I love writing, as it’s one of my favorite hobbies and I hope to publish my own books! But I’ll just start with fics and little stories, for now. I haven’t been writing for long, but I aim to improve my writing skills and creativity. This is a positive blog, and only kindness and stories will be shared! Constructive criticism is welcome, and I encourage feedback!
Requests for fics will be open eventually. I don’t do NSFW, only angst, comfort, crack, and fluff here…
I have been fine I guess but I have more on finishing all different anime but one piece sooo yeah and I have a big exam for my orchestra class soon so I got to practice but I don’t want to so I have been playing the new demo for block tales and I can beat it :(
That’s all for now hope you’re doing well friend 
Exams and orchestra do NOT mix, I feel like music should be taken at your own creative pace! And I’m sorry you can’t beat it! A new one just came out I think, and I believe in you! And thank you, hope you’re doing well to—I will be more active now!
Hi!! I’m currently reading your op isekai cat series and I have to say, it’s amazing!! I love silly fun works like these, so I WILL be tuning in all the way, and of course to see what other works you have in store!!
Thank you so much!! Sorry I’m responding to this 2 months later, I HAVENT ABANDONED IT I SWEAR 💔💔
I got really bad writers block and have been writing little by little, I have a chapter that I’ll be posting in the next day or so! 🎉
I MISS YOU SO MUCH 😭😭😭😭😭 Also I hope you're doing well and aren't overworking yourself!! I just really miss you're writings 😢 Have a great day or night depending on when you read this! ＼(^_^)／
IM SORRYYYY Writers block hit like a pain in the ass, and I’ve been writing little by little over the last few months, and works been busy and life just got so hectic 😭
Thank you so much, you’re so sweet! I appreciate it, and sorry I’m replying so late
Batfamily x batsis! reader (platonic duh) prev chapter
Note: Next chapter we'll finally be at the present timeline when batsis meets the fam!
5.3k
tw - experimentation, blood, isolation, abuse, manipulation, threats, Gotham-typical crime, PTSD (Bruce/ Jason's Death), death (not a major character), and angst/ not beta read, please ignore mistakes I had a long week
Summary: A ghost- that's what you are, at least to everyone else. After spending years in a lab, being turned into a living weapon for your metahuman abilities, everything changes when Gotham's vigilantes show up. Now, you're faced with secrets, a new identity as the vigilante Sparrow, and, most importantly, maybe a new family.
A week ago…
Ice dug into your bones, biting into every inch of you. The lab floor was cold, as always. Shivers racked you, sending shudders down your spine. Why did the cell always have to be so cold? Probably to keep the environment more sterile. Small puffs of breath appeared in the air as you sang to yourself.
“If a sparrow sings a song, someone will listen; it won’t be long…” the lullaby’s words echoed off the empty room’s walls, the only thing to keep you company. “No matter storm or sun, it will sing its tune until it can fly and touch the moon.”
Singing the songs seemed silly, but they were a reminder that you were alive. A space to fill the countless quiet nights alone. The cell was lonely enough, only consisting of four white walls, a blanket in the corner, and the control panel where the scientist would keep a check on your vitals. There was a space in the corner with a strange bowl for using the bathroom, which would stay mysteriously clean.
This has been your room for how long now?
The days drew on long here, until they all became a blur. Things were always quiet, eerily so. If your calculations were correct, you have been at the lab for about two years now. As far as you knew, it was located somewhere in the woods, miles out from the city. Trying to remember anything was practically useless. The scientists had ensured that most of your memories were gone. Guess something won’t run away if it has nothing to miss.
Memories had become spotty, like a movie, glitching in and out. Some were sharp, vivid, and clear, and others felt like trying to see underwater. No matter how hard you reached for them, they seemed to slip through your fingers like stardust, forgotten.
The sound of the busy streets at night, full of sirens and voices. Lights outside your window. Cinnamon and sugar in the kitchen. Stars in the sky, somewhere far from the glow of Gotham. Parents.
Even if you couldn’t remember their faces, there was an imprint of warmth left in the gaping hole in your memory where they should be- a feeling distinctly of home. Home. If you could have anything, it would be a home. A real one.
The words of one of the scientists floated back into your memory: “Stop struggling! Nobody is ever coming to get you! If even your own family didn’t want you, then who would?”
What if they had lied about your family giving you to them? It wouldn’t be surprising at this point. Part of you hoped they were lying, because at least that meant home was somewhere beyond these walls.
Lies are often sweeter than bitter truths.
Humming, you returned to an old melody, pushing his words away. Anything to keep from going insane in here. They felt self-soothing, calming you down after days like today. Days of being hooked up to one of those machines for hours, forced to listen to their orders and unable to do anything about it. Your fingers curled around the inside of your arm, where bruises were scattered from the injections given today. The spots stung, burning the spot on your wrist as you scratched.
Footsteps echoed down the hall, startling you back into reality. One, two, three…
The air left your lungs as your chest tightened, making the cell seem smaller. Those steps, you knew them. You had memorized each scientist’s walking pattern over the years.
Dr. Ollson? Usually, he only showed up once a week. Why would he be here now?
Click. Click. Click. Each lock on the heavy metal door was unlocked as the passkey was entered- a safety precaution. Standing in the doorway was no more than a shadow in a lab coat.
“Project X, Experiment 0217. Alive, vitals normal,” he noted aloud as he stepped inside the cell, the door shutting behind him. “How are you feeling today?”
As usual, his tone was cold, calculated, with not a hint of remorse. To him, you were nothing more than data points on a sheet.
“Wonderful,” you responded sarcastically before snapping. “How do you think?”
“I never liked experiments that bite back,” he responded, voice clipped. “Things would be a lot easier if you would just cooperate with us. Now come here.”
You didn’t move. Glaring, you stared back at him unflinching. If looks could kill, then there would probably be a murder scene right here and now with the stare you were giving him.
No, not today. Not ever. They could take your name, but they could never own you.
Dr. Ollson narrowed his gaze at you, as his tone lowered, sharper this time, “I gave you an order, Project X. Now. Come. Here.”
“I have a name, you know,” you scoffed.
He raised an eyebrow, “Do you even remember it?”
Glancing away, you looked down at the numbers on your wrist, tracing them carefully- 0217. A name. That had been the first thing they had erased from your memory. Those digits were the only thing close to having one.
“That’s what I thought,” he said bluntly. “Keep in mind, we take care of you, and we can take that care away at any moment, so I’d suggest being more appreciative from now on.” Why would he even threaten that? By now, you were well aware they pulled all the strings.
“Someone’s out there looking for me, and they’ll find me one day,” you threatened, even if it was a weak one. A foolish hope you held onto despite the truth. There had to be someone who missed you, right? Maybe someone was looking. “One day, they’ll find me, and you’ll regret this. The police will find out! Batman may find this place.”
Dr. Ollson seemed unaffected by the idea of Batman.
“Don’t tell me you truly believe that?” he asked. “We’ve taken enough measures that nobody will find this, or Project X. I doubt those idiots working for Gordon ever will. As for Batman? By the time he found this place, we should have you ready to take care of him.”
Looking back down at his tablet, he tapped his pen against it, going over the routine questions.
“Are you in any pain right now?”
“Obviously.”
“What is 2+2?”
“Seriously? My brain is not damaged. Give me something worth my time next time.”
“Why are you here?”
“To further the study of metahumans and further science by participating in Project X.”
The safe answer. The expected one, even if none of this was voluntary.
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer,” he scolded. “What is your name?”
“My name is Project X, Experiment 0217.”
Dr. Ollson went on, voice full of fake praise and condescension, “Remember, that name makes you special. It’s one nobody else has because they are not as special as you.” There was a mock softness in the way he said it, as if talking to an animal you were trying to coax into a cage. The scientists always did that, trying to make you feel safer than you were.
Crouching, he met your eye level as you continued to glare back at him. “You’re my greatest work, my legacy.” Reaching a hand out, you flinched as he got closer, pulling away in fear.
“One day, you’ll change the entire world,” he declared, tone cold. “Now come here. I still haven’t administered today’s dosage.”
Again, you refused to move. Pure anger was written across his face as he muttered, “Don’t make me repeat myself, I’m not a patient man. Project X is designed to listen and respond to orders as any good weapon should.”
A fist curled at your side as you looked down at the floor, staring at it. A weapon. All you were was someone to be told what to do and ordered about since you got here. Easy? Of course you had considered taking the easy way out. Sitting back and doing nothing would be less painful, but then it meant they would win, which would never happen on your watch. Fighting was the only thing you had left, the only thing you lived for. A long time ago, you realized nobody was coming to help you. Not the police. Not the Justice League. Not even your own family. So, you would have to save yourself.
A sound echoed off the walls, tearing you from your thoughts. It wasn’t until you felt the stinging on your cheek you realized it was from him slapping you. Touching it gingerly, you realized a bruise was already forming.
Looking up, you gave him another icy stare as you struggled to get to your feet. Dr. Ollson gripped your hair, tugging it and forcing you to meet his gaze.
“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he ordered, tightening his grip. It stung, but you refused to shed a tear. People like him wanted a reaction more than anything, so you stayed as quiet as possible. Giving him the satisfaction wasn’t worth it.
You hated eye contact. The way it gave him and the other scientists some sort of power trip. It felt as if he were trying to see into your soul, yet you kept your stare unwavering, hoping it would show even an ounce of the hatred you felt for him.
Lights flickered in and out as a familiar warmth grew at your fingertips. A light blue spark flowed from them, threatening to ignite. A hint of fear crossed his face for only a moment when he noticed. Anger rose in you. No, not rage. Something much more specific, you couldn’t quite place yet.
“How many times do I have to do this?” he yelled. The facade of the clinical, controlled scientist began to slip. Whenever he began to lose his grip, only horrible things followed.
“Things would be so much easier if you would just! Just…be quiet.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, fist shaking as he grabbed your collar in a tight grip. Struggling, you kicked at him, trying to pull away frantically. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, training would have taken over. Before you could grab him, he snatched your wrist, snuffing out the glow. Tightening his hold on your wrist, he threatened, “I can quiet you for good, you know.”
Pain stabbed through your wrist as he tightened even more, sending shockwaves down your arm.
“You can’t kill me,” you reminded him, hoping it was true. “You need me. I’m the only one with the DNA to do this. You said so yourself.” It was a bluff, but maybe it would buy you some time.
“There are other ways of shutting people up. As far as anyone knows, you are already dead, even to your family. Face it, you’re no more than a ghost to anyone, so there’s no point in fighting anymore because nobody is looking,” he seethed. “Now will you be good for once?”
Good? No, you were done with being good a long time ago. Being good had brought you here and etched your name into a gravestone above an empty plot.
“Stubborn,” he muttered to himself, reaching for the familiar vial in his pocket. Nope. Not today, not again.
“Does this answer your question?” you asked before sinking your teeth into his hand. You stumbled to the floor as he let go of your wrist, screaming. Pulling away, he held onto his hand as the blood dribbled, spreading across the white of his lab coat. An alarm rang down the halls of the lab.
Alert! Subject violent! Security alert!
“Enough,” he ordered. “It’s time for you to be quiet, bird.”
The air seemed colder somehow. Your eyes widened in recognition, and he caught it.
“What? Did you think we didn’t know about the singing?” Dr. Ollson asked flatly. “Touching, really. We monitor everything, including the inside of this cell and everything you do in it.”
Pointing a gloved finger to your throat, he added, “According to the procedure, there’s no reason for Project X to be able to speak, technically speaking. It would be easy to take care of.”
Each word hit sharper than the last. Suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could breathe as a million thoughts raced through your mind.
“I’ll give you until security arrives to change your attitude, and if you make the right choice, maybe a weapon who can speak will suddenly be useful.”
No. They couldn’t take it away! They had taken everything from you, and they wouldn’t get any more.
No. No. No.
A rush of warmth spread to your hand as a blue glow ebbed from your fingertips. There was a vibration in the air, making everything seem static. Fire tingled underneath your skin, spreading into your chest.
Too many thoughts filled your head, as too many feelings took over you, you would never begin to be able to name. All you wanted was for it to stop!
There was a sudden burst of light before everything went dark inside the cell.
Dr. Ollson froze midstep, staring at you. His eyes widened a moment as if he were seeing a ghost, then he collapsed to the floor in a heap. Wait, what just happened?
The door opened to reveal five guards standing, staring in horror at the scene. One of the guards began to raise a weapon before the other held up a hand, stopping them. They stopped down, picking up Dr. Ollson’s limp wrist and holding it a moment. “Dead,” he confirmed.
Dead? No, he couldn’t be dead, right? You had only wanted him to leave you alone, for the pain to stop.
Everyone turned, looking at you with a newfound sense of fear. A few of the other researchers followed behind and saw what had happened. One shrieked as another vomited the moment they saw it. Mostly, they stood in silence, as if finally realizing what they had made. All you could do was stare at the lifeless body, unable to move.
“Why won’t the locks work?” one of them asked in a panic. “The emergency controls haven’t come on yet!”
Their voices faded away, becoming murkier as you sat in shock.
“Blackout.” One of them said as another answered, “Until we can fix the security system, we’ll have to sedate it.”
“Defective.” “Terminate.” “Another failure.”
“The blackout will give our location, so we should pack up the evidence.”
“What about it?”
“Just leave it! If Dr. Ollson is dead, there’s nobody left to lead the project anymore!”
“Won’t it…die?”
“The world is better off with that thing dead anyway.”
“No, we need to keep it alive. Move on to Phase 2.”
A sharp pain filled your neck from a needle as your vision blurred, sinking into the floor. Trying to cling to consciousness, you fought to stay awake even as your body felt as if it were floating. The last thing you remembered was feeling like a bird, flying through an endless sky where there were no cages, no sharp needles, and no more tests.
One day, I’ll grow wings and fly far away from here…
Then everything went dark. Maybe, when you opened your eyes, you would be home, and this would all be a nightmare. At least, that’s what you told yourself for now.
Gotham City- Present.
The air of Gotham City was always thick with secrets. Tonight was no different as Tim peered over the edge of the rooftop, focused on the apartment door in the alleyway below. A small cat passed by, dragging a leftover Batburger wrapper into the corners of the alley. Mentally, he noted to let Selina know he had seen a stray. They had a sort of system where he’d notify her of any street cats for her to take care of.
So far, Project X had only led to more questions than answers. One thing Tim didn’t like was not having answers. Knowing was sort of his entire thing, and when he couldn’t find any, well, it made him feel nearly useless. If he couldn’t do the one thing he was great at, then what use was he? Did he even deserve this cape?
“Focus,” he reminded himself, “Keep an eye on the target.”
At this point, he was probably sleep-deprived. For the past 20 hours or so, he had tried to theorize every possible explanation for Project X. Why was it related to the blackout? Could it be a rogue’s experiment gone wrong? Why here, in Gotham, of all places? Barbara hadn’t been able to find too much information over the past few days except for a few paper trails here and there that only led to more dead ends. The only lead they had found was why he was here in the first place - A Dr. Steve Jones who mysteriously moved from a research center at Metropolis University to Gotham City under a new name after losing his job. Why would the leading scientist in metahuman research lose everything? Nothing about it added up. Unless, of course, he decided to work on a classified experiment.
Tim was familiar with his work, doing one of his middle school papers on his research into the genetics of metahumans.
“Any signs of the target yet?” he asked over the comms.
Oracle spoke up, “Right now, he’s still at the coffee shop, so you should be in the clear. According to the security footage, he usually spends at least three hours there on Saturdays. Never thought I’d see anyone who likes coffee more than you.”
“So you drink a bunch of coffee one time during an all-nighter, and suddenly everyone makes it your entire personality,” Tim said sarcastically. “It’s really getting old, guys.”
Dick’s voice came through, “Aw, but it’s fun to buy you coffee mugs every Christmas.”
“Nightwing?” Dick asked, eyes wide, “What are you doing there? I thought you were still in Bludhaven.”
“Decided to stop by and give Oracle a visit,” Dick answered with a hint of tease. There was a small thwack as Barbara must have shoved him. “Fine, fine, I’ll focus on the mission. So who’s this scientist we’re looking for anyway?”
Tim explained, “We’re looking for a Dr. Jones. When metahumans began becoming more common, he did research on the genetic components. It was revolutionary at the time and gave us a clearer understanding of the DNA structures between metahumans and non-metahumans, making him head of research at MU.” He paused a moment. “Then his theories led him to becoming a quack to most when he suggested psychic abilities.”
“Wait, so let me get this straight. We live in a world where aliens exist, and literal magic, but scientists drew the line at psychic abilities?” Dick asked.
“It was because he suggested non-metahumans could have them. A few of his colleagues even said he had theories about gaining abilities at will.”
There was a long silence, but everyone was now thinking the same thing about Project X.
“Where are the others?” Tim asked, hoping to change the subject.
Oracle answered, “B is inspecting the power company for any answers to the blackout and possible connections. Signal is on his usual patrol, and Batgirl and Robin are speaking with Commissioner Gordon right now to see if there are any connections between the smuggling routes I found.”
“Let me know if there’s any new info. I’m going to go ahead and take a look around the apartment, see if I can find anything.” Tim quietly leaped onto the fire escape below, made his way down the steps to the apartment window, and tried it. Unlocked? That was odd. Sliding it open, he crept inside as darkness greeted him. Quietly, he walked through the apartment, keeping an eye out for any clues or evidence. The apartment was fairly small, with only a bedroom and a dining area across from a bathroom. Yet, the thing that stood out the most was how plain it was, as if someone were using it as a place to hide away rather than live in.
No pictures. No decor. Not even one attempt to make it look like someone normal was living here. For a genius, the guy hadn’t even tried to hide under a new identity well. Unless, of course, he didn’t have plans to stay in this place for long.
Carefully, he traced his fingers along the wall, under the furniture, and in the drawers, looking for any sort of hidden compartments. A false bottom, maybe? Anything!
Unfortunately, there were no electronics in the place either, so hacking into them wasn’t an option.
“Where are you hiding?” he muttered to himself, scanning the rooms. No good scientist would have zero copies of their work, so there had to be something about Project X. Anything out of place at all could be a clue. Finally, his eyes landed on the mugs lined up on the shelf above the kitchen sink. Each of them had a blue pattern, except for the third, which had a green one. There’s no way it would be that easy, right?
Reaching inside, he pulled out a small hard drive. “Seriously? That was way too easy,” he grumbled. Way too easy. Almost suspiciously easy. Had Dr. Jones wanted someone to find out about the Project? If so, why?
“I’ve got what we were looking for,” Tim spoke into the comms. “I’ll bring it back right now, and once we take a look at it, we can have the police handle the rest.”
“Good,” Oracle said. “I’ve found evidence that the smuggling was bringing scientific equipment to an undisclosed location a few miles outside of the city through the ports. I’m sure that’s where the lab should be, which means Project X. Now to see exactly what it is.”
The Batcave - two hours later
Ever since the blackout, Bruce hadn’t been able to get his mind off it. It followed him, like a shadow, festering every thought. There was something off about the whole thing, and now this strange lab? In his gut, he knew something big was about to happen, but what? Not to mention, he had gotten only a few hours of sleep each night since then.
“Heloooo?” Duke waved a hand in front of his face, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Barbara asked you a question.”
“Sorry,” he cleared his throat. “Haven’t had much sleep lately. What were you saying?”
“Where’s Jason?” she asked with a hint of annoyance. “I requested he be here.”
“I think Bruce is the last person Jason would listen to,” Dick scoffed, leaning back in his seat. “Why do we all need to be here anyway? This isn’t an everyone-escaped Arkham kind of threat anyway.” Clearly, he was still upset that whatever plans he and Barbara had for tonight were canceled.
Dick did have a point. When the entire family was around a table together, it usually meant either a rare chance that they all sat down to enjoy Alfred’s cooking or that something was very wrong.
“I’ve reviewed the hard drive Tim found today, and this is much bigger than we could have expected,” Barbara explained, voice more tense than usual. “We’re going to need all the help we can get. Too bad he couldn’t be here. I was hoping one of his own leads may be connected to this.”
Everyone exchanged worried glances, the air in the cave shifting.
Bruce furrowed his brow, asking, “What do you mean? How serious is this?”
She hesitated a moment, opening her laptop. “Most of the files are encrypted, and I haven’t been able to hack into them yet. If I can’t even get into them, then they’re hiding something they don’t want anyone to find. What I have found is probably much more serious than we thought. Project X isn’t any normal experiment.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow, “Not normal? How exactly?”
Barbara sighed, “Let me explain it from the start, and I’ll tell you everything Tim and I have figured out for now.”
The Batcomputer’s screen lit up, several files popping up full of notes, shipping routes, and profiles all labeled “Experiments.”
Barbara moved her chair closer to the computer, pointing to the first file, which was a list of locations, supplies, and a few screenshots of emails.
“When I tried tracing the source of the blackout, I began noticing a history of large electricity surges somewhere outside the city. The more I looked, I started picking up a pattern of items being smuggled through Gotham’s underground.” She pointed. “Chemicals, expensive tech, and scientific equipment. Everything you would need for a lab. As far as I know, there are a few crime rings involved, but I haven’t identified which ones yet.”
So it was a lab, or at least, someone running experiments. Why would that cause a blackout?
Cassandra spoke up, “Do you think it could be Black Mask?”
“What would Black Mask want with an experiment?” Damian spoke up.
“He would want something to do with it if it involved money,” Bruce answered. “Or something even better on his end of the deal. We know the crime rings have connections with every rogue in the city, so it could be anyone.”
“Are we sure it isn’t Scarecrow with some sort of new fear toxin?” Dick asked. “What about Joker Venom?”
“I’ve already looked over the list of materials that were being smuggled,” Tim answered, looking down at a pile of notes. “None of the chemicals are found in the formulas for Joker venom of fear toxin. I even accounted for new versions, but the basic components aren’t there.”
“Are we sure LexCorp isn’t involved?” Duke suggested. “If this is about metahumans, then that sounds like something Luthor would do. We know how obsessed he is with us. Maybe we should contact Clark-”
“No,” Bruce cut him off. “We don’t need to involve any members of the League unless this escalates.” Admittedly, he didn’t want to deal with Superman at the moment unless necessary. At the last JLA meeting they had gotten into an argument, and the Kryptonian hadn’t spoken to him since.
Tim rolled his eyes, “Oracle already searched through LexCorp’s entire database and didn’t find one mention of a Project X.”
“Then the question is, who’s doing this?” Bruce wondered aloud. A muscle fluttered in his jaw, eyes narrowed on the screen. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.
“I’m not sure of everyone who is involved,” Barbara admitted, pulling up a new file. “We confirmed that Dr. Jones was involved, and I’ve already sent in a tip to my father to go to his apartment. He was put under investigation an hour ago. Just take a look at this.”
Project X - Experiment 0217 - Status: Ongoing
Purpose: To utilize the abilities of metahumans to their fullest extent and push the capabilities of human beings. Testing the hypothesis surrounding the possibilities of metahuman DNA mutation, psychic abilities, and energy conversion.
Current status: Ongoing and successful
Previous failures: 20
Previous subjects: 20
Previous subjects: Terminated
Stage: Phase 1
Subject information:
Gender: Female
Species: Metahuman - Telepathic
Health history: Details unknown. Blood presents with the desired mutation for the experiment.
Temperament: Violent/ Agressive/Noncompliant
Observed abilities
Heightened senses
Telepathy
Energy conversion
Mind - connections
Energy absorption
June 14th
Note: The subject seems to be growing stronger than originally expected. Can change and adjust energy, matter, and other materials on a sub-atomic level through a mind connection. These energy levels are becoming increasingly high in a controlled setting. The reason for the increase in power is unknown. Several unexpected outcomes and variables have grown in the past few months, and there is a chance that Project X is becoming unstable. At this rate, the weapon could do more than expected if we can stabilize it. More observation will be needed.
Further study will determine if the plan is ready to move on to the next phase.
June 29th - Subject in need of Termination
June 30th - Change of plans - Phase 2 is now in process
The cave fell silent as everyone stared at the file, the words seeming to stare back.
Sitting up a bit straighter, Bruce squared his shoulders as he read the file over and over again. Human experimentation? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen things more grim before. This was Gotham after all, but how long had this been going on under their noses? How many people had died? Project X was a threat, and a much larger one than expected. Not to mention the subject was unstable. The gut feeling had proven to be right all along, confirming the worst.
Damian was the first one to speak, “It appears to me they were trying to create some sort of weapon, but for what?”
Tim’s eyes widened, full of surprise and concern, as he connected the dots. “Project X, what must have caused the blackout!” he exclaimed, already scribbling down a few notes. “I knew there was a connection, but there’s still so much that doesn’t add up. What are they doing with the chemicals being smuggled? What sort of abilities could handle that high level of energy? Nothing here makes sense.”
“So that,” Duke pointed to the screen, “Is what caused the blackout? How could one person cause an entire city to shut down?! That’s insane!”
“That’s what I would like to know,” Bruce replied in a low voice. “I agree with Tim. Nothing about this adds up yet. We should look into this further before we go to the lab. Whoever is behind this could be much more dangerous than expected.”
“The real question is, for who?” Dick asked, voice tinged with unease. Nobody answered. Duke shifted in his seat, staring down at his hands instead. Cassandra noticed, putting a hand on his shoulder with a soft smile.
“I’m not sure,” Barbara admitted. “I’m going to try to take the hard drive to the Clock Tower and see if I can dig into this any further. Until then, I’ll have Tim see if he can find any more leads on the case. The police should be questioning Dr. Stevens as we speak.”
“I’ll begin preparing to investigate the lab,” Bruce began. “We’ll need to find as much evidence as we can and see if there are any remaining survivors until we can locate Project X.”
Dick stretched, “I’ve got nothing better to do. Bludhaven is doing well, as well as good as Bludhaven can get, so I’ll be there.”
“No,” Bruce said in that tone that left no room for argument. “I’ll handle this one on my own. If those files are true, then Project X is unstable. I’m not risking any of you getting hurt.”
Damian crossed his arms, scowling. “Father, I’ve faced plenty of far more dangerous opponents before,” he insisted. “Need I remind you I’m a League-trained assassin, or has your old age caused your memory to become worse?” Despite the tension in the air, Dick snorted a little at the joke.
Bruce let out a long sigh. “I’m well-aware of your training, Damian, but we have no idea what we would be walking into. If they have telepathic abilities, it may take more than regular combat to disarm them.”
“Tsk” Damian looked away stubbornly. “Last week, I helped you arrest a man who controls people’s minds with hats, but I can’t help now?”
Tim agreed reluctantly, “As much as I hate to agree with him right now, he has a point. There’s safety in numbers, and it would make more sense if we investigated together.” Cassandra nodded in agreement. “Besides, we’ve faced crazy plant ladies, a guy who creates blizzards, and a psychotic clown.”
Duke counted off, adding, “Not to mention Killer Moth and Scarecrow, so I think we can handle this.”
“Don’t we work better as a team?” Dick reminded, smiling warmly like Bruce. “How many times do we have to remind you that pushing us away only makes it worse. If things get too dangerous, we’ll contact the League.”
For a moment, he almost considered the possibility, then the memories hit him at once, each one sharper than the last. Every single time, they returned, no matter how hard he tried to push them out.
Dick injured for the first time after patrol. Stephanie in tears. Barbara, in a hospital bed, being told she would never be able to walk again. Jason…always Jason. Even now, the scent of metal and blood filled his nose from the remains of the explosion.
Squeezing his eyes shut for only a moment, he took a deep breath and forced the memories to the back of his mind. Whenever he was planning a mission, he remembered the possibilities of what could happen. The past did have a way of holding on, clawing its way to the present. After all, what was now rather than the things of the past falling into place? Those were the reasons he wore the mask, why he kept fighting in the first place.
Yet, if he saw someone else he cared for get hurt, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep going.
“I’m not risking your safety,” Bruce urged. “That’s final. I’ll leave Alfred to keep an eye on all of you, and report to me if any of you even step foot outside the manor.”
He got up to leave then paused, for a moment. “Don’t even think about sneaking out or bribing Alfred. I know what happened last time.” Then he left without another word.
They all exchanged knowing glances. “We’re following him, aren’t we?” Dick asked.
“Definitely,” Duke agreed, jumping to his feet and taking off to his room, before being stopped by a very stern butler.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Alfred questioned, giving him one of his signature stares. “I should hope it’s not off to some dangerous mission?”
“What? Of course not,” Duke fumbled. “I was just going to watch a movie. Yeah, a movie…and we all were, right?”
Obviously, Alfred saw right through the lie easily. After all, he had helped raise quite a few teenage vigilantes.
“Next time, at least respect me enough to come up with a better excuse than that,” Alfred said dryly. “You’re practically insulting my intelligence.”
Dick stood up, “Bruce is about to go on a dangerous mission all by himself! How many times have you told us we work better together?”
“Father’s judgement is rarely wrong, but he’s clearly miscalculated this time,” Damian huffed.
Alfred sighed. Of course he had gone alone, as usual. When would he ever learn?
“I’m sorry, but Master Wayne gave me specific instructions not to let any of you leave the manor for the time being,” he answered, before adding. “Now I’m going to go have my evening tea in the drawing room, which will keep me occupied for the next twenty minutes. I doubt any of you would have the chance to leave before your father does anything he’ll regret later, correct?”
Dick winked, “Of course! That would be impossible.”
“As I thought,” he gave a short nod. “Now I’ll be taking tea, and I trust none of you will try anything.” Alfred hid a slight smile as he left the cave. By some miracle, Bruce had raised some very good kids, which was ironic since he seemed to never get him raised. Honestly, he needed to retire some day or another. It wasn’t as if there would be any more new members of the family, right? Oh, who was he kidding? One day or another Bruce would bring in another one. For a man who seemed to have the emotional range of a brick, he did have a soft spot for strays. His mind wandered back to the conversation from days ago as he poured his tea. Maybe, if he did add a member to the family, it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Thanks for reading!!!
Sorry if this chapter was not my best work :( I've had a long past few weeks since I posted the last one (went to the ER, got sick again, and drama) and yesterday my father may have messed up a super important scholarship I had - Long story
⭑.ᐟ warnings: Violance and gore, Childhood trauma, panic attack, emotional angst, brief unsettling imagery, nightmares, shower scene (DOES NOT SHOW ANYTHING, hinted F! reader.
⋆⭒˚.⋆ Summery: Y/N, a quiet member of the Straw Hat Pirates with a hidden past. Though she steadfastly refuses to fight, her crew believes it's simply a preference or a lack of skill. What they don't know is the terrifying truth: Y/N is a formidable killer, honed by a brutal childhood war fought for her family and island. After witnessing a loved one's death, she made a solemn vow to abandon violence forever, but what will happen when she’s put in a position where she has to make a choice, break the promise— or save her new found family; the strawhats.
masterlist ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
The rhythmic creak of the Thousand Sunny’s mast was a lullaby, a stark contrast to the cacophony that once defined your world. Here, amidst the boisterous Straw Hats, you were an anomaly. They knew you didn't fight, a fact you’d established early on with a quiet, unwavering resolve. Luffy, bless his guileless heart, probably thought you just preferred cheering from the sidelines. Zoro, perhaps, assumed you hadn't the knack for it. Nami, ever practical, likely saw you as valuable in other ways. They were all wrong. So terribly, fundamentally wrong.
God, you could fight. You were a symphony of calculated strikes, a whirlwind of precision and power. The memory of steel in your hand felt as natural as breathing, the taste of adrenaline a familiar tang on your tongue. Before the Sunny, before this semblance of peace, there was only war.
You were barely a teenager when the drums of conflict began to beat, echoing across your island, a relentless rhythm of oppression under a cruel government. Your hands, still small and slender, learned to grip a blade before they truly knew how to hold a pen. You fought for them, for your family, for the very ground beneath your feet. There was a raw, undeniable craving for blood then, not born of malice, but of desperation. Each swing, each parry, was a prayer for survival, a desperate plea for freedom.
The air on those nights was thick with the scent of fear and smoke, illuminated by the orange glow of burning homes. You were a phantom in the chaos, a blur of motion, driven by an instinct to protect. You remembered the sickening crunch of bone, the wet thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the desperate cries that mingled with your own ragged breaths. You were good at it, terrifyingly so. Every move was etched into your muscle memory, a brutal dance perfected through countless skirmishes.
Then came the night the island finally cracked. The citizens, pushed to their breaking point, rose up in a desperate, last-ditch effort to reclaim what was theirs. You were in the thick of it, a whirlwind of fury and hope. The shouts of defiance mingled with the crack of gunfire, a chaotic crescendo. You saw your brother, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and determination, just meters away. And then, the sickening crack, the way his body crumpled, a dark stain blossoming on his chest.
You were there in an instant, cradling him, your hands slick with his lifeblood. His breath hitched, a desperate gurgle in his throat. His eyes, already clouding, found yours. "Y/N," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper, "Promise me… promise me you'll stop. Stop this… this bloodshed. Live, little sister. Live for peace."
Your own sobs tore through you, a raw, primal sound that was swallowed by the surrounding cacophony of battle. "No… no, please," you choked, tears streaming down your face, mixing with the blood on your hands. But his gaze, unwavering even in death, held you captive. And through your agony, through the despair of watching your people fall, you made the promise. A promise whispered to a dying boy, a vow to forsake the very thing you were terrifyingly good at.
The weeks that followed were a blur of grief and hollow victory. The island was free, but at what cost? Your hands, once so quick to grasp a weapon, now trembled at the thought. The very sight of a blade sent shivers down your spine. The craving for blood, once a driving force, was replaced by a profound nausea. You sought solace in quiet, in the simple rhythm of everyday life. You learned to cultivate a garden, to mend torn sails, to appreciate the quiet hum of a peaceful existence.
The years stretched on, each one a testament to that solemn vow. The killer within you, once a roaring inferno, was carefully, painstakingly banked. You embraced a new path, one of gentle understanding and quiet observation. The Straw Hats saw a calm, collected presence, a kind soul who offered comfort and support. They saw your refusal to fight as a quirk, perhaps even a weakness. They never knew the raging storm you had tamed, the monstrous capability you held in check, all for the sake of a promise made to a dying brother. And you would keep that promise, no matter what.
They didn't see the killer you had been, or the one you still held at bay. They saw the person who’d zone out at the sight of blood, a distant look clouding your eyes as memories, sharp and unwanted, pricked at the edges of your consciousness. They saw the one who’d stay behind when they went to fight, a silent sentinel on the deck, watching the chaos unfold from a safe, agonizing distance. And they saw the one who refused to even hold a weapon, your hands always empty, even when a spare blade or a discarded pipe lay conveniently nearby.
This was the person they had taken onto their ship, a non-combatant in a crew defined by their fighting prowess. Most of them didn't understand it, least of all Luffy, your captain. He tried—he really did—to make sense of your pacifism.
"Hey, Y/N!" Luffy would shout, bounding over to you with a wide grin, a rusty old pipe already in his hand. "Look! This looks like a fun weapon! Wanna try swinging it?" He'd offer it to you, his eyes bright with genuine enthusiasm, completely missing the subtle tightening of your jaw, the faint tremor that would run through your fingers. You'd just shake your head, a small, polite smile fixed on your face. "No thank you, Luffy. I'm not really good with weapons." He'd deflate for a moment, then shrug, already distracted by the next shiny object or the promise of meat.
Another time, during a particularly chaotic skirmish with some minor thugs, you found yourself near Zoro, who'd lost one of his swords in the fray. It lay glinting on the deck, just inches from your foot. "Y/N! The sword!" he grunted, fighting off two assailants. For a split second, your gaze locked onto the hilt, your fingers twitching with an involuntary, phantom grip. The muscle memory screamed, pick it up, it's right there, you could end this. But then, your brother's dying eyes flashed in your mind, and the brief surge of adrenaline receded, leaving behind a cold dread. You simply nudged the sword with your foot, pushing it closer to Zoro, and mumbled, "Here, Zoro, it's just by your hand." He snatched it up, giving you a quick, puzzled glance before diving back into the fight, none the wiser to the internal battle you'd just won.
Even Nami, ever observant, once tried to hand you a small, ornate dagger she'd acquired, thinking it might be a good self-defense tool. "It's just for emergencies, Y/N," she'd said kindly. You'd held it for a moment, the cool weight of the metal strangely familiar, and then, with a deep breath, handed it back. "I'm sure you'll make better use of it, Nami," you'd replied, a lightness in your tone that belied the tension in your shoulders.
They saw your calm demeanor, your quiet support, your occasional bouts of distant silence. They saw a crewmate who chose not to fight, and they, in their own unique ways, respected it. They didn't see the constant vigil, the unyielding strength it took to keep the killer buried deep, all for the sake of a promise whispered to a dying brother on a war-torn island.
For the most part, they accepted your unique stance, but sometimes, the teasing would come, lighthearted jabs that still managed to prick. Zoro, ever the blunt one, would sometimes just snort when the topic of fighting came up, a dismissive sound that spoke volumes without a single word. You'd just offer him a small, unreadable smile in return.
Usopp, in his usual dramatic fashion, would often proclaim, "See, even Y/N's more afraid than me when the fighting starts! At least I try to fight, even if I get scared!" He'd puff out his chest, completely oblivious to the quiet strength it took for you to simply be there, unmoving, while chaos erupted. Chopper, bless his innocent heart, would sometimes fret, "Are you sure you're okay, Y/N? You always look a little… sad when everyone else is fighting." You'd reassure him with a gentle pat on his head, a warmth in your eyes that masked the underlying ache.
Franky, with his boisterous enthusiasm, once tried to entice you. "C'mon, Y/N! Imagine the SUPER moves you could do with a custom weapon! We could build you something amazing!" You just laughed, a genuine, melodious sound. "I'm sure you could, Franky, but I think I'll stick to enjoying your creations from a safe distance."
But there were always those who saw more. Sanji, ever the gentleman, would instantly spring to your defense. "Leave her alone, you louts! Y/N does plenty for this ship! She doesn't need to fight! Who do you think keeps track of our supplies so meticulously? Or helps Nami with her charts? She's an invaluable member of this crew!" He'd glare at the others, apron fluttering dramatically, while you offered him a grateful, soft smile.
And then there was Robin. She didn't tease or bully. Her eyes, perceptive and ancient, saw past the surface. She saw how, when blood bloomed on the deck during a skirmish, you didn't pale, shake, or even run. Instead, you paused. It was a fleeting moment, a subtle stiffening of your shoulders, a sharpening of your gaze that lasted only an instant before it softened again.
She'd seen you, for instance, when Luffy had taken a nasty cut across his arm. While others gasped or rushed to tend to him, you simply watched, your eyes momentarily distant, focused not on the wound itself, but on the way the dark red liquid spread. There was no revulsion in your expression, no fear. Just a profound, almost analytical stillness, as if you were recalling something, reliving a moment only you could see. Then, as quickly as it came, the intensity would fade, replaced by your usual calm demeanor as you moved to grab bandages for Chopper.
Another time, when a low-level pirate had been knocked unconscious, a trickle of blood emerging from his temple, your gaze had drifted to it. You didn't flinch. Instead, your fingers had subtly flexed, an almost imperceptible clenching and unclenching, as if recalling the sensation of a blade. Robin had caught it, a flicker of recognition in her own eyes. You were a mystery to most, a gentle soul among a crew of fighters. But to Robin, you were a locked book, and she, with her quiet observation, was slowly deciphering the chapters within.
It was supposed to be a normal stop, a quaint little island with kind villagers, bathed in the soft glow of a perpetually setting sun. Usually, this was your cue to stay back, watch the Sunny, enjoying the quiet solitude of the ship while the others explored. But the Sunny needed repairs from the last brutal skirmish, a gaping hole in her hull and a splintered mast calling for Franky’s immediate attention.
"You stay put, Y/N," Franky had boomed, already surrounded by tools, "I need to get this baby shipshape. You go have some fun!" When you offered to stay with him, a quiet assurance that you preferred the calm of the ship, Nami had practically pulled you away, a determined glint in her eye. "No way, Y/N! You've been cooped up on the ship too long. Robin and I need your keen eye for shopping! You need a break from watching the Sunny!"
So, you went. It was a rare occurrence, walking alongside the entire crew into town. Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Brook, and you—a motley parade heading for supplies.
Luffy, predictably, was already causing a stir, pointing at every food stall with an eager cry of "Meat!" Chopper bounced excitedly beside him, mesmerized by a street performer’s juggling act. Usopp was haggling loudly over what appeared to be a very ordinary slingshot, convinced it was a rare, ancient artifact. Sanji, ever the doting chef, was already flirting with a local baker, his eyes practically turning into hearts. Nami, ever practical, had her nose in a map, muttering about good deals, while Robin calmly browsed a book stall, a serene smile on her face. Brook, of course, was asking every woman he passed if he could see their panties, much to Nami’s exasperated groans.
You walked a little behind them all, taking in the sights and sounds. The smell of freshly baked bread mingled with the salty sea air. Children laughed, chasing each other through the narrow streets. For a moment, a fragile peace settled over you.
Then, it went to hell.
Luffy, in his usual boundless enthusiasm, had tried to "help himself" to a giant, glistening leg of roast meat from a grumpy vendor’s stall. The vendor, clearly not used to pirates, let out a furious bellow, brandishing a cleaver. One thing led to another, a spilled drink, a mistaken shove, and suddenly, the entire market erupted.
"You damn pirates!" a burly man roared, swinging a fist at Usopp. Tables overturned, baskets of fruit scattered, and the air filled with the angry shouts of villagers. This wasn't a organized enemy, just a furious, uncoordinated mob.
Zoro was already a blur of green, dodging flailing arms and legs, his hands instinctively going for his swords, but holding back, clearly not wanting to cut down civilians. Luffy, surprisingly, was having trouble, overwhelmed by the sheer number of angry hands grabbing at him, pulling his rubber body in every direction. He wasn't fighting back with full force, merely trying to escape the human tide.
Nami shrieked as someone tried to snatch her bag, retaliating with a well-aimed kick that sent her attacker sprawling. Sanji was a whirlwind of kicks, protecting Nami and Robin, but visibly holding back, his precision strikes aimed at disabling, not injuring. Chopper, in Brain Point, was frantically trying to administer first aid to accidentally injured villagers while dodging clumsy swings. Usopp was firing pop greens, creating clouds of smoke to disorient the crowd, his usual bravado replaced by genuine panic. Even Brook was struggling, his cane-sword parrying blows, but the sheer chaos of the unarmed, enraged villagers made it difficult to fight without causing serious harm.
The Straw Hats, used to fighting hardened criminals and powerful marines, were struggling. This wasn't a battle; it was a riot. They were holding back, trying not to hurt these innocent, albeit furious, people, and that hesitation was costing them. Punches landed, kicks connected, and the sheer weight of the mob began to push them back, deeper into the narrow, winding streets of the island town. The gentle sounds of the market were replaced by shouts, screams, and the dull thud of bodies. And in the midst of it all, you stood, a quiet observer as the world around you dissolved into chaos, the familiar scent of blood beginning to prick at your senses.
They weren't winning. They were losing. The sheer force of the furious villagers, fueled by indignation and misunderstanding, was overwhelming. Luffy, usually invincible, was being dragged through a fish stall, momentarily tangled in a net. Zoro, still holding back, found himself pinned against a wall, his swords sheathed, his brow furrowed in frustration as he tried to disarm rather than wound. Nami was pushed into a fruit cart, scattering apples and oranges everywhere, her weather egg useless against a mob.
And you? You just froze.
The sounds of the riot, the shouts, the thuds, began to warp, twisting into the familiar cacophony of another time. The smell of fresh blood, now mingling with the scent of spilled produce, brought it all rushing back. Your brother’s face, pale and streaked with dirt and blood, swam before your eyes. The gurgle in his throat. The final, desperate plea. "Promise me… promise me you'll stop. Stop this… this bloodshed. Live, little sister. Live for peace." The memory was a physical weight, pressing down on your chest, stealing your breath. Your hands, the ones that had cradled his dying form, felt cold, clammy, and useless.
You were vaguely aware of the chaos around you, a swirling vortex of anger and fear, but it was distant, muffled by the roaring in your ears. Your gaze was fixed on nothing, seeing everything. The way the light caught a splash of blood on the cobblestones, mirroring the dark stain on his shirt. The panicked look in Chopper’s eyes as he was shoved, reminding you of the fear in your brother's before it faded. The sheer, overwhelming helplessness of that night, replicated here, now.
"Y/N! What are you doing?!"
The shout pierced through the fog of your memories, a sharp, insistent demand. It was Usopp, his face streaked with dirt, his nose a little crooked from a glancing blow. He was struggling, pinned against a wall by a burly fisherman, but his eyes, wide with fear and exasperation, were fixed on you.
"Even if you're weak, Y/N, now is not the time to freeze and not do anything! Just do something! Anything! Throw a punch, trip someone, scream!" His voice cracked with a mixture of fear and genuine frustration. He probably meant it to snap you out of it, to shake you into action, but his words, especially "weak," struck a raw nerve, twisting the knife in the wound of your past.
The world tilted. Your brother’s dying words echoed, demanding peace, demanding an end to violence. But then, the faces of your crew flashed before you—Luffy, struggling to stand, Zoro grimacing in pain, Nami yelling in distress. Their faces, trusting and desperate.
The promise you made to your departed brother, a sacred vow etched in blood and tears, warred with the silent, desperate plea of your found family. To fight, or not to fight? To embrace the killer within for their sake, or to honor the peace you had so painstakingly built? The choice was agonizing, a chasm opening beneath your feet, demanding you leap one way or the other. You stood there, trembling, caught between a sacred past and a terrifying present.
You couldn't let anyone die. Not again. The thought, cold and sharp, sliced through the fog of memory, shattering the chains of your promise. The terrified look on Usopp’s face, the strained grunts of Zoro, the desperate shouts of Nami—they were alive, right now, and they were in danger. The ghost of your brother’s fading breath was overridden by the visceral need to protect.
Something deep within you snapped.
The world around you, once muffled and distant, sharpened into brutal focus. Every angry face, every flailing limb, every shouted threat became a target, a problem to be solved. The tremor in your hands vanished, replaced by a terrifying steadiness. The gentle, peaceful persona you had meticulously built over years disintegrated, revealing the chilling efficiency beneath.
Your first move was instinctual, a blur of motion. A burly man, still grappling with Usopp, suddenly gasped, his eyes wide with shock as he was effortlessly lifted and then sent sprawling with a single, precise strike to his midsection. He landed with a sickening thud, unconscious before he hit the ground. You didn’t even look at him.
You moved like a predator, a silent, deadly force. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. Your fists became weapons, each strike delivered with devastating power. A flurry of blows, so fast they were almost invisible, connected with a group trying to overwhelm Sanji. There was the sharp crack of bone, the sudden collapse of bodies, a choked gasp here, a pained groan there. You weren't just fighting; you were destroying.
A man lunged at Chopper, a heavy wooden club raised. Before he could bring it down, you were there. Your hand shot out, catching his wrist with an iron grip. There was a faint pop as something dislocated, and then, with a terrifyingly casual twist, you spun him around, using his momentum to slam him headfirst into a nearby fruit stand. The stand splintered, fruit exploding on impact, and the man slumped, unmoving amidst the wreckage.
Your movements were fluid, graceful, yet utterly brutal. Each punch was designed to incapacitate, each kick to shatter. There was no anger on your face, no fear, no relief—just a chilling devoidness of emotion. Your eyes, once soft and empathetic, were now flat, vacant pools, reflecting the chaos without absorbing it. You moved through the mob like a reaper, a terrifying force of nature. The sounds of the villagers’ shouts began to turn to whimpers, then to silence, as those who hadn't fallen scrambled away in terror.
The Straw Hats, moments ago struggling, slowly began to realize the shift. Luffy, finally free, stared, his rubber limbs frozen mid-stretch. Zoro’s eyes, usually so sharp, widened in a mixture of awe and something akin to fear. Sanji, usually so quick to defend you, now watched, mouth agape, as you effortlessly dispatched three men with a rapid succession of strikes that were almost too fast to follow. Nami clutched her head, her face pale, as she saw a woman go down with a single, precise strike to the temple, utterly silent. Chopper whimpered, burying his face in Usopp's side, while Usopp himself stood paralyzed, his earlier taunts dying in his throat. Even Robin’s serene expression cracked, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes as she witnessed the cold, efficient savagery you unleashed.
You were hovered in blood, not your own, but the splashes and smears from those you had incapacitated. Your clothes were untidy, your hair a little disheveled, but there was not a drop of sweat on your brow, not a hint of exertion in your posture. You stood amidst the broken bodies and scattered debris, the quiet returning to the square, save for the distant cries of a few fleeing villagers.
The Straw Hats stared at you, their breathing ragged, their own fights now over. The air was thick with the scent of fear, and a new, unsettling aura. You were still their Y/N, the quiet, kind crewmate. But now, they had seen the shadow, the terrifying truth of the killer who had laid dormant. And it was scary.
The square was eerily silent now, save for the distant sounds of alarmed shouts from those villagers who had retreated, too terrified to approach. Some lay groaning on the ground, others were utterly still. They looked at you, the figure now covered in the blood of their family, friends, their eyes wide with unadulterated horror. You were no longer the quiet, unassuming visitor. You were a nightmare made manifest.
It was in this chilling tableau that the Straw Hats saw you commit the final, grotesque act that solidified their terror. A lone villager, bolder or perhaps more desperate than the rest, had stumbled out from behind an overturned stall, a small, desperate cry on his lips. In his hand was a transponder snail, already open, its receiver crackling to life, no doubt attempting to summon help. You turned, a slow, deliberate movement, your eyes locking onto the small device. There was no rage, no malice, just an almost detached calculation.
Before anyone could react, you moved. With a frighteningly swift and precise motion, your hand shot out, not towards the man, but towards the snail. Your fingers closed around the device, crushing it with a sickening crunch. The small receiver let out a final, distorted squeal before dying. Then, with the same casual ease, you brought your fist down, the now-shattered pieces of the transponder snail still embedded in your knuckles, directly onto the man's temple. It was a single, clean strike. He crumpled, unconscious, a faint smear of blood blossoming on the cobblestones. The act was so quick, so devoid of emotion, that it was utterly chilling.
That was the moment the Straw Hats knew. This wasn't just a fight. This was something else entirely. Luffy, his face pale, was the first to murmur, "Run."
Just as you took another step towards a cowering figure huddled behind a well, Zoro moved. He was there in an instant, his hand clamping around your arm, his grip surprisingly gentle yet firm. "That's enough, Y/N," he rasped, his voice low, a mix of warning and something akin to a desperate plea. He didn't ask, he didn't question. He simply pulled you away from your soon-to-be victim, guiding you with an almost desperate urgency.
"Everyone! To the Sunny!" Nami shrieked, already turning and sprinting back the way they came.
The rest of the crew didn't need to be told twice. Luffy, shaking himself from his stupor, bounded ahead. Sanji scooped up a still-dazed Chopper, sprinting after him. Usopp, his earlier fear replaced by a new, profound terror, scrambled after them, Brook hot on his heels. Robin, her eyes still on you, moved with a quiet, efficient speed, her expression unreadable.
You offered no resistance as Zoro pulled you. Your movements were still fluid, your body coiled, but you allowed him to guide you, your eyes still distant, unfocused on the fleeing forms of the villagers, or even on the worried glances of your crew. You were a weapon sheathed, but the terrifying capability still hummed beneath the surface.
As you ran through the stunned silence of the town, the image of your bloody knuckles, the shattered snail, and the unconscious man echoed in the minds of the Straw Hats. They had always thought they knew you. But now, as they fled with the living ghost of a killer in their midst, they knew they had been terribly, terribly wrong.
The dash back to the Sunny was a blur of ragged breaths and pounding feet. The salty sea air, usually so invigorating, now felt heavy, thick with unspoken questions. As the first of the crew scrambled aboard, Franky emerged from the lower deck, grease smeared on his face, a wrench in hand.
"You guys are back early, what—" he began, his booming voice cutting off abruptly as his eyes swept over the group. His gaze snagged on Luffy's slightly bruised face, Usopp's trembling hands, Nami's wide, fearful eyes, and then, finally, landed on you.
You stood on the deck, a silent, stark figure, drenched in blood that wasn’t your own. Streaks of crimson marred your clothes, flecked your hair, even stained the skin of your face and hands. It was a visceral, horrifying sight. Franky’s jaw dropped, the wrench clattering to the deck with a metallic clang. "Holy—" he managed, his voice barely a whisper.
Before anyone else could react, Zoro’s arm was around you, a firm, almost possessive grip that guided you aboard. He didn't say a word, just steered you towards the grass deck, the softest spot on the ship, and gently, but firmly, put you somewhere to sit. You offered no resistance, your body moving with a strange, disconnected compliance.
You were dull. Zoned out. Your eyes, still wide and empty, stared blankly at the railing, seeing nothing. Your mind was not there, lost in some terrifying echo of the past, or perhaps, simply numb.
Chopper was the first to approach, his small hooves padding softly on the deck. "Y-Y/N?" he whispered, his voice trembling. He held out a clean cloth, but you didn't react. It was Nami who gently took the cloth from him and, with a sigh that was more tremor than breath, began to clean you up. She started with your hands, wiping away the dark, sticky residue, her movements slow and deliberate, as if unsure of how much pressure to apply.
Sanji, for once, was silent, hovering nearby, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a profound unease. He watched Nami, then you, a cigarette dangling unlit from his lips. Luffy, having finally caught his breath, plopped down beside you, cross-legged, his usual boisterousness completely absent. He tried a shaky, forced smile. "Hey, Y/N... d-did you see that guy fly when Usopp hit him with a Pop Green? He went, like, whoosh!" His attempt at a joke fell flat, the silence on the deck stretching, thick with unspoken questions and profound worry.
Usopp, still a little pale, tried too. "Y-yeah! And remember when I tripped that big guy? Classic! You know, I'm pretty sure I heard him say 'owwie'!" He even forced a nervous chuckle, but his eyes darted to you, then to the blood-stained deck, then quickly away.
Robin sat a little distance away, observing, her gaze unblinking. She didn't speak, but her posture, usually so relaxed, held a subtle tension. Brook stood beside her, his skull tilted, a silent, profound sorrow in his empty eye sockets. Franky, meanwhile, was still staring, his large hands clenching and unclenching.
No one dared to directly ask what had happened, not when faced with your utter unresponsiveness. They just hovered, their worry palpable, a heavy blanket descending upon the ship. You remained still, a statue carved from trauma, while the kind hands of your crew tried to wipe away the crimson evidence of the monster you had unleashed.
The quiet hum of the Sunny’s engines filled the tense silence, broken only by the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. Nami had finished cleaning your hands, but the blood on your clothes remained, a stark testament to the sudden, brutal shift in your demeanor. Your eyes were still distant, unfocused.
It was Robin who stepped in. She knelt beside you, her movements fluid and unhurried, her voice a soft, steady murmur that cut through the lingering shock. "Y/N," she began, her tone gentle, almost hypnotic. "You did what you had to do. You protected your crew." Her words were a balm, not an accusation. She understood the unspoken truth, the desperate need that had driven you. "It was a difficult situation. They were going to hurt us, weren't they?" A pause, allowing the words to sink in. "You ended the conflict swiftly. Efficiently." She reached out, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, a gesture of quiet understanding. "You've been through a lot, Y/N. It was a rough fight. You should take a shower and get some rest."
You didn't speak, didn't make eye contact. You simply nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. Then, with a quiet sigh, you rose, your blood-stained clothes clinging to you, and turned towards the women's quarters, presumably to take a shower and find the rest Robin had suggested. The door clicked shut softly behind you, leaving the rest of the crew in a stunned, uncomfortable silence.
The moment the door closed, the dam broke.
"Holy crap," Usopp whispered, his voice trembling. He clapped a hand over his mouth, his face a sickly green. "Did you guys see her? That guy... the one with the snail... she just... she just..." He couldn't finish the sentence, a shiver wracking his body. "We don't kill people! Not like that! We just rough them up, maybe break a few bones, but innocents?! She just... she was like a demon!"
Luffy, unusually subdued, was sprawled on the deck, staring up at the mast. "She was strong," he murmured, almost to himself, a hint of awe in his voice, but also something else – a flicker of confusion. "Really strong."
Sanji finally lit his cigarette, taking a long, shaky drag. "She protected us, you idiots," he snapped, though his own voice lacked its usual fire. "They were going to hurt Nami-san and Robin-chan! Y/N did what was necessary." He exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowed. "You saw how they were closing in. We were holding back too much."
"But... the way she did it," Chopper whispered, still clinging to Usopp. "Her eyes... they were empty. Like she wasn't even there."
Zoro, who had been quietly wiping blood from his own clothes, finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly. "She’s always been like that, I bet." Everyone turned to him. "Just saw it for the first time. The real Y/N." He met their gazes, his own steady. "She's not weak. Never was. And she didn't just hurt those guys. She ended them. Fast."
"That's what scares me, you moss-head!" Nami exclaimed, pacing agitatedly. "It was so... cold! We don't fight like that! We're pirates, not murderers of innocent people!"
"They weren't innocent the moment they started attacking us with murderous intent," Sanji retorted, though his defense felt a little hollow, even to him.
Robin, ever calm, finally added, "Y/N has always been a gentle soul. But as I said before, some books are written in a language only a few can understand. Perhaps we've only just begun to read this one." Her gaze lingered on the women's quarters door. There was concern in her eyes, yes, but also a profound, unsettling curiosity.
The air hung heavy with their fear, their concern, and the dawning realization that the quiet, gentle Y/N they knew held a terrifying, deadly secret. What did this mean for their crew? For her? The silence that followed was filled with unspoken questions, questions that, for now, had no answers.
Back in the women's quarters, the small, enclosed space felt oppressive. You stood before the sink, your reflection a distorted mess in the fogged mirror, the crimson smears on your clothes a shocking contrast to the pale fabric. Your fingers, still trembling slightly, fumbled with the buttons of your shirt, then the clasp of your trousers. Each piece of bloodied clothing fell to the floor in a silent heap, a grim testament to the violence you had just unleashed. The cool air on your skin was a stark reminder of the heat that had flared within you.
You stepped into the shower, the spray immediately hot against your skin. You watched, mesmerized, as the water sluiced over your body, carrying with it the red, swirling down the drain in a macabre dance. It was mesmerizing, and horrifying. With each streak of crimson that vanished, another image surfaced, sharp and unwelcome.
The water became the rain on your island, cold and relentless, washing away the blood of the fallen. You saw your brother, his eyes wide and fading, the dark stain on his chest spreading, mirroring the blood now swirling around your feet. You heard his gasping breath, the wet, desperate sound that haunted your every quiet moment. The cries of your island, the screams of the innocent, the metallic tang of fear and death in the air – it all came rushing back, not as distant memories, but as a visceral, present reality.
Your breath hitched. The walls of the shower seemed to close in, the steam thick and suffocating. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the images persisted, playing on the inside of your eyelids: the flash of steel, the desperate scramble, the way the light had caught the glint of a government soldier's bayonet. Your own hands, so small then, stained with a lifetime of violence that had started far too young.
A choked sob tore from your throat, raw and painful. You pressed your palms against the tiled wall, trying to steady yourself, but your legs felt like water. The sobs escalated, rattling through your chest, stealing your breath in ragged gasps. Your vision blurred with tears, the hot water scalding your skin unnoticed. You slid down the wall, collapsing onto the shower floor, curling into a tight ball.
"No… no…" you gasped, the words thin, reedy, lost in the roar of the water. Your chest tightened, a crushing weight making it impossible to draw air. You clawed at your throat, desperate for a breath that wouldn't come. Your body trembled uncontrollably, wracked by the force of the panic attack, a culmination of years of suppressed trauma finally breaking free. The peace you had built around yourself, the quiet, gentle facade, shattered, leaving only the terrified, broken girl who had seen too much, fought too hard, and made a promise she couldn't keep. The blood continued to wash off, but the indelible stains on your soul remained.
The porcelain gleamed, reflecting the harsh fluorescent light of the shower stall. With a raw, guttural cry, you punched the wall, the impact jarring your already trembling body. The dull thud echoed in the small space, a physical manifestation of the turmoil raging within. Sliding down the tiled wall, you collapsed onto the cold, wet floor, your hand pressed hard against your heart, as if to physically contain the frantic drumbeat against your ribs. You broke the promise to your brother—you… you broke it. The words, unspoken, screamed in your mind, each syllable a fresh wound. The image of his fading eyes burned behind your own, accusing and sorrowful.
Sometime later, the sobs subsided, leaving you emotionally hollowed out. Your skin was pruned from the long shower, the water now cold. You mechanically dried yourself, pulling on the softest, most comfortable clothes you owned, careful to avoid the bloodied pile on the floor. Every movement felt heavy, labored.
You left the shower room, the soft glow of the hallway lights a welcome, gentle contrast to the harshness of the shower stall. The ship was quiet, the crew’s earlier agitated voices having faded into hushed murmurs. You didn't stop to listen, didn't want to. Your only goal was the familiar sanctuary of your bed.
You slipped into your bunk, the mattress yielding softly beneath your weight. Staring up at the wooden ceiling, you lay perfectly still, your mind a churning maelstrom of thoughts. The ceiling boards, usually a comforting pattern, seemed to shift and blur, each plank a record of your fractured past. The weight of your broken promise pressed down on you, heavy and inescapable. You had chosen your crew, chosen to fight, but the cost felt astronomical. The killer, buried deep for so long, had clawed its way back to the surface. And now, you didn't know how to put it back.
Sleep, when it finally came, offered no refuge. It was a descent into the very hell you had so desperately tried to outrun. The darkness behind your eyelids coalesced, morphing into the familiar, agonizing scene. You were there again, on the war-torn streets of your island, the cacophony of battle a deafening roar. In your arms, impossibly heavy, lay your brother. His blood, so much of it, seeped into your clothes, warm and terrifying. His eyes, once bright with youthful dreams, were clouded, fixed on you with an unbearable sadness.
"You promised, little sister," he rasped, his voice a ghost of its former strength, yet piercingly clear in the nightmare. "You promised to stop the bloodshed."
His grip on your hand, so weak in reality, was impossibly strong now, holding you captive in your guilt. The light in his eyes flickered, dimming with each word, each accusation. "You brought the monster back, didn't you? The one you buried. The one that craved… violence." His chest hitched, a terrible, wet sound. "Look at what you've done. You're a killer, Y/N. A killer."
Your throat was raw, but no sound escaped. You wanted to beg, to explain, to plead for his understanding. You wanted to tell him it was for them, for your new family, but the words were choked by a wave of suffocating shame. His face, so young, so full of innocent trust, twisted in pain, not from his wounds, but from your betrayal.
"How could you?" he whispered, his voice fading now, barely a breath. "After everything… after I died for peace… you brought the war back into your hands. You're horrible, Y/N. You broke your promise. You broke me."
His eyes closed, and his hand went limp in yours. The life drained from him, leaving behind only the cold, heavy weight of your failure. The battlefield around you seemed to mock your grief, the sounds of distant gunshots morphing into the rhythmic thud of your own heart, beating a frantic tattoo against your ribs.
You awoke with a gasp, bolting upright in your bunk, your body drenched in a cold sweat. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The silence of the women's quarters was a jarring contrast to the phantom screams of your nightmare. Disoriented, you blinked, trying to orient yourself, your mind still caught in the agonizing loop of accusation and regret. Through the small porthole, the morning light shone, a stark, unwelcome brightness against the darkness of your shattered sleep. The nightmare was over, but its chilling message lingered, a fresh wound in your already tormented soul.
The lingering chill of the nightmare clung to you, a cold skin you couldn't shed. The morning light, usually a gentle comfort, felt harsh, exposing the raw edges of your turmoil. Every muscle ached with the tension of your restless sleep, and your throat felt tight, still raw from the phantom cries. Yet, the rumble in your stomach was undeniable, a grounding reminder of mundane needs.
Pushing back the covers, you swung your legs over the side of the bunk. The floor felt cool beneath your feet. You dressed quickly, pulling on clean, simple clothes that felt like a uniform against the chaos of your mind. As you stepped out of the women's quarters, the familiar scent of Sanji’s cooking drifted from the kitchen – eggs, bacon, fresh bread – a comforting aroma that warred with the acrid memory of blood and panic.
You could hear them, the hushed, tired tones of the morning Straw Hats. The usual boisterous energy was muted, replaced by a quiet somberness. Still, Luffy's voice eventually rang out, though even his usual exuberance was softened, a little less joyful than normal. He was probably already demanding extra portions.
With each step towards the kitchen, the weight in your chest seemed to grow. You knew what awaited you – the questions in their eyes, the unspoken fear. The knowledge of what they had seen, what you had done, settled like a cold stone in your gut.
You finally made it to the kitchen doorway, stepping into the warm, inviting space. The clatter of plates, the soft murmur of voices, all of it went silent the moment they saw you. Every head turned. Luffy stopped mid-chew, a piece of bacon dangling from his mouth. Usopp swallowed hard. Nami’s hand paused on her teacup. Chopper looked up from his plate, his wide, innocent eyes filled with an unreadable mixture of concern and apprehension. Zoro, who had been leaning against the counter, simply watched you, his gaze steady, perceptive.
You didn't meet their eyes. The silence was deafening, thicker than any fog. You moved to your usual spot at the long table, the simple act of sitting down feeling like an immense effort. You could feel their gazes on you, a collective apprehension that prickled at your skin. Your own emotions were a tangled mess – a profound weariness, a deep shame, and a chilling sense of isolation.
The quiet stretched, taut and uncomfortable, until Sanji broke it. He approached you, his footsteps unusually soft, a plate piled high with a perfect omelet, crispy bacon, and golden toast in his hands. His usual flourish was subdued, his voice a gentle murmur as he placed the plate before you. "Bonjour, ma petite fleur," he said, his French endearment and the familiar cute pet name offered in a quieter, almost hesitant tone than usual. "Eat up. You'll need your strength." He didn't linger, just gave a small, concerned nod before returning to the stove, leaving you with the comforting scent of food and the still heavy weight of their silence.
The fork felt heavy in your hand, each movement a deliberate act. You brought a small piece of omelet to your mouth, the flavor surprisingly muted on your tongue. The silence in the kitchen was thick, almost suffocating, broken only by the faint clinking of cutlery from other crew members who, like you, had resumed eating with an almost desperate normalcy.
Then, Luffy broke it. His voice, usually so full of boundless cheer, was uncharacteristically quiet, yet utterly blunt. He wasn't looking at you, but staring at his own plate, as if the words were too heavy to deliver while meeting your gaze.
"Y/N," he began, and your heart hitched. "Yesterday… you were so strong. Really, really strong. But you always said you wouldn't fight. You refused to touch a weapon. So… why is that? Why now?"
The question hung in the air, raw and personal. You could feel Nami stiffen beside you, ready to intervene. "Luffy!" she hissed, a sharp reprimand in her tone, but before she could launch into a full scolding, you spoke.
Your voice was raspy, a little shaky from disuse and the lingering emotional strain, but it was clear enough to halt Nami. You didn't look up, instead focusing on the swirling patterns in your half-eaten omelet.
"I made a promise," you began, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "A long time ago. To my brother." You paused, the image of his dying face flashing behind your eyes. "He was hurt. Shot. We were losing. Our island… it was a war. I was just a kid, but I fought. I was… good at it. Too good." A shiver ran through you, a cold memory. "He made me promise to stop. To never fight again. To live for peace." You finally lifted your gaze, meeting the stunned, silent faces of your crew. Your eyes, still tired, held a profound weariness. "Yesterday… I broke it."
Utter silence descended upon the kitchen, heavier and more profound than before. Luffy’s half-chewed bacon fell from his mouth unnoticed. Nami’s hand hovered, forgotten, above her teacup. Every eye in the room was fixed on you, the silence stretching taut, filled with the echo of your confession. They were processing your words, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. Now, it all made sense. How you acted before—the flinching from blood, the refusal of weapons, the quiet retreats—it was all a desperate shield, a fragile barrier against a terrifying past.
You, however, just continued to eat, picking at your omelet with a practiced calm that belied the turmoil within. Your gaze, however, was drawn inevitably to your hands, resting on the table. Your knuckles were raw, abraded, and still a little swollen from punching people, a stark visual testament to the violence you had unleashed.
"So… that's why," Chopper whispered, his voice small, filled with a heartbreaking understanding. "You were afraid of being that person again."
Usopp, who had been nervously picking at his bread, finally dropped it. "You… you fought in a war? When you were a kid?" His voice was laced with a new kind of respect, tinged with horror. "That's… that's insane."
Sanji, for once, didn't snap. He simply sighed, running a hand through his hair. "A promise made to a dying brother… that's a heavy burden, Y/N-chan." His voice was soft, laced with a rare tenderness. "No wonder you never touched a weapon."
Luffy, surprisingly, was the first to break through the somber atmosphere with a more characteristic declaration, though his usual boundless cheer was still tempered by gravity. "But you chose us, didn't you, Y/N?" He grinned, a wide, hopeful smile that somehow cut through the tension. "You broke your promise for us! That means we're important to you, right?"
Nami, ever the pragmatist, but with genuine worry creasing her brow, added, "It must have been so hard for you to do that, Y/N. To go back on something so personal." She paused, then glanced at your knuckles. "Are you… are you okay now?"
Zoro, who had remained silent, watching you intently, finally pushed himself off the counter. He walked over and clapped a heavy hand on your shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort from the taciturn swordsman. "Don't look like that," he grunted, his voice gruff but not unkind. "You did what was necessary. We're your crew. We fight for each other. No apologies needed."
You didn't respond to their words, just kept your eyes on your battered hands. The weight of their understanding, the absence of judgment, was almost as overwhelming as the nightmare itself. They saw you, truly saw you, for the first time. And in their faces, you saw not fear, but a complex tapestry of concern, empathy, and a new, deeper respect. The silence now was different; it was filled with acceptance.
The rest of breakfast continued in a strangely comforting silence. The tension had eased, replaced by a shared understanding. No one pressed you further, allowing you to eat your fill in peace. You could still feel their glances, but now they were laced with curiosity and a newfound respect, not fear.
When you finished, you quietly gathered your plate and fork, washing them meticulously at the sink. The simple, domestic act was a small anchor in the storm of your emotions. Without a word, you then headed out onto the deck, needing the open air, the vast expanse of the sea.
A Day of Quiet Understanding
The sun was high when you stepped out, casting a warm glow across the Thousand Sunny. The crew, in their various states of morning routine, seemed to gravitate towards you, their interactions subtle yet significant, each revealing a deeper layer of their acceptance.
Luffy was the first to bounce over, a wide, excited grin now firmly back on his face. "Hey, Y/N! You were amazing yesterday! Super strong! I didn't know you could do that!" He flexed his arm. "Your punches were even stronger than mine, probably!" His honesty was disarming, devoid of any lingering fear. You just offered a small, tired smile in return.
Zoro approached you later, while you were leaning against the railing, staring out at the waves. He didn't say much, just leaned beside you, mirroring your pose. "So," he grunted, "you just held all that back, huh? Impressive." He then gave you a rare, almost imperceptible nod of approval. "Guess we were wrong about you preferring to stay on the sidelines." His words, for Zoro, were a profound compliment.
Nami found you by the ship's helm. She touched your arm gently. "I'm sorry, Y/N. For not understanding." Her voice was soft, laced with genuine remorse. "It must have been incredibly difficult to carry that burden all these years. And for us to just... not see it." She squeezed your arm. "You don't have to explain anything else. Just know we're here for you."
Later, while you were helping Chopper organize his medical supplies, he looked up at you, his eyes wide and earnest. "Y/N, you're not scary! You were protecting us. Like a doctor protects patients! It was just… very powerful." He then added shyly, "If you ever… need to talk about it, I'm here."
Usopp, still a little shaken but trying to act tough, approached you with a hesitant smile. "Y-Y/N! So, uh, I heard... I mean, I saw you take down that guy with the snail! That was... that was like something out of one of my stories! But, uh, way more real." He scratched the back of his head. "I guess I was wrong about you being more scared than me, huh? You're actually, like, super brave for holding back all that power."
As you helped Sanji chop vegetables for lunch, he kept glancing at you, a new thoughtfulness in his movements. "To live with that kind of strength, and choose peace… that takes a different kind of power, Y/N-chan," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically reflective. "It must have been excruciating yesterday. You did well."
Even though he wasn't there, Franky had obviously heard the full story. He found you near the mast, inspecting a repaired sail. "So, Y/N!" he boomed, a wide, enthusiastic grin on his face. "Even though I wasn't there, I heard you went SUPER yesterday! Taking down all those guys with just your fists! That's gotta be one of the most manly things I've ever heard! We were totally wrong thinking you just stayed out of fights 'cause you didn't know how!" His usual boisterousness was a welcome return to normalcy, devoid of any judgment.
Later in the afternoon, Robin joined you in the library, a quiet presence by your side. She simply smiled, a knowing, gentle expression. "The truth always reveals itself, Y/N. And it is rarely as simple as it first appears. It seems your past has a depth none of us truly appreciated." She didn't press for details, just offered her silent, unwavering acceptance.
As evening approached, Brook approached you on the deck, his signature "Yohohoho!" a little softer than usual. "Y/N-san, to carry such a burden, such skill, and choose not to wield it… that is truly admirable. Though, I must admit, I was quite surprised to see such ferocity from someone so serene. It simply goes to show, one should never judge a book by its cover, or a lady by her lack of fighting, yohohoho!"
By the time the stars began to pepper the darkening sky, a sense of quiet calm had settled over you. The raw edges of your panic attack had softened, replaced by a profound weariness, but also, surprisingly, a hint of peace. They understood. They didn't fear you. And for the first time in a very long time, the heavy weight of your secret felt a little lighter.
I was gonna send you an ask about how you are doing because you have not been on in a little but I just saw your resent post so I’m glad your doing better maybe? Take some water too. Okayyyy
Heyyy!! Sorry, I haven’t been online a whole lot, and like kinda happened again but I am working on fics because my creativity is coming back again, and thank you for asking! And you too, take care of yourself and make sure to drink n eat
