#the bane of the bar (thorne)

[no-more-tales-tavern]

@freeusemuses sent: "Drunk on lust 7D: Thorne has unfortunately made Willow addicted to Tiefling cum. Specifically his. The red Tiefling can't get out of bed without the MILF riding him. Desperately."

Drunk on Lust: 7D

“Fuckin’ hell, Willow~” the red-skinned Tiefling groaned out, his hands reaching up to rest on her wide child-bearing hips, holding her steady as he felt those hips crash down hard onto his cock. His head rolled back with a groan. “Fuck~ you horny slut~”

“Don’t act like you don’t love this~” the lusty socialite moaned out as she arched her back towards him, her hands resting on his firm and broad shoulders as she rolled her hips and rocked down into his cock, biting her lip as she felt him brush against her sweet spots.

“Couldn’t this wait~?” Thorne groaned, his hips jerking up a bit in response to her eagerness. “I’ve got a meeting with the rest of the Devils and the Council of Tal’Dorei today~”

If he hoped his plight would earn him sympathy or relief, he was sorely mistaken. “Then you’d better satisfy me quickly~” she moaned, and her hips slammed harder down into his.

Thorne groaned and growled again—damn this sexy, slutty bitch. Sure, it was his own fault she’d ended up like this, but he couldn’t help but wonder if his brother’s patron had anything to do with it. Still…fuck, he couldn’t deny the sight of the curvaceous Schnee matriarch riding him so eagerly wasn’t a wonderful sight to wake up to.

“Stupid sexy bitch~” the monk finally growled out, his arm snatching up to wrap around her throat and jerk her down hard against his chest, holding her down as he began to jackhammer hard up into her, coaxing desperate and wanton moans to spill from her lips and fill his bedroom. “I better not be late because of this!”

But he was. By several hours, in fact.

[casuallyawkardd]

Dating Hobie Brown

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

Summary: My personal headcannon of what it would be like dating Hobie Brown. Includes how you met, got together and etc. 

Warnings: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, death and violence

A/N: Idk how old Hobie actually is, but I always pictured he was like nineteen so don’t @ me when the NSFW comes out. Also I didn’t mean for it to come out as sad as it did?? So sorry I guess 

Meeting

Your mother is the captain of the police force. Growing up, it was just the two of you and because of this your mother made sure to raise you right. Making sure you said your ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s, got good grades in school, didn’t get involved with the wrong crowd, etc. etc. As you got older, you learned just how hard your mom worked to make sure you had a good childhood, a good life, and so you made sure to do as you were told. To be her perfect, little baby. 

However, it was hard to make sure you grew up in a ‘good’ environment the older you got. Especially when you began to understand that not everyone saw your mom as the hero you saw her as. The political environment of London was unstable, protests and riots becoming more and more frequent. Sure, you agreed that the government was corrupted and people abused the power they were given, but when you started seeing signs that trash talked the captain of the police force, you couldn’t help but take it personally. Yeah, there were some bad people out there, but your mother was not one of them. 

Being the kid of the police captain makes you a walking target and you find that out the hard way. One night, as you’re walking home from one of your uni’s night classes, some extremists decide to back you into the nearest alley. They weren’t like the usual protestors who would shout at you while you walked down the street, these were the kind that were in it for the rioting. More about making a scene than supporting a cause, practically looking for an excuse to do some damage. 

You have no intention of making it easy for them, mama didn’t raise no bitch. They shove you and you shove back even harder. They get in your face to spit insults, you scream some right back. It’s a back and forth that goes downhill quickly, four against one being painfully unfair odds. 

Before you get your ass kicked, your savior arrives. You recognize him immediately; the ripped jeans, leather jacket, the red mask with a spiked mohawk, you’re taken aback as you watch Spider-Man pummel your antagonizers and yell at them to ‘fuck off!’ Now it’s just the two of you in the dark alley and you don’t know how to feel. On one hand, he did just save you from getting your teeth knocked in. On the other, the guy was the bane of your mother’s existence, practically the ringmaster of every protest and riot in London that makes her lose sleep at night. 

”You’re the captain’s kid, ain’tcha?”

“Can’t let a lovely face like yours get broken, eh?”

He’s...charming, his fingers gently grasping your chin as he assesses the damage. Even offers to take you home, which he doesn’t even give you the chance to say yes or no to as he’s already walking you down the street. While there’s a certain allure to him, he’s also a thorn in your side. Teasing you, making up antagonizing nicknames, by the time you make it to your apartment building you’re sure he’s just doing it to spite you. For once, you go against what your mother taught you and don’t thank him as you slam the window shut.

“What? No kiss goodnight?”

Meeting...Again

When you two cross paths again, it’s not when he’s Spider-Man. One of your friends from your creative writing class drags you out to the pub. Saying it was a crime you had been eighteen years old for six months and had yet to have your first drink. The bar is loud, filled with the type of people your mother would kill you for hanging out with. It seems your friend had neglected to tell you this particular venue was a dive bar. A dive bar that was frequented by bikers and freedom fighters. 

You don’t notice him, but Hobie recognizes you instantly; a smirk making its way onto his face as he strolls over. You’re tucked into the corner of the bar quietly sipping on some drinks, your friend having long since ditched you to talk to someone who caught her eye.

“Hiding away are you, love?”

The voice is familiar, making you turn to face him instantly. Where you’ve heard it is a little trickier to place. One quick up and down of the man now leaning against the bar has you stiffening. He’s practically the definition of what your mother has tried to protect you from for years, telling you that people that looked like him were bad news. Yet it seems your attempts to dissuade him are futile, in fact Hobie almost seems to enjoy the banter. He says one thing, you turn your nose up at it. He responds to your insults with vaguely flirty comments and chuckles when you go hot under the collar. 

He finally gets you to crack when he brings up music. It’s your passion, your life, hell it’s what got you a scholarship to even get into uni in the first place; tuition being well out of your budget. While it’s no surprise your tastes in music differ, it’s more about how he talks about music. You learn he’s a musician too, that he believes it’s not just about ‘finding a good beat’; how music can touch the soul if done just right. That it’s something that can unite the unlikeliest people.

It surprises you, in a good way. Has you thinking there’s maybe more to him than meets the eye. You say as much, Hobie teasing you about how ‘you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover’, which has you rolling your eyes. He’s not wrong though, the more he talks the more you want to listen. Not just about music, but the little details of his past, his beliefs, ideals and even his little quirks that he brings up organically in the conversation. What’s even better is how he matches your interest with his own, pulling out every little detail about yourself he can. 

You don’t realize it’s gotten late, a quick glance at your phone showing you had missed a concerning amount of calls and texts from your mum. Drunkenly, you stand and stagger, the drinks you had been sipping on, that Hobie so generously kept buying you, starting to pack a punch. Large hands hold you steady, Hobie offering to walk you home. You tell him no, the slur of the word causing him to guide you out of the pub regardless. 

You never thought walking home from a bar could be this fun. The fuzzy feeling in your head making you giggle and stumble down the path, Hobie following along and indulging you and your drunken bantering. When you do finally get home, you dread the idea of encountering your mother in your intoxicated state. Not to mention the fact you were accompanied with a ‘ ‘delinquent’ ’, your mother’s words not yours, like Hobie. The final decision is to crawl through your bedroom window, demanding Hobie give you a lift. The suggestion has him grinning ear to ear, tall stature lowering into a crouch and longer finger intertwining to give you a step.

“So there’s a little rebel in you after all, eh?”

Getting Together + “Dating”

The two of you becoming an item happens before you even realize it. You had been going about things under the guise of friendship, that is until one of his friends brings it up. A harmless little comment really, telling you that your ‘little boy toy’ was causing a ruckus yet again and might need someone to reel him in. It perplexes you, said friend beginning to tease you for playing coy. When you finally do fetch Hobie and apologize on his behalf, they give you a knowing look as you and your ‘boy toy’ head out for the evening. 

Suddenly you’re very aware of the way he grabs your hand when guiding you through a crowded room. Fingers laced with yours for a better grip and using his body to shove people aside to give you a clear path. The gentle kisses on your forehead when he tells you goodnight or on your knuckles when he’s trying to apologize for something. How his forehead touches yours when you listen to one of his favorite cassette tapes, your eyes closed to focus on the music while he watches you softly mouth the words to the song. The proud look he gets on his face whenever you do something out of your comfort zone, followed by him saying ‘I told you so’ when you end up liking it. 

“Nah mate, I don’t do labels.”

Is his response when someone flat out calls him your boyfriend. He says it simply, bluntly and you try to deny the sting in your chest when he does. And yet you hold your tongue, suppressing your comments with the bitter taste of beer. The routine you’ve begun now feels full of falsehoods. Spending the day between home and uni classes to keep up appearances as the ‘perfect child’; evenings at small pubs and Hobie’s flat where you finally get to unwind and take a break. What were his intentions? Was he like this with other people? Is what the two of you have not as special as you had thought?

The thoughts swirl through your head as you begin your walk home from the pub, yet another part of your new routine. Although this time, rather than Hobie and you walking side by side, air filled with chatter and quieted laughter, tonight he’s a few paces behind you. Not by choice, rather you seem to be refusing to speak to him, picking up the pace whenever he tries to match your stride. Could he easily close the distance with his long stride? Sure, but he knows when to not push your boundaries. 

He’s had enough by the time you arrive at your apartment building, a familiar, large hand wrapping around your forearm and pulling you to him. He’s not mad, barely even upset, just confused why you’re acting so differently. Usually you liked his calm demeanor, it seemed to balance out your high strung one, but right now it infuriates you. How does he not get it? Swerving the goodnight kiss, you head up to your flat to put this night behind you.

 After about a week of you declining invites and giving him the cold shoulder, Hobie decides to come to you. He tries to be respectful, giving you space for reasons he has yet to understand, but that doesn’t mean he can’t watch you. It’s not creepy...he’s just making sure you get home safe, watching from the building across the street from your usual route home...it’s not weird, right? Right? 

He can’t stand it, shooting a web and swinging to land gracefully in front of you. Or he tries to, his boot got caught on the concrete and he had to stumble to a stop. Since when has he been this clumsy? You stand dumbfounded, not recognizing him when he’s in his Spider-Man suit. He doesn’t even remember he’s in the stupid thing until he’s halfway through his rantings; talking about how ‘uncool’ it is to be avoiding him and how he thought of you as more mature than this. That he can’t fix the problem unless you tell him the problem.

After a moment of awkward silence, the look of recognition flashes across your face and he’s ushering you into the nearest alley before you can blurt out his secret identity. Stuck between Hobie and the brick wall, you’re forced to fess up to why you’ve been so distant, Hobie refusing to budge until you do. You can’t even look him in the eye as you spill every thought you’ve had over the last week. Talking about how you have feelings for him, but hate him for making you like him. How you don’t care if he feels the same, but you do care that he acts like he feels the same. That it’s not fair he gets to decide what can and can’t be a label and if he’s not your boyfriend then what is he? That it-

Hobie cuts you off as he leans in, lips pressing tenderly against yours. You hesitate before leaning into it, his warmth surrounds you as his arms move to wrap around your back. You realize you missed his touch, the contrast between the coolness of his piercing and the comfort of his lips on your skin. When he pulls away, he continues to hold you close, hand coming up to hold your face, a calloused thumb stroking your cheekbone. 

“I’m not into putting a label on things, but I’m into....this. I like what this is. I don’t need a stupid label to tell everyone I like you and you like me cuz the only people who need to know are you and me. Innit that right, love?”

You point out that while it’s touching he feels that way, there might be a hole or two in his idea. The two of you decide to compromise so the next time someone asks, you tell people you’re ‘exclusive’. It’s not a label, it’s an adjective, totally different.

Future

You two met before the spiderverse, before Hobie even knew what a canon event was. If he had, he might’ve prevented his next one. Your mother’s death came during a flurry of incidents. For you, it was her finding out about Hobie. As expected, she was furious when she found the two of you saying your goodbyes through your bedroom window. The fight that ensued between you and her was monstrous . You’d always been a good kid, her perfect, little angel. You’d grown to hate that word. Perfect. What’s the point in being perfect if you can’t live your life? Have a little fun?

She blames Hobie for your change in tune, forbidding you from ever seeing him again. The bubble of anger swelling in your chest bursts and you tell her ‘no’ for the first time. Scream it at her actually. That you’d done everything she asked for your whole life and that you weren’t going to give up the one thing you did for yourself. That it wasn’t a crime to like someone like Hobie, that there was more to him if she would just give him a chance. Your mother refuses to listen, dismissing you to go to your room. Reluctantly you comply, but not without shouting a final ‘I hate you!’ as you slam the door. 

Hobie, while frazzled by the little bit of the argument he’d witnessed, has his own problems brewing. He’s caught wind of Kingpin, the rumor being that he’s working with Osborn once again. This time, he’s gotten his slimy hands on some illegal weapons that’ll give the police force the upper hand against the freedom fighters. He’s on the scene, but so is your mother, who had left after your fight when she got tipped off. Hobie can see she’s alone, most likely being too impatient for backup like she usually is. 

Everything happens too quickly, hissing whispers between him and her as he tries to tell her to ��bugger off’, her saying she’s not going to let some kid get hurt while playing hero. Huh, she’s never called him a hero before. Hobie doesn’t get to dwell on the thought before they’re spotted, bullets and gun powder filling the night air. Some webbing takes care of Kingpin’s goons, but the bastard is able to get away as usual, but not without delivering the final shot. 

The eyes of Hobie’s spidersuit widen when he sees the blood leaking down the front of your mother’s uniform, instincts drawing him to her side to help her lie down. Emotions stir uncomfortably inside his chest, this is a cop; not just any cop, but the leader of the swine that call themselves the defenders of the people. And yet he’s applying pressure to the wound, holding off the inevitable because right now she isn’t the captain of the police force, she’s a mother. Your mother. 

Her last words are ingrained in his mind, ‘My baby...I can’t leave my baby.’

You’re confused when you see him in your living room, quietly but urgently saying that he has to go before your mother catches him, unaware she’s not even home. That she wouldn’t be coming back home. Routine and structure is embedded in your being, the idea of your mother’s death coming ‘too soon’ or that ‘you wouldn’t get to say goodbye’ have never crossed your mind. And yet it’s your reality. Your mother doesn’t get to retire and die of old age and the last words you said to her were ‘I hate you.’

“She knows you don’t.”

Hobie tries to comfort you, holding you close despite your resistance. In all honesty, you don’t know if you want to be left alone or never want him to let you go, so you settle for what he has to offer. Hobie doesn’t say much else, partly because he doesn’t know what to say and partly because he thinks all he can do right now is hold you and let your tears soak the front of his suit. 

As morbid as it may sound, your mother’s death came at a convenient time. Your first year of uni had wrapped up the week before, so it hurts less to withdraw. At least you were able to wrap up one year. Whether or not you’ll go back isn’t on your mind, but deep down you know you will. It’s what your mother would’ve wanted. 

You’re grateful for the support system you have, a few uni friends who still keep in touch after you leave and the friends you made through Hobie. While their ‘I’m sorry for your loss’s and ‘I’m here for you’s are comforting, Hobie is the one who’s truly there for you. 

Hobie’s the one who lets you move in with him when you can’t stand being at home, everything there reminding you of her. Hobie’s the one who brings you your meals when you forget to eat, the water you have yet to drink. Hobie’s the one who asks you to play a song he likes, his excuse being that he likes it better when you play it, but you both know it’s his way of making sure you don’t abandon your passions. Hobie’s the one who carries you to bed when you fall asleep to home videos, tucking you in and placing the baby blanket your mother made you on top. Hobie’s the one that heals you, even if it’s only a little. Even if there’s still more of you to make better. 

In terms of marriage and kids, they aren’t things either of you talk about. You’re young, you have a lot more ahead of you. Hobie reminded you of that. That sometimes life doesn’t follow a ‘routine’, that sometimes it’s better to live day by day with the ones you love. 

Tags:

@khaleesihavilliard @graysonshaven​ @qiaipia​ @3zae-zae3​ @thedevax @erissco​ 

[docgold13]

Batman: The Animated Series Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

The Batwoman

When a syndicate of mobsters composed of The Penguin, Rupert Thorne and Carlton Duquesne began a smuggling ring sending illegal weapons to the war-torn nation of  Kasnia, they found their venture stymied by a new costumed vigilante who called herself ‘The Batwoman.’  This Batwoman was equipped with a jet-powered glider and took on the syndicate’s operations with violent, reckless abandon.

Although The Batman was certainly in favor of taking down the smuggling operation, he did not approve of this Batwoman’s tactics, the destruction she caused and her disregard for the safety of others.  He was quick to disavow this mysterious new Batwoman and set upon taking down both the smuggling ring as well as the violent vigilante.  

Determining The Batwoman’s true identity proved a difficult mystery for Batman to solve.  This was primarily because The Batwoman was not one person but actually three different women who worked together; with each donning the guise of The Batwoman for different parts of the overarching mission.  

These women were Dr. Roxanne Ballantine, Kathy Duquesne and Detective Sonia Alcaña.  Each had a vendetta against the members of the syndicate.  The Penguin had used Dr. Ballantine’s fiancé as a patsy resulting in his incarceration; Thorne’s racketeering operation had caused Alcaña’s parents to lose their family business; and Kathy Duquesne blamed her father’s criminal career for the murder of her mother.  Alcaña brought the three together and they created the identity of the Batwoman to garner their revenge.  

Batman suspected each of these individuals as potentially being The Batwoman yet the fact that they switched turns acting as the vigilante gave all three plausible alibis.  During the course of his investigation, Bruce Wayne began a romantic relationship with Kathy Duquesne.  

Desparate to salvage their smuggling ring, The Penguin brought in the mercenary, Bane, to take out The Batwoman.  He succeeded in capturing her and when she was unmasked as Kathy, her father Carlton Duquesne was shocked.  He could not kill his own daughter so his partners turned on him and planned on eliminating him as well.  Fortunately, Batman had finally deduced the mystery and he joined forces with Alcaña and Ballantine to save Kathy and defeat Bane.  

Carlton Duquesne agreed to testify against Thorne and The Penguin and all three were sentenced to long prison terms.  With the villains behind bars, the three women cast aside their role as Batwoman and returned to their civilian lives.

Dr. Ballantine was reunited with her now-freed fiancé whereas Detective Alcaña left the police force in pursuit of a fresh start.  And Kathy Duquesne continued her relationship with Bruce Wayne.  

Actress Kyra Sedgwick provided he voice for The Batwoman, with Kimberly Brooks voicing for Kathy Duquesne, Elisa Gabrielli voicing Sonia Alcaña and Kelly Ripa voicing Roxanne Ballantine.  The three heroines appeared in the animated feature, Batman: Mystery of The Batwoman.    

[inafieldofdaisies]

WIP Wednesday *let's pretend it's Wednesday, okayy* | tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat & @fourlittleseedlings <3

Before jumping in, some backstory: I had different plans for Chapter 2 (read as covering the arrest), but an idea kept crawling at me, like "hey, it's actually my turn, I need to be here". So here it is. 😭

August 18th, 2018 John

"Hudson asked Whitehorse to let them all leave early this Saturday, said she's throwing Deputy Donovan a birthday party at the Spread Eagle."

Ms. Willis was the eyes and ears of the Project inside Hope County's Sheriff's Department. She was always eager to offer intel, always ready to be of service to his brother. John relayed on the older woman to keep taps on the movements of Whitehorse and his deputies, knowing what they were planning next was of utmost importance, it meant staying one step ahead of the Sinners. It kept their people on the path to Eden. Still, oftentimes the information she presented ended up far from tactical, straight up into gossip territory. And if he let her, she'd talk on for hours, to a point John felt the need to recall Joseph's words over and over "Patience, brother. You have to love them." Yes, Nancy Willis was useful and he had to tolerate her, for the sake of the Project.

The struggle to remember that was becoming a more frequent occurrence as of lately. That day's conversation with her was no different. He had no idea why Nancy considered a birthday party an important detail. Nor did he need another reminder of his failure: that the Spread Eagle was still open and poisoning his region. Spreading the sin. And yet, the mention of Hope County's newest deputy's name always aroused his curiosity. Where most people in Holland Valley chose to run away in hope of escaping facing their sins, Sabrina Donovan accepted a job in the Sheriff's Department and rented a cabin in HIS region. He didn't know if that made her extremely brave or absolutely naive.

Deputy Donovan quickly became a thorn in his side. Not only did she live on Darcy Harris' property, a poor attempt made by the old woman at stopping him from acquiring her land for the Project, but she constantly sabotaged his men in their work, often interrupting Cleansings. Indeed, she was absolutely naive if she thought she would stand in the Project's way or stop him from finishing the task Joseph bestowed on him. One day she'd be sitting in his chair, confessing every sin she's ever committed, no matter how small. He'd make sure of that.

He blamed that very same curiosity for the urge that took over him that Saturday night, for making him get into an unmarked truck - he wasn't about to alert all of Fall's end of his presence, and ending up in front of the Spread Eagle, standing in the shadows.

Watching.

Waiting.

He was going to see her once and be done. The town was calm, dark, a stark contrast to the party happening inside the bar. Laughter and music seeped all the way outside, trying to take over the silence.

He had no idea how long he stood at his hiding spot before the doors of the Spread Eagle finally opened as two figures stepped out, one of them lighting up a cigarette. "Tell you what, Gray, this party was exactly what I needed after this week. Whitehorse has been all up in my face about the last accident." Melodic laughter was all the responce the man got at first, followed by "I'm pretty sure you set a new record of how fast you got into trouble this time, kid", her tone grew serious, "You're starting to worry me, Calahan." First time John was hearing Sabrina's voice or seeing her in person for that matter. All he could make out in the dark was the denim jacket over her shoulders. He immediately knew who the quite drunk sinner she was speaking to was.

Calahan Hartley, though most called him Rookie.

The Deputy was nothing short of the bane of John's existence, where Sabrina usually ended conflicts with his men rather peacefully, Calahan enjoyed wreaking havoc through his region and did his hardest to ruin Joseph's vision of the future. Nobody else needed a Cleansing more than him. "Ha. I'm just giving those peggies hell. They sure as fuck deserve it." My men are just following God's will, soon you will be fulfilling your purpose too. My brother is never wrong. The two continued talking, but John's thoughts drowned out their faint conversation. He's about had enough of Hartley's voice. He wished he could- "Patience, brother. It's not the time for action yet.", Joseph's voice echoed in his mind, trying to smother the urge for destruction. His brother's usual words helped, same for the fact the Deputy finally decided to head back inside after smoking a second cigarette. "You coming in, Gray? You promised to sing for me." "In a bit. Save me some of the cake, don't let Sharky eat all of it, yeah?" Sweet silence. Sabrina leaned back, staring up at the night sky. Gone was the mask of the happy birthday girl. It was replaced by a look of melancholy. The change shifted something in him too and before he knew it, he was pulling out a piece of paper from his jacket. "Happy Birthday - J" John paused, looking at the note in bewilderment. What is this?

A message for her?

A peace offering for the night?

An attempt to get her to smile again?

NO. It's a warning. So she knows we hold the power and are always watching. But he couldn't bring himself to finish signing his name. Once Sabrina headed back inside the Spread Eagle, John left the note on the windshield of her Bronco. Nancy's intel was paying off again. He didn't allow himself to stick around to hear her sing. Joseph trusted him to help with his vision and he wasn't going to fail him. It was time to put the curiosity behind him. She's just another sinner waiting for Atonement.

[theforgottenmcrmy]

The Bane of His Existence

Pairing: Platonic! Riff X OC Jet Girl

Warnings: Suggestions of Violence, References to Minor Character Death/Loss of a Parent, Mild Angst

Summary: Though they had been at odds with one another for weeks, they really weren’t that different after all.

Word Count: 4300 ish.

DISCLAIMER

Please note that this oneshot is directly related to the fic After All. The masterlist of said fic can be found here. Reading After All before reading this oneshot is not necessary, but doing so will provide a lot of background context for Riff and the OC.

Request from Anonymous: “Hello! Saw that you were doing oneshots and HCs, so I was wondering if you could write about Roxie and Riff meeting, or when they started dating, I’ve always wonder how their relationship began! Thanks and btw I’m obsessed with the history and your writing!!”

A/N: Hi everyone! 😊 Here is one of the oneshot requests I mentioned in this post. Also as mentioned, I went ahead and tagged everyone included in the After All taglist since this oneshot is directly related. If you would like to be tagged in future parts of After All only, please reach out to me to let me know. Absolutely no hard feelings. I hope this piece will help to hold you over until I am able to finish Part 18. I may get another oneshot prepared and posted in the meantime, but I am not sure just yet. (BTW- if you have submitted a request, thank you! I will be working on those as well. Unless I answer your specific ask and indicate otherwise, it’s safe to assume I plan to write a little something about your ask when time allows.) If you would like to submit a new request, here is a post with all that info. If you decide to give this oneshot a read, I appreciate your time! I hope you all have a good rest of the weekend. 💙

Riff couldn’t remember the very first time he met Roxie. He supposed they’d always gone to the same school since they were first old enough to enroll. There were only so many elementary schools in the area, and even at that time a lot of them were getting shut down and consolidated with another.

But Riff did remember when he first realized Roxie’s existence. And in fact, Roxie was more of a thorn in his side than anything else.

Though they went to the same school, they had never been in the same class. But one fateful summer, another elementary school in the neighborhood a few blocks over had closed down, and half of its students were sent to their school. The increase in population meant bigger classes in general.

As a result, on the first day of 5th grade, Riff finally met the girl who he would’ve sworn would always be the bane of his existence.

Riff hadn’t noticed her presence in class that morning at all. He could care less about the actual classwork, let alone most of his piers. All ten year old Riff ever cared about on the days he made it to school was recess. During recess, he’d get a break from all the nagging and threats coming from his teacher and would get to run free- if only for a little while. And while Riff loved a good run, climbing was his special forte.

Riff loved climbing things, and he always had. His ma used to scold him whenever he tried to sneak out and onto the fire escape landing and climb up the steel staircases outside their apartment window. She told him it was too dangerous, and looking back on it, it probably was, at least for a ten year old. But Riff couldn’t have cared less at the time. Climbing the fire escape meant he’d get a great view of the city. From a high vantage point like that, he could see over the terrible place that was their neighborhood and out over the rest of the city beyond. He could see somewhere better out there, just waiting for him.

The monkey bars on the school playground during recess didn’t provide nearly as great a view, but Riff was willing to live with it. Climbing on top of the metal structure was dangerous, and when Riff did it, all the other kids- especially the boys who thought they were something hot just because they were bigger than him- knew not to mess with him. If Riff wasn’t afraid of a bit of a nasty fall should things go wrong up there, then he certainly wouldn’t be afraid of standing up to anyone who gave him some grief.

The problem with the monkey bars was that the very top bar was wide enough for only one kid to sit on comfortably. Tony was a real pal, and he always let Riff have the very top bar. Riff would’ve let Tony set up there instead, if he ever asked, but he never did. Either way, Tony was always nearby, sitting on the second highest bar, which was wide enough to fit several kids at a time.

On the first day of school, recess commenced as it usually did. And, like they usually did, Riff and Tony sprinted over towards the monkey bars. They secured their sitting spots in plenty of time before any of the other kids even thought about making their way over.

As they sat upon their respective bars, Tony began to fill Riff in about the trip upstate he and his parents had taken towards the end of the summer. Riff knew Tony didn’t mean anything by it, and that Tony was likely just trying to distract him from various thoughts that could've been running through his mind at the time, but Riff couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy while listening. Tony had been on this grand trip with his folks upstate to see all kinds of crazy stuff. The only trip Riff had taken that summer was from the apartment he used to live in with his ma, and his father, when he wasn’t incarcerated, to the apartment above an auto shop where his uncle and aunt lived.

Tony was in the middle of explaining how he and his mother had nearly left his father behind at a hotel one morning while two girls approached the monkey bars. Since it was their break for recess, the girls had to have been in Riff and Tony’s class. But to Riff, the brunette and red-head girls before him looked vaguely familiar at best.

“Can we help ya with somethin’?” Riff asked.

“Are you going to be up there all day?” the brunette asked, looking up to where he sat and scrunching her eyes under the bright sunlight.

“Yeah.”

The brunette frowned. The red-head girl beside her looked a bit nervous, but said nothing.

“We were here first…” Tony said, though he sounded a bit more apologetic than Riff had been.

“Besides, these are our monkey bars,” Riff added firmly.

The brunette frowned. “Nuh uh, last year they were ours. You two were never here.”

Riff shrugged and made no move climb down from his comfortable position. “Ya must’ve had another recess, then. But this is how it is- we’re here now, so they’re ours.”

The girl huffed. “But it's our recess, too!”

“You should share,” the red-headed girl added, though she was so quiet Riff barely heard her.

Tony looked up at Riff. “Maybe they’ve got a point, pal… maybe we oughta share?”

Betrayal was the only word that came to mind as Riff gave Tony a shocked look. “What? No!” Riff looked back down at the girls. “You twos oughta move on, before ya waste the rest of recess. Now go play with some dolls or somethin’ and leave us be.”

“You’re real tough, you know!” the brunette called up to him. Her hands were on her hips and she glared up at him, but Riff wasn’t scared… not yet. “It’s really easy to talk like that all the way up there, but I bet you don’t have the nerve to come down and tell me that to my face!”

Riff rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. As much as he didn’t want to give in to the girl’s demand, he also knew she wasn’t likely to buzz off until he did as she asked. He began to climb down the monkey bars.

As he passed Tony, Tony whispered to him, “Riff, don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Riff smirked. “Stupid’s my middle name!”

“You could say that again,” the brunette muttered under her breath. The red-head standing beside her giggled.

Riff landed two feet on the ground with well-practiced ease and immediately turned to give her a glare of his own. “Like I said, move along!”

The girl took a step closer to him. Instead of replying immediately, she looked him up and down.

Riff frowned at her actions. “Your eyes broken or somethin’?”

“No,” the girl replied with a small smile. “I just thought you’d be taller.”

Riff inhaled through his nose angrily. As soon as he opened his mouth to reply, a bell rang out in the distance, signaling that the recess had come to an end.

Both girls immediately ran off to head back inside. When Tony climbed down the monkey bars and landed on the ground beside him, Riff’s blood was still boiling. A good part of his recess had been ruined by some girls- and he didn’t even know their names.

By the time everyone had made it back inside the classroom, and Riff had taken his usual desk in the back of the room with Tony in the desk beside him, Riff was still reeling. His anger was further fueled as his teacher began the history lecture and he started to scan the room.

There she was, sitting almost near the front of the classroom. Her friend was sitting at the desk beside hers.

Teacher’s pet.

Later in the afternoon, Riff finally learned the girl's name when she raised her hand eagerly, like a true teacher’s pet, to answer a question.

“That is correct,” their teacher said. “Very good, Roxanne!”

Roxanne.

Kind of a stuffy name, if you asked him.

————————————————————————————

Riff made use of his newly obtained knowledge the very next opportunity he had. When recess the following day began, Riff and Tony ran over to the monkey bars. However, unlike the day before, the girls had beaten them to it.

This time, the one girl sat on the very top bar. Her friend sat on the one just beneath it, where Tony usually did.

The look she gave Riff as he and Tony approached the monkey bars was smug. Too smug.

“Don’t fall now, Roxanne!” Riff shouted up to her.

Her smug look fell and was immediately replaced with one of mild annoyance. “My name is Roxie,” she grumbled.

“That ain’t what the teacher said!” Riff replied with a smirk.

“It doesn’t matter what she said, I go by Roxie.”

“Oh, yeah? What’re ya gonna do ‘bout it, Roxanne?” Riff challenged.

As Roxie began to descend down the monkey bars, Riff heard her friend whisper something to her as she passed.

Tony grabbed his arm. “Riff, let’s just take turns. I don’t wanna start fightin’ with a bunch of girls.”

“What? We ain’t fightin’ em,” Riff assured him. “We’re just gonna let them know how things are ‘round here.”

“And how are things ‘’round here’?” Roxie questioned, finally getting back down on the ground. She took a step towards him, and the two were just a foot or two away from each other, just like they had been the day before.

That was the moment Riff realized he may have met his match. The two stood face to face, staring each other down and silently willing the other to cave as each of their respective friends watched them warily.

————————————————————————————

The next few weeks passed and Riff and Roxie’s struggle with one another continued.

During recess, verbal fights were more often than not the norm as Riff and Roxie passed the time bickering over whose turn it was to climb up to the top of the monkey bars. Meanwhile, Tony and Velma would sit on the second highest bar, watching them both with piqued interest.

The bad blood between them even showed in the classroom. Riff had developed a bit of a crush on a blonde girl in their class named Nancy. He’d been working up the courage to talk to her, with Tony’s encouragement, of course. Apparently, Roxie had gotten wind of Riff’s crush and had told Nancy that he had cooties. By the time Riff worked up the courage to finally talk to Nancy after school one day, she barely spared him a glance.

The next day in class, the back of Roxie’s head became Riff’s primary target. Wads of paper, even a pencil or two- there was hardly a thing that couldn’t be used as ammo. Tony warned him not to, but not even the threat of the teacher yanking him outside the classroom and punishing him would deter Riff.

Every time Roxie was struck with something, she would turn around and shoot Riff a cold look. However, she never squealed to the teacher about it. Riff supposed that was the one good thing about her.

This pattern between them continued until one day Roxie did not show up for school. Riff hadn’t noticed her absence in class that morning. He tried not to pay any more attention to her than what she drew to herself.

Riff only just noticed she wasn’t there when he and Tony made it to the monkey bars first at recess. They climbed, sat on their usual bars, and waited for the inevitable moment the girls would come along to start some trouble.

But Roxie and her friend never bothered them. Riff and Tony waited, but they never showed. From his high vantage point, Riff spotted her friend, whose name he had learned was Velma, over on the far side of the playground. She was by herself, and Roxie was nowhere in sight. Riff pointed this out to Tony, mostly due to the fact that it was rare to find the girls separated. Tony suggested they may have had a fight, but Riff wasn’t entirely sure.

When they returned to the classroom, Riff’s eyes immediately went to Roxie’s desk. It was empty. Even Velma glanced over at it every now and then, as if worried about her friend. She probably was.

Riff tried not to think about Roxie’s absence from school too much. She had been nothing but a pain. But, try as he might, it never strayed too far from his mind, and he wasn’t sure why.

————————————————————————————

That night, as he sat at the table in the small kitchen in his uncle and aunt’s apartment, Riff would’ve still been thinking about her, had his aunt’s behavior not been slightly off.

Riff could give a rat’s ass about his uncle. He hardly knew him, despite living in the same neighborhood almost his whole life. And in the few months Riff lived with him, Riff’s came to think even less of him. All his uncle did was drink, fumble around in his auto shop below the apartment, and complain about anything and everything.

“Food’s already cold,” his uncle snapped that night. He had a bottle of beer in one hand, but Riff knew it couldn’t have been his first one of the day.

His aunt’s distracted daze was broken by her husband’s gripe. “Let me see if I can warm it up a bit,” she proposed, hastily moving to stand from the table.

“Forget about it,” his uncle replied dismissively. He rose from the table and the legs of his chair squeaked in protest at the sudden movement. “Clean up my plate, boy,” he barked at Riff.

Then, beer still in hand, his uncle turned and headed towards the front door. “I’ll be in the shop. Don’t wait up for me.”

The door slammed and Riff and his aunt were so used to it that neither of them flinched.

Riff looked at his aunt, worried she’d been upset by his uncle’s words. But she just seemed distracted once again.

Though couldn’t care less about his uncle, Riff did care about his aunt.

His ma had died earlier in the summer. Without any other options, the state determined his uncle should take him in. His uncle had protested the idea, but his aunt had talked him into it, insisting that it was only right to keep the family together. She didn’t treat him as her child, but she was never cold to him and Riff knew he was better off in her care than in any other that a foster parent or nun at an orphanage would provide. Riff was fearful of the day where she would come to her senses and leave his uncle, leaving Riff all alone with him.

Riff liked his aunt enough that he wished she had been the sister of his ma, or even of his father. If she was his aunt by blood, and she left his uncle, there was no reason Riff couldn’t go with her. She and his ma had always gotten along well, and his ma used to tell him that they were even friende back in their school days. It was a bit of a coincidence when his ma realized who his uncle had ended up marrying.

Unfortunately, his father and uncle were true brothers. That was hardly a surprise. They were about the same horrible person, just with different hobbies. One liked tinkering with cars while the other liked playing cards.

Riff climbed off his chair and immediately went to clean up his uncle’s plate as asked. Like his father, his uncle also had a certain way of correcting Riff. While Riff didn’t think highly of his uncle, he valued his own hide enough to want to avoid pissing him off any more than what couldn’t be helped.

Once Riff placed his plate in the sink, he turned back around to face the table. His aunt was still seated, and though she was looking at her plate, she never resumed eating.

“Are ya okay?” Riff asked her.

“Your uncle’s been tired lately, but I should know by now that this behavior isn’t unusual for him,” she replied, still staring down at her plate.

“Not talkin’ ‘bout him,” Riff corrected.

His aunt finally looked up from her plate and towards him. The look in her eyes was a sad one, and even though Riff had thought something else was on her mind, maybe his uncle had truly upset her this time.

“I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure, ma’am…”

His aunt stood from her chair and put her own plate in the sink, not bothering to discard the almost entirely untouched food upon it. She turned to look back at Riff and pursed her lips, thinking about her next words.

“An old friend of your ma’s and I died last night,” she told him. “I heard about it this morning at Doc’s.”

Riff hadn't expected that. But if it involved his ma, it interested him. “It was someone my ma knew, too?”

His aunt nodded solemnly. “The three of us grew up together. You probably wouldn’t have met her, though.”

“Why not?” Riff asked, though he could barely remember a time when his mom had ever brought any of her friends around their apartment. If she had even had any, his father would have scared them off for sure.

“People grow apart,” his aunt told matter-of -factly, though her tone was still sympathetic. “Adult life gets in the way, and you have to leave some parts of your past behind to make way for the future. You’ll learn soon enough.”

Riff had yet to have any experience with what his aunt was referring to, but he accepted her answer just the same.

“When your ma passed away a few months ago, I reached out to this woman to catch up,” his aunt explained. “She lived here, actually- just a few blocks away.”

Riff remained silent. His aunt had some distant look in her wide, somber eyes, as if recalling some distant memories. He knew it would be more polite to let her finish her piece than to interrupt. His ma had taught him many things, but respecting women- women, not necessarily girls- who deserved it was chief among all the lessons. And even if she hadn’t otherwise, his aunt deserved at least a little bit of respect just for putting up with his oaf of an uncle for as long as she had.

“No, you probably wouldn’t have known her,” his aunt repeated, though it sounded like she was reconfirming the idea to herself rather than for Riff’s sake. “You might have gone to school with her daughter at some point, though. She’s around your age, if I’m remembering that right… poor thing.”

Riff paused as the implications of his aunt’s words dawned on him. He connected what she said to what he had seen, or rather, hadn’t seen, in school earlier that day. And he just knew.

“What’s her name?” Riff asked anyways.

His aunt seemed a bit surprised by her question. “It started with an R, I think,” she trailed off as her brows furrowed in concentration. “Valentina just mentioned her again this morning…”

“Roxanne?”

His aunt’s concentrated look fell immediately, and she looked at him blankly. “… Yes, that was it. Roxanne. How did you know?”

Riff’s mouth felt a bit dry, but he forced himself to answer anyway. “Just a lucky guess.”

His aunt hummed in response. “Right… Wow, I didn’t realize how late it was. Why don’t you go ahead and work on your homework? I’ll clean up dinner. Let me know if you need any help.”

His aunt set about doing as she said she would, and Riff left the room with slow steps as his mind was bogged with all the information she had dumped on him.

He ended up barely touching his homework. Though it was still early in the school year, his teacher already knew better than to expect any better of him.

Later that night, well after his uncle had stumbled in at an unmentionable hour and fumbled over to the lone bedroom in the apartment, where his aunt was likely already sleeping, Riff was still awake.

The makeshift cot in the living room that had been his sleeping place for the past few months and would be for the foreseeable future wasn't comfortable, but that wasn’t what was keeping him awake. It was his mind.

————————————————————————————

Another few days passed before Roxie finally returned to school.

Riff had noticed the minute she walked into the classroom. Though he had never paid attention to her prior to recess time before, since her initial absence, he’d made a point to take his seat in the back of the classroom early. He watched her desk vigilantly, waiting for the day she would come back and take her seat.

Tony had teased him for showing up to school earlier than what was usual. Riff couldn’t blame him. Though Riff started showing up earlier, he made no effort to improve his grades, and it’s no wonder why Tony was so confused. But Riff never told Tony about what he knew, and how it was the cause of his odd behavior. He never spoke a word to anyone about what he knew.

Riff watched as the girl entered the room quietly and immediately sat down. Velma, who was already seated at her own desk, turned and gave her a small, comforting smile.

When all the students were seated, the teacher began her lecture. Meanwhile, Riff’s eyes bore into the back of Roxie’s head. As he stared at her dark hair, he wondered why he had even felt so compelled to throw anything at her at all, even if it was just wads of paper and the odd pencil or two.

Riff could sympathize with her. There she was, just days after losing her ma, sitting at a desk and keeping herself together as if nothing was amiss. At least Riff had been on the summer break when his ma had passed. He couldn’t imagine being forced to go to school right after, when everything was still so raw.

Though they had been at odds with one another for weeks, they really weren’t that different after all.

Later that day, the class emptied out onto the school grounds for recess. As usual, Riff and Tony made their way over to the monkey bars. The past few days without Roxie had meant that Riff and Tony had free reign over them.

But when Tony began to climb them that day, and Riff made no move to follow, the other young boy paused. “What’s wrong?”

Riff looked across the playground until he finally spotted Roxie and Velma. They were both sitting on the concrete. Roxie stared down at the pavement with her head bowed. Velma sat on her knees beside her, trying her best to chat with her, but it was clear to Riff that Roxie was in no mood for idle chat.

Choosing not to answer his friend’s question, Riff started walking across the playground and over towards the pair. A moment later, he heard footsteps following him and he knew Tony was right on his heels.

“What’re ya doin’, Riff?” Tony asked him, slightly out of breath from keeping up with Riff’s fast steps.

“Got an idea,” Riff answered simply, not looking at him.

As Riff and Tony approached, Velma looked up at them with a bit of a helpless look on her face. Roxie continued to stare at the ground. She had to have seen their feet, but she didn’t lift her head.

“Roxie?” Riff asked quietly.

It was the first time Riff had called her anything other than her full name, and she noticed.

Roxie lifted her head and finally looked up at him with wide eyes. He knew the look on her face- he’d caught it in his own reflection enough times over the last few months.

Riff wasn’t sure what all to say, he was just a kid, but he knew he couldn’t continue on with her the way things had been. He knew too much about her. Even though it wasn’t even a whole lot, it was enough that he knew he would never look at her in the same way he used to.

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout everythin’,” Riff began awkwardly, “and I realized that the monkey bars are big enough for all of us.”

Roxie tilted her head and her expression lightened. “Really?”

“What?” Tony asked from beside him, raising an eyebrow.

Riff nodded curtly. “I mean, we should share ‘em… there ain’t no reason we can’t.”

A small smile formed on Roxie’s lips. “Okay.”

Velma smiled as well. “You guys should take them today. We’ll get them tomorrow.”

Riff shook his head. “Nah, we should all use ‘em.”

Velma’s brows furrowed in confusion, but Riff looked at Roxie instead.

“Roxie?” he asked again, though he had never lost her attention. “Ya wanna take the top bar today?”

Roxie smiled fully then. “… Sure.”

Riff smiled back at her and offered her a hand. She took it readily and hoisted herself up off the ground. Tony did the same for Velma.

The four of them walked back over to the monkey bars in a comfortable silence. Once they reached them, all four began to ascend the metal bars. Roxie sat down on the very top, while Velma, Tony, and Riff sat down on the second bar just below it.

Riff looked up at Roxie as she sat above them. She was smiling.

If her ma was good enough to be friends with his ma back in the day, that was good enough for Riff. He could find it in him to be friends with her too.

Later in life, Riff would realize that Roxie was never the bane of his existence at all. She was actually one of the things that made his existence bearable.

And from that day on, Riff and Roxie never argued again.

Well, they never argued about the monkey bars, at least.

A/N: Thank you for reading! 😊 Feel free to interact if you enjoyed, but no worries if not.

Taglist: @whisperofsong @disguisedbassethound @lingerasthesmokeoncedid @westsidelegendary @sallymakesstuff @youngteenagehearts @wombtotombx @loverisi @wnygirl2012 @b-bella9 @princessmiaelicia @childesbbyy @amberash05 @robin-jackkelly @eatslothsat @mikefaistgf​ @acciosiriusblack​ @jaemsslut4​ @makaelahdelvalle​

[ragingbookdragon]

The Secrets Best Left In The Dark

Batsis x Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 4K Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Death

Author's Note: I thrive on angst, so I have no apologies for y'all. Enjoy! -Thorne

They’d never claim their eldest sibling was cowardly. Far from it, she put her life on the line every day, in and out of the suit, defending those she cared for with a strength that they’d never seen in anyone. But while everyone in their family was typically hot-tempered and ready for a beatdown, she was calm and quiet. Always kind, and never letting anger, or any type of other emotion show besides pleasantness. For a while, they merely assumed she was the doormat type, simply on the basis that she never argued with their dad over anything—the whole “It’s my way or the highway” and his way was what she always went with—and that made her seem like an alien surrounded by humans because everyone argued with Bruce. That, and the fact that whenever she got into the rare fight during patrol, she’d never hit anybody. She was trained to take down multiple combatants and not once did she ever punch, hit, or kick a single person.

It was practically abnormal to be in the Batfamily and never lay a hand on a criminal, and yet that was what their sister did. Hardly ever did she use force to get what she wanted, always relying on stealth. Even on the minute cases when she got caught in an infiltration and had to fight her way out, she used electrified gauntlets to subdue them, rarely coming to blows. So, in a sense while everyone in her family was an aggressive fighter, she was a defensive—or perhaps a passive one—and that’s how she acted in life too. Always passive by nature, but always playing the peacekeeper between brothers and between fathers and sons.

They never knew why she was such a way, from the stories that Diana and Clark used to tell, back when it was just their sister and Bruce, she was a whirlwind that got into fights with anything that dared breathe in her direction—apparently, she made her angriest siblings look like mice. But no matter how many times they pried or even asked Bruce (apparently, he didn’t know what changed either—and this was coming from the World’s Greatest Detective), she never talked about it, simply saying that she grew out of always being angry and wanted to be calmer.

They suspected she held a dark secret—but no one could’ve prepared for just how dark and damaging it had been to her all these years.

***

In hindsight, taking a trip into Scarecrow’s lab was a bad idea, but when the offer had come up in the cave from her father, (Y/N) was happy to lend a hand, knowing that with his recent injury, he wouldn’t’ve been able to get out there during the night. It was also amazing, in the twenty-seven years she’d been alive, and in the past nineteen years that she’d been a vigilante, she’d never seen her father take a break—she could count on one hand how many times he had, and even then, he was still working in the cave, so technically it wasn’t a break.

But after tangling with Bane and Croc, he’d broken a few ribs and after repeated complaints and worries from her, his sons, and Alfred, Bruce finally agreed to let his children handle patrol. Which is why when the quadrants of the city were split up between Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian, it left (Y/N) to pick up specific places that Bruce wanted checked out—she warmly agreed to do so. And while she was confident in her abilities to do everything, he asked of her, she should’ve called for backup when it came to infiltrating Scarecrow’s hideout.

***

Another vent went off above her and she ducked, eyes narrowing as she watched the orange fog, appearing blue through her detective mode, drift out. She would’ve sprayed it, but she’d used up all of her explosive gel covering the others. Now she simply had to avoid them and hope that her gas mask filtered properly—so far, it was. A shrill laugh echoed through the speakers above her, and shivers went down her spine.

Anytime now, Batgirl. You will fall too.

She frowned. “I’m not afraid of you, Doctor Crane.” Ducking under another pipe, she added, “I can help you if you’ll let me.”

Help me? Help…ME? You can’t even help YOURSELF!

Scarecrow had always been a talker, much like the majority of the villains they faced, and he was looking for a rise. She came to the end of the corridor where the pipes met a brick wall and she sighed, searching for a way through. A vent covered the top right corner and she pulled out the grapple gun, pointing it at the grate. She pressed the trigger and it latched onto the metal bars; grasping the cord, she yanked as hard as she could, stepping backwards when it fell, hitting the ground with a clang.

(Y/N) heaved herself up into the vent and crawled on her hands and knees, as quietly as she could, twisting and turning through the maze of confined metal. When she came to the end, another grate covered the exit and she pressed her foot against it, pushing until the bolts popped loose and she could slip out.

From the looks of it, if the advanced chemistry equipment were any help, she’d ended up in Scarecrow’s lab. He wasn’t in sight, but that gave her time to look around and see if he’d changed any formulas recently. She raised her wrist and tapped at the blue screen, taking a moment to run a program. When it beeped, (Y/N) sighed in relief and reached up, pulling the gas mask off—the air was clean.

She set the mask down on the counter and put a finger to her ear. “Batman, do you read me?” His voice came through a moment later.

“I read you Batgirl. Loud and clear.”

“I’m in Doctor Crane’s lab,” she said, poking around at the notes he’d scrawled out. “I don’t see anything new. The formulas all look the same.”

“Compounds?”

She frowned and read. “Honestly, it’s a bit hard to decipher. His handwriting is a lot like Red’s when he’s had one too many energy drinks.” A quiet huff came from over the line, telling her that he was amused. “I’ll send you pictures of it and see if you can.” (Y/N) snapped a few photos. “Get ‘em?”

“Just now,” he replied, and she walked over to one of the lit Bunsen burners.

“Looks like he’s got something brewing right now though,” (Y/N) leaned over and peered into it, careful to avoid any steam that was rising.

“Recognize it?”

She paused. “It’s not the usual stuff he’s got. It looks almost golden and—”

All at once the dish exploded and she had just enough time to cover her face from the shattering glass, letting out a gasp as she recoiled.

“Batgirl, what happened?”

(Y/N) coughed and waved a hand, and when her hand appeared double, she breathed out in shock. “Oh no,” she whispered.

“Batgirl, report.” She hurried to the exit of the lab as Scarecrow’s cackle sounded overhead.

“I’ve been hit with a blast of toxin.” Pulling open the door, she fumbled with her utility belt then let out a sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

(Y/N) shook her head and weaved down the corridors, the faster she got to her bike, the faster she could get back to the cave.

“I don’t have any anti-toxin on me.” She pushed against the doors and stumbled out into the cold and rainy night. Her mind was already beginning to fog over as she climbed onto her bike, and she barely had enough focus to keep it steady while she programmed it to auto-drive.

“I’m sending one of the boys to you.”

She grunted and lifted her foot as the bike revved and shot forward. “Don’t. I’ve already programmed the bike to the cave’s coordinates. I’ll be back in less than fifteen minutes.”

“You won’t make it that long.”

(Y/N) groaned as the lights began to flash around her and she saw faces and images passing her. “I just have to…focus.”

Horns blared around her as the bike weaved in and out of cars and she held onto the frame with all the strength she had. His voice started echoing in her ears and she shut her eyes, trying to block it out.

You could’ve saved me.

Another groan escaped her, and she heard, “(Y/N), talk to me.”

She shook her head. “I can’t—I have to—focus now.” But with every passing second, his voice got louder and more insistent.

You let me die. You watched me die.

(Y/N)’s eyes filled with tears and they dripped down her cheeks. I tried to save you. she thought, hoping it would suffice, but she knew it wouldn’t. I tried so hard to. The last thing she remembered was turning onto the street that led to the cave.

***

Bruce was already pushing away from the Batcomputer when the boys arrived back at the cave, Dick and Damian from the Batmobile, and Tim and Jason from their own rides. Knowing that their father wasn’t one to sit around, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to be moving, but with how quick and worried his movements seemed, they knew something was wrong.

Dick pulled the cowl away from his face and asked, “B? What’s wrong?”

Bruce didn’t respond at first, hurrying towards the medical station they had. “Your sister was dosed with fear toxin and she doesn’t have anti-toxin to counteract it.”

Jason, who’d already taken his hood off, was already in the process of putting it back on. “Let one of us take it to her.”

Their father shook his head, rummaging for an antidote. “She’s coming back here.”

“Here?” Tim repeated, striding over. “Fear toxin works within seconds on normal people, minutes for us.” He looked at his brothers. “She won’t have enough time to get back here and not be under the effects.”

Bruce nodded, focusing as he poured a vial of glowing green liquid into the needle gun. “I know.” He looked at Tim. “That’s why I’m getting it ready for her.”

“Father, can we do anything?” Damian questioned, pulling away the domino mask from his eyes.

“Get ready to be on the defensive if she’s offensive,” he replied. “I don’t think she’ll hit anybody, but you never know.”

“She can’t hit that hard. (Y/N) only weighs—” Jason cut off as the rev of an engine cut though the air and they turned to see their eldest sister coming in on a sleek black motorcycle, that was shaking badly.

“(Y/N)!” Dick yelled and the bike suddenly shifted and toppled sideways, throwing her from it. It slid across the cave floor in a hail of sparks, metal, and plastic flying in every direction as (Y/N) rolled too.

They started running towards her, hoping to stop her when her back collided with one of the glass cases that held their suits, and she went limp.

Bruce reached her first, and knelt down, setting the antidote aside to check her first. The way she hit the case and with how hard, it was possible that she could be seriously injured—or worse.

“(Y/N)!” he called, hands coming to pull her away from the case. She whimpered and he let out a sigh—she was still alive. “(Y/N), can you hear me?” he inquired, reaching up to pull the cowl from her face.

Her brothers crowded behind him and they all stared in horror as tears streamed down her cheeks, and blood out of her nose.

“I’m sorry,” she bawled. “I tried to save you.” Bruce looked at her then grabbed the needle gun, bringing it up to her neck.

“Hang on, (Y/N). You’re gonna be okay.”

She grabbed his hand and cried, “I held on as long as I could, but my grip was slipping. I’m sorry I couldn’t hold onto you. I’m sorry I let you go. I let you die. I’m sor—” her sobs cut her off as she curled in on herself, and as if finally snapping out of a trance, Bruce pulled his hand from her grip and pulled the trigger of the gun.

(Y/N) jerked as the needle entered her skin and they watched the neon green liquid in the vial emptied. She fell into whimpers and mumbles of “I’m sorry” before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed in Bruce’s arms.

He stared at her for a second, feeling numb at his daughter’s admissions. Whatever her fear had been, it’d been there a long time, and he had no idea what it was about. Sighing heavily, he drew his eyes to his sons, to Jason.

“Will you take (Y/N) to her bedroom while I get an IV ready?”

Jason nodded and bent down, picking up his unconscious sister. He tucked her head in the crook of his neck and looked at Dick. “Get the doors, yeah?” Dick nodded and hurried ahead of him, while Tim and Damian followed in suit.

Bruce was left alone in a matter of moments, and all he could do was rise to his feet and ready the medical supplies, all the while, thinking back on every night that (Y/N) had gone on patrol in the last nineteen years—and the last time someone died in front of her.

***

Her head felt like an overripe melon ready to burst, and that first moment of cracking her eyes open was the biggest mistake since she told her dad what ‘Thot’ meant. The second she opened them, she shut them once more, inhaling deeply through her nose as the fog started to clear from her mind.

“Queenie, hey, you’re awake,” Jason murmured, and she nodded, blinking a few times before his face came into focus, Dick appearing Tim appearing behind him.

“Go get dad,” Dick said to someone, and she figured it was Damian since neither Jason nor Tim moved.

(Y/N) started shifting, trying to sit up when Dick put his hand on her shoulder, gentle, but firm as he said, “Don’t try to move, Barbie.”

“Where’s dad?” she asked, craning her neck to see.

“Damian’s going to get him sis,” Tim answered, smoothing out the blanket covering her. “Just relax. You took a beating when you came into the cave.”

“I did?” she questioned, eyes widening in shock when they nodded, faces pinched with worry.

The ceiling light turned on just bright enough to give sight and they looked at Bruce who was coming in, Damian following.

“(Y/N),” Dick moved, letting Bruce take his spot, and he took her hand in his, running his thumb over the back of her hand. “You had us all worried.”

She frowned and exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” She gazed between them, and something in their eyes made an emotion she couldn’t describe rise in her chest.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?” (Y/N) met Bruce’s eyes. “What happened?” Before he could answer, she gasped and looked at her brothers. “I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?”

A chorus of hurried, “No’s!” rang out and she sighed in relief, reclining back on the pillows.

“Oh, thank goodness.” She went silent, then started, “But…something did happen, didn’t it?”

Her brothers glanced between themselves then they looked at Bruce who sighed and squeezed her hand, drawing her attention to him.

“What?” she asked and when he said nothing, she repeated, “Dad, what?”

His steel blue eyes met hers and he murmured, “You were apologizing for…letting someone die.”

Whatever had flashed in her eyes that told them she knew exactly what they were talking about was shocking enough because Jason said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna, Queenie.”

(Y/N) fell silent for a full minute and when she spoke again, her voice was quiet and the look in her eyes was far away. “Before Dick came to the manor it was just you and I patrolling Gotham. At eight, I wasn’t really let out of your sight, but one night I had wandered off while you were dealing with Two-Face.” She looked at Bruce. “I found an injured GCPD officer on a bridge. He had been tailing Killer Croc.”

She glanced at Tim. “His name was Grady Richards.”

Tim’s eyes fell to the tablet in his hands, and he tapped at the screen for a few moments, then read, “Hero cop Grady Richards honored after dying in line of duty. He fell off a broken bridge on Miagani Island.”

Bruce’s eyes found hers again. “He didn’t fall, did he?”

(Y/N) felt tears grow in her vision and she shook her head. “No…no he didn’t.” Inhaling deeply, she recounted, “Croc came back and there was no way either of us could’ve taken him, so we ran. And Croc chased us.” She shut her eyes, remembering the night.

***

Fear pulsed through her veins as she sprinted as far away from the overgrown crocodile as she could. The GCPD officer was ahead of her, but he stopped and spun around to see her.

“Hurry!” he yelled, pointing back to the car. “Get to the cruiser!”

She spared a glance over her shoulder, eyes going wide when she saw Killer Croc picking up one of the concrete guards.

“Duck!” was all she heard, and she hit the ground, watching as if in slow motion as it flew overhead, then smashed into the top of the cop’s car, glass and metal shattering under the pressure.

Someone grabbed her by the back of her suit and hauled her up, slinging her behind them, and the back of the GCPD officer’s uniform came into view.

“Start running, Batgirl! And don’t stop!” he yelled, and when he has his sidearm drawn, he looked down at her. “You’ve got as much time as I have bullets.” He turned, opening fire, and she took a moment to stare before scrambling to her feet to start running.

A cry of pain sounded behind her, and against her better judgement, she turned and looked, gaping as Croc’s arm sent the officer flying. He hit the guardrail and collapsed against it and her feet were moving before she could stop them.

The first punch went to the back of Croc’s knee and she knew it had to have hurt her more than it did him because he didn’t even flinch. But when those glowing yellow eyes peered down at her, she knew she was in trouble.

“Looks like I’ve got an appetizer for the night!” he laughed and reached for her, but she ducked and rolled out of his way, standing in front of the wounded GCPD officer, who weakly looked up at her.

“What are you—doing? I told you…to run.”

She couldn’t beat Killer Croc, and she knew it, but she shook her head and stared down the villain before her.

Croc’s attacks were wide and though she was small, she was pushed to her limit rolling and dodging every one. After a few moments, she was practically dead on her feet, huffing as her lungs begged for air. She kept wiping away the rain that splattered against her mask and on a particularly unlucky step, she found herself slipping.

And it was all the opening that Croc needed because he swiped at her and she flew backwards into the officer who’d managed to stand, just barely. Colliding with him tipped his balance and they went over the guardrail, barreling towards the ground.

She reached out as fast as she could and grabbed hold of the metal beam that ran the length of the under bridge, crying out in pain as it pulled the joints and bones. Her other hand gripped the officer’s and she held on tight. Croc leaned over the bridge, apparently not seeing them because his footsteps went off in the opposite direction, leaving them in silence.

Time passed and she wasn’t sure how long, but both her arms were getting tired, and she looked down at the officer.

“Sir?” she called, and he looked up at her. “You have to climb. I’m starting to lose grip.”

He tried to reach up but let out a cry and grabbed his side with his free hand. Pulling his hand away, she saw the crimson dilute with rainwater.

The hand that held the ledge began to cramp and she started hyperventilating. “Please, you need to hurry! I can’t hold on much longer!” Again, he tried, and she looked down at him as her fingers began to shake.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered and let go of his hand, and the last thing she saw until he hit the ground was the sight of his eyes, wide with fear and pleading.

***

“I watched his head explode when he hit the ground,” she said, tears pouring down her cheeks as she stared out the window, watching the rain hit against the glass. “I had to make a choice. Either both of us died or one of us lived.” (Y/N) looked at Bruce. “And I chose my life over his.”

No one could believe their ears at the story she’d told, but suddenly, the self-sacrificing attitude their sister had, the way she’d bend over backwards for anyone, made perfect sense—she did it out of atonement, for a wrong she carried since she was eight years old.

“I pulled myself back up onto the bridge and I ran as far as I could and didn’t look back,” she said. “I kept my mouth shut when the paper ran his story and never told anyone about it.”

(Y/N)’s breath shuddered. “I just pushed it down as far inside me as I could and tried to forget about it.” Her eyes met Bruce and she tearfully stated, “But every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face.”

He leaned forward and took her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly, dark brows furrowed in hurt.

She swallowed thickly and shook her head as she replied, “I killed someone that night. I was terrified about what you would’ve said. About what you would’ve done.” He gazed at her and (Y/N) whispered, “I’m sorry, dad.”

Bruce dropped her gaze and took a deep breath before murmuring, “It was just an accident, (Y/N).”

“I let go of—”

“I would’ve been more upset having to bury my daughter,” he interrupted, and she fell silent, gaping at him. He searched her face and reached up, placing a hand on her cheek. “I understand why you kept this secret, but you should’ve come to me, (Y/N).” Shaking his head, he added, “You didn’t deserve to be buried under this for nineteen years.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, lowering her head and Bruce shook his head in response.

“No, I’m sorry.” When she met his eye, he continued, “I’m sorry I didn’t know you were carrying this. Then and now.”

(Y/N) swallowed and rested back against the bed. “I send his widow money on the anniversary of his death. I slip it into the pension she’s given.” She let out a sigh. “It’s the only way I’ve found that I could sleep at night.”

Her eyes drifted to the window and Bruce placed a kiss to her forehead. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.” She nodded and before he left, he said, “And when you feel up for it, we’ll see about setting up a fund in his name.”

She wished it didn’t make her as emotional as it did, but silent tears dripped down her cheeks as the door closed, leaving her and her brothers alone. They gathered on her bed, leaning close to offer their support, and she was thankful for them doing so. And for the first time in nineteen years, when (Y/N) closed her eyes, she didn’t see Grady Richards’ face.

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

I don’t know if this is a prompt so much as just an idea. But I can imagine Thorne’s band performing in Vegas and either being competitive with Peter Vincent (basic enemy’s to friends to lovers) OR maybe them meeting and bonding over after-show drinks.

Ooh, what if Thorne somehow got dragged along one of Peter’s real vampire hunts?

Oooh, I like the idea of enemy performers to friends to lovers (with a bit of a bonus of... well... fuck buddies because these two would totally be the type).

Might take a bit before Peter takes Thorne hunting with him though, but I can work with the other idea!

Warning: implied things

On with the fic!

--

Peter could hear the loud chattering of people leaving the theater, talking about the performance they just watched. Meh. He took a long drink from his glass before ordering a refill from the bartender here at the hotel bar.

It's been two weeks now since the hotel decided for Peter to share his stage with some punk rocker named Thorne Jamison and his band, Peter couldn't be bothered to remember the name of. It was rather irritating, this whole sharing the stage thing, it meant one of his shows was removed from the schedule.

Yes, it was another night off, which was great, but it also bothered him that he had to spend three nights performing and then another three dealing with some guy on his stage, messing with his sets! Using his props and fog machine and stuff!

When the hell was this guy gonna fuck off back to Europe or whatever?

"Oi, this seat takin'?"

Peter turned and nearly blanched at the sight of the person next to him. Dressed in artfully torn clothing, with a studded battle vest, covered in patches, with damp, messy hair, was the bane of his existence.

"Yes." Peter said, but Throne sat down anyway.

"Nah, there's no one occupyin' this spot. Barkeep, give me your strongest, fruitiest drink!" He then looked at Peter. "Wait, hold on, make it two, for me and my friend!"

Peter glowered. "We're not friends."

"Come on, we totally should be!" Thorne was grinning and Peter noticed he was wearing eye makeup like himself, and he seemed to have his ear pierced. The charm on the little ring looked like a drop of blood, Peter wondered where he got it, would be cool to have something like that.

No, no, stop looking at him! It! Stop looking at the piercing! Fuck!

He turned away and down his current drink, just as a new one was placed before him. "Don't wanna be friends with you." He mumbled.

"Aw, why not? We're, like, two peas in a pod! Or somethin'."

"Not really, no." Peter sipped his new drink, oh fuck that was sweet. Could use some more rum.

"Are you mad that I'm takin' your spotlight?" Thorne asked, suddenly leaning against Peter. "It's just for a while, brings in crowds, people still come to see your show, ya know."

"I don't like competition." Peter replied, pushing him away. "Thanks for the drink, Jamison." He finished off the glass with impressive speed, then stood up and walked away from the bar, towards the lifts to his flat.

He didn't get far. Suddenly, he was grabbed and shoved into a room on the way there, from what it looked like, it was an office they had on the first floor of the hotel for business stuff.

Then Peter registered that hot, wet lips were on his own, then against his neck, hands keeping him pinned to the wall. Peter blinked and realized who was doing this to him, and fuck, holy shit, that mouth was doing things for him...!

"Oh, you sneaky bastard..!" Peter tried to push him away once he freed his hands, but then just pulled Thorne closer, kissing him hard, getting his hands tangled in those still-damp locks. He smelled like his drink and sweat, and some sort of cologne and Peter was weirdly into that.

"Saw your show last night." Thorne panted hard against his mouth. "It should be a bloody crime for a man like you to wear pants like that. Come on, admit it, those things were fuckin' painted on, weren't they?"

"Y-you saw my show?" Peter asked before Thorne brought a knee up between his legs and he gasped at the pressure.

"How could I not? Had to see those pants and all that bare flesh in person." Thorne smirked.

Peter growled and pushed him back, wiping at his mouth. "Don't be gettin' any ideas, Jamison... whatever is happenin' here, this means nothing."

"Yeah, yeah, been there, done that, now get out of those jeans and on that table."

Fuck.

How long was this guy staying at the hotel again?

--

"This means nothing." Yeah, you're gonna keep telling yourself that until you end up falling for him, Peter.

[no-more-tales-tavern]

@freeusemuses sent: "Drunk on lust 4C: Jade and Thorne aren't in love. No that's crazy. They're not currently passionately making love, they're having drunk sex ... yeah."

Drunk on Lust: 4C

Jade moaned, her head tilted back as she felt his large, thick cock thrusting hard and deep into her womb. She felt his hand hook under her jaw, gently holding her by the throat, and tilted her head back further, letting his lips devour hers. Her eyes fluttered shut, she moaned with delight, her tail coiling around his own.

And still, she denied that she was in love.

She wasn’t in love—Thorne was just the only member of the Devils that she really enjoyed challenging to a drinking contest, or getting into a brawl with. The fact that those drinking contests and brawls always ended with them fucking hard and passionately wherever they were…

Jade shook her head of the thought, breaking the kiss with a low moan, to stare up at the handsome red-skinned Tiefling looming over her. “Is that~ mmm~ the best that you’ve got~?” she asked, her hips rocking back into him to gently jiggle and bounce with his steady thrusts.

Thorne chuckled, and his eyes stared deep into Jade’s. His hand holding her by the throat gently slid up to caress her cheek—beneath him, the seafoam-green beauty shuddered, a soft gasp coaxed from her lips. She was so gorgeous to his eyes—the most beautiful woman he’d seen—and he leaned in close.

“We’re just getting started, bitch~” he murmured, tone so much softer than usual, and his lips dropped to hers with a deep, lustful groan, Jade moaning and melting back into him as the soft, tender moment dissolved into pleasure again.

Outside the room, a trio of devils groaned and swore, pulling away from the door to let the two have their privacy, but still disappointed. One in particular—a soft lavender man—glanced back to the door with a sigh before turning and walking off, shaking his head. His brother could be so stubborn, especially when it came to his feelings.

Was it so bad to admit he was in love?

[kiwikipedia]

oc personality sheet / tag game

Rules: Copy and paste these questions and make your own post, please do not add onto this one, it’ll get too long too fast. Then tag some of your friends to let them know you’d like to hear more about their ocs!

I wasn’t tagged again but I wanted to do another one? so anyone who wants to do another one i guess I tag you

Name: Sylvraius “Sylv” Rex

Pronouns: She/They

Nickname: Sylv, Vee-vee (Lam) Rex, Blue, Rex-Two (The Clones), Blue-Two (Also the Clones), Bitch (Cad), Woman (Also Cad)

One Word To Sum Them Up: Bartender

Noun to Describe Them: Severe

Temperament: Chilled but foul mouthed until provoked

MBTI Type: ENFP

Enneagram Type: The Challenger

Other’s First Impression of Them: Dangerous, but open, someone they can tell their secrets too, loud and brash, has zero fear of others, rude for never remembering people

General Likes: Alcohol, people not causing trouble in the White Clover, gossip, good food, good weather, her jacket, insects, Morrak, seeing the Clones in Good Spirits, the atmosphere of the White Clover

General Dislikes: The Senate, people being stiff about who she does and doesn’t serve, animal abusers, people who look down on her for having prosthetics below the knees, people who look down on her for having a type of Prosopagnosia, when people break the White Clover’s rules of no fighting in the establishment, bad weather

Romantic Status: Taken but it’s a bit complicated

Love Interest(s): Cad Bane and Embo

Good Friend(s): “Everyone who sits at my bar” / Captain Rex, Commander Fox, Dexter Jettster, Quinlan Vos, Sugi, Commander Bly, Aayla Securea, Commander Thorn (Canon) Nim (via @spacerocksarethebestrocks​ ), Commander/CMO Ghost, Charlotte and Elaine Blanca, Ajina, Saccha Nala, Lam Blanca, (OCs)

Enemy: Anyone who causes trouble in the White Clover, The Coruscanti General Police, The Senate

Hobbies: Mixing new drinks, wandering Coruscant, keeping track of the Bounty Hunter Guilds just because she can, cleaning up her old weapons, maintenance on her legs, annoying the shit out of Bane

Songs They Relate To: Check It Out (Oh The Larceny), Live Fast Die Young (Hollywood Undead), Q (Gawr Gura and Mori Calliope)

Fictional Characters Similar To Their Personality: Imomushi (Arachnid), Shizuo Heiwajima (Drarara!!), Ginti and Nona (Death Parade), Mordred Pendragon (Fate)

Fun Fact: A lot of her memories are fractured from the explosion that took her legs and also caused her Prosopagnosia, but she does distinctly remember Jango’s face as she would bother him a bit from her time before she was a Bartender at the White Clover— hence why she also knows Bane and Embo. Essentially, her Prosopagnosia is a mild case a she cannot differentiate between people she didn’t know before the explosion, so it absolutely threw her when she met the Clones for the first time.

Free Space/Ramble: She was originally a bounty hunter who was one of the best but sometime before the war started she was gravely injured under Cad Bane’s watch and direction. An odd sort of guilt and pity caused him to drag her out of the situation and so it just makes sense they ended up in this weird sort of relationship— Embo was a bonus though. It seems that she might just be near-human, but she can’t say for sure, but she really likes the life she lives now at the White Clover Tavern thanks to the Blancas— besides, the place is essentially a “leave your titles and jobs at the door and just relax on equal ground” sort of place, so there’s always something interesting going on when someone visits for the first time.

Once again, I wasn’t tagged again but I wanted to do another one? so anyone who wants to do another one i guess I tag you

[cno-inbminor]

ipsum exitio (PREVIEW)

a/n: i wanted to give you all little snippets from this long fic i’m working on -- currently sitting at ~21k and there’s still a decent amount to unfold and unravel. hope you all look forward to this! and a huge, ginormous thank you to @a-kaashi for helping beta this!!

estimated release: in ~2-3 weeks

plot: self-destruction is in the calm before the storm, in the eye of a hurricane. but when the forces are right, the winds are rapid enough, the catalysts send you hurling, you find yourself leaving a monstrous and disastrous path in your wake.

characters: ushijima wakatoshi, semi eita, iwaizumi hajime, and male oc w/fem!reader possessing vagina/uterus/uterine-system (other oc’s also included)

genre/warnings: (+18) slice of life, angst, descriptions and moments of high anxiety, explicit smut (w/slight degradation, size kink, spanking, etc.), virginity loss, mentions of alcohol, talks about virginity and sex toys, slow burn, pining, implied bisexual reader, (more might come up later)

-

A breeze flows in through the open window of your apartment, softly caressing your face as you lean against the sill on your elbows. You drink in the view of Tokyo at night like a fine wine sliding down your throat, attuning to all your senses. With tear ducts dry and dust caked along the rims of your eyes, they shut in defeat, the semblance of a white flag splayed on the back of your eyelids. Cars honk in the distance and your legs struggle to support your weight. The scent of sulfur from the earlier downpour teases at your nostrils, causing your nose to scrunch a bit as you openly take in the scenery before you again.

A nearby billboard flashes bright, mechanically cycling through advertisements and never resting. The LED lights paint a picture that you are all too acquainted with, even more so with the man in the frame. Your body is plunged into a lake of bitter nostalgia as your heart wrenches painfully. Instead of fighting against the resistance of the water and gravity, you succumb to the anchor dragging you down, knowing that eventually, the waves will recede, and you will return to shore again.

Inhale. Count. Exhale.

Breathe.

-

11 years ago

Perhaps you had become a burden to Wakatoshi. You had turned into the thorn in his side, something he no longer wanted to tolerate and keep in his life. Perhaps it was expected, you bitterly thought while shrugging off his jacket. The bite of the cold night teethed and gnawed at your skin, but the pain is almost welcomed now. He took the fabric without a word, only feeling slightly guilty at the sight of stray tears gradually streaking down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you sniffled, arms wrapped around yourself again for some vague sense of protection. “That’s fine, I get it. You have Nationals and the Youth team as well – it’s mainly best for you to end this.”

“(Y/n) –”

“It’s really okay, Wakatoshi. I appreciate you being straightforward with me. I’ll see you at practice,” you quickly interjected and turned to trek back towards the dorm, sending a quick but lifeless wave behind you. The shards of whatever was left of your soul trailed behind you like scattered stars on the concrete. Even when your roommate and friend brought your disheveled figure into her arms, they did little to ward off the parasitic spectres in your mind.

-

7 years ago

A bio was set, photos strategically ordered, and you were tossed into the world of online dating.

“This is a really bad idea,” you groaned ten minutes later as Sayuri swiped through the profiles showing up in your pool. “I haven’t even slept with anyone before.”

“Oh honey, I bet half of these men only ever got their dick wet once and came in two minutes flat. They think they’re impressing someone but they’re only fooling themselves,” Sayuri scoffed and then grimaced at a man’s daringly shirtless mirror selfie. “This poor guy needs to eat more; I can see his ribcage! You don’t need someone who doesn’t appreciate food.”

“What if he’s got an eating disorder?” You seriously speculated, heart going out to the possibility of that.

“Well now you make me feel bad after swiping left on him and – oh hey! You got a match!”

“What? Who the hell did you swipe right on?!” You screeched; chin craned to get a good look at the person on your phone.

-

4.5 years ago

With a duffel bag slung on his shoulder, phone in hand, dark skinny jeans, a casual pale blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up , his reflexes were quick enough to recognize the human bundle of joy sprinting towards him. Eita’s best memories of you were in your Shiratorizawa uniform, so seeing you in casual streetwear threw him for a loop at first.

The earnest beam on your face could warm the iciest of glaciers, and he easily lost against the facial muscles fighting to form into his own smile. As you deftly dodged the other people in your route to him, his arms seemed to naturally fall open in a gesture that welcomed your inevitable embrace. Eita was pretty sure you squealed before jumping onto him, but his focus had to redirect to his arms so they didn’t drop you.

“Semi Semi!” You happily cried out into his ear over the hustle and bustle, arms tight around his neck as he held you close. He gave you a brief, affectionate squeeze before setting you down, causing your arms to fall. But his hands held onto your shoulders, giving you a quick once-over and making his assessment. He always had a soft spot for you back in high school, knowing that it wasn’t easy managing a team of teenage boys who were ridiculously hungry and driven for a common goal. When news got around the team that you and Ushijima had broken up, he always kept an extra eye out for you and worried that you’d continue to work yourself to the bone in university.

...

Just one, he berated himself. Just one.

His nose ghosted over the skin from your jaw to your collarbone, catching the faint scent of what he assumed to be a mix of your body wash and natural scent. His senses found it comforting, grounding, and reminded him just how precious you were to him. You weren’t just a random girl at the bar he thought would be temporarily nice to make out with – you were (y/n), the girl who had watched over him and encouraged him during some of his most difficult times with a sport that was once his life, the manager who cared for him and his teammates to be nothing but their best, the person who the boys would unwittingly go to war for if anyone were to bring you trouble.

So he made that known, kissing the joint between your neck and shoulder, and reveled in the breathy gasp that escaped your throat. Little by little, he applied more pressure, preparing you for what he was about to do. His lips softly sucked on the skin, just enough so his teeth could graze it and nibble. Your hands were now fully entangled in the strands of his air, and as they tightened, Eita became more forceful and meaningful. You were entering a faint haze of ecstasy as he worked that one spot, determined to break the capillaries beneath your unmarked flesh and let the inevitable bruising bloom. He knew how beautiful you would look when he was done, and if he had your permission to, what a sight you would be with more littered on the rest of your body.

-

Present

“(Y/n), I know you’re in there,” a deep male’s voice permeates through the wood, though muffled and scratchy. “Please, let me talk to you. I’m sorry, I—” He pauses, a groan of frustration escaping his throat. Your vision refuses to refocus, bleary as you weakly take in your view of Tokyo again. Without a doubt, the man must be ruffling his hair frustratingly, distressed and discouraged.

“I shouldn’t have said that. Please let me in and apologize properly – I owe you that much.”

You owe me nothing, silly. It’s my fault.  

Eyes the shade of the complement to a martini in the billboard observe you, and you wonder: if seen in person, would they have stared with pity?

It’s time to stop running away.

So with sluggish steps, you make your way to the only barrier barring you from your fate. The two deadbolts slide back and click in place, echoing louder than ever. Your hand trembles in its path to the doorknob, faintly grasping the chilling metal and turning it until the latch pulls back far enough to let the door open.

And there they were, the eyes that held the key to your undoing, that had watched you crumble and fall, that had looked after you in more ways than you could imagine, peering straight into yours. You know them well, perhaps too well, and your knees nearly buckle at their intensity. It takes every part of your being to stop yourself from slamming the door closed, to hide away and escape destiny.

Because it seems that irises in the shades of olive will be the banes of your existence.

[redrobinhoods]

routine comforts | Foxiyo Week 2020

AO3 Link | 1,800 words (approx)

A/N: Posting this from a tent by the river in the mountains so formatting may be a mess, sorry. Big shoutout to @lilhawkeye3 and CollisionTheory (AO3) for proofreading this for me and to @amukmuk for hosting this event! <3

Summary: After the destruction left behind by Cad Bane and Rako Hardeen at the Coruscant Prison, Fox is forced to take a break by the two beings closest to him.

Routine: schedule, daily, familiar. Day 1 @foxiyoweek

Fox sighed as he flicked the flimsiwork into the ‘complete’ pile on the far side of his desk. Despite how much that pile seemed to grow, the ‘incomplete’ pile wasn’t shrinking. Or, at least, it wasn’t shrinking fast enough. He should have been done by now. He would have been done by now and at Riyo’s apartment, wrapped up in her arms, if some of the more notorious bounty hunters in the galaxy hadn’t chosen that night to break out of prison.

But they did.

So he was here in the Senate filing death certificates, new clearances, and security protocol approvals instead of burying his face in Riyo’s hair. Worse, he could’ve been sprawled out on her couch at this very moment, dealing with this all on a datapad, had the prison records been online. But if it was online, it was susceptible to power failure and exploitation. That was how it was justified to them. Fox thought that they just didn’t want to spend the credits when he was the one suffering for the system’s failure.

“Want some caf?”

Fox sighed and rubbed his fingers across his eyes. He didn’t know if he did. It could help him concentrate or it could give him a headache. He didn’t think he could stand the latter right now. “Thanks, Thorn, but I think I’ll just die instead.”

“That’s my line.” Thorn let the door shut behind him as he entered Fox’s office. “Go home, Fox.”

“I can’t.”

“I can get the rest of this. You need to drink a shot of caf, hop in a speeder, and run home to the beautiful woman who’s been waiting to see your face all day.”

When Fox looked up, it was to find Thorn leaning over his desk, their faces inches away.

“Do you want me to sign with my number or your number?” Thorn persisted.

“Mine. Or they’ll send it back to me for secondary approval.” Fox rose from his chair and switched sides of the desk with Thorn. “Thorn, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Fox.” Thorn took the pen Fox had discarded and twirled it between his fingers. “You have Riyo Chuchi at home, I’ve got Stone. You have a lot more to look forward to.”

Fox paused before he reached the door. “I’ll tell Stone you said that.”

“Like you’ll remember in the morning.” Thorn made a shooing motion. “Give Chuchi my love.”

“It’s not worth a lot.”

“Well, neither are we. Out!”

---

Fox nearly collapsed at Riyo’s door. He might have, had her security system not notified her of his approach so that she was standing there when he opened the door, her arms open for him to lean in to.

“Long day?” She asked as she buried her face into his chestplate.

“Horribly so.” He admitted, letting his helmet fall to rest against the top of her head.

“I have a cure for long days, you know.”

“You are my cure for long days.”

She pulled herself from his grip so that she could bring both hands up to his helmet and pull it down to her lips. “I know. Go strip this off and we’ll get the cure started.”

When his armor had been laid neatly on her dresser, Fox walked back into the living spaces to find Riyo sitting at the bar with a platter laying before her.

“I knew you wouldn’t be too hungry after today, so I had my aide grab some Pantoran cheeses and meats earlier. You pick the wine.”

Of course. She would have heard about the prison by now. Fox walked into the kitchen area to the cabinet where Riyo kept the food items she received as senatorial gifts and from receptions. He grabbed the first wine bottle he saw. “I didn’t know Pantora was known for its cheese.”

“It’s not. But did you expect us to live off silk?”

Fox laughed and held the bottle out to the small uncorking mechanism hidden under the kitchen lip of the bar. “Point taken.”

“Have you ever had a platter like this?” She asked when he began to pour them each a glass.

“I’ve seen others eat them. You put cheese and meat on the cracker and eat it together.” He shook his head and recorked the bottle. “I sound like a droid trying to describe eating.”

Riyo held out the cracker she had just assembled. “Try it.”

Fox bent over and gently took a bite, staring down into the marbled stone of the bar top as he chewed, taking in the new flavors. “That’s amazing.”

“Then come sit down and make your own!” Riyo said before eating the rest of the cracker she had offered him.

So Fox made his way back around to the barstool beside Riyo and listened as she began to tell him about her day, the senators and representatives who had irked her, and his brothers’ conversations that she had overheard in the Senate halls as he munched on some of the nicest crackers, cheeses, and meats that he had ever been allowed to touch. Before long, he was lounging on the couch with her in his lap, unconsciously swirling another glass of wine in his hand as he related the latest Coruscant Guard office disputes. The petty pranks his brothers pulled on one another were far easier to share than the deaths and injuries that had also occurred that day. Like this, surrounded by nice things and with Riyo in his embrace, he could almost imagine he was something other than property. The only thing stopping him from fully falling into that fantasy was the knowledge that his comm could beep with an emergency at any time and that Riyo didn’t care if he was a free being or property. It didn’t stop her from staring up at him in pure adoration. And when he had run out of happy things to say, it didn’t matter who he belonged to when she reached up to bring his lips down to hers.

“Can we go to bed early tonight?” He murmured once she allowed him to withdraw.

“Of course, love.” She murmured back before untangling her limbs from his and rising from the couch, offering him a hand to follow her.

When Riyo dragged him into her bedroom, Fox stopped her to pull her back in for another long, slow kiss. She had told him before that his kisses were almost too gentle, but he could never be rough with her unless she explicitly told him that she wanted something rougher that night.

“How in the galaxy was I the one you chose?” He sighed.

“I liked how you walked.” She winked up at him.

“And were your suspicions confirmed?”

“Confirmed and more.” She tugged on his hands again to pull him towards the bed. “Come hold me, I’m cold.”

She knew exactly how to hook him. “I swear, you only love me for my body heat.”

“No...” She drew the word out, giving him a pitiful look. “Something far more artificial, I swear.”

“Well, that settles it.” He gave into her gentle tugs and followed her to bed.

---

When he woke, it was to Riyo gently tracing her finger across the curve of his hips. He opened his eyes to find her propped up on her side beside him, her hair cascading down in messy waves over his face.

“You need to shave.” She beamed down at him.

“Good morning to you too.” He closed his eyes again as he felt a tired smile tug at his lips. “Shower?”

“Do you even need to ask?” But she didn’t rise, so neither did he. Instead, Riyo lay herself across Fox’s bare chest and took in a deep breath, breathing him in. “I don’t suppose that clones can take sick days?”

“Not unless you’re actively dying, no.” He could feel her weight on his chest as he breathed, warm and comforting.

“Then I suppose a shower will do.” This time she rose from the bed, padding quietly across the wood floor to the bathroom. Fox waited until he heard the water tap begin to run before he too rose and followed her.

Riyo’s shower was truly meant for only one being, but with some maneuvering the two of them could fit with Riyo pressed against Fox’s chest. Fox didn’t think that she quite minded and he rather enjoyed the excuse to be the one to rub her soap across her skin, especially since she would then do the same for him. Anything to touch her, or feel her touch. But the shower never lasted as long as he wished it would and far too soon he was slipping his blacks on while Riyo dried her hair. Before Riyo needed the mirror to assist with her senatorial hairstyle, Fox quickly lathered on shaving cream and reached for the elegant razor Riyo had bought him.

“What would they say if you grew a beard?” Riyo asked as she watched him in the mirror.

“Instant death.” He paused to grin at her. “No. But my helmet line would itch while it grew out.”

“Can’t have that.” She shook her head, not even trying to hide the smile spreading across her features as she laughed at him.

When he had finished, he moved aside to let Riyo occupy the space. She had already parted her hair, and he gently took hold of one section and tugged it down so that he could lean over to kiss her. “Breakfast?” He asked when he had pulled back.

“I’m meeting with Senator Amidala, actually.” She smiled apologetically. “But you’re welcome to cook something for yourself.”

“I’ll just get Thire to grab me something. He needs tasks or he gets bored.” He bent over once more to kiss Riyo’s cheek then went back into the bedroom to reassemble his armor. When put together, he went back to the bathroom doorway to watch Riyo put the finishing touches on her hair before selecting a headpiece. “Want me to grab you your robes?”

She met his gaze in the mirror. “Please. The turtleneck, if you don’t mind.”

He never thought he’d be familiar with her closet, but here he was picking out the beautiful maroon and gold dress for her. Then a few seconds later he was slipping it over her head, careful not to smudge her makeup, and buttoning the back.

“Thank you!” She beamed at him as she finished tracing the curve of her eyes. Simple, beautiful. Then again, he always thought she was beautiful. “Will you be escorting me to the Senate today?”

“As always.” He promised. As he had the day before, as he would tomorrow, and as he would every day for as long as he could return to her.

[buttercup-of-kaer-morhen]

Magic and Exams: A magical College AU

I wrote a little a little drabble for my Geraskier magical college AU that has been stuck in my head.

Main tags: college AU, it's modern but with magic slapped in, Non human Jaskier, And they were room mates~, pure fluff, pre relationship, pining... Kinda, unbetaed, we die like Renfri

---------

    Jaskier huffed as he rifled through the pile of clothes he had on his bed, stuffing only a few articles into the large pack he was trying to fit everything in. He had finally wheedled his dorm mate into letting him go on one of the infamous weekend camping trips that his roomie was always secreting away to. For as long as he had been bunking with the man, Geralt would hike up a mountain or hill in the vast forest preserve that was conveniently by the campus-- which is probably why they had so many Environment and Monster Studies Majors now that he thought about it-- whenever he had a weekend that had a holiday or a day of cancelled classes attached to the weekend. The musician had literally come into the dorm to find Geralt suddenly packing on a friday morning because he got emails that his classes cancelled for the day. Now usually, one of his frat brothers-- Jaskier still didn’t get confirmation if they were his real brothers or not, which was weird cause his group usually could find out anything-- Eskel or Lambert would go with the witcher but both were busy this time around and Jaskier did not let the opportunity slip through his fingers!

 

    The thing is, as much as he pestered the Monster Studies major into bringing him along… Jaskier had maybe, kinda, never actually gone camping or hiking before in his life. Well, unless you counted the nights holed up in a pillow fort in the living room with Yenn under copious amounts of blankets and pillows or sleeping in the backyard in a hammock under the stars with his sister Renfri. He was going to guess Geralt was not one who would though. So he was quickly trying to figure out what to bring before shoving it in the bag specifically made for this-- he was unaware those existed-- which he borrowed from Renfri. She had always been the better scout when they were younger and actually stuck with it unlike Jaskier who opted out for more fun, indoor activities much to the displeasure of his father. She also did him the kindness of also filling the bag with the actual “essentials” as she called them, he was just adding anything he may want personally and his clothing. Thankfully, he knew exactly what to wear from the many magazines, movies, and such that he had seen. He had already put one such outfit on before he started his attempt at packing, that way he’d just be able to get up and run out the door as soon as Geralt arrived. He was almost done too and feeling rather satisfied! He had clothes, a battery pack for his phone, his notebook, and a few textbooks he may or maynot get around to reading for class while they were out there. 

    Just as he was closing up the pack, the very man he was about ready to go look for, stepped into the room. “Ah, Geralt! I’m just about ready!” He said brightly, beaming at the stoic individual who was currently looking him up and down critically, as if he were appraising the slightly smaller man. It sent a small spark of excitement through Jaskier, knowing he’d impress the other with his knowledge and fashion. He knew he looked damned good for this fall excursion, well as good as lumberjack apparel could, and he was giddy to get the other’s approval.

    “Stop messing around. Put on real pants Jaskier.” Was the gruff reply he received as Geralt stooped by the bed on his side of the room and pulled his pre-packed bag out from underneath. No compliment. No other words of any kind! Nothing!

    Jaskier practically sputtered in offense as he exaggeratedly rolled his eyes and threw his hands out wide. “W-what!? These are real pants! Have you never looked in a magazine much less gone into a clothing store before? Well obviously not, what with the broody biker/mountain man aesthetic you have going on, but really?” He argued, trying to hide how deflated he felt just from the one comment. The man had a real talent for stealing the wind from his wings with one clipped sentence, the filling-less pie comment still haunted his dreams. Worry was slowly filling him about everything else now too, from what he packed to whether he’d only be a bother on the trip. 

    Geralt stood back up, slinging his own absurdly large bag onto his back and rolled his eyes. “No, those are a second skin. They make your ass look great but are worthless for anything else. For Melitele’s sake, they don’t even have real front pockets Jaskier.” Geralt explained with a put upon sigh as if the article of clothing were the bane of his existence. He at least didn’t sound frustrated or exhausted yet, so Jaskier was counting that as a win!

    “These ones do!” He exclaimed excitedly, not really in defense of the garment but in actual genuine thrill, as he shoved as much of his hands as he could into the front pockets. It was just his fingers but it was something and it was one of the reasons he had got that pair. Then his distracted thoughts took a left turn and crashed as he remembered the other thing the man had said. “You think my ass looks good?” He asked, genuinely stunned. 

    Geralt gave him a look and, ah, there was the irritation. “Sweating. Chafing. Itching. No protection against anything like thorns or brambles or anything at all really.” Geralt listed each one, counting on his fingers visibly to punctuate his words. “I’m not going an entire weekend with you complaining because you chose fashion over practicality.” He growled lowly, which had no right making Jaskier nearly swoon from how hot it made Geralt’s voice, as he tried to get the musician to understand what he was saying. Now Jaskier knew that Geralt was right after laying out all of the faults in his choice of trousers but, you see, if he were to admit that he only owned skinny jeans, booty shorts-- those were a gift--, and a pair of fluffy unicorn PJ shorts-- again, a gift from Yenn-- then Geralt would definitely know he had never done anything like this before. “You’ve never gone camping or hiking before have you?” Geralt asked in his weird way that wasn’t actually asking but rather was a statement, as he eyed Jaskier’s bag. Before Jaskier could stop him, Geralt was already pawing through the contents.

    “Whaaaaaaaaaat?! Noooooooooo- How could you- Don’t be abs- Ok, alright fine. Yes…” The half-human sputtered, trying to deny the accurate accusation but the jig was up. Jaskier had wanted to keep up the charade but knew when to give up  the goat-- the metaphorical kind, not the one Eskel owned and was currently hiding in the frat house-- even if it meant he’d be barred from going on the trip now. He had really been looking forward to the trip and getting to know Geralt better. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the witcher’s eye now that his lie was caught… That and he didn’t want to cry in front of the man because he had to look into his crushes eyes which would only hold ire or disappointment from Jaskier not telling him the truth from the start. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes before Geralt was suddenly speaking.

    “This was terribly packed and you made a good call on the flannel and knit cap. It’s going to be colder than normal because we’re in fall…” Geralt offered as he began repacking for Jaskier. The musician’s head snapped up at the comment and he watched the other work curiously, as a flicker of hope filled him. “Do you own anything besides those sorry excuse of jeans?” Jaskier opened his mouth to reply but stopped as the other shook his head without actually looking up. “Actually, don’t answer that. We’ll stop by somewhere and grab you some real pants on the way. I’m also going to hazard a guess and say you don’t have hiking boots so wear your old converse and we’ll pick up a new pair along with the jeans.” This was the most Gralt had ever spoken to the Multi-Minor student at one single go and he decided to see how far this role would continue on. “You won’t be able to wear them this time but you  can at least start breaking them in as soon as we get back. Just wear them to class for a while and you’ll be good for next time.” Geralt grumbled, mostly to himself as he planned out what they had to do before making it to their destination, as Jaskier’s brain tried to catch up. He was practically beaming at the witcher by the time he had lapsed back into his usual silence. The musician practically tackled the larger man, who easily caught him in confusion. Not only did he get to go on this trip, but there were future trips from the way Geralt was talking. 

    “So, I can still come with?!” He asked excitedly, wanting to confirm it anyway as the anxiety still lingered slightly. It just seemed too good to be true!

    “Yes? Why not? Just cause it’s your first time, doesn’t mean I’m just going to ditch you…” The witcher said genuinely, a small frown on his face at the implication that he would just suddenly leave the other behind. “Besides, someone has to teach you the ropes and keep you from killing yourself accidentally.” The man half teased as his frown turned into a slight smirk. Jaskier would have been offended if he wasn’t so happy right then. He wanted to squeal in joy but refrained for the sake of his roomie/crush’s sensitive ears. He also really wanted to kiss the man if it wouldn’t have crossed a line and ruined the whole thing but oh well, he’d have to just try to squash the urge. “Also, are you going to bring your wolf?” The man’s sudden question snapped Jaskier back to reality again.

    “You mean Wolf? My dog?” Jaskier asked, incredulously with a roll of his eyes. They had had this particular back and forth frequently since the day he had snuck his dog onto campus and into their dorm to stay. Geralt didn’t ask questions, only worked with him and helped hide the large pooch so that the DAs wouldn’t find either of their pets that they were living with together. It was an unspoken agreement to look out for one another between the four living in the small room. Hiding a pet from campus officials was like  practically a sport for their friend group now anyway. It wasn’t just them watching each other's backs either really. It was a pact amongst them all to pitch in and help if needed. 

    Geralt snorted a laugh of disbelief as he shook his head. “It’s a wolf.” He stated matter of factly and Jaskier just could not understand why everyone insisted that his lovely beautiful Wolf that he found abandoned on the side of the road was a wolf.

    “He’s a dog! Also, is Roach coming? I know she’s a horse originally but with the spell you got from Triss to make her appear as a cat, does she like, I dunno, need to deal with horse things or stretch her legs. Metaphorically speaking or… I guess literally too? Can she even change back into a horse at will?” Jaskier tried to divert the argument, nipping it in the butt before it could really start, but ended up rambling. Jaskier was never really given details on the whole weird adventure of sneaking the man’s horse in and disguising it as a cat.

    Geralt gave him an amused look as he cocked his head to the side. “...Yes, no, and yes?” He offered, sounding unsure of what he was confirming and denying. “She comes with for the fresh air but she doesn’t need to. She’s perfectly fine in either shape. Also she can turn back into a horse but doesn’t want to most of the time.” He clarified and Jaskier nodded.

    “Alrighty then… Sure, we should probably bring Wolf along. He’d most likely enjoy the exercise and we won’t have to rely on anyone keeping an eye on him or the DAs.” Jaskier relented. Besides, it would be more fun with all four of them.

    Geralt hummed before handing Jaskier his own pack to carry, newly repacked and everything. “Let’s go then. We’re losing light.”  Geralt hurried Jaskier along out the door and they both snuck out Wolf and Roach through the, thankfully, empty building into the parking lot where Geralt’s old beat up pickup truck awaited their arrival. Once everyone was in the vehicle-- pets and bags in the back seat, people in the front-- they set off for their weekend getaway. Jaskier smiled softly at Geralt as the man focused on the road before looking out his window at the hint of sun rising to greet the day. Jaskier had a feeling that it would be a good trip and he was already looking forward to the future ones as well. 

[julemmaes]

Grace Blackthorn

Not really important for the post but:

I’ve been shipping Cordelia with James since I can remember, since I saw the family tree. That is because of the all “the Herondales only love once” thing and he was the son of the most romantic couple I’ve ever read about at the time so if he was marrying someone it could only mean that he loved her so fiercly and deeply that there couldn’t be anyone else. I guess I was wrong.

Cause Grace came.

I was trying so hard not to be the kind of person that only hates on a character cause it’s in between their ship, so I tried to stay neutral when it came to her, and I actually managed that till Chain of Gold (pretty proud of myself). Even because we didn’t know anything really important. We only knew that her parents had died, that she was the adoptive daughter of Tatiana and that she had some kind of liaison with James.

And then her portrait came out and I was like “I could stan, you know”. Cause she looked so poised and fierce and sure of herself. I mean, this posture is not the posture of someone who jumps at every little noise because they can’t defend themselves (but we learn that “Tatiana forced Grace to walk back and forth in the parlor of Blackthorn Manor with a book balanced on her head to perfect her posture”, so I’m sure it’s just another lie). She looks angry, and determined in the fanart. And yet, here she is, stuttering and afraid of everything, defenseless.

Yet again, in The Midnight Heir (1903) (The Bane Chronicles):

“Everything about her was so perfectly constructed to appeal. She was beautiful, yes, but it was more than that. She seemed shy, yet all her attention was focused on Magnus, as if he were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen.”

“-but there was a lushness to the curve of her lip, a dark light in her eyes that said that under the right hands she would be a pupil who yielded the most exquisite result… Magnus took a step back from her as if she were a poisonous snake. She did not look hurt, or angry, or even startled.”

“Magnus could imagine the normal reactions to this girl, a girl whose every gesture, every expression, every line, cried, Love her, love her, love her.”

“Here was a Shadowhunter, Magnus thought. Tatiana had learned something from the mistakes of her father. She'd had the girl trained.”

“She might wish for nothing more than the fulfillment of her mother's dark plans.”

The thing that annoys me the most is that she only shows a little of what I think is her true self when she’s near Lucie. At the end of the last chapter she literally grimace and don’t know about you, but that seemed a little off to see on her, who is described to have a certain appearance, same with the eye roll. I seriously can’t understand if she is willingly being a part of Tatiana/Belial’s plan or if she just thinks she owes Tatiana for the fact that she gave her a house or if she’s just being controlled like everyone else (the last one I personally don’t).

Always in TMH she defines herself as “her mother’s blade” and then right after that there’s this conversation between her and Magnus:

"I thought you might. After all, a blade does not get to choose where it is pointed."

Grace looked up. Her eyes were still, deep pools, entirely unruffled.

"A blade does not care," she told him.

Magnus here is hinting that she might not be the master of her own actions and she says that she doesn’t care. You don’t care being controlled or you don’t care hurting/killing James? Cause either way that’s fucked up my lady and we need you to find someone who will make you understand that and eventually save you.

“I know that you Herondales are honorable .” She practically spat the word.

And this. It felt like a fucking punch in the guts.

Lucie didn’t read the book, obviously, she is a part of the story, so she doesn’t know Grace (is a bitch that) is scheming everything with her mother. She doesn’t know that James went into the shadow world just to get her the bracelet, but she does know that he was Grace’s only friend for a very long time. And if my brother had a pshyco ex like her that says that my family is honorable (is a sarcastic way) (i would hit her in the face, but then) I’d ask her what the fuck is wrong with her. Maybe kindly.

Now, it is true that the only “source” she ever had was Tatiana, but she does realize that asking James to leave everything for her and him not wanting to does not harm his honor but actually states how honorable he really is? If she doesn’t, she still needs someone who may help her.

The only time I felt something for her that wasn’t confusing hatred during this book was at the very beginning, during this scene:

Her hand reached out through the bars, and he saw red lines on her skin where the thorns had torn her—James raised his own hand and for a moment, their fingers brushed. “I promise,” he found himself saying. “I will come back.”

I’m just so upset and so fucking angry at Tatiana for turning a nice, kind little girl who enjoyed making flowers crowns before being adopted into a freaking weapon to kill Jamie. I just can’t accept it. And I can't wait for Christopher to make her feel safe enough to make flowers crowns again.

[bytheangell]

I Don’t Regret It If You Don’t Regret It

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: Seelie!Alec for @shadowhunterbingo Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Rating: Teen and Up  -- Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: With their realms at odds, Seelie Knight Alexander Lightwood and Prince of Edom Magnus Bane know that what they have between them can’t last forever... but that doesn't make it any easier when the consequences of their love fall upon them.  -----------------------------------------------  

Looking at Magnus behind the bars of his cell, arms and legs bound tightly with unbreakable vines covered in razor-sharp thorns which cut into his skin with the slightest movement, Alec finds he isn’t surprised, only full of sorrow and regret. This is where they were always meant to end, isn’t it? He sees the same resignation in Magnus’ eyes - hurt and frustrated, but not angry, not at Alec.

There isn’t much time. Alec takes a moment to close his eyes, remembering the moments that brought them here, the ones leading up to the decision he has to make. He needs to take one last moment to be absolutely certain he’s making the right decision.

---

Alec knew from the start that what he had with Magnus couldn’t last. It shouldn’t have lasted as long as it did, and he needed to cut his losses before they pushed things too far. After all, Alexander Lightwood was a Knight of the Seelie realm, sworn to protect and serve his Queen; and his Queen loathed Lilith and Asmodeus, the rulers of Edom the warlock Magnus Bane was sworn to protect and serve. They couldn’t have what both of them so clearly wanted, and they both knew it. With their realms on the constant brink of war, their dalliances could’ve been considered an act of treason.

But every time they crossed paths it always ended the same.

It was easiest for them to meet in the mortal realm when they were sent to represent their people at summits and meetings with the other Downworlders and members of the Shadow World. They were tracked less closely there, often the only ones of their kind, and could sneak away for a few minutes, maybe even hours if they got lucky. They’d been doing this long enough to know the tricks to not getting caught, able to pinpoint the perfect circumstances and orchestrated them whenever possible.

They swore it was a one-time thing until it wasn’t. Each time after that ended with the promise it was over. It had to be, for both of their safety. And it was just a fling, wasn’t it? Surely they wouldn’t continue to risk their lives over a few casual hookups?

It didn’t take long for them to realize it was so much more than that. When it happened, Alec couldn’t say. But at some point, it became less of a physical connection and more of an emotional one. They spoke as much as they didn’t during their time together, learning of the other’s family and friends, their hopes and dreams.

A bond formed between them that Alec insisted connected their very souls with how deep it ran, begging his sister when she discovered them just outside one of the entrances to the Seelie Realm one day and Alec had to beg her to keep his secret.

To his surprise, she didn’t even try to talk him out of seeing Magnus again. In fact, seeing how happy the warlock made him Izzy actually encouraged it, going so far as to help cover for him on the rare occasion he slipped up and needed an alibi.

There was an attack. The number of dead Downworlders was too high to think about without making him sick, but Alec only cared about one. When he saw Magnus alive and well it nearly killed him to not be able to run over and embrace him, but they were in public and there were too many eyes. When they found a moment in private later and Alec admitted that he loved Magnus, Magnus knew Alec meant it, and not just because he couldn’t lie. Magnus could lie, of course, but Alec believed the words as they were returned to him with all of his heart just the same.

They never brought up the idea of abandoning their lives and running off together; Alec knew as well as Magnus that their sense of duty and allegiance was too strong for either of them to abandon entirely. They had family and friends in their realms to protect, after all.

So they kept meeting in secret. Sometimes Raphael arranged for the Dumort to be a safe haven for a short period of time when there were too many eyes at the Institute. His friendship with Magnus and their history together meant his assurances that the clan would never speak of seeing them together there were accepted, no questions asked. Sometimes it was a quick kiss stolen in the depths of the woods in the Seelie realm, or a moment of passion taken too far in the dry sand or against a warm rock in Edom. Sometimes all Alec had was the graze of Magnus’ hand on his lower back as he turned to leave a meeting to hold him over for weeks, sometimes months, before an excuse arose to bring them back to the same place again.

In a stroke of genius, Magnus had started to bribe many Downworlders to throw more parties than usual with an open invitation to all of the Shadow World - a risk for prying eyes but a perfect excuse for them to be around one another more often, but soon even that wasn’t enough. Magnus wanted more, and Alec agreed. They began to meet in secret, not just when they happened to be in the same place for a meeting or party, but actively sneaking away to steal anywhere from moments to entire nights together.

The longer they went without being caught the more they hoped that maybe, just maybe, they could have this for themselves. Magnus and Alec were as careful as they could be without taking that final step to end things between them.

They weren’t careful enough.

Someone saw them. Alec wasn’t sure who, or when. He didn’t know if it was something they could’ve avoided, maybe one of those ‘innocent’ touches at a party was seen for what it truly was, or maybe some nosy Shadowhunter glamoured themselves and followed them one night after they left the Institute. Maybe no one sold them out and it was simply the Seelie Queen and her annoying habit of knowing more than she should.

Magnus was summoned to the Seelie Court. The moment Alec heard he knew something was wrong - there was no reason for any warlock to be called to see the Queen today, certainly not Magnus specifically, and especially not alone. Except he wasn’t alone, because the Seelie who came to tell Alec was sent by the Queen herself to make sure he was in attendance.

Alec knew what was about to happen, and no sooner had he arrived did the Queen announce that Magnus had broken Seelie Law. Magnus, appearing far calmer than he had any right to, demanded to know on what grounds he was being arrested.

The Seelie Queen stated cryptically that he took something that belonged to her without permission, shifting her gaze behind the warlock to look directly at Alec. Magnus turned his head as well and the moment he turned to confirm his suspicions Magnus gave Alec the best half-smile he could muster and mouthed ‘sorry’.

As if somehow Alec would be mad at him for this. As if he had anything to apologize for.

And then he was gone, taken away by knights who were very specifically not Alec. The Queen intentionally left so that she crossed his path, stopping to say just low enough for only him to hear that he and Magnus would never be together again and if he valued his own freedom he would choose wisely, whatever that meant.

Alec spent the entire day waiting for his own summoning to speak with the Queen but it never came. Then he spent half the night asking around to find out exactly where Magnus had been taken. He had a plan. It wasn’t a good one, hell, it was probably the most foolish thing he’d done in his entire life, and that included the months spent sneaking around with a warlock, but his mind was made up as he made his way to Magnus’ cell. Izzy helped him distract the guard to get access to Magnus, telling her he just wanted to speak with him again. If she knew what he truly planned she never would’ve agreed to help him so easily - there’s no way he would come back from helping Magnus escape, the Queen would either kill him or he would spend his life exiled and on the run.

But it was the only option he had, the only thing he could do now; no other option felt right, no other path acceptable in his heart.

When Alec arrived outside of Magnus’ cell, it was to make himself a proper traitor to the Queen.

---

Thinking back on it feels like his life flashing before his eyes. He’s only known Magnus for about a year but nothing before meeting Magnus seems to matter, and neither will anything after should Magnus be left to die here because of him.

“Alexander…” Magnus says softly.

Alec shakes his head. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. This isn’t your fault. I should’ve been more careful. The odds that this is because someone spotted me leaving and-”

“Hey,” Magnus cuts him off. “If I don’t get to be sorry then neither do you.”

That makes Alec smile in spite of everything. Running a hand along the cell door in front of him he can feel the magic within the bars and reaffirms that the Queen expected him to try and free Magnus. He knows because he can feel the Seelie magic tied to this particular cell and what it means - he felt it the moment he walked in. The possibility that he cannot simply let Magnus go should’ve been one he anticipated - the Queen warned him they couldn’t be together, that he had to choose his own freedom. She planned for this, of course she did.

Alec hits his fist against the bars in frustration. This changes everything… but it changes nothing. He still plans on freeing Magnus but decides to ask one last question to be certain it’s worth the sacrifice.

“Would you take it back, if you knew how it would end?” Alec asks him. Magnus has no reason to lie, imprisoned and facing certain death. Alec wouldn’t blame him for saying yes, for wishing he kept himself out of Alec’s life, or at least that they’d ended things sooner.

“Not a second of it,” Magnus promises, and Alec’s mind is made up.

“Me either.”

Alec places his hand upon the lock and closes his eyes, making his intention clearly known to the magic held there. He waits with bated breath when nothing happens at first, and then the door swings open. Magnus’ eyes widen in shock.

“How did you-”

“I know what you said earlier, but I am sorry for this.” Alec knows it isn’t what Magnus would choose, which is why Alec doesn’t give him the option. He reaches a hand out to grab the vines wrapped around Magnus’ body. The moment he does they react to his touch, sliding off of Magnus and snaking their way around him instead, binding his arms and legs together painfully.

Alec fell to his knees, and though free now Magnus made no motion to stand or flee, eyes trained on Alec and hands already reaching out to try and free him from the vines.

“Don’t,” Alec warns. “They won’t react to your magic, and you’ll only make them pull tighter.” This froze Magnus in place, not wanting to be the reason the thorns dug deeper than they already were.

“Alexander, what have you done?” Magnus whispers sadly.

“I made an equal exchange. She knew I’d come, and instead of leaving guards she left me a choice. The cell is bound to the crime, not the criminal. It must hold one guilty of the crime-” Alec explains.

“-and we’re guilty of the same crime,” Magnus realizes. “I can’t let you do this. Please, put them back. I’d never ask for you to trade your life for mine,” Magnus insists, holding his hands out in offering.

“I know you wouldn’t. I also know if our roles were reversed you wouldn’t hesitate to do the same for me.”

Magnus opens his mouth but closes it again without a word, unable to argue.

“She’ll be kinder to me, if only because I’m one of her own. She certainly won’t kill me.” That alone makes this exchange the only option in Alec’s mind. If Magnus remained a prisoner it would only be a matter of time before the Queen grew bored and killed him. Alec is fairly certain she wouldn’t do the same to him, and he’ll take those odds over the alternative.

“If it makes you feel any more at ease, I don’t think this cell was ever meant for you. She knew if she threw me in it as an order there would’ve been an uproar. This way she can keep her favor and claim she tried to allow me my freedom while we both know this was always meant to be my fate for betraying her.” Alec would do anything to guarantee Magnus’ safety, to ensure the Queen won’t go after him again, and she knows it. She has Alec wrapped around her pinky finger for the rest of his life. She never truly wanted either of them dead - she only wanted her favorite Knight back under her thumb where he belongs.

And here he is, bound and waiting.

“I’m not certain anything could make me feel at ease right now” Magnus admits, voice wavering with emotion.

“Not even a kiss goodbye?” Alec asks. They’re sat close enough to touch if only Alec’s arm weren’t bound behind his back. Magnus shifts towards him, tears now spilling silently from his eyes, hands moving to carefully come to rest in small spaces of Alec’s sides not already occupied by the vines.

For all the pain he’s in, both physically and emotionally, it all seems to settle the moment Magnus’ lips are pressed gently against his own. It’s slow and deep, and Alec can feel every emotion conveyed they don’t have time to say aloud.

“Now leave,” Alec breathes out the moment their lips part, Magnus’ face still close enough that he can feel his breath warm in the space between them. “You know the way out. Be careful, but something tells me she isn’t going to stop you. I’ll never agree to serve her again if she hurts you, and she knows it. She needs me too much to risk it.”

There’s a small, sad smile on Alec’s face, relief over knowing Magnus would be able to live out the rest of his life mixed with pride over being the reason why he’ll be safe and unspeakable heartache over the fact that it means he may never see him again.

“Take care of yourself, Magnus.”

“I’ll come back for you,” Magnus promises. Alec knows he means it - he’s going to try, at least, probably longer than he should. Alec doesn’t have the heart to tell him not to bother. “I’ll find a way. I love you, Alexander.”

“I love you too.”

It’s the only truth Alec can afford him because he doesn’t share in Magnus’ optimism.

Watching Magnus leave Alec catalogs every curve of his body, every sway of his hair in the breeze certain it’ll be the last image of him he’ll have to hold on to.

As his Queen appears shortly thereafter, tisk-ing and shaking her head at him through the bars in unsurprised disappointment, Alec can only hope the memories will be enough to carry him through.

[sharpen-jadescythe]

Turkey Day at the Jadescythes, 1

In which Sharpen, even in absentia, acts very much like a buttered-up goofball turkey during the holiday.

Part one: Wisthera recruits Al into the madness

Wisthera Jadescythe Bane sashayed up to everyone’s favorite rogue to loathe, Alessandre Shademoon, in a very familiar way. In a way that made him glower, while he was hunched over stale bar peanuts and his stein of beer gone sour. Sour? It was that time of year, in this part of the Stormwind City. All the good stuff had been bought up for the Pilgrim’s Bounty holiday. It was in Angus Stern’s house and Matthias’ Shaw’s house. It was already in King Anduin’s… palace. It was everywhere but at the bar where the lonely so-called estranged Night Elf husband had decided to spend his holiday before Al was eventually kicked out into the street. Even the barkeep of the Pig & Whistle needed to be with his family at the end of the day.

The sultry way that Wisthera greeted Al, both of them fellow rogues and long since past the point where either of them might have been young, frisky, and risked marrying one another? It was a private joke between the two. Once upon a time, long, long ago, Wisthera had walked up to him in much the same way, but the bar was at a tavern over in the Dwarven Lands, Loch Modan. Before she even said much to the handsome night-blue haired Night Elf, Alessandre rejected her flat-out, and in such a thoroughly sadistic, rude way, Wisthera had decided to sabotage his career as an ‘eff you buddy’ because that’s the kind of professional she was. And Al had lost his contract with King Magni Bronzebeard investigating the Maker’s Terrace, back before anyone knew that Troggs were related to Dwarves. Because that’s the kind of illustrious career Al almost had, before he insulted the cleverest, most dangerous of all the Jadescythe sisters. It was how their hate-love-hate you again-alright, we’re sort of family by marriage now connection began.

Rogues lead such interesting lives, don’t they?

Wisthera stood there, hip cocked. “Why don’t you come home with me to Pandaria for turkey day?”

Alessandre had got very drunk indeed. It took him a while to pull his answer together and sound sober enough. “I have better plans.”

Reese Langston, one of the main proprietors of the Pig and Whistle, looked squarely at Alessandre and announced loud enough for the entire bar. “Closing time! I want your last drink orders. You having anything, miss?”

Wisthera winked in a way that said she was going to take care of his final unruly customer, and then she placed a hand over Al’s drink, that no, he couldn’t have any more.

“Don’t you have the perfect Night Elf family with four-point-five children in it and the family nightsaber, and acres of land in Pandaria?” A wonderful image once, but now more of an insult with most Night Elves had lost so much in the War of the Thorns. The Jadescythe family was an unusual exception, painful in its own way, and that big family move to far-off Pandaria was partly to deal with that.

Wisthera leaned on the bar, as if she was going to pick him up, dragging on that age-old rogue’s joke between them, though it had been many years since they first became rivals. They were now married to different people. Well, Al mostly.

He blurted out, “I can’t believe you lied about being an orphan!”

She smirked, “And yet, I can completely believe Opal used a magical barrier to keep you out of the house when you tried to come home for turkey day supper about three hours ago. Come on, we’ll be waiting on Sharpen anyway, there’s a Pandaria time difference so you can still make the Jadescythe clan dinner. She then narrowed eyes at him, “And that was on our last mission before we got promoted—it really was an age ago, Al.”

Alessandre brooded. “Wisthera, pregnant with her first kid. We think we’re sending her over to Duskwood for safety with her peacebloom-picking, potion-chugging parents. Odd, but at least inconspicuous. Close enough to Stormwind, but safe out of the way… of… Shadowstep and whatever else we were lucky enough to worry about in those days.”

“The Scourge and the Burning Legion?”

“No… Zarteaus was… Twilight Cultists. That mission, with Onyx and Shadowstep. And your mother-in-law Feathershine, and me and… Sharpen?”

“No, no. Sharpen was still in training back then, practically a kid at two-hundred and fifty years old something like that. And not even then because as you said, I lied about my last name and who my parents were so that you all wouldn’t ship me off to Feralas. I wanted to stay close to the mission. Ah yes, the good ole sweet-as-pie Twilight Cultists, who aren’t trying to invade the afterlife. How lucky we were back then... How could I ever forget?”

Alessandre sighed and had the last of his drink. “I’ll just go to bed, I think. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe Opal, and our son, will forgive me if I try again tomorrow. You think so?”

Real sadness. It was there, though Wisthera had hid it so well up until now.

Not much could take Wisthera down a notch. Al leaned in. “What’s gone wrong?”

Her cocky smile flickered this time. “He… I thought I’d be the one to give in and go. But no, it was my baby brother. Sharpen is in the Shadowlands.”

[pivot2thrive]

A Self-Empowered Approach to “Powerlessness”

Talk to most people who work with people struggling with addictions and the notion of powerlessness comes up with pronounced regularity.  If you don't admit you are powerless then you are in denial and you will not recover. This is the foundational assertion for all 12 Step based programs addressing problems with addictive behavior.   Certain medical researchers seem to align around this notion by citing differences in brain structure pertaining to various gray matter and white matter areas in the Default Mode Network (DMN).  Addicts just can't not and they need to acknowledge this so that they can begin to change.

This begs the question of what powerless even means and, even further, it begs the question of what an addiction is.  Let's start with powerlessness.

People can choose to attend a meeting instead of heading to the bar.  Does that represent powerlessness or is that a self-empowered approach to change?

Often times I wonder if the notion of powerlessness was really meant to represent acceptance, acceptance that the choices I made, circumstances that happened, trauma and memories experienced, habituated self-talk engaged, social groups choices made (including isolation), and my psychological disposition have all woven together to form a present state of me that hasn't been working well, not in active addiction certainly and maybe not all that well outside of active addiction too.  In a sense, I need to accept the reality that how things have been working hasn't been working.  But in this case, acceptance of what is is not powerlessness.  Millions upon millions have proven that a process of change can take hold.  Choices can be made to seek help, to go to meetings, to change circumstances, live with a different purpose, etc.

Habits encode into our DMN and are characterized by automaticity.  Through practice and repetition what was once choice becomes automatic.  This can be both the gift and the curse of life.  Habits take up less energy than decisions that require our Task Processing Network (TPN) to make executive decisions and this can make life better when the habits are targeted toward that which connects us to a meaningful purpose.  But bad habits become the bane of our existence or perhaps the thorn in one's side that the apostle Paul laments.  Perhaps, what we are powerless over is the fact that we've built our habits to their current state of being in our minds.  Habituated thinking happens faster than executive thinking which is why so many label their "alcoholic or addict" minds and say that their first thought is wrong.  In reality, this has little to do with being an alcoholic or addict but rather simply being a human with a habituated pattern of thinking.

But are we powerless to change our habits?  The evidence is quite clear that the answer is no.  We can change our habits. To be clear, its not easy, but it is certainly do-able, as anyone who's ever given up smoking can attest.  Great books on the subject are Atomic Habits and Good Habits, Bad habits which are currently out now.

Many industry leaders (including Tom Horvath) have said that addiction is an extreme form of habit. Marc Lewis speaks to the nature of the learning process when discussing the Biology of Desire.

So, how do I change my bad habits?

First, I need to become aware of them.  Social groups are great places to uncover our bad habits.  If I have a habit pattern of picking my nose at home, I might not generate awareness about the habit (43% of our daily activities are out of our awareness).  But, if you put me in a work environment around other executives, I'll become quite aware quickly and there will be a strong social influence towards changing that habit (social influence can be quite powerful).  Honestly, I think this is one of the reasons for the success of recovery groups like SMART or 12 Steps.  We help each other see when we are picking our noses (hopefully metaphorically).

Second, I need to be aware of my purpose and values.  Does this habit align with what I truly value and how I want to live my life?  Understanding purpose helps to prioritize habits that are useful vs. those that are detrimental.  From this, I identify new habits that I'd like and old habits that I'd like to eliminate.

Third, I build in active practices to wire in a new habit that replaces the old.  Neurons that fire together wire together.  This means building habits requires repetition as it is the firing together over and over again that strengthens the wiring connection (automaticity).  Neurons that fire apart wire apart.  This is a gift toward old habits as when they are not used, the strength of the habit decreases.  I am self-empowered to actively design and tailor my life to help wire in good habits and wire out bad habits.  It’s a never-ending process but one that, when done effectively, snowballs as little habit upon little habit stacks into a life lived with automaticity toward well being.  I can't do them all at once and I can't do them in one sitting, but they can get better over time and practice.

Last, I am compassionate with myself as this process is not easy and I do not always do it well.  It is a learning process and such a process implicitly includes some level of failure.  I reorient myself with a growth mindset to know that I am getting better and if I fall, I get back up and acknowledge that the only true failure is staying down.

There are many tools that SMART outlines that address components of changing our lives.  The Hierarchy of Values tool helps us to prioritize and helps give us our answer to the question of "Why?" when things get tough.  In many ways, when we get to the D - dispute portion of the ABC model, what we are really trying to do is change habituated patterns of thinking so that our new B is useful or a good habit of thinking.  The social component of doing these things together with others helps us to become aware, to have hope and to push forward.

Mindfulness helps to rewire the brain by creating awareness of habituated thinking and engaging non-judgmental practices to begin the process of rewiring the architecture of the DMN.   Attachment focused therapy helps us to rewire insecure attachment patterns and relationship styles which likely became habituated through experience and repetition into our attachment styles (and God knows that relationships have always been a big key to issues/triggers with problematic addictive behavior).

We are powerless if we stay isolated and disconnected and we continue to operate at the level of thinking, feeling and behaving that got us to the addiction.  When here, my sense is that we operate from a base of learned helplessness.  But we do not have to stay powerless.  Millions have changed before us, we are not helpless, we can create a new and better life, we can develop better relationships, we can choose purpose and meaning and we can transform that which we do automatically from that which hurts us to that which helps us.  In short, we can mature.  This is the journey of all humans.  It's not an easy journey but it is a worthwhile one.