Hecate

An ember of anger burned fiercely in Silena's eyes and for a moment, Clarisse remembered that Aphrodite, too, was a goddess of war. Silena kissed her, almost violently, all sharp teeth and demanding lips. She ran her hand through Clarisse's short hair and pulled , dragging her against her. Possessively.

“You’re beautiful,” Silena repeated with conviction, slightly out of breath. “The most beautiful person I know.”

Hesitantly, Clarisse placed her hands on Silena's hips, stroking the fabric of her shorts with her thumb. Silena smiled. Clarisse fell in love with her a little more.

“I love you,” Clarisse said, promising , resting her forehead against Silena's and inhaling deeply, the fresh scent of the hundreds of flowers surrounding them filling her lungs.

“ Se agapó, polemistí tis kardiás mou,” Silena echoed, kissing Clarisse on the nose. 

Im gonna be so real can yall actually talk about ways we can support trans women in the UK instead of giving all the attention to fucking JKR. I already know that Harry Poter sucks, I wanna know how to actually HELP people. Something something you have to love the oppressed more than you hate the oppressor

So I wrote a little something for Zoro's birthday but there was a part that didn't fit what i wanted for the story. It's not really finished but i didn't want to leave it in my unfinished projects graveyard so it's yours now. Enjoy! And if you want you can always read the real story on AO3. I'll post it in a few days when I'm done.

Walking Home

When Zoro walked down the stairs of the school after his last class of the day, he didn’t expect his friends to be waiting for him at their usual picnic table in the courtyard. It was the perfect table, shaded by a large tree in the summer and far enough away to not be disturbed by the stream of students.

(Luffy had bitten a kid who sat there once, no one else had dared after that.)

Everyone usually dispersed on Monday nights, Usopp to join the art club, Nami to make out with Vivi by the river, and Sanji to help his father at the restaurant. Luffy was more of a wild card, as likely to sneak into the zoo to fight crocodiles or stay behind at school to chat with Principal Jinbei.

Zoro himself took advantage of this evening to go train at the dojo with Kuina but she had a medical appointment tonight and training wasn't nearly as fun without her.

But tonight, they were all here—waiting for him. Vivi was the first to notice him, her gold bracelets clicking against each other on her wrist, catching the sun’s rays as she gave him a big wave. Zoro’s smile widened slightly as he walked over to his friends, the sound of Luffy sipping loudly from his juice box audible from across the courtyard.

“How’s the birthday boy?” Usopp asked as Zoro set his gym bag down at his feet.

“Still the same as I was at noon,” Zoro replied amused. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We just thought we could walk  home together tonight,” Vivi smiled. “Take a detour downtown to get a waffle. My treat.”

“Sweet,” Zoro agreed.

He had nothing to do tonight and didn't particularly want to return to his empty apartment anytime soon. The loneliness didn't bother him that much, not when he spent more time at Luffy's and his brothers' or with his friends than at home, but something about his birthday made the atmosphere feel strange.

"Yeah!" Luffy cheered brightly as he jumped up from the table, his flip-flops hitting the concrete heavily. "Let's go."

Luffy grabbed Zoro’s hand and dragged him out of the school, everyone following behind them. The wind stirred up fiery-colored leaves around them, ones that crackled with a satisfying sound underfoot. Usopp and Luffy stopped to jump into each pile of leaves and Nami pulled out her phone to take pictures. She called it blackmail material but Zoro had seen her creating a photo album on her old computer.

“How was your math class?” Sanji asked, walking beside him.

“A little boring,” Zoro admitted. “I’m not sure I understood everything.”

He wouldn’t admit it under any circumstances, even under torture, but he sometimes missed Sanji’s presence in class. They weren’t in the same class anymore since Zoro had repeated his first year and the cook hadn’t. 

Even after spending the hour exchanging familiar squabbles and sarcastic (and often mean) comments about their classmates, Sanji somehow always understood the lesson and took the time to explain it to Zoro when he asked.

“I can help you,” Sanji offered, lighting a cigarette now that they were far away from the school.

“That’s suspicious, what do you want?” Zoro retorted, his brow furrowed.

“I’m just trying to help you, asshole. Do you really want to spend five years in high school?” Sanji replied with practiced ease.

“Sanji! Don't be mean to Zoro on his birthday,” Nami interjected.

"Yes, my sweetness," Sanji replied as Zoro's smug smile grew.

A smile that faded when Nami added. “Wait until tomorrow before reminding him of his academic failure.”

“I don't know why I'm friends with you!” Zoro shouted at the witch.

“You love us!” Usopp and Nami replied in unison, exchanging an amused look.

“Unfortunately,” Zoro mumbled, kicking a chestnut that ended up in the gutter.

Zoro shoved his hands in his pockets and continued straight ahead. At the last moment, Nami's arm intertwined with his, pulling him in a different direction.

"We turned," Nami pointed out in false exasperation, without letting go of his arm. "You really aren't paying attention to where you're going. We should put you on a leash."

"Look, I caught a pigeon!" Luffy shouted as he ran towards Usopp, Sanji and Vivi with a pigeon in his hands.

The poor animal flapped its wings in desperation, trying to fly away and escape, but Zoro knew it was useless. When Luffy had you, he didn’t let go. The commotion attracted the attention of passersby, and Nami hid her head in Zoro's shoulder.

"Luffy too," Nami groaned. "It's impossible to go out with you."

"You should consider putting your girlfriend on a leash too," Zoro pointed out, smirking. "But I bet she'd like that."

Cheeks flushing, Nami slapped Zoro on the shoulder. That didn't change the fact that Zoro was right, while Sanji was hiding behind Usopp, Vivi was petting the pigeon and talking to it in a low voice.

"I'm sure she's already adopting it," Zoro mocked. "I can see it from here, she's going to call it Carue and it’ll sleep with you every night."

"Luffy!" Nami called out in horror, realizing the truth in Zoro's words. "Let the pigeon go, these critters are full of diseases."

Luffy and Vivi turned to Nami, batting their eyelashes in a pleading manner. "Please, can we keep him? Please, please, please?"

"No," Nami replied firmly. "Luffy, what will your grandfather say if he comes home and there's a pigeon in your apartment?"

It was a low blow, but it was necessary. Ace and Sabo certainly weren't going to stop Luffy from bringing yet another stray animal to their apartment (yes, Zoro was included in those strays). It had taken Nami weeks to convince Luffy to bring the dugong back to the marine biologists.

(So ​​far, no one knew how a dugong ended up so far from its natural habitat, but the local aquarium had paid for Luffy's plane ticket to bring his friend back to Australia.)

"Nami is no fun," Luffy pouted with his head down after releasing the pigeon. “Boo!”

"Boo!" Vivi added, sticking her tongue out.

"Don't forget to wash your hands before you eat," Nami ignored them as she walked past them.

DAY 7: The Heart of a Demon

The heart of a demon, willingly given, is a powerful weapon for the one who wields it.

I hated that Crowley got so little recognition after his death from the Winchesters. Obviously with Cas dead he wasn't going to be the priority but even in death he's the second choice. It makes me want to scream. He deserved so much better. There will be a second chapter to this story because I didn't have time to write the ending and I won't have time until tonight. Fandom : Supernatural Character(s): Crowley Relationship(s) : Crowley & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Crowley/Dean Winchester Words Count: 3,060 Trigger Warnings : - Suicidal Thoughts - Implied Future Self-Sacrifice - Stabbing No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

“Yeah, but not our kind of weird. Look, whatever this thing is gonna be, it's gonna be big and bad–”

Crowley couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the situation. 

He materialized inside the library, the Winchesters still trusted him enough, even implicitly, to include him in the Bunker's wards. That would change, of course, now that they realized he'd let Lucifer out of the Cage but the trust and… companionship had been nice while it lasted.

“You rang?” Crowley smirked. “Hello, boys.”

Dean's reaction was immediate, not that Crowley expected anything else from him. He was so predictable sometimes, to Crowley at least.

“Did you do it? Did you let Lucifer out?!”

Dean’s voice was thunderous, shaking with rage and betrayal, and a cold blade was at his throat before he even hit the ground, his nose broken by Dean’s punch.

“I didn’t ‘let’—”

Crowley tried to justify himself but Dean immediately cut him off, shaking him roughly by the collar of his suit, seeing through his lies, as usual. Seeing that he couldn't get anything out of Dean, Crowley turned to Sam, hoping that his logical mind could cut through Dean's anger.

"Moose, a little help here!" Sam sighed, stepping towards his brother.

"Dean, wait."

"Seriously?"

The surprise was apparent to both mother and son, and while Crowley didn’t give a damn about Mama Winchester’s opinion of him, Dean’s reaction hurted where it shouldn’t have. He and Dean had tried to kill each other for years, but Crowley had come to see those interactions as foreplay.

Today, Dean could have plunged his knife into Crowley’s heart without thinking twice. And Crowley probably would have let him do it if he didn’t have a mission.

Still, Dean’s hands loosened around his neck. But not for Crowley’s sake, for Sam’s.

“Look, just don't kill him. He worked the Cage spell with Rowena. Maybe he can help us,” Sam explained.

“And what if he can't?” Mary asked skeptically.

“Well, then we kill him,” Sam replied.

Crowley stood up and dusted nonexistent specks off his jacket, ignoring the death threats and mimicking the Winchesters’ disdain and nonchalance.

“Cage spell? Thought you had Mother for that.”

Crowley tried not to be petulant in his bitterness. His relationship with the Winchesters was strictly professional, sworn enemies or tentative alliance. No hard feelings. Except—

“Rowena’s dead,” Dean announced calmly, coldly .

Would he talk about Crowley’s death the same way if that happened? Probably, they might have been more one day, but at the end of the day, Dean would only keep him around for as long as he was useful.

“Really?”

Mother was a bitch but she was a tenacious bitch, a survivor . Crowley had a hard time believing she would die so easily. He himself was currently assumed dead by everyone except the Winchesters.

"Yeah, really. Lucifer ," Sam replied.

Sam was tired but the venom in his voice at the mention of Lucifer was deadly. Few people hated the Devil with such force and they were all in this room.

"Funny. I always thought I'd be the one to kill her," Crowley said, keeping his voice steady and avoiding Dean's gaze.

Crowley didn’t know what to think. He had hated his mother most of his life, both of his lives, and yet for a moment, he had truly believed that they could be… family . But now was not the time to assess his complex feelings toward his blood.

(A wise man once told me family don’t end in blood, but it doesn’t start there either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family’s there through the good, bad, all of it. They got your back even when it hurts. That’s family.)

“Crowley...why did you do it? Save Lucifer,” Sam asked. “What did you want?”

Crowley didn't know what he had expected when he went to the Bunker. But certainly not Dean attacking him without even being able to meet his gaze in his anger and Sam hearing his reasons, giving him a chance to explain himself.

"I wanted to win," Crowley seethed, humiliation and anger still deeply rooted in his mind. "I perverted Mother's spell, put Lucifer in a vessel of my own making because I wanted to win ."

It wasn't a feeling the Winchesters could understand, they had fought all their lives for others. But Crowley was a demon , he fought for himself and himself only (not anymore) and for cockroaches like Lucifer to think they could take the fruits of his hard work was infuriating.

“You have any idea how many people have made a play for my throne over the years? Lucifer, Abaddon, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Too damn many,” Crowley snapped angrily. “I thought if I could put the Devil on a leash... my own personal nuke, no one would ever dare challenge me again.” 

“Yeah, that worked out great ,” Dean scoffed.

Crowley couldn’t deny it considering how he’d narrowly escaped death. But it had given him time to think about what was truly important. His throne wasn’t even in the top ten.

“Wait. In an actual rat?” Mary asked.

“Wasn't too bad, really,” Crowley replied, never one to refute his own mistakes. “Gave me time to think. You know, I've been focused for so long on keeping my job. Never realized I hate it. All those whining demons, the endless moan of damned souls, the paperwork! I mean, who wants that?”

The Winchesters didn’t seem very sympathetic to his introspection.

“You,” Sam replied, impassive.

He should have know that they were going to be little shits about it.

“Once, maybe,” Crowley replied dismissively.

“So why are you here?” Sam insisted impatiently.

“Well, whenever there's a world-ending crisis at hand, I know where to place my bets,” Crowley replied, smirking. “It's on you, you big, beautiful, lumbering piles of flannel. So if you'll forgive my transgression, I'll make it worth your while.”

Dean straightened up from the table he was leaning against, addressing Crowley for the first time since he’d tried to kill him. Which, by the way, was still incredibly rude .

“Which means?”

“After we put Lucifer back in his cage, together, I'll seal the gates of Hell. You'll never see another demon again, apart from, of course, yours truly.”

Crowley knew they would accept. Even if the semblance of trust between them had been destroyed, the Winchesters had once fought, almost to the death, to close the Gates of Hell. And their greatest obstacle at the time was offering to finish the job for them.

(Crowley winced as he remembered what he’d revealed in that church, to Sam and to himself. He hadn’t been the same since, he hadn’t been the Winchesters’ enemy since.)

“You would do that?” Mary asked skeptically.

“Why not? They stab me in the back, I'll happily stab them in the front, the sides, and right up their little black-eyed asses,” Crowley replied viciously. “So... we have a deal?”

Crowley met Dean's gaze for the first time. Everyone had their own motivation, sense of duty, greed for power, need for love or dear old spite. The Winchesters didn't need to know which one drove Crowley.

(Maybe he would tell them if he knew himself.)

Dean nodded slightly in his direction. Everyone collectively let out a breath.

"Alright," Sam decided. "We still have to find Cas and Kelly."

The Winchesters sat back down around the table and pulled out their laptops, leaving Crowley standing alone at the end of the table. There was a seat next to Dean but it wasn't for Crowley, it never would be despite what Crowley had once thought they had.

The Winchesters clearly didn't need nor wanted his help, otherwise they would have already requested his assistance, with more or less threats depending on their mood. Given the stiffness of Dean's shoulders, they wouldn't have been very polite.

Crowley could have snapped his fingers to summon a glass of scotch but he preferred to advance to the bar in a corner of the room, his leather shoes echoing against the library floor. He opened the precious wood cabinet and, still in its place, was a bottle of his favorite brand.

Crowley poured himself a glass, the amber liquid appearing almost like liquid gold in the dim lighting of the room. He returned to the table and sat down, the glass in his hand. At the head of the table.

"This is what you do when I'm not here? Type?" Crowley asked after a few moments of silence, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

At least when he was King, he could order his minions to do the boring work for him.

"Yep," Dean replied without looking up from his phone.

"Wait a second. I got something," Sam interrupted. "Okay, two hours ago, there was a massive power outage in the Pacific Northwest."

"Sounds like the right kind of weird," Mary conceded, glancing at the article on her son's computer.

"Oh, yeah. Wait. They tracked the outage to an address in North Cove, Washington, to a house currently being rented by one James Novak ," Sam continued, emphasizing the last few words.

Only a few people in the world knew the importance of that name, but with an alias like that, Cas was practically begging the Winchesters to find him. Even Crowley knew that.

"It's Cas. Let's roll," Dean decided.

"It’s about time," Crowley said, standing up to follow the Winchesters.

Faster than Crowley could register, Dean stabbed Crowley's hand with his knife, pinning him to the table. A flash of gold illuminated the bones in his hand for a second and Crowley cried out in pain as his blood spilled onto the table.

"Think we're gonna trust you out there after what you pulled? Hmm? No ," Dean snapped, his green eyes deeper than the lushest forests, blazing with anger. "You stay here, sit down, and you shut up."

Dean twisted the knife in the wound for good measure before walking away, leaving Crowley alone. Great, now he was going to have to rip his hand off before he could leave.

Asshole .

XXX

Dean, as usual, was the first to notice.

"Oh, come on!"

"Hello, boys. Again ," Crowley greeted.

"Wait a second," Sam asked, "how the hell did you—?"

Crowley held up his bloody, bandaged hand from where he had — painfully, he might add —pulled out the knife.

"I improvised. Lucky I did. Turns out I'm the answer to all your problems."

Dean groaned in frustration, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. “It's impossible to get rid of you, you're like a cockroach!”

“Now that we've all come to the same conclusion, maybe we could stop wasting time?” Crowley suggested with a saccharine smile.

Crowley didn't wait for Cas or the Winchesters to answer and headed towards the house. This isn't where Crowley would have imagined the birth of the Antichrist, more on an altar made of skulls and blood, but the Winchesters never did anything like everyone else.

Including rifts through space and time to an apocalyptic world.

Luckily for Chip and Dale, Crowley didn't do ordinary things either. And in theory, he knew a spell that could close the rift, preferably with Lucifer on the other side. In theory.

When they arrived a few minutes later, Crowley was already seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. (There was no alcohol in the cupboards, he had checked.) Cas glared at him for invading his space. Cas stayed by the door, Sam positioned as a barrier between him and Dean.

Crowley smiled viciously as Dean took the chair next to him. It seemed he wasn’t the only one in Dean’s bad graces.

“I’m going to check on Kelly,” Cas mumbled, glancing at Dean one last time.

“So what’s your plan?” Sam asked, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“I know a spell that could close the rift,” Crowley explained. “And with Lucifer a few hours behind you–”

“We could lure him into the other dimension and close the door on him,” Dean realized, a glimmer of hope lighting his eyes for the first time.

Dean had a way to fight, to resist. It was enough for him for now. He smiled at Crowley, as if the betrayals and anger had never come between them. Crowley let himself believe for a moment that this was a recurring occasion and not a rare memory.

"What do you need for the spell?" Sam asked, searching the kitchen for a piece of paper.

"Nothing I can't find in your little Bunker," Crowley replied, standing. "Be back in five."

When Dean reached for him, Crowley quickly removed his hands from the table and hid them behind his back. Stab me once—

Dean gave him a strange look as his hand came to rest on Crowley's shoulder to stop him in his tracks. "I'm coming with you."

"You still don't trust me?" Crowley asked, his bandaged hand resting on his chest, pretending to be hurt. “You wound me so, Squirrel.”

“Stop talking so much,” Dean complained.

Taking Dean to the Bunker took more energy than he would have normally used, but considering he hadn't planned on surviving the night, Crowley didn't care.

"All that to get back here," Crowley remarked as he arrived. "It would have been quicker if you hadn't stabbed me in the first place."

"If you want an apology, Crowley, you're not getting one," Dean replied.

Now that they were alone, Dean couldn't hide behind his brother and mother to mask his anger at Crowley. But anger was good, it was better than the cruel and indifferent apathy of Lucifer or his mother.

To be angry was to feel .

"You're not the least bit sorry?" Crowley insisted.

A stab in the hand was nothing. It was the proof that Dean didn’t want him around, didn’t trust him, that hurted him.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re not exactly trustworthy,” Dean retorted.

“You always knew who I was, and yet you used to trust me,” Crowley pointed out. “What changed?”

Crowley knew what had changed, Dean thought Crowley had reformed, that he wasn’t the demon he once was. Because Dean Winchester could never love a demon, could never love who he was.

Crowley wasn’t enough .

But he wanted to hear Dean tell him. If he couldn’t have love, he would have the truth. He wanted to know if the man in front of him was worth dying for.

Dean turned on his heel, not wanting to hurt Crowley or caring enough to answer him.

“What do you need? We don’t have much time and I don’t want to leave Sam, Mom, and Cas alone for too long,” Dean asked, his back turned.

“Holy oil,” Crowley answered without missing a beat, as if their conversation never happened.

(Crowley didn’t even deserve the truth.)

(The answer was yes .)

Dean left Crowley to search for the rest of the ingredients alone and Crowley wandered through the Bunker, past Cas’s room and down into the basement. Maybe he could have that, he’d be content being the group’s demon mascot, helping Dean on his hunts. They’d made a good team, hadn’t they?

(Dean didn’t trust him.)

(Crowley wasn’t enough.)

But victory over Lucifer wouldn’t be satisfying enough unless Crowley wiped that arrogant smirk off his face himself. He had to deliver the final blow, no matter if it was through his own heart.

It wasn’t like he had any other reason to stay.

Crowley opened a cupboard, searching for lamb's blood and his gaze froze on a bag of small, decorative red plastic tridents. He pulled one out of the bag, it was so small in his fingers, so easy to break. After a moment of hesitation, Crowley put it in his pocket and closed the cupboard behind him.

Crowley grabbed the lamb's blood from the next cupboard and went back into the library, the trident burning in his jacket pocket. Dean was already waiting for him in the library, tapping his fingers nervously against the wooden table. He looked up well before Crowley arrived in the room, damn hunter senses.

"Ready to take on the Devil? Again ," Crowley asked mockingly. "What must this be, the third time? You're not very good at your job."

"Whose fault is that?" Dean accused.

It wasn't a very good idea to remind Dean that Lucifer was on the loose again, especially when he wanted his forgiveness but Dean was so easy to rile off.

"I counted and I only let him out once, while you bozos let him out twice," Crowley retorted. "I don't see why I should take all the blame."

Dean’s jaw muscles clenched and part of Crowley wanted to brush against him to see if Dean would bite him.

(Depending on the context, Crowley would happily let him.)

“Come on, I know you get cranky when you’re away from Samantha for too long,” Crowley smirked.

Crowley grabbed Dean’s shoulder and led them back to the house, the effort taking a toll on the bones of his vessel. His vessel was falling apart slowly, with Lucifer’s attempted murder and the strain he was putting on it with the repeated use of his powers, but Crowley had grown too fond of it to jump ships. And it wasn’t like he was going to keep using it for long.

Crowley nearly stumbled upon landing but Dean caught his elbow, pulling him against him to steady him. His brows furrowed almost in worry as he studied Crowley’s face.”

“Are you okay?

“Don't worry your pretty little head about me,” Crowley replied, pulling away from Dean. Dean's hands were warm against his forearms. “Just missed a step.”

Crowley walked away in the direction of the kitchen, but Dean’s voice made him stop in the hallway, just under an open window. One floor below, the rift glowed brightly in the night, the exact shade of gold a demon or angel produced before dying. Crowley caught Dean’s gaze in the reflection of the glass.

“Crowley, thank you for coming. I–” Dean paused, searching for his words. “I needed you here.”

Crowley turned around. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?"

"Yeah," Dean smiled weakly, the tiredness on his face even more visible in the silence.

"It was a pleasure, Dean," Crowley replied sincerely.

I'm a firm believer that Crowley was at least a little bit in love with Dean. But who can blame him? Either way, their relationship is so complex and interesting, I love them.

There's nothing more devastating than watching a sad moment on a show and seeing how ugly you look when you cry in the middle of the night as your computer screen fades to black.

DAY 5: If My Pain Will Stretch That Far

Luffy can stretch and stretch, but he can't escape his pain.

I have a lot of Marineford-related stories for this Whumptober because I stil haven't gotten over it. And that prompt screamed Luffy, "if my pain can stretch that far", "stretch"? That's totally Luffy. Also I know one of the prompt is sunburn but you can also take it as "sun burn". Luffy, the analogy of the sun, burned by Akainu. I think I'm hilarious. Fandom: One Piece "Character(s) : Monkey D. Luffy Words Count: 1,350 Trigger Warnings: - Blood and Injury - Description of Scars - Past Death - Self-Harm (Luffy claws at his scar until it bleeds and reopens) - Suicidal Thoughts No. 5: SUNBURN Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

Some mornings, Luffy woke up with no pain, as if the weight of war had never touched his shoulders. Others—like today—he felt like lava was flowing through his veins and every breath was like swallowing hot coals. Everything hurt to the touch, as if shards of glass were stuck under his skin.

Luffy was pulled from his nightmare-filled sleep ( thank you for loving me! ) by a coughing fit, choking on ash and blood. His lungs burned, a raging inferno spreading through his body. His skin was raw, every nerve ending exposed, and the hand rubbing his back, trying to help, was agony.

Luffy felt like he would never be able to breathe again. After what seemed like an eternity (you know what’s the funny thing about time? it stretches out), Luffy managed, slowly and painfully, to catch his breath. He was prostrate on the ground, the tears on his cheeks like molten gold.

“Luffy-kun? Luffy-kun?”

His senses slowly returned to him: hearing (Rayleigh calling his name worriedly), sight (the sun above his head, burning, burning, burning), taste (blood and dirt on his tongue), smell (smoke and rotting corpses), and touch (everything hurt).

Luffy threw up, barely avoiding Rayleigh's feet.

Luffy lay down in the grass, arms and legs spread like a cross (was there a cross on Ace's grave?) and caught his breath, forcing air into his body despite the pain. Why did even breathing hurt? Luffy wanted to scream but it would hurt too.

Luffy didn't want to hurt anymore.

“Luffy-kun, can I touch your arm?” Rayleigh asked cautiously.

Luffy wanted to say no. Luffy didn't want anyone to touch him anymore.

(Ace had held him in his arms and Ace was dead.)

“Okay,” Luffy replied, his voice hoarse and broken.

Rayleigh gently grabbed his arm and helped Luffy sit up. Luffy rested his head on Rayleigh’s shoulder, the wind a blessing on his sweaty skin. Rayleigh handed him a canteen, metallic and cold under his fingers.

“Drink slowly,” Rayleigh advised.

Luffy’s arms shook with fatigue as he brought the canteen to his cracked lips. Water spilled down his chin and down his neck to his torso where his scar pulsed and burned. Listening to Rayleigh’s advice, Luffy drank slowly, washing away the blood and dirt in his mouth. Luffy hadn’t realized until then how dry his throat was. No wonder he was having trouble breathing.

(It reminded him of the deserts of Alabasta, dunes and golden sand as far as the eye could see. Ace was still alive at that moment, his crew still with him.)

"We should take a break from training today," Rayleigh suggested. "You're not in shape."

"No," Luffy protested, turning abruptly to Rayleigh. "I have to get stronger."

Luffy couldn't stop now. His friends were counting on him to get stronger. He couldn't stay weak, unable to protect the people he cared about. He couldn't lose someone again.

Luffy's vision blurred as his head spun until he couldn't tell which was up from which. Rayleigh caught him before he fell, stopping him from hitting his head hard on the ground.

"Rest today and we'll start training again tomorrow," Rayleigh said softly as he helped Luffy lie down properly.

But Luffy didn't want to sleep, because when he slept, nothing stopped his mind from taking him back to Marineford, to the screams of the dying, and to Ace's heart in his hands. When Luffy wasn't paying attention, he could still see Ace's blood on his hands.

"I don't want to—”

I don't want to be alone.

Luffy was sure he hadn't said the words out loud but Rayleigh looked at him with so much understanding that he ended up doubting it.

"You can't stay like that, you're covered in sweat and dried blood. Go to the river and wash yourself and then I'll show you some stretches," Rayleigh suggested.

"Silly Rayliegh, I don't need to do any stretching, I'm already elastic," Luffy laughed weakly, tugging on his cheek to prove his point.

Rayleigh smiled affectionately, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. "Stop protesting, little monkey! Go wash yourself."

Luffy stuck his tongue out at Rayleigh who walked away laughing. Leaning on a tree, he stood up, feeling the tension in each of his muscles, and headed towards the river, avoiding the passage of the wildest animals. Luffy didn't like washing, water—even if fresh water had a lesser effect—always made him all flabby and drained him of his strength.

Luffy sat down by the river, breathing heavily, the short walk through the forest having exhausted him. He let his feet touch the surface of the water, the icy temperature almost biting against his skin. Luffy let his feet sit in the water until he couldn’t feel them anymore, until he was numb to all sensation below his knees.

When Luffy finally stood up, walking a few steps to the middle of the river, he didn’t wince when the rocks at the bottom of the water cut into his feet. Luffy watched as the flow of blood was carried away by the ebbing river.

In the reflection of the clear water, Luffy could only see the scar that marred his torso. A bloody red cross, marking the place of his defeat. The proof of his failure. Even after months, the skin around the wound was still damaged and blistered, ugly and angry.

Luffy clutched his heart tightly, wishing it was numb as well. His fingers dug into the soft skin like claws, tearing at flesh and tissue. A terrible sob squeezed his chest, begging to be let out.

He couldn't breathe.

Luffy clawed at his heart, covering his fingers in red like an animal, bent double under the weight of the pain. His blood pulsed violently in his ears all the way to his fingertips. Luffy could hear nothing else. He could still feel Ace's heartbeat between his fingers, disappearing by the second.

He couldn't stop.

His knees buckled beneath him and Luffy fell into the middle of the river. He didn't see the translucent water turn red around him as blood poured from his heart down his limbs. With his eyes closed, Luffy couldn't feel the difference between water and blood. Not when he was drowning either way.

He couldn't breathe.

Luffy wanted to rip his heart out of his chest, the barrier of his ribs insignificant in the face of his grief. Blood stuck to his skin, seeping into his pores. (The last time his hands were covered in blood, Ace was dying in his arms.) Luffy clawed and clawed, like a pirate searching for treasure. If he gave his still-beating heart to Ace, maybe Ace could stay with him.

He couldn't stop.

His vision blurred as black and white spots danced beneath his eyelids. Dimly, Luffy realized that his head was underwater. Maybe that was why he couldn't breathe. Blood seeped into his lungs as Luffy let himself be pulled along by the now crimson river current.

He couldn't breathe.

It was cool to have brothers! They lived together in the forest, hunting alligators and playing all day long. Sabo would find treasures for him in the junkyard and Ace would hold him by the shirt so Luffy wouldn't get lost.

When night fell, they would fall asleep in the treehouse they had built, their pirate flag flying proudly in the wind. No wild animal (or angry gramps) could reach them here and Luffy had never felt safer than between his two big brothers.

Even when Luffy got eaten by an alligator or drowned in the river, Ace and Sabo always came looking for him. Luffy was never alone again.

Luffy drowned alone. 

.

.

.

There was a hand in his.

Marked by age, covered in scars and calluses.

For a moment, Luffy thought that Gramps was by his side. But it was ridiculous, Gramps would never hold his hand like that, gently yet forcefully. As if the person holding his hand never intended to let go.

But Gramps always left.

(Everyone always left.)

(Ace was gone.)

The hand was still there.

I want to hug Luffy. Someone hug this traumatized child!

Long time no see, my love🥀

There was not a sound in the room.

And Mikasa couldn’t sleep. Not without Sasha.

Mikasa hesitated for a second in front of Sasha's bed, her fingers brushing the covers with her fingertips — like a sinner before the doors of a cathedral. Mikasa bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, tears silently flowing down her cheeks.

(Mikasa was silent. Sasha was loud. They understood each other in the silences and in the laughter. They understood each other everywhere.)

She snuggled into the bed, curled up in the fetal position, pulling the sheets over her head until she was completely covered. (Sasha's body had been wrapped in a similar white shroud.)

Mikasa inhaled deeply, trying to control her breathing, the scent of fresh lavender hitting her hard. If she closed her eyes, she could almost convince herself that Sasha was with her, wrapping her arms around her.

conclusion: aside from the antlers, i'm really fucking close to my fantasy version, and i want to dye my hair again.

Picrew Timeeee

Irl vs Fantasy you

Open tags!

I love this concept so much, and the potential for angst is scrumptious. And since I was already in a writing frenzy (2000 words in 2 hours after several weeks of not writing), I decided to give it a go. So without further ado, here is my humble contribution.

Lightning streaked the night sky in thousands and the echo of thunder made the earth tremble to the very foundations of Olympus, the divine wrath of Kataibates Zeus raining down mercilessly on all beneath him. Flashes of light sporadically illuminated the crumbling white marble columns and the cracks developing deep into the hearth.

Electricity crackled viciously through the air, piercing mortal and divine alike.

The hairs on the child's forearm stood on end as she tightened her wings around herself to shield herself from the destruction of her home around her at the hand of her creator. All her most animal and ancient instincts were screaming at her to fight, to rise into the air and face her fate, her tormentor.

But she stood there frozen, her sobs wracking her body, inaudible and invisible in the chaos.

For even though she was born in an already developed form, covered with armor and a spear in her hand, ready to fight under her father's hand, she was but a child. Immortal and divine, existing outside the passage of time itself.

All-powerful and all-knowing.

A fledgling fallen from the nest.

Thrown into the light after a distorted and unknown amount of time in the darkness, both an eternity and only a few days.

Not enough time with her mother anyway.

She, who had lived many lives and none at once. She, who could be of use but was not yet. She, who was neither a child nor an adult.

She, who had no place at all.

Glaukopis Athena.

An unexpected hand had reached out to her, not the wrong hand but a different one. That of a goddess. That of a mother. A woman abused by her creator, eaten alive at birth, who had lived as long in the darkness of Kronos' womb as in the light of her own divinity. Someone who understood.

Tucked under her vibrant and colorful wing, the child had grown. Cared for and loved, oh so loved by the goddess who didn’t dare call herself her mother. The only person the child could trust.

“Athena?”

The goddess's voice cut through the lightning, thunder, and pouring rain, through the darkness that had engulfed the child. The child raised her head, her tears of fear and anguish mingling with the deluge coming from the sky.

“Athena!”

The relief in the goddess's voice was palpable, so solid and true that the rain stopped around her. The goddess knelt before the child, her knees sinking into the mud and soiling her immaculate dress.

“Oh baby, I couldn't find you anywhere.” The goddess's voice was soft and full of love, a voice that only the child heard.

Tears welled up in the child's bright eyes again, tears of joy this time, as she bit her trembling lip painfully. The one she didn't dare call her mother had come. She was not alone in the darkness.

“Little owl, can I hug you?” The goddess asked, opening her arms as an invitation to the child.

The child rushed into the arms of the goddess, hugging her waist with all the strength of her little arms and her divine nature. The goddess's arms closed around the child, protective and loving. The child melted into the embrace, the hand around her throat slowly loosening as the goddess gently ran her hand through the child's soaking wet hair, through every sensitive feather.

“I don't like being alone in the dark, Hera,” the child whispered. A secret in a place where they did not exist. A weakness confessed in a place where they were mortal.

“I know, I'm sorry,” answered the goddess, tenderly wiping the tears from the child's cheeks.

The child's eyes glowed with memories of the past, eyes gray as the storm raging around them. The eyes of her mother.

“Sometimes I'm afraid that it's all just a dream and that you're not really here. That I'm really alone in the dark,” the child revealed. The most courageous act she had committed to that date. “Or worse, that you'll leave, that you'll leave me alone.”

“Oh my child, I will never leave you,” the goddess promised. “I will always stay by your side.”

“Really?” the child asked innocently, her voice almost inaudible.

The goddess presented her little finger and intertwined it with the child's. “Promise.”

This time it was the child who hugged the goddess, wrapping her wings as best she could around the goddess. Her head buried in her protective cocoon of feathers and love, she whispered the most dangerous secret.

“I love you, Mom.”

The word burned her lips, the feeling that she was betraying the memory of her first mother still uncomfortable and heavy in her stomach.

“I love you too, Athena.”

.

.

.

Lightning streaked the night sky in thousands and the echo of thunder made the earth tremble to the deepest depths of the ocean. The sea raged with the sky, the waves titanic and destructive.

Athena curled her wings around herself, immune to the cold but still shaking. A bird unable to fly. Her cheeks were dry with tears, a notion that had been useless for decades.

The hand around her throat tightened with each clap of thunder.

The night and darkness around her had no end in sight, infinite and infinite torment, and she flinched at every flash of lightning, her body so out of her control.

She was alone.

Again.

“Liar,” she whispered to the stars so far from her.

To the mother so far from her.

I, too, sometimes dabble in the dark arts of AU making.

So here's an idea. What if Hera actually represented her domain with Athena. There's this young goddess, and let's be real, she's already traumatized by having been EATEN (Hera can relate) and Zeus is like eh. He's better with small children, and Athena's pretty grown up at least physically. She's also still pretty weak from being inside him so she can't be useful yet. Hera doesn't even know why she feels protective of her husband's child. She's always wanted kids of her own, never considered adopting or whatever, but here's a kid that doesn't have a mother anymore, that's scared and new to the world and doesn't trust anyone. And for some reason, Hera wants to be the person that she can trust.

Basically, Athena's a total momma's girl in this. She doesn't care for Zeus, why would she. He's only ever hurt her and now she's out of him, he barely acknowledges her.

Unfortunately, Poseidon is a bitch and just had to jibe Zeus about Hera and Athena being so close. So Zeus, being the paranoid ass he is, decides to send his daughter to train elsewhere... maybe far away on Earth. And ofc, nobody is allowed to disturb her training. yk, so she gets better. Athena doesn't know Hera is not allowed to visit. All she hears when she sits on the shores at night, waiting in vain, is her stepmother's words that now ring so hollow: "I will never leave you."

So yeah. That's the premise (don't be afraid to use it as a prompt, just tag me if you do, I'd love to see). I don't have a name yet, but I have some more ideas. Feel free to ask or make suggestions about this :D Edit: I have since decided to call it "Slipping through my fingers" after the Abba song)