I Will Carry You On My Shoulders To The End Of The Road — PART III: DREAMS

Snippet Saturday !!

This is just an excuse to show you this new paragraph in my WIP that I'm so proud of. And if all goes well, you'll be able to see the full fic tomorrow ;)

"Three swords pierced his heart as he clung to Marco like a rock in the middle of the raging ocean, the grief he had been running from for nearly two years pouring over him like oil on a fire. He cried and cried, the cracks in his facade widening with each sob, pieces of him falling to the ground like a broken vase. He would have shattered if it weren’t for Marco’s arms around him to keep him whole — to keep him afloat."

DAY 1: Tick Tock Goes The Clock

Sam gets lost in the forest. This action has consequences.

First day of Whumptober, one of the few times I'll be on time too. It's Dean's turn today! Congrats to him (?) This was supposed to be a story about Sam getting lost in the woods and it ended up being a character study of Dean and his self-worth issues. I'm not unhappy about it. Triggers Warnings: - Mild Graphic Description of Violence - Mild Blood and Injury - Broken Bone - Dean's Canonical Self-worth Issues - John Being an Asshole Fandom : Supernatural (TV 2005) Character(s) : Dean Winchester Relationship(s) : Dean Winchester & John Winchester & Sam Winchester Words Count : 2,714 No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

Dean tightened his grip on his silver blade, listening for any sound. He was alone in the forest, the full moon visible through the treetops. Dean barely dared to breathe for fear of being heard, every crack of branches or wind through the leaves putting him on alert in the deathly silence that surrounded him.

He had been separated from Dad and Sammy hours ago, but Dean wasn't worried. Sammy was with Dad, nothing could happen to him. Now it was up to Dean to fulfill his duty. It was the last night of the lunar cycle. If he didn't kill the werewolf he was tracking tonight, it could run away and continue to hurt innocent people for another month.

(There were five of them in the woods, all thinking they were the predator. But only three of them would get out of here alive.)

A shadow, lit by the cold, metallic light of the moon, shifted on a trunk and Dean turned abruptly. Good thing he did. The werewolf he thought he had been following for the past hour jumped at him, sharp claws aimed at his face. With a practiced reflex, Dean protected his head with his arm holding his blade, throwing himself out of the werewolf's path with agility.

Not fast enough.

A claw hit his arm, tearing through flesh as easily as the fabric of his jacket, drawing blood onto the forest floor. In pain, Dean let go of his silver blade, sending it a few meters away from him. He clutched his arm to his chest, quickly assessing the damage. For a terrifying moment, he could no longer remember if a werewolf's scratch was enough to infect a human.

(If it did, what would he do? What would Dad do? Dean couldn't imagine his father accepting a monster as a son. And Sammy? It didn't matter, Dean would rather die than hurt an innocent.

Dean killed monsters indiscriminately, no matter who or where they came from. That was what he had always been taught. Hunters killed monsters. Dean knew what he would have to do.)

Calm down and think, idjit!

Dean forced himself to breathe through his nose. A scratch wasn't enough to turn someone into a werewolf, only a bite could. Easy, Dean could avoid being bitten by a dirty mutt.

The werewolf snarled, drool dripping down its chin, yellow eyes flashing wildly in the night. It was getting impatient and the adrenaline that was pulsing violently in Dean's veins would soon fade, leaving him to face all the pain of his wound.

Dean had to get his hand on his weapon. And fast. He mentally calculated the distance between him, the werewolf and his knife. But the werewolf noticed the direction of his gaze.

"Oh no!" the werewolf threatened, its words chewed in its rage.

The werewolf threw itself at Dean, but this time Dean was ready for it. Using his opponent’s momentum against him, he kicked the beast in the sternum, deflecting its course and sending it into a thicket of brambles. The werewolf struggled through the brambles, howling in anger, giving Dean enough time to lunge for his silver blade. His fingers closed around the handle, a sigh of relief and comfort escaping him. 

A hand grabbed his ankle, claws digging deep into his ankle, cutting through tendons. Dean fell, his chin hitting the ground hard. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He tried to grab roots, clawing at the ground to keep the werewolf from pulling him towards it, thorns digging into his skin. Dean struggled and kicked, ignoring the searing pain, to force the werewolf to let go of him. But the monster held firm, twisting his bones as it laughed in satisfaction.

A guttural cry escaped his lips, tearing through his dry throat.

“A fighter, I like that,” the werewolf mocked. “I don’t usually turn men, but I might make an exception for you. You’re pretty enough.”

“Go to hell!” Dean spat, choking on his blood.

Dean forced himself to turn his torso to face the werewolf, straining his bruised muscles. He swung his knife in a wide arc in front of him and sliced ​​the monster across the face, damaging one of its eyes. The werewolf cried out in pain and finally let go of Dean, bringing a hand deformed by claws to its face.

Dean stood up quickly, putting as much distance between himself and the werewolf as he could. He spat on the ground, a mixture of blood and dirt, and grinned victoriously, his teeth tinged red. He gripped his knife in his left hand, his entire body on alert.

(He had practiced using both hands, but his left hand was still his weakest. This would have to do.)

Dean had never wanted a gun more than he did now. But they had only managed to get one single silver bullet and giving it to Dean who had a better chance of missing his target would have been a waste. It had made sense for Dad to take the gun, he wouldn't miss. Still, sticking a standard bullet between the werewolf's eyes would have reassured him, even if it would have barely slowed it down.

"I take it back," the werewolf growled. "I'm going to enjoy tearing you apart and eat your heart. And when I'm done hearing you beg, I'm going to hunt down your delicious little brother and take him with me. That is, if my friend doesn't kill him and your demon of a father first."

Dean's ears twisted and his vision went red. Sammy .

"Stay away from him!" Dean growled, his voice as animal as the monster in front of him. 

The werewolf smirked and Dean knew he had made a mistake. He had just revealed a weakness, something precious to him and the predator in front of him had smelled it. Dean's determination only grew, he couldn't let the werewolf go now that it had so clearly threatened his little brother.

( Sammy, he had to protect Sammy. )

With his good foot, Dean kicked the dirt at his feet, creating a protective screen of dust and blocking him from the werewolf's sight for a few seconds. It wasn't enough, not when all the senses of the monster in front of him were heightened but it was something.

Dean attacked from the right, the side where the werewolf was blinded by the wound Dean had inflicted on it. But the werewolf abruptly turned to Dean, having sensed him coming, and met him head-on with a punch to the stomach. Dean's breath caught in his chest for a moment, bile rising in his mouth. He doubled over in shock and the werewolf grabbed his hair before yanking .

Dean kneed it between the legs, forcing the werewolf to let go of him and sank his blade deep into the werewolf's ribs. He brought his knife up to the werewolf's heart, puncturing its liver and lungs.

The werewolf grabbed his wrist, crushing his bones and twisting Dean's arm until Dean let go. A sickening crack echoed through the forest and his arm went limp in the werewolf's grip, broken mid-forearm. Dean couldn't help but cry out in pain and fear.

The werewolf grinned wickedly and, straining on Dean's broken arm, sent him into a tree. Dean's head hit the trunk hard and he fell to the ground, his broken arm beneath him. He staggered to his feet, slower than he would have liked, the world spinning indescribably around him.

"I'm going to kill you," Dean slurred, pointing his broken knife at the werewolf.

Dean realized a second too late that the blade of his knife had been separated from the handle, still inside the werewolf, just below his heart. A few inches more and Dean would have succeeded. Oh well, if he had to shove his hand between the werewolf's ribs to retrieve his blade and finish the job properly, he would.

The werewolf looked at him in horror, coughing up blood. The wound wasn’t fatal, but there was no way it could get the blade out of its body. With any luck, it would die from its injuries without Dean having to do anything. But Dean had stopped relying on luck years ago. He alone was in control of his destiny, and he couldn’t give the werewolf a chance to hurt someone— to hurt Sammy .

The werewolf took off running.

In the direction Dean had left Dad and Sammy.

Dean gave chase, excruciating pain shooting through his nerves every time he stepped on the ground. He couldn't take more than three steps before he collapsed, tears streaming down his cheeks and leaving trails in the dirt and blood.

"Dad!" Dean screamed as he tried to get up. " Dad!!! "

God, he was so useless.

His scream tore through the night, Dean not caring if he lured the other werewolf to him. The icy panic in his veins wouldn't let him think, he had to warn Dad. Sammy was in danger. Because of him.

"DAD!"

Dean finally stood up, his throat dry and every nerve ending in his body on fire. But Sammy was more important than him. He started running again, branches whipping at his face, following the werewolf’s tracks. A shadow appeared at the edge of his vision and barreled into him, pinning him in its arms. Dean struggled fiercely, trying to free himself.

“Dean!” the shadow snapped.

Dean relaxed instantly, recognizing his father. He could have cried with relief at the sight of him. If Dad was here, it meant Sammy was okay. Even if Dean had screwed up again, Dad would be able to help him.

“Where’s Sammy? We need to get him out of here,” Dean said, panicked.

(A part of his brain recognized that he was still in his father’s arms. He couldn’t remember the last time Dad had hugged him.)

“What? I thought he was with you!”

Dean’s heart stopped for a second.

This time, his tears were filled with despair.

“No, no, no,” Dean cried, shaking his head. “He was supposed to be with you. Safe .”

“Dean, tell me what happened,” Dad ordered calmly, his hands on Dean’s shoulders, but Dean could hear the urgency in his voice.

“I didn’t manage to kill the werewolf, he ran away. And he said he’d turn Sammy if he found him,” Dean explained, recognizing an order even through his visceral fear. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Dad clenched his fists in anger, his eyes stormy and his posture dangerous. But Dean didn’t know who his anger was directed at.

“I’m sorry,” Dean repeated. “Please, Dad.”

(Dean didn’t know what he was asking his father to do, to take him back in his arms, to help him, to forgive him, to save Sammy.)

“Apologies won’t help, Dean,” Dad said abruptly. “We need to find Sammy. Fast .”

Dean stopped himself from apologizing again and straightened up, waiting for the next command.

“It’s hurt,” Dean added, forcing himself to ignore his pathetic outburst of emotion. “My silver blade is stuck in its ribs under its heart and he can’t use its left eye.”

“Good,” Dad replied, deep in thought. “It’ll be to our advantage. And you, are you hurt?”

“No,” Dean lied, almost by reflex.

“I don’t have time for lies, Dean!” Dad shouted out of patience, making Dean flinch. “Your brother may be in danger and every second you waste could very well be vital.”

"Both my arms and my ankle," Dean answered quickly. "And my head."

"Damn it, Dean, I thought I had you better trained than this," Dad swore. "But I could use you. So stay with me. But if I tell you to run, you run. No protests. You'll only get in my way anyway."

"Yes, sir!"

Without another word, Dad started walking, handing Dean his silver blade. It was caked in blood and Dean wiped it on his pants before testing its weight in his hand.

"How are you going to do without a weapon?" Dean asked, following his father.

"I still have the bullet," Dad replied, patting the gun strapped to his thigh. "Now shut up, I don't want the bastard to hear us."

Dean lowered his head, concentrating on keeping up with his father's fast pace. He didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already was. Dad would never forgive him if Sammy died tonight. And he wouldn't forgive himself either. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain, each frantic beat of his heart feeling like a countdown to his little brother's death, a bomb waiting to explode.

(Dean was nothing without Sammy, he couldn't lose him. Not his little brother.)

They didn't have time to waste.

XXX

Dean and Dad had walked for what seemed like hours, searching for Sammy. The werewolf’s tracks had finally disappeared around a bush, as if they had never existed. The full moon setting on the horizon should have been a relief, the end of a long night, but it was only a mockery.

They were running out of time.

Reluctantly, Dad had agreed to let them split up to cover more ground. Every second that passed was like a stab through Dean’s heart. It was his fault, it was his negligence and weakness that had allowed the werewolf to escape, that had put Sammy in danger.

The adrenaline that kept him upright had worn off, and Dean struggled through the forest, limping like a newborn fawn. He was dehydrated, having not had a drink of water in hours and having thrown up even more times. His head was killing him, blood pulsing violently in his temples. But Dean welcomed the distraction of the pain, anything to avoid thinking that he might find Sammy’s heartless corpse with every step he took.

(He resolutely forced himself not to look at the inhuman shape of his arm—flaccid, shapeless, and in two pieces—or the bleeding, festering cut on his other arm.)

Dean didn’t let it slow him down, despite his body begging him. He would rest when he was dead.

At the end of a path, Dean could see the edge of the forest and beyond it an abandoned hunter’s cabin. He stopped, hesitating for a moment, and tried to think like Sammy. A cabin like this was a good shelter to wait out the full moon. Dean knew he'd regret it if he didn't at least check it out. But it could also be a waste of crucial time.

What would Dad do in this situation?

You're a smart kid. Follow your instincts.

Dean changed direction toward the cabin.

A branch snapped behind him and Dean spun around abruptly. His knife stopped inches from his father's jugular as he raised his hands in the air in peace.

"Sorry," Dean apologized sheepishly, relaxing his arm.

"Don't be," Dad replied gruffly. "That was a nice reflex you had there."

Dean was too tired to appreciate his father’s rare compliment and let his arm fall back to his side. But Dad stopped him, gently grabbing his wrist and examining the wound on his arm.

“That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there,” Dad said. “You’ll need antibiotics, I’ll call Bobby as soon as we find your little brother.”

“It’s not important,” Dean refuted, trying to pull his arm back. “Sammy’s the priority.”

Dad stopped him, looking almost sad for a moment.

“Your well-being is important. You’re important,” Dad said with a hint of desperation, as if he really meant it. He looked like he was going to say something else but thought better of it, his gaze drifting toward the cabin. “You wanted to go take a look?”

“That’s the kind of place Sammy would hide,” Dean said. “He’s smart like that.”

“Good thinking, wait for me here,” Dad ordered, finally letting go of Dean's arm.

“What? No!” Dean protested fiercely.

“Dean, I don't have time for this,” Dad snapped.

Dean didn't listen to the end of his father's sentence. A blood-curdling scream shattered the quiet of dawn and Dean rushed towards the cabin, stealing the gun from his father's hand. Dean knew that voice, he knew it better than his own.

(It should never have contained so much pain and fear.)

“ Sammy !”

Sorry for the cliffhanger (or not). I actually combined two days in this story (and played around a little bit with the prompts too) so you will have Sam's POV and the end of this chapter on the... (drum rolls please) 19th! (Also, it's my first time writing whump so I don't know if it's enough hurt. Feel free to give me your opinion on the matter.)

So, I did a thing. I decided to try Whumptober this year. Decision made on September 18th so I'm not as far ahead as I'd like. But it also means I can be persuaded to change my mind if you want to see a particular character for certain days :)

Feel free to suggest your characters to me!

As usual I couldn't decide between One Piece and Supernatural so I did both with about the same number of stories for each.

I don't want to put any pressure on myself with this, just a fun way to challenge myself with prompts I wouldn't have thought of otherwise. That's all.

Last thing, I'm going to post on AO3 but would anyone be interested in me posting them here as well?

Happy (?) Whumptober and if you decide to spend some of it with me, thank you very much and welcome aboard!

It's decided, I'm going to rewatch Supernatural because apparently the first time wasn't painful enough. But! This time, I'm going to write fanfiction and semi-coherent analyses. And also count the number of times Dean says awesome.

Wish me luck!

DAY 6: Blood On The Car Seats

Bobby is bleeding out, but family doesn't end in blood.

Pretty short today but I realized at the last minute that I didn't have anything for Bobby so I did what I could. It was originally only 300 words but inspiration struck me on the train so you get a bit more. It's not as sad as it could be and I would even say it's kind of cute if you ignore the whole Bobby dying thing. Fandom: Supernatural Character(s) : Bobby Singer Relationship(s): Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Words : 904 Trigger Warnings : - Blood Loss - Gunshots - Implied Future Death No. 6: NOT REALIZING THEY'RE INJURED Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

“Bobby! Come on! Come on! Come on!”

Bobby dropped the crowbar to the floor with a loud metallic clang, a black goo coating his arm. Behind him, he could hear Dick’s skin fizzing as it formed back. Bobby ran. The door slammed behind him, a futile barrier to the biblical creature behind him.

Dean and Sam were waiting for him outside in the van, Sam’s hopeful eyes piercing into him. An open door, Bobby had only to step through. Dick’s footsteps echoed ominously through the night, never stopping.

(Bobby had a way to stop him, the maps, the numbers he’d seen in Dick’s office. He had to pass them on to the boys.)

Bobby jumped into the van, a bullet passing inches from his face. The bullet embedded itself in the body of the van. The tires screeched on the tarmac as Dean started the car, sparks flying.

A second bullet flew.

The door swung shut, carried by the momentum of the car.

The bullet lodged in Bobby's forehead.

Bobby was thrown against the side of the car, carried by the momentum of the bullet.

Time slowed down and Bobby could hear voices inside and outside of him. Blood ran down his forehead and into the leather of the car seats, pooling at his feet. Dean was talking and Bobby knew Dean was relieved that they had escaped but he couldn't make out any of his words.

“What's with your hand? Are you hurt?”

Dean's voice was distant, almost inaudible, but Bobby couldn't tell if it was Dean or him who had his head under water.

"It's not my blood," Sam answered.

Bobby was definitely dying, he decided, when his consciousness was trapped inside his dying carcass but he was still able to see Sam, his back to him, looking at the blood on his hands after picking up Bobby's cap.

Realization hit Sam like a bolt of lightning and he dropped the bloody cap and turned back to Bobby.

"Bobby? Oh, my God. Bobby!"

" Bobby !?"

Finally, idjits. It was about time.

Bobby didn't know what was worse, the horror on Sam's face as he fully realized who this was happening to, or Dean, consumed by uncertainty, who couldn't take his eyes off the road to save them from an accident.

Sam unbuckled his seatbelt and rushed to the back of the car, laying Bobby down in the backseat and stopping the bleeding with his other hand. His hands already covered in Bobby's blood only became redder.

"Bobby? Bobby? Hey, hey, hey, hey. Hold on."

Sam, his boy who thought he had to take all the sins of the world on his shoulders to atone for his sins, cradled Bobby's face gently in his hands, covering his cheeks with his own blood.

"Sam, is he dead?" Dean asked, his voice sharp.

"I'm checking," Sam replied abruptly.

Sam's hands shook against Bobby's throat. The silence was thick in the car and yet Sam had trouble feeling Bobby's pulse for how weak it was. 

"Is he dead?!" Dean insisted angrily.

Dean's default emotion had always been anger when he didn't know how to react. How could it be otherwise when the only example the boy had had was John?

"Just drive, Dean!" Sam said impatiently. "Bobby!"

(His boys were calling for help, they needed him. Bobby couldn’t do anything.)

“You gotta talk to me, Sam,” Dean snapped.

And to anyone who knew him, to Bobby and Sam, the desperation beneath his rage and aggression was obvious. There was nothing he could do for Bobby but keep driving, and he couldn’t stand it.

“All right, he’s breathing. There’s a pulse,” Sam sighed in relief, hiding a sob in his chest.

(Only Bobby was close enough to hear him.)

If Dean hadn’t been raised the way he had been—as a warrior, as a soldier —he would have stopped for a second and wept in solace. Instead, he pulled out his phone and continued to bark orders.

The fight wasn’t over. Bobby was still bleeding to death on the car seats.

“Keep him upright. Stop the bleeding. ”

“I’m not an idiot, Dean! I know first aid for a friggin’ bullet to the head! ” Sam snapped.

Idjits , Bobby wanted to scold them. The boys shouldn’t be getting angry at each other, they should be angry at Dick Freaking Roman.

But Dean had already stopped listening to Sam, focused on his next task, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

“I need the nearest trauma center,” he asked sharply on the phone. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Sam whispered to Bobby, begging him to stay with them.

(Bobby had never been one to refuse his boys anything. Sentimental fool.)

"What's the address?" The voice on the phone said a few words that Bobby couldn't hear. His senses seemed to be limited to his boys. “All right, Bobby. Hang in there.”

With a sharp turn of the wheel from Dean, the car veered toward the hospital and Bobby held on, both to the car and to the last connection he had with Sam and Dean. Sam's hand in his, Dean's voice in his ears.

(Hang on, Bobby.)

(He couldn't leave his boys, Sam and Dean still needed him.)

His vision narrowed and Bobby could only see Sam's worried eyes, could only feel the vibrations of the tires on the road, but Bobby held on. For Dean and Sam.

For his kids.

For his family .

Dean & Sam: *high fiving* I'm so glad everyone made it out unscathed. Bobby : *dying in the backseat*

Wake up babe, a new olympics character just dropped out.

DAY 13: Till Death Do Us Part

The end of a crew. The end of a legend.

If you haven't seen the "Character Death" tag and you don't like when your favorite characters die, there's still time to turn around. The entire crew dies in this story, it's not a spoiler to say that. (And, the warnings will be put at the beginning of each chapter, in more or less gruesome ways.) I was looking for a poem to be the story's guideline but I couldn't find one that fit what I was looking for. And even though I don't really need it anymore, I decided to write it myself. The first real chapter will be coming tomorrow or in the next few days but in the meantime I left some clues on how each character dies if you want to decipher them. I originally wrote the poem in French and was unable to make it rhyme in English, to my great disappointment. So I left it for you in French with the translation for each line just below. Fandom : One Piece Character(s) : Mugiwara Kaizoku | Straw Hat Pirates Relationship(s) : Mugiwara Kaizoku | Straw Hat Pirates & Mugiwara Kaizoku | Straw Hat Pirates Words Count : 629 No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

À bord du navire des rêves,

(On board the ship of dreams,)

vivaient dix animaux

(lived ten animals)

Tous suivaient leur capitaine,

(All followed their captain,)

un singe avec comme couronne un chapeau.

(a monkey with a hat as a crown.)

Le tigre partit le premier, 

(The tiger left first,)

protégeant jusqu’au bout ses camarades.

(protecting his comrades until the end.)

Mais son dos resta intouché, 

(But his back remained untouched,)

marquant l'ultime preuve de sa bravade.

(marking the ultimate proof of his bravado.)

Le cheval solitaire fût le suivant,

(The lonely horse was next,)

son vieux squelette ne tenant plus le coup

(his old skeleton no longer holding up)

Ses amis ne le laissèrent pas seul un instant, 

(His friends did not leave him alone for a moment,)

tenant sa main jusqu’à son dernier pouls.

(holding his hand until his last pulse.)

La fin commença avec celle du caméléon,

(The end began with that of the chameleon,)

son courage inspirant le monde entier

(his courage inspiring the whole world)

Même devant la Mort il ne baissa pas le front,

(Even in the face of Death he did not lower his head,)

lançant sur la mer les navires par milliers.

(launching ships by the thousands into the sea.)

L’ironie n’échappa pas au canard,

(The irony did not escape the duck,)

quand ses yeux se fermèrent de leur plein gré.

(when his eyes closed of their own accord.)

Il aurait aimé que cela arrive un peu plus tard,

(He would have liked it to happen a little later,)

sombrer dans les bras de la mer dont il avait toujours rêvé. 

(to sink into the arms of the sea he had always dreamed of.)

Le taureau résista sans jamais faillir,

(The bull resisted without ever failing,)

quand se déchainèrent les sévices des enfers

(when the torments of hell were unleashed)

Il accueillit la fin avec un sourire,

(He greeted the end with a smile,)

tel était l’adage de l’homme de fer.

(such was the adage of the iron man.)

La chatte affronta sa fin sans ruser,

(The cat faced her end without guile,)

maîtrisant une dernière fois les éléments

(mastering the elements one last time)

Elle ne s’enfuit pas même si elle était effrayée,

(She did not run away even though she was frightened,)

libérant un pays entier du tourment.

(freeing an entire country from torment.)

Le petit renne choisit de rester,

(The little reindeer chose to stay,)

refusant de tourner son dos à ceux dans le besoin

(refusing to turn his back on those in need)

Face à la maladie il ne cessa d’essayer

(Faced with illness he never stopped trying)

et sa compassion causa sa fin.

(and his compassion caused his end.)

La seule grue qui avait réussi à fuir,

(The only crane that had managed to escape,)

finit par retourner à la maison

(ended up returning home)

Pour une fois elle ne pût pas courir,

(For once she could not run,)

et enfermée, elle se plia à la raison.

(and locked up, she bowed to reason.)

L’ours fût là quand personne ne pouvait plus l’être,

(The bear was there when no one could anymore,)

Guidant son capitaine jusqu’à la dernière minute

(Guiding his captain until the last minute)

Il ne laissa jamais sa peur paraître, 

(He never let his fear show,)

Continuant jusqu’au bout pour lui, la lutte.

(Continuing the fight to the end for him.)

Le singe resta le dernier,

(The monkey was the last to remain,)

Seul et froid au milieu de la nuit

(Alone and cold in the middle of the night)

Quand il partit, personne n'était là pour l’en empêcher,

(When he left, no one was there to stop him,)

et il prit le soleil avec lui.

(and he took the sun with him.)

So I wrote maybe 1000/1500 words, but I don't think I'll be able to finish it tonight so I'm going to go to sleep. After much consideration (my sister bullying me), I decided to finish a story I started in June right before watching 15x18 for the first time.

(I needed something cute and fluffy as mental support.)

So if you want, you can go read the first chapter and I'll try to post the second and last chapter this week. But in the meantime, I'll leave you a little snippet because I'm pretty proud of myself.

Castiel watched the scene silently, a feeling of pure contentment washing over him like a ray of summer sunshine, warm and comforting. The kind of sunshine that cats lounged under outside the library windows. Castiel met Dean's amused gaze, his irises sparkling like a breeze of wind in the spring leaves, and his smile grew even wider if that were possible. Dean's eyes softened, smile lines deepening at the corners of his eyelids. Castiel had seen humanity crawl out of the water, empires rise and fall into dust, and the creation of the seven wonders of the world. But nothing was as beautiful as the man in front of him.   (He might have missed not being able to see Dean's soul anymore — the one that was so deeply entwined in his grace and his flesh and his being that it could no longer be separated from him, a beacon of light in the darkness of the Empty and the pain of Hell — but it shone so brightly in Dean's every action that Castiel could see it every day.) (That Castiel could fall in love even more every day.)

I need the people's opinion, tonight do I study or do I write something for Destiel Day?

the specific tragedy of marineford's events aside ace is just a wild character to watch. he's the coolest big brother on the seas. he's a fucking dork. he's hated himself his whole life. he goes around tits out all day every day. it's because he's tattooed his devotion to whitebeard on his back and wants everyone to see it. he can solo a buffalo with a metal pipe at age 10. he cannot shut up about luffy even when he's in jail waiting to die. he's narcoleptic. he's a serial dine-n-dasher. he's the patron saint of daddy issues. he learns manners specifically to thank shanks for saving luffy. he's kinda shit at them. he doesn't run from fights. he doesn't let himself run from fights. he doesn't think he CAN run from fights. he crashes a party on buggy's ship out of nowhere and steals the food. he infiltrates a marine base and doesn't even bother to hide the very recognizable tattoo on his arm. he steals THEIR food. he immediately blows his cover because he decks the shit out of someone for dissing his captainfather. he's still eating while he gives them the slip. he goes to kill kaido and bonds with his son instead. he knows how to make a kasa. he forgets he's fire and keeps accidentally burning them. the narrative doomed him and yet his love and the love for him refuses to die. the world loathes him on an existential level. he chooses to be kind to the people in it, even so.

buying him time