#<- just created this so i can do this once a month :)

[gatsby-20]

I Know I Was Wrong

When all was said and done, Lando Norris was left with just one question.  Where did it all go wrong?

Part 1: I Will Survive But I'll Never Recover

(a/n: Not sure if anyone will read this...or if anyone will like it, but who knows. It's a seven part series that I just finished writing, so posts once per week. Wrote this all because I heard Sparks (Dakota Version) and folded so incredibly fast. Major hurt/comfort vibes folks - and only happy endings so not to worry. Chapter title is from Franklin House. Spotify Playlist can be found here. 🌼)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore. 

Lando had never known a world without you in it. 

Your Mum’s had been best friends, so when Cisca had moved to the UK, your mum had gone with her. They got married together. And when they realised that they were going to have kids together, the joy only multiplied. 

They hadn’t planned to get pregnant together, but as luck would have it, you and Lando were just a month apart in age. The two women took full advantage of it, always putting the two of you into the same activities, play groups, schools. And thus, the two of you were inexplicably linked. 

Summers were spent playing together in the garden, all of the Norris siblings alongside you and your brother as you all ran around, tumbling over one another. Winters were spent with aggressive snowball fights and whining about doing your schoolwork in between Christmas’ spent together. 

When Lando thought of his childhood, you were the first thing he thought of. 

He remembered when his Mum forced him to try horseback riding, and you announced that you were going with him. Everyone had raised their eyebrows in surprise, because you had never once shown any indication that you wanted to go. But where Lando went, you followed. Didn’t matter if you were even smaller than he was as a kid. If he was small as a child, then you were positively tiny. 

But lord, you never let that stop you. Lando had hated horseback riding, but he’d never laughed harder in his life than watching you sit in the saddle, your feet barely hitting the end of the saddle flaps. The look on your face was pure determination, as though you could will the horse into walking just by thinking about it hard enough. 

When Lando traded horses for horsepower, you dragged yourself along with him. Not to race in the karts, but just to be there. 

You weren’t a fan of the karting scene. You hated the smell and how noisy it was, the chaos of it all. But you showed up with a smile on your face for Lando, just as he did at your horseback riding competitions. You supported one another. It was all you two had ever known. 

You would sit on the outskirts of the track while Lando would race and pick daisies. When you had collected a sufficient amount, you would plop down near Lando’s set up and get to work. You’d split the base of the stem with your finger nail, and carefully thread another flower through the hole you had created. 

Your forehead would crease with concentration, your tongue poking out with that quiet determination that Lando had grown to easily associate with you. It didn’t matter if it was a school assignment, a flower bracelet, or riding a horse - you approached everything the same. You gave it your all, one hundred percent concentration. 

He had always loved that about you. 

When he was finished with his races, he would tug his helmet off and run over to you, where you would proudly produce daisy chain bracelets to him. 

It didn’t matter if he came in first place or last place, you were always there with a smile so wide it seemed to split half of your face open. You never cared about the karting, but you cared about him. 

You were two peas in a pod, as your Mums loved to say. 

Lando couldn’t entirely remember when it went from something strictly platonic to something…more. 

He recalled the way that his friends would seem so confused by his friendship with you. 

To their credit, on paper it didn’t make much sense. You loved school, prided yourself on being well put together. Not in a pretentious way, but just clean and coordinated. You never tried too hard to be something you weren’t. You didn’t care much about sports outside of horses, you didn’t like video games or anything that might create some sort of common thread in a friendship. 

But all Lando knew was that when you became animated you talked with your hands, you listened more patiently than anyone he knew, and that you placed your hand on his knee when you knew he was nervous but too embarrassed to say anything about it. You could take one look at him and just…know. You’d grown up together, could read one another like the back of your hands. 

He knew that when he wanted to play a dumb prank, you were the first one he would go to. You’d roll your eyes at least seven times, but by the end you would be giggling so hard you’d have to lean into him to stay upright. Even when you both went through the gangly, awkward teenage years, there wasn’t anyone he thought was more beautiful than you when you laughed like that. 

It hadn’t hit him all at once, the realisation that he loved you. He didn’t understand why people called it ‘falling’ in love. The idea that he fell - something unintentional - was a connotation he never understood. There was nothing accidental about his love for you. It was conscious and overwhelming and warm - never inadvertent. 

All he knew was that he felt warm when you looked at him with that smile that seemed to be reserved just for him, and his stomach did flips when you leaned into him to help him correct his maths homework. 

There was no surprise in your expression when he first kissed you for the first time. Your cheeks instantly flushed, giving away your nerves and excitement. Lando loved that about you, how you would blush furiously around him, whenever he held you, whenever he said something romantic. It felt like physical proof that he had the same effect on you that you had on him. 

He was sixteen, unsure of everything about himself except for the fact that it was always going to be you. 

And as he grew into himself, as he grew in his karting career, people began to take notice. There was pressure and expectations, sponsors and money being thrown around. 

But in the middle of all of it, there you were. Grounding in a way that other people didn’t really understand but worked for Lando. You weren’t calm, not exactly, but you were bright. Positive in a way that didn’t feel patronizing. 

Then he made it into Formula 1. And there you were, just as you always had been. When he finished his first race, there were a million things he needed to do. He had meetings and debriefs and so much to do it nearly threatened to overwhelm him. But in between a debrief on tyre temperatures and a meeting with Will about corner four, you found him in the hallways of Mclaren. You caught him by the wrist, and when he turned to face you, he found that you had a sly smile on your face. 

He could see the pride in your eyes, and when he looked down he found that you were holding onto a daisy chain. All of the tension within his body snapped in an instant as a laugh bubbled out of him, and your smile grew tenfold. 

He tugged you into his arms, crushing you in a hug that you tried to wriggle out of half-heartedly. 

“You’re sweaty,” you scolded, scrunching your nose. 

“And I love you,” he replied just as easily. Not a question. Just a quiet fact, as though it were as simple as asking him the color of the sky or what day of the week it was. You melted into his arms in response. 

He pulled back, taking the daisy chain from you and slipping it carefully over his wrist. If anyone noticed the delicate flower bracelet in the rest of his meetings for the day, they didn’t mention it. 

“Thank you Daisy,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple as you let out a soft sigh. 

Daisy. 

He’d called you that ever since you first appeared with a flower bracelet in your hand. 

And in the years that followed, he called you that so often that people sometimes forgot your real name. 

When Lando first landed in Formula 1, you were in university. You had always said you were uninterested in completely giving up your life to follow Lando around, though sometimes in the dark you would admit to him how much you wanted to. 

But he would always press a gentle kiss to your lips and remind you that you were too brilliant to simply follow him around. 

So the two of you created a carefully balanced life. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t without its disagreements and arguments. Neither of you would change it for the world, though. 

You spent most of your time in your apartment in London going to school. Lando had bought a house in the suburbs of the city, just a touch too far from Woking to be practical, but he didn’t care if it meant he got to be closer to you when he was home. 

Whenever you could, you would fly out to race weekends to spend them with him. You became a commonplace in the paddock in just a few short months. 

Lando loved how you managed to endear yourself to everyone. Not just the staff at Mclaren, but everyone around. You were the person who stopped to appreciate the small things, the person who asked someone their name and how their day was going and really meant it. 

You charmed the other WAGs, not by an overly impressive fashion sense or modeling career, but by your quick wit and kindness. You were real, nonjudgmental in the best way. You treated Lewis Hamilton and the cafe staff with the same level of respect, and it showed in the way others treated you. 

Lando always thought you were a piece of real life in an area of the world where people lost themselves in the glamour and money. 

You kept him grounded, refusing to let him get a big ego just because he had a job that was seen as prestigious. You cared about the cars because he cared, and you committed yourself to understanding tyre degradation despite how boring you found it. But in reality, you cared about him. 

It didn’t matter if he came in second or sixteenth, as long as he got out of the car safely you were proud of him. You were the one to remind him that when he made a mistake, it was just that. A mistake. 

A failure on his part didn’t mean that he was a failure, you reminded him. It meant that he was learning. And when the media threatened to drown him, you dragged him to the surface with you. 

There was so much pressure on him at all times, but you never asked him to be someone who he was not. You wanted him long before he was important to the rest of the world, and he found respite in the life the two of you had created together. 

You never cared about the glitz or the glam. He had just been Lando to you all along, the same little boy who ran around in the garden with you jumping over the flower beds in the English sun. 

He had been right there when you lost your mother in your third year at university, not unexpected but still just as painful. He watched as Cisca tucked you and your brother under her, promising that she was still there for you. 

He was lucky to be surrounded by a family that loved you as deeply as he loved you, so even though you knew deep seated grief, you also knew what it was like to be loved wholly and completely. 

And god, he didn’t realise it was possible to love a person in the way he loved you. Every single day he woke up was a good one because you were in it. He loved getting to walk into the paddock with you, watching as you smiled and greeted what felt like every person who the two of you passed. 

He loved watching as everyone erupted in excitement when they saw you. How you settled peoples nerves, speaking to the new drivers in a gentle tone and an understanding expression. How the older drivers went to you when they needed a laugh and their ego knocked down a peg. How the other girls came to sit with you, laughing at your running commentary during qualifying. How people seemed relieved to see you, knowing that you would have the bandaid or tide pen they desperately needed. 

Lando had been sitting with you and Max Fewtrell once in the empty Mclaren hospitality when a girl slipped into the room. She clutched a clipboard in her hand as though it were an anchor, her eyes darting around the room with anxiety. She was clearly an intern, and shuffled toward the group of you as though you were going to swallow her whole. 

“Uh…Daisy?” She called out nervously, and that got all of your attention. 

Lando, out of pure surprise at hearing someone else call you that with full seriousness. You, because you responded to the name out of pure habit. And Max, because he couldn’t believe someone actually called you that. 

The latter let out a loud snort, and under the table Lando watched as you slammed your kitten heel down on his foot, causing him to nearly bite his tongue off.  

“Be nice you knobhead, she’s an intern,” you hissed under your breath as you turned in the same breath, sliding to get out of the booth and toward the girl. 

“Yes, what can I help with love?” You asked as you moved toward her, and Lando was left to chuckle under his breath as Max moaned about you having broken his foot. 

You were energetic and full of life, and Lando thought you were the most beautiful thing on this earth. He could care less about being surrounded by models or whatever, not when he had everything he could have ever wanted right in front of him. 

Sure, he loved to party, loved to dance and feel the taste of liquor on his tongue, but only when it meant he got to come home to you. You trusted him completely because he’d never given you any reason to doubt him, not when he was surrounded by the most gorgeous of women and still chose you over and over again. 

Never once did you try to change him or to pass judgement on his lifestyle. You made your opinions known, but never faulted him for when he chose differently. You might have been a bit quick to say ‘I told you so,’ but the driver honestly couldn’t fault you for that. 

He was the kind of person who loved with everything in him. He sat front row at your uni graduation, bought a cake when you got your first job, and flew for 26 hours just to see you for 8 hours on your birthday. He was hopelessly devoted to you in every way he knew how to be. 

It was a constant game of musical chairs with your schedules, but Lando couldn’t imagine it any other way. He loved you infinitely more at twenty four than he did at sixteen. He couldn’t imagine a life without you in it. 

Until he did have to imagine it. 

I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore. 

It’s complicated, but this isn’t working. 

I think it’s for the best if we break up. 

I’m sorry. 

And when all was said and done, Lando Norris was left with just one question.  

Where did it all go wrong? 

It was ridiculous. 

You and Lando had always worked hard to remain healthy in leading separate lives, never to get co-dependent. Sure, there was a lot of overlap in your lives, but you both had your own friends, your own homes, your own time. It wasn’t as though you spent every single second together. Neither of you were strangers to spending time alone. 

So how did he manage to find remnants of you everywhere? 

It had been four months since you had broken things off with him just before the 2024 season had started, and still it stole his breath away to remember that you were gone. 

He was a racing driver. 

He had some of the fastest reflexes in the world. 

But they never seemed to outrace the realisation that you no longer occupied the same space that you once did in his life. 

Waking up felt impossible, because for a moment everything would feel alright. 

And then he would remember. 

Without fail, it felt like a train had hit him straight in the chest. 

He wanted to be angry, to scream and yell and throw things and let himself be so incredibly mad at you. 

But the reality of it was that he was just sad. He seemed to measure time by you - that there was a time during you and the time after you. 

You’d never officially lived in his flat in London, always adamant that he be allowed to decorate his space. That didn’t mean that there weren’t reminders of you everywhere. A jumper thrown over a chair, a bottle of perfume in the bathroom, a pair of your shoes tucked in a closet he hadn’t opened in awhile. 

You disappeared from the paddock, and at first nobody noticed. You worked full time, and couldn’t always travel to races. But when March bled into April, and then May, the whispers started. 

Wondering where you were. Wondering why Lando seemed off. Wondering what had happened. 

Only one person had dared to ask him about it directly - an engineer for Williams. You had promised to get her a coffee this season, she had told Lando with a hopeful look in her eyes. It was something of an honor to spend time with you, considering your reputation was founded in compassion and humor. 

But he could only offer back a smile that didn’t even begin to reach his eyes, saying that he wasn’t sure when you’d be able to follow through on that promise. The question stung more than he cared to admit, but to be forced to answer it felt like he was being split in half.

Everyone had abstained from asking about you since. Reporters skirted around the issue, never exactly pressing directly onto the wound but prodding around it as if they hoped to make it bleed for their own personal gain. 

“How has life off the track been for you this season?” 

“Any changes in your personal life that have affected your racing?” 

“What are your plans for the break after the weekend?” 

All he could do was answer with polite smiles and half truths. 

He couldn’t very well explain to Sky Sports that half of his heart had been ripped out of his chest and walked away. 

Honestly, he wished it was as simple as that. 

You lived in the pauses of his thoughts, as though nestled in the quiet corners of his soul. The breakup wasn’t clean cut. It felt as though someone was slowly pulling the roots of his heart away. Every single day there seemed to be something that caused his chest to collapse all over again. 

Even the stupid media questions that got into his head. He knew that if it were about something else, you’d be there to give him a hug and remind him that it wasn’t his responsibility to feed their headlines. That he was allowed to protect himself. He couldn’t very well stop the questions, you’d said, but he could control how he handled them. 

But now you weren’t there, and he was left with nothing but space for reporters to rub salt into a never ending wound. 

There was a space you occupied in the depths of his heart that no one else had. That perhaps nobody else ever could. 

You showed up in all his unfinished thoughts, like a sentence he was never quite able to properly end. 

He tried, oh god did he try. 

His siblings had no idea where you were, or what you were doing. None of them dared to ask your brother Oliver what was going on. After your mothers passing, your father had remained distant and was no longer really a part of your life. Your social media was dead. He even went onto your LinkedIn, and aside from seeing that you hadn’t left your job, there was nothing. 

It was, by all accounts, a clean break. 

It didn’t feel like that for Lando. 

Whenever Lily accompanied Oscar to the paddock, Lando turned away. Max started showing up at more races, rearranging his schedule as though he knew that his best friend needed someone there. It wasn’t you, but it was something. 

He still raced. He raced well, in fact. The car was good this year, and he was on the top of his game. No more partying. No more drinking. He thought at first that it would help him forget, but all it made him do was remember. 

Lando wondered why you had even left in the first place. 

He thought maybe it was because of the racing. He knew that his life and schedule was a lot to work around. You had seemed a little more reserved in the weeks and months before the breakup, but nothing that indicated to him that it was something drastic or related to him. Maybe a bit more depressed. A little more sedentary. But you had always said it was work or that you were just tired. 

Did it mean you were tired of him? Tired of the lifestyle? Tired of the schedule? 

Tired of what? 

Christ, if he was going to lose you over his career, he was going to make it worthwhile. He drove like his life depended on it, always hungry for more. In his mind, he really had nothing left to lose. 

He won in Miami, and the high was incredible. But the crash was completely desolating. 

The season was a blur of victories that turned sour so quickly he almost started wishing that the success would vanish. At least the losses were aligned with his masochistic thoughts. 

By the time Belgium had arrived on the calendar, he was ready for the summer break. He was ready for the chance to go on vacation with his friends, to a place that was untouched by reminders of you everywhere he looked. 

He felt ragged, trying to recover from Hungary and the disaster with Oscar on top of everything. On top of the fact that no matter where he went in the paddock, disappointment at the loss of you seemed to follow him everywhere. He wasn’t the only one who felt your absence acutely. 

He missed the stupid edits people would make of the two of you together. People had always said you were soulmates, the class clowns of the paddock, the pair that people respected. 

Neither of you had a poker face, always pulling a face when something silly or ridiculous happened. He missed how you laughed at his stupid shit so hard that you told him your stomach ached. How he made dumb jokes just so that you would roll your eyes at him. How you would lay out on his massage table, stretching your limbs like a sleepy cat as he told you a story about whatever was happening that weekend. 

So yeah, as he walked around the paddock in Belgium, he wasn’t paying very good attention to his surroundings. 

Sometimes, it felt like the only way to get through the day. 

That was, until someone grabbed his wrist as he walked down the hallway on Saturday after qualifying. Delicate fingers wrapping just around the base of his hand, trying insistently to get his attention. 

For just a second, he was transported back to a time when that meant you were there for him. That he would turn, and find a flower crown in your hands, ready to be put atop his curls. 

He shook his head at the thought and turned around, though he had to admit he was unprepared for who he would find when he looked up. 

“Kayla?” The shock was clear if not on his face then in his tone. It was one of your best friends from university. Lando had always liked her, gentle and responsible in a very sweet way. The two of you were still close, Lando was sure of that, and he was wildly thrown to see her here. Standing in the Mclaren hallway in Belgium. She was wearing a VIP badge with his name on it, though he hadn’t a clue how she had acquired it. 

Or why she was here. 

“Lando…I–” she paused, swallowing thickly. It seemed like she was almost short circuiting, struggling to find the words. The racing driver fully stopped for a second, turning toward her as his eyebrows threaded together in confusion at her presence. 

“What are you doing here?” He questioned, and that finally seemed to be the thing that helped her along. 

“I need to talk to you tomorrow. After the race. It’s…important,” she said the words gently, as though they would be the thing to break him. Lando cocked his head to the side, trying to understand why Kayla was here. 

What were the implications of this? What did it mean for you? What did it mean for him? 

When he said nothing, Kayla let out a short sigh. There was desperation clearly twinged in it, and for a second Lando felt like the knife in his heart was being shoved in, just a little bit harder. 

“Lando…I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important,” she implored, and that certainly caught his attention. He held eye contact with her for several more seconds before he slowly began to nod. 

“Okay…okay. I’ll find you after the race, stay in the area when we’re done,” he finally acquiesced, watching as her shoulders slumped in relief. 

“Thank you,” she breathed out, sparing him one last glance before she turned around and left him standing there in the hallway, confused out of his mind. 

When he thought back on it, he knew that finding Kayla in the hallway, in that moment, is the start of when he realised that something was really, really wrong. 

Lando finished the race in fifth. Nothing to write home about, but he wasn’t about to complain. 

He’s fighting for a championship, supposedly. 

He’s not entirely sure he cares. 

Not when he walked out of his driver room and found Kayla standing outside inside the Mclaren hospitality, wringing her hands together. 

Lando couldn’t say he had the privilege of knowing Kayla exceptionally well. The brunette woman was lovely and had always been very kind to him. She had come with you to a few races, and he had spent time with her in London whenever he was there to see you. But she had always been your friend, and it had been months since he had seen her at all. 

When she noticed him walking toward her, she seemed equal parts relieved and somehow even more nervous. 

He’s fresh from the shower, clean clothes with his curls damp and messy, as though he hurried rather carelessly to dry them. Kayla looked around, and though the Mclaren hallways are rapidly emptying, there are still several people milling about. 

“Is there somewhere more…private that we could talk?” Kayla breathed out, and Lando studied her for a second before he nodded. The brunette trailed after the racing driver through the Mclaren garage, hospitality, outside and toward some benches out the back that appeared deserted. 

Lando sat across from Kayla, and he watched as she fidgeted for a moment. It seemed as though she was working up the courage to say something. 

“Kayl–” he began to speak only for her to cut him off abruptly. 

“Do you still love her?” She blurted out suddenly. The brunette paused for a moment, almost as though she couldn’t believe she had just asked the question. She didn’t take it back, though. 

It hung in the air, and Lando felt like all the oxygen had been stolen from his lungs. 

His eyes narrowed, and he stared at Kayla. 

Hard. 

“What?” His voice was low, and hated the way it wobbled despite his best attempts to stop it. 

But your friend had lost the timidness she had started the conversation with. 

“Answer the question,” she demanded. He was distinctly reminded of you as she spoke. You rarely held back from asking the hard questions. Didn’t matter who the person was. Very few people felt as though they could demand something of Lando Norris, the F1 driver. 

But in the same vein as you, Kayla didn’t care who he was or what his job was. 

“Yes, I still love her. I never stopped,” Lando’s voice was audibly softer when he answered. He was unprepared for the way Kayla closed her eyes tightly at his words. When she opened them, he noticed that there were tears springing to her eyes. 

“She made me promise not to come, but I can’t watch her waste away like this,” Kayla whispered as though it pained her to speak any louder, and Lando pitched forward with renewed urgency. 

“What?” He asked, no longer following what she was saying but all the more concerned at her words. 

Wasting away? 

If there was even a chance that you felt as heart broken as he did, maybe you could fix this. 

“She thought it was just shin splints,” Kayla admitted, her jaw tightly set. The statement held in the air, confusing and stagnant. 

“I don’t understand,” Lando quickly commented, rapidly losing sight of where this conversation was heading. 

“Just…let me explain for a second. Back in January, she thought she had shin splints. Said that her right leg really hurt when she ran. And then when she walked. And then just…all the time,” Kayla explained, and Lando remembered suddenly hearing you complain of the annoyance of it once, but you waved him off when he expressed concern. 

“She went to the doctor and they thought it was shin splints. Then when it didn’t go away, a vitamin D deficiency. It wasn’t until March that they finally did a scan, but she already knew,” Kayla admitted, clearly struggling to speak. 

Lando felt his heart plummet into his stomach. He had a fair idea of what was coming, and still he felt like he was reeling, completely and totally unprepared for it. 

“She broke up with you before the biopsy. Said that she was terrified you would be forced to do the season with her being sick, that she didn’t want you to have to deal with it. She didn’t want you to have to deal with her,” Kayla forced on, but there were genuine tears flowing down her cheeks now, and Lando felt tears burning in the back of his own eyes. 

The implication that you would ever be something for him to “deal” with made him want to throw up. 

“They did the biopsy in late March. It came back the week after the Japanese Grand Prix. Osteosarcoma. Stage Two.” 

It felt like Lando had been punched in the gut. LIke his soul slipped out of his body for a second, realisation dawning over his entire body. He had somewhat known where this was going, but it didn’t make hearing it any easier. 

“I…she didn’t want you to find out. Didn’t want you to be held back. But there has been delay after delay with her case. They put her on chemo to prepare her for limb salvage surgery, but even after a few rounds, it's not working. There are more experimental private treatments she could try, but they are expensive and have huge waiting lists. She just stuck at Royal Marsden, sitting in a room with seven other patients being administered their chemotherapy and watching as nothing changes because of how much of a mess the NHS is,” Kayla described, letting out a sigh as though explaining the whole thing had aged her beyond years. 

“She was determined not to burden you with it. But I can’t watch her like this knowing that maybe…I don’t know. That maybe you could do something. And even if you can’t do that…I see how much it kills her not to be with you. She misses you so much, I can just tell. She never says anything, but she hasn’t been the same since she did it,” Kayla revealed, finally looking at Lando to see his reaction. 

There wasn’t an ounce of emotion on his face. Nothing. 

He looked back at her with a gaze so intense she couldn’t find herself to look away, but she also didn’t have a clue where his head was at. 

“Lando? Please, say something,” she finally begged after a second, her voice edging on desperate. He tore his eyes away from hers, reaching down into his pocket. 

“Royal Marsden,” he muttered as Kayla’s eyes widened, her hands gripped together. It looked like he was done with the conversation, and she wasn’t going down without fighting for her friend. He was tapping away at his phone, not even sparing her a glance. 

“Lando, please, she really needs he–” 

“You said it was Royal Marsden Hospital, correct?” He asked as he placed the phone to his ear. Surprised, Kayla nodded wordlessly. She watched in complete silence as Lando began talking. 

“Hi Tom, it’s Lando. I have a favor I need to ask for. I have a member of the family in hospital and was hoping to get her moved to a more private room, if possible?” He explained, and Kayla felt relief rush over her. 

She leaned forward on the table, no longer listening to the conversation as she placed her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. 

Help. 

You were getting help. 

She had gone back and forth on whether or not this was the right decision, but she knew at that moment that she had made the right one. Lando came around to wrap his arm around her shoulder when he finished his phone call. 

He leaned into her, offering his support silently but with presence. 

“You did the right thing,” he whispered softly to her and she looked up to make eye contact with him before she sniffed loudly, nodding her head. 

“Right, yes, okay,” she said, swiping the tears from her eyes. She allowed herself the next second to collect herself as Lando went back to his phone, typing furiously. She chanced a glance over at his screen, noting that he had a text thread with Max Verstappen pulled up. 

When she finally took a deep breath, Lando squeezed her bicep softly and tried to smile as encouragingly as he could manage on top of his own panic. 

“I’ve got us a ride back to London,” he stated without any other explanation. 

“Right now?” She exclaimed, surprise erupting in her expression. He nodded with security, standing and offering his hand to help her up. 

“Come on, we’ll pick up your luggage on the way. We have somewhere we need to be.”

[2b4st4r]

hiya! i have a request and you can choose if you do it or not but here it is.

I’m not sure if you write song fics, but if you do, could you create a fic based on the song lyrics that include: “It's filthy, disgusting, so ugly. I'm sure I'm ugly, disgusting, and filthy for sure”? In the story, the reader could have a Devil Fruit that embodies ‘disgusting’ qualities, or maybe the reader is just insane and does things that most people would consider disgusting. This idea has been stuck in my mind for weeks! By the way, it’s a Straw Hat x reader fic.

Echos of Starlight and Shadow.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Strawhat pirates x celestial dragon blood!Reader ⊹ ࣪ ˖

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₊˚⊹ ᰔ Words: 15,523

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Warnings: Child abuse, self loathing, self destructive behaviors, emotional trauma/distress, abduction, violence, verbal abuse, ptsd and hinted female reader.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ A/N: this is COMPLETELY a little off then the request and i’m sorry about that but i tried!!

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The sun beat down, a familiar warmth on your skin that you barely registered. Another day on the Thousand Sunny, another day spent deflecting compliments and offers of help from your new crewmates. You’d joined the Straw Hats a few months ago, and while you fiercely protected them, throwing yourself into the fray to shield Usopp from a stray attack or pushing Sanji out of the path of a falling mast, you remained an enigma. They'd seen your battle prowess, your unwavering loyalty in a fight, but they hadn't seen you.

"Hey, Y/N! Want to try some of my new super spicy ramen?" Luffy called, his grin infectious.

"No thanks, Luffy," you replied, your voice flat, your eyes already scanning the horizon for any hint of trouble. You’d learned to anticipate the smallest gestures, the extended hands offering help or comfort, and you’d mastered the art of subtly sidestepping them. When Zoro had once tried to bandage a cut on your arm after a skirmish, you'd snatched your arm away so quickly he'd stumbled back, a flicker of surprise in his perpetually stoic eyes. You’d mumbled something about doing it yourself, about not needing help, as if accepting a simple band-aid was a sign of weakness.

Later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, you were below deck, the gentle rocking of the ship a familiar lullaby that usually brought you a fragile peace. But tonight, peace was a luxury you couldn't afford. The cold sweat began to prickle your skin even before your eyes flew open, your breath catching in your throat. Your hands, clenched into fists, trembled. No. Not again.

The images flashed behind your eyelids: the opulent chambers, the sickeningly sweet scent of perfume and power, the screams that echoed not in your ears, but deep within your bones. Your blood, the very thing that flowed through your veins, felt like a poison. It was held in such high esteem by some, revered, almost worshipped. But to you, every single drop was a reminder, a brand of shame and guilt that seared your soul. You felt disgusting, tainted. The pain of too many, caused by your blood, their lives extinguished, their futures stolen. You were a Celestial Dragon, and the weight of that truth, that inescapable lineage, crushed you under its immense, suffocating weight. You wanted to rip the skin from your body, to escape the very essence of who you were, to shed the blood you hated with every fiber of your being.

The nightmare clung to you, a cold, clammy shroud even as the first rays of dawn pierced the porthole. You swung your legs out of the hammock, the rough fabric scratching your skin, a welcome distraction from the phantom screams in your mind. This was your life now: a constant battle against the shadows of your past.

Your earliest memories weren't of sun-drenched gardens or laughter, but of hushed whispers and the clink of chains. Born into a world of unimaginable wealth and suffocating privilege, you were an anomaly. Your mother, a pure-blood Celestial Dragon, saw you as a stain, a constant reminder of her fleeting, forbidden liaison with your father – a man she considered barely more than a commoner, a distant relative of some minor noble house. You were a half-breed, an embarrassment hidden away in the most secluded wings of the massive, garish manor.

While your full-blood siblings were paraded in opulent gowns and tailored suits, attending lavish banquets and endless tea parties, you were subjected to a different kind of education. From the moment you could hold a quill, you were tutored in the art of manipulation, the subtle power of fear. You were taught to observe, to identify weaknesses, to exploit them without a flicker of emotion. "A true Celestial Dragon," your mother's chillingly calm voice would echo, "shows no weakness. They command obedience, not affection."

You remember the first time you were forced to "discipline" a servant. You were barely seven, your small hand trembling as an ornate, silver-tipped cane was pressed into it. The servant, a young woman who had accidentally spilled tea on one of your mother's prized tapestries, knelt before you, her eyes wide with terror. Your mother stood beside you, her hand on the small of your back, a silent, chilling pressure. "Show her, darling," she'd purred, "the consequences of insubordination." You’d closed your eyes, tears pricking, but the cane had fallen, a dull thud against flesh, and a whimper that would haunt your dreams for years to come. You learned quickly that disobedience, even hesitation, brought harsher punishments, not for you, but for the unfortunate soul you were meant to break. The fear in their eyes, the silent pleas for mercy you were forbidden to acknowledge, became a twisted form of currency, a testament to your growing, unwanted power.

You were trained to be a tool, a weapon to be wielded in the subtle, brutal politics of the Celestial Dragons. You saw your half-siblings use their authority to ruin lives on a whim – ordering the destruction of entire villages for a perceived slight, or condemning innocent people to slavery simply because they found their faces displeasing. You, however, were assigned more delicate tasks. You were the "enforcer," the one sent to "persuade" troublesome nobles to fall in line, to ensure the flow of tributes remained uninterrupted, to silence any whispers of dissent before they could grow into a roar. You became adept at it, a master of veiled threats and calculated cruelty, your heart a frozen knot in your chest. The disgust you felt for yourself grew with every act, every obedient nod, every time you saw the fear you instilled reflected in another’s eyes.

The night you ran, the sky was a canvas of bruised purples and blacks, a storm brewing in the distance, mirroring the turmoil in your soul. You were sixteen, and the weight of your gilded cage had become unbearable. You’d just returned from a “mission” – silencing a family of scholars who dared to question the World Government's narrative. Their cries, their pleas, their terrified faces were burned into your memory, a festering wound that refused to heal.

You moved through the sprawling manor like a ghost, every shadow a potential hiding place, every creak of the floorboards a drumbeat against your ribs. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird desperate for flight. You carried nothing but a small satchel containing a handful of berries and a worn, leather-bound book you'd stolen from the manor's vast library – a collection of ancient fables, stories of heroism and kindness, a stark contrast to the darkness that defined your reality.

You reached the outermost wall, a towering edifice of polished stone designed to keep the world out, and you in. You scaled it with a practiced ease born of desperation, your hands raw against the cold, unforgiving surface. At the top, you paused, looking back at the glittering monstrosity of your prison, the lights twinkling like malevolent eyes in the distance. A bitter taste filled your mouth. This was where you had been born, where your blood had been celebrated, and where your soul had been slowly, methodically poisoned.

With a ragged breath, you jumped. The fall was jarring, landing hard on the rough ground outside. You scrambled to your feet, not daring to look back, not daring to hesitate. You ran, the distant roar of the ocean beckoning you, a promise of something different, something free. You didn't know where you were going, only that you had to escape the gilded cage, escape the shame that clung to your skin, escape the very blood that flowed in your veins. You ran until your lungs burned, until your legs ached, until the grand manor was nothing but a faint glimmer on the horizon, swallowed by the rising storm and the vast, indifferent ocean.

You landed hard, a jolt of pain shooting up your legs, but you barely registered it. The need to put distance between yourself and that life was a primal scream in your chest. You ran, driven by an instinct for survival you hadn’t known you possessed. The storm that had been brewing unleashed itself, rain lashing down, plastering your hair to your face, blurring the path ahead. Each step was a desperate prayer, a silent plea for freedom.

Just as the manor lights faded into the rain-swept darkness, a shadow detached itself from the gloom ahead. Your breath hitched. Standing before you, a silhouette against the flashes of lightning, was your mother. Her usually immaculate clothes were ruffled by the wind, her perfect coiffure slightly askew, but her eyes, even in the dim light, burned with a cold fury that would forever be etched into your memory.

"Leaving so soon, darling?" Her voice, usually so controlled, was laced with a chilling mockery. A long, slender knife, its blade reflecting the lightning, appeared in her hand. You had seen her use it before – not for combat, but for lessons. "You disappoint me. I thought I had taught you better than to abandon your duty."

You stumbled back, fear, cold and sharp, piercing through your desperation. You had never defied her openly, never directly challenged her authority. This was uncharted territory. You turned to run, but she was faster, a blur of motion in the downpour. The knife arced, a silver streak against the dark sky, and a searing pain exploded across your left cheek. You cried out, a guttural sound torn from your throat, as something wet and warm gushed down your face. You brought a hand up, feeling the deep, ragged slice from your temple down to your jawline.

"A reminder, my dear," she hissed, her voice a venomous whisper in your ear, "of where you belong. You can never truly escape your blood."

The world tilted. You tasted iron, the metallic tang of your own blood mixing with the rain. But even through the pain and the shock, a surge of defiant anger, hot and fierce, ignited within you. You twisted, a desperate, animalistic lunge, and connected with something solid – her shoulder. It wasn't elegant, it wasn't planned, but it was enough. She stumbled back, momentarily thrown off balance, and in that fleeting second, you ran. You didn't look back, didn't dare to. The wound on your face burned, a constant, throbbing testament to your escape, a badge of your defiance. You ran until your legs gave out, until the sound of the ocean was a roar in your ears, until the world dissolved into a black abyss of pain and exhaustion.

The years that followed were a blur of cold nights and stolen moments of peace. You lived on the fringes, a phantom flitting between forgotten towns and isolated islands. Your scar, a jagged line marring your left cheek, was a constant companion, a stark reminder of your past and the woman who had carved it there. It made people stare, made them whisper, made them keep their distance. Which was fine by you. Distance was safety.

You honed your skills out of necessity. You learned to hunt, to navigate by the stars, to fight not with the calculated cruelty you had been taught, but with a desperate ferocity born of survival. You rarely spoke, preferring the silence, the quiet company of your own thoughts – though those thoughts were often a torment. The nightmares of your childhood, the faces of those you had hurt, the chilling words of your mother, they all pursued you, relentless specters.

You picked up odd jobs, never staying in one place too long. You were a skilled hand, capable of surprising feats of strength and agility, but you never allowed anyone to get too close. Friendships were a luxury you couldn't afford, an Achilles' heel that could expose you, pull you back into the life you had so desperately fled. Every kind gesture was met with suspicion, every offer of help with a guarded refusal. Trust was a foreign concept, something you had learned to associate only with betrayal and pain.

You saw pirates, heard their raucous laughter, their tales of adventure, but you kept your distance. They seemed too free, too open, too… everything you weren’t. You were a creature of shadows, scarred inside and out, constantly battling the pervasive sense of shame and guilt that clung to you like a second skin.

Then, one day, on a small, unassuming island, you saw them. A straw-hatted captain with an insatiable appetite, a swordsman who slept more than he walked, a bright-eyed navigator with a knack for weather, a long-nosed liar with a heart of gold, and a chef with twirling eyebrows and an even greater passion for women. The Straw Hat Pirates. They were loud, chaotic, and utterly disarming.

You saw them fight, saw their loyalty to each other, their unwavering belief in dreams. You saw Luffy laugh with a carefree abandon you hadn't witnessed in anyone before. You tried to stay away, to maintain your usual detached observation, but circumstances, and their inexplicable persistence, pulled you in. A shared battle, a moment of unexpected camaraderie, and suddenly, you were one of them.

You stood on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, the salt spray on your face, the wind in your hair. They had accepted you, quirks and all, without question. They didn't pry about your past, didn't recoil from your scar. Yet, despite their warmth, a deep-seated feeling of being an imposter festered within you. You, with your blood-stained past, your hands that had caused so much pain, you didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve their kindness, their trust, their unwavering belief. Every smile directed your way, every offer of food, every casual touch, felt like a spotlight on your hidden darkness. You were a wolf in sheep's clothing, a predator among innocents, and the secret of your Celestial Dragon blood burned like a brand on your soul. You were surrounded by light, and you felt like you brought only shadows.

The Thousand Sunny cut through the azure waves, a bright speck against the vast ocean. On deck, the usual lively chatter filled the air, a familiar symphony that normally brought a subtle calm to your restless mind. Today, however, it only amplified the discordant hum of your anxiety.

Luffy, Usopp, and Franky were gathered near the figurehead, their voices a boisterous chorus as they discussed the approaching island. "I heard they have the best metal there, suuuper shiny!" Franky boomed, striking a pose.

"And probably some really scary monsters too!" Usopp added, already picturing a dramatic escape.

"Meat! I bet they have giant, delicious meat!" Luffy cheered, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

You watched them from your usual perch by the ship's railing, a knot tightening in your stomach. The island they spoke of, still a distant blur on the horizon, was known for its exorbitantly rich resources, a magnet for the world's elite. Which meant, inevitably, it was a favored haunt of Celestial Dragons.

Your fingers unconsciously traced the jagged line of the scar on your left cheek, a phantom burn blossoming beneath your touch. The familiar litany of self-loathing began to echo in your mind, a cruel whisper you couldn't silence. I'm filthy. Disgusting. So ugly, I'm sure. Every breath felt tainted, every inch of your skin a canvas of your unforgivable past. You were the very thing they, the Straw Hats, despised. You were the darkness masquerading in their light, and the thought made your stomach churn.

A shadow fell over you, and you tensed, your hand instinctively dropping from your face.

"A beautiful day, isn't it, Y/N?" Robin's calm voice drifted to you. She stood beside you, her gaze sweeping over the horizon before settling on you, those intelligent blue eyes surprisingly warm. "The reports indicate this island is quite diverse, culturally. It might be an interesting place to find some ancient texts."

You gave a noncommittal hum, your gaze fixed on the approaching landmass. You appreciated Robin's quiet demeanor, her ability to simply be without demanding anything in return. But even with her, the guard remained firmly in place. You were a master of polite deflection, a seasoned veteran of keeping people at arm's length.

"Are you looking forward to it?" she prompted gently, her voice devoid of any prying.

"It's an island," you replied, your tone flat, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact for a moment before letting your gaze drift back to the sea. You could feel the unspoken question in her presence, the gentle curiosity. She saw more than most, you knew that. But what she saw, what she might eventually uncover, was a truth you couldn't bear for her, or any of them, to know.

You didn't deserve their easy camaraderie, their genuine laughter, their fierce protectiveness. You were an imposter, a hidden monster in their midst. Their care, their inexplicable love for you, felt like a burden you could never repay, a precious gift you were too filthy to hold. The thought made you want to shrink away, to disappear into the depths of the ocean and drown the shame that clung to every fiber of your being.

The rhythmic churning of the waves against the hull was a mocking serenade as the island loomed larger, its jagged peaks and lush greenery slowly resolving into distinct features. Every gust of wind seemed to carry the faint, nauseating scent of opulence and decay that you associated with the Celestial Dragons. The air thickened, heavy with an invisible weight that pressed down on your chest, making each breath a conscious effort.

You couldn't endure another moment of Robin’s perceptive gaze, or the cheerful obliviousness of the others. The gentle hum of their excitement felt like nails on a chalkboard, grating against the raw nerves of your escalating dread. Without a word, without even a glance in Robin’s direction, you turned and walked away, your footsteps quick and decisive. You needed space, silence, anything to stem the rising tide of panic.

You found a secluded spot below deck, tucked away in a shadowed corner of the storage room, the scent of canvas and sea salt a faint comfort. You slid down to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest, your arms wrapping around yourself in a desperate attempt to contain the turmoil within. Your breath hitched, coming in short, ragged gasps. The walls of the ship seemed to press in, the darkness of the room amplifying the horrors playing out behind your closed eyelids.

Filthy. Disgusting. The blood… all that pain…

The whisper became a roar in your mind, drowning out the gentle creaks and groans of the ship. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage, desperate to escape. You felt sweat prickle your skin, cold and clammy, even as a phantom heat spread across your scar. It burned, throbbed, a physical manifestation of the shame that festered deep within you. You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, digging your nails into your arms, anything to anchor yourself, to pull yourself back from the edge of the abyss. This was your legacy, carved into your very being, a stain that could never be washed away. You were an abomination, and the thought of facing those who shared your cursed blood, those who embodied everything you despised, made your stomach lurch.

Just as the wave of panic threatened to consume you entirely, a voice cut through the haze, clear and sharp.

"Alright everyone! We're only a few minutes out!" Nami's cheerful call echoed through the ship, a vibrant contrast to your internal storm.

The sound, unexpected and insistent, was like a splash of cold water. It jolted you, pulling you back, however reluctantly, from the precipice of your fear. A few minutes. That was all you had. The panic didn't vanish, but it receded, leaving behind a cold, hard resolve. You couldn't afford to be paralyzed by your past now. Not when your crew, your found family, was about to step onto hostile ground.

You pushed yourself to your feet, your muscles stiff, your mind still reeling from the sudden onslaught of your demons. You took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the tremor from your hands. The scar on your face felt like it was throbbing, a constant reminder, but you pushed the self-loathing back, burying it deep beneath layers of controlled composure. You were a Straw Hat now. You had a role to play. And no matter how much you felt like a fraud, a monster hiding among angels, you would protect them. You had to.

You straightened your clothes, ran a hand through your hair, and took one last fortifying breath. The time for hiding, for wallowing in your own internal torment, was over. The island awaited. And with it, whatever fresh hell the Celestial Dragons would bring. You were ready, or at least, you would pretend to be.

The Thousand Sunny dropped anchor with a familiar splash, its silhouette a proud declaration against the vibrant green of the island. The gangplank creaked as it lowered, a gateway to whatever awaited them. You took a steadying breath, the scent of exotic flora and damp earth filling your lungs, mingling with the ever-present metallic tang of your own anxiety.

"Alright, everyone! Let's explore!" Luffy's shout was, as always, the signal for immediate chaos. He was already halfway down the gangplank, a blur of enthusiasm.

You followed, your movements practiced and precise, a stark contrast to the boisterous energy around you. Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Sanji, Usopp, Chopper, Robin, Franky, and Jinbe fanned out, their collective excitement palpable. Brook, ever the gentleman, opted to stay behind and guard the ship.

"Hey, Y/N! What do you think we'll find first? Treasure? Or a giant insect monster?" Usopp called out, his voice a mixture of bravado and feigned terror as he gestured wildly.

You offered a barely perceptible shrug, your eyes scanning the dense foliage that pressed in on either side of the path they were taking. "Perhaps both," you murmured, your voice low, almost lost in the rustle of leaves. You didn't elaborate, didn't offer a theory or a playful retort. Engaging meant opening up, and that was a line you rigidly held.

Sanji, ever the attentive one, twirled slightly as he walked beside you. "Careful on these paths, Y/N-chan," he purred, his cigarette bobbing. "Wouldn't want you to trip." His hand hovered, ready to steady you, but you subtly shifted your weight, maintaining just enough distance to prevent any contact.

"I'm fine, Cook-san," you stated, your gaze fixed ahead. You knew his intentions were kind, genuinely so, and that was precisely why it pricked at the raw edges of your guilt. You didn't deserve his solicitude, his gallant protectiveness.

Chopper, trotting a little behind, piped up, "Do you think there are any rare herbs here, Y/N? You're good at spotting things!" He always looked to you for your keen observational skills, something you had honed out of necessity in your past life.

"Possibly," you replied, your eyes still sweeping the undergrowth, searching for any sign of movement, any hint of the danger you expected. You offered no further insight, no shared enthusiasm for his medical curiosities. It was easier to remain an enigma, a puzzle they couldn't solve, than to reveal the horrifying pieces of your true self.

Even Robin, ever so perceptive, approached you as you paused to look up at a towering, ancient tree. "This species is fascinating," she mused, her voice soft. "It reminds me of a tree mentioned in some ancient texts I've read. Perhaps you've encountered something similar?"

You glanced at her, your expression unreadable. You had. In the vast, forgotten libraries of your childhood prison, you had pored over countless forbidden texts, seeking knowledge that might somehow negate the darkness of your existence. But you wouldn't share that. "It's just a tree," you said dismissively, turning away before she could press further.

The others continued their lively banter, their laughter echoing through the vibrant jungle. You walked among them, a silent sentinel, ever vigilant, ever detached. They tried, you knew. They tried to bridge the gap, to coax you out of your self-imposed solitude. But every kind word, every extended hand, every moment of shared joy only reinforced the screaming truth in your mind: you were an anomaly, a burden, a walking lie. And the closer they got, the greater the risk that your true, disgusting nature would be revealed.

The jungle gave way to a sprawling town, unlike any you’d encountered on your journey with the Straw Hats. This wasn't the ramshackle charm of a pirate haven or the bustling energy of a commercial port. This was a place of polished stone and shimmering glass, of meticulously manicured gardens and wide, clean avenues. Carriages drawn by exotic, plumed beasts glided silently past, their occupants shrouded behind tinted windows. Statues of stern-faced figures adorned every plaza, their gazes seemingly judging all who passed. It reeked of wealth, power, and an unspoken, oppressive order.

Your eyes, however, weren't drawn to the artistry or the opulence. They darted, restless and hyper-focused, across every detail. You scanned the faces of the pedestrians – the impeccably dressed merchants, the uniformed guards, the servants with their downcast eyes. You peered into the open doorways of grand establishments, searching for a flash of pristine white, the tell-tale bubble of a helmet, or the unmistakable, arrogant swagger of someone who believed themselves above all others. Your own blood, the very thing you abhorred, was what you desperately sought – or rather, sought to avoid. Every shadow seemed to hold the potential for a grotesque reunion, every distant laughter a chilling echo of your past. Your fingers twitched, tracing the phantom burn of your scar.

"This place certainly looks different from Sabaody," Jinbe remarked, his deep voice calm beside you. He walked with a measured pace, his eyes taking in the surroundings with a quiet wisdom. He didn't pry, but his presence was a steadying force, a silent acknowledgment of the undercurrent of unease he must sense radiating from you.

You hummed in agreement, your head still on a swivel. "Too clean," you muttered, your gaze lingering on a group of finely dressed individuals disappearing into a particularly imposing building. They carried themselves with an air of ingrained superiority that made your stomach clench.

"Indeed," Jinbe said, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "Prosperity often casts long shadows. Are you looking for anything specific?" His question was direct, yet gentle, a subtle invitation to open up without pressure.

You shook your head, though your eyes continued their relentless scan. "Just observing," you replied, your voice tight. How could you tell him you were looking for the very people who embodied everything you hated about yourself? How could you admit that you were terrified of encountering the mirror image of your own shame? The very thought made your throat seize. You felt like a coiled spring, wound impossibly tight, every nerve screaming in anticipation of a confrontation you dreaded. The others, lost in their wonder at the town's grandeur, remained oblivious, and that, perhaps, was a mercy. For now.

The murmur of the bustling town began to shift, a subtle ripple through the well-dressed crowd that caught your attention instantly. It wasn't a sudden roar, but a crescendo of hushed whispers, a collective bowing of heads, and then, the sound that sent an icy tendril of dread coiling around your heart: a rhythmic clapping. Not applause, but a slow, deliberate cadence, growing louder with each beat, accompanied by the urgent, almost frantic cries of "Make way! Make way for the Heavenly Dragon!"

Your entire body tensed, every muscle coiling like a spring. You knew this sound. You knew this ritual. You had been on the other side of it, not as an observer, but as the one for whom the way was made, the one for whom hands clapped in forced reverence. The very air around you seemed to grow cold, suffocating, as the memories flooded back – the sickeningly sweet incense, the obsequious smiles, the absolute power you once commanded, a power you despised with every fiber of your being.

Beside you, you felt Jinbe stiffen, his massive frame subtly tightening. His expression, usually so composed, hardened, a deep-seated anger flickering in his eyes. He, too, had a history with these monsters, a history steeped in the suffering of his own people. A silent, shared understanding passed between you, a grim acknowledgment of the approaching horror.

Luffy, surprisingly, was the first to react, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What's all the fuss about?" he mumbled, craning his neck to see over the crowd.

Usopp, ever the nervous one, started to sweat. "Something big is coming! I've got a bad feeling about this, guys!"

Nami, pragmatic as ever, narrowed her eyes. "This isn't a parade. People look terrified."

Sanji lit a fresh cigarette, a plume of smoke obscuring his scowl. "Disgusting," he muttered, his voice low, his contempt for the World Nobles well-known.

Chopper whimpered, instinctively pressing closer to Franky, who simply stared, his mechanical eye whirring softly, processing the unusual display. Robin's expression remained calm, but her eyes, sharp and intelligent, were fixed on the approaching spectacle, a flicker of something akin to grim understanding passing through them.

Then, the crowd parted, like a foul tide receding. And there, carried on the backs of terrified servants, on a palanquin adorned with grotesque golden figures, was her.

Your breath caught in your throat, a silent scream tearing through your mind. It was your mother. Her face, perfectly unblemished, framed by an absurdly elaborate headdress, held the same haughty disdain you remembered. A cruel smirk played on her lips as she gazed down at the bowing townsfolk. She hadn't aged a day.

And beside her, walking with an arrogant stride, a smaller, equally ornate palanquin carried a figure you knew just as well. It was your brother, his face a younger, harsher replica of your mother's, his eyes holding the same cold, entitled gleam.

The sight of them, so sudden, so undeniably real, was a punch to the gut. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The scar on your face burned, an unbearable ache that threatened to consume you. You were here. They were here. And the blood that tied you to them, the blood you hated, felt like a literal weight dragging you down into the very hell you had fled.

The world blurred, the vibrant colors of the town dissolving into a sickening kaleidoscope around you. Your mother. Your brother. Their faces, once etched in the deepest, most tormented corners of your nightmares, were now terrifyingly real, illuminated by the harsh light of midday. Every fiber of your being screamed to flee, to disappear, to become invisible.

With a jolt, you pulled yourself out of the paralyzing trance, the instinct for self-preservation, honed through years of solitary survival, kicking in. Your eyes darted, searching frantically for cover, for any shadow that could swallow you whole. You instinctively moved, a frantic, desperate shuffle into the denser part of the bowing crowd, trying to melt into the sea of averted gazes and trembling forms.

But it was too late.

Even from her elevated perch, amidst the self-important fanfare, your mother's gaze, sharp and predatory, cut through the throng. Her eyes, those cold, calculating orbs, locked onto yours for a fraction of a second. A flicker of recognition, a subtle, almost imperceptible widening, touched her features – a terrifying mix of surprise and pure, unadulterated contempt. Then, a chilling smile, slow and deliberate, spread across her lips. It wasn't a smile of welcome, but of a hunter spotting her prey.

Your brother, following her line of sight, also saw you. His arrogant sneer twisted into a look of smug satisfaction, like a child who had found a lost toy he intended to break.

"There! The traitor! Seize her!" Your mother's voice, though not a shout, carried with the undeniable authority that commanded immediate, unthinking obedience. Her finger, adorned with grotesque, oversized rings, pointed directly at you.

Before the bewildered citizens could even process the command, two hulking figures, clad in the pristine white of World Government agents, detached themselves from the procession with terrifying speed. Their movements were swift, practiced, clearly anticipating such an order from their Celestial Dragon masters. The clapping of the citizens faltered, then died out completely, replaced by a terrified silence. The townsfolk, faces pale with fear, began to back away, creating a widening circle around you, abandoning you to your fate.

"Y/N!" Luffy's voice, sharp with concern, cut through the sudden hush. He, Zoro, and Sanji, their faces etched with confusion turning rapidly to anger, surged forward.

But the agents were upon you in an instant. Powerful hands clamped down on your arms, iron vises that bit into your flesh. You struggled, a desperate, frantic fight, thrashing against their grip with all your might. This wasn't a fight you could win, not with these men, not when your mind was screaming a million desperate warnings.

"Let her go!" Zoro roared, his hand already on the hilt of Wado Ichimonji. Sanji launched himself forward, a fiery kick aimed at one of the agents.

"Don't!" Your voice, raw and raspy, tore from your throat, cutting through the escalating tension. It was a single, desperate word, laced with an urgency that made the Straw Hats pause, even in their fury. "Don't interfere!"

Your eyes met Luffy's, wide with shock and a dawning understanding. You shook your head almost imperceptibly, a silent, pleading warning. They didn't know. They couldn't know. If they fought now, if they drew attention to themselves, if they revealed their connection to you, their freedom would be forfeit. Your past was a contagion, and you couldn't, wouldn't, allow it to infect them.

The agents, taking advantage of your momentary distraction, hauled you forward, their grip tightening, dragging you towards the waiting palanquin, towards your mother, towards the terrifying specter of your former life. The metallic tang of your own blood, from where their grip had broken skin, filled your mouth. And as you were pulled away, you saw the triumphant, venomous gleam in your mother's eyes. You were theirs again.

The agents dragged you forward, their grip unbreakable, pulling you closer to the monstrous opulence of your mother’s palanquin. The bubble helmets, pristine and gleaming in the sun, were undeniable proof of their identity, confirming the chilling reality of your capture. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a desperate drumbeat of dread.

"Well, well, if it isn't my dearest daughter," your mother purred, her voice dripping with an icy sweetness that was far more terrifying than any shout. She leaned forward, her eyes, magnified by the bubble, raking over your struggling form with a look of pure, unadulterated disdain. "Still clinging to that unsightly mark, I see. A constant reminder of your wretched attempt at freedom." Her gaze lingered on your scar, a cruel mockery.

Beside her, your brother, his face a smug mask of superiority, let out a short, sharp laugh. "Look at her, Mother. So disheveled. So… common. She always did lack proper grace." He gestured with a dismissive wave. "Just as filthy, disgusting, so ugly, I'm sure. Always has been. Ugly, disgusting, and filthy for sure." His words, the very echoes of your own deepest insecurities, struck you with the force of a physical blow. The shame, the self-loathing you had carried for so long, now had a voice, broadcast for the world to hear.

You strained against the agents' hold, a guttural sound of frustration and fury escaping your throat. You didn't care about the insults; they were meaningless compared to the threat of discovery.

The Straw Hats, witnessing the scene unfold, were a mixture of bewildered shock and growing fury. They saw the bubbles, recognized the abhorrent symbols of the World Nobles, and their instincts screamed to intervene. But your desperate plea, "Don't interfere!" still hung in the air, a confusing, restraining command.

Luffy’s rubbery face contorted in a rare display of conflicted emotion. His fists clenched, ready to strike, but your words held him back. "Y/N… what are they talking about?" he muttered, his voice unusually quiet, his eyes wide with a question he couldn't form.

Zoro, his hand still on his sword, snarled. "She's being taken by a World Noble! We have to do something!" His loyalty was absolute, but your command, delivered with such raw desperation, was baffling.

Nami's jaw was tight, her eyes blazing with indignation at the arrogant display of power. "They're just taking her? What right do they have?!"

Sanji, for once, was speechless with rage, a vein throbbing in his temple as he watched your struggle. Franky’s robotic eyes narrowed, his gears whirring softly, processing the injustice. Chopper whimpered, clutching Robin's leg, sensing the deep distress radiating from you.

Robin, however, watched with a quiet intensity, her gaze moving between your mother, your brother, and then to you, a flicker of understanding beginning to dawn in her perceptive eyes. She noticed the way your mother looked at your scar, the way your brother echoed your own inner torments.

Jinbe, his expression grim, stepped forward slightly, his massive hands clenched. He understood the unspoken threat, the power these people wielded, and the impossible position you were in. He respected your choice, even if it tore at him to stand by.

"Take her to the secondary interrogation chambers," your mother commanded, her gaze never leaving yours, a cruel triumph shining in her eyes. "She clearly needs to be reminded of her place. And fetch a cleaner. She's soiled the palanquin simply by being near it."

The agents hauled you more roughly now, dragging you towards a smaller, less ornate carriage that waited nearby. You twisted your head, your eyes locking with the bewildered, angry faces of your crew. You couldn't speak, couldn't explain. All you could do was meet their gaze, hoping against hope that they would understand, that they would trust you, even as you were being dragged away by the very monsters you claimed to despise.

The last thing you saw before the carriage door slammed shut was Luffy, his face contorted in a furious, confused grimace, his hand finally reaching out, futilely, into the empty air where you had just been.

The carriage lurched forward, rattling over the pristine cobblestones. Inside, the opulent interior, cushioned with plush velvet, felt more like a padded cell than a conveyance. You were slumped between the two agents, their silent, imposing presence a constant reminder of your captivity. Across from you, in the suffocating grandeur of the small space, sat your mother and brother, their gazes fixed on you with an unnerving intensity.

"Such a pity, isn't it, daughter?" your mother began, her voice a low, silken hiss that scraped against your raw nerves. "To be so thoroughly misguided. After all the effort I put into your… education." She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve, her disdain palpable. "Running away to live like a commoner. It's truly a stain upon our name."

Your jaw was tight, muscles aching from the effort of holding back the torrent of rage and shame. You kept your eyes fixed on a distant point beyond the tinted window, refusing to acknowledge their presence, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Every fiber of your being screamed in silent defiance.

"Don't ignore Mother," your brother chided, his tone condescending. "Such disrespect is precisely why you've turned out so… unrefined." He gestured vaguely at your simple clothes, at the dust clinging to your form from your frantic escape attempts. "Honestly, I hardly recognize you. You barely look like you belong in polite society."

A spark, hot and bitter, ignited within you. You finally turned your head, your eyes, cold and defiant, locking onto your mother's. The familiar, self-deprecating litany had just been thrown in your face by your brother, and a perverse desire to turn their own weapons against them, however futile, clawed its way to the surface.

"Polite society?" you murmured, your voice raspy but laced with a cutting edge. You let your gaze drift pointedly to your mother, then back to your brother, a subtle, mocking sneer touching your lips. "Yes, I suppose my existence is quite the blemish, isn't it? A constant reminder of your… lapse in judgment, Mother. Getting together with someone beneath you, someone so common. A true disgrace to the celestial bloodline, wouldn't you say?" You paused, letting the words hang in the air, a silent accusation. "Such a shame, wasn't it? The very way I was made. A disgusting little secret."

The serene mask on your mother's face fractured. Her eyes narrowed, a cold fury replacing her earlier disdain. Your brother, for once, looked genuinely taken aback, his smug expression replaced by a flash of impotent rage. You had hit a nerve, a raw, festering wound they had long sought to hide. The brief, almost imperceptible flinch from your mother, however quickly masked, was a small, fleeting victory in the suffocating confines of the carriage. It was a dark, dangerous game you were playing, but at least, for a moment, you had chipped away at their impenetrable facade.

The vibrant hues of the town seemed to dim, the cheerful atmosphere suddenly discordant and unsettling. The place that had moments ago promised adventure now felt like a trap, its polished surfaces reflecting back their own bewildered, furious faces. The silence that had fallen after the carriage containing you rattled away was heavy, suffocating.

Luffy stood rooted to the spot, his usual boundless energy replaced by a stillness that was far more unsettling than any of his outbursts. His eyes, usually so clear and bright, were clouded with confusion and a nascent rage. "Y/N… what was that?" he mumbled, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. "Celestial Dragons? And… and her mother?" The words felt alien, impossible, a betrayal of everything he thought he knew. You, who always threw yourself in front of danger for them, who helped without question but never let anyone in—you, a Celestial Dragon? It simply didn't compute.

Zoro, his hand still hovering over his sword, let out a low growl. "They just took her. And she told us not to interfere. What the hell was that, Jinbe?" His patience, usually thin, was completely worn through by the baffling turn of events.

Jinbe's face was grim, a deep frown etched between his brows. He looked at the retreating carriage, then back at the bewildered crew, a heavy sigh escaping him. "That was a Celestial Dragon, alright. That was her mother, and her brother. They called her a 'traitor'." His voice was heavy with a sorrowful understanding. "And what they said about her… they meant it as an insult, but it means she's one of them. By blood."

The revelation hung in the air, a poisonous gas.

Nami gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "A… a Celestial Dragon? But… that's impossible! Y/N hates them! She protects everyone!" The very idea seemed to contradict every action you had ever taken, every quiet defiance you had shown against tyranny. The image of the people in the bubbles, the symbol of everything despicable in the world, now linked irrevocably to your name, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Sanji swore, a string of curses falling from his lips. He spun, kicking a nearby pebble with unnecessary force. "That's why she always kept us at arm's length, isn't it? Why she never let anyone get close! She must have been hiding it!" His initial anger at your capture was now laced with a painful sense of betrayal, a feeling of being misled by someone he had come to deeply care for.

Usopp slumped, his shoulders drooping. "So… she's one of them? The bad guys?" His voice was small, tinged with a child's disappointment. The world had just become a lot more complicated, and terrifying.

Chopper, his eyes wide with fear and confusion, looked between his crewmates, trying to make sense of the tangled emotions. "But… Y/N wouldn't hurt anyone! She helps! She's our friend!" His innocent trust was struggling against the harsh reality.

Franky ran a hand over his metal scalp, his usual boisterous demeanor subdued. "So, she's got that rotten blood in her veins, huh? That's… super unexpected." He wrestled with the implications, the ingrained revulsion for World Nobles clashing with his experiences with you.

Robin, however, remained calm, her gaze piercing. "It explains her guarded nature," she stated, her voice quiet but firm. "Her refusal to accept help, her constant vigilance. And what they said about her… 'filthy,' 'disgusting,' 'ugly.' Those are the very words she seems to believe about herself, aren't they?" Her eyes narrowed, a profound sadness entering them. "She carries the shame of her lineage, and it's clear she hates it more than anyone else."

Luffy finally lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over his distraught crewmates. The confusion was slowly giving way to something else—a fierce, unyielding determination. "I don't care who her family is," he declared, his voice regaining its usual booming quality, though now edged with a dangerous resolve. "She's our nakama. And they just took our nakama."

The weight of the truth was heavy, a dark cloud settling over the Straw Hats. You, their quiet, guarded, fiercely protective crewmate, were tied to the very monsters they despised. It was a truth they were just beginning to unravel, a complex tangle of past and present that would challenge everything they believed. But one thing was clear: you were in trouble, and they weren't about to leave you.

The vibrant hues of the town seemed to dim, the cheerful atmosphere suddenly discordant and unsettling. The place that had moments ago promised adventure now felt like a trap, its polished surfaces reflecting back their own bewildered, furious faces. The silence that had fallen after the carriage containing you rattled away was heavy, suffocating.

Luffy stood rooted to the spot, his usual boundless energy replaced by a stillness that was far more unsettling than any of his outbursts. His eyes, usually so clear and bright, were clouded with confusion and a nascent rage. "Y/N… what was that?" he mumbled, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. "Celestial Dragons? And… and her mother?" The words felt alien, impossible, a betrayal of everything he thought he knew. You, who always threw yourself in front of danger for them, who helped without question but never let anyone in—you, a Celestial Dragon? It simply didn't compute.

Zoro, his hand still hovering over his sword, let out a low growl. "They just took her. And she told us not to interfere. What the hell was that, Jinbe?" His patience, usually thin, was completely worn through by the baffling turn of events.

Jinbe's face was grim, a deep frown etched between his brows. He looked at the retreating carriage, then back at the bewildered crew, a heavy sigh escaping him. "That was a Celestial Dragon, alright. And the one with the bubble helmet... that was her mother, and her brother. They called her a 'traitor'." His voice was heavy with a sorrowful understanding. "And what they said about her… they meant it as an insult, but it means she's one of them. By blood."

The revelation hung in the air, a poisonous gas.

The Unthinkable Truth

Nami gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "A… a Celestial Dragon? But… that's impossible! Y/N hates them! She protects everyone!" The very idea seemed to contradict every action you had ever taken, every quiet defiance you had shown against tyranny. The image of the people in the bubbles, the symbol of everything despicable in the world, now linked irrevocably to your name, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Sanji swore, a string of curses falling from his lips. He spun, kicking a nearby pebble with unnecessary force. "That's why she always kept us at arm's length, isn't it? Why she never let anyone get close! She must have been hiding it!" His initial anger at your capture was now laced with a painful sense of betrayal, a feeling of being misled by someone he had come to deeply care for.

Usopp slumped, his shoulders drooping. "So… she's one of them? The bad guys?" His voice was small, tinged with a child's disappointment. The world had just become a lot more complicated, and terrifying.

Chopper, his eyes wide with fear and confusion, looked between his crewmates, trying to make sense of the tangled emotions. "But… Y/N wouldn't hurt anyone! She helps! She's our friend!" His innocent trust was struggling against the harsh reality.

Franky ran a hand over his metal scalp, his usual boisterous demeanor subdued. "So, she's got that rotten blood in her veins, huh? That's… super unexpected." He wrestled with the implications, the ingrained revulsion for World Nobles clashing with his experiences with you.

Robin, however, remained calm, her gaze piercing. "It explains her guarded nature," she stated, her voice quiet but firm. "Her refusal to accept help, her constant vigilance. And what they said about her… 'filthy,' 'disgusting,' 'ugly.' Those are the very words she seems to believe about herself, aren't they?" Her eyes narrowed, a profound sadness entering them. "She carries the shame of her lineage, and it's clear she hates it more than anyone else."

Luffy finally lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over his distraught crewmates. The confusion was slowly giving way to something else—a fierce, unyielding determination. "I don't care who her family is," he declared, his voice regaining its usual booming quality, though now edged with a dangerous resolve. "She's our nakama. And they just took our nakama."

The weight of the truth was heavy, a dark cloud settling over the Straw Hats. You, their quiet, guarded, fiercely protective crewmate, were tied to the very monsters they despised. It was a truth they were just beginning to unravel, a complex tangle of past and present that would challenge everything they believed. But one thing was clear: you were in trouble, and they weren't about to leave you.

The air in the interrogation chamber was thick and stagnant, reeking of old dust and the faint, metallic tang of fear. The ornate, oppressive decor of the World Noble manor was even more pronounced here, a mockery of luxury designed to break the spirit. You were shackled, not with rough iron, but with finely crafted, polished steel cuffs that bit into your wrists and ankles, securing you to a heavy, unmoving chair in the center of the room. The silence was absolute, save for the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the distant recesses of the building.

Your mother stood before you, her pristine white robes a stark contrast to the shadowy room. Your brother, a smirk still plastered on his face, leaned against a nearby wall, his arms crossed, watching with casual amusement. There were no World Government agents, no guards within sight. This was a family affair, a private act of reclamation and punishment.

"Do you understand now, my dear?" your mother's voice cut through the silence, devoid of the earlier feigned sweetness. It was pure, unadulterated coldness. "You may run, you may hide, but you will always be found. You carry our blood, a brand that cannot be erased." She gestured with a dismissive flick of her wrist towards your scarred face. "That little act of defiance was foolish. It only served to mark you further, to remind you of the consequences of straying from your true path."

You stared straight ahead, refusing to meet her gaze, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing your fear. The shame was a burning coal in your gut, but beneath it, a cold, hard anger began to simmer. They had no right. No right to touch the lives you had chosen, no right to pull you back into this gilded hell.

"Still silent?" your brother sneered, pushing himself off the wall and approaching you. He crouched down, his face uncomfortably close to yours, his breath warm and cloying. "Such a disappointment. We had such high hopes for you. A useful tool, a loyal weapon. Instead, you became... this." He reached out, his manicured finger tracing the line of your scar, a touch that made your skin crawl. "So filthy, disgusting, so ugly, I'm sure. You truly believe you could escape who you are? Escape us?"

The words, the familiar, self-inflicted wounds now spoken by them, ignited a furious spark. You finally looked at your brother, your eyes blazing with an intensity that surprised even him.

"You speak of filth?" your voice was hoarse, but laced with a venomous contempt that cut through the silence. "You, who command others to suffer without a second thought? You, who bask in the agony of the innocent? That is true filth. Not me." You tugged against your shackles, the metal groaning softly. "And I would rather be 'ugly' and 'disgusting' in my freedom than a beautiful, gilded monster like you."

Your brother recoiled slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes before it morphed into rage. He raised a hand, poised to strike you, but your mother's voice, sharper and colder, stopped him.

"Enough, son. Violence is for lesser beings. We break them with the mind, not just the body." She stepped closer, her silhouette looming over you. "You have forgotten your training, Y/N. The art of persuasion. The value of obedience. But fear not, we have ample time to reacquaint you with your duties. We will remind you of who you are, what you are. And by the time we are finished, you will beg to serve."

Her words were a chilling promise, a testament to the tortures of mind and spirit she had inflicted upon you since childhood. You closed your eyes, a single tear tracing a path through the dust on your cheek, not of despair, but of a fierce, desperate resolve. They might break your body, but they would never again own your soul.

The air in the interrogation chamber grew heavy, the silence punctuated only by your own strained breaths and the ghost of your mother’s chilling promise. She and your brother eventually left, their footsteps fading into the oppressive quiet, leaving you alone in the dim light. The steel cuffs bit into your wrists, a constant, dull ache that grounded you in the horrifying reality of your situation.

You closed your eyes, not in surrender, but in an attempt to reassert control over the swirling chaos in your mind. The self-loathing, the internalized insults – filthy, disgusting, ugly – tried to resurface, whispered by the voices of your captors. But something was different now. The raw fury you’d felt in the carriage, the defiance that had allowed you to lash out, still simmered. It was a tiny, fragile flame, but it was there, flickering against the overwhelming darkness.

You pictured the Straw Hats: Luffy’s unyielding belief, Zoro’s fierce loyalty, Sanji’s protective anger, Nami’s sharp indignation, Usopp’s worried gaze, Chopper’s innocent trust, Franky’s silent concern, Robin’s quiet understanding, and Jinbe’s solemn resolve. They didn't know your past. They didn't know the full extent of the horror that coursed through your veins. Yet, they had been ready to fight for you. Your desperate plea not to interfere echoed in your mind, a decision born of protecting them from the taint of your origins. You wouldn't let your shame, your cursed blood, drag them into this particular hell.

A new resolve hardened within you. You might be shackled, but your spirit was not. You would not break. You would not let them win. You had escaped them once, and you would do it again. Not just for yourself, but for the crew who, despite all your efforts to keep them out, had somehow found their way into the guarded corners of your heart.

Meanwhile, back in the lavish, yet now unsettling, town square, the Straw Hats stood in a bewildered, furious huddle. The carriage carrying you had vanished, leaving an echoing silence and a profound sense of injustice.

"This is insane!" Nami seethed, slamming her fist into her palm. "They just took her! And she told us not to interfere!" Her logical mind struggled to reconcile your apparent command with the blatant abduction.

"I don't care what she said!" Luffy declared, his voice rumbling with an uncharacteristic depth of anger. His fists were clenched, his body trembling slightly with suppressed power. "They took our nakama! And if she's a World Noble, then she's a good one, because she hates those other guys! We're getting her back!" His simple, unwavering loyalty cut through the confusion. To him, you were their friend, and friends didn't abandon friends.

Zoro drew one of his swords a few inches from its sheath, the subtle rasp of metal a dangerous sound. "She fought for us countless times. She covered our backs. We don't leave family behind. Especially not when they're being taken by those arrogant bastards." His eyes, usually half-lidded, were sharp and focused.

Sanji’s cigarette hung forgotten from his lips, his face contorted in a dark scowl. "If those pig-faced nobles have laid a single hand on Y/N-chan, they'll regret the day they were born!" He exhaled a cloud of furious smoke.

Chopper, tears welling in his eyes, looked up at Jinbe. "Jinbe, what do we do? We have to save her!"

Jinbe nodded, his expression solemn. "Her command not to interfere suggests she believes our direct confrontation would put us in even greater danger, perhaps exposing something about her past. But that does not mean we do nothing." He looked out at the opulent buildings, his eyes scanning them with an experienced gaze. "Celestial Dragons usually operate out of heavily guarded compounds or specific government facilities on islands they frequent. This wealth suggests a strong presence."

Robin stepped forward, her voice calm and analytical, cutting through the rising tide of emotion. "She called them 'her blood,' and they confirmed it. And the things they said... 'filthy,' 'disgusting,' 'ugly.' She told herself those very words earlier today. She carries immense shame for her lineage, enough to hide it from us. This isn't just an abduction; it's a reassertion of power over someone who tried to escape." Her eyes met Luffy's. "We need a plan, Captain. A careful one. One that understands the depth of what we're up against, and why Y/N acted as she did."

Luffy’s gaze hardened, his playful demeanor completely gone. "Alright, Robin. What's the plan? We're breaking in. And we're bringing Y/N home."

The cold steel of the shackles was a physical manifestation of the invisible chains that had bound you your entire life. Alone in the oppressive silence of the chamber, with only the rhythmic throb of your scar for company, the facade you’d maintained for so long began to crack. Your earlier defiance, that fleeting spark of anger, dwindled, leaving behind the familiar, suffocating weight of guilt.

You closed your eyes, but there was no escape from the relentless replays in your mind. Images flashed, vivid and merciless: the terrified eyes of the servant you’d struck as a child, the silent pleas of the scholars whose lives you’d helped extinguish, the fear you had instilled in countless others. Each memory was a fresh cut, tearing at the already tattered edges of your soul. Your hands, clenched into fists even in their bound state, felt filthy. Every beat of your heart pumped the very blood you despised, a constant reminder of the atrocities committed in its name, the pain it had inflicted.

I am disgusting. The thought, an old, familiar torment, resonated deep within you. So ugly, I'm sure. Not just your scar, but every inch of your skin felt tainted, a canvas bearing the invisible marks of your lineage. How could you ever stand beside them again – Luffy, with his pure, unshakeable dreams; Zoro, with his unwavering honor; Nami, with her fierce spirit; Sanji, with his chivalrous heart? They were light, and you were a creature of the deepest shadows, brought into existence by the very evil they fought against.

The shame was a physical ache, a tightening in your chest that made it hard to breathe. You didn't deserve their kindness, their concern, their incredible belief that you were worthy of being their nakama. Every act of protectiveness you had shown them, every time you had thrown yourself in danger, felt like a desperate, futile attempt to atone, to wash away the indelible stain of your origins. But the more you tried, the deeper the guilt settled, because how could a monster truly atone for being born into such a lineage?

You hated every drop of your blood, every fiber of your being that connected you to them. The whispers of your mother and brother in the carriage – "filthy, disgusting, so ugly, I'm sure" – echoed in the silence, not as insults from them, but as the undeniable truth of yourself. You were a fraud, an imposter among the genuinely good, and the crushing weight of that realization threatened to consume you entirely.

Hours bled into an eternity in the suffocating silence of the interrogation chamber. Each tick of an unseen clock felt like a hammer blow against your skull, amplifying the relentless whispers of self-loathing. You were cold, hungry, and utterly drained, the last embers of defiance threatening to extinguish under the crushing weight of your past. Your mother and brother had returned briefly, their words like venom, twisting the knife of your guilt deeper with every uttered syllable. They didn't need to physically harm you; their psychological torture, a familiar method from your childhood, was far more effective.

Just as the despair threatened to swallow you whole, a distant, muffled explosion rattled the very foundations of the building. It was followed by another, closer this time, a resounding crash that vibrated through the floor. Your head snapped up, eyes wide. It wasn't the precise, controlled destruction of World Government agents, nor the subtle incursions of assassins. This was something else entirely.

Then, a sound that, against all logic, made a fragile, desperate hope bloom in your chest: a familiar, boisterous, utterly unmistakable roar.

"GUM-GUM… PISTOL!"

The wall of the chamber, thick and seemingly impenetrable, erupted in a shower of dust and debris. Sunlight, blinding after the oppressive dimness, streamed into the room.

Standing in the newly formed gaping hole, silhouetted against the bright light, was Luffy. His face was set in a furious scowl, his straw hat slightly askew. He looked less like a rescuer and more like an avenging deity. Behind him, the chaotic symphony of the Straw Hats' invasion was in full swing:

"Any perverted Nobles around here?!" Sanji's enraged voice echoed, followed by the distinctive sound of a powerful kick.

"YOW! Breaking and entering is SUUUPER!" Franky's booming laugh accompanied the shattering of another wall.

"Don't forget the loot, Nami! We need to make these scum pay!" Usopp shrieked, followed by the whizz of a Pop Green.

"One hundred and eight POUND PHOENIX!" Zoro's voice was a low growl, punctuated by the metallic clang of swords clashing.

Chopper, in his Guard Point, rumbled, "Leave Y/N alone, you bullies!"

Robin's calm voice drifted in, "Fleur: Wing." followed by the sounds of multiple bodies being effortlessly flung aside.

They weren't trying to be subtle. They weren't hiding their presence. They were loud. They were chaotic. And they were here.

Your mother and brother, who had just re-entered the chamber, froze, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and outrage. "What in the name of the World Nobles?!" your mother shrieked, her composure utterly shattered. "Who dares to desecrate our property?!"

Luffy’s gaze swept over the room, instantly finding you, shackled to the chair. His eyes, usually full of mirth, were burning with a fierce, unyielding anger you had rarely seen directed at anything but a truly despicable foe. "You guys!" he roared, pointing at your mother and brother. "You're the ones who took our nakama! Get ready to face the Straw Hat Pirates!"

Before your mother or brother could even react, Luffy stretched his arm, wrapping it around your chair and pulling you, chair and all, free from the floor with a mighty yank. The steel shackle snapped under the force, a small, triumphant ping in the chaos. He landed lightly beside you, his arm still around the chair, shielding you with his body.

"Y/N!" he exclaimed, his scowl softening to a wide, relieved grin as he saw your face. "We came to get you!"

You stared at him, tears pricking your eyes. They had come. Despite everything, despite the Celestial Dragon blood, despite your desperate plea for them to stay away, they had burst through the walls, loud and unapologetic, to save you. The shame was still there, a heavy cloak, but beneath it, a tiny, unfamiliar warmth began to spread through your chest. For the first time in your life, you felt truly, undeniably, saved.

The dust settled, the silence that followed Luffy's defiant roar broken only by the rapid thumping of your own heart. You were free from the shackles, but still paralyzed by a different kind of chain – the utter shame and terror of your past laid bare before the very people you sought to protect. Luffy still shielded you, his arm a solid, reassuring presence around the broken chair, but his gaze, and the gazes of the entire crew now flooding into the shattered chamber, were fixed on your mother and brother.

Your mother, momentarily stunned by the sudden, brutal intrusion, recovered with chilling speed. A venomous smile, cold and sharp as glass, stretched across her lips. Her eyes, magnified by the bubble helmet, raked over the Straw Hats, dismissing them as mere rabble before settling back on Luffy, then on you.

"Well, well," she purred, her voice carrying an unnatural calm that sliced through the tension. "It seems my wayward daughter has found herself some rather… enthusiastic new playthings. How utterly disappointing. And here I thought she was learning to appreciate a more refined form of entertainment." Her words dripped with condescension.

Your brother, regaining his composure, sneered. "These are the pirates she's been gallivanting with? So utterly common. Does she tell them her little secrets, Mother?" He stepped forward, his eyes fixed on you, a cruel glint in their depths. "Does she tell them what she really is? What she was trained to do?"

The Straw Hats bristled, their anger palpable. Zoro's hand tightened on his sword. Sanji's eyes narrowed dangerously. Nami's face was a mask of fury.

Then, your mother’s gaze sharpened, her eyes piercing each member of the crew as she began to speak, her voice slow, deliberate, each word a poisoned dart aimed directly at their hearts, at their deeply held values.

"Do these... heroes of yours, Y/N," she began, a sneer twisting her perfect features, "know about the blood on your hands? Do they know about the executioner you were? The 'family business' you were so proficient in?" Her gaze swept over Luffy, then Zoro, lingering on Robin. "Do they know that while they prattle on about justice and freedom, my dear daughter was busy slaughtering innocents?"

The words hung in the air, cold and sharp, freezing the Straw Hats in their tracks. Luffy’s defiant stance wavered, his eyes wide with incomprehension. Zoro's hand froze on his sword hilt, his usual fierce glare replaced by a stunned confusion. Nami's angry gasp turned into a choked whimper. Usopp's face went white, his jaw slack. Sanji’s cigarette fell from his mouth, unnoticed. Chopper began to tremble, burying his face in Robin's side. Franky’s whirring stopped dead.

Your mother continued, her voice gaining a mocking cadence, playing them like a cruel instrument. "Oh, yes. My Y/N here was very good at it. A true prodigy. We sent her to 'resolve' disputes, to ensure 'obedience.' Meaning, of course," she paused, savoring the horror dawning on their faces, "she ensured the complete and utter annihilation of anyone who dared to defy the World Nobles. Entire families. Entire villages. All at her command. All to prevent the spread of dissent."

Her eyes, filled with a triumphant malice, fixed on you. "She carried out our will, unflinchingly. She put them down like dogs. Didn't you, Y/N? You broke them. You silenced them. You ensured their screams never reached the ears of anyone who might care."

The silence in the chamber became deafening, broken only by your own ragged breathing. Their faces – their horrified, disbelieving faces – reflected the absolute truth of her words. The trust, the kindness, the acceptance they had so freely given you, shattered before your very eyes. You had tried to keep it hidden, tried to bear the burden alone, but now, the deepest, most monstrous parts of your past were laid bare.

The guilt, the shame, the utter disgust in yourself, became a crushing, unbearable weight. You had tried to be worthy of them, to be clean, but your past, your very blood, had betrayed you. And in their shocked, frozen silence, you saw not just confusion, but the dawning realization of the monster you truly were. The tears that finally escaped your eyes were hot, burning tracks, not for your captivity, but for the irrevocable loss of the innocence you knew you had stolen from them.

The world spun, the present dissolving into a horrifying echo of the past. Your mother's venomous words, describing you as an "executioner," ripped open a wound you had desperately tried to keep scabbed over. The interrogation chamber, the Straw Hats, your mother and brother – all faded into a chilling, vivid flashback.

You were ten. Your mother’s hand, cold and unyielding, rested on your shoulder, guiding you. Before you knelt a child, no older than yourself, eyes wide with terror, trembling uncontrollably. They had been caught trying to share forbidden knowledge, a simple, innocent act of rebellion. Your mother’s voice, a soft, dangerous whisper in your ear, had commanded you to make an example. "Show them, darling, the price of defiance. Show them the weight of our authority." The ornate, ceremonial blade felt impossibly heavy in your small hand. You had closed your eyes, tears streaming down your face, even as you obeyed, a muffled gasp, then silence, forever staining your hands, your soul. The memory was a festering wound, a testament to the innocence you'd been forced to extinguish, both theirs and your own.

The world snapped back into focus, the acrid scent of ozone and dust filling your nostrils. The piercing screams of your mother and brother now filled the air, laced with genuine terror, a stark contrast to their earlier arrogance. Their faces, contorted in shock, were smeared with dust and trickles of blood. They lay amidst the rubble, unconscious, knocked out cold by the Straw Hats.

You were no longer alone, no longer a prisoner. Strong, familiar arms were wrapped around you, pulling you gently from the remains of the shattered chair. It was Luffy, his face smudged with dirt but his eyes shining with an unwavering determination. He held you carefully, his rubbery limbs adapting to your shaking form.

Around you, the rest of the crew were a whirlwind of triumphant chaos. Zoro was wiping blood from his sword, a grim satisfaction on his face. Sanji was delivering a final, emphatic kick to one of the unconscious agents. Franky cheered, his metallic arms raised in victory. Usopp was doing a frantic victory dance, yelling about his "heroic" contribution. Chopper, in his Human Point, carefully examined the unconscious Celestial Dragons, a tiny frown of disgust on his snout.

"Y/N! Are you okay?!" Luffy asked, his voice full of concern, his grip firm yet gentle.

You could barely process his words, your mind reeling, trapped between the horror of your past and the overwhelming, undeserved reality of your rescue. "No! Wait! You can't… you can't take me!" Your voice was raw, a desperate whisper. You twisted in his arms, trying to pull away, to free yourself, not from their grasp, but from the horrifying realization that they were doing this for you, the monster.

"What are you talking about, Y/N?" Nami exclaimed, her earlier anger at your abduction now replaced by concern as she approached, her eyes scanning you for injuries. "We just saved you!"

"Bring me back!" you pleaded, your voice rising, bordering on a frantic sob. The words tumbled out, unbidden, fueled by a lifetime of self-loathing. "I'm filthy! Disgusting! So ugly, I'm sure! I don't deserve this! I don't deserve to be free!" You felt the scalding hot tears stream down your face, blurring your vision. "I don't deserve you! I'm a blight! My blood… it's tainted! I'm a killer! Just leave me! Please, leave me!"

You wrestled against Luffy's hold, desperate to be returned to the chains, to the 'justice' you felt you deserved. The very notion of their kindness, their unyielding acceptance after hearing the truth, was a torment worse than any physical pain. You were a monster in their midst, and the thought that they might still care for you after your mother’s revelations was unbearable.

Your desperate pleas, laced with self-loathing, hung heavy in the air, echoing amidst the rubble of the shattered chamber. You thrashed in Luffy’s arms, pleading to be left, to be returned to the very chains they had just broken. The words "I'm filthy! Disgusting! So ugly, I'm sure! I don't deserve this! I don't deserve to be free!" tore at their hearts, a stark contrast to the fierce, protective warrior they knew.

Luffy's grip tightened, his usually bright eyes now clouded with a raw, almost painful determination. He shook his head, a firm, immediate rejection of your self-condemnation. "No!" he roared, his voice cutting through your frantic sobs. "That's not you, Y/N! You're our nakama! And we don't leave nakama behind! Not ever!" His rubbery hand, strong and unwavering, reached up to cup your tear-stained face, gently forcing you to look at him. His gaze held no judgment, only an overwhelming, stubborn belief in you.

Zoro, though still reeling from your mother’s revelations, sheathed his sword with a decisive click. He stepped closer, his voice gruff but firm. "Shut up, Y/N. You think we came all this way just to listen to you talk nonsense? You're with us now. That's all there is to it." His words, blunt and to the point, held an undeniable undercurrent of acceptance.

Nami, her initial shock turning to fierce protectiveness, rushed forward. She reached out, grasping one of your hands, her grip surprisingly strong. "Don't you dare say that! We don't care where you came from! We care about who you are now! And who you are now is our friend!" Her eyes, usually calculating, now shone with genuine warmth and indignation on your behalf.

Sanji appeared beside her, his face a storm of conflicting emotions – anguish for your pain, and fury at the ones who had instilled it. "Y/N-chan," he said, his voice unusually soft, devoid of its usual flirtatious lilt. "Please don't talk like that about yourself. You are not filthy. You are not disgusting. You are our beautiful, strong Y/N-chan, and no one, especially not those pigs, gets to tell you otherwise!"

Usopp, still trembling slightly, found his voice. "Yeah! You always protect us! You're super brave! You can't just… just give up now!" His usual exaggerations were replaced by a sincere plea.

Chopper, tears streaming down his small, furry face, buried his head against Luffy’s leg, unable to articulate his distress but radiating pure, unconditional concern.

Robin stepped forward, her calm demeanor a steadying force amidst the chaos. Her eyes, filled with profound understanding, met yours. "Y/N," she said, her voice a gentle balm. "The past does not define who you are in the present. What they forced you to do... that was not you. It was a cage. You broke free. And we are here because we see you, not your blood, not your history. We see our friend."

Franky, wiping a stray tear from his metallic eye, managed a strained grin. "Yeah, Y/N! You're SUPER! No more crying! Let's get out of this crummy place!" His booming voice, for once, was a comforting rumble.

Jinbe placed a large, gentle hand on your shoulder, his gaze deep and understanding. "Child," he said, his voice a low, reassuring murmur. "Shame is a heavy burden, but it is not one you must carry alone. Your will, your actions with us, show us who you truly are. Not the person they tried to make you."

Their words, their unwavering belief, were like a lifeline thrown into the dark abyss of your self-condemnation. You still felt raw, exposed, every nerve ending screaming with the deep-seated loathing of your own blood. But looking into their faces, seeing their collective denial of your "filth," their fierce rejection of your "ugliness," something shifted within you. It didn't erase the past, didn't make the shame vanish. But in their eyes, you saw something you hadn't dared to dream of: a glimmer of acceptance, a love so unconditional, it dared to challenge the very core of your deepest, darkest beliefs.

The path back to the Thousand Sunny was a blur of motion and sound. Luffy still held you, his arm wrapped firmly around you, essentially carrying you as the crew moved with practiced efficiency. They smashed through any remaining resistance, their fury a tangible force against the stunned World Government agents and the terrified, scattering townsfolk. The chaos of their entry was mirrored by the swift, powerful storm of their exit.

You were vaguely aware of Zoro covering their flank, his swords a deadly blur. Sanji kicked agents aside with precise, enraged movements. Nami navigated the shortest route, her shouts guiding them through the bewildered crowds. Usopp and Franky created diversions, explosions and bizarre contraptions distracting anyone who dared to stand in their way. Chopper darted around, making sure no one was left behind. Robin’s hands sprouted, effortlessly disabling any remaining threats. Jinbe moved with quiet power, clearing their path with unyielding force.

You, however, felt a profound, bone-deep exhaustion settle over you. The adrenaline that had fueled your defiance, the raw emotion of your breakdown, had completely drained you. Your body felt heavy, each limb a leaden weight. The prolonged terror of the interrogation, the mental and emotional torment from your mother and brother, had taken their toll. Your sobbing had left your throat raw, your eyes burning, and your head throbbing with a dull ache. You were weak, physically and emotionally spent, a hollow shell. The world blurred around you, the sounds of battle fading into a distant hum. You leaned into Luffy’s warmth, too weary to resist, too broken to care about your usual need for distance.

Finally, the familiar sight of the Thousand Sunny appeared through the chaos. Brook, standing guard at the railing, let out a relieved, if somewhat confused, "Yohohoho! You're back! And quite the ruckus you made!"

Luffy didn't slow, bounding onto the deck with you still in his arms. The sudden quiet of the ship, after the pandemonium of the town, was almost jarring. He gently set you down on the soft grass of the deck, steadying you as your legs threatened to give out.

"Y/N!" Brook exclaimed, his empty eye sockets conveying concern as he saw your disheveled state, your tear-streaked face, and the lingering terror in your eyes. "Are you alright, my dear? What happened?"

You tried to speak, to offer some reassurance, but your voice was a dry, raspy whisper. Your body trembled uncontrollably, the aftermath of the intense emotional and physical strain. Every muscle ached, every nerve ending felt raw and exposed. The warmth of the sun on your skin, the gentle sway of the ship, should have been comforting, but you were too exhausted, too utterly spent to feel anything but the profound emptiness left by your recent ordeal.

The crew gathered around you, their faces etched with concern, their earlier anger now replaced by a quiet worry. They didn't push, didn't demand answers. They simply watched you, their presence a silent, unwavering testament to their commitment. You had been rescued, brought back from the darkness of your past, but the journey had stripped you bare, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, perhaps for the very first time.

The gentle rocking of the Thousand Sunny was a stark contrast to the violent tremors that still ran through your body. You lay curled on the grass of the deck, a thin blanket draped over you by Chopper, who hovered nearby, his small face etched with worry. The immediate rush of adrenaline had completely evaporated, leaving you feeling hollowed out, utterly spent. Every muscle ached, a testament to the internal battle you'd just fought, and lost, within yourself.

The crew moved around you, their actions muted, respectful of the fragile peace that had settled after the storm. You could hear the soft swish of Zoro cleaning his swords, the clinking of Sanji preparing food in the galley, the quiet murmurs of Nami and Robin speaking at the railing. Their presence, so recently a source of profound fear and shame, was now… different. Not comforting, not yet, but a steadying anchor in the turbulent sea of your own mind.

The raw edges of your scar throbbed, a constant reminder of the physical and emotional wounds. You remembered your mother’s cutting words, echoing your own self-condemnation: "filthy, disgusting, so ugly, I'm sure." The profound shame of your lineage, the guilt of your past actions, still clung to you like a shroud. You were an executioner, a tool of the very evil they fought. How could they look at you now, knowing that, and not see a monster?

You tried to push the thoughts away, to find the deep, isolated corner you usually retreated to, but the exhaustion was too profound. Your body felt like it was made of lead, every breath a monumental effort. The tears had finally stopped, leaving your eyes dry and burning, a dull ache behind your temples. You were adrift, caught between the terrifying clarity of your past and the bewildering, undeserved kindness of your present.

Luffy knelt beside you, his presence a comforting warmth you couldn't quite bring yourself to pull away from. He didn't speak, simply rested a large, calloused hand on your arm, a silent gesture of solidarity. It wasn't pity you saw in his eyes, but a deep, unwavering acceptance that defied all logic.

After a moment, Robin approached, carrying a cup of warm, steaming liquid. "Here, Y/N," she murmured, her voice soft, empathetic. "It might help." She didn't press when you hesitated, simply held it out until you, with trembling hands, managed to take it. The herbal scent was soothing, a small comfort.

You took a tentative sip, the warmth spreading through your chilled body. You knew they were trying to give you space, to let you recover, but the unspoken questions hung in the air between you. They had seen your mother, heard her chilling words. They knew, now. Or at least, they knew enough to piece together the terrifying truth.

You risked a glance at Jinbe, who stood a little apart, his gaze serene but understanding. He, more than anyone, knew the weight of such a past, the complexities of fighting against one's own identity. In his eyes, you saw no condemnation, only a shared, silent burden.

The silence on the deck was profound, filled with unspoken truths and the fragile beginnings of a different kind of understanding. The Straw Hats weren't just a crew; they were a force of nature that had shattered the walls of your emotional prison, revealing the raw, bleeding wounds beneath. And now, you had to face the daunting task of healing, of learning to live with a past that refused to stay buried, and with a future you never thought you deserved.

The silence on the deck of the Thousand Sunny stretched, thick with unspoken questions and the profound weight of your secret. The gentle sway of the ship, meant to be calming, only amplified the turbulent storm within you. You lay there, shivering despite the blanket, the raw aftermath of your emotional breakdown leaving you utterly exposed. The shame and guilt, momentarily pushed aside by the sheer force of their rescue, now roared back with a vengeance.

A raw, broken sob tore from your throat, startling even yourself. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the tears, hot and relentless, streamed down your temples and into your hair.

"I'm… I'm so sorry," you choked out, the words a fractured whisper, barely audible even in the quiet of the deck. Your voice was raspy, broken from earlier screams and sobs. "I'm so sorry… for being so filthy."

Another sob ripped through you, rattling your weakened frame. "I'm disgusting," you continued, the words a self-inflicted lash. "My blood… it's tainted. It's… it's poison." Your hands, still trembling, clenched into impotent fists, nails digging into your palms. "All those lives… I… I caused so much pain. So much suffering." The image of the child's terrified eyes, the scholars' pleas, flashed behind your eyelids, sharp and agonizing. "I'm an executioner. I did it. I… I took them. Because they told me to. Because I was too weak to stop."

You curled tighter into yourself, a pathetic, sobbing mess. "This is what they broke in to save?" you thought, the self-loathing a bitter taste in your mouth. "A crying, pathetic mess who deserves to be chained. Who deserves to burn. I caused the pain, and now I'm crying. How utterly pathetic."

The Straw Hats, who had stood silently, listening to your raw, agonizing confession, did not flinch. There was no judgment in their eyes, no recoil, only an overwhelming wave of something you couldn't comprehend: unconditional acceptance.

Luffy, without a word, simply tightened his arm around you, pulling you gently but firmly against his side. His warmth, his solid presence, was a stark contrast to the cold void of your despair. He rested his chin on your head, holding you close as you wept, his simple act of unwavering physical comfort speaking volumes.

Zoro crossed his arms, his gaze intense but surprisingly soft. "Shut up, Y/N," he said again, his voice gruff, yet devoid of any harshness. "Everyone has a past. Doesn't mean it defines who you are now." It wasn't forgiveness he offered, but a simple statement of fact, a challenge to your self-condemnation.

Nami knelt beside you, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She reached out, gently rubbing your back. "What they did to you," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, "that wasn't your fault, Y/N. You were a child. They forced you. Don't you dare blame yourself for their evil."

Sanji stepped forward, his eyes blazing with fury—not at you, but at the unseen architects of your suffering. "Those bastards brainwashed you, Y/N-chan! They twisted your mind! You're suffering because of their cruelty, not your own!"

Usopp looked away, his own eyes wet, unable to meet your gaze directly but his voice firm. "You're our nakama! You help us! You fight for us! That's what matters!"

Chopper, trembling, climbed onto your lap, burying his face against your chest. You could feel his small, furry body shaking, but he clung to you, a silent, unwavering comfort.

Robin knelt on your other side, her hand gently resting on your hair. "The darkness they forced upon you is not a reflection of your true self, Y/N," she said, her voice a soothing balm. "Your efforts to protect us, your determination to escape them, that is the truth of who you are. And we see it."

Franky sniffled loudly, dramatically wiping a tear from his eye. "Yeah! You're crying about it, aren't you?! That means you feel bad! That means you're SUPER good inside!" His logic, though simplistic, was undeniably earnest.

Jinbe approached, his large, kind hand resting on your back, a silent anchor. "Regret is a heavy burden, child," he said, his voice a deep, resonant hum. "But it is also a sign of a good heart. The fact that you feel this pain, this shame, means you are not the monster they tried to make you. You are one of us."

You lay there, a sobbing mess, surrounded by the warmth of their presence, enveloped by their words. Their acceptance, so profound, so utterly undeserved in your mind, cracked something open within you. The guilt still gnawed, but for the first time, a faint, fragile seed of hope began to stir in the desolate landscape of your heart. You were still Y/N, the one with the cursed blood, the tainted past, but now, you were also Y/N, held by those who refused to let you drown in your own shame.

The days that followed your rescue were a strange, fragile dance on the Thousand Sunny. The immediate, agonizing shame of your past being revealed still clung to you, a heavy cloak you wished you could shed. Yet, beneath it, a new, tentative warmth began to bloom – the inexplicable, unwavering acceptance of the Straw Hats.

You still woke in cold sweats some nights, the nightmares of your childhood, the faces of those you had hurt, as vivid as ever. But now, when you jolted awake, trembling and breathless, there was a difference. Sometimes, a soft snore from the hammock above reminded you of Usopp's presence. Sometimes, the gentle creak of the ship's timbers was a strangely comforting lullaby. And sometimes, a small, furry head would appear at the edge of your hammock, Chopper's worried eyes silently asking if you were okay. You wouldn't always respond, but you no longer felt the desperate need to hide your distress, to suffer in absolute solitude.

Your interactions with the crew, though still cautious, began to shift. You no longer flinched quite as violently when Luffy clapped a hand on your shoulder, or when Sanji offered you a specially prepared snack. His flirtations, once a source of mild annoyance, now felt like a strangely comforting constant, a sign of his continued, uncritical care. When Nami asked for your opinion on a navigation route, you found yourself offering genuine input, rather than a terse, dismissive shrug. You even allowed Zoro to win a few more of your sparring matches, though you still gave him a run for his money. The quiet understanding in Robin's gaze no longer felt like an intrusion, but a shared silent knowledge, a bond forged in unspoken pain.

You were still guarded, the ingrained habits of a lifetime of self-preservation too deep to simply vanish. You wouldn't volunteer information about your past, and the topic remained largely unspoken among the crew, a silent agreement to let you heal at your own pace. But the walls around your heart, once impenetrable fortresses, now had small, hairline cracks.

Over the next few weeks, small changes began to accumulate. You found yourself lingering on deck more often, not just scanning the horizon, but observing the easy camaraderie of your crewmates. You watched Franky tinker with the Sunny, his booming laughter a surprisingly soothing sound. You found yourself listening more closely to Brook's melancholic songs, a shared appreciation for the beauty of music replacing your usual detachment. Even the stoic presence of Jinbe felt less like a reminder of shared burdens and more like a pillar of strength.

There were still moments when the self-loathing would resurface, a cold tide of "filthy, disgusting, ugly" washing over you. You'd catch a glimpse of your scar in a reflection and feel the familiar surge of shame. But now, the voices of your crew, their unwavering denials of those self-inflicted wounds, resonated louder. They saw past the bloodline, past the forced actions, past the scar, to the person you were now.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, you found yourself sitting on the railing, watching the waves. Chopper quietly approached, his small hooves pattering softly on the deck. He didn't say anything, simply hopped onto the railing beside you and leaned his head gently against your arm. You didn't flinch. Instead, very slowly, almost imperceptibly, you reached out a hand and gently stroked his fur. It was a small gesture, almost nothing, but for you, it was a chasm crossed.

You were still Y/N, the one with the cursed blood and the indelible past. But now, you were also Y/N, a member of the Straw Hat Pirates, slowly, painfully, learning what it meant to be truly seen, truly accepted, and truly free. The path to healing was long, but you were no longer walking it alone.

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

✦✧✦ Chapter 6 ✦✧✦

On The Family Tree, A Tiny Robin Perches On A Tight Rope

Richard 'Dick' Grayson

Warning this part contains: Cringey shit from me reading regress manwha, Made up and mixed non-cannon timelines of DC, Change of Ages, Cursing, Death and slight dark theme, Cannon Deaths (falling), Manipulative actions and thoughts, Murderous thoughts and actions, This is like slow-burn but in a platonic yandere sense?, MC has hidden anger to everyone (the lvl to each just differ), MC is Evil in the sense of making sure no one can hurt them first, has obsessive mindset to create the perfect family and a very special guest at the end.

UNEDITED AND NOT PROOFREAD YET

Note: FINE I'm using YN but it's still They/Them, MC is now 14 yrs old yey! and yes they are the oldest in the family, finally we're now with the other members of the family, this mostly will be MC pov and the families pov in the end, a bit like what I did with Bruce and MC in 4&5 but since my mind is brain dead this will be in longass parts because I like to torture myself, Longer parts for the main and one-shot with the rest.

MASTERLIST pages 5 , 6......

Now Playing ↻◁ ||▷↺ mazie - dumb dumb ılıılıılılılıılıılı

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Only small years have gone by yet everything seems to settle down easily for me and Bruce or my Dad now I guess.

So easy that I can curl my tiny fingers around him while making sure he thinks I'm still sitting nicely in his palm, just simply doing what normal Father and Child do with an addition of Alfred becoming my sort of non-biological Grandfather to me, it's so easy to pretend around them, like lying to a kid.

Schooling was a breeze, I just have to keep up appearances and all, besides it's easy to fool children and using those dimwitted snotty rich kids under my control.

I have a few more months to prepare until one of the official kids practically pulls up hand in hand with Bruce along with the adoption papers but that's alright-

After all a perfect family should be complete with little brothers and sisters running around.

Richard Grayson or Dick came first as he always do in every reset, the very first common variable in my problem, a character that's always prominent in the story, the first ever boy wonder and the prodigy of Batman but now that I have an opportunity to change things? I'll make an even better scrip just for him.

He was the Eldest even though I came first, He was the most reliable and the one everyone looked up to while I was the unreliable and useless one, He was the first child Bruce took in because he felt sorry for him and not the one force to him in one day like me.

Oh woe to me and my miserable, sad and pathetic life.

It all began after Bruce asked me to watch the traveling Haly's Circus along with me, again something that never happened before my other life even when some of those I begged for him to bring me but now he's the one who asked for me if part of the reason I said yes, the rest? is probably to maintain the typical Wayne Family font as well as making a mini fundraiser for entertainments in Gotham, a tiny addition from me, I had to make great impressions to stay at in the good graces of this city, making sure my hard work will pay off in the end and to prevent any more issues that could cost a new fracture in this reset.

If Batman has contingency plans then so do I

Many of the Richer families came as well, surprisingly I finally see the Drake family together for once with the little Tim standing between his two parents who was a bit eager to have a word with Bruce, I almost forgot that Tim was also watching the flying graysons to back then.

I stare at the adults talking as I stand with another new cane on my right since I out grew the first one and a large cotton candy on the other hand before noticing the little boy on my side looking at me with stars in his eyes, a weird look coming from him since I rarely met him this early, not that he even looked at me with those eyes before.

'A tiny outline of Robin's mask was drawn on his face before quickly glitching away'

"Y-... you're THE YN Wayne..oh my god-". He gushed as I raised an eyebrow showing a bit of a surprise before concealing it and sending him a fake smile, cute kid not the usual -overdose caffeine and prioritizes more case files and more 'interesting' people- boy.

"Hello, nice to meet you". I said and held the cotton candy that I haven't taken a bite out of to him as I perfectly timed a flashed of the paparazzi's camera aimed at us.

He looked at the treat in his hands and look up afterwards but I was already walking away with Bruce entering the largest tent where the show would begin.

I watched as a large boyish smile grow in his face before hiding my frown to him for being gullible and easy to fool nature.

'A bit weak and dependent, not yet maybe a few more years and see if he comes out perfect'

During the show, I didn't bother pretending to be at awe, The people were amazing and living up to their name being the best traveling circus in the world even when I knew what's really behind this amazing facade.

Seeing a person on the open flap of the tent, I observe them sending signals to someone near the trapeze equipment before disappearing while I felt someone eyeing me and Bruce from the other bleachers on the other side before turning towards the figures of the Graysons as he opens a pocket watch with engravings of an owl.

'The court of owls will be the perpetrators? or was it a collaboration this time?' I wondered the possibilities since I don't see the familiar face of Tony Zucco and his usual lackeys anywhere before paying attention to the flame breathing stunt in front of me.

It would have been easy to prevent this death but I know the circumstances will change and end up ruining my odds, so the death of the Flying Graysons did infact happened and there's nothing more I can do.

Watching the two lovers plumenting to the ground, their body smacking straight in the center, a haunting pose of where the fingers of the two barely reached one another but failed since Death is a poetic bitch.

I pick out the tiny form of the younger grayson among the ruckus of people screaming and running away, he tried pushing against the other members of the circus so he can reach his parents but was held back to prevent him from getting more traumatize.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I turn to see Bruce behind me then clocked the direction on where I was staring and watch Dick crying in the ringmaster's arms, a familiar look in his eyes as the scene reminds him of something that happened to him years ago.

'A pity really' Their voiced echoed in my head as they stand next to the man with the owl pocket watch, they seem to like them for some reason.

As we were escorted outside, Bruce did a quick check if I was alright but I simply coaxed him to the little Robin's direction using his poor weeping heart to have the Big Bat swipe the kid away from that Owl.

While Bruce comforts him, I stand amongst the sea of panicking people just observing them until I become aware of someone approaching me, someone who finally answered my suspicion.

"Seems like your Father took a liking to a different child". He said as he laid a gloved hand on my shoulder.

I chuckled at his feeble attempt to manipulate me before looking up at him with a tiny smile on my face.

"Well to me it looks like my dad just has too much compassion in his heart, Mister". I clarified instead as I take his hand off me, turning to stare and giving him a fake smile with something sinister just hiding behind my teeth.

"It would be best if you don't show your face anywhere near me for now, Great Uncle Jacob". Stating with a kind voice while hiding a threat underneath my words.

"You wouldn't want Bruce connecting you to the Graysons family death after what happened to your first stunt now, would you?" I taunt him from what happened in the early years of Bruce becoming batman and his failure as I get a scowl in return.

'Grumpy Gruncle' They snicker behind his legs, poking the dangling pocket watch.

He huffs and sneer at me before quickly walking away and disappear within the masses of people surrounding the area.

'Shouldn't have done that' They said as they lean on my back as they watch the owl flying away quietly into the night.

"Sorry I had to, he killed me 5 times and 2 of those were just dumb luck, so dumb it just pisses me off". Muttering I stab the ground with the end of my cane and twist the grass under in irritation.

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In the end Dick was put under Bruce's care till he can manage or in the back of Bruce mind finally get the adoption papers ready and officiate everything, really wanted to know which one would win first if I left it alone.

But I guess things just won't go my way this time. Dick was, how do I say this? quite different from who he was before or technically what he'll be in the future, Dick was the most joyful and charasmatic person you'll ever met but this kid?

He's angsty and a bomb ready to blow up with the mere mention of his parents and I understand him, I do and I knew once he became Robin it won't be long till he slowly become the Dick Grayson I knew from my past resets.

No matter, I just have to make sure this one falls right into place, a little editing in the scrip won't cause too much of a problem.

I remembered when he first arrived at the manor I was helping Alfred make dinner for the four of us - Alfred included because I want a proper family and that includes him eating with us even if it's just for dinner-, Bruce was introducing me and Alfred to him went he just stayed quiet and walks off after the older man was told to lead him to his new bedroom, Bruce then was wearing a frustrated look making me snicker as I stir the pot.

"It's not funny kid". He grumbles before taking a seat on one of the stools on the island counter as I watch him think on the side.

"He's just sad Dad give him a break you can't really blame him" Implying on why he stormed off as I scoop up a tiny portion of the soup with the ladel before tasting it.

"I wanted to kill everyone when Ma died" I added as I spot him tensing up at my violent confession but stayed quiet, turns out I finally know the feeling of how spoiled kids get when they're own parents don't reprimand them about their bad behavior.

I wonder how far can I get away

Few more weeks he kept being moody and snappy to Bruce occasionally to Alfred as well making me annoyed at his attitude and slight fear that if I don't act now there won't be a Dick Grayson Robin in this reset.

'A perfect brother will never act like this'

When Bruce had to leave for a sudden mission outside of Gotham either by himself or maybe with another hero who's been nagging him as of late, I took the chance to plan something.

Finding him in one of the manor's gym room as he climbs and do tricks on some of the gymnastics equipment inside.

"Hey! Grayson come down for a bit would you?". I called out to him as he hangs on the still rings.

"If Bruce sent you then forget it, I'm not interested in anything you guys want me to do" He grumbles as he pulls himself up.

"Bruce is gone for a week, I have something else in mind so you better get down from there or else" I jokingly threaten him as I lean on my cane and hiding my other hand behind.

"or else what?" He did a somersault in the air before landing on the thick foam, he's form perfect with minimal errors and then glared at me with his arms crossed.

"Or I'll have someone take down every equipment in this room till you have to swing on those trees on the garden like a monkey". Before smiling at him as I shove a bouquet of consisting of white Lilies and Hyacinths to him.

"Now, let's move it flying kid or you'll miss them". I declare and walking out after as he quickly put on one of his windbreaker jacket over his tank top and followed me.

Leaving the manor with Alfred's permission he kept on asking where we're going on the way but I just stayed quiet till we reach the largest cemetary in Gotham and entered as we arrived infront of the grave of John and Mary Grayson's.

Alot of trinkets were given in tribute to the two acrobats, from Fans to friends and family, I stand there infront of their graves as I sense Dick's anger rising.

"You-! do you think this is funny-?!" He fumes out as he grip the flowers tightly and ready to throw it at me when I cut him off.

"Let me ask you something Richard and I want the honest truth from you". I turn and look at him as I lean on my cane.

"Did you really mourn properly to your parents? stand right here and cried for them since that night?"

"Yes! of course I did!"

"Then why are you still angry? like the world has wronged you?" I reach out hesitantly then gently lay a hand to his head before patting his hair gently like how you'll coo over your angry dog.

"It's because you haven't so that's why I brought you here, I'm not forcing you to move on from your parents nor am I forcing you to become another part of a new family" I move my hand to his shoulder and turn him to face their tombstone.

"Just because your saying goodbye doesn't mean you'll be losing them, for now just take your time and stay here as long as you like and we'll come back to the manor whenever, a good cry never hurt anybody". I patted his back and turn away to head somewhere deeper in the cemetery

"Where are you going?" I hear him yell out but still standing in front of his parents as I answered him back.

"The cinerarium!".

Turning into night I was sitting infront of the many urns on the walls filled by the cremated remains of the people in gotham when he walked in and sit next to me, eyes swollen and nose a little stuffy while his cheeks are slightly red.

"Who....were you visiting?"

Not answering him I just lift my cane and pointed at a brown urn with a framed picture of a woman over it.

"Oh....." He realized and curled a little to himself before sighing and shuffled in discomfort, it's no secret to anyone that my mother was only famous because she had a night with Bruce and had me before dying in a mugging gone wrong.

"You know, when she died that night it felt like my world came crashing down too". I confess as felt his stare burning at the side of my face, I kept talking nonetheless.

"I wanted to hurt everyone and put the blame on the people who failed to save her, I didn't even get to see her face again before they cremated her because I'm just a kid who can't pay for a proper funeral".

"But no matter what I do or what I feel the world won't care and will keep on turning with or without you because that's life" Then turning to maintain an eye contact with him.

"The thing we can only control is what you'll do after, I had to be kidnapped by the Joker to realize that maybe it's better to make sure no kid like me ends up having their parents or love one cremated or killed with no justice, it's to live with your loses and win something else instead".

"I hope you'll use that anger and acrobatic of yours to good use Richard, you're still a kid, 10 even so go and make the most of what's left in your childhood before it's too late, if you don't want to be a part of the family then that's fine, it's ok no one's gonna fault you for that, your parents would've have wanted you to be happy nonetheless".

" We're here for you and have our full support, ok?" I convey to him before standing up and asked him if he's ready to go.

'As a perfect older sibling, it's my duty to look after you right? just a few nice words and kindness can push you to where I need you to be'

✦✧✦✧✦

Staring at their face I make out the moon behind their head in a way like a halo does to an Angel as they look at me with a simple smile full of understanding and kindness hidden deep within.

Nodding I reach out but then became a bit hesitant before wrapping my arms around their waist as I laid my head on their chest due to the fact we have a large age difference and height.

"I hope I didn't push anything too far today Richard". YN said as they rub my back with their free hand.

"No it's fine, I'm sorry you had to do this to make me understand". I replied before parting away for a bit to look at them.

"And call me Dick, I- it's a nickname I swear!". I quickly retort back when they snicker at my name.

"Ok ok I know, it's unique don't worry about it kid, now let's go back before Alfred gets more worried". They mumbled the last part before wincing as the both of us quickly head back to the manor.

Arriving and walking pass the opened gates, we were greeted by an angry Bruce Wayne who came back early from his 'business trip' and a frowning butler at the entrance but before he can lecture us, YN pulled them both to the side and let me off the hook.

I take in the sight of Bruce quickly going calm and quiet by the mention of YN softly calling him 'Dad' as they pull him further away but not before turning to wink at me as they motioned me to go up the stairs and hide from the earful of the two adults in this house.

Quickly rushing up I watch as they entered a corridor and leave the main entrance before standing up to walk back to my room to freshen up when something caught my eye.

Turning my head I see on top of the fireplace was two large beautifully framed paintings of the original Wayne Family where Thomas, Martha and a younger Bruce are and the other was a painting of a younger Y/N and Bruce Wayne like one of those old family portrait from the movies or inside the rich people's mansion when we were invited to their parties.

I study the way the painter has captured their face, the emotion in their eyes and that same simple kind smile they showed me back at the cemetery, In the portrait was them hand in hand with Bruce to show their unwavering connection as a Father and child and a strong small hand around the cane on their lap that to me symbolizes their strength and bravery after the tragic accident from the worse villain in Gotham- the Joker, I remember it vividly but the news went nationwide to worldwide at some point.

Like Mona Lisa, a warm smile that seemed too real or even a smile that hides the sadness of their broken heart because of what they went through as a kid like me.

Maybe having an older sibling won't be that bad, it's nice to be looked after, I like it when they give their attention to me and take good care of me, I like them-

I like YN alot.

During my time in the manor it felt like I was in a family again, Bruce Wayne becoming a great father-figure now officially adopted father who turns out to be THE Batman! how cool is that?! adding to that was Alfred who became like a grandfather to me, I never had one before but the thing I mostly look forward to everyday is YN.

It felt so nice to have them around and be anywhere near them, the laugh they do when I make jokes, their smiles and encouraging words when they found out I was becoming Robin to help Batman, I just hope they don't find out the reason I became one anyway.

"That's great! I'm happy you found something else to do but promise me, you'll be safe alright?" YN said their worried words making me feel warm inside before teasing me on my choice of clothing causing me blush.

"Can't you just give him leotards Dad?" YN snicker at Bruce who just rolls his eyes as he watch us over from the Batcomputer.

Everything was going well for me, saving gotham, beating up criminals and the villians in this city and having YN around to make me feel like a real kid when things are rough.

Being a Wayne is hard work too! Bruce was nice enough to let me keep my last name and I get to have it and they still treat me like family! Bruce showed me the ropes and basics of having a rich life and then sent me to school which somewhat sucks BUT YN was there to kick the boredom and everything that's boring about school away, not only that but I now understand why Gotham likes them so much. Gala's with them are so fancy but YN makes it work, they're barely a teenager yet everytime I looked at them surrounded by all the rich and money hungry adults to me it always looks like YN was the adult entertaining little greedy children. Most of the time YN focuses on the needy of Gotham making sure the money they raised in Gala's and Charities are going to the people unlike the one's that invites my parents or the circus just to entertain them and make fake promises and events just to fill up their pockets.

Having the Robin mantle is so awesome too! I get to help Batman fighting the bad guys and villians like a superhero, meeting wonderful people and even be there when Bruce -as Batman of course- made the Justice League, I MET SUPERMAN!!, then there's also Batgirl which Bruce revealed was Barbara Gordon -which was Gordon's kid!- that's hilarious, though it's not funny when she keeps stealing YN's attention, just because they're the same age doesn't mean it weights more than them being my family, my sibling, MINE!

My new life and Family is going pretty well until-

Until that assassin Slade or Deathstroke whatever his stupid name is was sent as a hitman by someone to kill me! Everything went down hill after that, YN was angry at Bruce for letting it happened almost crashing out after finding out who tried to kill me if it weren't for Alfred and Bruce calming them down, Bruce, he was either angry at me or at himself for almost getting me killed, not only that he wants me to stop being Robin!

That's not fair! just because of a little accident doesn't mean I have to stop being a vigilante and lay down the Robin mantle for good!

It was all falling apart until I was saved by YN again as they came up with a plan and get Bruce to change his mind.

"I think you should leave this house for a bit, leave gotham and go somewhere else"

What?

"Maybe it's because Dad doesn't trust you enough to keep on being Robin, maybe you need to just find yourself out there".

Leave? why do I have to leave you?

"Head to Jump city, it's a good place to start from there, I'm sure you'll find friends or even make a group like what Bruce had with Batman in Justice League".

I don't need to go anywhere! I want to stay with you!

"Please Dick, I can't see you falling again you were meant to fly but this thing with you as Robin with Batman is pulling you down," YN said before hugging me.

"I promise I'll keep in touch with you, but for now I'll take care of Bruce and try to talk him out when he returns from that space mission, He can't stop you when you're far away". They then kissed my head before seeing me off to head to Jump City.

And I promise to come back even stronger and become a better Robin to prove I can stay by your side.

Heeding their words and advice I did end up meeting new friends and making a group I could also call family, The Teen Titans while I was in Jump City we spent a lot of time saving the world, becoming a great team, and even closer as a family, it was nice but nothing could beat being a family with YN.

Just like they promised they talked with Bruce making him trust me to keep the Robin mantel, only making me feel even more thankful towards YN but in exchange I had to join another group that was more official and under the guidance of the Justice League for any of their side-kick or apprentices.

It's a bit humiliating to still be in Batman's shadow so I did something about it and became Nightwing, a name that Superman helped me with, a separate hero from Robin and from Batman something I made for myself, I'll do anything to make sure YN efforts were not in vain and make the most of the chance they gave me, it's only fair to show gratitude to your older sibling when they gave you another chance to make up for your loses.

Is it fair though? when I have to share them with another sibling? it doesn't seem fair to me, in fact, why did I have to do all of this just so another kid could swoop in and take my place?

But a good brother must learn how to share, a good brother knows how to be patient and a good brother must be nice towards the younger one even if the younger one is a little stealing piece of shit.

It's fine, it's fine! Everything will go back to the way they were soon, I just have to wait.

✦✧✦✧✦

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Music in Shuffle Now Playing

Playground - ↻◁ ||▷↺ Bea Miller (Arcane 1) ılıılıılılılıılıılı

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As the night air of Gotham City filled his lungs, a figure quickly jump and ran past many buildings and rooftop with his fast and agile skills to get to the location of his new client.

"This one better pay more than what it's worth for sending me back in this bat-infested hell hole" He muttered as he sneaked into the warehouse and climbed up the catwalk leading to a dimly lit room filled with busted computers and machinery littered with cobwebs and cockroaches.

Reaching towards a desk with an old office chair facing out near a grime and dust-covered window looking out towards to Crime Alley of the city.

"Who is Death?". He rolled his eyes behind the mask when a voice asked as he answer the code to announce his presence.

"The Lamb and The Wolf". Upon saying the correct answer the chair then slowly swiveled to face him revealing a man sitting in the seat with his eyes staring straight towards him that were blank with a tinge of green in the irises, the veins from his face down to his neck and wrist were glowing in a bright hue of green.

He tensed up but moved forward to look closely at his supposed client when something or someone moved behind him, quickly turning he pulled out his gun to shoot and missed just to hit the only lit light in the room since they were too fast before something touched his forehead.

Feeling his whole body suddenly drop on the metal ground as his arms and legs become paralyzed and heavy, he can only use his eyes to look around trying to catch the face of the perpetrator but fails due to the shattered bulb and the weak moonlight coming through the skylight of the warehouse.

"It's nice to meet you again Mr. Deathstroke" He could hear their voice regarding him by his alias but couldn't pinpoint their direction due to the pounding of his head and the hazy effect running throughout his body.

"Can I call you Slade? Or maybe for proper manners I should cal you as Mr. Wilson instead?". They asked as they revealed his real last name.

Wilson's eyes slightly widen from their knowledge of his identity but quickly hides his surprise to prevent them from ever getting the upper hand, he meticulously makes sure no one can dig anything important about his personal life, who is this person to know his last name.

"I really just wanna guess what you might be thinking but just for funsies how about I do this instead?-" As they talk the sound of something thudding along with footsteps rumble on the metal floor before they show their face to him.

Slade Joseph Wilson, a man whose name makes the powerful people in the underground tremble in fear for their lives should they ever be the one at the end of his gun or sword, the man who will be the fastest and deadliest assassin in the world, who will take down many heroes and gods alike by his own, superhuman abilities, skills, power, and sheer will.

Felt more fear than he ever did from his years in this cruel and unmerciful world, his heart kept pumping like he just run for more than a few miles, he's instincts and guts screamed at him to run and flee like his life was -for the first time- truly in danger.

That person was not a nobody or even one of those rich, snobby, and pot-bellied men or overconfident and lustful women that usually hire him, no they were none of that.

He knew them, even before he took that job to kill Robin, how could he not? It was a massive secret among the underground who YN Wayne was, every normal rich person knew they were only a child born from a one-night stand Bruce had with some woman but only the real people working for the Big man and the real deal knew who they were.

YN Wayne was not just the ordinary child of Bruce Wayne that was born out of an accident and the Beloved Child of Gotham, No they were also the precious grandchild of the only daughter of the Big Man himself who went missing years ago until her untimely death he was so feared and no one even knew who this Big Man is, He was never afraid of the guy but still choose to stir away just in case.

He fears no man and everyone fears him but this foreign feeling consumes his head as he watches the young Wayne kneel down and give him a wicked smile as they tap their cane on his mask to take it off.

"Would you look at all those thoughts running into your little murderous brain". They speak out of fascination and interest disregarding the man lying below as he continues to hyperventilate from their intrusion into his brain.

Reaching out to touch his head again, the veins in their hand glow the same as the ones from the unmoving man on the chair once they come near his skin, As soon as their fingers and his skin touch a wave of pain and shock zapped throughout his body making him scream.

An Excruciating pain where he feels his body getting ripped apart from his joints, flesh, and even his skin then to be put back together.

"Stay still I just need something from you" Their smile widens, and the faint glow of green brightens more as they dig deeper into his head as the pain grows and screams slowly fill the abandoned warehouse.

After some time Slade woke up from his forced sleep completely delirious as he remembered the moments that happened awhile ago.

"Looks like the Deathstroke finally woke up from his killer sleep". He heard YN's voice and he turned to see them sitting on the desk as he found himself on the chair.

Slade quickly moves on his feet as he finds the adrenaline and anger deep inside his body when he feels their hold on him no more, He slams them on the table with a hand on their throat before grabbing his military knife that was miraculously still in his belt before aiming it at their throat.

As he tries to stab the weapon in their flesh, his hands shake and tremble from a sudden strong force stopping him making him frustrated and glare at the child.

"Stop resisting and enough with your meta-powers kid, this ends with you dead and a payment for trying to -might I add- put the fear of god on me". Slade growled and tried to choke the barely teenager kid but they just smiled as his hand around their throat loosened by what he felt was his will.

"I said quit with the-" He growled out in frustration but the kid just let out a laugh as they watch him struggle.

"Powers? What powers Mr. Wilson? none of it is working right now you're a smart man you should have caught on by now that I'm only using it when my eyes glows". They explained as they stay lay limped on the table while watching the knife on directly above their eye shake in his hands.

Slade took note of it and studied their eyes that was back to their normal color and notice that their hands were on the side not even touching him, Trying again he reeled his arm back and drove down but his hand keep stopping by just an inch near the Wayne's eye.

"I'm not the one controlling you Mr. Wilson" They mock him as Slade backs away and look at his hands in horror.

"What have you done to me?!". He shouts as the knife clatters on the floor as he sends a murderous look at the child, YN just shrugs as they sit up on the desk and lazily look at Slade still holding a small smile.

"Nothing much just did a little tweak in your brain". They smiled before grabbing their cane and jumping off the desk to walk around the defeated Slade who fell on his knees.

"I knew talking to you without me getting killed would never be a possibility so- I took your will to kill or hurt me instead- Technically now it's you who's stopping yourself". They revealed before stopping in front of Slade as they looked down at him, their eyes revealing the small glow under the shadows of the room.

"You see there's something in this world that you just don't understand yet Mr. Wilson but you don't get the privilege to know that just yet-" The young one kneeled down as they peered through his soul revealing everything that Slade hides behind his eyes and mind.

"What I want you to know though is that You don't belong in my script, you weren't supposed to be a part of this but you just made a mistake and squeezed yourself in any way". They sneered at him before gripping his jaw with their small hands in a surprisingly very tight grip that almost broke his bones, Slade groaned in pain as he tried to talk while his jaw was starting to lock.

"What fucking scrip are you talking about you psychotic shit-"

"Shut up you don't get to talk, by the way that little shit you pulled to Robin? you don't get away with that, Batman might let you but I won't" Their grip tightened even more and Slade could feel his teeth and gums as well as his jaw crack from their inhumane strength a far cry from what fragile, gentle persona, and form they present to the world.

"That little Robin belongs to Me and I get a say on whether or not I don't want him anymore, I won't let you destroy my plans and my perfect family just because you're dumb enough to get played by the Joker to kill my perfect little brother". YN divulged the truth as Slade's eyes widened from the confession and the dots that connected in his head.

"Don't even think about using the truth or bother remembering this because I won't let you ruin my game". They said reading his thoughts before delivering a harsh smack with their cane to his cheek that was strong enough to send him back to the ground.

"I already got what information I wanted from you so I'll let you go until I need something from you again". They then smiled before touching Slade's head one more time and scrambling more into his brain.

"You won't get to remember this but somewhere or some time you will when I want to and when that happens make sure you follow what's written down for you, I don't like Improvs". As Slade roars in pain and anger his body fails to follow his orders to fight back the room around him shakes and distorts in and out of reality as a silhouette of a person with glowing eyes consumes his vision and reaches out their fingers to crawl deep into his brain forcing the memories of his mind to be blocked deep inside.

"You'll pay for this!! I'll find out everything and once I do I'll rip off your little brain with my bare hands!!" He declares as his eyes roll back slowly losing to the darkness only remembering those haunting eyes staring into his soul.

"We will meet again Wilson, if Death and the Fates permit it".

His world fades as the laughing and the sound of steps walking away from him fade.

✦✧✦✧✦

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HEY! What's up sorry for the long wait I added more stuff from my original version just for you guys! and more YN lore!

Anyway sorry for the weird narrative and mixing of TT (2003) and YJ in one universe I know they don't exist at the same time but TT has a special place in my heart besides this is just for the plot I won't be dwelling too much around them other than possible one shot if it comes to it.

So the versions here should be a mix from:

Prime Earth, Some of Post and Pre-Crisis, Teen Titan, and YJ but this doesn't have to be cannon cannon, So many things could still change.

Bruce has two feral children in his hands now and a few more coming in oh boy.

I added two new villains for now and some will keep coming in the next update Hope you guys liked this

TAGLIST IS NO MORE

[glowettee]

Hello, mindy~ Do you have any tips on getting back up again after major disappointment in both personal and professional life? I'm currently going through it🥺.

✧・getting back up after disappointment・゜✧

hey lovely 🤍

oh my heart goes out to you right now. disappointment in both personal and professional spheres at the same time? that's honestly one of the hardest things to navigate because it can feel like there's no safe space to retreat to when everything hurts at once.

first thing i want you to know is that you're not alone in this feeling. i went through something similar last year when a friendship ended the same week i lost a project i'd been working on for months. it felt like the universe was playing some cruel joke, and i spent days just existing in my pajamas, wondering how to even start picking up the pieces.

here's what helped me (and what i hope might help you too):

allow yourself to feel everything first. seriously. don't rush to "get over it" or "be positive" right away. disappointment needs to be processed, not skipped over. i literally had a designated crying spot (my bathroom floor) where i would just let myself feel awful for 20 minutes. then i could get up and face the day.

create tiny moments of control when everything feels chaotic. when both personal and professional parts of life are in shambles, focus on the smallest things you can control. make your bed. organize one drawer. choose a pretty outfit even if you're staying home. these tiny acts of order remind your brain that you still have agency.

find the narrative thread. disappointments are chapters, not the whole book of your life. journaling helped me see how these setbacks were actually redirecting me toward something that aligned better with who i was becoming. ask yourself: what is this disappointment making space for? what was i learning that i needed to know?

reconnect with the version of you that existed before these disappointments. what did she love? what made her eyes light up? sometimes we need to remember who we are at our core, beneath the layers of recent hurt. for me, it was rereading childhood favorite books and taking myself on little photography walks.

be ridiculously gentle with yourself. lower the bar temporarily. celebrate small wins. did you shower today? amazing. replied to one email? incredible progress. disappointment takes actual emotional energy to process, so treat yourself like you're recovering from something physical (because in many ways, you are).

find the others. disappointment can feel so isolating, but sharing your story (even just parts of it) with trusted friends creates bridges back to feeling connected. you don't need to trauma dump, just let someone know you're struggling and could use some company or distraction.

healing isn't linear. you'll have days where you feel like you're flourishing again, followed by random afternoons where grief hits you out of nowhere. that's completely normal, i promise.

the fact that you're reaching out shows me you already have the resilience to move through this. disappointment doesn't define you!! how you respond to it becomes part of your story, but it's never the whole story.

sending you the gentlest hugs and believing in your ability to not just survive this chapter but eventually find meaning in it. you're going to be okay, even if "okay" looks different than you imagined.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

p.s. my dms are always open if you need someone to listen without judgment. we all need that sometimes. 💭

🕯️ psst. there’s a place where you can finally ask the questions that keep you up at night.: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[ceramini]

guys i just wanna say something real quick bc i’m feeling so many things right now and idk how to explain it all but i’m gonna try.

mentally i haven’t really been okay for a while. uni has been fucking draining and honestly some of the people around me made it worse. like imagine already being overwhelmed and trying your best and then being around people who either don’t care or just make things harder?? yeah. it’s been a lot. and i’ve gone on hiatus a few times, not bc i didn’t care or forgot about this blog, but because i genuinely couldn’t do a thing. not being lazy but feeling so stressed out to the point of fatigue. and when i get in that place, i just shut down. it’s hard to talk or post or even exist when your brain is just constantly screaming at you. so if you noticed me disappearing now and then, that’s why. i was struggling.

but with all that said… i actually had such a productive week. like shockingly productive. i finished all my summer assignments (finally omg), i got my driver’s license (after procrastinating for literal months), and i’ve been writing like crazy. my drafts and queue are full, my request list is clear for once, and i just… feel proud of myself?? which i don’t say often. this week felt like i finally came up for air after being underwater for so long.

and then, like out of nowhere, I noticed i hit 3.2k followers on here. and i’m still sitting here like… HUH??? over three thousand people saw my writing and decided it was worth following?? ME?? 😭 like i genuinely don’t have the words. i know a lot of y’all originally followed me for audios (and ily for that), but once i started posting my writing and saw the way y’all responded… it kind of changed everything. finding audios started to feel like a chore, and this blog has always been something i wanted to enjoy. and writing is what brings me joy.

i’m a creative writing major. i literally plan to write for a living. but i’d be lying if i said i didn’t doubt myself constantly. i’ve gone through so many phases where i thought i wasn’t good enough or no one cared. but this blog—this little space, and the way people interact with my writing?? i genuinely can’t thank you all enough for that.

and while i’m here being sappy… i just wanna say how much i love not only engenes on here, but even people from other fandoms too. like y’all are genuinely so sweet and supportive and understanding. i’ve had people from different corners of tumblr leave the kindest comments in my inbox or reblogs or just be really patient when i’m slow with requests. no drama, no mess, just actual kindness and maturity. and after the shit i’ve dealt with in real life, that means everything to me.

so yeah. i’m still healing. i still have off days. i still go quiet sometimes. but this week reminded me that i can still create. i can still feel joy. and i can still grow, even through the dark parts. thank you for everything cuties.

i love y’all so so much. thank you for being here. i don’t take it for granted at all 🫶

[strxn-2]

heyyy!! i was wondering if you can do a fanfic of the sturniolo depressed younger sister and they say to her in a argument “ all you do is bring the family down. Your the problem in the family” and she dosent come out the room for days and when they finally go into the room she was laying in the floor multiple empty pill bottles and blades.And they call the ambulance and she ends up in a coma for a couple months. And if you want you can do the after she wakes up from the coma but you totally do not have to !🫶🏽 i love your writing!

Room 17 - Sturniolos x depressed little sister

TW: angst , resolved angst , depression ,suggestive attemtped suicide , self harm , mentions of pills and razors , hospital stay , coma, shit ass spelling (lmk if ive missed any)

Please take care while reading. If you are struggling, you’re not alone , you can call or text 988(USA) ,116 123 (UK) or the registered hotline in your country for free, private support at any time.

Your mental health matters and so do you.

This is a fan fiction not fan truth - the triplets haven't said this or behaved like this.

Not prooffread - i wrote this with a bruised finger leave me alone💔💔💔

The house was quiet , too quiet. Lately Fleur had been falling further and further into a depressive episode , worse than any of the boys had ever see before , it was their responsibility now to help her now that she lived in LA with them , but they weren't used to this , it filled them with fear , sadness and a sense of helplessness , and this is all mixed together to create anger , they weren't angry at Fleur no , they were angry at the situation and how bad it had gotten, they just wanted her to be okay.

Fleur walks out of her room after not leaving for 4 days straight , as soon as her door starts to creak open the triplets look over , she doesn't even acknowledge them just going to the kitchen, their hearts drop as they follow her quietly in , that's when they catch a glimpse of her , she had dark eye bags , her once vibrant skin pale , her curls messy and cuts up her arm, they stare at her in shock until matt speaks up

"fleur h-how could you do this again?" he says walking over and grabbing her arm rougher then intended, Nick then also speaks up

"he's right why would you do this? you said you were done with this stupid habit of yours" he snaps harshly

"i-im sorry" she whisper her lip trembling "i-i just don't know how to stop it's a coping mechanism"

"coping mechanism my ass , it's just an excuse for you to get away with hurting yourself for attention" chris says rolling his eyes

her heart freezes , soft tears falling , she shakes matt off of her arm and turns to leave , she hears them whisper before chris shouts

"all you do is bring the family down. Your the problem in the family!"

her heart drops , she freezes, stunned in place , she turns around and not one of them looked guilty , they all looked smug and proud of themselves.

"okay" she whisper her voice breaking as she walks to her room , the food she'd spent days getting motivation to eat now lay discarded on the side

Matt was the first to notice , her room sounder to quiet curiosity gets the better of him as he presses an ear to the door, expecting to hear something but he couldn't , no music , no sniffling , no random tv show no nothing , but then he hears it faint ragged breathes , fear quickly takes over as he imagines worst case scenarios, he turns the door nob and opens the door , but nothing could've prepared him for the horrifying scene inside - his younger sister , unconscious , bleeding out surrounded by pills , razors and bandages.

he rushes over craddling her into his arms whispering no over and over again , tears freely flowing, before calling for nick ahd chris.

"nick! , chris!" he screams at the top of his lungs until his throat goes hoarse , nick and chris quickly run it , freeing in their tracks when they see the state of Fleur , the quickly call an ambulance praying they weren't to late.

Hours later at the hospital , the boys were finally allowed to see Fleur.

"room 17 , first floor" the receptionist informs them before they make their way over.

inside Fleur lay there , unconcious hooked up to numerous machines and looking half dead , matt walks up to her sloly before holding her hand and squeezing tightly , resting it against his forehead as he openly sobs.

After a few tesne moments a docotr walks in , his expression somber.

"it seems she has had a metnal health episode am i right?" he asks , raising an eyebrow , nick nods sniffling as the doctor speaks up again

"theres good and bad news , bad news is that she's in a coma and we have no idea for how long" he pauses letting the information sink in before continuing "the good news is that there is no chance she'll die"

the boys let out a breathe they didnt know they were holding - yes fleur might be in a coma but at least shes not dead , at least they hadn't lost her.

Every day for the next month the boys were in the hosptial , sitting in room 17 as always hoping she would wake up soon but she didn't.

On their birthday 2 months later they visted as usual , celebrating it with their unconcious sister , blowing out the candles and wishing she'd be okay.

On her birthday nearly 3 months later they vistied , bringing a cake and celebrating as if she was awake , as if she could see them.

Only a week after her birthday , the boys were at the hospital - cooped up in room 17 when they see something , her fingers twitching.

"f-fleur..?" matt says quickly moving over as she opens her eyes slowly.

the sight of her eyes opening immedietealy set nick and chris into tears whislt matt hugged her softly.

"w-what happened..?" she asks her voice sore

"y-you were in a coma for months sweetheart , we thought we were gonna lose you" nicks says whilst enveloping her into a hug sobbing into her shoulder

she hugs him back tightly "shh dont worry , im not leaving you guys anytime soon" she says soothingly, chris then spekas up

"p-please fleur , never scare us like that again , we love you so so much" he says joining in the hug.

they all sat there , wrapped in one big hug whispering "i love you" over and over again like a mantra , like it was the glue that kept them together because at the end of the day , it was.

A/N - i have a love hate relationship with this... anyways my fingers js bruised so i can still write!!

taglist : @eyesonmattyb @mattsturnsfavcrime @jacsismattswife @slut4christopherr @lvrsturniolo @grace-sturnz @abbystromboli @stvrnsslvts @chrxsprettygirl @matts-girlfriend @sturniolo-szn2 @sturnsflirt @mattsmoth @silverspringsstare @avee-wavee @strnlslvr @sturnixblogger @angelxsturns @passionfruitchris @lilssturniolo @maliaforstvrns @xxxxxxlovesstuff @chrisbeachbae @mattyummyy @bernardsbendystraws @xoxochb

lmk if you wanna be on the taglist!

[bumlets-appreciation-blog]

Modern Sarah Jacobs Headcons

I've got writer's block, so I decided to crank these out to try and offset that. And I love my girl so it was very easy <3<3

She likes girly pop artists like Taylor Swift and Olivia Rodrigo, but she's also a big fan of punk music, specifically Riot Grrrl artists like Bikini Kill. She also loves The Pretty Reckless (hard rock, not punk but still amazing).

She dragged a bunch of the boys to go see the Barbie movie when it came out and made them all wear pink. They took a group photo with her at the center that they captioned "She's Barbie, they're just Ken" on Instagram. Bumlets also helped her create the movie poster where Ken is holding Barbie on his shoulder.

She's a big Jane Austen fan and owns all of her books (this applies to canon era as well). She watches the 2005 "Pride & Prejudice" adaptation to cheer herself up when she has a bad day.

She's fairly girly most of the time, but she does like to steal clothes from her brother and their friends sometimes (referenced in this old post of mine here).

She wasn't a natural at school, but she worked hard and was an excellent student. She and David would help each other study and read over their essays together.

There's this woman on YouTube who posts shorts of herself turning thrifted fabrics into dresses and I love the idea of her doing the same thing. Her sewing machine is absolutely ancient, but it still works just fine and she can easily turn an old tablecloth into a sundress with it.

Tried out theater club and even got the lead in Anastasia, but she preferred working in the costume department and switched to it for the next show.

She and David got in a prank war with Bumlets, Swifty, and Skittery once and totally smoked them. It was barely even a competition. Bumlets is still finding rubber snakes in his car three months later.

She's still a socialist <3<3<3

[astarions-world]

Yes this!

I’ve seen multiple times people say that Astarion’s spawn ending is his “bad” ending and he’s not happy as a spawn but I beg to differ.

Every official Astarion lore I’ve read has quoted the spawn ending as his good ending. I’m pretty sure even Larian themself have said this too.

I want to show you how Astarion is not sad as a spawn. Sure, he’s sad that he’s gonna have to live in the shadows again but I believe he truly is happier as a spawn and AA thinks he’s happy but it’s superficial. His happiness comes from being powerful and manipulative towards others (just like Cazador) but in the spawn ending, his happiness comes from the life he’s created and his newfound freedom and friendships (and even romantic relationships) he’s made. From what I’ve seen/read, you get a lot more sincere Astarion in the spawn ending.

If you convince him to not ascend, he approves, which says wonders. He knows that he doesn’t have to be Cazador. He can be better than him.

The reason he cries after Cazador is killed is not because he’s sad about what he’s missing out on (maybe he is a little bit but it’s not the emotion on the forefront of his mind) but he’s overwhelmed. He’s just killed the man who abused him for 200 years. I would be feeling a lot of emotion too if I did that. He’s quite frankly probably in disbelief that it’s finally over. And that he’s responsible for it. He’s got a lot of emotion going on in his head, so of course his first response is going to be to cry.

He also says he feels “numb”. Numbness doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s upset with what he didn’t get. His abuser of 200 years is finally dead thanks to his own doing. That was his life for 200 years. It’s all he knew. Of course he might feel like a piece of himself is missing.

He even admits in the spawn ending that he wanted to be just like Cazador. The promise of power can be exhilarating, especially to someone who spent so many years being powerless.

That’s why the spawn path is amazing to me. He’s chosen to be a better person than the man who sired him. That’s why it’s his good ending. The character development he goes through and the way he learns to genuinely care for people is such a huge thing for him.

Here’s why I don’t think spawn Astarion is sad:

1. In the epilogue, he tells romanced Tav that 6 months of happiness has outweighed 200 years of misery. Why would he say that if he’s so sad? He literally admits to Tav that he’s happy with them, so much so that it’s a counterweight to all the misery and sadness he experienced.

2. With the spawn ending he will tell romanced Tav genuinely and sincerely that he loves them. Sure, he says it in Act 1 when he’s trying to get you to sleep with him again, but it’s a lie and a facade and even Tav knows it. The one he says in the graveyard scene is real and he means it. The way his face seems shocked after he says it in that scene tells me that he’s realized the weight of what he’s just told Tav, which wouldn’t happen if he wasn’t being sincere about it and was still putting on his act. Iirc, AA only says something along the lines of “I gave you all these things, if that’s not love, then what is?”, which tells me that he’s reverted back to his old ways of seeing things like intimacy and love as a transaction instead of a genuine feeling and connection with someone.

3. He approves of being persuaded not to ascend and he thanks Tav, many times, for not letting him get caught up in all that power. He realizes that ascending would have made him just the same as Cazador and he’s grateful he can break the cycle instead of perpetuating it. If ascending is truly what would have made him happy, he’d be upset at Tav for refusing to help him and would not have thanked them for it.

4. Sure, he’s sad that he has to live in the shadows again and is still subject to the curse of vampirism. I’m sure what appealed to him the most about ascending was the fact that he could do all these things again that would be gone once the tadpole was. But here’s the thing. It’s D&D. The game leaves it up to the player to decide what happens to him after the events of the game. In a fantasy world like D&D, anything is possible. There’s magic items and spells he can use to protect himself from the sun (I assume Gale could help with that). And there’s ways to reverse the effects of vampirism. It’s up to the player to decide. I’m in the process of brainstorming a fanfiction of this very thing. My Tav enlists the help of Gale to find ways to let Astarion walk in the sun again. In the process, they discover a way for the curse of vampirism to be lifted and he can be mortal again (which he doesn’t mind because my Tav is mortal and all he wants is to be able to be with her). It’s up to the player to decide what happens. One of the options in the romanced spawn Astarion epilogue is you can tell him you want to help him find a way to walk in the sun again and he says he supposes it could be possible and that if there’s a chance, he wants to take it, with Tav of course.

5. In the epilogue, spawn Astarion also seems to genuinely be concerned about the happiness of their companions. He states that he’s grateful to have found happiness with Tav (see, not sadness) and hopes the others can find happiness as well. That’s a huge jump from the beginning of the game where he was only looking out for himself and didn’t seem to care too much about the companions.

Spawn Astarion goes through so much character development. He goes from manipulating Tav into an alliance by seducing them and then he genuinely learns to love and care about someone who isn’t himself. He learns to break away from the cycle of abuse and leave behind the only thing he knew for 200 years: manipulation. AA seems to revert back to his old ways of manipulation and seeing romanced Tav as an accessory and a transaction. Not really a lot of development there if he just reverts back to his old ways. Spawn Astarion literally says that he sees romanced Tav as his equal.

In the end, everyone can play the game the way they want and there’s nothing wrong with preferring the ascension ending. It is pretty kinky after all. But saying spawn Astarion is not happy just isn’t true.

Why Astarion cannot and should not be described as depressed in his spawn ending.

Some time ago, I wrote a post about how much it annoys me to be accused of wanting to “fix” Astarion just because I prefer the vampire spawn ending over the ascended vampire one: HERE. On that occasion, I made a slip-up, because I wrote that it’s sociopathic to promote the idea that it’s somehow okay to have no morals and behave like a piece of shit.

Someone called me an asshole for using the term incorrectly, pointing out that sociopathy is a highly stigmatized mental illness and shouldn’t be casually associated with certain concepts that could amplify this stigma — especially since not all sociopaths are pieces of shit (as this person pointed out).

Now, putting aside their tone (because I still believe there’s a way to express your opinion without insulting anyone), I reflected on it and realized this user was right. So I apologized and edited the post.

I'm starting from here to introduce another similar concept, regarding a term I believe is often misused — one that falls under mental health disorders — when people talk about Astarion, especially his spawn version.

I'm talking about depression. Yes, it's often used lightly, as if it weren’t a real condition that many people suffer from, but merely a mood.

Astarion after the ritual is not depressed, folks. He’s exhausted, drained, shaken by what he’s lost and what he’s gained. He’s in shock, if you will—like anyone who has faced their abuser and their entire tragic past. No more, no less. I discussed it in more detail HERE as well.

But even if we wanted to stick with the interpretation of some AA supporters, saying he’s depressed just doesn’t hold up. He might be sad, unhappy even. But not depressed.

Depression, for crying out loud, is something else entirely. I find it a serious lack of respect toward those who suffer from this illness and have to deal with it every single day, maybe without even having the strength to get out of bed.

Let’s make a clear distinction, for heaven’s sake, between “narrative sadness” and actual clinical depression.

A temporary and understandable emotional response to a painful or meaningful event does not necessarily imply a mental disorder. A character can be sad, shaken, or distressed, and yet still:

retain motivation and the ability to plan;

be able to find comfort and meaning in relationships;

show the capacity to react, even if gradually;

experience difficult thoughts and behaviors that don’t become chronic or detached from reality.

So what is clinical depression, then? According to the DSM-5 (Major Depressive Episode), it’s a diagnosable mood disorder that includes at least 5 of the following symptoms, lasting for at least two weeks, and significantly impairing daily functioning:

Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day.

Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in almost all activities.

Sleep disturbances (insomnia or hypersomnia).

Fatigue or loss of energy.

Feelings of worthlessness or excessive guilt.

Difficulty concentrating or making decisions.

Recurrent thoughts of death or suicide.

Significant changes in appetite or weight.

Using the term “depression” carelessly to describe a moment of vulnerability or emotional processing in a character is not only inaccurate, but it also risks trivializing a real and serious clinical condition that affects millions of people every day.

Let’s make a distinction. Out of respect for real people—and for narrative integrity.

After killing Cazador, Astarion cries—he’s drained, overwhelmed, but his reaction is consistent with the processing of trauma. Right afterward, he shows awareness: he talks to Tav/Durge, reflects on freedom, on his past, and seeks comfort and dialogue. He takes action: he visits his grave, but only to put an end to that chapter. He chooses not to stay there, but to start over from that very point. He chooses a different life—perhaps a difficult one, but one that is entirely his own. He may be sad, certainly shaken. But he is not paralyzed, nor devoid of desires or meaning. There are no signs of self-destruction, deep apathy, or chronic disconnection. On the contrary, in the ending—six months after the destruction of the Elder Brain—Astarion reappears with the title radiant hopeful. And unfortunately, a person who is truly depressed can hardly be associated with the word hopeful.

I'll say it for the umpteenth time: everyone has the right to their own opinion, and that's perfectly fine—this isn’t about correcting someone’s thoughts, but simply about form. Let’s use the right terms, as the user from the post I mentioned at the beginning pointed out—someone else might be hurt otherwise.

Also, I understand that for some players, Astarion may resonate with their experience of depression on a symbolic or metaphorical level. That’s valid too—stories often reflect different truths to different people. But from a clinical standpoint, especially in his radiant hopeful ending, what we see isn’t depression—it’s recovery.

[akascow]

so homophobic for the universe to give me whatever this illness is during pride month smh

[dancingstickman]

Well, this post did better numbers than my in-fiction post, so let me just say it outright:

Jacob Wolf Lefton of The Witches of Wederra Keep and I are running a witchy alternate reality game on Bluesky called Broken Sky of the month of July. We're on Day 4 of 28, and we need folks to come play!

Jacob and I have been collaborating since I released Oops, All Witches in March. Mazey Veselak is playing with us too, as is Jay Dragon, who works at Possum Creek Games, the publisher of Wickedness. We have a dozen folks in the TTRPG/AP space who have made mini games to play for Broken Sky. We've made all sorts of stories, puzzles, media, co-GM'ed bonus scenes with our PCs -- every other kind of game is in this game.

Sorry to break the fourth wall and all. But also the world is garbage right now, and Jacob and I have put *a ton* of work into creating this community play experience. There's something for everyone -- people who make their own blorbos, every kind of artist, RPers, video gamers, puzzle solvers, witchy types.

We want you to come make magic with us. When the world sucks shit, it is coming together that's going to get us through. This is a small way for us to come together. I've already gotten an amazing opportunity to come into community with Jacob, Mazey, Jay, and all these incredible folks who are in the cast and crew of Broken Sky. Now I'm holding my hand out to all of you and asking you to come with us.

Here's the story: Jacob and I cursed ourselves by releasing our podcasts (whoops), and now our antagonists have found a way into this world. Taios has captured Jacob and I've given myself over to the Nameless Thing That Invented Death. They're coming for Mazey, the Mother of Magic, to steal her power. With the help of the Lorekeepers, allies of Mazey's whose magic is protecting the Deep Lore, we need the Coven Under the Blue Sky to close the Gate and end the curse. That's you!

Find the key and the door to Jacob's Gate in this Labyrinth.

Follow the ht #BlueskyCoven to keep tabs on what's going on.

Follow everyone in this starter pack, and invite your friends!

--------------

And I'm going to add an aside to @quiddie, since you've engaged with some of my posts here on Tumblr. I know you've said you look for ways for audiences to shape the story. Well, do I have a (demonstrable! currently live!) pitch for you.

Here's the deal though -- this game will work best if we're reaching the biggest possible audience, since most people will spectate rather than engage. And none of the 30+ people involved in making Broken Sky have the reach that you or the WBN folks do.

Most of the people working with us are contributing their time and talent for free, because they think it's cool and they want to see how it goes. If it goes well, Jacob and I intend to explore alternative financing methods for paying artists, including retroactive crowdfunding, consensus-based decision making, and earning shares of any future profits in my production company to compensate spec work. I want to get all of these people paid, but that too depends on the game going as wide as possible.

I asked Mazey to approach the WBN team directly once, and she did, and that's how we got some cool cats on board, but I'm not going to ask that of her again because it felt weird the first time and a second time would feel gross. I know y'all are hella busy. But straight up -- extending the invitation one time to your audience to join Broken Sky on Bluesky and to follow the #BlueskyCoven hashtag would be a force multiplier in terms of helping this game pop off and letting us see what it can do as an experimental community art project.

I mean, if you want to come play too, please do! You have a very particularly cool blorbo who I feel like would be excellent at all the puzzles we've got locked and loaded.

Hey, if you like Oops, All Witches and you like Worlds Beyond Number, go also listen to The Witches of Wederra Keep. They ran Wickedness, which is a TTRPG you play with tarot cards, and was designed by Mazey Veselak, who also helped design the WBN Witch class we play tested!

[arundolyn]

ohhhh my fucking god nobody needs to like know any of this medical tmi but it is literally 11 pm and if im kept up one minute longer when i just laid down trying to go to sleep by my mother YELLING REPEATEDLY that she needs to pee. im going to actually go insane. she got a catheter in. Yesterday. it is working. she won't listen to anyone when they tell her that this is the case. help me jesus. im sure if a nurse comes to check on her tomorrow they'll probably get the same response. my brain will simply explode

[penisbilt]

the bittersweet but absolute flood of relief that comes from admitting defeat at living independently, to have to move back in with parents. we tried! we gave it our best shot for almost 3 years! but living like this (being on our own) is just not possible for us at this time of our lives. we've finally proved it to ourselves that we can't do it. it'll be okay to let ourselves rest now

[chaosandbeyond]

goodbye watcher i guess

[adore-gregor]

study smart not hard (altough both is best actually) this saying is so true

[arolesbianism]

Finallly got around to properly designing Demonstrator! She’s silly

[girlboy-frankensteins-monster]

books i read this january:

1. 'station eleven' by emily st. john mandel

5/5 stars — literally so good, such a great start to the year. i loved the writing style and the story and the characters and i am forever grateful to the friend of a friend who kept telling me i should read this because he was totally right and it's so good. definitely recommend this if you like apocalyptic stuff that's more an exploration of humanity than action/thriller

2. 'ghosts: the button house archives' by mathew baynton, simon farnaby, martha howe-douglas, jim howick, laurence rickard and ben willbond

3/5 stars — everything i wanted from a ghosts book tbh, loved getting to hear more about the characters but i would've liked a bit more serious stuff about fanny (this isn't really a criticism just wish there had been because she's such a compelling character to me)

3. 'i am malala' by malala yousafzai

4/5 stars — really good for anyone unfamiliar with pakistani culture and politics to help explain recent history as well as being genuinely very interesting. definitely recommend

4. 'heartstopper: volume 5' by alice oseman

3/5 stars — cute and nice to read as a queer british teenager, i like alice oseman's art a lot and i liked how she approached the topics discussed in it. only 3 stars just because like it doesn't really speak to me personally not because it isn't good or anything

5. 'never let me go' by kazuo ishiguro

4/5 stars — i have a weird relationship with his writing i feel like with both the books i've read by him the endings have just been a bit lacking for me? but not for a reason i can actually define and i still really liked the rest of the book and i really like his writing style as well

6. 'yellowface' by rebecca f. kuang

4/5 stars — not my favourite work by her but i found it really interesting to read. idk it's been quite controversial and i don't think i know enough about the issues discussed in the book to have an opinion but it did make me think about a lot of things i'd never really considered before which was why i found it interesting

7. 'gideon the ninth' by tamsyn muir

5/5 stars — this book was right up my street; i absolutely love gideon and the way the book's written. gideon and harrowhark's relationship was really compelling and i love the concept. if you read this book (please do) i would recommend that you read the glossary before you start the book because i spent at least the first 50 pages with no idea what was going on but after that it was amazing

8. 'the seven husbands of evelyn hugo' by taylor jenkins reid

3/5 stars — kind of just not my thing, sorry to all my friends who love it (none of them are on tumblr lol). i thought it was interesting but it just wasn't really my taste

9. 'tsunami girl' by julian sedgwick and chie kutsuwada

4/5 stars — i definitely didn't expect to enjoy this as much as i did but i actually really liked it the whole way through. the characters were great and i found the romance subplot way more well-written and believable than i expected (this might just be me because i'm a bit weird about reading relationships as romantic in books so a lot of straight romance where they sort of just expect you to pick up on it as romantic purely because it's a boy and a girl comes across as really flat to me and i end up just deciding that they're only friends to me whereas in this book i actually did read their relationship as romantic and wanted them to go out)

10. 'nation' by terry pratchett

5/5 stars — i think this is the first terry pratchett i've read other than good omens and i really, really enjoyed it. it took me a while to get into but i liked the characters and also found the sort-of-romance in this believable which was cool. also just really interesting to be honest, i recommend this as well