#tw: mentions of suicide

[courtforshort15]

My Own Worst Enemy

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN Reader

Word Count: 5,400

Summary: There are some things that are just too shameful to talk about, each mark on your skin a testament to a sense of pain and desperation that you’re unsure how to talk about.

Trigger warning: This is a bit of a heavy one, so read with caution. Self-harm, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and mentions of suicide (reader does not commit suicide, but it is brought up briefly.)

Masterlist

You were a hypocrite. A dirty rotten hypocrite. To the highest extreme. For all you spoke about Matt needing to talk to someone, to develop healthy coping mechanisms for all the pain and trauma he had endured, you've struggled to do the same.

Struggled, and often failed.

The first time you slipped since you’d started dating him, it was easy enough to pass off as an accident. The man was a human lie detector, sure, but you had learned by now that if you spoke enough of the truth, he couldn't always pick up on the part you kept hidden from him. You hated to admit it, but you sometimes took advantage of it, telling yourself that it would hurt him to know the truth, that he was better off not knowing where your thoughts sometimes strayed into a depression so encompassing that you struggled to breathe.

"What happened here?" he asked as he cradled your wrist gently in his hands. Your wrist wasn't bleeding, per se, but it was rubbed raw to the point where it was red and patches of skin were missing. It was sore and agitated, washed with a bar of soap that had left it stinging even more, the flesh angry in the face of your failure to seek help instead of hurting yourself.

"Oh," you said, eyeing the mark as casually as possible, voice wavering just the tiniest amount, "I just scratched myself. No big deal." He pressed a kiss to the skin next to it tenderly, before sliding his fingers through yours and focusing back on the notes his computer was reading back to him through the ear buds that were squished into his ears.

No further questions on his end, and you sighed in relief, masking it as a yawn and leaning back into the couch, energy zapped out by a seemingly simple question and a feigned simple response.

You'd scratched yourself, yes, so that part wasn't a lie. But he didn't know it had been done on purpose.

He didn't know that the pain had soothed you at the time. Matt was a bit of a masochist himself, ending most of his nights bleeding and bruised, not because he necessarily enjoyed it, but because he believed it was a small price to pay for keeping Hell’s Kitchen safe. He may not enjoy the pain, but he enjoyed the release of anger, the letting go of every frustration experienced by the law not being enough to help innocent people, enjoyed the opportunity to use his abilities and not be forced into the lie of being an ordinary blind man.

If Matt knew that you purposefully hurting yourself, for nothing other than taking your mind off the ache in your heart, there might be a part of him that understood, but it would not stop the overwhelming sense of horror.

When he noticed the second time, it was during a night out at Josie's, celebrating the end of a grueling work week with Foggy and Karen, both of whom were sharing a bottle of the worst tasting liquor you had ever had the displeasure of drinking. Sometimes you weren’t sure if it was because they actually enjoyed it, or if they were still trying to drink frugally despite the recent success and profit of Nelson, Murdock & Page. You joined halfway through the night, stumbling up to their table in desperate need of a drink after a meeting that had lasted far too long into the evening hours. 

By the time you got there, they were all halfway on their way to drunk, Matt included, his lips tilted into a relaxed smile that was far too charming. He stood up with a loud exclamation of your name, reaching forward to pull you into him and laying an enthusiastic kiss on your mouth as you laughed. When he stepped back, his hand drifted down your arm to pull you by the wrist in an effort to bring you to the empty chair by his, but you hissed as his fingers inadvertently trailed down the large scratch that had been carved into your forearm.

Matt seemed to have noticed it at the same time you tried to pull away, frowning as he pushed your sleeve up. His head tilted curiously as it always when he found a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.

"What happened here?" His words were slightly slurred, and you were grateful that while his attention was on you, it definitely wasn’t the typical extreme laser-focus you were used to, likely due to the liquor coursing through his veins. 

You gave the same excuse.

"Nothing, just scratched myself." A pause, a nod, and the subject was easily forgotten. Matt, normally so astute and observant, smiled when he was assured that you were ok, and pulled you back in for another kiss. Foggy and Karen took turns greeting you, Josie handed you your normal drink order, and the night passed on without incident. 

It wasn't like you liked doing it, enjoyed hiding things from him, enjoyed hurting yourself. He didn't make it easy to keep things from him, at any rate, usually so perceptive and in tune with your every word and reaction. And it wasn't like it happened all the time; it was spaced out enough that it didn't seem like a pattern. The marks were definitely not bad enough to warrant much attention, unlike the cuts and bruises and fractured ribs he came home with. It was an unhealthy coping mechanism, you knew. Something you did, something you felt like you’d always done, even while telling Matt that he had his own unhealthy coping mechanisms he needed to watch out for.

This was just something that had followed you for years, decades even. Medication. Therapy. A brief stint in a psychiatric hospital. You'd done it all. And it wasn't like your depression was something you were afraid to talk about. It was just something that never came up, and you didn't know how to work it into a conversation.

How did you bring it up to Foggy, who had literally walked in on his best friend bleeding to death on his apartment floor?

How did you bring it up to Karen, a woman with a past drug addiction that had been partly to blame for the death of her brother; a woman who had been forced to kill a man just so that she could keep herself and her friends safe?

How did you bring it up to Matt, beautiful, adoring Matt, who treated you like you were the most precious thing in his life? How did you bring it up to a man whose father had been shot in an alley not too far from his home, a man who had held his ex-girlfriend in his arms while she died, not once, but twice?

They...they had real things they were dealing with, had already dealt with. And you...you were just someone with a brain whose hormone imbalance was off, which sometimes led to days where you couldn't get out of bed because you were so depressed.

Compared to them, what did you have to be depressed about?

And yet...it was this shadow that was always hanging over you. A monster hiding within it, behind your back, waiting for the right moment to sink its claws into you. You liked to think that you were able to fight it off 90 percent of the time.

But sometimes you failed.

Being with Matt was the easiest thing in the world. It was like breathing, like the puzzle pieces of you were always meant to find the puzzle pieces that made up him. Where he moved, you moved. Where he went, you followed. You were a well-oiled machine together, something that would run to the very end if it was given the right care and attention. 

He made it easy to forget the way the depression sank in occasionally. He was good at unintentionally, unknowingly chasing it away, though he had no idea of the monster he was inadvertently fighting on your behalf. But sometimes even he wasn't enough, just like you weren't always enough to pull him out of his head. It was just the reality of how things were, you supposed. 

He was a busy man, though he never made you feel like anything less of a priority. But sometimes life happened, and his attention was forced elsewhere, or you had deadlines you had to make, and things just got lost in the shuffle. You couldn't be around each other all of the time. And even if you could, these feelings would still find a way to sink in, like they always did.

You could feel an episode coming on. You'd felt it for the past few days. Sometimes the depressive episodes snuck up gradually, as if they were giving you a warning, and other times you ran head first into one. You weren't sure what was worse: being given time to prepare, with the sinking feeling of what was coming, or living life like normal, only to be smacked so hard in the face with it without warning. 

You found yourself instinctively drawing in on yourself. It was relatively easy to do this time. Matt was in the middle of a large case, and you'd made the decision to give him space to focus on the trial. You knew how much you meant to him, even while you could see that he was grateful for the extra quiet time at home to prepare. 

Foggy was in the same situation as Matt, and Karen was off visiting Frank in some undisclosed town in the Midwest. Three of your major support systems were currently wrapped up in other important things that absolutely deserved their undivided attention, and it was just a perfect time for the depression to sneak up, ensnare you in its clutches, and yank you back into its hold, this time without anyone to hold your hand and protect you against something they didn’t even know about.

You could feel it clawing up your throat, the tears and panic, and you knew it was going to be one of those nights. A night where you'd struggle to breathe, struggle to think, struggle to ground yourself in a reality where you knew you mattered and had people who loved you unconditionally.

Sometimes, all the support systems you had thoughtfully and carefully selected and put into place were knocked down by the force of a tornado that ran through your brain. Utterly paralyzed by the panic and sadness that was roaring through you, its force stronger than you'd felt it in a while, you found yourself needing to...scratch. 

So you did, and the pain grounded you, as it always did, pulling off layer and layer of skin with nothing but a fingernail and desperation to carve deeper into flesh. And when you were done, the relief was equally matched by the failure and shame.

"Sweetheart?"

A gasp tore its way out of your throat as you turned sharply around, reaching out to grab the kitchen counter as your balance wobbled. You’d gotten up to wipe the mark down with alcohol wipes, wary of an infection setting in. He was standing in all black, no doubt in the middle of his route through Hell's Kitchen, given the time of night.

"Hey, Matt," you said weakly, moving in front of the alcohol wipes still on the counter, as if placing your body between them and him would actually hide them from his senses. "Are you...did you finish for the night?"

He didn't say anything as he slowly removed his mask. Once it was in his hand and no longer over his face, you winced as his head tilted, his unfocused eyes landing on your hip, just a few inches above the line you had just carved into your thigh, skin bare except for the thin pajama shorts you were wearing. 

"I..uh. I was making my way through the city when I heard you crying," he told you softly, his focus still on the patch of skin that was on display and blood he could no doubt smell. "What is that?"

"Nothing, I just--"

"Don't tell me you just scratched yourself on something," he said, heat slowly seeping into his voice. "That's what you've been telling me, hasn't it?"

"I--"

"I thought maybe I was imagining things." Matt's voice was gradually getting louder and you couldn’t help but wince again, eyes shifting away from the downturn of his mouth. "But I wasn't, was I? You did this to yourself on purpose."

"Matt," you managed to choke out as your fist tightened around the alcohol wipe you’d briefly used to clean the scratch to prevent infection. "Please don't--"

"Please don't what?" he asked incredulously, and you couldn’t help but flinch at the tone, eyes lowering again so that you couldn’t see the look on his face. "Please don't get upset? You hurt yourself. You made yourself bleed, and you want me to...what? Not talk to you about it? Pretend it's not what it is?"

"Please don't yell at me," you whimpered, burrowing your head in your hands, unable to stop the tears from coming in full force, shame lighting up your skin like a failed firework that does nothing but burst into flame. "Please don't be mad at me."

"Mad at you?” he asked with a gasp, the words still somehow sharp. “I'm not mad....I'm horrified." You jerked back so hard your knee almost gave out, hurriedly opening the distance between the two of you blindly, your hip bumping painfully into the counter behind you. "I'm horrified that this has been happening for months and I...I didn't pick up on it."

Matt sounded so broken that you dropped your hands from your face, eyes trailing over his form through your tears. His head was bowed, and his hands were shaking. It only made you cry harder.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, your voice every bit as broken. "I'm so sorry."

"No, sweetheart," he whispered as he tilted his head back in your direction. Something in the way you whimpered caused him to finally take a few steps toward you. "Don't be sorry. I just...I just don't know what to do."

"You don't have to do anything," you told him quietly with a sniffle. "This is my thing to deal with, I'll be ok."

"Bullshit, that's bullshit," he said adamantly in a tone that displayed a tiny amount of frustration. It made your heart speed up for just a moment, the fear of his impending judgment too much for you. "You're not okay. And this isn't just something that you have to deal with, not anymore. It's mine, too. I have to deal with it now, too."

You flinched, the words somehow indicating that he was now burdened with something that should be just your problem and was angry about it. You could see the look of horror that crossed his face as he realized how it had sounded.

"No, that's not what I meant by that. Fuck." His hands were suddenly cupping your face before you could think. You tried to pull away, but he stepped forward when you stepped back, latching on to you, though his hands remained as gentle as they always were when he touched you. "I meant that this isn't something you should have to do alone. This is my thing now, too. Anything that's yours is mine. This is something we will work on together. Ok?"

"You don't even know what it is, Matt," you said weakly. You put your hands over his and tried to pull them off and break contact, but he refused to be moved. 

"I thought…I know enough about depression to recognize it," Matt told you softly, blank eyes landing on your cheek. "I should have...I could feel it. I could feel something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I let things distract me from asking the right questions, and now you've..." he finally moved his hands so that he could gesture vaguely at your thigh. 

"It's not your fault, Matt." You moved to take a step back now that his hands were off, but upon recognizing your intentions, they were back on you, holding your waist this time. 

"I still should have--"

"No," you interrupted him as you shook your head quickly, rejecting his idea that he was somehow to blame. "I should have. This...I should have said something. We've been together for what, a year? Plenty of opportunities for me to say something, and I chose not to. You take responsibility for things out of control all the time, Matt. Don't take this on, too."

He took a shaky breath, one that rattled his entire frame. "Can I ask how long you've been..."

"A while."

"Did it start while we were together?" You shook your head and he closed his eyes briefly as he took a deep breath, the look on his face suggesting that he was somewhat relieved that the habit hadn’t started since he came into your life, the idea that maybe he was what led you to start hurting yourself for the first time. "Before we met?" He flinched when you nodded, somehow realizing that this was a long-term habit. "How long, sweetheart?"

"Pretty much since high school," you admitted quietly as your eyes trailed a face that was far too pale. He shuddered, as if in pain, and you knew the admission hurt him. You felt incredibly guilty, and it reminded you of the day your mother found out what you’d been doing, her tears and anguish still haunting you years into your adult life. 

"Okay," he mumbled, his eyes closing again. He let go of you and took a small step back. "Okay. Is it alright if I hold you? I don't...I don't want to touch you anymore if you need the space right now." 

Your eyes welled with tears again. "Please do." You were in his arms before you even finished speaking. He was warm, and despite the heat inside your apartment, you found you needed the warmth of him pushed up against you. One of his hands slipped around your waist, the other around your shoulders, where it reached up to cradle the back of your skull. His fingers wrapped themselves in your hair, something you knew he loved doing, something you knew he did when he was trying to remind himself you were next to him and safe. 

"Do your parents know?" he asked quietly as he held you to him, the side of your face pressed against his shoulder. Your arms were snug around his waist, your hands gripping the back of his sweat-soaked black shirt. You didn't know how much you'd needed him to hold you until this moment. 

"About what part?" Your voice was equally as soft.

"Any of it."

You sighed and you felt him tighten his arms around you. "They know about pretty much everything besides the...recent scratching. I spoke with my mom earlier today and she knows I've been slipping a bit."

"And what did she say?"

"She told me I could come to visit for a few days if I needed to," you responded. "I told her I couldn't, but she refused to hang up until I promised I'd schedule an appointment with my therapist."

"Did you?"

"Yeah, I have a virtual appointment on Thursday." He nodded and you felt more than heard his sigh of relief. 

"Good. That's good, sweetheart." You felt him place a kiss to the top of your head. By the way his chest expanded to take a deep breath, you knew a big question was about to come out, something that had probably been weighing on his mind since the moment he noticed the mark on your thigh. You had a pretty good idea what it was going to be before even he asked it. "Have you done more than...these scratches in the past?"

You winced, having guessed the question correctly. "I have." 

He tensed. "How much worse?"

You gulped, not wanting to give him the answer. He could feel your reluctance, but pushed on. "Please tell me. I'm not…I'm not going to judge you. I just want to help you, but I can't do that if I don't know."

Taking a deep breath, you forced it out, eyes squeezing shut as you revealed something you haven’t shared in years. "I was once...hospitalized. I was placed on suicide watch." 

You felt Matt shake against you, body trembling as he took in your answer, and grimaced when his arms tightened around to the point of pain. He apologized immediately, loosening his grip just a tad, but the shaking didn't stop. "Matt, I'm okay. I promise. I haven't felt that way in a long time."

"How long ago was that?" he asked you, seeming desperate to wrap his mind around it. "Last year? A few years ago? How recent?"

"It was ten years ago," you whispered as you clutched the back of his shirt in hands that weren’t steady, either. "I got a lot of help. I went through a shit ton of therapy. Put on some medication, some of which I'm still on. I'm okay."

"You have to promise me you won't do something like that." He was still shaking and it was making you tear up again. You buried your face in his shoulder, and he cradled your head there, hand still buried in your hair. "You have to promise me that if things get that bad again, you'll say something. You'll tell me."

You swallowed loudly, before slowly nodding your head

"I promise, Matt." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and when you pulled back slightly to look up at him, it tore at you to see the tears that were making their way down his face, stark against a bruise that bloomed on his jaw. Gently, you tilted your chin up so that you could kiss his cheeks. First one, then the other, pressing all the love you felt for him into the simple connection of lips to skin. He pulled back to place a kiss of his own on your forehead, and took a deep breath.

"I think you should come stay with me for a bit."

You pressed your face back into his shoulder, your strength seeping out of you slowly, feeling safe and secure for the first time in days, the depression sliding back just enough so that the red flare of the devil could warm your skin. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I need you close. I need you to be with me where I can keep an eye on you."

"You don't--"

"Please," Matt whispered, the tone pleading and desperate. "Please...just don't argue with me. Not on this."

"I'm not arguing with you, Matt," you said gently, lifting a hand from his waist to run it through his hair. He caught the hand and brought it to his mouth instead. "It's just...you have a big case next week and--"

Matt jerked away, looking aghast, a sense of realization seeping into his pores, though you knew it was an incorrect one. But he took the idea and ran with it, once again trying to take the blame for something that was not his to bear "Is that--is that why you didn't say anything? Because of this case? Because you didn't want to distract me?"

You winced. "No, Matt. But it did make things...easier for me not to admit that things were bad. I didn't want to say anything in the first place, and I’m not sure if I would have said anything at all."

"Oh my god," he said, seemingly horrified. "You can't...you can't do that. You can't hide things like that."

"You understand the irony, right?" You mouth quirked up in the corner. His eyes widened drastically at the comment, lips parting in a mixture of alarm and frustration.

"That's not funny!" He exploded, tightening his grasp on you. Your mouth snapped shut. "You have to tell me these things. You can't use my job or my work at night or anything to hide this. Do you understand? Tell me you understand."

"I understand, Matt. I’m sorry."

"Promise me."

"I already--"

"Promise me again," he demanded, and your eyes widened at how frantic he sounded, your eyes sweeping over a face that housed haunted, red-lined eyes and drying tracks of tears. "Promise me a thousand times."

"I promise, Matt. I promise." You found yourself crushed back against his chest.

"You're my priority," he whispered adamantly into your ear. His hand was shaking again as it rested on your lower back. "You're the priority. Everything else...it doesn't matter, none of it matters if you're not here. I need you to understand that."

You hesitated, and he caught on to it. 

“Sweetheart,” he said with a quiet moan that sounded far too grief-stricken, his cheek pressing to yours, the scruff of his beard nothing but a familiar, welcomed feeling. It spoke to you of love and adoration, his beard often rasping against your skin while he kissed you, or even while he slid down your body to put his mouth on the most sensitive part of you. “I don't care if it's the biggest case of the century. I don't care if I'm one second away for finally catching the most important drug ring and tearing down their entire organization. If you need me, I'm there. No questions asked."

"But--"

"No." He pulled back to place his hands on your shoulders while his head tilted towards you, unfocused eyes landing around your mouth. "No buts. You call me. You tell me where you are, and I'll come get you. I'll be there as soon as humanly possible, everytime."

"Matt," you whimpered with a shake of your head, mouth tilting down in a frown. "You can't just--those things are important to people, I can't let you--"

"You're not letting me do anything. I choose you. Always."

You shuddered at the declaration, wondering what you had ever done to deserve this man, but unwilling to ever let him go. Eyes welling with a new batch of tears, you held on to him with everything you had, energy leaching out of you as you leaned against him. He took your weight easily without a word, no objection to being your sole source of strength and balance. 

Matt cleared his throat as held you, breath fanning out across your cheek. "Can I...will you let me check it?" he asked quietly, the question almost hesitant as if he expected to be rejected. "I can smell the antiseptic, but I just need to be sure."

You were absolutely helpless to deny him anything."Yeah…yeah, you can."

He took a step back and pulled you over to your kitchen table where he gently pushed you into a seat. Once you were settled with your leg outstretched and balanced on another chair, he grabbed another alcohol wipe and a large bandage from the first aid kit. Bending down so that he was kneeling next to you on the hardwood, Matt leaned forward and placed a kiss directly below the mark on your thigh, your skin turning into a field of goosebumps despite the fact that Matt had had his lips to every inch of your skin at this point in your relationship. There was something so gentle, something so reverent about the kiss that you mourned the loss of his lips the second he pulled away.

 You watched as Matt turned his attention to the long scratch on your thigh, frowning when you hissed at the alcohol wipe he ran gently down it. His finger traced the outline gently as his sightless eyes roamed over the room, and you knew he was testing the temperature of your skin as if he’d be able to trace the possibility of an infection. When he was satisfied, he took the large bandage and placed it over the scratch.

He placed the trash on the table with fingers that had steadied as he focused on making sure you were okay, the mission to help you overpowering the horror and concern he’d been feeling since he made his way into your apartment. Grasping your hands in his, he turned his face towards you, tilting up as he licked his lips in a tick you had long since noticed was often an indication of anxiety. He pulled your hands into his, the heat of his palms warm and soothing he held them. Within a gentle kiss placed on the back of each hand, Matt’s form finally seemed to relax as a small smile broke our across his face. 

Unable to help yourself, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his.

"Thank you," you whispered quietly as you slowly sat back up. He chased your lips for just a small second before he settled back on his haunches and let his eyes rest over your shoulder. "For always taking care of me."

He made a noise in the back of his throat. "You don't have to thank me for this."

"I do," you affirmed gently. "And I'm sorry for...not saying anything."

He was silent for a moment as his thumbs traced over the back of your hands. "I understand what it's like. The depression. I've told you how bad it got, after Midland Circle. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. And part of that is thanks to you."

You opened your mouth to object, but he cut you off. "No, it's true. You make me want to be...better. Do better. And I know that I'd be struggling a lot more than I do if I didn't have you in my life. All the good that I do, all the good I try be, is partly thanks to you."

“Matt–”

He continued on gently even as you shook your head in denial, squeezing your hands tightly in his. "You do this for me every single day without even trying to, and I'll never be able to express how grateful I am for you, for how much you love me. So whatever you need, whatever you need from me, it's yours. Ask me for anything, ask me to do anything, and I'll give it to you."

A stray tear warmed your cheek as it fell. “You know I feel the same way, right? That I’d do the same for you.”

Matt’s smile was faint as he answered. “I know, sweetheart. You’ve told me.”

“And you–you believe me?”

“I do.” The sentence is small, a simple three letters and only two syllables, but it causes you to sigh in relief and sag against the chair as he finally stood up, your fingers entwined with his.

“Okay,” you whisper as you glance up at his face, taking in the tender look in his eyes and the smile that was equally gentle. “As long as you know the feeling is equal.”

Matt was quiet as let go of a hand to push back a few pieces of hair. "I know,” he said softly with a sigh, the flush of his skin finally bringing some color back to his face. “I think you should come stay with me for a bit, where I can look after you and make sure you're okay. We will make things work. No matter how busy I may be, this is the priority. Okay?"

"I….yeah, okay,” you answered with a nod of your head, eyes shifting to look out the window that he had left open, suddenly grateful that he’d been able to hear the tears that had left you feeling hollow for a few short moments. 

Only a single moment passed before he took your face in his hands and tilted it up so he could place a kiss on the top of your head. "I'll help you pack your things."

When he pulled you out your front door, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and tshirt he had left at your place weeks ago, one hand in yours and the other holding the small duffle you’d thrown your things into, you somehow knew the move would be permanent. Your lease was nowhere close to being over, but the idea of swapping an empty apartment for one that was filled with silk sheets, record albums labeled in braille, and Matt’s smile was exactly what you needed.

Your bouts of depression would come and go, of this you were sure, but Matt would be unwavering and solid, standing in front of you in the face of whatever nightmare headed your way.

#daredevil #matt murdock #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x gn!reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x gn!reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #tw:self-harm #tw: mentions of suicide #tw: depression

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 2/?

Prev | Next

TW: MENTIONS OF SUICIDE/ SUICIDAL IDEATION

Disclaimer: I don't know anything about Roy Harper except what I've learned through fandom and Wiki. Please excuse me if he is out of character. Roy accidentally finds Jason.

Roy couldn’t believe his eyes. Jason Todd stood a few feet in front of him. The same Jason Todd who died years ago. He had red hair instead of black, and his eyes were green instead of blue. He was taller and broader, and a kid was hanging to his leg.

Roy would recognize him anywhere, no matter how much he had changed.

(Jason’s death was the reason he fell to alcoholism and tried to commit suicide via Killer Crocodile.)

“Daddy, I want to get closer to the edge,” Lian said.

Lian had wanted to see Niagara Falls for her sixth birthday. He never imagined he would run into a dead boy.

Jason hadn’t noticed him yet. Roy had no idea what to do. It’s not as if he could Dick and say, “Hey, how have you been? Did you know your dead brother is walking around Niagara Falls with a kid in tow?”

Roy could imagine how that conversation would go.

“Sorry, sweetie, it’s too dangerous,” he answered his daughter a beat later. His little girl pouted. Roy couldn’t help but smile. He loved Lian so much it hurt sometimes.

Suddenly, the little boy holding on to Jason looked at Roy with eerie green eyes before tugging on Jason’s pants and pointing at Roy. Jason looked at them. Roy watched as Jason’s eyes grew in fear before he got the little boy and ran. Well, if that wasn’t confirmation, Roy didn’t know what was.

Roy didn’t want to leave Lian alone, so he let his old friend run from him. It seemed he had some favors to call.

____

Raven was the only person Roy could think would help him without wanting to spill the beans right away. Wally was Dick’s best friend and would tell him immediately that they found his little brother alive; Starfire was out of the picture for similar reasons. Garth wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret. Cyborg could go either way. And Donna would want to go to Dick without even investigating first. So, Raven it was.

 Once Roy explained who he saw and why he went to her, Raven agreed to help him.

She teleported them to Niagara Falls.

“There is a feeling of death here; it’s very strong.”

“Well, he did die. If he’s back…”

Raven shook her head, “It’s more than that. It feels like death magic but not malicious.”

Roy blinked. How was death magic not malicious?

Raven lifted him telekinetically, and they flew past the Canadian border.

Twenty minutes later, they landed in front of a little cottage in the middle of the forest. Jason was sipping a cup of tea on the porch on a rocking chair. He glared at Raven and Roy.

“If you wake my kid, I’m gonna kill you,” he threatened in a low voice. “What do you want, Harper? Did Dick send you?”

Roy blinked at Jason’s hard tone, and then what he said caught up to him.

“Dick, why would Dick send me? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Jason snorted.

“Of course, they didn’t tell the hero community about the failure of the Batfamily coming back,” he said bitterly.

Roy blinked and turned to Raven, who frowned. Then what Jason said hit him, “Wait, Dick knows you’re back?!”

An hour later, Roy knew everything, and he was fuming. Dick had no right to keep something like this from him. So Jason had come back angry and spiteful; who cared? He was better now. Roy could understand not telling the whole damned world, but he couldn’t have told Roy that Jason was back? Roy almost committed suicide because of Jason’s death!

“So, how does the kid factor into all of this?”

Jason drank the rest of his now cold tea.

“I found him when he got spat out through a portal. I couldn’t leave him. I know it sounds weird, but I have a connection with him. We’re similar.”

“Not similar,” Raven said, “the same. Whatever he is, you are, too.”

Jason smiled sadly, “We’ve been touched by death and came back different. He’s not fully human. He’s half ghost, half human. Please, don’t tell the Bats you found me. They’d take him away from me, and I don’t think I’d survive it.”

Raven put a hand on Jason’s shoulder, and he felt a wash of calm come over him.

“Don’t worry; I know how you feel. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Me either, kid.”

Jason gave them a grateful smile. His eyes were suspiciously wet,

“Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence.

“So, when can we meet the tyke,” Roy asked.

Jason frowned, “When he wakes up. He doesn’t sleep enough, so I try to let him catch his Zs.”

“But I’ve been awake this whole time, papa,” a small voice said; no one was around.

Roy looked a bit spooked, and Raven looked surprised. Jason sighed.

“Danny, show yourself.”

A little boy with black hair and blue eyes appeared before them.

“Chum, you’re supposed to be asleep.”

“I couldn’t sleep; I felt a weird spirit’s presence. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Danny looked at Raven.

“You’re not like me and daddy, but you’re not fully human, either. What are you?”

“Danny, that’s rude,” Jason scolded him.

Danny pouted, and Raven laughed.

“It’s okay, Jason, he’s just curious. I’m half-human, half-demon.”

“That’s so cool! Me and daddy aren’t fully human, either. We’re halfas—half-human, half-ghost.”

“Danny, I’ve already told you I’m not a halfa. I don’t have any powers.”

“Okay, whatever you say, papa,” Danny said in a sing-song voice. Jason sighed.

Suddenly, Danny turned serious and pierced Raven and Roy with an intense look, “You’re not going to tell those bad people about us, right? They hurt daddy.”

Both Roy and Raven looked at each other. Raven flinched when she felt Jason’s overwhelming sadness and grief hit her. He was fingering a scar he had on his throat. How had he gotten it?

“Danny-lad, I already told you; I hurt them first. It’s okay; you don’t have to be mad at them.”

Danny’s eyes turned an eerie shade of neon green that had Raven shivering in her skin. Jason’s eyes turned into the same shade in response.

“It’s okay, Danny,” Raven tried to reassure the kid, “Nobody will find out about Jason from us.”

Danny looked at her for a while longer before nodding.

“Good, they don’t deserve him.”

Jason sighed.

“C’mon, I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Raven got up and followed the boys into the little cottage. She frowned as she felt a disturbance in the air. She looked south; something big was coming.

Hundreds of miles away, a green portal opened. A young teenage girl with red hair and glowing, teal eyes stepped out with a toddler in her arms. She was armed to the teeth.

“C’mon, Ellie, let’s go find our brother.”

Jazz is here! Is it a bit early, maybe, but I couldn't help myself. I chose Raven as the Titan to help find Jason because of her empath powers. She'd be able to understand Jason, and she's half-human like Danny and Jason. Jason is in denial that he is a halfa, but his powers will come in the future. We might not see the Batfam for two or three chapters.

@justwannabecat @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @vythika96 @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo

#Mending a Family #dc x dp #dp x dc #dc x dp fill #tw: mentions of suicide

[ohtobeleah]

Hey there lovely people. I hope this Easter break has brought you nothing but rejuvenation. I hope all your family members are doing well too!

I thought I'd just stop by and give a quick update on what's been going on. I haven't been very active on here as of late and a few weeks ago, decided I needed a break.

My mental health hasn't been the greatest recently. I decided to take some time away from Tumblr as the anons I was receiving were too nasty, too cruel and overall too much for me to handle on a daily basis.

I'd recently had to make some really difficult choices to step away from friendships that were no longer viable, despite best efforts being made to salvage what remained.

While grieving the loss of one friendship, I was informed that an ex-client and dear friend of mine, took her own life. This really set me back and I have very much struggled to come to terms with her death. In our sessions she would often vocalise how beneficial and imperative our sessions were to her mental health plan. When I quit and moved to another facility, I wasn’t sure if she would find another trainer that could help her the same way.

She never did: her mother reached out to me to express that there was nothing more I could have done for her daughter, but she wanted me to know.

Not only has my mental health been very unstable, so has my physical health. Last Monday I had yet another ovarian cyst rupture. I am right back where I started in looking for treatment, management and more information about what is going on. The public holidays have set my test/scan results back a few days but I am on the waiting list to see a specialist about the possibility of having my ovaries removed if this will be something I have to endure each month.

My body feels weak, I’m constantly fatigued, my appetite is barely there. With migraines, nausea and constant pelvic pain, it's hard to brave work right now with a smile and a positive attitude.

Bailey has also been dealing with some back pain/inflammation around his L5 and S1 vertebrae. So between the two of us, we are probably two halves of one whole healthy human.

I’m hoping to start using this hellscape some more, although I'm still a little apprehensive. But I thought before I do, those who support me and those who have reached out to check in would appreciate a little update. I hope it brings some understanding as to where I’m sitting right now.

I miss you all, please take care of yourselves. 💕

#tw: suicide #tw: mentions of suicide #tw: mental health

[slibraries]

Right Where You Left Me

Anyway, here's some angst

Contains: Carmy being angsty, al-anon meetings, male m*stburbation, The Box, mentions of s*icide

Carmy’s back in Chicago for less than forty-eight hours before Sugar brings you up. “You should go see her, Carmy.” He bites back what he wants to say, (“fuck off, Sugar.”) and takes a deep breath so he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning. 

(He still feels like he’s drowning.) 

“I know.” 

He doesn’t go see you, and you don’t come see him, and life goes on. He hires Sydney, because she’s fucking incredible, and he works on the menu, and he doesn’t miss you. 

(Except when he does miss you, which is all fucking the time. It’s worst early in the morning when it feels like there’s a knife shoved under his ribs.) 

((And if that ache settles under the finch tattoo on his rib cage, that’s nobody’s business.)) 

He goes to meetings and learns how to talk about Mikey and what happened and how to let people in. He’s at a meeting when he sees you for the first time since that Christmas he called you a bitch and then moved halfway across the world. You’re speaking, because the universe hates him, about your ex-husband’s suicide and him leaving the restaurant to his little brother. 

“I didn’t divorce Mikey because I stopped loving him, I love him more than words. I divorced him because I couldn’t do this.” You gesture at the people sitting in front of you. The light catches the diamond ring around a chain on your neck and Carmy stops being able to breathe. He’s out of the room before you can finish your share. 

He shoves you into a tiny box in his mind, labeled DO NOT OPEN in big, bold, red letters, and tries to forget. 

(When he inevitably wakes up at night, his hand is resting on his rib cage, covering the finch tattoo he’d gotten on your eighteenth birthday because he would’ve done anything you’d asked, and he doesn’t fall back asleep.) 

It’s Sydney who opens The Box, completely by accident. “Chef, somebody ordered a Finch special and Tina won’t tell me what it is,” (fuck, T’s still giving her trouble), “and I…it’s not on the menu so I’m just—“ 

“It’s an Italian beef sandwich with pickles, Lays crumbled on it,  a Diet Coke, and a cookie.” Your order is etched onto his mind. Carmy can’t name the capital of Montana or give directions or diagram a sentence (whatever the fuck that means) but he knows your order. Sydney gives him a strange look. 

“Is that all, Chef?” 

“Yes, Chef. Thank you, Chef.” 

He spends the rest of the shift trying to close The Box. 

He goes home and dreams about being bracketed by silky smooth thighs. He dreams about hands in his hair and gasps of pleasure. The piercing cries of the fire alarm pull him back into the world of the living. 

It takes him all of five minutes after CFD gives them the all clear to go back upstairs before he’s frustratedly shoving a hand into his boxers to palm himself. He’s still half hard from the dream and the memory of being wrapped inside you. His hand doesn’t compare but it sends sparks through his body nonetheless. Carmy doesn’t touch himself very often, too exhausted after work and too Catholic. 

He always thinks of you when he does. His first everything. Your smile, your eyes, the twinkle in your eye when you give him shit about something, the way you move when you’re dancing around the kitchen. His strokes speed up as he imagines your face full of pleasure. 

(The few times you’d had sex before he broke your heart and left were incredible for him. He’s certain you didn’t cum.) 

Carmy spills into his hand and onto his chest. He lets the cum dry there, evidence of his shame. 

It’s a Thursday when Carmy speaks to you for the first time since he came back to Chicago. 

(Because fuck Thursdays)

He isn’t even supposed to work front of house. Richie’s out because Ava’s sick, Fak’s in the back trying to fix the AC, Tina had to go pick up Luis from school, and Sydney needs everyone else so he’s up front. It’s been a shit day from the start. It’s hot as fuck outside, so his apartment is sweltering. He’d been covered in sweat before he’d even stepped out into the summer heat. The Beef isn’t any cooler

”Carmen?” 

And there you are, his worst nightmare and his most cherished dream, standing in front of him. 

You smile and it’s as beautiful (maybe more?) as he remembers. He can tell right away that the grief has taken a toll on you. Your hair is a little duller than in the wedding photo he’d found in the office, your smile not as radiant, your eyes tired. You’re still absolutely, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He’s been to parties with the top models in the world (at which he’d sat alone in the corner) and you still take the cake. 

“Uh, hey Finch. Hey.” 

You look around him at the grungy Beef. “Haven’t changed anything, have you? Good, as co-owner, I get a say on any major changes.” You’re grinning at him but he’s brain stuck on that word, co-owner. You’d owned it with Mikey, of course you had, you’d been his wife. You laughed. “‘M kidding, Carmen. I let Mikey have it in the divorce. You can do what you want with the Beef.” He really shouldn’t feel such relief that you wouldn’t be here, and he shouldn’t hate you calling him Carmen as much as he did. 

“Finch, ya don’t hafta…you don’t have to call me Carmen.” 

Your grin, that grin her loved so much, faltered. “I know. But you never…we haven’t…what are…” it wasn’t like you to have trouble finding your words, and he hated that he was the cause of it. “Carmen is safe.” That shouldn’t hurt as much as it did. “You know you’re always safe with me, Finch.” Your look wasn’t quite withering, but it made him feel impossibly small. “Am I, Carmen?” Before he could say yes, you are, or I still love you, Fak appeared at his shoulder and started talking your ear off. 

You’re gone before he can take your order.

#the bear #the bear x reader #carmy x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy x reader #tw: mentions of suicide

[annoyed-galaxy]

If you know anyone with PMDD, please take care of them. Figure out when their period is and take care of them the week before.

I say this because the smallest of fucking things trigger me right now during my PMDD week. And it's bad. Going through a full spiral breakdown where the PMDD triggers every single emotion I have to the point I'm hurting myself. I'm yelling at myself, punching my head, digging into my skin with my nail, and punching walls. Emotions of rage, anger, sadness, depression, worthlessness, all of it. And the smallest of things set this shit off.

Thoughts of massive self-hate lead to self-punishment and even the darkest thoughts of suicide. Maybe I'm lucky to have been dealing with this shit for so long, I can identify when this is a PMDD week so I know the feelings will pass.

But in the moment? It's hard. Especially when there was a time I was medicated and didn't deal with this.

The levels of emotions are raised to unbelievable heights. After the breakdown, I feel so tired and it's hard to pick myself back up. And this just happens every month.

One week: I go through mental hell. Tiny things can trigger me and make me extremely pissed off and violent. Or make me break down and hate myself and violent against myself.

The next week: Period. Cramps and misery and bleeding and dealing with all those aches and pains.

The third week: Recovering from the precious two weeks of hell which take a lot of effort and energy causing me to be extremely tired and wore out.

Final week: Have started to finally enter the full recovery state. Only for everything to begin anew.

It's hell. It's tortuous.

The worst part is that this condition is rare. So not a lot of people have heard about it. It bums me out because I feel like I'm alone in this. And when someone says "yeah I know what you're going through" no, you don't. Unless you have PMDD which I have not met another person who does. It's fucking awful. My life is controlled by this disorder. A constant hellish fucking cycle.

So, again, if you DO know somebody who has PMDD, please check on them. Help them out. It makes everything worse having this shit. Feeling suicidal, depressed, anxious, angry, etc.

I feel so fucking alone during this time because I'm not myself. I can't control my emotions and turn out to be much more of an asshole to the people around me and they don't understand why.

So yeah.. Just keep an eye on us. It helps. To know we can make it through this awful rollercoaster that happens every fucking month.

#Tw: mentions of suicide #Tw: suicide #tw: sucidal thoughts #tw: self destruction #Tw: self harm #PMDD awareness #Pmdd #Mental health #I'm okay I promise #It's just a battle I always fucking fight #I always come out victorious but never unscathed

[jelzorz]

the snake: ch 2

The castle is warmer than Viren remembers it. In his youth, it had been a fortress, cold and austere, its stone walls bare and undecorated except for what was necessary. Atticus was a kind king, but he was pragmatic: a man who’d grown up in the war time who had no time for frivolity even if he wished for it from time to time. Harrow had clung to his ideals, and had tried his best to let it show in his rule, so it was he who’d put the banners of the uneven towers on the walls, a symbols of their pride, he said, in their humanity and imperfection.

There are more now: Katolis colours on every wall, flags of the other kingdoms flying in the towers, symbols of Lux Aurea and the Dragon Queen and of the Silvergrove hung up between the boughs of holly and fir decorating the halls for this year’s Yule Festival.

Viren shudders at the sight of it. It is too gentle. Too innocent. Too full of joy.

And he is a monster that does not belong in these halls.

Part ii of Viren comes back and soren has to deal with it

Here on ao3

#sorpeli #rayllum #claudiez #canon crack quartet #tw: mentions of suicide

[theshittymarimo]

It's the shame, it's the pride

Fandom: One Piece Characters: Roronoa Zoro, Black leg Sanji, Monkey D. Luffy Words: 3,477 Ao3 Link Summary: "You would die for me, wouldn’t you?"

Luffy asked Zoro and Sanji.

Sanji gaped but nodded.

Zoro narrowed his eyes because he knew Luffy wouldn’t ask that of him. Notes: I listened to "In this shirt" by The Irrepressibles on repeat while writing a lot of this. I recommend listening to it while reading! The title is taken from the lyrics of the song.

The straw hats had arrived at a mysterious, unknown island, a place none of them had heard of before. Not even Robin. It seemed uninhabited, but it was hard to know as it was shrouded in a thick fog that obscured visibility across the entire island. It was eerily quiet and some people in the crew immediately volunteered to remain aboard the ship, while someone else (you could probably guess who) immediately yelled adventure and jumped off the ship before the crew had made any kind of plan.

Nami groaned and yelled after their captain, followed by shouts after Zoro when he went after Luffy.

"Sanji!"

"Yes, Nami-san?" Sanji responded promptly, eager to be of service for her.

"That moron is going to get lost!" Nami said clearly annoyed. "Go after Zoro and pick up Luffy before he causes too much trouble!"

"On my way!" Sanji told her happily before turning to the dense forest that was barely visible in the fog. "Marimo! This fog looks like your sense of direction, you've got no chance in this!"

"Huh?!" Zoro's angry response echoed from a little further within the woods.

But despite that the swordsman could've only been a couple of meters in front of Sanji as they heard each other clearly only seconds ago, as soon as Sanji got into the forest it got quiet.

Sanji stopped after a moment of running, expecting to have caught up with Zoro by now, but instead found himself surrounded by the dense fog and an eerie silence. Not even any sounds of wildlife, was this island truly empty of all life? A chilly feeling suddenly ran down his spine.

He spun around, he had the sudden feeling that someone, or something, was watching him. But there was nothing, just the trees and the fog.

"Hey, who's out there?" Sanji called out tensing up preparing for a fight as he looked around with his senses on high alert.

No response, which made sense as it truly felt like nothing was there except for him. The silence was suffocating, but Sanji knew Zoro and Luffy were out there somewhere.

"Sanji.." Luffy's voice suddenly spoke up from behind him.

Sanji almost shouted in surprise but quickly turned around. He thought he had just looked over the place but now Luffy was standing there.

"Luffy", Sanji sighed in relief. "Good, this island is creepy. Why don't we just find the marimo and then go back to the ship? There's nothing here."

Luffy stood silently and looked back at him with his head tilted, a little smile playing on his lips. Sanji blinked, there was something strange... But no, he wore the same new attire he had donned that morning, courtesy of Brook, along with his straw hat. The same big dark eyes and the same scars. Sanji got the same reassuring feeling he used to from being around his captain. Since the whole cake island that feeling had only grown stronger, and it was the same feeling now. Like anything was possible, like Luffy only needed to ask, and the crew, they, Sanji, would do anything for him.

"Sanji, I'm your captain, right?" Luffy inquired with a little cheeky grin, the kind that promised mischief, the kind that made Sanji ask what Luffy had stolen from the refrigerator this time. It was very familiar and made Sanji sigh.

"Of course", Sanji answered exasperatedly as he dug in a pocket to get his cigarettes.

"If I asked you to do something, would you do it?" Luffy walked closer, hands behind his back, still with the same mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Shitty captain, what do you want?" Sanji frowned, wondering what kind of shit Luffy was up to now. His gaze drifted to the thickening fog, that wasn't good, but when he looked back to Luffy, he couldn't help but feel better as a sense of reassurance washed over him. He felt safe with his captain. Whatever awaited them on the island could wait; they weren't in a hurry, after all.

"Sanji..." Luffy's dark eyes were enthralling, like in the middle of a big fight when he knew that he was going to win. It always brought a reassuring surge of strength and relief, as if Luffy’s win was a given simply because he said so.

“You left me”, Luffy’s grin suddenly vanished. The comforting aura around them disappeared, like all the air was sucked in. He couldn't breathe.

“W-what?” Sanji stuttered, feeling his heart falter in his chest as well.

“Surely you remember it?” Luffy tilted his head looking like he wondered if Sanji was stupid. “You left the crew.”

A trapdoor to a dark, heavy abyss slammed open within Sanji, and he plummeted into its depths. His cigarettes all forgotten, he could only gape as the dark familiar eyes were burrowing deep into his soul.

“But that’s all right”, Luffy’s smile suddenly returned. “You just have to do something for me.”

Sanji’s knees grew weak and he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. The air was gone from his lungs, replaced with something that felt like tar in his throat.

“You would do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” Luffy asked, suddenly so close, his usual confident large grin in place.

Sanji found himself nod before he could even think about it. Confusion clouding his thoughts, but this was Luffy; he would do anything for his captain, for his forgiveness.

“You would die for me, wouldn’t you?”

Sanji blinked. What did he just say?

“Huh?” he croaked weakly.

“Wouldn’t you die for me?” Luffy repeated with his innocent eyes wide and a faint frown, like Sanji was disappointing him.

Sanji gaped but slowly nodded, his world blurred into a foggy haze after that.

---

Zoro had finally found Luffy in the forest, engrossed in watching a bug that was crawling along a fallen tree. Everything appeared normal; Luffy greeted him with a smile and shouted his name happily, and Zoro felt a wave of relief wash over him. He had felt uneasy after hearing Sanji shout after him and then nothing else, but despite that he kept going after Luffy. But now when he had found Luffy he was prepared to go back and make sure that the cook was alright, just in case. An uneasy feeling itched in the back of his mind.

Zoro looked around while Luffy chattered in the background about the bugs he had seen, how great this adventure was and how great the crew was. Zoro couldn’t shake off the odd sensation lingering in the air but he couldn’t see anything.

"You would do anything for me, wouldn't you?"

Zoro blinked, caught off guard by Luffy’s question.

"What?" Zoro frowned, turning to face Luffy again.

Luffy looked relaxed, his hands resting behind his head, like he hadn't asked anything strange. Just slightly curious.

"Would you do anything for me?" Luffy asked again, looking like he thought Zoro was a little stupid for not understanding him the first time.

The thing was, it was classic Luffy. Everything about him screamed Luffy at Zoro.

“I-… Of course”, Zoro scowled. They all knew that, Luffy included; it was just that no one usually bothered to mention it. “You know that.”

Luffy sniggered his usual laugh, and the corner of Zoro’s lips twitched as if to join in as well. But he didn’t really feel like it, the strange feeling persisted, unsettling him.

“Good”, Luffy grinned, turning around, hands still leisurely behind his head. “Follow me!”

“Luffy!” Zoro huffed in annoyance as he followed his captain who seemed relaxed.

Something was wrong. The nagging feeling in the back of his head was screaming at him, but he couldn’t understand what it was saying.

“Where are we going?” Zoro asked as he looked around in search for any hint of what made his instincts go haywire.

“I have to show you something!” Luffy told him eagerly, pointing off into the distance.

Zoro groaned but followed him, he was used to Luffy’s impulsive detours by now.

“Zoro”, Luffy started after a moment of silence as they went deeper into the forest. “Zoro is a good first mate, you know that?”

“Huh?” Zoro startled and stared at the back head of Luffy in confusion. He felt his cheeks flush and he averted his gaze in embarrassment as he tsked.

“You always look after me”, Luffy continued with laughter in his voice, washing over Zoro, he couldn’t help but look at him again. “I don’t even have to say anything, you always know what I need.”

What is this? Zoro wondered, feeling awkward, they had never spoken like this before.

“You would do anything for me”, Luffy continued.

“I already said yes”, Zoro told him irritated.

“You would die for me, wouldn’t you?” Luffy asked.

Zoro stopped. Everything in front of him screamed Luffy at him, but yet…

Zoro’s hand instinctively reached for the hilts of his blades. Suddenly the screaming feeling in the back of his head sharpened; he knew where it came from. It came from his blades, and they were screaming at him that something was wrong. His new blade Enma sent stinging ripples of pain across his arm that made him gasp and grip the hilt tightly as he looked down at it in surprise.

“Zoro?” Luffy asked as he turned around to him.

Zoro looked up again. And it was like the pain was clearing something in front of him.

“You would die for me, wouldn’t you?” Luffy repeated with a serious look on his face, the one he wore when he meant what he was saying. It was important, it was captain’s orders. And yet…

Zoro slowly drew a blade, pointing it at his captain.

"Luffy already knows that", Zoro spoke slowly, his frown deepening as he kept a vigilant eye on him. "He doesn't like it and wouldn't mention it, but he knows."

Luffy suddenly grinned and laughed in his usual manner, like it didn’t matter. For a fleeting moment, Zoro wavered; it all looked and sounded just like him.

But then, the figure that looked like Luffy began to fade, its form becoming transparent as the thick fog around them slowly lifted.

"Lucky", not-Luffy grinned, with a gleam in his eyes that Zoro didn't like. It looked predatory. But he didn't have time to ask anything as in the next moment the thing that had disguised itself as Luffy was gone.

"Shit", Zoro hissed lowly, drawing a second blade and looked around. The uneasy feeling suddenly grew sevenfold, urging him to hurry. The fog looked more natural and he could see further into the woods, but he still didn't know what way to go.

"Shit", Zoro swore again. He dashed forward, only to quickly stop, with an annoyed growl at himself he pivoted on his heels and ran in the opposite direction.

Soon, a sight caught his eye amidst the trees: two figures walking in tandem. Zoro put in a burst of speed and quickly saw who they were. At first, he was relieved, it was Luffy and Sanji.

However, this Luffy didn't say anything when they both noticed him and stopped. He looked unusually serious and when Zoro glanced at the cook, he noticed a blank look in his eyes, unsettling him even further.

"Where are you going?" Zoro asked carefully, his blades at the ready, preparing himself for whatever might come next.

Luffy grinned in response, and Zoro felt himself relax for a moment, expecting him to answer that they were looking for something to catch for a meal.

"Kill Zoro, Sanji", Luffy said, still with a grin.

Zoro blinked, he barely had time to think. The look on Luffy's face was so different from the words that was spoken that he couldn't fully comprehend it at first.

But when a leg of steel enveloped in burning blue hell flames descended upon him Zoro knew he had to catch up quickly. He grunted when he barely managed to raise his two blades in time to stop the attack from hitting him.

Usually in their fights they worked up to their stronger moves, allowing each other time to warm up, even in their angriest clashes. But this was different; this was an all-out assault from the start.

"Are you serious, shit-cook?!" Zoro gritted out furious with him.

But when he looked at Sanji's face, he almost blanched. The cook always wore his feelings on his sleeve, Zoro could usually guess what he was feeling at the moment from just a look at him. But this Sanji's face was blank, his eyes muddled like he didn’t see what was in front of him, wearing just a slight frown like this was something he had to do.

Zoro knew this was Sanji; no one could fake his attacks this well. Which meant that no matter how much Zoro wanted to, it would create a bigger mess than worth it to kill him like this, and yet he couldn't afford to hold back either. So annoying, Zoro thought as he backed a couple of steps as Sanji prepared for another attack.

As their clash intensified, the surrounding landscape bore the brunt of their attacks, trees crashing under the force of their attacks, the sky aglow with fire. For a moment Zoro wondered if their crewmates saw the fires and wondered what was going on. But he didn't have much time to think as Sanji didn't stop attacking, not even to catch his breath even when Zoro could hear him wheeze in the struggle to be able to take in enough air for his body. But he still wore that blank look in his eyes.

Amidst the chaos, he recalled Sanji’s word in Wano: 'But after the battle, if I am not sane ... you must kill me.' Was it something like this that Sanji had feared?

Zoro glanced at the fake-Luffy and saw that he was still standing there with his arms crossed, looking intrigued like real Luffy did when he watched an interesting fight. In a fit of frustration, Zoro turned around and decided to attack him, it was obvious he had done something to the cook like the other fake-Luffy had done to him. So maybe it would stop Sanji if Zoro attacked the source.

But when he slashed at fake-Luffy he saw movement in the corner of his eye. His eye widened when he realized that Sanji had moved, not to attack Zoro with his back turned at him, but to stand in front of fake-Luffy. He didn't even defend himself, just stood there with his arms outstretched, taking the attack right at his chest.

Zoro gaped, almost yelled, when he saw Sanji crumble, staggering by the force in the attack. Zoro barely noticed the triumphant look on the fake-Luffy's face, his eyes on the cook who instead of falling, he slowly straightened himself with his body looking bended in where Zoro had hit him, his expression unchanged.

"What does it take for you to die?" Fake-Luffy asked in surprise, and for the first time Zoro saw some frustration in his face.

Before Zoro could think of what that implied, a figure, with a furious shout, suddenly collided with fake-Luffy with such a force that both flew several meters away. Both Zoro and Sanji looked over in surprise.

It was Luffy. The real Luffy, Zoro was sure. The anger in his face was unmistakable.

"Lu-.. Luffy?" Sanji's confused voice made Zoro look over at him in surprise. It was the first word he had spoken since Zoro had found them. Sanji was frowning with a muddled look in his eyes as he watched their Luffy attack the fake-Luffy.

The fight didn't last long. The fake-Luffy disappeared like he had done the first time to Zoro. The winning Luffy, their Luffy, didn't look triumphant, instead he looked up at them with a frown.

Zoro opened his mouth to say something but stopped when Luffy walked up to Sanji who still looked confused. Luffy was frowning but Zoro could see the concerned look in his eyes. Gently Luffy put his hand on Sanji's cheek when he stopped in front of him.

"Sanji?" Luffy asked, like to check that he was still there.

“… Captain”, Sanji responded after a moment and blinked. The muddled look in his eyes slowly disappeared as his gaze swept over Luffy’s face and he looked around in confusion. When his eyes fell upon Zoro he frowned before his eyes cleared up and widened in shock. He quickly turned to Luffy again with a shocked look upon his face and then spun to the direction they had been heading.

“He-… It was leading me to a cliff”, Sanji breathed, his words heavy with disbelief as he stared into the distance.

Zoro tensed up with the realization, recalling the ominous question posed by the fake-Luffy.

“You would die for me, wouldn’t you?”

All of a sudden Zoro wished he would’ve been able to do more to the fake-Luffy.

Luffy’s frown mirrored Zoro’s thoughts.

“Sanji”, Luffy’s voice rang out with the authority of a captain that made everyone in the crew snap to attention, as did Sanji who immediately looked to him. “I want you to live.”

A shiver ran down Zoro’s spine. But this time it wasn’t unfamiliar; he knew this feeling very well. Some called it the conqueror’s haki, but Zoro knew this as his captain’s will.

“You understand, Sanji?” Luffy asked again, his gaze piercing.

“Y-yes”, Sanji responded with a slight shiver as he looked down from the unwavering look in Luffy’s eyes.

“… Good!” Luffy suddenly grinned wide, looking like he was already forgetting the whole thing. “I’m hungry, let’s go back to the Sunny!”

Zoro looked after Luffy as he kept talking about what he wanted for lunch. Clearly Luffy had known what the not-Luffy had asked of Zoro, and Sanji, which probably meant that he had faced something similar as well. Probably not himself, and for a moment Zoro wondered what that had been to Luffy. But for now, Luffy was here, and that was all that mattered to Zoro. No need to delve further.

Turning his attention to the cook, Zoro noticed him discreetly wiping his cheeks before following their captain. That swirly-brow needed to stop trying to die Zoro thought and sneered.

“What?” Sanji hissed at the look on Zoro’s face.

“Just your stupid face”, Zoro retorted nonchalantly, as he fell into step behind Luffy.

“What the hell, marimo?!” Sanji shouted back at him.

Back on the ship their crewmates had clearly been worried about them. Nami’s furious shouts filled the air, while Chopper anxiously looked over them for any signs of injuries. Luffy didn’t say anything, and Sanji avoided their gazes as he retreated to the kitchen, muttering about making lunch. When Nami asked Luffy what had happened on the island Luffy told them to not worry before hurrying after Sanji. He shouted happily about food, but Zoro knew that there were other reasons as to why he wanted to be close to the cook for a while longer.

Which left Zoro to answer the concerned crewmates. What a hassle, Zoro sighed. But he told them a very brief account of what happened to him, opting to not mention too much of what he had seen regarding the cook either.

“A-a ghost?!” Usopp’s horrified shriek pierced the air.

“Hm”, Robin hummed looking interested and like she was searching for something in her mind.

“Have you heard of something like that before Robin?” Nami asked worriedly.

“I don’t recall much, but yes”, Robin began which Zoro translated to what she didn’t remember wasn’t particularly noteworthy. “There’s a myth about an onryō, a vengeful spirit, haunting an entire island. It is said that the spirit is able to see into the souls of those they encounter and influence them, driving them to their own demise willingly.”

“Y-you mean…?” Usopp’s complexion paled further.

“According to the myth, yes, it has the ability to compel people to take their own lives.”

“It’s real?!” Chopper cried looking terrified out of his mind.

“I have yet to see it personally”, Robin smiled serenely at him and Usopp groaned that it wasn’t reassuring at all.

“Thank goodness you all returned unharmed!” Nami said glancing at Zoro with an angry look that he knew meant that she was worried. “We are leaving, immediately!”

She looked like she was expecting protests but Zoro merely nodded and shrugged. He was fairly certain that Luffy wouldn’t mind this time.

“Is everything alright, Zoro?” Brook’s discreet inquiry came as the others busied themselves with preparations to depart the island. He sounded like he knew there was more to the story.

“… Yes”, Zoro replied with a fleeting glance. “It is now.”

At least it would be, he thought.

“Very well”, Brook acknowledged, seeming satisfied with that answer.

#one piece #op fanfic #tw: mentions of suicide #not of free will though #light angst #wano spoilers #whole cake spoilers #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #sanji #my fanfics #my fanfiction #monster trio

[holly-fixation]

The Last Straw

Summary: After Angeal’s death, Sephiroth finds a baby in the labs with silver hair and cat-like eyes. He immediately knows it's his. He takes the child and runs out of Shinra, but he didn’t know what Hojo did to her. Through defects he did not know or understand, his child dies in his arms despite every attempt to save her. The era of mommy issues is over. He will tear the Lifestream apart to save her at any cost.

Inspired by this post by @altocat with many of my own twists.

Please enjoy.

…

The low hum of the bountiful monitors and lights lulled throughout the lab as always. The sounds, the smell, even the slightest taste in the air all forced horrid memories into the Silver Soldier’s mind. It was exam day: the worst day of the month. His year long deployments to Wutai and the slaughter they came with were butterfly kisses compared to this single windowless laboratory. 

He hated this place. He hated every caged monster for the suffering they continued to endure. He hated each glowing tank of mako for their silent threat to enter. He hated the cells he prayed stayed unoccupied to protect others from the hell he endured. He hated the noise of monsters whimpering and growling and yelping and crying-

Despite his wince, he focused his ears. Crying? That crying wasn’t animalistic. Those cries were small and…human. They had to be. Sephiroth scowled. Hojo’s lack of restraint boiled his blood. That scientist that raised him and controlled the entire department did whatever he pleased. ‘Unethical’ did not scratch the surface of what his experiments covered. Even the Silver Soldier knew this suffering was wrong, especially on another human. 

He didn’t know why that specific call lured him over to the observation window through one way glass of the cells. He usually ignored every creature trapped within like the plague, avoiding any returning memories they came with like his life depended on it. He just needed to make it through the exam, so what was he searching for the source of the conspicuous sounds?

Why was he looking into a baby’s room?

Really it looked the same as every other cell in this block except for the crib where the bed should be. The walls were plain white. The floor was tile with a single black rug covering a small section of it. A desk full of reports and results sat well loved in the corner, but clearly not by the cell’s owner.

It was a baby, the source of the cries. A human baby. A baby that barely scraped a few months old. She was so small, so scared, so fragile, so alone. Scabs and bandages decorated her reaching chubby arms. She was calling out for something. She probably didn’t know what. Her hair was silver, and when she opened her eyes between her wails, her irises were catlike, sky blue and mako green. Hojo already threw this baby in a mako tank. She was far too young to have that slightest ring of mako around her eyes. A tank would kill her. Perhaps it was a single dunk, but it was only the beginning. 

Something about the look in her eyes ensnared his attention. She wanted to be out. She wanted to be free. She wanted safety. Attention. Care. …love. She wanted sunlight and rain and color and every other basic joy she was denied by her caretaker. All of which he was denied as well. 

She cried for help, but nobody came. No one. He cried for much longer than her age, desperately reaching for the same amenities to no avail. 

She didn't deserve it. 

No one deserved it. 

His only friends were a traitor and a deadman. He was alone too.

Silver hair and mako eyes.

Silver hair and once blue eyes.

Silver hair and inhuman eyes, just as alone as him. 

His mind snapped the truth into place. The invasive, disgusting, boundary breaking truth of what this child was. Who this child was. Whose child it was. That bastard. Hojo deserved death by a thousand suns for this, but that wouldn’t protect her. Shinra would just replace Hojo with another scientist to do the exact same testing, training, molding, forming her into a hardened soldier even before her teenage years.

Just. Like. Him. 

Every instinct downed his rational thoughts. He couldn’t let it happen. Not to her too. His body moved long before his mind caught up. He only remembered vague details of their escape, of broken glass, of wrapping the child in her blanket, of rushing through Shinra security forces with everything he had. Not a single soldier or security officer died during his escape. However, the lab technicians and orderlies that threatened him and the girl were not as lucky, not with the memories they reflected into Sephiroth's mind. 

* * * 

She was so small. So… cute. She always watched him with such undying adoration. He never expected to care about her this much. Yes he wanted to protect her, but this feeling was far more than he bargained for. He didn't know how quickly these assumed 'parental instincts' would kick in. He petted her hair and she nuzzled against him. He offered his hand and she grabbed it tightly. When he pulled, she pulled back with bubbly giggles, always thinking it was a game. He spoke to her, and she occasionally called him 'Dada'. Her smile always infected him with relief. The little things she did, good and bad, only made him care more. He needed to protect her. He wanted her to love him even if he could not return the phrase himself. He wanted them to be connected, to have an unbreakable parent-child bond. 

He wanted her to have what he could only dream of with his mother, so he named her Jen. She responded so quickly to the single syllable that he couldn't change it even if he wanted to. Not like he tried to. Bigger problems constantly took priority. 

The army, the Turks, every division of peacekeeping at Shinra’s disposal hunted him like a criminal despite his aversion to combat. Did the army even know why he left? Why he didn’t have a choice? He refused to kill any member of any taskforce. He wanted Jen to grow up without death around her. He couldn’t spend more than fifteen minutes in any town on the planet before Shinra surrounded him, but he couldn’t hide out in the wilderness entirely with Jen. He needed to learn how to raise a child, trying to limit himself to one parenting book per town, and she needed bottles, baby food, and blankets. Gods so much food and so many blankets.

Less than a week after the escape, she was lighter. He felt it. Slightly but enough. At first he thought it was just the stress of her new life outdoors, but she kept losing weight even when she clearly ate her fill. She was too cold and far too weak for her age. He couldn’t put her down. She needed every ounce of warmth his body provided. 

No matter what he did, he couldn’t slow her weight loss. She was starving to death, but he had no idea why or how. Suddenly he purchased every resource he could get his hands on, yet most remedies were only for nursing mothers. The few strategies he could find didn’t make a dent in her degradation. He fed her every hour, and she ate every drop of the meals even past her own fill. He saw the strain on her face as his baby forced herself to finish the portion simply because he told her to. Jen’s behavior matched nothing he found about children her age, already infected by the lab to be obedient for results. He tried skin to skin contact while feeding her, but all that did was warm his heart under the weight of the knife growing closer. So few solutions applied, he had no idea what to do.

He even risked taking her to a doctor in Costa del Sol, a spot he knew crawled with Shinra guards, but only Shinra run cities had the technology to define the problem and hopefully save his child. Some gods must have smiled on him that day. Not only did the doctor not call him into the authorities, they took a blood sample from Jen and told him to return in a single week. Seven days later, the doctor slipped him the results in a sealed envelope. He was barely in the city for a minute. 

The results: Malabsorption. Severe malnutrition due to improper nutrients. The solution: find something to make her gain weight, and fast. She’s lucky to have a few weeks left.

‘Left’? ‘Left’? Sephiroth denied the final diagnosis with everything he had. He couldn’t let that happen. He did this to save her. He did this to help her. She couldn’t… She couldn’t… not now. Please, please gods no. Don’t let this happen. He fed her every concentrated vitamin meal he could find, milkshake-like textures forced down her raw throat. Jen reached with everything she had whenever he gave her the next meal. She knew she needed it too, she had to. Blends of fruit, protein, vegetables, carbs, anything he could get his hands on he tried to use. He tried. 

But he failed.

“Dada…” Jen called again, her voice barely audible above her breath, and he squeezed her tightly against him. She was so cold. So weak. So skinny her bones poked into both his and her own body. He couldn’t even see the veins in her arms, a symptom he knew could come from severe dehydration but she already drank far too much water.

“I’m here… I'm still here…” He spoke softly, tightening her body against his bare chest to transfer as much heat as possible. He'd give her all of it if he could, drain his entire body to a freezing death just to insure she didn't… She winced a bit at the pressure, but her body shivered. 

“Dada…” Each syllable was slow, like she was dragging a heavy weight just to push them out to her father. 

He pet her head of silver hair and tried to move her loser to the fire, silently begging Ifrit himself to keep her heart warm and beating. He didn't care about the smoke giving away their location. He just needed her okay again. Please. “I have you… You're safe…”

“Da…da…” Slower, languid and strained. Her mako blue eyes were already pale, but he watched something more fade from them. He couldn't look away. He didn't want her to feel alone. 

“Jen, please… I'm here…” He felt his throat hitch despite his incomparable strength. It was all worthless. All of his strength was worthless if he couldn't stop this. “I have you… I have you…”

“Da…” She never stopped staring at him. 

“Jen…”

“...” A moment passed. He prayed she was just gathering the strength to speak. 

“Jen…”

“...” Again, silence. 

“Jen…?”

Her eyes didn't move or spark with that small twinkle like they did every time he called her name. The slightest warmth she did emit already began to cool. He stared in agony as the mako in her irises fizzled and the green streaks of the Lifestream, her Lifestream, fell from her hands, then arms, then her entire body, draining into the dirt below and returning to the planet. Her soul. He used every breath in his body to keep that glow in her eyes. 

But he failed. 

The first time in his life he tried to save someone from his fate. The one time he truly desired victory rather than given the order to procure it. The one time he does something right for someone. Not the company. Not his army. Not the lab constantly itching for results. 

He did this for her. He did this to save her. He did this to protect her, so she could be happy. So he could… so those three words could finally leave his lips. 

He loved her. But he never told her. 

She never got the life he wanted her to have. She spent her final weeks starving with an overstuffed stomach. She suffered in the lab. She suffered in his arms. He'd never see her smile or hear her voice again. She was dead. 

She was dead and she wasn't coming back. 

She died as a fugitive in the arms of her traitorous father. 

She died cold and desperate. 

She died sad. 

She died alone. 

No… NO!

Sephiroth screamed. Not a scream of pain. Not a scream of anger. Not a scream of acceptance. He screamed in anguish, tears he didn't know he was capable of forming flowed down his desert dry cheeks. The scream came from deep in his soul and carried for miles, a shockwave that shook all fauna out of the forest. He wrapped her tighter and nearly crushed her brittle bones against his chest as he tried to will her soul back into her body. 

His baby. 

His wants his baby. 

His needs his baby!

He couldn't let her leave. He couldn't let her die. She needed the life he promised, of happiness and few worries. Of existence without the looming threat of the lab calling her in for testing whenever they pleased. A good life. And despite the fact that death already claimed her, he swore to find the reaper and rip her from its clutches. 

The Lifestream was tangible. The Lifestream carried the afterlife. He needed to pull her out of it, to save her soul and tear the planet apart if that’s what it took to find her.

His screaming stopped long ago, but how long was he sobbing? The tears in his eyes dried as he looked to the fire with determination. Someone had to have an answer. Something had to make an answer, even if it was himself. He wrapped her body in her favorite blanket, her eyes still open because one day she would use them again. He was sure of it. He took a longer blanket and used it to strap her to his back in a protective sash. 

Just as he finished with his pathetic preservation of her corpse, the ever-present soldiers that followed the smoke found him.

He wasn’t holding back anymore. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Not without her.

Everything in even the slightest shred of his way will die.

* * * 

He was a hurricane. A cyclone. A monsoon. He was Death to every village he entered, no matter how many villagers survived. Some towns were foolish enough to defend themselves. They died in a bloody slaughter far worse than Wutai ever saw. He needed answers. He needed a solution. He needed to pull her out. Nothing else mattered, not his well being or theirs. If they just stayed out of his way, he wouldn't attack, but Shinra branded him an enemy. Who were they to deny Shinra's claims?

He didn't want to kill, but he didn't have time for negotiations.

Even the smallest of towns had places to store information. He eliminated anyone who dared approach as he entered these libraries. He read decades, centuries worth of knowledge regarding the Lifestream and the afterlife. Anything even remotely referencing the afterlife claimed all of his attention. 

Planetology itself warned him of his time limit. He didn't know how much time he had before her soul was diluted completely by the Lifestream, becoming one with the planet at the cost of herself. Just another soul to keep the circle of life spinning. Another soul to be filtered through mako refinement.

Mako reactors severely sped up the dilution. He needed to destroy each and every one if he couldn't find a solution soon. 

Papers and research notes written by madmen particularly interested him. He couldn't care less about the search for eternal life, the elixirs of mako and phenix downs and whatnot to restore a heartbeat within the moment of death's embrace. He found the notes of men just like him, men who lost spouses, parents, children, siblings. Men who reached for the same goal, but they all came to the same conclusion: 

The Lifestream is too vast. There’s not enough time to find a single soul within it before it succumbs to the will of the planet. Ancient texts claim the will of the soul can keep it separate if it is powerful enough, but even that strength is on a time limit. If you’re reading this, save your breath and save your time. Either move on or kill yourself. Nothing can bring them back.

Even the craziest and the most obsessed came to the same result with only different words and phrases. Every one of them agreed that the Lifestream’s physical existence was nothing more than a cruel joke, not a tool to be used. 

They were all cowards that should have pushed harder.

Shinra’s offensive measures only served as mild annoyances throughout his search. Ambushes he saw coming, lines of soldiers prepared to take him down, Third Classes that had absolutely no idea what he was truly capable of. No one in Shinra knew exactly how strong he was. For years he didn’t either. Yet none of the company’s suicide orders ceased. 

A week after his baby’s death, the puppy of his dead friend found him on his way to the next town. Not a literal dog, his friend’s old apprentice, sans SOLDIER uniform but donning the armor and his friend’s blade.

“Sephiroth?” The boy couldn’t believe his eyes, that the fallen Silver Soldier stood before him. His hands twitched to grab the hilt of his own sword. “Is that you?”

The worried expression on the boy's face clashed with his memory of friendly smiles, of child-like curiosity, of innocence burning before his very eyes. He kept his march forward, but he turned his gaze away. He didn't want any more memories right now. That innocence was too familiar. “You need to leave, Zack.”

When the older man made no attempt to attack, Zack hesitantly dropped a bit of his guard. The black haired boy shook his head quickly as Sephiroth passed him, stumbling to catch up to the ex-First Class SOLDIER. “Why are you killing innocent people? What happened to you?! You look terrible!”

Did he? He hadn’t bothered to worry about himself. He didn’t have enough time. His uniform held dried blood and grime in every seam and his unkempt hair nearly rivaled Zack’s, but his voice was just as strong. “You need to leave.”

“When they said you abandoned Shinra, I left too,” Zack continued, trying to get an honest reaction out of the usually emotionless soldier. “I figured you went with Genesis, and… I had my own doubts about Shinra for a while.”

He sneered, his lip curling in contempt as he cut the boy off, “What do you want?”

Zack stumbled to explain, “Well now I don’t know what the hell’s going on. Sephiroth, why are you killing townspeople?”

“I don’t have time.”

“To explain? Really? Look I won’t slow you down but what happened?”

“Zack. You need to leave.”

“Can you just answer a single question? Why does no one tell me anything?!”

“Zack.”

“You can't shut me out like this! Why did you leave Shinra?”

“Hojo.”

“No shit. What did he do?”

That single curse took him off guard. He never heard the puppy curse before. It felt wrong. It felt like blasphemy. “He crossed a line.”

Zack didn’t stop pushing. “He’s pushed a thousand lines. Which one?”

His head fell and his inhuman eyes landed on the blanket sashed around his chest.

“Sephiroth, please. What test was it? What experiment? What! Happened?!” The boy shouted in confusion, not in anger, not in frustration. The boy desperately wanted to believe the soldier could be saved.

Sephiroth stopped dead in his tracks, and Zack nearly tripped at the sudden change. He carefully untied the knots of the blanket and adjusted the weight. Zack didn’t understand why his touch was so delicate until he peeled open the cloth, revealing the baby inside.

She was rotting. Her body was rotting. Her skin wasn't pale like his anymore. It was blue and full of sour craters. Her cat-like eyes faded from blue to white. Her hair was the same, but her bones were broken far beyond repair even if she was alive. She was a crumpled pile of broken flesh, all due to the recklessness with which he hunted for answers.

…It wasn't Jen anymore. It was just a body. 

Zack couldn’t help but look between the man and the child. It didn’t take long to make the connection, but he didn’t understand Sephiroth’s slaughters. 

“...I need her…” That was the only explanation given.

The boy looked up to him with concern and care, the expression the equivalent of heartbroken adoration she used to look at him with. “Sephiroth…”

He tightened his hold. 

“This needs to- This needs to stop… She needs to be buried… This isn’t good for you… She’s not coming back…” He took a painful breath. “Please…”

His inhuman eyes closed. Why did Zack’s innocent weakness hurt him so much? Why did the boy remind him of her?

The boy waited for an answer, but even with closed eyes Sephiroth knew the apprentice stood at the ready in case he snapped.

“Just keep her in her blanket…” He choked out each word. Zack could barely recognize his voice. He sounded like a child, denying the reality before him. “She’s always so cold…”

So they did. They dug a grave right there in the plains of the western continent. Sephiroth was unnaturally calm as he lowered the body in, keeping every inch of her wrapped in soft and fluffy fabrics. Together they scooped each layer of dirt until barely a lump of brown remained over her body. Yet as Zack gave him a moment of silence to contemplate what they had done, what he had done, he knocked the boy unconscious. 

Jen’s body was ruined. He couldn’t have her come back to that. He wanted her to live perfectly when she returned. What remained of that body couldn’t hold her innocent soul. He needed to find or create a replacement. He had no idea where to look, but… preserving her soul came first. He swore he would save her. This couldn’t hold him back.

* * * 

Four days passed. Eleven days since her death. Eleven days since she began to dissolve into the planet. No one knew how long it took before souls became part of the hivemind of the planet. But Jen was just a baby. Whatever that average time span was, hers was halved. Maximum.

What could he do? 

What can he do?

He kept searching, kept his trek through any place with intelligent life. Shinra actually backed off with parts of the army, letting him through without death. He traveled most of the western continent untouched. Now, he was near Cosmo Canyon when he found out why. 

He saw a chopper land ahead of him before waiting for a moment and flying away. What payload could they possibly drop that could stop him?

It was Shinra’s final attempt. If this failed, Sephiroth would be treated like a natural disaster. Shinra would notify the next village of his arrival, and the authorities would sound a siren to evacuate. If absolutely nothing stopped him, the best anyone could do was live another day.

The payload wasn't a 'what'.

It was a 'who'.

A man that dared stand in his way. A man that used to have control over him, so much so that he was still breathing today.

“Sephiroth,” the slimy, irritated voice of the scientist broke through the air.

He remembered his own childhood like a waking nightmare. But worse, he remembered Jen’s pained expression when eating more than her fill simply by his instruction, her sacrificial obedience drilled into her at less than a year old.

“Are you done throwing your little tantrum-?” Hojo barely finished his taunt when the black gloved hand grabbed him by the neck and dragged him along the possessed march forward. The scientist struggled to keep his body off the ground as Sephiroth kept him down arm’s length, kicking and stumbling to avoid literally being dragged. But he couldn’t help his straggled response, “Clearly not.”

“What did you do to my daughter?”

The man clawed at the hand around his neck. “It’s difficult to answer like this, boy.”

Sephiroth tossed the man in the air like a tennis ball and grabbed a fistful of the collared shirt and lab coat to drag him down the same way. The man groaned but gods the soldier could not care less. “I will have none of your nonsense. Answer my questions.”

The scientist coughed but then let out the smarmiest chuckle. “You couldn’t ask these before?” A tighter grip on his clothing convinced him to answer. “We were trying something new. It was supposed to make her even stronger than you. To carry your bloodline the way it should be.” 

Sephiroth nearly growled.

“She showed such promise…” He almost spoke fondly of her. “Why do you care?”

“Why did she die?”

“Pardon me, boy?”

“Why did Jen die?” He questioned imperiously, clenching his teeth. “Why did she starve to death?”

Hojo’s black eyes widened in annoyed realization. “Is that what this is about? She died from her malabsorption and now you’re doing…what exactly?”

“Why was it that bad?”

For once, the scientist felt like answering. Afterall, she was to be one of his greatest experiments, second only to the soldier he was looking at. “When you were that young, you had malabsorption too. It wasn’t nearly as severe as her’s, however. The average commercial protein shakes were plenty capable of sustaining your growth. If you just communicated with the lab in the first place, we could have informed you of her condition. You could have returned with minimal consequences. Visitation could be easily implemented until the child was strong enough to live with you. Hell, PR begged us for that day just to portray you in a sympathetic light.” Hojo scoffed. “Honestly it’s all drivel if you ask me, but this didn’t need to happen. This is your fault, boy.”

Some small part of the silver soldier foolishly believed that answers would calm his heart, even in the slightest. Only with the truth did he realize he did not care about the reason anymore.

Well, half truth.

The extension of Project S, known under a sub category called S-D, had a clear goal from its inception: create a biological child of Sephiroth and imbue it with the maximum concentration of Jenova’s cells possible. They began with the highest concentration that wouldn't kill the hostesses and lowered it as the experiment progressed. However, the first child successfully birthed expired within three weeks for exactly the same reason as Jen: malabsorption. There were multiple failed specimens between the first child and Jen, each tested with a different diet for survival. The same diet as Sephiroth led to failure in six weeks. The breast fed specimen lasted five weeks. The vegan specimen died within forty eight hours. Finally they gave the only female specimen a highly concentrated diet of pure protein and water as their ultimate attempt with their current level of J cells. And she survived. Well, she survived for three months before Sephiroth recklessly kidnapped her and unintentionally starved her to death over her fourth.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Hojo couldn’t agree more.

“I need her back,” Sephiroth confessed, and he had absolutely no idea why he bothered speaking his truth to the bastard scientist. “I’ll do anything. I’ll kill anything. I need the power to save her. I don’t care what it takes.”

Power.

The man tilted his head curiously, his mind itching to see the results of his sudden idea. “I may have an answer.” Now he had the boy’s full attention. “Go to the mako reactor on Mount Nibel. You’ll know upon arrival if it's enough to complete your task. It may hold the answers you seek as well.”

The soldier threw the scientist to the ground without losing a single step forward. Nibelheim was just across the coming river. He could afford the short detour. Something told him that the scientist was telling the truth like a calling, a thread of fate, something he never felt before, yet it meant nothing to him. 

He passed through the village silently, not a single person approached or even stood in sight. He swore he would investigate the old Shinra Manor if this final mission was nothing more than a wild goose chase. His very existence since learning of his child was a wild goose chase. 

However, surrounded by the rocky peaks of the Nibelheim mountains and spotting the bridge to the reactor, he heard a voice. An inhuman, unnatural, astral voice. Somehow kind and pulling if kindness was something he cared about anymore.

Let me help you.

It came from everywhere, everything. It came from inside him with no direction and no source. But he still didn’t care. He responded without a single beat lost in his march, “I need her.”

I know. I feel your pain, my son. We can bring her back. 

The endearment meant nothing to him. He barely remembered a time when it would. He was supposed to use said endearments with his daughter to mend the loss of his mother. He didn’t even acknowledge these thoughts now. “How.”

Take the power of the Lifestream. Drain it until she's all that remains. 

“Will that bring her back?” He found himself halfway up the bridge, his mindless movement pushing him closer.

Yes. Better than before. You'll have the power to build her a new body. She'll be yours. She'll be perfect. Nothing will harm her again.

Every other place he looked trapped him in a labyrinth of the same dead end: it’s impossible. Live your life or end your life. This velvety voice was the only one that validated his desire. He could save her, but he would reach this creature first.

“How do you know?”

Into the mako reactor, through the storage chamber, up the stairs of a room with his mother’s name, he only stopped when he entered under the marquee with the engraving “J-E-N-O-V-A”. White lights suddenly blind him, but the dizziness that followed screamed something unnatural. Something magical. A promise for when victory was claimed.

Let me show you. 

Suddenly he was looking down at the core of the planet. At his sides were perfectly sliced walls of stone as if a single blade cut the planet down to its center. The green streaks of the Lifestream flowed from each stone into his body, glowing and growing. Below him laid the tiniest drops of the stream he did not absorb. Occasionally another drop would fall from his fingers and join the others on the ground, until they were all the lifeblood that remained.

He waved his hand and colors of magic he could not recognize flooded the slash. Every color in existence left his hand, making the mako drops glow brighter, and brighter, and brighter. It nearly blinded him. He had no choice but to close his eyes and turn away until it began to dim.

As the last of the glow fizzled out, the drops were gone, replaced with the body of his baby. 

Her body and soul were restored as one.

Her hair was just as silver. Her skin was just as pale. Her eyes were the shining blue stars of catlike slits he remembered. And she was healthy. No bones protruded under a layer of paper thin skin. Her eyes were not dark and sunken. She was full. She was happy. And though she was too young to speak, the gasp in her breath and the overflowing admiration in her eyes spoke for her.

She cried for him. She missed him so much.

He scooped her into his arms before she could even make a sound, but she still cried against him. She held him as tightly as her little body allowed as she just kept crying his title. Her voice brought tears to his eyes. 

She was back. She was back.

No life on this planet was worthy of her, not after letting her die. This simple embrace between father and daughter was worth more than all the life of this planet combined.

It was his baby. His connection. His Second chance. 

Her.

It was her.

.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading!

Author’s Note: I honest to god made up Jen’s condition based on the fact that Jenova eats planets so Jen basically needs food from higher up the food chain to survive. I did not know malabsorption was a real thing (to an extent) so… oops lol.

Anyway, this is obviously a painful one so thanks for sticking around to the end! I promise not everything I write is sad!

#tw: mentions of suicide #tw: child death #sephiroth #hojo #zack fair #zack ffvii #zack ff7 #jenova #ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #oc is a generic child #I changed her name for once #i promise the next update will not be this sad!

[3amclothesmonster]

I can't believe I have to say this.

I am no longer wishing to be associated with Zale/ Vixx, I do not however wish for you go to harass them, I just am no longer on good terms with them due to the recent events that have occurred, until they are able to get into a better mental state and prove they are worthy or forgiveness and or I forgive them please do not mention them around this blog.

Explanation below, TW: Mentions of cheating, manipulation, gas lighting and suicide.

Basically, a mutual of mine, (Zale) Who I considered close cheated on their current partner with their ex, who also had an partner. I've been informed that Zale's ex's partner has tried/ is going to overdose due to this. They've also been manipulative and gaslighty in the past as well, I get that's it's ok to vent but they literally tries to gain sympathy by going under anon and acting as if someone was trying to harass them and tell them to kill themselves, when it was really just them.

#tw: mentions of suicide #tw manipulation #tw gaslighting #Tw suicide mention #Cw

[roppongi-division]

"It's only when we fall that we learn whether or not we can spread our wings and fly."

Timeline

Age 0:

He is born to his mother and father in Tokyo, Japan.

His mom sadly passes away due to complications from his birth.

Age 6:

He discovers what his dad does for a living: he's an underground racer.

Seeing his dad on the tracks makes Zakari want to become just like him.

Age 7:

He starts reading up on history and finds himself getting interested in Greek mythology.

He particularly likes the story about the craftsman, Icarus.

As he sees birds flying in the air, he hopes too someday be like them.

Age 8:

He finds a $100 dollar bill whilst walking home from school.

He shows it to his dad, who calls him 'lucky'. He then explains the concept of 'luck' to his son, who takes his words to heart.

He then starts searching for ways to test his luck.

He starts taking dares and bets for easy money.

Age 9:

His luck makes him bolder, making him do more insane things, which often ends with him hurt.

His father, worried for him, tells him that his luck makes him 'special', but he shouldn't let it change him.

Taking his words to heart, Zakari promises not to let his luck rule his life or change him.

Age 10:

His father is preparing to go up in a highly anticipated race against a rival driver named 'Anika Kiyozaki'.

Tragedy strikes when Anika's reckless driving causes a crash that wrecks both her and Zakari's father's car.

His father is deemed 'dead on site', making Zakari an orphan.

The memory of his father inside the race car horrifies Zakari, and he grows afraid of vehicles.

He feels his luck caused his father to die, and feels responsible for his death.

Because he has no parental figure, he is sent to one of the city's orphanages.

He doesn't associate with anyone, preferring to be left alone.

Age 11:

Memories of his father's death continually haunt him, causing him to neglect his mental and physical health.

He contemplates suicide and even tries to go through with it, but his luck always saves him in the end.

The adults at the orphanage have to keep an eye on Zakari to make sure he doesn't do anything harmful to himself.

Many adults try to adopt him because of his surname, but he always refuses to go.

He is prescribed to see a psychiatrist two days out of the week.

Age 13:

After two and a half years of therapy, he begins to feel better about himself and his situation.

Age 14:

A couple of other kids begin to sneak out at the orphanage at certain times during the week.

He decides to do the same, finding the orphanage to be stifling for him.

To make some pocket money, he begins going back to performing risks and dares. He also engages in street gambling.

He eventually works up the nerve to visit his father's grave for the first time since his death.

Though memories of his death come back to him, he manages to persevere and have a short talk with his dad.

Age 15:

One day, he meets a young man who invites him out for some lunch.

They talk and the man introduces himself as 'Kai Quinlan'.

They continue to meet sparingly and get along pretty well.

He is introduced to Kai's wife, Mireya Quinlan.

Age 16:

After almost a year of talks, Zakari is asked by Kai to join his family as his adopted son.

At first, Zakari wants to refuse, not only out of respect for his deceased father, but also out of fear and safety for Kai and Mireya.

However, after talking it over, he accepts Kai's offer, becoming his and Mireya's son.

He continues performing parkour around Tokyo.

Kai and Mireya, though they are worried for him, decide not to stop him.

Age 17:

Mireya decides to open a nightclub in Roppongi.

Though it's not much, Zakari helps out by offering up some of his money from his street bets.

The club eventually is opened, and he and the family relocate to Roppongi.

He helps out around the club, taking orders and cleaning up after patrons.

Age 18:

He is old enough to inherit his father's house, but decides to sell it in order to help pay off his mother's loan.

Age 19:

His mother opens a casino in one wing of the nightclub.

He decides to make some money for him and his family by performing death-defying feats while gamblers bet on his chances of survival.

Though his parents are skeptical, they allow him to do so, so long as he doesn't go too far.

His feats earn him the moniker, "The Daredevil".

Age 20:

He meets Dice Arisugawa of Shibuya.

The two become friends due to their love of luck and taking risks.

Age 21:

The H-Era officially starts, and the Party of Words takes control of the Japanese government.

He gets a call from Dice who needs his help in Shizuoka.

He intervenes and meets Lucille "Lucky Lucy" Takara of the Kito-gumi.

After embarrassing her in a high-stakes game and absconding Dice of his debt, she, in a rage, plans a hit on Zakari.

His luck, however, saves his life and he appears at one of Lucille's casino rings the very next day.

Appalled, yet also intrigued, she challenges Zakari to several games of cards, which he accepts.

The two become interested in one another and soon become a couple, which Lucille vowing to "make him pay her back in one way or another."

Zakari looks forward to it.

Age 22:

Present.

After about seven years, he makes a decision to go back to school.

Chuohku, in an effort to consolidate more power, forces his father to join the D.R.B.

After hearing that his father must form a team to enter, Zakari offers to join. Though Kai doesn't want him or Mireya to get involved, they join, regardless.

He becomes the third member of the Roppongi Division rap battle team, Private Party, alongside his parents, Kai and Mireya Quinlan.

Schedule

12 a.m. - 1 a.m.: Performing in nightclub

1 a.m. - 1:30 a.m.: Returns home

1:30 a.m. - 9 a.m.: Asleep

9 a.m. - 11 a.m.: Freshens up

11 a.m. - 12 p.m.: Eats brunch with family

12 p.m. - 2 p.m.: Attends online classes

2 p.m. - 3 p.m.: Performs parkour around Roppongi

3 p.m. - 4 p.m.: Sky gazing

4 p.m. - 5 p.m.: Studying

5 p.m. - 7 p.m.: Freshens up for evening

7 p.m. - 7:30 p.m.: Walks to nightclub

7:30 p.m. - 9:30 p.m.: Plays games of chance in nightclub

9:30 p.m. - 10 p.m.: Prepares for performance

10 p.m. - 12 a.m.: Doing extreme stunts in nightclub

Character Hashtags

Regular Hashtags

#Born under a lucky star

#Spread my wings and fly

#Place your bets

Trauma Hashtags

#My father's body behind the wheel

#How far will my luck take me

#I flew too close to the sun

Other Info

Hobby: Parkour

Weakness: Takes unnecessary risks

Trauma: "My luck failed to protect my dad when he needed it."

Twitter: @Icarusinthesky

Drinks: No

Smokes: Yes

Special Skill: "I'm extremely skilled at parkour. I've been doing it since my mid-teens."

Intro Quote: "The routine for tonight: bet, risk, reap, repeat."

Trauma Quote: "You said you'd always be there for me, dad! But you're not. ...And it's because of me. It's my fault! It's my fault!!"

Ending Quote: "Flying or falling. In the end, the choice is ours."

#hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #zakari hiroya #private party #roppongi division #trauma #get more info #twitter #paradox live #tw: mentions of suicide

[arakawa-division]

"To never have suffered would mean to never have been blessed."

Timeline

Age 0:

She is born in San Juan, Puerto Rico to her mother and father.

Age 2:

She is made an older sibling after her younger brother is born.

Age 7:

She has trouble focusing at school in class.

She is diagnosed with ADHD.

She is prescribed medication, which helps, though her mother doesn't like resorting to medicine.

Age 12:

Her father manages to get her a job as a delivery person.

She becomes well-known due to her swift speed and agility.

Age 14:

She starts high school.

Age 16:

Due to the debt crisis plaguing Puerto Rico, her father makes the decision to move him and his entire family to America.

They settle in an apartment in Spanish Harlem, New York.

She is initially upset because she had to leave behind all of her friends.

She has trouble befriending anyone due to her ethnicity.

Her father recommends she join the track team, which she does.

She becomes a breakout star, due to her speed.

She is nicknamed, "The Gazelle".

Her reputation increases, making her popular.

Age 17:

She graduates high school, and receives a scholarship to attend college for track and field.

Age 19:

While at college, she receives word that her brother has been shot and is in a coma.

She returns home and visits him everyday in the hospital.

Due to worrying for her brother, she starts having trouble with school and her emotions.

She is eventually diagnosed with depression, causing her to drop out of school.

Her parents try to prescribe help, but she denies she needs it.

Age 20:

After half a year in a coma, her brother awakens, much to her and her parents' relief.

However, he is changed from the ordeal and joins a street gang.

She and her parents try to help him get his life back on track, but he refuses.

Age 22:

Her brother disappears from home, leaving only a note behind, apologizing for his actions.

Because of this, her depression gets worse, and she begins contemplating suicide.

She slits her left arm, leaving a large gash and a scar.

Her parents find her before she bleeds out.

She is admitted to psychiatric care and medication.

Age 24:

After almost two years of talks and medication, she begins to fill better about herself and her life.

She apologizes to her parents for everything they had to go through because of her.

She foregoes college, instead getting a job in security detail.

She finds she is quite good at fighting and discipline.

Age 25:

After a year of this, she decides to become something akin to a mercenary, which allows her to see new sights and search for her brother, whom she believes is still alive somewhere.

She arrives in India, taking in the sights and culture.

She begins to become interested in yoga, and strives to learn it.

Age 28:

She spends up to three years, learning all she can about yoga and the different ways to administer it.

She then takes a 200-hour yoga training course. She finishes within four months.

Age 29:

She becomes a certified teacher, and begins teaching yoga classes around the world, in between her jobs.

She feels more at ease with herself than she has in a very long time.

She now tries to solve her problems with diplomacy and words, rather than relying on her fists.

Age 31:

She returns to her native country of Puerto Rico, after being hired by the government.

She is hired to go to Japan, join the Division Rap Battle, and infiltrate Chuohku to find out what they are up to.

At first, she refuses, having no interest in it. However, the government states that the man they believe to be her brother is involved in the tournament.

She receives a picture on him, and though he has changed a lot, she knows it is him; she takes the job.

She is informed she will be partnering up with two other agents in this mission.

She arrives in Arakawa in Tokyo, Japan and makes contact with the two other agents: Alexis Ward and Hoàng Diệu.

Age 32:

Present.

She becomes the third member of the Arakawa Division rap battle team, Sounds of Silence, alongside Alexis Ward and Hoàng Diệu.

Schedule

12 a.m. - 5 a.m.: Asleep

5 a.m. - 6 a.m.: Meditation

6 a.m. - 8 a.m.: Freshens up and eats breakfast

8 a.m. - 8:30 a.m.: Heads to a local community center for yoga class

8:30 a.m. - 9 a.m.: Sets up equipment

9 a.m. - 12 p.m.: Teaches yoga

12 p.m. - 1 p.m.: Lunch

1 p.m. - 3 p.m.: Resumes yoga class

3 p.m. - 4 p.m.: Meditation

4 p.m. - 4:30 p.m.: Cleans up room after class

4:30 p.m. - 5 p.m.: Returns to apartment

5 p.m. - 6 p.m.: Takes walk around park

6 p.m. - 8 p.m.: Freshens up and eats dinner

8 p.m. - 10 p.m.: Free time (Calls home to parents or meditates)

10 p.m. - 12 a.m.: Asleep

Character Hashtags

Regular Hashtags

#Keep calm and focused

#Nonviolence over violence

#I will find you

Trauma Hashtags

#I failed to keep you safe

#Musn't lose my focus

#Scars are a sign of weakness

Other Info

Hobby: Meditation

Weakness: Suffers from Depression

Trauma: "I almost killed myself because I was too weak to face reality."

Twitter: @CaimanofPuertoRico

Drinks: No

Smokes: No

Special Skill: "Since I was young, I've always had a talent for being swift."

Intro Quote: "Steady your mind and spirit, and nothing will overtake you."

Trauma Quote: "I hate this city... I hate this life... why was I born? Why am I like this? I hate it... I hate it! I want to die! I WANT TO DIE!"

Ending Quote: "Always remember: your focus determines your reality."

#hypmic #hypnosis mic oc #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #ivelisse martinez #trauma #get more info #paradox live #sounds of silence #arakawa division #tw: mentions of suicide

[enverni]

Nothing can fucking kill me. Not my family, not school, not even god. YOU CANT KILL ME HOES!!1!1!!!1

#I will not be killing myself because of someone else #The killing of myself will be because of ME #Not any of those #I will not admit deafeat #I will not back down #tw: mentions of death #tw: mental health #Tw: mentions of suicide #Very cute Tws over here!!

[ohtobeleah]

Always so attention seeking. Kill yourself.

One day you might send this to someone who doesn’t have a good understanding of their mental capacity and might actually lead someone to their death.

Fortunately for you, I have a pretty good support system irl.

#tw: mentions of suicide

[spxtr]

truly i do think marc is underappreciated. steven gets lots of love from the community and so does jake ( despite him only showing on screen for approximately a minute ), but marc... i feel like because marc is the quote-on-quote "main" character, but also the host, he doesn't get nearly as much love or appreciation. he's often glossed over. marc is a deeply troubled man, he has an ungodly amount of trauma that has made him the way that he is. for christ sake, the only reason he's moon knight is because he tried to kill himself in the temple of khonshu after not being able to stop his partner from killing layla's father ( something he didn't know at the time ) and the rest of the researchers / people that were there. marc feels an immense amount of guilt, it's why he tried "making it up" to not only himself, but layla by trying to get to know her and eventually.. them getting married. marc is the subject to all harm, he's the one who in most cases, takes the brunt force. while yes, jake is also there and at least from the SHOW ( because i haven't read all of the moon knight comics ), he does also take some of that load from marc. but, i feel like we need to focus on marc from time to time.. he deserves the same amount of attention as steven and jake.

anyways, thanks for coming to my ted talk.

#❛ 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 ― mun . #did i log on thru my phone bc i had thoughts? yes #tw: mentions of suicide

[just-positivity-stuff]

Just your friendly reminder that you CANNOT or SHOULD NOT call yourself a christian if you willingly promote hate of any kind (transphobia, homophobia, etc) l. God's whole thing was to love one another. If you willingly say how you're a proud transphobe, you're trash. Period. Being trans is not a trend. Being trans and transitioning saves lives, and refusing to accept them for who they are, deadnaming and misgendering them on purpose is what causes the trans suicide rate. Those people don't choose to be like that, they just ARE. Transitioning saves lives from suicide, so does something as simple as using their new name and pronouns. You're seriously the one who's messed up if you openly admit without thinking anything wrong of it of declaring yourself a transphobe. "Be YoUrSeLf" but not like that, right? They ARE being their true self by accepting who they are, and if you can't, as a Christian.. There's no hate like Christian love. Christianity promotes loving one another regardless of perceived flaws, not spreading hate. He would be deeply ashamed of you. You know WHY the suicide rates are so high for trans youth, and their estimated lifespan is so short? Hateful transphobes. They're murdered or killed for simply being themselves. People refusing to accept them for who they are, not using their new names and pronouns. They're not shoving their "lifestyle" on anyone. You know who DOES do that? Christians. You know what you're telling people, even your family, who may potentially be trans or LGBT? "I am not a safe person to come out to, I will openly misgender and deadname you, I do not care if it makes you suicidal". DO. BETTER. Don't have children if you cannot accept any possible outcome, including being trans. People don't choose to be trans, but you choose to be an asshole. So if family or friends suddenly distance themselves from you or suddenly cut you off, ask yourself if that's why.

This is a pro trans and anti transphobe safe space. Fuck you 🖕🏻

#tw: christianity #topic: christianity #tw: religion #topic: religion #tw: transphobia #tw: mention of transphobia #topic: transphobia #tw: mentions of suicide #tw: suicide #topic: suicide #tw: transphobic violence #topic: transphobic violence #topic: hate crimes #tw: hate crimes #topic: transgender suicide #tw: transgender suicide #tw: murder #topic: murder #topic: deadnaming #tw: deadnaming #tw: misgendering #topic: misgendering

[liiilyevans]

I prefer hiding in plain sight

My fourth drink in my hand

These desperate prayers of a cursed man

Spilling out to you for free

Or, Draco spills his secrets when he's had too much to drink. (Thank you @cruelsummer-ficfest for giving me this song!)

TW: mentions of torture, mentions of suicide

Read on AO3

There was a reason Draco never got drunk, or at least, he’d gotten better at not getting too drunk. And it was because he talked entirely too much when he was drunk, his sarcasm out of control and what little filter he did have thrown to the wind. So, he’d taken to drinking in private after a disastrous visit to Blaise’s house where he’d not only questioned the sincerity of his engagement to Pansy, but also whether she would make it out of the first year of her marriage alive. Certainly not his finest moment. 

But how could he resist another drink when someone as beautiful as Astoria Greengrass was topping off his wine? 

Frankly, it was a miracle Astoria was even speaking to him. It was no secret that she had supported Harry Potter long before the Dark Lord’s return. She had been one of the few Slytherin purebloods who opposed the abhorrent treatment of Muggleborns. Despite her sister’s association with the children of former Death Eaters, Astoria had kept her reputation clean while at Hogwarts. From what he remembered, she had defended a Muggleborn who had been sorted into Slytherin while everyone else in their house had treated him as a social pariah. Astoria hated Death Eaters. Meaning she hated him. 

Or so, he’d thought. 

Since the war had ended, he had run into her a few times, and she had always been cold towards him, condemnation evident in her eyes. Her sister had also let it slip that she had a good working relationship with Harry Potter of all people. What would a war hero like Harry Potter like about a pureblood princess like Greengrass? Draco figured it had something to do with her brashness and her loudmouth. 

When he’d found her sitting alone at a corner table at the Goyles’ first ball of the year, he’d been prepared to piss off and find himself another hiding spot. Astoria had surprised him though with tired eyes and a small smile gracing her red lips. She’d nodded to the seat next to her, and Draco had felt drawn to her, perhaps because she looked as lonely and lost as he felt. 

Then she’d flagged a waiter down and demanded a bottle of wine. Red. Pinot noir not cabernet. 

When they finished the first bottle and Astoria was asking for another, Draco realized he should have stopped. He felt at ease for once, his stomach no longer tied up in knots of anticipation. His cheeks felt warm, no doubt a result of all the alcohol he’d consumed. Instead of drumming against the table, his fingers were relaxed, one hand resting on his knee and the other resting on the table. He was dangerous when he got comfortable.

Astoria didn’t look like the alcohol had bothered her at all, her hair still up in the elegant twist only one stray strand resting against her cheek. It framed her face nicely, showing off the angle of her jawline. Her lips were still painted that dark red as if that was the color of her lips all the time and not merely pigmented oil. When she wasn’t cold and aloof, Astoria was quite pretty. 

Not that he was allowed to think about that. She’d hex him if she could perform Legilimency. 

“Remind me why you still come to these parties, Greengrass?” 

He wasn’t drunk enough to call her by her first name. 

“Why wouldn’t I come to these parties?” She rested her chin delicately on her knuckles. Draco wondered if her hands felt as soft as they looked. 

“Because you stand against everything that these parties represent?” he said, waving his glass around wildly. It was a miracle none of the wine ended up on his hand. “Opulence? Luxury? Money?”

Her lips quirked up into a smirk. “I like expensive things.” She gestured to the satin gown she was wearing. “This is by Blanchet.”

The French designer. Draco was familiar with him only because his mother always raved about what a genius he was. And Astoria’s dress looked stunning on her. It was a deep red color, nearly the same shade as her lips. The halter top fastened around her neck, and a deep V traveled from her collarbone past her breasts to the middle of her stomach. The skirt flowed freely around her, nothing like the poofy monstrosities that some of the girls had chosen to wear tonight. The delicate skin of her back was on display as well. Draco tried to keep his eyes away from there, as well as away from her breasts, and it was proving to be more difficult as the night wore on. 

“Say what you really meant, Draco.” It was the first time she’d said his first name, and he thought it sounded more seductive than she meant for it to. Her voice had dropped a few octaves, giving it a more breathy quality. She was challenging him. 

Draco leaned toward her, anger spearing through his stomach. Her chin was resting on her hand while her elbow sat on the table, something his mother would have killed him for. When he leaned forward, he expected her to jerk back, like just being within a few inches of him would taint her, but she didn’t give an inch. Instead, the smell of jasmine and cedar invaded his senses like he was invading her space. 

“The ostentatiousness? The forced niceties? The hatred of Mudbloods?” It wasn’t something he would normally admit, but the alcohol had loosened his tongue. In the few conversations he had with her, she had made it abundantly clear where she stood before and after the war. Luckily for her, that was the winning side. 

“There you are,” she muttered as if she’d finally cracked the shell of an oyster to find a pearl inside. “Where was all that fire during the war, Draco?” 

It was like someone had doused him in the Black Lake in the middle of winter, his anger completely smothered. Draco reclined back in his chair, his gaze lingering on the couples on the dance floor rather than Astoria and her perceptive eyes. He thought he spotted Greg coaxing Millicent Bulstrode onto the floor. Astoria’s gaze was burning a hole into his head, her brown eyes alight with some emotion Draco couldn’t name. 

“I was too busy trying to survive my own home to really fight in anyone’s war,” Draco finally muttered, taking another sip of his wine. It had all seemed like some grand adventure, taking up his father’s mantle and restoring his family’s reputation. Then, he was told to kill his headmaster, and that fantasy had crumbled to ashes bit by bit. He rested his hand on the table. “My aunt lived with us, you know.” 

“Bellatrix Lestrange?” 

When they’d started talking so quietly, Draco had no idea. All he knew was that thinking about Aunt Bella made his head hurt, and he needed more wine if he was going to have this conversation. He nodded to the bottle, and Astoria topped off his glass. 

He took a sip. “I don’t know what she was like before she went to Azkaban.” His mother knew, of course, but he had never bothered to ask her. “But she was . . . volatile when she lived with us.” That was putting it mildly. “Sometimes, she’d be in a good mood, which for her meant obsessing over the Dark Lord, and other times she’d be agitated, snappy. Then, she’d take her mood out on the first person to upset her. And it depended on the day if she used her words, her wand, or her knives.” 

Astoria flinched. It satisfied Draco. She was always so self-righteous because her father was never involved with the war, like she was leagues better than the rest of their high society. While she might have briefly experienced what it was like to live with Death Eaters, that had been Draco’s hell for two years. Snape had credited Aunt Bella with teaching him Occlumency — and she had — but he had never bothered to learn the methods she used. She considered Draco to be a terribly bright student, but that meant her expectations of him were incredibly high. Whenever he wasn’t performing up to her standards, he was punished with gruesome images that ranged from his mother hanging herself to his father’s soul being sucked out by Dementors. Draco had quickly learned to block his aunt’s attacks and earn her praise. He’d been so idealistic at the time — so blinded by glory — that he thought she’d been making him better. 

“That’s awful,” Astoria breathed. 

Draco hummed in response. Ironically, it was living with Bellatrix and her penchant for torture that were partly to blame for his disillusionment with the Dark Lord and his cause. 

“Why didn’t you leave?” she asked.

“And go where?” Draco asked annoyed. As if leaving that house had ever been an option. His mother had kept him close the summer after his sixth year, terrified that the Dark Lord would send him on another ‘mission.’ By that time, regular meetings were being held at Malfoy Manor, which often included torture and occasionally murder. 

For once, Astoria seemed at a loss for words. She glanced down, her nail scratching against the mahogany table. Draco’s eyes raked over her again, and Merlin, she really was pretty. When she looked up again, Draco held her gaze, too drunk to care that he’d been caught staring. 

“I’m sorry,” Astoria said. “I didn’t realize . . .”

“That my life wasn’t as grandiose as you imagined?” he supplied bitterly. 

She looked away from him. “I thought you got a free pass. That because Harry testified at your trial, and you testified against other Death Eaters that you got off scotch free. I didn’t realize . . . what you went through.” 

Draco snorted. It shouldn’t have surprised him, and it really shouldn’t have hurt him, but it did. Of all the assumptions made about him, that one stung the most. It was easier to compartmentalize, he supposed, than to examine the realities of the war; that not everyone who was a Death Eater enjoyed the killing and the torture, that their souls weren’t completely black like that of his aunt, or that they might have suffered during the war, too. But no one wanted to hear those stories. 

“Well, my life certainly hasn’t been a jaunt in the woods.” It was more like a trip to the Forbidden Forest. 

Suddenly fingertips were wrapping around his forearm that rested on the table — the one where his Dark Mark was — and Astoria was leaning toward him, jasmine and cedar once again invading his space. Her hand was warm and soft around his arm, her touch gentle. There was a kindness in her eyes that chafed against him, like his regret for ever taking that mark did. 

“I am so sorry that happened to you,” she said softly. 

Draco snatched his arm away from her, and her brow furrowed in confusion. He’d said too much — let her see too much. Astoria hadn’t been touched by the war — not like he had. She’d only dealt with the regime at Hogwarts, which was a fucking walk in the park compared to the horrors he’d seen at his house. She didn’t know what it meant to be so bruised and battered on the inside that you didn’t even like yourself anymore.

“I don’t want your pity,” he sneered. 

She leaned away from him then, and he saw the wall shutter closed. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and she gave a curt nod in understanding. Then, she stood up. Draco made no move to stop her, just watched her through narrowed eyes. 

“For what it’s worth,” she said softly. “I do feel sorry for you and for what you went through. If you ever want to talk about it, well, I’m sure you’re more than capable of finding my office in the Ministry.” 

And Draco was left with his wine and a cacophony of emotions that he would rather not sort through as he watched Astoria walk away from him. 

#drastoria #draco malfoy #astoria greengrass #tw: mentions of torture #tw: mentions of suicide #hp #my writing #cruel summer series