediately.

🐅 From: Y/N

“Look at my new cuddle buddy!! 🥰”

Attached was a video of you lying on the ground, absolutely dwarfed by the massive Siberian tiger curled up beside you. The big cat let out a slow, contented huff as you scratched behind its ears, your laughter ringing out softly. Hotch exhaled sharply, torn between admiration and sheer terror.

Morgan, sitting across from him, raised an eyebrow. “You okay, man? You just made a face.”

Hotch turned the screen toward him. “She sent me another one.”

Morgan leaned in, then burst out laughing. “Oh, hell no. She’s basically using a tiger as a pillow? That’s insane.”

Emily, overhearing, walked over with her coffee. “Wait, let me see.” As soon as she caught a glimpse, her jaw dropped. “That’s either the coolest thing I’ve ever seen or the most reckless. How are you not having a heart attack every time she sends you these?”

“I am,” Hotch admitted, rubbing his temple. “Every single time.” He sighed

JJ peered over his shoulder, shaking her head with a smile. “You have to admit, it’s adorable. She looks so happy.”

“I know.” He did. That was the problem. He couldn't take that away from you.

Rossi strolled by, glancing at the phone. “You do realize that’s a predator, right?”

“Yes, Dave, I’m aware,” Hotch sighed. “But she loves what she does.” And as much as it terrified him, he loved how passionate you were about your job.

Another buzz.

🐅 From: Y/N

“Also, here’s my baby leopard learning how to pounce!!”

The next video showed a clumsy little leopard cub attempting to pounce onto your lap but misjudging the distance, tumbling forward into your arms instead. Your giggles were audible as you scooped it up.

Hotch’s heart clenched.

Penelope appeared out of nowhere. “Oh! Oh! Are we looking at Y/N’s daily ‘How To Give Hotch a Heart Attack’ update?” She squealed.

“Apparently,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Reid, curious at what everyone was watching, peeked at the screen. “Statistically speaking, working closely with large wild cats poses significant risks, even in controlled environments.”

Hotch shot him a flat look. “Thank you, Reid. That helps.”

Morgan chuckled. “What’s the over-under on him showing up at her work in full-on protective detail one of these days?”

“Very funny,” Hotch muttered, but they weren’t entirely wrong. He had considered visiting just to see the safety protocols himself.

Another message.

🐅 From: Y/N

“Love you! Don’t worry, the tigers love me too!! ❤️”

Hotch sighed, shaking his head fondly. He typed out a quick response:

To: Y/N

“I love you too. Please be careful. And tell the tigers they need to share.”

Morgan saw the text and grinned. “Man, you’re whipped.” Hotch didn’t even deny it, cause it was no use trying to pretend not to be in a room full of profilers.

[aaronsrpgs]

The Tight 90

(This is a continuation or a fractal reviewing of what I've written about in The Worksheet Manifesto and The Quickstart, The Home Game.)

THE TIGHT 90 is a 90-minute RPG session. It riffs on the perfect length/density of a movie, and I think it's a term I learned/stole from will jobst.

WHY RUN SHORT GAMES?

Short games are easier to fit in a schedule. (We're all so fucking busy.)

Short games are easier to pay attention to. (We're all so fucking mentally ill.)

Short games focus on the good stuff and discard the bad stuff. (We're all so fucking tired.)

HOW RUN SHORT GAMES?

Tell everyone, "We're only going to play for 90 minutes. Because of that, I'm going to focus on the things that are most interesting and exciting for everyone at table, and I'm going to skip over everything else. I would appreciate it if you would do the same. If there's something you're really excited to do, tell the table! And if things are dragging, offer an alternative that moves the game along."

But then we actually have to do that. :( How?

SET SCENES AND STAKES

Don't start in a place where nothing is happening and ask your players "What do you?" Give them something to latch onto! Give them an immediate problem! Here are the first four pages of an issue of Uncanny X-Men by Chris Claremont, Dave Cockrum, et al:

In four pages we get a fatal problem, introductions, flashbacks on how they got here, and spotlights on everyone's powers. Awesome!

And while you don't have to have your players' characters falling out of the sky, at least start them at the dungeon entrance with a couple clear things to DO.

(For more on setting scenes and stakes, check out Primetime Adventures by Matt Wilson, which Sam Dunnewold was kind enough to run for me.)

Of course, if they're falling out of the sky or standing at a foreboding dungeon entrance, some player is bound to ask, "What do I have with me?" To which I say:

CUT THE BORING SHIT

Shopping? Don't do it! If someone would logically have something, they can have it. And if they try to exploit that, they're no fun to play with! Tell them no. (More on that later.)

Conversations on meandering horseback? Don't do it! Comic writer Chuck Dixon said that if Batman and Robin needed to have a heart-to-heart, they should never just stand around talking. They should have a heart-to-heart while training on top of a speeding train.

(The example was actually Nightwing and Robin, but I didn't want people to click away and look up who Nightwing was. Also, Dixon is a shitty guy! But at least in this, he was right.)

Basically, almost anything you can get out of a shopping scene or a campfire chat, you can get from everyone falling out of the sky or trying to escape a wildfire. ALL SCENES SHOULD PULL DOUBLE DUTY AS PLOT AND CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.

BE GENEROUS WITH INFORMATION

Imagine a scene at a gaming table. The characters walk into a house in an empty town and ask what they see. The GM tells them to roll perception. The highest result is middling at best. The GM says, "You think you can see some blood." Someone else asks if they can roll investigation. They get a middle high result. The GM says, "There are some bullet casings on the floor and claw marks on the walls." Are the claw marks big? Roll perception again. Do they look like any local animals? Roll nature.

THIS SHIT SUCKS. It's a way to take 30 minutes to poorly tell the players that something interesting happened, and it doesn't give them anything to do after.

Instead, try this: the walls are splattered with blood and empty shell casings lie cold on the floor. The blood doesn't line up with what you know about bullet wounds, though; it lines up with the huge claw marks that tear the walls and floor. And blood drops continue in a line outside...

AND THEN if a player has a cool ability or is an investigator or druid or whatever, you get to write them a cool note that says, "These claw marks are bigger than any animal from around here. Maybe bigger than any animal you've ever seen."

Other examples:

The prince says he doesn't feel threatened by the king. He's clearly lying.

Moving stealthily, you make it to the general's bedroom, but it's clear that he has some sort of sensors or security system set up there.

As a wizard, you know they're casting some sort of summoning spell, and if at least half of the cultists aren't hurt or incapacitated in five minutes, the spell will succeed.

GIVE THE SESSION AN ENDING

It could be an exciting cliffhanger if you think everyone will be there next session to pick it up. But if you're not sure, end with a calm moment where the players have a clear next step. That way you can start next session with, "Last time you'd promised the Cult of Mirrors that you would lead them in war against the Skeleton Army. They're ready to go and ask you what your plan is."

FURTHER HOMEWORK

"How To End Things" by Jason Morningstar. On cutting scenes. Don't be fooled by the Patron link; it's free.

"Grand Experiments: West Marches" by Ben Robbins. The ur-text of running player-motivated sessions that don't require everyone to be there.

BUT WHAT IF!!!

What if rolling investigation rolls are vital to building tension in my mystery game? What if knowing the exact inventory and distance are vital to my high-stress dungeon game? What if campfire stories are my favorite part of our cozy travel game?

COOL! There are lots of resources out there for you, so this isn't for you. But maybe I could tempt you into considering a different style of game sometimes?

(Special thanks to @ladytabletop for supporting my Tight 90 obsession.)

[popcornpoppypop]

Babies Love Full Moons

Summary: Katherine and Robby welcome their baby and are reminded that they have family to help. Requested.

TW: Childbirth, tooth rotting fluff

A/N: This fic got away from me a bit, so it's a bit long. I'm a sucker for previously broken men getting their dream family. That man was meant to have babies and I'll take no arguments. Thank you. As always, no beta, edited by me and my tired eyes. The bottom gif is how I imagined him the entire fic, that stupid adoring face kills me. Sir, I need you to control those loving brown eyes before I have an MI.

It was a slow morning in the Robinavitch house. The two inhabitants, soon to be three, were moving at a leisurely pace, neither too concerned with time. Katherine was on maternity, she had nowhere to be anyway. Robby was prolonging the inevitable.

“But if you say you’re having contractions, I get to stay home.” He sipped his coffee, watching her face break into the kind of smile that made the world stop.

“It would also be a lie. Or manifesting. I don’t want to put bad luck on our heads.” She shook her head.

“Fine, fine.” He groaned as he leaned over and kissed her, Katherine reveling in his coffee breath as it was as close as she could get to drinking it.

“I promise to let you know if anything changes.  Abbot will have your ass if he has to pull a double for no reason.” She got up and padded to the fridge, pulling a lunchbox out and handing it to Robby.

“He’d survive, probably.” He took the lunchbox as he grabbed his keys.

“Try not to be too grumpy with everyone today. The interns don’t need to deal with all that.” She kissed his cheek.

“Kit, I promise to do my best, but they somehow know the exact buttons to push.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, I know. But they have to learn to not be annoying. It’s part of the process.” She smiled, her hand absent mindedly rubbing up and down his bicep.

“Call me if anything change. I mean it,” He rested his hands on her shoulders, pushing the point further. “even if it’s a headache or just a general malaise. I want to know about it.” He made hard eye contact.

“I swear, anything happens besides a sneeze and you will know. Why are you so jumpy this morning?” Katherine crossed her arms.

“I want to know about the sneezes too,” Robby grabbed his airpods from the counter, “It sounds stupid, but it’s a full moon tonight and babies love being born on the full moon. And it’s a gut feeling.” He shrugged.

“Okay, I guess I can’t argue with crazy.” Kit chuckled.

“You married crazy.” He pulled her close, as close as possible, and kissed her.

“Dr. Robby, you can’t kiss a girl like that and leave.” She scolded.

“Oh, that is not fair.” He let out an exasperated laugh as he dropped his head into the crook of her neck.

“Go! You’re going to be late and then Abbot will send me angry texts all morning. I don’t want to deal with that.” She pushed him off her. Robby let out a loud groan as he left the house.

The Pitt was having a relatively quiet day, though no one would say those exact words. They were all just enjoying the peace. Robby had to break up a few people from gossiping in corners, the downtime poisoning their efficiency just a bit. He couldn’t be too mad, though; they never had days like this.

“When’s your paternity start?” Dana asked from her computer.

“I have been told by the boss that it starts when contractions start.” Robby sighed, his glasses sitting low on his nose.

“Gloria said that?” Dana looked up at him, shocked.

“Nope. Kit. She doesn’t want me bothering her. Thinks I’ll go stir crazy.” He said as he typed up his charts.

“Smart woman.” Dana laughed.

“I tried to get her to let me start today, but she’s too fucking virtuous. Doesn’t want to put bad luck on us and all that shit.”

“She’s trying to keep you an honest man. Tough job.” Dana jotted down notes on her tablet.

“I told her babies love being born during full moons and tonight is a full moon, but she didn’t take the bait.”  Robby scratched at the back of his neck.

“It’s a fair point. But have you stopped to think, maybe she’s trying to enjoy her last moments of autonomy?” Dana raised her eyebrows at him.

“What?” Robby pulled his glasses off.

“Think about it. Once this baby is born, there will be a person attached to her all day, every day for the foreseeable future. She will be someone’s mom before anything else. Maybe she wants to revel in still being somewhat her own person. That’s why she wants you out of the house.” Dana leaned back in her chair.

“I guess I never thought about it like that.” Robby crossed his arms, brows knitted together as he took in the information.

“Just make sure she knows, you’re going to give her space once the baby is born. Remind her that she’ll be your wife too, not just mom.” Dana gave a empathetic smile.

“Yeah, thanks.” Robby nodded.

“Um, Dr. Robby I need some help with a case in bay 4. I-I can’t get the discharge to stop.” Whitacker came running up, gloved hands held high in the air.

“let’s start by not leaving the patient with discharge seeping out of them, pressure dressing now. Go.” Robby sighed.

“Go easy, Cap. Shifts almost over. You can handle one more hour.” Dana laughed.

Robby was practically vibrating in his seat with anticipation. He was so ready to run home. The sight of Jack Abbot rolling in for his shift had him jumping up and ready to rattle off the cases.

“I don’t like you this excited, it’s like seeing a dog walk on two legs. Not natural.” Jack said as he dumped his pack at the hub.

“Give the guy a break, let him be excited for once.” Dana chuckled.

“If you two are finished, I’d like to get home to my wife.” Robby’s voice laced with snark.

“Why? Not like you’re getting any this late in the game.” Jack laughed.

“What is wrong with you?” Dana shook her head.

“Easy night, one boarding in psych, three food poisoning, four flu, one head trauma that is waiting on repeat CT and an anaphylaxis case that is here for observation.” Robby rattled off.

“Any trouble with the anaphylaxis?” Jack looked over the chart on his tablet.

“No, gave her the Benadryl and steroids and she started clearing up. No need for-” Robby’s phone buzzed in his pocket, a message from Kit.

Kit: Hey, I know you’re probably getting off. I just wanted to let you know, feeling a bit crampy. Could be nothing. Who knows. Pick up Pizza or don’t come home.

“Robby, all good?” Abbot’s voice snapped Robby back.

“Yeah. Yeah, pizza with a threat of violence. You need anything else?” Robby asked. Jack laughed and shook his head.

“Nope, you get your pizza before we never see you again. Full moon tonight.” Jack cocked his eyebrow.

“Oh I am very aware.” Robby sighed.

“Good luck, Brother. Call if you’re not coming in tomorrow. I’ll make Shen stay.” Abbot walked off as Robby grabbed his things and made for the exit.

Robby: Don’t get my hopes up. Keep an eye on it. Getting off now, will grab pizza per previous threat.

Robby didn’t actually realize how hungry he was until the hot pizza filled the car with it’s delicious aroma. If he wasn’t afraid of losing life or limb, he would have eaten a slice on the drive.

Kit: May be more than cramps. You’ll know when it’s a threat, Big Guy. :P

Robby felt his body tense a little and his footstep a little harder on the gas. He may have pulled into the driveway a little harder than usual, his breaks squealing in protest. He took a second to breathe before grabbing the pizza and going into the house.

“I made sure there was an obscene amount of mushrooms on it.” He called as he kicked his shoes off and walked into the kitchen, expecting to see Kit. When he wasn’t greeted by anyone, not even the dog, he started to get a little worried.

“Kit? Kitty?” He called into the house. He was met with a groan from the bedroom. He took off like a light toward the sounds. He found Katherine standing leaning on the dresser, her head hung low and doing her best to take deep breaths. The dog sat at her feet with a concerned look on his face and small whine as he watched over her.

“Not cramps.” She sighed.

“No, I can see that.” Robby walked over a smile on his face as he rubbed her back and kissed her shoulder.

“Pizza?” Kit asked as she lifted her, the contraction ebbing away. She wrapped her arms around Robby’s neck.

“In the kitchen. How long?” Robby’s brown, puppy dog eyes made Katherine’s stomach flip, the kindness in them took her breath away.

“Started around 2pm I think. Not anything bad so I ignored them. They got harder to ignore around 7pm. I promise, I thought it was nothing.” She said as she walked past him, heading straight for the pizza, the dog hot on her heels.

“I believe you.” He laughed as he watched her shove a slice in her face like she hadn’t eaten in days.

Robinavitch: You’re never going to guess what’s happening tonight.

“There like 15 minutes apart, I don’t think we’re going anywhere soon.” She said through a mouthful of food.

“You never know. But probably. You need to keep your fluids up too.” He said, raising his eyebrows.

Abbot: Babies love full moons, I’ll let Shen and Gloria know.

Abbot: Good luck. Take good care of her.

Abbot: Call if you need ANYTHING.

“Aren’t you Mister Popular?” Kit laughed as she moved to the couch with the pizza box.

“Just Abbot. Need to make sure they know I’m on paternity leave officially.”  Robby fell next to her with a sigh.

“He’s so nosy. He acts like he doesn’t care, but I can tell he’s just as excited as everyone else.” Kit laughed as she flipped through the channels.

“He’s got a reputation to uphold.” Robby rubbed his hand up and down her thigh.

Robby: Just a heads up, won’t be in for the next eight weeks.

“Did you put the car seat in? I feel like I remember you putting it in but I can’t really remember, ya know?” Kit asked as she settled on Bob’s Burgers.

“Put it in three days ago. Bags are packed and by the door. We are as prepared as anyone can be.” Robby smiled as he massaged the back of Kit’s neck.

Dana: Yay! Let me know when Baby Robinavitch arrives! I’m bringing food for you two. It takes a village an all that shit.

“We shouldn’t name the baby Tina, right?” Kit asked, her hand absent-mindedly rubbing her belly.

“You’ve suggested worse.” Robby chuckled as he grabbed a slice of pizza.

“We’ll know when we see them.” Kit nodded, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Robby watched her carefully, noticing the change in energy from this morning.

“Dana said she’s bringing food over once the baby is here.” He noted.

“Oh that’s nice. We forgot to get food for us ready.” Kit snorted.

“Yeah, well, easier to feed ourselves with all the delivery stuff.” He shrugged.  Kit nodded, her hands holding her belly as she took in a sharp breath.

“Do you want me to talk you through it or should I be quiet?” Robby asked as he rubbed a hard circle at the base of her spine, trying to comfort her.

“Talk, please.” She said through gritted teeth. Robby sat up a little straighter.

“Deep, even breaths. In through your nose and out through your mouth, you’re doing great.” He told her as he kissed her shoulder.

“This kind of sucks.” Kit sighed as she fell back into the couch, her head falling all the way back.

“I know. I’m sorry. Do you want the ball? I got it ready the other day.” Robby asked, one had tracing patterns on her arm while the other caressed her belly.

“Not right now, but probably soon. My energy is getting too wired.” She shrugged.

“Let me know what you need and I will make it happen.” He smiled down at her.

“I know you will, Big Guy.” She cupped his face with her hand, rubbing a thumb across his cheek bones.

“I can’t believe it’ll be three of us this time tomorrow.” He said, the air feeling heavy in his lungs as his eyes became glassy.

“I know. The house won’t be quiet anymore. It’s kind of scary.” Kit shifted to sit up.

“We’ll be okay. We always figure it out.” He kissed her cheek.

“I called my mom today.” Kit cleared her throat. Robby sat back, searching her face for any emotion, any clue as to what she was feeling.

“Yeah? How’d that go?” He knew she had never had an easy relationship with her family, particularly her mother. But she found herself wanting to try and include them in their life as the baby grew near.

“Well, she asked if you had stuck around to the end. I told her of course you did, we’re married and everything. She asked if I wanted her here.” Kit sighed.

“What’d you say?”

“I asked if she wanted to be with us. She said it wasn’t a good time and she didn’t want to be underfoot while we figured out how to keep our lives together.” Kit shook her head.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Robby could throttle that damn woman for how she treated his wife.

“She went on to say that with the baby being yours, it would probably be born with some mental health issues. To which I told her to shut her damn mouth and show some respect to my husband. She shouted about how ungrateful I was and my kid was going to be a brat with no future, just like me.” Kit rubbed the tears from her eyes.

“You’re so much better than them. I know you wanted this baby to help change things, but maybe it’s for the best.” He pulled her to his chest.

“I wanted my mommy.” Kit said, starting to cry.

“I know.” Robby sighed, doing his bests to hold her together. “Nothing can replace your mom, but we can always have Dana come over if you need that feminine energy.” He said.

“That’s asking too much.” Kit shook her head and sat up, trying to keep from falling apart further.

“No way. Dana would love to be here, are you kidding? She’s been berating me for updates every shift! She’s family, she’d drop everything for you.” Robby dropped his head, forcing Kit to keep eye contact.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “I’m just going to check the nursery one more time.” She changed the subject and made for the nursery. Robby didn’t push it. He pulled out his phone again and dialed Dana’s number.

“Cap? What’s going on? Everything okay?” Dana’s voice was quick and concerned.

“Everything’s fine, no fire, calm down.” Robby laughed.

“Jesus, I wasn’t expecting you to call! You never call! I thought something was wrong.” She let out an exasperated sigh.

“I know, I’m sorry. I needed to run some info by you. Are you busy?” Robby looked down the hall to make sure his wife was still out of earshot.

“Not busy. At least not for you guys tonight. What’s up?”

“Kit called her mom today.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Needless to say, it didn’t go great. I think she’s really feeling that hole right now. I told her you’d come be with her if she wanted a woman’s presence. She thinks she’s asking too much.” Robby ran a hand down his face, unsure if he was doing the right thing.

“Of course that’s not too much! I’d do anything for that girl. The way she takes care of everyone else but thinks it’s too much for us to do the same. If I ever see that mother of hers, it will be bloody.” Dana snorted.

“Maybe you can swing by under the guise of dropping off something, I don’t know. I can see her starting to break and this is the worst time for it.” Robby sighed.

“Yeah, course. I was just getting the lasagna out of the oven for youse anyway. I’ll be by in a bit.” Dana said before hanging up.

Robby walked into the nursery and saw Kit going through the drawers and looking over all the onesies. Her hands gliding over the soft fabric, admiring the colors, reveling in the fact that they would be worn soon.

“You’re hovering.” Kit didn’t look up, just smiled.

“I can’t help it. Instinct. I know you’re in labor and I can’t stop the primal man brain from worrying.” Robby shrugged.

“You should shower. Who knows when you’ll get to next.” She noted.

“I’ll get to it. I’m making sure you’re okay.” He cocked his head, watching as she closed the drawer and turned to face him. She had been crying again; he could see the redness in her eyes.

“What if…what if I turn into her?” Her voice cracking. Robby took in a sharp breath as if the words had punched him in the chest.

“My love, I can assure you that you will not be like her.” He said as he moved to stand in front of her, cupping her face in his hands.

“What if it’s genetic and I can’t escape it?” She couldn’t look up.

“Kitty, I have seen how hard you care. I have seen you take care of every person that you come across, strangers on the street sometimes! You have more compassion and kindness in one eyelash than that woman has in her whole body.” He tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Sometimes, I feel myself get angry and it scares me. I don’t want to be like them.”

“I know. But being angry sometimes doesn’t mean you are. It’s okay to be angry, it’s what you do with it that makes the difference. I’ve never seen you take your anger out on anyone, I wish you’d stop taking it out on yourself.” He smiled down at her.

“I love you.” She reached up and kissed him.

“I love you too.” He caressed her back.

Kit took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around Robby’s neck and burying her face in the crook of it, moaning as the pain took over.

“You’re doing great, love. Good breaths.” He said as he put counter-pressure on her hips. She moaned into his neck, he felt the tears hit his skin. The doorbell went off and the dog started barking.

“who’s that?” Kit groaned.

“Don’t worry about it, you just focus on breathing.” He told her. He held her until the contraction passed.

“I thought everyone knew what was happening.” Kit breathed, the dog still barking.

“They do.” Robby went to get the door. “Hawkey! Stop!” He scolded the dog. He opened the door for Dana, hands full of more food than he was expecting.

“Hey Robinavtich family! I come with the gift of carbs!” She smiled as she let herself in.

“Dana? I thought you were coming tomorrow?” Kit asked, shooting Robby a killer look. Robby put his hands in the air in surrender.

“I got too antsy waiting at home. Thought you might want some company from someone who's done this before.” She went over and pulled Kit into a tight hug.  “This one let slip that you might need a woman around.” She nodded her head to Robby.

“That was very presumptuous of him.” Kit snapped.

“Aw, he’s just looking out for you, kid.” She chuckled. “Besides, isn’t it better to have another pair of hands when things get crazy?”

“You have a family to take care of, too.” Kit shook her head.

“They’ll keep. My husband is more than capable of keeping one teenager in line for a while. As much as anyone can. But if you really want me to go, I won’t force ya.”

“Well, you’re already here.” Kit shrugged.

“Thought so.” Dana wrapped an arm around her shoulder and brought her to the couch. Robby followed, getting the dog and putting him on his bed.

“I’m here for moral support. I’ll let the big guy do all the coaching and such. You just yell for what you need and I’ll get it.” Dana smiled.

“Well, since you’re here now, Robby can go shower.” Kit winked at him.

“That sounds like a great idea. Cap?”

“I don’t smell that bad.” Robby shook his head.

“Ya know, I used to think that too. But since I haven’t been in the hospital for a while, there is a smell. Antiseptic, metallic. Maybe it’s the pregnancy making me pick up on it.” Kit laughed.

“Okay, okay! I surrender. I’ll shower. Yell, if you need me. I mean it.” He pointed at both women.

“We’ll be fine.” Dana waved him off. “So, how far into the panic have ya got?” Dana turned to face Kit.

“I-uh, what?”

“Oh sweetie. Everyone panics. They all say it’s something to do with adrenaline and hormones, but it’s more than that. We were raised by our parents and it’s every new parents worst fear that they’ll turn into them. Honestly, most don’t, but it’s a real fear until you get into the groove of it.” Dana said.

“I’m so fucking scared I’ll be like her. I’d never forgive myself.” Kit felt her hands start to shake.

“Honey, I met that woman once and I can say with my whole chest that you are nothing like her. I’ve seen a lot people have babies that had no right to be parents and you and Robby are two of the few people I truly believe should be.” Dana smiled.

“Thank you I-” Kit was cut off as the pain crashed over her.

“Easy, you got it.” Dana consoled.

Robby hadn’t showered faster in his life. He felt like the second he stepped into the water, something was going to go wrong. The fact that he couldn’t keep his eyes on Kit made his anxiety rise like his blood pressure. He threw on his sweats and a t-shirt and was about to go back out when something made him stop. God, he hoped he didn’t fuck this up like his dad.

“Hey, everything okay?” He smiled as he came back out.

“Yeah, I’m an emergency room charge nurse with over 20 years under my belt. I think I can handle a healthy woman in labor, Cap.” Dana laughed, her glasses on the end of her nose as she braided Kit’s hair.

“Wow, I forgot how snarky you get off the clock.” Robby quipped.

“You’re not the boss here.” She smiled.

“Baby, can you get the yoga ball? My hips are getting tight, starting to bother me.” Katherine sighed.

“Course, I’ll get you a Gatorade too.” He kissed her cheek and left the room.

“Such service. I need me one of them.” Dana laughed.

“I can’t complain. Though he does leave his underwear on the floor next to the hamper. But I’ll train him out of it one day.” Kit chuckled.

“Let me know how you do it, mine still does it.” Dana patted her shoulder. “All done, sweetheart.”

“Thanks for doing that. It’s harder to reach behind myself these days.”

“I’m not as good as you, but it’ll hold.” Dana smiled.

“Oh, I never braid my hair.”

“But, you’re always coming in with perfect braids. Straight out of a YouTube tutorial.” Dana looked at her, confused.

“That would be me.” Robby came back in, winking at Dana.

“You’re shitting me.” She scoffed.

“Nope. I braid her hair most mornings.” He said, handing the Gatorade to Kit.

“Why?”

“Because she asks.” He shrugs. “And it’s good for dexterity, keeps my hands from getting too stiff.” He helped Kit get on the giant yoga ball, keeping her steady while she got comfortable.

“You are full of surprises, Robinavitch.” Dana got up and went to the kitchen.

“You feeling okay?” Robby knelt next to Kit, rubbing her back.

“Yeah, tired. The contractions are getting longer, which I know is a good thing but sucks. I’m anxious to be over with this but at the same time I don’t feel ready. But how does anyone feel ready for this and my body is on fire and I’m nauseous and hungry all at the same time. I want to scream but also cry and also neither. So, ya know, fine.” Kit muttered out in one breath. Robby stared at her for a long moment, unsure where to start.

“Well, that’s all normal.”

“I know that’s normal, I’m doctor too Michael.” Kit snapped.

“Yep, nope, sorry. Wrong thing to say.” Robby rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh my god, what was that? I don’t do that! Why am I acting like this?” Kit’s hands flew to cover her mouth in shock.

“Hey, it’s okay. Honey, you’re body and mind are going through war right now. I’m not taking offense to anything. Okay? If you need to snap and yell at me to get through this, then I can take it.” He massaged her thigh.

“I don’t want to be those women who bite their husbands' heads off. I want to be rational and normal!” Kit threw her hands in the air.

“Honey, rational and normal don’t exist when you’re going through labor.” Dana came over and put a plate of watermelon in front of her. “Eat, it’s good for nausea.” She nodded as she disappeared again.

“She’s right.” Robby smiled.

“Ugh! I hate this- Oh my god…” Her voice trailed off into a low moan as she grabbed onto Robby’s shoulders.

“You’re doing so good, Kit.” He said, her groans getting louder, tears falling down her face. Robby reached up to wipe them from her face when he heard a low growl from next to him.

“Haweye! Out!” Kit snapped. The dog didn’t move.

“My fucking dog and he’s going to bite me for you. If that isn’t fucked up I don’t know what is.” Robby chuckled.

“Fuck! Michael!” Kit yelled, the pain overwhelming her.

“You’re okay, I’m right here.” He told her, putting pressure on her hips. “Follow my breaths.” He said as he put her hand on his chest and started breathing slowly. Hawkeye started growling more.

“Buddy, I need you to not do this right now.” Robby tried to reason with the dog.

“He always liked me better.” Kit sighed as the contraction ended.

“Everyone likes you better.” He smiled, kissing her hand.

“What should I do with him?” Dana asked.

“I’m going to take him to the neighbor. She’s a vet, said they’d watch him for us. We knew this was a possibility.” Robby sighed as he gathered some of the dog’s things. “I’ll be right back.” He said as he grabbed Hawkeye and ran out the door.

“What do you need, hun?” Dana rubbed circles on her back.

“This to be over.” Kit cried.

“I know sweetheart. Soon. You’re already up to eleven minutes apart.” She informed her. Robby came sprinting back into the house out of breath.

“Rachel says hi.” Robby cleared his throat as he came back over.

“I’m sorry he growled at you.” Kit’s voice cracked as she lolled her head back and forth, stretching her neck muscles.

“He’s doing his job. Keeping you safe, he thought I was doing it.” He stood behind her and started kneading her neck muscles.

Robby did his best to be present and not worry about what was to come. He did everything that Katherine asked of him: Knead the muscles of her back, counter pressure to her hips, not touch her, not stop touching her, wipe the sweat off her forehead, dance through the contractions with her. If she needed it, he did it. Dana ran around them making sure anything needed was in arms reach and offering encouragement the one time Robby went to the bathroom.

“Good, Kit. Nice deep breaths, keep control of your breathing.” Robby was holding her up as she draped herself on top of him, swaying them back and forth.

“Ugh, it won’t end!” Kit cried, her grip on the back of Robby’s shirt tightened, her knuckles going white.

“It will, Honey. Getting longer means you’re closer. Blow the exhale out, focus on controlling the breaths.” He said, looking over to Dana and mouthing How far apart? To which she replied 9 minutes. Robby’s heart skipped a beat.

“It’s getting so hard.” Kit tried to catch her breath as the contraction ebbed away.

“Kitty, you’re at 9 minutes apart. The plan was to head in around 10 minutes.” Robby tucked a loose strand behind her ear.

“I wanted to wait until my water broke, I don’t want to be there longer than I have to.” She sighed.

“We can wait a bit longer if you want. I’ll have to pull the doctor/husband card here and say no later than six minutes.” Robby warned her.

“No, let’s just go now. I just had a flash of you delivering the baby on the side of the road and it freaked me out.” Kit sighed.

“Yeah, best to avoid giving birth in the backseat.” Dana smiled.

“Will you stay with her while I get everything in the car?” Robby asked, running off before getting his answer.

“You’re going to start seeing panicked Robby. Enjoy it, pretty funny.” Dana laughed as she held onto Kit.

“Why does he run like that?” They watched Robby grabbing bags and running in and out of the house.

“Gotta be something wrong with his knees.” Dana shrugged.

“You don’t have to come with us. It’s gonna be a horror movie from here out.” Kit laughed.

“If you want your privacy, I’ll respect that. But if you do actually want me there and you don’t say, well, I’ll be upset then.” Dana smiled.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve such a beautiful friend.” Kit wiped the stray tears from her face.

“Oh don’t get soft on me kid.” Dana chuckled, trying to hide her glassy eyes.

“I think we’ll want our privacy though. I’m not keen on that many people having that image of my vagina in their heads.” Kit laughed.

“Okay, I’ll make sure this place is ready for ya. You call me the second you’re ready for visitors. I expect to be the first one.” She scolded.

“I p-promise, oh fuck…” Kit groaned hanging onto Dana.

“You’re doing great, you hang onto me if you need.” Dana kept her on her feet.

“So much fucking pressure!” She yelled. Robby was running back inside when Kit cried out.

“What? What happened!?” He came barreling around the corner.

“My fucking water broke on Dana’s shoes!” Kit’s face was beet red.

“Honey, these shoes have seen much worse. Let’s get you cleaned up and in the car. Okay?” Dana guided her to the closet seat.

“Fuck, Michael.” Kit looked up at him dazed.

“Yeah.” He gave a breathy chuckle as he brought the baby wipes over and cleaned up her legs.

“This is actually happening.” Kit shook her head in disbelief.

“Hey. We’ve got this. Okay? I promise.” He held her face in his hand.

“Alright love birds, let’s get you in the car. I’ll clean this up, don’t worry about it.” Dana said, her nurse voice coming out of nowhere.

“Remind me to never be one of your patients.” Robby chuckled.

“My patient satisfaction scores are great.” Dana scoffed as she helped him walk Kit to the car.

“Thank you, seriously.” Robby pulled her into a quick hug.

“It’s what we do. You take care of her, I want pictures the second you two stop crying.” She smiled and waved them off.

“Do you want the playlist on?” Robby asked as he fiddled with the radio.

“don’t care.” Kit huffed.

“You okay?” Robby’s head snapped to look at her.

“There’s no buffer now. It’s sharper.” Kit groaned, clinging onto Robby’s bicep.

“We’ll be there in five minutes.” He told her, letting her dig her nails into his skin.

They arrived at the front entrance of the hospital, the valet taking care of the car. At least Gloria let them use the valet, not that they had any other good benefits, Robby thought. They were settled into a private room with Kit gowned up and hooked to the monitors.

“You want your robe? You’re shivering.” Robby noted.

“It’s cold in here.” Kit nodded. Robby grabbed the fluffy pink robe from one of the bags and wrapped her up.

“I put your electrolytes in the water bottle.” Robby handed her the bottle.

“Thank you. Do you need anything?” She looked up at him with her big doe eyes and his whole soul melted.

“How are you asking me that right now? Honey, I’m fine. Today is about what you need. You don’t need to be worried about me.” He kissed her, dumbfounded at how she chose him.

“I always want to take care of you.” She sighed.

The closer it got to the baby being born, the more nervous Robby got. He was doing his best to downplay it and focus on Katherine. He was pretty sure that she could tell anyway.

“You’re doing great! Kit, you’ve got this!” Robby held her hand as she yelled through another contraction.

“Oh fuck, Michael!” Kit’s eyes went wide.

“Baby, what is it? What’s going on?” Robby brushed the hair from her face, trying to get her to focus.

“I-I think I’m pushing. I didn’t mean…yeah, get the OB. Now!” Kit barked. Robby slammed the call button.

“It’s okay, listen to your body. If you have to push, go for it.” He said, waiting for anyone to answer the call.

“Dr. Robinavitch, how can-”

“Get Dr. Smith, she’s pushing.” Robby snapped at the nurse's laissez-faire attitude. The nurse nodded and ran off. Robby ran over to the wall, grabbing some gloves and running back.

“Is this too fast? I can’t fucking tell anymore!” Kit groaned.

“Nope, not too fast. Good vitals, everything is going great. Kit, I’m going to check how close you are.” Robby said.

“Don’t use your doctor voice on me, I hate it!” Kit cried, gripping the guard rails.

“Kitty, you’re doing great. I can feel the head, okay. When you have a contraction, chin to your chest and push.” Robby said.

“Dr. Robinavitch, I didn’t think you wanted to do the delivery.” Dr. Smith smiled as she walked in followed by three nurses bringing in supplies.

“I don’t! Thank fuck! I got nervous for a second there, Smith.” Robby sighed as he took his gloves off and moved to hold Kit’s hand.

“Well, Katherine, you’re baby is eager to get here. Let’s get you propped up.” Dr. Smith said as she put her gown on. One of the nurses moved to prop the head of the bed up.

“Thank God it’s almost over!” Kit groaned. She latched onto Robby’s hand as she started pushing again.

“You’re doing great, Kit. Keep going, good! Okay, rest!” Robby cheered her on.

“I’m never doing this again!” Kit yelled.

“Never, I swear.” Robby chuckled as he kissed her temple.

“Try and hold that push for ten seconds.” Dr. Smith said as she settled between Katherine’s legs.

“You want to do this!?” Kit barked. Everyone laughed.

“Oh, I have three kids. I’ve done this plenty. That’s how I know you can do this too, Katherine.” Dr. Smith’s kind eyes smiled, her mask obscuring her face.

“Michael!” Katherine yelled, overwhelmed and unsure of herself, seeking something to ground her.

“I’m here, I’m right here. Not going anywhere. Deep breath, push!” Robby held onto her hand, the other supporting her neck as she pushed.

“…6,7,8,9,10! Relax, breathe!” Robby wiped the sweat from her forehead.

“You’re nearly there Katherine. I know it’s a lot, but baby is almost at a full crown.” Dr. Smith adjusted the light.

“You’re almost there, honey.” Robby kissed her cheek. Katherine nodded, looking up at him and breaking his heart.

“Nice, big push for me Katherine.” Dr. Smith instructed and Katherine begrudgingly complied. She screamed as Robby did his best to comfort her. He hated how helpless he felt. He wasn’t used to being on the sidelines. When people hurt, he helped. He couldn’t do anything but offer words. It was eating him alive.

“Alright, next push and baby will be here!” Dr. Smith announced.

“You’re such a fucking superstar.” Robby kissed Katherine’s head.

“Fuck!” Katherine screamed as she pushed again. Robby cheered her on as he looked over the drapes on her legs to see the baby slide into Dr. Smith’s hands. His heart stopped at the sight. He looked up at Katherine who had wide eyes, tears falling silently down her cheeks.

“You’re amazing, you’re so fucking amazing!” He smiled, kissing her face all over.

“Michael…” Kit looked off at the warmer.

“Everything okay, Dr. Smith?” Robby’s voice cracked.

“They aren’t crying. Why aren’t they crying!?” Kit yelled.

“Give them some time, it can take a second.” One of the nurses who was cleaning Kit up told them.

“Dr. Smith!” Robby barked.

“Robby, I’m working!” She snapped.

“Michael.” Kit sobbed. Robby wrapped her up in his arms.

“It’s okay, they’ll be okay.” He told her and himself. The next fifteen seconds felt like hours. The room was suddenly filled with a harsh cry, sending both Robby and Kit into hysterical sobs.

“She was being as stubborn as her father, it seems.” Dr. Smith smiled as she brought the baby over and laid her on Kit’s chest.

“Sorry.” Robby said, not looking up from the baby.

“No apology needed. You have a healthy little girl. Congratulations.” She smiled.

“Oh my god.” Kit’s voice barely audible.

“She’s perfect. She looks like you.” Robby sobbed.

“Don’t scare us like that again, little one.” Kit scolded the baby, a smile plastered across her face.

“Do you two have a name?” One of the nurses asked.

“She needs strong women to look up to. I think it should be after your grandmother.” Kit looked up at Robby. As if his heart wasn’t already aching with love, it still found more room.

“Abigail?” His voice cracked.

“Abigail Robinavitch.” Kit played with the sounds.

“What about a middle name?” the nurse asked.

“The only woman that’s ever taken care of me is Dana.” Kit’s voice cracked.

“Abigail Dana Robinavitch. It’s perfect. She’s going to lose it when she finds out.” Robby laughed.

“What a perfect little name for a perfect little girl.” Kit sang to the baby.

They all stayed like that in a perfect little world for an hour before, Katherine couldn’t stay awake any longer. The baby was taken to the nursery for sleep. Robby dozed off here and there, but kept waking up to check on Kit. He knew the nursery nurses and he hadn’t met one that didn’t keep the closest eye on every patient. They often scared him. He worried, but knew it was instinct and not needed. Kit, he knew he had to watch. He’d seen the statistics of mothers dying because no one listened.

When breakfast rolled around, the tray of cafeteria food made Katherine cry. Robby was sent to get McDonald's. He decided to walk through the ER, he wanted to show off a little.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Abbot perked up seeing Robby.

“Dr. Robby! How’s Dr. R?” Mel came rushing over.

“Everyone is good, healthy, and getting rest.” He announced to the small group gathering.

“Do you have pictures?” Princess begged.

“Yep, do not drop my phone.” He warned as he handed it over to them.

“What’s her name?” Javadi asked.

“Abigail.” He smiled. Jack wrapped him in a rough hug, patting his back.

“You did good, man. She's doing okay?”

“Yeah. Man, she was a star. I don’t know how I got this fucking lucky.” Robby sighed.

“Neither do I.” Abbot chuckled.

“Alright, phone, please. If I don’t deliver breakfast hot, I fear I will lose a limb.” Robby took the phone back.

“When can we come say hi?” Perlah asked.

“Later. They both need rechecks and Dana called first dibs.” Robby smiled, seeing how excited everyone was. It was a nice reminder of how big their family was.

“Your Mcgriddle and hashbrowns, my love.” Robby handed the bag to Kit who immediately started devouring the food.

“If I wasn’t so sore, I’d take you right now.” She smiled.

“Wow, that’s dedication.” Robby chuckled.

“Dana is on her way. How was downstairs?” Kit asked.

“They were very excited to see pictures. Asked when they could come up. We’ll have to figure out rotations.” Robby sat next to her.

Jack Rabbit: Good job, KitKat. I’ll be up before I leave.

“What a softy.” Kit laughed her phone.

“Jack?” Robby asked, Kit nodded. “Only for you.” He laughed. There was a knock at the door as the nurse rolled the crib into the room. Robby jumped up and grabbed the baby.

“I may want to hold her at some point, just saying.” Kit chuckled.

“Naw, she’s mine now. You had her for nine months. We’ve got time to catch up on.” Robby gave a curt nod.

“I can’t move without searing pain, so I won’t fight you yet.” She threatened.

“I think I can take you.” He said as he bounced the baby. 

"She's got your eyes, Michael." Kit smiled, watching her man swaying with her baby in his arms. "They'll be those big, brown doe eyes before we know it."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Only because I could never say no to those eyes. Those eyes got us in this mess." Kit let out a contented sigh. Robby gave her a soft smile.

There was a knock at the door and Dana’s head poked in.

“Everyone decent?” She asked.

“Yes, all bits are covered,” Kit said. Dana came barreling in and wrapped her up in a tight hug.

“I was more worried about him.” She chuckled. “I heard you were a superstar. Knew you would be.” She smiled.

“I’m always an A+ student.” Kit laughed.

“Alright, let me see that baby.” Dana smiled as she got up and went over to Robby.

“Careful, he’s barely let me hold her.” Kit winked at him. Robby scoffed as he handed the baby to Dana.

“Oh wow, yeah, that’s a good baby.” Dana laughed. “She’s beautiful. You two did good.” She smiled. Robby sat next to Kit, wrapping his arm around her. “Her name is Abigail.” Robby said.

“Abigail Robinavitch. You are going to do great things.” Dana hummed to the baby.

“Abigail Dana Robinavitch, actually.” Kit smiled. Dana stopped and looked up at them with glassy eyes.

“We wanted her to have strong women to look up to.” Robby said, his voice giving his emotion away.

“Well, isn’t that something?” Dana’s voice shook. “I know she’ll do us all proud.” Dana smiled. “Come take your baby before I cry all over it.” Dana laughed as Robby jumped up and grabbed the baby, putting her back in the crib.

“Room for one more?” Jack barged his way in.

“Not even a knock? I could have had a tit out.” Kit threw her hands in the air.

“I’ve seen worse.” He snorted. “I wanted to stop by before I went home to pass out.” He said, going to give Kit a kiss on the cheek.

“Well, since you’re both here, no more convenient time to tell you that you’re the godparents.” Robby said.

“How unceremonious.” Kit shot Robby a look.

“I hate ceremony.” Jack snorted.

“You’re supposed to say that you're honored and things like that.” Dana elbowed him.

“You cried on the baby, didn’t you?” Jack laughed. “Of course, I’m honored. I expected it, but I’m happy to do it.” He said, patting Robby on the back.

“I didn’t cry on the baby.” Dana muttered.

“Oh thank god she looks like KitKat. I was worried.” Jack said.

“Easy.” Robby warned.

“She’s damn near perfect. Smith said she made you two panic when she was born.” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Why are you talking to my OB?”

“We ran into each other on the elevator. Longest 20 seconds of your life or what?”

“She’s already got the Robinavitch stubbornness.” Kit rolled her eyes.

“She’ll fit right in.” Jack said as he picked her up, the baby fussed before settling quickly in his arms.

“How did you do that?” Dana asked, looking dumbfounded.

“Babies love me. I have a general calm and steadfast demeanor that they respond to.” Jack said as he bounced with the baby. “We’re gonna cause so much chaos together, right, Abby? Yeah, you already got that look in your eye.” Jack nodded to the baby.

“You can’t start teaching her tactical airway until ten at least.” Kit chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Your mom doesn’t need to know about our shenanigans.” He smiled at her. They all watched in awe. Jack never really let himself be soft around anyone. This little girl was already melting him.

“She’s already smarter than most of management.” Dana chuckled as she walked over and peered over Jack’s shoulder.

“Like that’s hard.” Jack snorted, running a hand over Abigail’s soft hair. “She’s already smiling.”

“That is not possible.” Dana scoffed.

“No, she is. She already knows good comedy when she hears it.” Jack smirked.

“Or she needs a diaper change.” Dana laughed.

“Two things can be right at the same time.” Jack huffed.

Kit and Robby finally felt at ease, all the anxiety washing away. Seeing that they wouldn’t have to do this alone, they had family to help. They would be okay.

[druidfolk]

shadowzel AU — medusa and her blind lover

'What was it that stayed my hand then?

With dagger held unsheathed, blade pointing in its side'

Upon learning of Lae'zel, the terrible local Gorgon that occupied crumbled ancient ruins somewhere out in the country, Shadowheart had been set on killing her and turning in her head for the reward. She was blind, after all, and likely would be unaffected by the monster's terrible curse.

But when Shadowheart becomes prey herself, hunted by a band of brigands crueler and greedier than her and after the same prize, she is fated to a brutal mauling. Unknowingly she flees straight into the Gorgon's den, and when Lae'zel locks eyes with the criminals they seize, turning to stone within seconds, allowing Shadowheart the chance to slip away and hide. With Lae'zel distracted, she has the perfect opportunity to ambush the monster; what she does not expect is the sound of the tall, rippling form of Lae'zel slithering around the corner of a ruined column to confront her.

Shadowheart can hear its raspy breathing, can feel the coolness from the way its shadow blocks the sun as it towers above, only feet from her; she grips the pitiful knife in her sweaty palm and prepares to strike as close to the neck as she can get. All she needs to do is cut off its head, and then she was rich.

Her grip on the dagger tightens and her blood runs icy when the creature cornering her utters a single phrase in its gritty, underused voice.

"Are you injured?" it croaks coldly.

Shadowheart hesitates. Turns out her theory was correct; though she can feel the Gorgon's molten gold eyes bearing into her own, her body remains soft, alive. She tests her lungs, and fresh air flows in through her nose. She is alive.

'I'd been set upon by a predator

It was just looking for a meal, I saw ribs and fearful eyes'

Lae'zel is not stupid; she's been hunted day and night for years now, but nobody has ever gotten close enough to harm her.

Until Shadowheart.

She cannot immediately deduce Shadowheart's original intentions, for all she appeared to be was a helpless blind girl pursued by rapists and murderers. However, her disability proved itself a threat to Lae'zel; she can get close, too close. Close enough to land a deadly blow if Lae'zel is caught unawares.

So she decides to kill her. Eliminate such a threat once and for all, and Lae'zel can go back to her cold, isolated life in the ruins.

It had not been long since Lae'zel sent her away, letting her leave freely if she promised not to try anything stupid. That was her first mistake: showing her mercy. Shadowheart took this opportunity and fled, battered and exhausted. She'd be slow, easy prey.

She finds the girl in the evening, struggling through a waist-high grassy field. She must have lost the path at some point and failed to find it again. The tall foliage made the perfect cover for a creature like Lae'zel, who could easily weave her way through the blades and take her prey by surprise. As she draws nearer, the scent of copper fills the air. Peeking over the grass she can see that Shadowheart is struggling for a multitude of reasons; the thick grasses slow her down, yes, but she is more slowed by the deep gash in her side, blood bubbling out between her fingers as she attempts and fails to staunch the flow.

Lae'zel may be a monster, but she is more honorable than kicking a creature while it's down. She watched the ailing girl for a few moments longer, gauging how far she might make it. She only gets a few dozen more steps in before she crashes to the ground, uttering a pained groan before going still and quiet. Lae'zel quickly scans the area for any other life. Satisfied by the silence, Lae'zel darts forward and peers down at Shadowheart tangled in the grass, covered in smears of dirt and dried blood. She seems much less threatening in this state, and the Gorgon cannot help but give in to her piqued curiosity; she scoops the white-haired woman up and roughly tosses her over her shoulder, sliding effortlessly through the field once she finds a useable path that leads toward her temple.

Shadowheart is all but dumped on the dusty floor to wait there until she regains consciousness. Then, she will be Lae'zel's to do with whatever she pleases.

'What is it that stays my hand now?

With so much misery that I could mercifully put ends to

For that animal I let slink off into the undergrowth, unscathed

Do I not fear death, but just pretend to?'

Shadowheart is not a prisoner, Lae'zel insists. She is a merely a guest who is not allowed to leave until she recovers. This leaves her with plenty of time to plot and scheme, to plan the slaughter of this demon and be done with it. But night after night, she lies awake sleepless, unable to bring herself to action. She cannot bring herself to kill the creature who likely saved her life, who continues to let her stay in its home and asks nothing in return.

Maybe she plans to wait until Shadowheart is healthy again to kill and eat her. She doesn't know. Instead of worrying over it, she talks.

She mostly talks to herself for the first few days. When Lae'zel is around—usually only to check that Shadowheart had not tried escaping for the third time—she says little to nothing; her vocabulary seems to consist primarily of grunts and sighs and hissing. A lot of hissing, especially when Shadowheart accidentally shifts too close.

She comments on the Gorgon's collection of swords one night as she is slithering away into the darkness. It's a desperate grab at any kind of communication, and Shadowheart knows she's struck gold when she hears Lae'zel halt, then turn a fraction in the dirt.

"You wish to know of my swords?" she whispers, her tone suspicious with the barest hint of surprise.

Shadowheart nods all too eagerly, and she spends the rest of the night listening to Lae'zel tell the stories of nearly each and every one. Some she left out; whether they were too painful a memory or an insignificant one, Shadowheart did not know. But she listened.

And then the person behind the monster began to show through. Shadowheart would garner little bits and pieces of her history throughout the stories. She pointed to the jagged scar running down her right shoulder blade and told the tale of a clever thief who used mirrors to try and outsmart her. He'd managed to sneak up behind her and land a brutal slash down her back, but it wasn't enough to kill her. She puffed with pride as she regaled how she twisted and snapped him up by the throat with her injured arm, and grinned wickedly as his face froze in terror, the expression forever carved into stone.

She also tells stories of recent onslaughts of attacks, some by targeted monster hunters and others who happened to wander into her domain and wanted what she had for themselves, and what she had admittedly wasn't much. Shadowheart learns, through glimpses into Lae'zel's past, what a tortured life she's lived. She almost wonders if killing her would be a mercy, but shakes the thought away as Lae'zel dives into another tale centered around a bejeweled dagger. Then another, this time a hunter's bow.

By the time she is telling the story of the ogre and his crystalline club, Shadowheart is drifting into sleep.

'For it was starving, it was hungry

But had eyes too close to let me'

For a very long time, Lae'zel killed anyone that walked into her temple, whether she meant to or not. Innocent, curious children and poor lost elders were not even spared, and over time her heart grew cold and hardened from it. She learned to accept that she would be alone until her final day, and made surprisingly easy peace with that fact.

But then Shadowheart came into the picture; an equally as lonely annoying little farm girl with an overambitious sense of adventure, given her particular limitations. She intrigued and infuriated Lae'zel to no end. Why did she keep her up into the late hours of the night, when her time could be better spent curled into some cold corner, fighting for any scrap of rest? Why did she return day after day, sometimes staying away for as long as a week at a time, yet always comes back? It distressed Lae'zel greatly how empty and chilled the temple felt without Shadowheart's presence when only a month ago it would not have bothered her. She may have even preferred it. But now the wind whistles too loudly as it tears through the columns, the echoes of crumbling structures startle her when she is too deep in her head. It is driving her mad.

She watches the sun during the day and the moon during her sleepless nights, both in an endless rotation but never touching. How she longs for them to touch. The thought disgusts her, but she dimly wonders when Shadowheart will come back anyway.

'If you were easy to kill, I would have done it already'

Some days, when thoughts of Shadowheart torment Lae'zel to no end, she once more considers killing the girl. Out of sight, out of mind. But the image of Shadowheart bleeding, choking, dying by her hand tortures her far worse than even the tenderest of desires.

'Plagued by phantom noises

That that skeletal beast was haunting all my steps'

During the first few nights of Shadowheart's recovery, when she was delirious with pain and sweating with fever, she thought she could hear the heavy drag of a serpentine body around every wall and column. Her heart would race with panic while her body remained sluggish and weak, trapping her in place. If she were to be Lae'zel's prey, there was nothing she could have done to stop it.

Even after some flimsy semblance of trust had been established, both women slept with daggers under their bedding for some time.

'Questioning all my choices

With that dagger held unsheathed, I felt sick at my contempt'

Even after her body recovered, Shadowheart suffered. She struggled with the guilt of her choices; she could have killed Lae'zel as she intended to and save hundreds of travelers from a stony demise. But as she comes to learn, it is not Lae'zel who is the monster. It is instead those who seek to harm her.

For as long as Lae'zel has existed in her current form, she's been hunted. A target was planted firmly on her back the moment this terrible curse was inflicted upon her. She refuses to share her origin story, how she came to be this way, and Shadowheart does not press. Instead, a thick, sickening lump of empathy, remorse and fury lodges itself in her throat and sticks fast.

Every time she sees Lae'zel, with every new bit of information she learns, the lump grows and it chokes her further.

'For you were lonely, you were like me

Like some outside force had sent me

If I was easy to kill, you would have done it already'

Lae'zel's loneliness is not as apparent as Shadowheart's. She hides hers well, whereas Shadowheart's desperation for connection shows more plainly, and that scared Lae'zel. She kept her distance, only checking on the girl once a day at first, but over time Shadowheart's tendency to chatter away in that clipped, sarcastic tone of hers wore down Lae'zel's walls. The way she asked questions drew her in. Unbeknownst to Shadowheart, the monster's heart ached in very much the same way as her human one did.

Shadowheart gave up on killing Lae'zel a long while ago. She kept their visits a tightly bound secret; it wasn't as if anyone would notice she was missing anyway. Even without her eyesight, by now her feet carried her to the temple through memory alone.

'You are at my feet, we're by the fire

You're a gentle beast and I'm alive

You are at my feet, we're by the fire

You're a gentle, purring beast and I'm alive

You are at my feet, we're by the fire

You're a healthy, gentle, purring beast and I'm alive'

As Shadowheart slowly peels back Lae'zel's layers, she finds something she doesn't expect: a highly intelligent, fiercely loyal and passionate companion. She became somewhat protective over Shadowheart in the weeks they grew closer, threatening to hunt down and slay anyone who even mildly inconvenienced her. Underneath Lae'zel's pointed scales, sharp teeth and head full of writhing snakes is a women starved of loved yet too prideful to admit it.

One night, as Shadowheart reclined by the fire with Lae'zel curled next to her, she studied the beastly woman she harbored a thinly-veiled affection for. The serpents sprouting from the Gorgon's scalp formed a languid pile of warm bodies in Shadowheart's lap while her head rested atop a pillowy thigh. She found it interesting and endearing how the snakes mirrored Lae'zel's condition. When she slept, they slept. When she was ill or injured, so were they. They showed excitement and thrill in their own way when Lae'zel discussed a topic she was passionate about. They even seemed to like Shadowheart.

Past her broad shoulders, the wiry expanse of her body was cradled comfortably by her serpent half, and Shadowheart wondered with some shame whether she could fit in there next to her. She stroked a finger along the length of a dozing snake's head and smiled to herself when its strange reptilian eyelids fluttered. Lae'zel twitched and muttered in her sleep, and Shadowheart's heart clenched painfully at the implications of this kind of trust. She couldn't hope for something more than this.

She brushed her fingers along Lae'zel's long bony ones where they rested palm down against her thigh, and froze when she shifted. Groaning softly, Lae'zel's clawed fingers unconsciously wrapped themselves around Shadowheart's smaller, chubbier ones, gentle with her even in sleep.

Shadowheart's breath staggered and caught in her chest, and considered letting herself hope after all.

[complete]

And here’s how they realise they’ve got a problem, and start moving out of burnout and into something more healthy.

They recognise (only to themselves at first) that "I'm just tired" has just been their way of managing exhaustion for far too long.

They recognise that their ghosting, distractions and numbness are signs of burnout, not laziness or personal failings.

They admit they’re miserable, and realise they have nothing to lose except their misery, so they might as well try something small, something new that may be better than their current way of dealing with things.

They pick something they’ve enjoyed in the past, and just try it again, in a bite-sized chunk, just out of interest.  No pressure, no need to “achieve” anything, just engaging in it out of curiosity and for the possible joy of just doing it.

They choose one day to reply to a text instead of just ignoring it.  They say something like. “Sorry I’ve not replied sooner, things are pretty tough at the moment, but I’ll aim to reply properly once I can.”

They block arseholes (on tumblr, and elsewhere), no warnings, explanations or apologies needed or given.

They notice they’re falling asleep whenever they stop in the daytime, so they decide to get ahead of it and properly nap / rest when they’re able.  Soon they begin to look forward to these naps, and after sometime they realise, “It’s ok to stop when I need to”.

Soon after this, they decide to do some of the “stupid” things they enjoyed when they were a kid, like playing around with doodles, or just sitting watching the clouds.  They figure they’re exhausted anyway, they might as well be exhausted doing something fun.

They extend this to giving themselves a day off.  They noticed they weren’t completely outraged when a colleague had a day off for sickness or personal reasons, and figure maybe they could try this too.  They call in sick, just for one day, and take the day to be kind to themselves, no guilt, no shame, just a day to start to make space for recovery.

They’re honest with themselves, and admit it’s not (just) about the soup. 

They start making lists of things that piss them off about their life, and life in general, and then they start answering these lists with the same good advice they’ve been giving out all this time.

This feels hard, and humbling, but it reminds them that they do know what they need, and they can be a friend to themselves, and kind to themselves as well as others.

They notice that they’re “always on”, and get triggered really easily when they feel like they “have to” respond, so they stop caring so much about performing for others, and start looking after themselves a bit better, extending the same grace that they offer friends to themselves.

They look out for signs of grace from the universe: a smile, a helping hand, someone checking in with them.  

After a while, they start tentatively responding, smiling back, offering help to others (within what they can genuinely manage), and replying honestly when others ask how they’re doing.  

They may even ask for small favours here and there, the kind that they would be happy to offer to others.

They can’t afford therapy, and don’t know where to start, so they look for apps that might help.  

They find an app called “healthy minds program” that offers them an easy way into this thing called wellbeing.  It’s free, advertised as helping them learn the skills for wellbeing and lessening stress.

They enjoy the 5 minute lessons and meditations, particularly the emphasis on whatever they’re feeling being alright, and being able to “meditate” while getting on with their daily life.

They realise that the key to making life work for them is slowing down, bit by bit.  Learning to enjoy the simple things again, and slowly achieving progress, day by day. https://hminnovations.org/meditation-app (links at the top and  towards the bottom of the page)

Ways I Show a Character is Emotionally Burned Out (Before They Even Realize It Themselves)

I love writing characters who think they’re fine but are actually walking emotional house fires with bad coping mechanisms.

They stop doing the things they used to love and don’t even notice. Their guitar gathers dust. Their favorite podcast becomes background noise. Their hobbies feel like homework now.

They pick the path of least resistance every time, even when it hurts them. No, they don’t want to go to that thing. No, they don’t want to talk to that person. But whatever’s easier. That’s the motto now.

They’re tired but can’t sleep. Or they sleep but wake up more tired. Classic burnout move: lying in bed with their brain racing like a toddler on espresso.

They give other people emotional advice they refuse to take themselves. “You have to set boundaries!” they say—while ignoring 8 texts from someone they should’ve cut off three emotional breakdowns ago.

They cry at something stupidly small. Like spilling soup. Or a dog in a commercial. Or losing their pen. The soup is never just soup.

They say “I’m just tired” like it’s a personality trait now. And not like… emotionally drained to the bone but afraid to admit it out loud.

They ghost people they love, not out of malice, but because even replying feels like too much. Social battery? Absolutely obliterated. Texting back feels like filing taxes.

They stop reacting to big things. Catastrophes get a blank stare. Disasters feel like “just another Tuesday.” The well of feeling is running dry.

They avoid being alone with their own thoughts. Constant noise. TV always on. Music blasting. Because silence = reckoning, and reckoning is terrifying.

They start hoping something will force them to stop. An accident. A missed deadline. Someone else finally telling them, “You need a break.” Because asking for help? Unthinkable.

[gurugirl]

[5] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST | It's Good to Be King Masterlist

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 5 Word Count: 8,476

Ch. 5 Warning: Discrimination, bullying, slight angst and miscommunication, jealousy, hurt feelings, wedding scene -> smut will be in ch. 6, for those anticipating it

. .

The Duke remained quiet and sat in the comfortable feather-down cushioned chair near the fire as he watched Harry and Virgil go back and forth. He'd been meant to mediate the discussion, but Harry overrode that decision and told him to sit before he was removed from the castle. The king didn't need someone there to arbitrate anything. Harry would be the one with the final say, no matter what the Duke's opinion.

It started, on the surface, amicably. But quickly spiraled when Virgil told him he'd regret his choices as king (stripping the Lord Mayor of his title for one, and marrying Y/n for another). Harry'd expected to hear the Lord Mayor bemoan his decisions again. It was no surprise to him, but it was quite galling to listen once again to the same justifications.

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "And I thought you came here to accuse me of theft. You are a sad, tiresome man, Virgil. I'm bored listening to this drivel."

Niall watched from the door, letting his eyes rove the three gentlemen slowly. He was only there to protect Harry, should he have needed to. But more than that, he found their little tiff to be quite amusing, though he'd never let on to it.

The Lord Mayor continued, dismissing Harry's comments. "And furthermore, it's clear to everyone that you do not have Thornekeep's best interest in mind. Marrying a gutter-waif? Setting her up in the castle like she's been bred for the crown? Why… It's preposterous!"

Harry bristled at gutter-waif, but decided to hold his tongue (and his anger) in front of the Duke. "Bred for the crown? What are you? A husbandry worker now? You breed animals and ready them for royalty?"

A quiet breath fell from the Duke as he turned his head away from the pair arguing. Even he was amused.

A sputtered noise of disbelief fell from the Lord Mayor as he shook his head. "Quite vulgar! Once again!"

The king laughed sardonically and stepped around the edge of the table, glancing at Niall as he ticked his fingers, tapping his nails together slowly. "Are we done here?"

"Before we make our leave, I want to discuss the young woman again. Pearl."

"And what would you like to tell me about the young woman with whom you are infatuated?"

"Your Highness! I am not infatuated!" Virgil pushed himself up from the chair and stepped near to Harry, but not close enough that the king could get his hands on him. "I'm trying to offer you a better choice of wife. Pearl will not disappoint you. She is happy to serve you as a good wife and queen should, and she learns quickly. She will see to it that you are well taken care of."

"I do not want Pearl. I've already made my choice. If you want her so badly, you can have her. Your wife seems quite meek. She wouldn't mind you taking a lover, I'm sure. Most men of your ilk do."

Virgil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring how Harry had once again suggested that he wanted Pearl for himself. "My Lord, we can attest to and confirm that Pearl is a virgin, which is required of the queen consort. I have my doubts that Y/n is pure and virginal."

Harry laughed darkly, without a single drop of humor. "I suggest you make your leave before I become violent with you. My future wife is not up for discussion. I will not have you speak her name again."

"Then a mistress! Pearl would make a lovely mistress for you. She's fine to take on the role as long as you keep her and take care of her and her family in return."

Clenching his jaw, he shook his head and looked at the Duke. "Is he deaf? Dumb? Were you able to understand my orders just now, or am I the mad one here?"

"My Lord, I understood well your desires," the Duke said, not daring to look the Lord Mayor in the eye as he sided with the king.

"You cannot expect to be satisfied with just one woman. Surely you have plans in place to accommodate a mistress, if you haven't already," the Lord Mayor added.

Harry sighed and looked toward Niall again before stepping closer to the old man. "I think I can infer what's going on here. You and Mrs. Mable were quite close at one time, weren't you? The rumors were true then. She was your house-fed lamb, and you're a bedswerver. Your poor wife. Is Mrs. Mable threatening to let the cat out of the bag if you don't secure her virgin daughter a place in the castle?"

Virgil's mouth dropped open as his eyes nearly bulged from his head. "I… Why that's not even—"

The king moved closer, and the old man backed up to keep his distance. "That is what this is all about, isn't it? Most would wonder if Pearl was your daughter and not Mr. Mable's, but I'm convinced you're all dried up, impotent. And you, being like every other fleece-monger in Thornekeep, took Mrs. Mable as your secret, fancy piece."

"This is outrageous! I take umbrage at your accusations!"

Calmly, Harry looked at the Duke with a pleased grin. "Our old billygoat here takes umbrage. What do you say to that, Duke?"

Duke Hughes looked from the King to the Lord Mayor and stood up from his seat. "I say that it's time for us to make our leave."

"Now that is a smart answer. You could learn a lot from the Duke, Virgil."

"Just one meeting with Pearl, my Lord. She is ready to serve and would make a beautiful Queen, if not a kept mistress…"

"I said, get out! I'm quite finished with you, worm. Niall, remove him from the lounge…"

The old man raised his hands in surrender as Niall stepped forward. "We're leaving. No need for intervention. But please, consider meeting with the girl once. You will not be disappointed."

The dress was exquisite. Y/n glanced at Phoebe, who had covered her mouth with her hands after seeing all the pieces put together. She grinned at her friend and looked back at her reflection and couldn't help but focus on the young woman who Mrs. Mable had brought along for the final fitting. She had not been introduced to her, but Y/n could see that the girl was dissatisfied and annoyed.

"It's a shame this wedding and everything to do with the king's selection was rushed," the dressmaker said as she pulled at the fabric and tightened the bust, making Y/n gasp.

"Mama… When can I meet King Styles? I'm bored, and the stench in here is unbearable."

The young woman looked directly at Y/n as she mentioned the stench but Y/n was more worried about the girl's request to see the king. She'd become accustomed to insinuitive remarks and had learned to brush them off. But she did not like the idea of this pretty, young, blonde asking about her husband-to-be.

"Soon. He's been summoned. I imagine he'll be coming in any minute."

Y/n quickly grabbed her skirts and lifted them as she stepped down from the platform and looked at Phoebe. "He can't come in here! I'm in my bridal gown. It's bad luck—"

"It won't matter anyway. There's nothing customary about any of this. No one is so deceived as to think you're a virgin anyway…"

"It's so vulgar to think of it!" The pretty blonde said as she stood up and stepped in front of the mirror, smoothing out the silk panel in her dress. "The king deserves purity and beauty above all."

"Who is this? Why is she here? What business has she with the king?" Y/n pointed at the blonde as she stepped in behind her.

"There's the stench," Pearl said as she turned to look at Y/n, a smug expression drawn on her face.

Just then, the door opened and Harry barreled in with Niall and his assistant Fred trailing behind him. "Y/n… Is—what is this?"

He looked at Pearl, her mother, and the other women in the room, his brows pinched together dubiously. Y/n tried to hide the fabric of her skirts and duck behind a wooden table, but it had all been too late. He'd seen her gown.

"This is my dress fitting. You're not supposed to see me like this!" Y/n was almost in tears, and she knew it was a trivial thing to be so worked up over, but she had envisioned the surprised look on his face when she walked down the aisle toward the altar. She'd been so excited for that moment, and now that would be taken from her. He'd already seen her beautiful dress and it would no longer be a surprise.

Harry let his eyes sweep over her gown and back up to her face. "I was told that I was needed urgently. Who sent for me?"

The room fell quiet as Y/n narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Mable and then Pearl. "They did." She pointed. "I heard her tell this one that you'd been summoned but I did not call for you."

Harry could see the dismay on her face. To him, it was all the same. It didn't matter if he saw the dress now or on the day of their ceremony. But it was clear that it meant a lot more to Y/n and so for that he was livid.

"You're the dressmaker. Mrs. Mable…" Harry said and then he set his eyes on the pretty young blonde who was blushing softly and lowering her gaze in respect. "And you must be Pearl. Virgil has spoken highly of you, but unfortunately, you're wasting your time here."

Mrs. Mable rushed toward Harry and pointed at her daughter. "She is ready, Your Highness. She's been trained for this and she will do anything you ask of her. Give her a chance. You may take her into your chambers if you'd like to make a more informed choice."

Harry sniffed and looked at Y/n before he shot a look of disdain at Mrs. Mable. "Are you dull in the head? Your conniving with the Lord Mayor is pathetic. I know what you two have done and I care not if you expose him and yourself for the bedswervers you are. But do not pull my bride-to-be into this ratbag scheme."

"Is she not more lovely, not more fit to your tastes and to the kingdom's? You will require a virgin—"

"Pish! You and Virgil seem to think I hold virgins in high regard when that is the least of my concerns. Take her away. I don't wish to look at your daughter or to have her near Y/n. I can tell by just a glance that she's jealous."

Pearl let out a frustrated laugh. "I would never be jealous of her! She's akin to the filthy swine at the entry of the rookeries from where she came!"

Harry calmly stepped in front of the blonde, a rage boiling beneath the surface that he had to tame. She had to crane her neck back to look up at him. "I pity people like you," he said in a dark, spiteful tone. "Wrapped up in silk with pink lace bows and a turned-up nose. You haven't a single original thought in that tiny brain of yours and that's the most unattractive thing about you. Moreover, I can't find a solitary redeeming quality that you possess. I do not find you to be pretty. On the contrary… Your face is too wide and pasty, your wrists like a hollowed sprig, and your eyes are set too close, reminiscent of those fat bugs that like to feed off dung in the farmyards. I would never take you as my wife, much less a mistress. You are no better than anyone in this room, and you never will be."

Pearl stepped back and turned her face downward as tears threatened to burst from her eyes. Y/n felt a spike of satisfaction course up the knobs of her spine. She had been blind sided by their little trick to get the king to walk into her room for her fitting, so to hear Harry speak his mind to the young girl in that way had her holding her head a little higher, despite the devastation she felt at him seeing her dress before he was meant to.

"You bootjack! Do not speak to my daughter that way!" Mrs. Mable wrapped her arms around Pearl protectively.

Harry laughed. "Brave soul you are to mock the king and your queen-to-be. What did you expect of this disgraceful, desperate exhibit? That I'd look at her…" He gestured toward Pearl, who still had her face downcast. "And find myself smitten by her pastel garments and curled locks? She is nothing more than the dressmaker's daughter. She does not interest me in the least."

Mrs. Mable scoffed and looked at Y/n, Phoebe next to her, holding her arm. "She's a regular street beggar turned flag-hopper. Who knows how many men she's done the business with and if you want to marry into that kind of rubbish, then you dishonor your father's legacy. You are an embarrassment to the kingdom."

Letting his eyes flicker over his bride-to-be, he clenched his jaw. "If you were a man I'd have you tossed from the window down to your painful demise for speaking that way about her. Does she look rubbish to you? And who do you see standing before you as King? Not my father. He's dead, buried in the ground where he belongs."

One of the seamstresses gasped and turned away quickly in surprise at Harry's rough words for the beloved, deceased King Augustus. He shook his head and pointed toward the door. "Niall, take Mrs. Mable and her daughter down to the study and wait with them until I arrive. The rest of you are dismissed. Phoebe, you may stay with Y/n and help her out of this dress."

Niall motioned to the pair and Mrs. Mable scowled at the king on her way out of the room. Pearl kept her head down in shame with cheeks wetted by tears. Y/n watched with cautious delight, her eyes shifting from Mrs. Mable and Pearl, and then the workers as they all filed out of the Rose Room.

Then, before she even realized he'd made his way to her side, she felt his hand wrap around hers, and she turned to look up at him. "We'll have a new dress made for you. A better one. You will never have to see Mrs. Mable and her insufferable, hideous daughter ever again." He thumbed at her cheek as she nodded, a small smile working up on her lips.

"But the wedding is in two days. I don't know that that's possible. There is no better dressmaker in the kingdom than Mrs. Mable."

"I will find you a better dressmaker even if I have to bring them in from another province. Fred," Harry said, his sight still on his bride-to-be, "go find Luther and have him send for that Parisian man in Bethel. Find out who he uses and have them brought here at any cost."

The door closed behind Fred, and Phoebe stood to the side, watching as Harry and Y/n stared at one another. "You are not upset by them, are you?"

She blinked and looked toward the door. "I'm unsure how I feel. I found Pearl to be very pretty, and I imagined you would like the looks of her." She turned her gaze back to him. "Is it true you find her to be hideous?"

Harry continued running his thumb along her cheek as he lifted his other hand to the opposite side of her face. "Compared to you? She's repulsive and boring."

"But you wouldn't even take her as your mistress?"

"I won't be taking a mistress."

Y/n shook her head. "Isn't it customary for the king to have mistresses to keep him satisfied? What if I cannot make you happy?"

"Do not worry about that, little mouse. Now, I need to go and sort out the hatchet-faced sows who await me."

She giggled quietly as he stepped away from her, a cheeky grin on his face.

The moment he closed the door, Phoebe stepped in behind her and began helping her untie the corset. "She's not pretty. Not at all."

"Who? Pearl? I believe she was very pretty."

"Her attitude was ugly. I can't believe he compared her to a dung bug!"

The girls laughed together. "I wonder what he's going to say to them in his study."

"He's already love-stricken. It's so romantic," Phoebe said as she laid the corset down on the dressing table.

"Love-stricken? I don't believe so."

"Oh, but he is. I have a secret. Something I've wanted to say but didn't know if I should… But now I can't hold it in any longer…"

Y/n looked at Phoebe. "Well, what is it?"

"He's telling you the truth that he doesn't want a lover. I overheard him with his assistant and the castle steward telling them to clear the room that was meant to be kept for a mistress, but he didn't want it. He had changed his mind. Mr. Fred told him to leave it just in case, but the King insisted they give the room another use. He said it was no longer necessary, and I think it's because he can't imagine having anyone but you."

Y/n smiled and looked toward the window as her heart thumped in her chest. It was becoming quite common for her heart to patter harder every time she thought about Harry. He made her skin heat and her fingertips tingle. And she even indulged in touching herself as she imagined his eyes and his lips and his fingers… She knew her feelings about him were different than anything she'd felt before.

She had never belonged anywhere before, begging in alleyways, sleeping on the floor in her family's cramped tenement, ignored by carriages that splashed muddy water on her skirts. And now, she stood in there in castle with a little more meat on her bones and a relaxed smile on her face. The king had not only chosen her but defended her with the kind of fury only true feelings could ignite. Her feelings of being an impostor still bubbled to the surface at times, but she couldn't deny that Harry soothed the rising simmer with each passing day.

When the new dressmaker, Eugène Louise Lafitte, arrived the following evening, he had brought with him a whole caravan of helpers. Three covered carts filled with dresses, designs, supplies, and materials; two hairdressers, three seamstresses, a milliner, and two of his own assistants; as well as all of his personal belongings, as he was going to replace Mrs. Mable as the official royal dressmaker.

Y/n found the whole ordeal to be chaotic, but if she insisted on a new gown (she didn't really), then this was the only way. Eugène had set up everything in the Rose Room, and he began to measure and fit her right away. And despite the fact that there were a dozen people milling about in the room, jumping at every command Eugène spat, she found this fitting to be much better than with Mrs. Mable. For one, he never "accidentally" poked her with the pins the way Mrs. Mable had. For another, he treated her with appropriate respect. As if she were the queen already.

"Bring me the white silk Lanvin bodice…" Eugène said as he waved an arm toward his assistant, his other hand clutched at the middle of Y/n's back as he held fabric in place, and then snapped his fingers. "And check the third trunk for the custom silk skirt with cream lace. And those silk flourettes I've got in my leather satchel. I need them here."

And it went like that until Y/n could barely hold her eyes open. The buzz in the room continued for hours until Eugène was pleased with the look. Of course, he checked in with Y/n, often asking her opinion, of which she had none.

It embarrassed her, in a way, that she had no clue about what looked pretty and what did not. She didn't know fashion, but she did love the little silk flowers that were pinned along her outer skirt between bunched lace and smooth satin. The dress was lovely, Y/n could tell that much. And the finished product (which needed to be ready by midday) would be stunning. It would be paired with the original Turkish diamond necklace she'd been gifted and the finished veil that Mrs. Mable had made.

"Now, you rest," Eugène said to Y/n after Phoebe had helped her out of the delicate material and tucked a robe around her chemise. "The most important part of any outfit is the person wearing it and her disposition. Your beautiful smile will be the star of the ceremony, and you need your sleep. I will take care of the rest for you, madam. Leave the stress to me."

She paused and squinted at the odd man (he was quite odd, but she rather liked him). She wasn't sure if he'd said leave this dress to me, or leave the stress to me… Either way, she was too exhausted to think of much else than her comfortable bed as all of the workers left the room and Phoebe tucked her in and kissed her cheek.

"Goodnight, Queen." Phoebe smiled.

Y/n fluttered her eyes closed with a small, quiet laugh and whispered tiredly, "I'm not Queen yet."

"You are to me."

Despite the pre-wedding spiky nerves Harry was feeling, he was pleased and maybe even a little excited. The ceremony was only a couple of hours away and the castle was abuzz with activity all over. His suit was ready. He'd hidden in his study in hopes of a bit of peace and quiet before the doctor had forced his way in and begun talking nonsense.

"She has not yet had her physical examination, My Lord. It would require, at minimum, a quick and simple two-finger test, which is very run-of-the-mill."

Harry pinched his brows together and nodded with a sneer, his leg draped over his knee as he listened to the castle doctor. Sucking at his teeth he narrowed his gaze. "That will not be happening."

"Excuse me?" The doctor looked surprised.

"I said… That .. will not .. be happening."

"I don't understand. It's customary to check that the bride of the king is a virgin. How will we determine her virginal status if she doesn't have an examination?"

"I am sorry you're confused, but I believe I made myself clear. She will not be needing an examination. She's already told me she's a virgin." Not that it mattered to him in the first place.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies, My Lord, but how do you know she's telling you the truth? That is why we have protocol for this kind of thing. We cannot trust her to be honest about that. Of course, she'd tell you she's a virgin in order to procure her spot as Queen."

Harry sighed and placed his foot down on the floor, as if her were about to stand, his posture only slightly threatening as he leaned forward and kept his eyes hard on the doctor. "When I first picked her, I sought a woman who was not a virgin on purpose. I had hoped to enjoy some wick-dipping with her right off, but she was quite unsettled by the idea, worried about God and purity and all that. She's a virgin."

"My Lord, this is a—"

"This is a discussion that has come to an end. I won't hear of it anymore. You may take your leave. I'm busy. If you hadn't already realized it, I'm getting married today. I don't have time for your nonsense."

The doctor seemed rather vexed but he left the king's study without another word. Harry understood the usual traditions. He knew that it was expected that Y/n be a virgin. He was also not under any illusion that the people would demand proof and want to see their bedsheets the following morning to check for her blood.

He shook his head and gulped down the last of his gin. He hadn't even wanted a virgin. Mostly for selfish reasons but also because he'd never been with a virgin before. The very first time he saw her up close outside the castle gates, he found her features to be very pleasing and he made the mistake of assuming she was not a virgin. Though even after learning she was, he didn't regret his choice after getting acquainted with her.

He smiled as he stood from the chair. That's what she did to him when he thought of her. She made him smile. The kind of drowsy, sappy smile that told the world he was done for.

He wished he could see her right then. Ask her how she was doing, make sure she was being treated well… and perhaps to soothe his own nerves as well. What if she ran off? What if the foul treatment she'd been subjected to had finally gotten to her and she was on the run? Not many would stop her from running because they didn't like her anyway.

With a heavy sigh, he looked out the window to find the day overcast in soft pewters, clouds hanging low as if reluctant to bear witness to the scandal of the century. He was looking forward to making Y/n the Queen, but even more than that, he was looking forward to having her as his wife.

Y/n tried to stop the tears from escaping her eyes as she looked at herself in the mirror, the final product of her hair, the dress, her jewelry... The gown was even more luxurious than the previous. It had a fuller silk skirt with ribbons of cream lace and soft pink, green, and yellow satin flowers delicately sewn in. The bodice gave everything structure and form at the top, and the thin lace sleeves fitted over her arms like a second skin.

She grazed her fingers over the diamond necklace and inhaled a wobbly breath. "I can't believe it. I've never seen anything so beautiful."

Eugène stood behind her with a smile on his face. "I've never seen a more beautiful bride. You wear this dress well, my dear. I know it's not in keeping with tradition but I've been told that you and Harry are not a traditional royal couple. I hope it's just scandalous enough to make everyone turn heads and talk. If anyone can pull this off, it's you."

"And all in less than 12 hours! It's magnificent!" Pheobe exclaimed.

"Thank you, sir. I didn't believe it would be possible, but you've proven me wrong. I'm overwhelmed with happiness."

"Then I've done my job. Now, I believe your carriage awaits to bring you to the cathedral. I will be riding with you and your family, should anything come loose and need fastening."

.

The bells of Thornekeep Cathedral tolled with a heavy, ceremonial rhythm, each echo rolling over the gray-tipped rooftops of the town center like a reluctant proclamation. Inside, sunlight filtered through tall stained-glass windows, coloring the polished stone floor with fragments of ruby, emerald, and sapphire light. It was beautiful, solemn, and grand.

The nave was lined with nobles, foreign dignitaries, and members of the peerage, each clad in their finest silks, lace, and tailored uniforms. Rows of powdered wigs and jeweled collars bobbed stiffly above tight lips and narrowed eyes. They did not applaud. They did not smile. But they did watch carefully. Judging as if they were qualified.

A hush settled as the great organ began to play, a stately, thunderous processional. In the vestibule, Y/n stood just beyond the threshold, her hands trembling against the folds of her gown. The dress was nothing like the ones she used to imagine when watching brides pass in the street. It was better. Phoebe stood at her side, fussing with the long veil that trailed like mist behind her, whispering encouragement.

“You look divine,” Phoebe said, adjusting the fabric atop Y/n’s head. “Now, chin up. If they’re going to hate you, let them hate a queen, not a beggar.”

At the front of the cathedral, King Harry stood waiting beneath the high stone arch of the altar, dressed in a black frock coat with gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar. His ceremonial sword hung from his hip—a nod to tradition he’d allowed begrudgingly—but his cravat was loosened ever so slightly in subtle rebellion. Fred stood just behind him, rigid as he watched on.

Harry’s expression, however, was anything but restrained. He grinned brightly when he saw her appear at the end of the aisle, arm looped with her father's. Gasps rippled through the crowd, not at the gown, not at the diamond necklace, but at the girl wearing them. A commoner. A beggar, soon to be their queen.

Y/n walked slowly down the aisle, trying not to falter under the weight of stares that clung to her like sticky brambles. Her breath caught when she met Harry’s eyes, mischievous, proud, and tender. There was something grounding in his gaze, like a rope cast to a woman who was still learning to stand on marble floors.

At the altar, the Archbishop cleared his throat and began the ceremony, reading from the Book of Common Prayer, as was custom. The vows were traditional, spoken clearly before God and court:

“Will you, Harry, take this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I will.”

“Will you, Y/n, take this man to be your wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance—”

“I will,” she said, quietly but firmly, not letting her voice sound weak in front of the staring spectators.

There were no whispers of love, no passionate declarations. But when Harry slid the ornate ring, a band of twisted gold and sapphire, onto her finger, his thumb brushed hers with lingering affection. A touch that said more than their vows ever could.

When they were pronounced husband and wife, the organ swelled. Tradition usually dictated a polite kiss on the cheek before turning to face the congregation. But Harry, never one for subtlety, leaned in and kissed her full on the lips, dipping her ever so slightly, and Y/n grabbed onto his coat to steady herself. Gasps rose, half in horror, half in delight. He pulled back with a wink only she could see.

Then, side by side, they faced the court. Stone faces stared back. Y/n straightened her spine.

"Let them glare," he said under his breath as they smiled.

The cathedral bells rang again as the newly crowned Queen Y/n emerged from the grand oak doors on Harry’s arm. A scattering of cheers broke out in the crowd gathered beyond the palace gates, though they were thin and uncertain, peppered with scowls, taciturn nobles, and commoners caught between fascination and suspicion.

The royal carriage stood gleaming in the late afternoon light, a glossy black and gold coach pulled by six white horses adorned in crested harnesses. Its polished sides mirrored the anxious faces that lined the route, and the royal seal glinted on the carriage doors.

Y/n climbed in first, the veil like a cloud behind her. Harry followed, waving once to the crowd with an exaggerated flourish, as if daring them to boo. Fred closed the door after them with a look of quiet resignation, before hopping into the carriage behind with the footmen.

Inside, the carriage was warm and velvet-lined, the heavy scent of roses clinging to the seats. Y/n stared out the window as they began to move, flanked by guards on horseback.

“They hate me,” she whispered.

Harry leaned against the cushion and smiled as he pulled her hand into his. “You shouldn't worry about what a bunch of thick-headed sardines think of you. They'er blind.”

She looked up at him and smiled. "I woke up thinking that you'd come to your senses and call it off. That I'd be waiting, all dressed and ready, and you'd be locked in your chambers and have me removed."

He shook his head, soft green irises sliding over her frame and up to her face. “I’ve come to my senses, all right. That’s why you’re sitting here now.”

Y/n looked down at their joined hands—his thumb gently stroking over her knuckles—and for a moment, the heavy world outside the carriage fell away.

“I don’t know how to be a queen,” she admitted, voice barely audible over the rhythmic clatter of wheels on cobblestone.

Harry leaned closer, his voice lower, softer now. “Good.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, and he smiled at the sound, genuine and unguarded. Then he brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against her fingers. “You don’t have to be perfect, Y/n. You just have to be real.”

Outside, the crowd grew louder as the palace gates loomed ahead, but inside the carriage, it was warm and still. She shifted closer to him, their shoulders touching now, the lace of her sleeve brushing the brocade of his coat.

And though the kingdom buzzed with scandal, and the court plotted behind polished smiles, in that quiet stretch of space before the next curtain rose, King Harry and Queen Y/n simply breathed, side by side.

.

The Great Hall of Thornekeep Palace was transformed for the occasion—hundreds of beeswax candles glittered from chandeliers high above, and polished mirrors doubled the light across the walls. Tapestries were drawn back to reveal the grand stonework of the castle’s bones, lending an air of both splendor and severity. Long banquet tables were laid out in rows, gleaming with silverware, crystal goblets, and floral arrangements that spilled over with wildflowers and white roses.

Music floated through the room, an ensemble of violinists and harpists near the hearth played a series of traditional waltzes, though the tempo felt more funereal than festive. No one danced yet. The air was too tight.

At the head table, Y/n sat beside Harry beneath a carved wooden canopy bearing the royal crest. Her plate was filled, but her appetite lagged behind her nerves. The food was elaborate: roast venison with plum glaze, lemon-rosemary quail, bowls of minted peas and white asparagus, and trenchers of honeyed bread and soft cheeses. There was wine from the southern vineyards and towering sugar confections shaped like swans and crowns.

Phoebe stood nearby, ever watchful, whispering quiet instructions on what to do with each fork, when to dab her mouth, when to rise. Y/n nodded gratefully.

The murmurs never stopped.

“She curtsied too shallow.”

“She speaks like she’s from the gutter.”

“Can’t even hold a wineglass properly…”

Harry heard them. Y/n could see it in the tick of his jaw. At one point, a nobleman seated halfway down the table made a thinly veiled comment about the "peculiar scent of fishmongers at court." Harry stood, clinked his glass, and with all the weight of his crown and grin declared:

“I rather like the smell of a woman who knows how to survive.”

The room went silent. Then, reluctantly—awkwardly—a few polite claps began. Phoebe stifled a laugh. Fred looked like he’d aged ten years.

As the night wore on, the air grew looser. Jugglers and acrobats entered, performing near the rear hearth to entertain the children and lower nobility. A small group of traveling actors performed a dramatic retelling of King Augustus the Wise, a none-too-subtle dig at Harry’s late father, much to Harry’s delight.

Y/n watched it all in a dreamlike haze, the velvet of her seat warm beneath her and her crown tugging gently at her temples. She caught Harry looking at her between sips of wine. He reached across the table, not for her hand, but to slide a sugared fig onto her plate.

Y/n picked it up and bit into the fig. Sweet. Sharp. Decadent.

She looked at him with gratitude, holding his gaze a beat longer than proper, feeling something settle in her chest, something warm, steady, and terrifyingly real. Before she could say anything, Fred appeared beside the table with the stiff posture of a man who’d tried to interrupt twice already and failed.

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly, bowing slightly toward Harry. “Lord Chancellor Whitely requests a word regarding the foreign trade representatives. He says it won’t wait.”

Harry groaned under his breath, tilting his head back like a man being dragged to the gallows. “Of course it won’t.” He gave Y/n’s hand a final squeeze under the table. “This is important. I will return as quickly as possible.”

As Fred guided him away, a soft voice called Y/n’s name from just behind her. She turned to find Phoebe leaning in with that same practiced smile she wore whenever navigating nobility like thorns.

“Your mother’s asking for you. I told her you’d come as soon as you’d had a moment and now that the king has been called off…”

Y/n blinked, surprised, rising carefully, nodding her thanks as Phoebe adjusted the fall of her gown behind her. The palace loomed vast and glittering, but with Harry’s warmth still clinging to her skin. Y/n lifted her chin and walked toward where her mother and sisters were standing.

Her mother let out a dramatic sob and pulled Y/n's hands into her warm ones. "You are the Queen. I hear the whispers of everyone around me, but I know you and you are worthy. Even if he already has his mistress up in his room waiting, we all know who his wife is. Whom he has chosen as his queen."

"His mistress?" Y/n looked over her shoulder at Phoebe, who shook her head in confusion, eyes flitting between the mother and daughter.

"Yes. I heard some people talking about a woman named Pearl. She's waiting for him in his chambers right now. Did you not know?"

Y/n swallowed, the back of her throat hollow as she shook her head in disbelief. Her head swirled, making her dizzy, and her sight suddenly shaded in red. Had that been the real reason why he was called off so suddenly? Had he lied to her about what he thought of Pearl? But why?

"I did not know. Thank you, mother. I need to sit."

Y/n tried not to let the dismay that clenched at her heart show on her face. Phoebe was speaking, but Y/n couldn't put together the sentences or make sense of anything. If he'd just been honest the first time around, she wouldn't have so suddenly been caught off guard. She had expected him to take a mistress but when he told her he wouldn't be…

Sitting back in her place, she looked around at the lingering gazes and then at her plate in silence. The food she hadn't finished staring back up at her in a taunt. She couldn't believe that she'd been deceived by him. But she refused to let tears stain her cheeks. She was already the butt of the joke and now she knew it to be true. She'd been so stupid.

Even though the room was full of wealth and opulence, no one danced to the music, and very few applauded the children's entertainment on the other side of the Great Hall. The longer she sat in her fancy chair, in her beautiful dress, without Harry by her side, the more she became certain that he was with Pearl. Why would he be rushed away on the evening of his wedding if not to secretly see his new lover? Would he really allow a business meeting to take precedence? None of it made sense anymore.

Y/n drank down her glass of wine and motioned to have another filled. If she was going to be ignored by her new husband while he played with his mistress behind her back, she was going to try and get on with things, and a bit of drink couldn't hurt. Phoebe had tried to offer her comforting words but it didn't help.

"He's off with her. How long has he already been gone? It's been an hour? I know better than to trust him again."

"Please, madam… I think your mother was mistaken. The king only has eyes for you—"

"My mother knew her name. Someone was speaking about it right in front of her, and she learned a secret that was not meant to be exposed. I'm happy to be armed with the truth. At least I know now."

The chatter in the room softened as heads turned toward the hall's arched entry when Harry and Fred stepped back inside. Y/n looked away. It wasn't fair that he was so handsome after having come back from wherever he'd been. His bed with Pearl likely.

When he sat back down, he reached his hand under the table to place over her skirt but she scooted herself away as much as possible and turned sharply to look anywhere but at him.

"What's wrong, mouse?"

She lifted her glass to her lips and took a long pull of her drink before setting it back down with a loud clunk onto the table. She refused to look at his face. "Do not call me mouse ever again."

Harry glanced up at Phoebe, who was standing near Y/n's chair and then back at his bride's side profile, speaking louder that time. "What is wrong? Tell me what has happened?"

Those who sat closest to the king and queen watched on curiously.

"Did you have fun while you were away? Was it necessary to take an hour to do it?"

"The Lord Chancellor had very important news, and I needed to settle an issue. I did not intend for it to take as long as it did. I apologize. Is that why you're angry?"

She felt her heart thudding in her chest as anger rose up her spine. "Liar."

"Liar? Do you think I am lying right now? Why would I lie to you about something like this? I did not… Will you turn and look at me?"

Y/n turned away further stubbornly, into an uncomfortable position in her seat as she kept her gaze set away from him. Harry groaned and a few seconds later, Y/n felt her chair being pulled back and a hand grasping at the top of her arm, pulling her up to stand. She huffed as Harry brought her with him away from the table and toward the servant's door out of earshot of the guests.

"Look at me right now, Y/n. I will not tolerate your cryptic anger. Tell me what's wrong at once."

She clenched her jaw and slowly, ever so slowly, let her eyes land on his. "I know what you did. You don't need to lie to me and make a fool of me. At least have the respect to be honest with me!"

Harry wanted to laugh, but he was beginning to get angry himself. He hadn't the slightest idea of what she was on about. "Okay. Then tell me what you think I did."

Y/n tried to maintain a stern, defiant expression and not let her emotions rise to the surface but the longer she looked at his pretty face the harder it was. "Pearl."

He raised his brows and blinked. "What about Pearl? The Mables were all disinvited from the wedding. They are not here. What of Pearl?"

"She was waiting for you in your chambers, and you just went to her. Everyone already knows that's what you did. Your secret got out, and now I know."

He couldn't help it when he a laugh fell from his mouth, and Y/n scowled. "You think that I was with Pearl? Are you serious? Have you not learned yet that believing the whispers of the overly pampered people in this room are as good as fiction?"

She blinked at him, her lips turning downward as her conviction faltered. "My mother told me."

He shook his head. "I don't care who told you. You were lied to. I was with Fred, the Lord Chancellor, and two of his men…" Harry pointed behind Y/n. "Look. There they are now. Taking their seats."

She turned to see three men sitting down, smiles on their faces. And as she let her eyes wander the room, she noticed that many people were not paying much attention to her at that moment. A few were staring, but most were drinking their wine and talking to the people around them.

She looked back up at him. "Do you have a mistress? You might as well tell me now, Harry. At least be honest with me. It's not like I'm going to end the courtship or anything. Too late for that."

"I told you I wasn't taking a mistress, and I meant it."

Y/n searched his face, eyes flitting between his irises and the anger, and the sharp ache of betrayal slowly dissolved when she found nothing but honesty in his eyes. She realized that someone had purposely said those things about Pearl in front of her mother for this very outcome. She'd fallen for the lies.

"You need to trust me. No one else here can be trusted. No one cares about you like I do, so you can't listen to them. They are lying to put a wall between us but it won't work because you're smarter than that. Look who I married?" He ran his knuckles along her jaw. "You're all I want. Why would I ever go with Opal when I have you, here, looking like this…" he said as he looked down over her gown.

"Pearl."

"Who?" He grinned playfully.

She smiled, finally, and Harry let out a breath. "There's that smile. Beautiful."

Y/n looked down, feeling embarrassed by her behavior.

Harry ran his hand down her arm and pulled her closer. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She breathed out a soft laugh. "And you're the devil."

"A handsome one?"

Nodding, she grinned wider, unable to stifle it any longer.

"Let's go back and take our seats before we politely make leave."

The great hall had grown quieter. The candlelight, though still plentiful, seemed to flicker more lazily now, wax dripping down to silver trays as though the evening itself were beginning to loosen its corset. The musicians had shifted to slower, gentler melodies, less formal, less performative. A lull had settled in.

Guests were beginning to drift away in pairs and small clusters, offering final bows and well-wishes to chamberlains and assistants rather than seeking out the king or queen directly. No one had announced the end, but the message was clear: the night was folding itself closed, and that was more than fine with Harry and Y/n.

Y/n's back ached faintly beneath the weight of her new crown as they took their seats again. Across the room, Phoebe stood watchfully near the far wall with Niall next to her, whispering, while the kitchen staff had begun clearing away the final courses with quiet precision.

Harry slid his hand against hers under the table, and quiet chatter surrounded them. She was ready to leave the Great Hall and be done with the theatrics of the day. Her emotions had been quite volatile all day, and the quiet of Harry's bedchambers was beginning to sound like a dream right then.

Fred appeared at Harry’s side and said something in his ear. Harry gave a faint nod, then turned to Y/n with that same roguish smile he’d worn at the altar, but softer, laced with something she couldn’t quite name.

He leaned toward her, close enough that only she could hear. “It's time for us to depart.”

She rose with him, and though no formal announcement followed, the shift was immediate. Some of the guests turned their eyes away in practiced discretion. A few nobles bowed as they passed. Some merely watched with disapproving eyes.

They exited through a smaller side corridor, footsteps muffled on hand-woven rugs. The hall behind them continued to hum, but it was like walking away from a fever dream, something ornate and strange, but already fading.

Once they were alone, past the eyes and expectations, Harry reached for her hand again as he led her up to his room. The corridors of the royal wing were hushed, dimly lit by flickering sconces.

Neither of them spoke. There had been enough of the show. Enough talking and forced smiles. As their footsteps echoed down the long hallway, Harry’s thumb traced idle circles against her knuckles, and Y/n held onto his hand like it was the first real thing she’d touched all day.

At the doors to his chambers, he paused only briefly before pushing them open. The room had been set up for the wedding night, warm with candlelight and perfumed faintly with cedar as the fireplaced crackled. The moment the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, something inside the silence softened. The weight of the crown, the stifling eyes of the court, the perfect stillness she’d worn like armor… it all began to peel away.

Harry turned to her and reached for her waist to pull her close, his touch gentle and secure. Her hands slid over the lapels of his coat, anchoring herself in the solid warmth of him.

"My Queen," he spoke just above a whisper as he palmed at her cheek softly.

Y/n smiled shyly. "My King."

He leaned down, slowly, unhurried, and pressed his forehead to hers as they both closed their eyes. There was no rush to move away from the quiet moment; in fact, it had been necessary, vital. The sound of their breaths, the feel of closeness between them… Y/n trailed her fingers up his arm and tilted her face toward his lips, before pressing them to his in a kiss that was sweet and filled with quiet relief.

. .

Chapter 6 is where we'll finally be getting the smut. I'll be dedicating the entire next part to their wedding night 🤭 xoxo

. .

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[lush-escape]

This is Me Trying

pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

synopsis: your friend takes you out to a street race to meet her boyfriend and his brothers

a/n: street racing Jason Todd won't leave my brain. I'm going to do my best to keep reader as ambiguous as possible. Updates will probably be slow between work but I will also be posting this to my AO3 which i will link here. I hope you enjoy ♡

next: part 2

“I just don't see the entertainment in it, is all.” You try to explain to your friend. She had finally, finally, dragged you to one of her boyfriend's street races. You could see the appeal to them. Hot people racing dangerously and illegally in cars or on motorcycles, what's not to like? Aside from the fact that you only get to see them take off and then they're gone. A whole ten seconds of oggling.

“It's not just the race,” your friend smiles as she drags you along the sidewalk. It's dark out, almost midnight already, groups of people walking alongside you to the meet up.

“Its also the after party. You will have fun. I promise. Maybe you'll meet someone.” She shrugs, you roll your eyes. And yet you follow along like a puppy dog to humor her all the same.

It's crowded, almost overly so. Suffocating in a way. But your friend finds her boyfriend easily like she has a GPS radar on him. He's handsome, because of course he is. Dark hair and beautiful blue eyes, dark brown skin. Dick, she said his name was. This is your first official time meeting him.

He's friendly and polite and his smile was bright enough to power up Superman if he really put his mind to it. You doubt it would be hard for him. You stand off to the side a bit awkwardly as the two talk for a second, catching up. You hear him mention his brothers.

There's more of him?

You can hear your friend and Dick talking quietly to each other before you catch;

“Yeah, I mean.. Jay's here tonight. I could introduce them.” Dick mumbles with a smile and you notice him burying his face into the side of your friend's hair. Ugh.

“Jason?” A younger voice pipes up, you turn your head to take in the newcomers. “If you hate your friend you could just say that, there is no need for torture.” Dick laughs before introducing his younger brother, Damian.

He says they're adopted but you find that hard to believe when they look almost identical. Aside from the fact Damian has green eyes instead of blue. Both black hair and dark skinned. Damian speaks more properly, you notice, with a hint of an accent you can't quite place.

“I dunno man,” another speaks. Tim, you find out his name is. “Jason's been in a pissy mood all day. I wouldn't-”

“It's fine, it's fine! It'll be good for him. He needs to make new friends.” Dick insists.

They're talking about you as if you're not even there - not giving you a chance to speak for yourself on if you want to meet this Jason person or not. Your friend laughs. You glare.

Damian and Tim share a look before shaking their heads and that doesn't look promising at all. You're regretting your agreement to come along but your friend places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“I've met Jason before, he's nice.” But you know what her definition of “nice” is. It's far different than your own.

“Yeah, mhm.” You respond with a half hearted smile.

But the group walks further into the crowd. More cars and motorcycles come into view. You learn that Dick races with a 1979 trans am, one that he rebuilt with his brothers. The five of you walk by it and it's impressive. You find out that Tim is, apparently, still hesitant on racing while Damian claims he's too young - Dick teased him for being scared which earns him a chop to his throat.

‘If Jason is like these three then he can't be so bad.’ you think to yourself.

Until you see him. The small group stands in front of a heavily modded black and red Honda CBR600RR. It's nice. Clean. You stare at the bike until a gruff voice cuts you out of your thoughts.

“What, Dick?” Jason's expression is one of pure irritation as he tunes his bike.

He's tall and built like a brick shit house. Your mouth almost goes dry. Black hair with a white tuft in the front with a broad chest, beefy biceps, and piercing blue eyes. Oh boy.

“Just showing the angel around,” Dick slings an arm around your friend's shoulder. “And her friend.” Dick gestures to you. Tim and Damian step aside, a parting of the sea. You stand silently, almost dumbfounded, until you find your voice again.

“Uh, hey-” You try.

“No. I don't want to talk to people.” He cuts you off.

Oh.

“Told you,” Damian snickers quietly to Tim with a crooked smirk who shakes his head with a snort of laughter that he tries to cover with his hand. Your friend gives you a sympathetic look.

Great.

“C'mon, Jay. Don't be rude, I was trying to introduce- ” Dick tries again.

“Ain't got time. Race starts soon.” Jason grunts as he stands to his full height and holy shit is he intimidating. “Sorry, little birdie.” He comments as his gaze sizes you up. But he turns away before you can even get a word in.

‘Nice my ass.’ You think to yourself with an eye roll off to the side. Dick shoots you a sympathetic smile before he leads you and your friend away from Jason back towards his trans am.

“Worry not. That was him being polite.” Damian turns his smirk to you. Lovely.

It's a warm night in Gotham already and the crowd of people definitely doesn't help. “So it's always like this?” You ask your friend as you watch groups of people walk by laughing and talking. She nods in response.

“It's fun! I didn't think the racing scene in Gotham was this big but it kinda makes sense I guess.”

“I never even knew there was a ‘racing scene’.” You comment in response which gets a small laugh from Dick.

“Oh yeah, the scene’s huge here. It's fun and illegal, two things that every Gothamite loves.” He jokes.

“So, do you race for fun or.. is there a pool involved?” You ask Dick. The most knowledge you had about street racing was from the Fast and the Furious movies.

“For fun!” Dick beams. “Okay, well- winning the pot is nice, obviously. But personally? I do it for fun.” The answer makes sense to you. Dick gives off the vibes of an adrenaline junkie with the energy of a golden retriever.

“And Jason?” You ask, pretending to simply be curious. Dick stops for a second before he smiles at you. He looks at you like he knows something you don't.

“He races-...” Dick cuts himself off, his eyes roam off to the side as he chooses his words.

“Jason races to forget.” Tim finished for Dick who simply nods in response.

“Cliche.” You respond.

“Very.” Damian agrees. He looks less than impressed. “For him racing is simply a way to focus solely on the rush. Nothing else.”