My Writing - Blog Posts

You'll Need It More Than Me (She'll Need You More Than Me)

A little something inspired by the fifth headcanon because I couldn't help myself. Love me some tragic sibling relationships.

The sense of déjà vu tasted like ash and ozone in her mouth as Athena watched Hephaestus get banished from Olympus like she had been before him. Everything was the same as last time, down to the last word spoken by the God-King. Except for the tears silently streaming down Hera's cheeks.

This time, the Queen of the Gods was devastated to see her true child leave — flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood. Athena knew that if she could, Hera would offer her own life for Hephaestus’. But goddesses could not die, Hera could not move from her place beside Zeus' throne and this was perhaps the cruelest of punishments.

(Athena would do it too, take Hephaestus' place so he could stay by Hera's side. As a family. It wasn't like there was a place for her anymore.)

Ares' rage beside her seeping into the white marble like poison made her lose her mind, made her want to take that step forward and save Hephaestus from his fate. Or maybe it wasn't Ares, maybe it was all her.

A look from Hera, full of sorrow and anger, made Athena stop in her tracks. Obviously Hera did not want her help, did not need her. Athena's eyes sharpened beneath her helmet and she placed a hand on Ares' arm to stop him from doing something even more foolishly reckless than her.

Hephaestus looked so small in Zeus' shadow, scared and fragile. Almost human. Has she ever looked this small? Not in daylight anyway.

(She had never had the opportunity to be an infant.)

(But it wasn't about her. It was never about her.)

Zeus tore Hephaestus from Hera's arms and for a moment Athena's blood froze in her veins as she thought Zeus was going to yeet him from the mountain. She took an instinctive step forward.

“I’ll do it,” All eyes turned to Athena — Zeus's savage satisfaction, Hera's cutting disappointment, and Ares's corrosive disdain — but she composed herself, keeping her head high.  “I shall take him to the mortals.”

If there had been hope between Hera and her before, it was over. Not when Athena was the hand that snatched her true child away. 

Zeus smiled. “Great idea, child-of-my-mind. Come dispose of him.”

Athena stepped forward toward Zeus and he dropped the infant into his arms without warning. She made her forearm guards disappear before he could collide with the rough metal, cradling Hephaestus as gently as possible. She felt more awkward than a newborn fawn, all sharp elbows and violent hands. 

Without a backward glance, Athena left the throne room, her wings spreading behind her as she took flight.

.

.

.

Finding a mortal family she trusted to care for Hera's son, her brother, was surprisingly not the hardest part. Parting with him was. It felt like she was tearing her chest open and ripping out her own lung. As a goddess, she didn't need to, but it hurt to breathe all the same. 

She landed in a forest, away from men and gods, and carefully brushed Hephaestus' cheek. Hephaestus grabbed her finger and babbled, so happy that Athena's heart could burst with joy.

“I'm sorry you won't know your mother,” Athena apologized softly. “She… she’s wonderful. And you deserved to know her. I'm so sorry, Heph.”

Tears fell down Hephaestus' cheek and he looked up at her with big, round eyes, full of innocence, empty of judgment. It wasn't fair that Hephaestus had to grow up without his mother. Not when Athena knew how incredible it could be.

But maybe he didn't have to. 

Hera had once promised her that she would be loved forever, perhaps Athena could pass on that promise even if it no longer applied to her. Summoning to her the necklace Hera had given her centuries ago — hidden in a pocket dimension, never on her person, never too far away — she placed it around Hephaestus' neck.

She smiled in spite of herself when she saw the iridescent colors of the little metallic peacock. She had truly trusted Hera and her promise at that time, and the necklace had continued to bring her comfort long after the rift between them had widened. 

“I hope you have a happy life,” Athena whispered as she kissed the infant's forehead. "Remember that you are so, so loved. More than you will ever know.”

When Athena left, Hephaestus clutched in his hand a peacock necklace and an owl feather.

Some Slipping through my Fingers headcanons (is it a hc if it's my story? Wouldn't lore be more accurate? Does it matter?):

Athena's first crafting-related hobby was embroidery from when Hera gave her an old project to occupy her with way back. She always kept that hobby, but she's switched to weaving more since she has her official domain to distance herself from her childhood.

Athena and Ares spent a pretty long period living in a palace with their parents before Hephaestus built their own palaces. Little Ares had a proper "Do you want to build a snowman?" phase with his older sister. Athena may or may not have soundproved her door for a while against his knocking (Mean, mean owl. XD Also peak sibling behavior)

Athena refused to settle down in Lake Tritonis for the longest time. She held onto hope that she'd be taken back to Olympus soon. She started training hard to be good enough to be allowed back, and feels extra guilty because Pallas' death gave her exactly that, though only once she didn't want it anymore.

Athena is actually not Zeus' eldest daughter, she's just the oldest he claimed. Persephone was born very very soon after the Titanomachy. (teen pregnancy go brr) and neither he nor Demeter like to talk about it.

Hephaestus has a necklace with a peacock pendant that Athena left with him when she brought him to mortal family to raise. It was the same pendant Hera gave her when she was younger to remind her she was always loved.

Aphrodite was washed up on the shore near Olympus in a shell a lá Birth of Venus. Nobody knows exactly how she ended up in the sea, not even herself.

Ares likes the smell of  olives but not the taste. (Yes he gives them to Athena)

Hera's animal form is a white peafowl (wedding dress birb fr), not a "common" female peacock. She does keep the peacock color scheme for herself tho cos it's pretty.

Post-Triton Athena only very rarely goes completely armorless outside of sleeping. That doesn't mean she always wears a full set, but she does mostly wear something on her torso at least. Something non-metal like leather would already be considered casual. 

Athena called Metis "Mama", so she would never consciously call anyone else that, even when she was younger. She got to calling Hera "Mom" tho (Hera cried a little. All her kids, bio or adopted, call her Mom btw), post-Triton, Athena calls Hera by her name. She addresses Zeus by "father", but refers to him as Zeus when speaking about him. When she feels extra like hurting herself, she'll refer to Hera as "your mother" around her siblings.

Chat, what do we think? :)

I Will Carry You On My Shoulders To The End Of The Road — Part IV: DELIGHT

Benn stumbled as the ground gave way beneath his feet.

He bounced and bounced and bounced—

The ground rippled with each jump Luffy made with a powerful and regular hum, as if the heart of the planet itself was vibrating with Benn. The trees stretched infinitely to the sky as Luffy pulled on them and tied them in a knot. Luffy took Shanks' hand and jumped high into the night followed by Shanks' laughter, picking up a star and offering it to Benn with a proud smile.

(Luffy had the same smile as a kid when he offered flowers or seashells to Makino, when he showed Shanks his new drawing.)

Benn could barely keep up with Luffy. He was laughing in his ear one second and running on the surface of the water the next. Elusive and free. Benn had never been happier.

shanks playing guitar at night, luffy asleep on his lap. the sun on his skin as the crew napped on deck. a heart beating steadily like a drum.

Dum-dum. Dum-dum. Dum-dum.

“So? What do you think?” Luffy asked, dissolving into a burst of laughter.

Luffy slowed down for a minute, grabbing Shanks and Benn's hand and jumping. Benn jumped with him, as if on the surface of a trampoline. A childish game. Shanks' eyes were filled with mirth, making them almost seem like gold in the dim light.

With a deep sigh, Shanks let himself fall backwards, his fall cushioned by the elasticity of the ground. Luffy followed him, falling in a pile on top of him. With an amused smile, Benn lay down next to them, his gaze directed towards the stars. In his hand, Luffy's "star" cooled, turning back into a pebble eternally polished by the waves.

There were tears of joy at the corners of his eyes, a sort of blissful drowsiness taking hold of him. As if he had laughed for a decade and more.

“We're proud of you, Anchor,” Shanks said softly, his hand passing over Luffy's shoulders to pull him back against him. “You’re all grown up.”

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. 

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.

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

"Beckman?" Luffy asked weakly, his voice stuck in his throat.

"I'm here, kid," Beckman replied, relief relaxing his entire body. "I'm here."

Luffy clutched at Beckman’s shirt, his shaking hand clenched into a fist around the fabric and refusing to let go. Tears pricked Luffy’s eyes and his lips trembled. “I didn’t cry, I promise.”

“I saw that,” Beckman smiled, closing his arm around Luffy, enveloping him in an embrace. “But you can cry if you want to, especially if it hurts.”

“Good,” Luffy said shakily, tears streaming down his cheeks freely, “because it really hurts.”

“I know, you were very brave. How about we go back to Makino now?” Beckman asked, gently running his hand over Luffy’s back. “She’s very worried about you.”

Luffy nodded wordlessly and Beckman helped him onto his back, his head immediately coming to rest on his shoulder. Beckman set off, his stride long and steady, as Luffy wrapped his hands around his neck to keep from falling. The breeze blew gently, turning the large blades of the windmills along the path to the village.

In the distance, the sun disappeared behind the ocean horizon in a green flash, the moon already rising to take its place. For a moment, only the sound of Beckman's footsteps and Luffy's occasional sniffles broke the natural stillness of the night, a comfortable silence stretching between them. Luffy was not a silent child by any means but to those who knew how to listen, his silence spoke as much as his words.

Luffy leaned against Beckman, exhaustion seeping heavily into his bones and Beckman let him. The rock the waves came to rest on.

“Shanks is stupid,” Luffy finally said, his voice muffled by Beckman’s shirt.

Beckman chuckled, the vibrations of his laughter making Luffy laugh as well, albeit faintly. Well, it was a start. 

“Nothing new here. But you know he cares a lot about you, right?”

Beckman felt Luffy nod, and even without seeing him, he could imagine Luffy puffing his cheeks in protest.

“It’s a lot of work being the captain,” Beckman continued. “So if you can, you should forgive Shanks for being stupid sometimes.”

“Why doesn’t he want me to come with you guys?” Luffy protested in a whiny voice. “I know I can’t swim, but I’ve been learning how to fight.”

Beckman hesitated for a moment, weighing his words in his head. Luffy, through his kid’s eyes, only saw the childish stubbornness that Shanks projected. And he was right in a way, but Beckman was the one who had found Shanks after Loguetown. He knew his captain.

But Beckman had been Shanks' protector for almost a decade, and that included his secrets. It was up to Shanks to decide what he shared with whom he wanted.

"Captain has his reasons," Beckman said instead. "And maybe he'll explain them to you one day, but for now, try to tell yourself that he wants the best for you."

"It's not easy when he spends his time making fun of me," Luffy retorted petulantly, before repeating. "Shanks is stupid."

"You'll just have to show him what he's missing by becoming a better captain than him when you grow up," Beckman replied amused.

They finally reached the first houses on the edge of the village and Beckman saw Makino in the distance, sitting on the steps of the bar, waiting for them to return. Shanks was with her, his arm around her shoulders, and looked up as he felt them coming.

"I'm going to!" Luffy declared loudly, straightening up and almost falling. "I'm going to become the Pirate King!"

"That's the spirit," Beckman complimented him.

“I'm on Team Winchester now,” Meg explained, filling two shot glasses with vodka. “Or at least Team Kick-Crowley’s-ass-and-give-Sam-his-soul-back.”

“I don't buy it,” Jo retorted acidly. “You've whored yourself to Azazel and Lucifer. Why not Crowley too?”

There was a flicker of surprise in Meg's eyes, her memory of Jo probably no longer matching the woman before her. But Jo had died and been reborn, all sharp edges and broken angles. Full of anger and grief.

“Because I have morals, even for a demon,” Meg replied, brushing her fingernail across Jo's cheek. “Also, he tried to kill me. Multiple times. Call me difficult, but I don't find that very attractive in a leader. In a lover, on the other hand—”

“ You’ve tried to kill me,” Jo interrupted her, grabbing her hand in hers and twisting her wrist to keep it away from her face.

“And I'm very glad I didn't succeed,” Meg replied with a smirk, her eyes roaming over Jo’s body.

I'm in my Parent Benn Beckman Feels Era right now, so expect a fic in the next few days with lots of fluff and also lots of angst because I'm apparently incapable of writing anything else.

Luffy nodded, looking determined, and walked towards the sea, his bare feet leaving footprints in the sand behind him. Makino straightened up, clasping her hands under her chin and watching him go with a smile on her face. She looked immeasurably proud of him, a sort of parental pride reflected on his own face. Which was odd considering he had only known the kid for a few months.

But Luffy stopped a few meters from the sea, the waves lapping at his ankles making him take a step back. Beckman's eyebrows furrowed in incomprehension and even Shanks lost his stupid smile.

"What's going on, Anchor?" Shanks called, his hands cupped around his mouth to make his voice carry. "Are you afraid of the water?"

"No!" Luffy replied, his voice quivering.

Makino stepped forward but Beckman stopped her with a hand on her arm. He joined Luffy in a few strides, tossing his weapon to Shanks and leaving his shoes behind him in the sand before crouching down next to Luffy.

Beckman had never seen Luffy cry, or maybe he had never heard him cry.

Tears silently ran down Luffy's cheeks and Beckman's heart broke like it had never done before. Luffy was a happy, loud, radiant, sunny child—almost painfully so at times.

"Hey Luffy, what's wrong?" Beckman asked softly, running his hand down Luffy's back.

Beckman wasn't soft, he was a pirate and a criminal for even longer before he set sail. He had the blood of dozens of people on his hands—sinners and saints alike. And he didn't even like kids!

And yet, he was the one who had bought the t-shirt Luffy was wearing today, navy blue and white with an anchor on the back. He had spent entire afternoons coloring with Luffy in Makino's kitchen, building huts and pirate ships with him.

Beckman didn't like kids but somehow, Luffy became his kid. And that changed everything.

Waiting for you

What is love you say ?

Love is my mom downloading the new Pokemon game to collect cards and trade them with my siblings as soon as the app made it possible. Love is the open invitation to my grand aunt's house with cats and chickens everywhere. Love is the lit candle and blooming flowers on my grandma's grave in the dead of the winter.

Love is a new comment on one of my stories or an update of one of my favorite fanfics. Love is rediscovering a song I listened to in middle school and still knowing every words. Love is sending each other reels saying "that reminded me of you".

Love is my sister calling me every time she sees a sunset so I can see it too. Love is eating ice cream with my brother while he complains about his teachers. Love is my mom listening to me talk about the latest book I read when it's late and we should really be sleeping. Love is my dad texting me every day during my exams to see if I'm okay or if I want to go home.

Love is taking pictures of my cousin who takes pictures of the rest of the family. Love is the picture of me and my childhood best friend that we both keep in our room even though we don't talk to each other as much anymore. Love is looking in the mirror and liking what you see for the first time in months.

Love is my friend who gives me the slice of pizza with the least amount of sand on it when we eat on the beach.

Love is my parents sharing a lemon tart every Sunday afternoon.

Love is my baby cousin sending us a letter with "i love you" written in every languages she knows.

What is love you say ? Love is waking up everyday and smiling to strangers in the street.

Love is to keep living even when it's hard because it's so worth it in the end.

Snippet Sunday !!

What do you mean I'm finally writing for Children of the Sea again? To celebrate, here is a little snippet from the next chapter, without the names obviously so as not to spoil anything.

Publication date is tentatively set for December 25th. A little Christmas present.

"The ties that bound them together were forged in the heat of battle, sharp and broken metal melding to create the most powerful weapon of all. A crew, a family. Through blood, sweat, and tears. To the ends of the ocean."

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)

“Hey Lulu, I'm sorry it took me so long to come back,” Sabo, Fake-Sabo, Sabo said softly, all the affection in the world hidden in his words.

And suddenly Ace was ten years old again and he and Sabo were coming home from a hunt in the forest without Luffy and Luffy was crying because he thought they had abandoned him and Sabo was consoling him with kind words Ace wasn't capable of and all was right in the world.

The room was silent, everyone stared at Luffy and Sabo/Fake-Sabo, trusting Luffy's judgment.

“It doesn't matter, you're back”  Luffy replied, taking Sabo in his arms and smiling like the idiot he was.

Sabo, still chained, patted him awkwardly on the shoulder, his arm bent like a T-Rex.

“I'm back,” Sabo said and his words sounded like a promise.

“Forgive my vocabulary but what the fuck ?” Trafalgar asked, his sleeve still smoking. If he didn't want to kill Ace before, he definitely did now. Ace cowered before his glare.

“Ace, Ace, look, Sabo is still alive!” Luffy exclaimed, turning to Ace.

Ace approached Sabo cautiously, like someone would approach a wounded animal or a disappearing mirage. Only, he didn't know which of them was which. When he was close enough, Ace reached out his hand towards Sabo. Like a mirror reflection, Sabo copied his gesture until their fingers were only millimeters apart. Time stood still for a moment as Ace held his breath.

It was Sabo who took the first step towards, Ace making the first contact. Their fingers intertwined, hesitantly at first. He could feel the warmth of Sabo's hand under his leather gloves, surprising Ace who was expecting the cold touch of a ghost. It didn't take less for Ace to throw himself into Sabo's arms, crushing Luffy between them. Sabo staggered under the weight, and collapsed to the ground, his brothers in his arms. The red-haired woman took a step to the side to avoid being swept away with them.

Sabo was there, Sabo was really there.

Ace buried his face in Sabo's shoulder, covering his shirt with tears. Sabo laughed, still in disbelief, and the vibrations of his laughter resonated through Ace, warming his core all the way to his toes. Stuck between the two of them, Luffy stretched out his arms and wrapped them around his brothers, pulling them even closer to him. A missing part of him came together, completing a puzzle whose pieces he thought he had lost.

“Okay, can someone explain to me what's going on?” asked Trafalgar.

“I don't care, yesterday I had no brothers and today I have two,” said Luffy. “Ace and Sabo are there, that's all that matters to me.”

“I give up, you can all die for all I care. It doesn't concern me anymore,” declared Trafalgar, throwing his hands in the air, as he left the room.

At The Dawn of Time, ASL Reunion

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.

“Because true and sincere friendships can transcend space and time, can last longer than a lifetime,” Mom replied. “Because you are a D and we laugh at the face of Fate. We don't let anyone define us or tell us what to do, we decide our own destiny.” Mom was right. Ace was the product of his parents and he had always hated it.

He got angry like his father and had the proud arrogance of his mother. He had his mother's taste for adventure and his father's charisma. He carried his parents' dreams and doubts and created his own path. He had Roger's eyes and Rouge's smile. He was both the best and the worst of his parents. But he also shared their will and their determination, their refusal to give up . They did not bow down to any man or god. (He was the son of a King, a Conqueror and an Emperor.) This realization left him strangely calm, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Ace closed his eyes and let the wind carry him, the setting sun gently warming his skin.

At The Dawn of Time by TheStarsInBetween

Illustration by @drop-of-starshine

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?

DAY 10: Did It Hurt When You Fell From Heaven? (Like A Bitch)

Castiel is learning to be human. It hurts. In more ways than one.

Why is Castiel so hard to write? I have a lot to say about him and his character but he's so self-unaware that it's impossible to write. I love him but he's very frustrating. Fandom: Supernatural Character(s): Castiel Words Count: 1,317 Triggers Warnings: - Glaring Self-Esteem Issues - Minor Blood and Injuries (at the end) No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

The cashier sighed heavily and Castiel looked up long enough to offer a small, embarrassed smile before continuing to count the coins in his hand. The credit card Dean had given him had stopped working and was requiring Castiel to enter the PIN. But Castiel didn’t know the PIN, it was written on a post-it note and hidden in a book in his locker. He hadn’t had to enter the PIN in the few weeks since he’d left the Bunker and had simply used the “contactless payment” but now the “contactless payment” wasn’t working.

Embarrassed, Castiel set the money down in front of the cashier, the coins falling from his open hands like a waterfall and clanging against the metal counter. Behind him, the line continued to grow as the supermarket’s customers grew impatient in hushed tones.

“Is that enough?” Castiel asked.

“Dude, seriously?” complained the cashier.

With a glare, the cashier began counting the coins, much faster than Castiel could have. He was an angel (not anymore) , he had been an angel with all the knowledge of the world, past and present, but he couldn’t count a few coins.

Being human was much harder than he could have imagined. The world was both brighter and dimmer than it had been. He no longer heard the prayers of Humanity but heard the birds singing when dawn broke; he no longer saw the invisible forces of this world but saw animals forming in the clouds.

He also had to sleep and eat and wash and relieve himself and it never ended. It was exhausting .

The experience gave him a whole new appreciation for humanity—for Dean and Sam.

(Castiel didn’t know if he could do it.)

(Castiel didn’t know if he wanted to do it.)

A feminine hand rested gently on his shoulder and Castiel resisted the urge to fight or flee as his skin quivered from his shoulder to his heart (a blade cutting into his flesh, the buzz of a drill approaching his eye, the cracking of his bones under a punch) . Castiel calmed his pounding heart and turned, staring into deep green eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the stranger smiled. “Do you need help?”

“Oh no, it’s fine—”

“There’s not enough,” the cashier cut in impatiently. “Twenty dollars short.”

Humans only had two eyes, but Castiel could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on him, as heavy and terrible as the forces of Heaven. Castiel didn’t know until then that he could be embarrassed.

“Oh, I’ll go put some items back in then,” Castiel replied.

“I can take care of the difference,” the stranger intervened behind him.

Castiel didn’t have the chance to refuse, the cashier practically snatched the bill from the stranger’s hands and signaled Castiel to make room for the next customer. Castiel put his groceries in his bag and waited for the stranger, wanting to thank her and reimburse her.

“Thank you for your generosity, I can reimburse you if you so wish,” Castiel offered.

“It won't be necessary,” the stranger replied kindly. “You needed help and I was able to give it to you.  A little help and kindness can go a long way.”

(Castiel couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t had blood—that of his enemies and that of his friends —on his hands.)

(Castiel couldn’t remember a time when he’d been kind .)

“But if you want, you can help me carry my groceries to my car. I hurt my wrist last week,” the stranger explained. “My girlfriend’s going to scold me again for moving heavy loads.”

“Of course,” Castiel replied, carefully taking the bags from the stranger’s hands.

“Thank you very much,” the stranger smiled. “My name is Claire, I’d shake your hand, but it looks like your hands are full.”

“Steve, nice to meet you,” Castiel said, his throat tightening inexplicably.

But the hardest thing about his new humanity was the guilt , the memory of all the people he’d hurt. How did humans function when they felt so much? On the best days, Castiel felt like he was going to shatter under the weight of his emotions.

“Are you new around here?” Claire asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“It’s only temporary,” Castiel replied, knowing he was lying to himself.

(A part of him hoped Dean would change his mind, that he could go back to the Winchesters. But now that he was no longer an angel, he was nothing more than a burden, someone they had to protect and who would slow them down.)

(He didn't want to cause them any more trouble than he already had.)

(Dean had already been kind enough to give him enough money for the first few months.)

"I hope you like it here then," Claire said pleasantly, opening the trunk of her car. "It's a quiet but nice town."

"Thanks," Castiel replied, putting the groceries in Claire's car. "Have a pleasant day."

"You too Steve,” Claire returned the sentiment. “It was nice meeting you."

Castiel greeted Claire and left the parking lot towards the gas station. He still had time before his shift but he didn't want to be late. This job was the last thing he had in addition to being his place to live. He couldn't afford to lose it.

The sun was warm against his skin and a cat was lounging on the hot tarmac outside the supermarket. Castiel crouched down to pet it, a small smile forming on his face. The cat was grumpy, not appreciative of being woken up, and its scowl reminded him of Dean. Castiel pulled out his phone to send Dean a picture but changed his mind at the last moment. He didn’t want to bother him.

(He didn’t want to know if Dean would answer him or not. Probably because he already knew the answer.)

Castiel straightened up, the heel of his shoe digging into his damaged skin. Even walking hurted and Castiel didn’t want to spend too much money on bandages to cover his blisters. He just hoped he hadn’t bled through his socks again. He couldn’t vanish the blood off his clothes with a wave of his hand anymore. 

(Humans were so fragile. Castiel wondered how they didn't die immediately.)

“Have a pleasant day,” Castiel said to the cat who curled up to resume its nap.

Castiel continued on his way, quickening his pace, and more than ever missed his wings. Not necessarily because he could cross the globe in a second if he wanted to—although that was very convenient—but because he couldn’t remember the last time he had flown just because he could.

(His wings had been clipped—by Heaven, by the Winchesters , by himself—long before his Fall.)

(His feet had not left the ground these days, not even in his dreams.)

(He had only himself to blame.)

.

He wasn’t the only one who thought that.

A sharp pain spread through his skull as a metal bar came down hard on the back of his head. Ears ringing in shock, Castiel dropped his groceries, his carton of tomato soup exploding as it hit the ground.

Castiel staggered, leaning on the wall to keep himself from falling. His head spun uncontrollably around him. He felt like he was falling off a building. But no one was there to catch him.

A warm liquid flowed from the back of his head to the back of his neck, his blood pulsing mercilessly in his temples. Silent tears ran down his cheeks as he fought back vomiting from the pain.

He couldn’t hear anything, he couldn’t see anything.

The pain clouded his vision, turning the world into a series of blurry, indistinct shapes. Every sound seemed distorted, like a distant echo, as terror began to overtake the pain.

Green eyes glowing menacingly were the last thing Castiel saw before he lost consciousness.

Dean.

Fun fact, the story with the credit card at the beginning happened to me when I was eighteen and got my first credit card (the part where I forget my PIN after only using contactless payment for weeks, not the part where someone pays for my groceries). So Castiel is going to experience my embarrassment too. Poor Castiel, he discovers that being human sucks. You have to sleep and eat and even worse you Feel Emotions. And that's not the worst thing that will happen to him later. Speaking of later, I have ideas in mind but given the number of stories I have to write, I think I'll only write it if you're interested. (Or in several months but it's not sure.) Let me know what you think.

DAY 8: Nightmares Don't Sleep

Zoro can't sleep, ghosts come to keep him company.

And here it is, it had to happen, first time (but not last time) that I'm late. I lasted a week so I'm happy. My mid-terms are starting so writing will take a back seat for me but I'm still going to try to finish Whumptober, even if it's not on time. I'll probably spend a few days to focus on stories that interest me more but I'll complete all the prompts. But for now, it's Zoro's time to suffer. This story will be in several parts (because I, too, need sleep and have yet to discover a way to write more than 10,000 words in two hours after class) and I promise, promise, promise there's comfort and fluff at the end. Not everyone will be so lucky this month. Fandom: One Piece Character(s) : Roronoa Zoro Relationship(s) : Mugiwara Kaizoku | Strawhat Pirates & Roronoa Zoro Trigger Warnings: - Multiple Electrocutions - Non-Consensual Body Modification (The Navy installs a chip in Zoro's neck while he's unconscious.) - Blood and Injuries No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

HOUR 1

Zoro opened his eyes, the fog in his mind clearing as a brief but sharp pain spread through his ribs. Instinctively, his hand went to his haramaki but was met with air instead of steel.

Zoro sat up abruptly, the room spinning around him mercilessly. His mouth was pasty and he could no longer feel his tongue but the metallic taste of blood was not one he could forget. The screech of chains on the stone floor as he moved hurt his ears but he couldn't have covered them if he wanted to.

Zoro tested the chains that restrained him to the wall, the awkward position of his arms preventing him from going too far without dislocating his shoulder. His head felt heavy and he struggled to keep it straight, his eyes begging him to close for just a moment.

Still, Zoro found the strength—or the spite—to look down on the asshole marine who had just kicked him. It took a lot of skill to maintain such an arrogant attitude while being forced onto his knees, but Zoro was very good at what he did.

"Too afraid to hit me when I'm not tied up and unarmed?" Zoro smirked.

"Laugh while you still can," the marine ignored him — Bob, he looked like a Bob with his stupid mustache — and continued his villain monologue. "The unit in charge of escorting you to Impel will arrive in three days and I doubt you'll have time to laugh there."

Zoro didn't have time to come up with a sarcastic response (whatever drugs they'd injected him with to subdue him, cowards , were still in his system, so excuse him for being a little slow) as Bob leaned over to whisper in Zoro's ear.

"I'm sure you can ask your captain when he joins you in your cell."

The electric shock that ran through his body, leaving him spasming and drooling, was well worth Bob's cry of pain and horror as Zoro spat his torn ear onto the ground, red covering his teeth as he grinned victoriously. Bob slapped his hand where his ear had been seconds before, a thick trickle of blood running down his arm.

"You're a fool to think I won’t be gone by then. Pray your ear gets infected and you die before I get free,” Zoro threatened, his fingers still twitching uncontrollably.

Zoro had trained relentlessly for two years to become stronger, to never fail his captain again. It wasn't someone like Bob who was going to get in his way. He was just going to take a little nap and wait for the world to stop spinning before heading off to find his crew. They had probably gotten lost without him.

Zoro closed his tired eyes and the headache that was splitting his skull dulled for a moment. He just needed to sleep .

A second electric current went through him and Zoro could feel every single blood vessel bursting in shock. He convulsed violently, the rusty steel of his handcuffs digging into his skin, drawing blood. It took him longer to recover, resting his body weight against his chains, straining his shoulders almost to their limits, while he caught his breath.

(Zoro was used to the crackle of electricity in the air and the sound of thunder. But it lacked the smell of earth after rain and tangerines, the clink of gold bracelets and coins.)

When he raised his head (he only bowed his head to one man), Bob was grinning viciously. The blood on his jaw could have made him look menacing, but it only made him look like a child playing in the paint.

"I didn't think the chip would activate so soon," Bob sneered. "But let me introduce you to the new marvel of the Navy's science department. Whenever you're about to fall asleep, the chip in your neck will send an electric current through your body to keep you awake.”

Zoro twisted his neck, realizing that the dull bite in his neck wasn’t from the needle they’d used to drug him, but from a small silver metal chip.

Bob placed a finger against his cheek, pretending to think.

“A human being can go what… seventy-two hours without sleep? Pray that the Impel Down unit arrives before your hallucinations start talking to you. Or don’t. It’s your choice where you die.”

Zoro tugged fiercely at his chains and Bob looked frightened for a moment as pieces of the wall crumbled. But the wall and the chains stayed in place. Bob sighed in relief (bad idea, never show a predator that you’re afraid) and even allowed himself a small, strangled laugh.

“Enjoy your stay here, Roronoa. It’ll be your last.”

Zoro spat on Bob's freshly polished boots. "Run while you still can. You'll regret not killing me when you had the chance."

Face contorted with anger, Bob kicked him in the chin, his teeth clashing violently. He grabbed Zoro by the hair, forcing him to look up at a small remote control.

"I forgot, but luckily you seem very eager to get electrocuted, the chip can also be controlled remotely. If I were you, I'd start thinking about my attitude," Bob whispered, out of Zoro's range. He had learned his lesson at least. "You can start by apologizing."

"I'm sorry," Zoro began slowly, "that your mother abandoned you at birth. But I understand her, I wouldn't have stayed either."

The reaction was immediate, and damn if it didn't hurt a little—his vision went white and he practically choked on his tongue—but Zoro laughed as Bob walked out of the cell, still shaking with spasms.

Worth it.

For now, Zoro isn't suffering too much (from his point of view) and is more of a general nuisance than anything else but that will change as the sleepless hours progress. And speaking of which, go to sleep or take a nap, it'll do you good!

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.

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*

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!

DAY 4: A Good Night's Sleep

Law can't escape, even in his dreams. Especially in his dreams.

You know those games where you hit the ball around to get it to the finish line? Law is the ball. Trigger Warnings : - Implied Character Death - Graphic Description of Corpses - Maggot - Blood and Gore - Psychological Horror - Implied Genocide Nothing is graphic except the description of the corpses but it's definitely there. Feel free to let me know if I missed anything. Fandom : One Piece Character(s) : Trafalgar D. Water Law Words Count : 962 No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

Law ran and ran, but he couldn't escape. The white stretched everywhere, on the buildings, on the trees, on the people . The cold air bit his skin viciously and his ragged breathing formed condensation in the air.

The smoke morphed before his eyes, winding and wrapping all around him. The smell of smoke and burning flesh hit his nose and Law doubled over to vomit.

He was so hot, his skin was clammy and he felt like he was suffocating in his heavy black feather coat. The coat swallowed him up completely, almost suffocating him and Law wondered when it had arrived on his shoulders. It must have been Cora-san who had put it there. But where was Cora-san?

The smoke thickened, taking on the appearance of crows with bloody feathers. Drops of blood fell onto the pristine snow. White. Red. Black. Law’s head kept spinning.

Where was Cora-san?

If they didn't hurry up, Doflamingo would catch up with them.

(Doflamingo had already caught up with them.)

(Cora-san was dead.)

Law looked up at the sky. The stars shone brightly in the dark night, incandescent and untouchable. (How could he see them through the smoke?) A star grew in the sky, grew and grew until Law could see only it, until his retina burned in his eyeballs.

Strings of gold descended from the heavens, like the will of a vengeful god (run Law, run), and fell to the earth with all the force of a meteor. The ground shook and Law fell into the bloody snow. 

The threads streaked the sky by the thousands until Law could no longer see the stars, trapping him in the White City. (City of the Dead, City of Angels)

A birdcage.

(Doflamingo was there.)

(Run, Law, Run.)

The blood-stained raven croaked, a cruel, bitter laugh. Law wept with it. His tears felt like stardrops, burning against his cheeks.

Law began to run again. The white continued to advance, marking his skin and seeping into his body, all the way to his lungs. Soon, the white would swallow him whole until nothing remained of him but a bloodstain on the snow.

A weight fell on his back, sending him to the ground and snow poured into his mouth. Law tried to swim through the mass that clung to his skin like blood, but chains around his feet pulled him deeper into the earth.

Law screamed. But no one heard him.

The pressure on his back grew more intense and when Law opened his eyes again, Lammy's lifeless eyes were staring at him. Law was drowning in a sea of ​​severed limbs and rotting flesh. Bones sticking out in all the wrong directions, teeth falling out of twisted smiles. Gaunt skin covered in white spots.

The white had caught up with him.

(Dead. Everyone was dead.)

Law was the only survivor.

“See? There is no despair in this world. Someone will probably come and give you a helping hand.”

A maggot crawled out of Lammy's eye and into Law's ear.

But he couldn't scream.

(But he couldn't cry.)

If he screamed, the Navy would find him and kill him.

(If he cried, Doflamingo would find him and kill him.)

It was his only way to leave Flevance alive.

(It was his only way to leave Minion Island alive.)

A skeletal hand placed itself over his hand and mouth, preventing him from screaming. Terrified, Law followed the arm with his eyes, barely daring to move or breathe. Cora-san smiled at him, blood running from his nose and a broken tooth.

“I’ll die smiling! Because if you ever think of me, I want you to remember my smile.”

Cora-san's coat spontaneously caught fire. As usual, Cora-san didn't notice. The fire spread to the mountain of corpses that Law was on top of, licking the soles of his shoes.

The World Government wanted to remove all evidence.

(But they wouldn't be able to, because Law was still alive.)

(For that, he had to run.)

(Run, Law, Run.)

A hand locked around his ankle, cold and bony. Lammy’s head snapped around in its socket, the skin of her face melting around her eyeballs. She was smiling.

“Big brother, let’s go to the festival!” 

Lammy’s hand tightened, her fingers digging in painfully until blood flowed.

“Big brother, why don’t you want to play with me?”

There were tears in her eyes.

“Big brother, why don’t you love me anymore?”

Law tried to pull away, tugging and kicking. He fell out of the pile and into the snow, Lammy’s torn-off arm still clinging to his ankle.

Gunshots rang out in the night, making Law flinch violently.

(Two brothers face to face, a gun in their hands. A perfect mirror.)

(Cora-san's body falling on the chest where Law was hidden.)

Law began to run, Lammy's arm like prisoner's chains around his feet. Black and pink feathers flew around him, a raven laughed in the distance.

Strings wrapped around Law's throat and hands. A doll tangled in his puppeteer's grip.

"You can't run forever, Law."

He couldn't escape.

  He couldn't escape.

   He couldn't escape.

A crevasse opened beneath his feet, snow cascading down and dragging Law down with it. The white covered him, swallowed him, ate him whole.

But just before Law was completely devoured by the white, an open hand closed around his wrist. Warm and soft and gentle. A blond man smiled at him, black and pink feathers dancing around him.

“If you want a good night's sleep, nothing better.”

(Law hadn't slept properly since Cora-san died.)

(The world was so noisy .)

“Cora-san?”

Law's voice was weak, almost inaudible.

(No one had heard him cry amidst the explosions, long after Cora-san died.)

(Cora-san could always hear him.)

“ Wrong .”

Law screamed.

(No one heard him.)

I'm sorry.

DAY 3: Did You Get Me Some Pie?

Dean is going to die, Sam doesn't know what to think about it.

I think this story is one of my favorites, it was just so interesting to write. It was also a bit complicated, I wanted Sam to have an asshole vibe at the beginning but I'm not sure I succeeded. I also know nothing about the American justice system and capital punishment, I tried to do some research but it wasn't very conclusive. A bit of context for this story, it takes place in the Lebanonverse (I think that's the name) where John disappears in 2003 to go to the future. As a result, Sam becomes Kale!Sam and Dean is, we don't really know, a criminal, a hunter? Trigger Warnings : - Discussion of Capital Punishment - Major Character Death - Heavy Angst (That Shit Is Sad As Fuck) - That's It? Fandom : Supernatural (TV 2005) Character(s) : Sam Winchester Relationship(s) : Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Words Count : 3,624 No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

And this is hard to hear – performing at your best requires all of your mental energy. Every last drop. You see, it’s just not compatible with something like, uh… hobbies or, uh – or even having a family.

Sam slammed the car door behind him hard, drops of water falling from his hair onto the leather seat. He gripped the steering wheel in his hands, exhaling loudly. The rain fell heavily outside, hitting the roof of his car in a steady melody. It reminded him of nights on the road in the Impala, Dean humming in harmony with the rain, lulling him to sleep.

Back then, he felt like nothing and no one could touch him as long as he was with his family. Now, Sam knew it was his family that brought danger. It had been over fifteen years since Sam had last spoken to Dean, since he had refused to go with him to search for John. They didn’t even share the same last name anymore.

(It wouldn’t have been great publicity for a renowned lawyer like him to have such an obvious connection to a wanted criminal.)

Sam tugged at his turtleneck uncomfortably, pushing all nostalgic thoughts from his mind. Leaving Dean and John behind had been the right decision. Every wanted poster plastered with the face of the man Sam had once called his brother reminded him of that. He could never have accomplished what he had done today, his family would have slowed him down, prevented him from succeeding.

Sam meant every word he said during his conventions, performance, the pleasure of a job well done, nothing was more important. Everything else was secondary. And Jess had once agreed with him.

That didn't mean it was easy . But all the sacrifices Sam had made to get to where he was in his life had been worth it. He had the life he had always wanted as a child, the recognition of his peers, the pursuit of knowledge, the stability of a job.

Sam had no regrets about the choices he had made.

Sam ran his hand through his damp hair, brushing it away from his face, and turned on the engine. The radio automatically started, and Sam froze as he heard the last words of the news bulletin.

“The death penalty has been handed down for serial killer Dean Winchester, known for the mass murder of a dozen FBI agents in Monument, Colorado–”

Sam didn't hear the radio host finish their sentence, the blood pounding in his ears drowning out their words. He couldn't have said Dean . Sam would have known if he had been arrested, the whole country would have known. Dean had terrorized the United States for years. And it shouldn't have affected Sam, because he didn't know this Dean Winchester. He wasn't the same person who took care of him and protected him from monsters in the dark.

Really, he had no reason to change his perfectly established routine for a stranger, a criminal .

Dean and Sam Winchester didn’t know each other anymore.

Sam turned off the radio, the silence more brutal than he could have imagined. Sam was used to silence when the day ended, even welcoming it. It was synonymous with efficiency, tranquility, and security. He turned the radio back on, selecting a classical music program.

Starting the windshield wipers, Sam headed for his apartment.

Arriving home, Sam did something he hadn’t done since his divorce from Jess a few years ago. He pulled out a bottle of wine that a client had given him and poured himself a large glass. If anyone asked, he’d blame Dean. He sat on his couch, ignoring the urgent files waiting for him on his desk. If he was entitled to a night off, it was tonight.

Even after years, Dean was disrupting the life he had created for himself. Sam had fought so hard to get away from his family, but he felt like he could never completely escape them. But he had been right to do so. Where would he be if he had followed Dean? Probably in a nearby cell, also waiting to be executed.

In the distance, he could picture Dean behind bars—the one from the wanted posters, not the one from his childhood—his face blurred like an ancient memory, covered in scars, with a sharp smile and a glint of madness  in his eyes. Sam never could imagine himself being by his side. Whether they were face to face or thousands of miles away, those bars always separated them.

And now, they were going to be separated forever. Because Dean was going to die .

Logically, from the perspective of the frightened child who wanted to escape the monsters and his family and the monsters that were his family, this should have been a good thing. 

Sam wasn’t so sure.

Could he let Dean die? Could he let Dean live ?

Dean was a killer.

Years ago, Sam could have assuredly said that what Dean, John, and he were doing was a good thing. Now, he no longer saw the brother he had loved in the hardened features of the man on television. And a part of him thought it was possible that Dean had lost his way so much that he had actually committed the crimes he was accused of.

Blood was blood, and Dean had never known when to stop while there was still time.

Sam got up, unable to stand still when his mind couldn’t seem to stop meandering, and stood in front of the clear window. Below, darkness stretched over the city, hiding monsters and those who hunted them. Droplets of rain trickled down the glass, distorting the red and white lights of the city traffic.

Under the moonlight, the wine swirling in his glass looked like blood. Sam had been a killer too. And Dean had once been the one to wash the blood off his hands with all the devotion of a brother. Sam finished his glass in one go, red staining his lips and teeth.

Ignoring the late hour, he called his assistant. “Cancel my appointments on Monday and Tuesday, I have a… family emergency.”

XXX

Getting a last-minute visit shouldn’t have been this easy, but it had been for him . His name was synonymous with power, not the kind John would have wanted, but powerful nonetheless. Sam was capable of changing things, of making the world a better place.

A car with tinted windows came to pick him up and escort him to the prison, and after a pat-down that Sam submitted to without issue, he was issued a visitor’s pass. He left his black umbrella in the hallway and tightened his tie.

(It had been Jess—not John or Dean—who had taught him how to tie his tie. They were still just friends at the time; she had found him in the bathroom at the university, panicking before a meeting with his advisor. Gently, she had taken his hands and tied the knot for him, patiently explaining each step.)

(Jess and he were no longer friends.)

Fiddling with the two rings on his left hand—both for people he had loved, both now obsolete—Sam followed a guard through the unknown but familiar hallways. This wasn’t the first time Sam had gone to a prison to visit a prisoner. It was the first time he went for a personal reason.

It was the first time he went without the intention of getting the person he was visiting released.

The guard glanced at him every now and then, his face hesitant as if he wanted to question Sam. Sam’s commanding gaze made him turn back each time. Sam encouraged curious and eager minds, but not tonight . Not on this subject.

(This part of his life – the darkest part – was his. (Dean’s. John’s.) And if he wanted to forget it, to consign it to the furthest part of his mind and never think about it again… that was his right.)

(There was still time to turn back.)

They stopped in front of an armoured door, accessible only with one of the keycards the guard held in his hand. Behind the door was an airlock and yet another door, one that Sam could open freely this time.

Behind it was Dean.

(There was still time to turn around.)

"At your request, your conversation will not be recorded," the guard recited. "However, given the prisoner's security level, we ask that you respect the security instructions you have been given. Do you need them repeated to you?"

(There was still time to turn around.)

"That won't be necessary," Sam replied.

"Very well," the guard said, unlocking the door. "You have one hour, knock if you want to get out before the time limit."

(There was still time to turn around.)

"Thank you," Sam said politely, crossing the threshold of the door.

The door slammed shut behind him. It was a step, maybe two, to the next door. Sam forced his body forward, his hand hesitating over the handle.

(There was still time to turn around.)

"It's a little late for a lawyer, don't you think?" Dean scoffed as Sam opened the door, not even looking at who was entering the room.

(There was still time to turn around.)

"Sammy?"

Dean’s green eyes locked on him, a whirlwind of emotion—overwhelming and vivid—that Sam didn’t dare comprehend. But above all, hope . Dean laughed hysterically at the sight of Sam, as mad as the media portrayed him, but Sam couldn’t ignore the relief in his voice.

(It was time.)

Sam closed the door behind him.

“Don’t call me Sammy.”

The defense mechanism was automatic—forgotten but never gone, like the silt of a pond rising to the surface after someone threw a rock in it—and only made Dean laugh harder.

“Oh man,” Dean sighed, happy tears welling in his eyes. “I didn’t expect this.”

Dean had wrinkles now, and scars too. Sam knew that, he had seen them in pictures, but he never thought that time could have an effect on Dean.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. Campbell ?" Dean asked when Sam remained silent. "For someone trying to run away from his family, you're pretty bad at it. I didn't take you for a sentimentalist."

As he always did, Dean struck first. He had never known how to leave Sam alone. Always reaching out to him, dragging him along, forcing him to move on.

"Death row inmates get one last meal," Sam replied, putting a white plastic bag on the table.

But Sam had never let himself be pushed around, had always hit back, blow for blow - just like Dean had taught him - and his favorite pastime had always been wiping the arrogant smile off Dean's face. 

Dean's face darkened at that, the shadows on his face harsh under the industrial light of the prison. Sam wondered if he'd made a mistake. This wasn't the Dean he knew, his big brother, this was a stranger who shared the same blood as him.

(Dean was a killer.)

“So what? You’re here to get me out of here?” Dean’s tone was sharp, like he’d never stopped fighting, like he didn’t know how. “Because I’m afraid it’s impossible, even for you, Sammy.”

“No,” Sam sighed, pulling the chair in front of Dean, the metal scraping against the floor with a shrill thud. “No. I just wanted to… It’s been a long time.”

Sam was a brilliant lawyer and orator. He wielded words the way he once wielded blades, coldly, precisely, never missing his mark. People feared and respected him.

In front of Dean, he was a scared little boy.

(Leaving had been the right choice.)

"Sixteen years," Dean retorted with just a hint of reproach in his voice. "I see you've done well. Lawyer, that suits you well."

"And what about you?" Sam asked, not knowing how to behave around his estranged brother.

"Still in the family business," Dean grinned roughly. " Someone needed to take care of it after Dad disappeared."

"You didn't find him?" Sam asked surprised.

If anyone could find John, it was Dean.

A second later, it hit him. John was probably dead. Sam waited for his heart to clench at the news, for a weight to lift from his shoulders, for a tear to roll down his cheek. Nothing happened.

John was dead. Sam wasn’t sad, or relieved, or angry.

“ Oh .”

“Yes, oh!” Dean bit out, the anger unmistakable in his voice this time.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, his words sounding more like a question.

Dean sighed heavily, running his hand over his face, the immeasurable weight of the years seeming to fall on his shoulders mercilessly. For the first time since he had entered the room, Sam looked at Dean.

Dean had hunted alone for a long time, without someone to cover his back, and it showed. His face was covered in scars, some still fresh, red-purple and blistered. A cut peeked out of his t-shirt along his windpipe, bloody and raw, and bruises dotted his arms under the tattoos and burns.

He looked tired. He looked ready to fight.

"What are you doing here, Sammy?" Dean asked. "Have you come to absolve me of my crimes? Have you come to beg for forgiveness?"

"I… I don't know," Sam confessed. "I just wanted to see you one last time."

“It's a little late for this, don't you think?” Dean laughed cruelly. “But it's not like you had sixteen years to do it.”

“Dean, please–”

Some truths were universal: Sam Campbell always won in court. There were creatures from your worst nightmares lurking in the shadows. Dean Winchester would do anything for his little brother.

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean agreed. His tone was kind but rough, as if without Sam by his side he’d forgotten how to be. “One last time for the road. I hope you got me some pie!”

Sam’s eyes flashed almost gold with mirth, coming to life for the first time in years. “See for yourself,” he suggested mischievously, pushing the plastic bag toward Dean.

Dean laughed again, with joy for the first time, and oh how he’d missed that sound. If Sam could live in one moment forever, this would be it, Sam decided. His big brother excitedly ripping open the plastic to reveal a supermarket pie, his smile aligning with his facial features in harmony, as it always should have.

“This is awesome ,” Dean said. “I haven’t had pie in months.”

Dean grabbed one of the plastic forks, the chains of his handcuffs clicking loudly against the table, and took a comically gargantuan bite.

“As delicious as always,” Dean said through his mouth full. “Would you like some?”

“No thanks, it’s—” Sam cut himself off, ‘ it’s too much sugar’, so what? “You know what, why not?”

Sam grabbed the second plastic fork and cut off a more reasonable portion before bringing it to his mouth. It was sweet , disgustingly sweet. Sam could feel the cavities attacking his teeth. He took a second bite. 

It tasted like his childhood. Sam ignored the sting of tears in the corners of his eyes.

“I’m not brushing my teeth and I’m going to die tasting pie,” Dean exclaimed with conviction.

“What?”

Sam’s hand froze in mid-air. Dean’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I thought you knew. It’s today,” Dean said gently, like he used to talk to Sam when they were kids. Dean cleared his throat, forcing all emotion out of his voice. “Today is the day Dean Winchester dies. For real this time.”

Sam put his fork down on the table, a knot tightening painfully around his throat. He felt like he was going to throw up his heart. Sam knew Dean was going to die. But not now .

(He thought he still had time.)

“It’s too soon,” Sam said, unable to keep the whining tone from his voice.

“I’ve been incarcerated here for almost a year,” Dean said. “It was a long time coming. There’s not a person here who doesn’t want me dead.”

( Me ! Sam wanted to scream. I don’t want you to die. But his words stuck in his chest along with his bleeding heart.)

“Escape then!” Sam exclaimed, slapping the table with the flat of his hand. “You’re a hunter, we’re trained to get out of situations like this.”

“You think I didn’t try?” Dean retorted. “They won’t let me escape this time. I’ve had about ten tracers injected under my skin since I set foot here. But I guess that’s what you get when you blow up a police station.”

Sam’s blood froze painfully in his veins. For someone who had desperately clung to the certainty that Dean was a killer, he had forgotten it pathetically quickly.

(The eyes Dean looked at him with—bright green and more alive than Sam’s could ever be—were nothing like the man on the television. Sam didn’t know which ones were real.)

“But you didn’t do it, did you?” Sam asked.

“If even you doubt me,” Dean laughed bitterly, “how do you expect me to tell the people outside that it was Lilith, the first demon who was trying to free Lucifer?”

“What?”

Sam was repeating himself tonight. The situation was slipping out of his hands at breakneck speed, the rope burning his fingers as he tried to cling to it with no results.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” Dean replied sadly. “But I don’t want to talk about that. Tell me about your new life, about Jess.”

Sam forced a smile as he watched Dean wiggle his eyebrows suggestively.

“We got divorced a few years ago,” Sam replied, swallowing painfully.

(His vision was still blurry through the tears.)

“Oh, shit, I didn’t know. Sorry Sammy,” Dean apologized.

“That’s… You couldn’t have known,” Sam stumbled over his words in frustration, hiding his face in his hand. How could Dean apologize for something as ridiculous as his divorce? Dean was going to die .“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

(He thought they still had time.)

Sixteen years of hard work and sacrifice were crumbling like a precariously erected house of cards in less than an hour in his brother’s presence. How weak he was, the powerful lawyer.

“Sammy,” Dean said, reaching his chained hand across the table to rest on Sam’s. “Everything’s going to be okay. It should be easy for you, you don’t even love me anymore.”

Dean’s joke—if it was one—fell flat in the dead silence of the room. Sam’s eyes filled with tears, silently streaming down his cheeks, burning like acid rain.

“I’m sorry I wasted so much time,” Sam whispered, biting back a sob. “I should have come with you.”

Dean stood, spreading his arms as wide as his chains would allow.

“Come here.”

Sam rushed to his brother, clinging to him like a lifeline in the raging ocean, a thousand-year-old, unbreakable rock. Dean closed his arms around him and Sam thought – selfishly perhaps – that Dean needed that embrace too.

“I’m proud of you, Sammy. For going and fulfilling your dreams. You have the life you always wanted, the one you fought for,” Dean whispered, a secret between him and Sam, the last one. “Don’t forget that.”

“I can’t do this alone,” Sam said, shaking his head negatively.

“Yes you can,” Dean replied, smiling sadly.

“Well, I don’t want to,” Sam refused.

Why was he realizing all this now? When it was too late to make a difference. If only he had done something sooner. If only he had left with Dean 16 years ago.

If only—

(He thought they still had time.)

Before Sam was ready to let Dean go, someone knocked on the door twice in quick succession. The knell tolled.

“Time’s up.”

Dean let go of Sam first, pushing him toward the door, the freedom and life that had been stolen from him—

It was Dean who had driven Sam to the bus stop when he left for Stanford. The ride had been in tense silence, neither of them knowing that they wouldn’t see each other again for a long time, for their entire lives. (Sam wondered if it would have made any difference.) But Dean had come.

– with his big brother watching him leave once again, Sam walked away, as scared as when he was eighteen.

“Sammy!”

Sam turned around (this time). He knew it was the last time.

“Can you come?” Dean asked. It was the first time he asked Sam something. Sam wished he had never asked. “I don't want to die alone.”

The tears on Sam's cheeks hadn't had time to dry before the guard closed the door, leaving Dean alone in the room, leaving Sam alone in the one next door.

XXX

Sam Winchester watched his brother die. He looked him straight in the eyes—bright green and full of life for the last time—never failing.

This was something the world would never know. Something that would haunt Sam until he died. Dean Winchester died with tears in his eyes, sugar on his cheek, and three words on his lips, spoken to his little brother through the window.

"I love you."

When Sam walked out of the jail, a few hours and a lifetime later, it had stopped raining. The sun was peeking through the clouds, a rainbow bridging the road as he started the Impala. A ghost settled into the passenger seat and the radio started.

Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. Sam could make an exception this time.

Carry on, my wayward son

There'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more

They make me physically ill, why is it so sad? They haven't seen each other for sixteen years. Sixteen years! And when Sam finally realizes that he needs and loves his brother, it's too late. And if Dean hadn't told him it was today, Sam would have left without knowing that it was the last time he spoke to his brother. Like the two times before! They had so many chances and they didn't take any of them. And Dean. He watched his little brother leave him twice (three times if you count the time after John disappeared) because he knew that ultimately it was the best decision for Sam. Argh. I break my own heart.

DAY 2 : Again.

Luffy relives the worst day of his life, over and over again.

I wasn't inspired by today's prompts so I chose one of the alternatives: Time Loop. Since I didn't have time to write everything, I'll post loop by loop as I go along, instead of all at once. This story is quite hard to read (and write), so pay attention to the warnings and take care of yourself above all <3 Trigger Warnings: - Graphic Description of Violence - Blood and Injuries - Burns - Major Character Death Fandom : One Piece (Anime & Manga) Character(s) : Monkey D. Luffy Relationship(s) : Monkey D. Luffy & Portgas D. Ace Words Count : 1,548 No. 2: ALTERNATIVE  Time Loop

First Loop

Luffy struggled to retrieve Ace's Vivre Card that was slipping from his fingers. It was in front of him, just inches away, and yet unreachable. He didn't really know why, but he had to retrieve that Vivre Card. It was important, it was a part of Ace. He couldn't lose it. Nothing else mattered. The outside world faded into the background around him — the screams of agony, the smell of blood and smoke, the corpses he was stepping on to escape — leaving only the small burning piece of paper in his field of vision. 

(Ace had been burned by Akainu. His big brother, the one who always walked two steps ahead of him, unreachable and strong , the living embodiment of fire, had been burned . Sabo had died in the flames of an explosion. Luffy had forgotten it, but big brothers could burn too.)

Luffy's hand finally closed around Ace's Vivre Card and the panic that clouded his mind subdued. He had succeeded, Ace wouldn't leave him.

He had promised.

“You won't leave here alive!”

Luffy looked up and met Ace's desperate gaze. Why was Ace looking at him like that? He should be happy, Luffy had his Vivre Card back.

“Luffy!”

The flaming fist of Absolute Justice charged at him, invading his field of vision until all he could see was flames — stories whispered by a campfire, the burn of the Grey Terminal fire on his skin, Ace's arm around his shoulders in the middle of winter — and bloody red.

Oh.

Luffy wanted to move, should have moved, but he couldn't. The world was so fast when he was so slow, exhaustion slowing all his movements to the very core of his bones.

(If his crew was there, he could have rested for five minutes before going back into battle, but Luffy was alone .)

Suddenly, without Luffy understanding what was happening — he was so tired — Ace was in front of him, smiling sadly. Luffy's eyes widened in horror as he noticed the fist through Ace's body. The smell of burning flesh hit him in the face and Ace vomited blood, a retch shaking his entire body.

Akainu stepped back, removing his fist from Ace's body carelessly, Ace's guts falling to the ground, bloody and steaming. There was a hole in Ace's torso, where his lungs should have been. The skin around the wound was burned raw, sizzling with blisters and peeling away to the bone. And amidst the mess of ruined and damaged flesh, hidden behind his broken ribs, his brother's still beating heart. 

Thud, thud, thud.

Luffy focused on Ace's fading heartbeat, clinging to his brother's last breath of life. Ace wasn't dead yet! Luffy could still save him. Luffy remembered yelling at Akainu who was raising his fist once more to finish Ace off, but he didn't remember Jinbei and Ace's friends intervening.

Everything vanished when Ace fell to his knees in Luffy's arms. Luffy caught him, his hand red, red, red when he looked at it after touching Ace's back. Luffy placed his hand on the wound, trying to stop the endless bleeding. Ace slid into Luffy's arms, his head falling onto his shoulder, and Luffy tightened his grip around Ace, refusing to let him go.

"I'm sorry, Luffy," Ace struggled to say, choking. "I'm so sorry, I stopped you from saving me properly. Forgive me.”

Ace was breathing heavily, just talking, draining him of his meager strength. Blood was dripping down Luffy's shoulder in large drops.

"What are you talking about? Stop talking nonsense!"

Ace wasn't dying, Luffy could still feel his heart beating between his fingers. Ace wasn't dying. He couldn't die. He had promised. He couldn't die.

"Someone!" Luffy begged, screaming until his vocal cords broke, feeling the heat leave Ace's body. “Heal his wounds! Save Ace!”

Luffy didn't like the cold. Cold meant being alone in the night, cold meant an empty place in the treehouse. Cold meant Death.

"Luffy stop," Ace said weakly. "My time has come. He burned me from the inside out, I won't make it this time.”

And Ace was never weak. He was bold and brash and mean at times, a raging fire. Never weak, always strong. Ace was the reason Luffy survived Sabo's death. Because Ace was strong where Luffy wasn't, learning to be kind and caring for Luffy.

Ace was strong .

Luffy wasn't.

“No! You promised”! Luffy refused, understanding what his big brother meant. “You told me Ace, right? You said you wouldn't die!”

Because Ace was strong but he was also stupid. He forgot obvious things sometimes and Luffy had to remind him. Like the fact that Luffy loved him. But if Luffy reminded him of his promise, then maybe Ace wouldn't die.

“You promised,” Luffy stopped himself from sobbing. Ace didn't like whiners.

“You know, if it wasn't for Sabo, if I didn't have a little brother like you to watch over. I wouldn't have wanted to live.” Luffy's heart clenched painfully in his chest. “No one wanted me after all. So it's completely normal.”

Ace clung to Luffy like a lifeline, as if Luffy was the only thing keeping him alive. Luffy was terrified that he wouldn’t be enough to keep Ace alive for a little longer.

“Oh right, if you ever run into Dadan again, could you say goodbye for me?” Ace laughed softly, his laughter cut off by a coughing fit. “It’s strange, now that I’m about to die, I feel like I miss her.”

Ace’s breath was labored, his voice hoarse. And Luffy didn’t dare look — because if he did, he’d have to face his big brother’s dying face — but he was pretty sure Ace was crying, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“I only have one regret, and that’s not seeing your dream come true. But I know you, you’ll get there, that’s for sure.” Ace and Sabo had been among the first to hear his dream, among the first to believe in him. “You're my brother after all.”

Luffy had two brothers. One had been dead for over ten years, the other was dying in his arms. Who was going to believe in his dreams now?

And yet Luffy couldn't do anything. He was frozen, afraid that the slightest movement would make things worse. The only thing he could do was hold his brother in his arms as he died, hoping that Ace would feel all the love Luffy had for him.

Ace was loved. He had to know that, right ?

"As we promised each other back then, I have no regrets about the life I led."

This time, Luffy couldn't help but protest. This wasn't how it was going to end. It couldn't be.

(Ace's heartbeat was getting slower and slower, more and more rare.)

"No, you're lying!"

"No, it's true!" Ace insisted, his fingers digging painfully into Luffy's shoulder with a surprising strength for a dead man. “It seems that what I always wanted in the end wasn't fame or glory. But just the answer to my question. Why did I come into this world? "

Ace had always been haunted by his past, by the past of those who had come before him, that of his parents. But Luffy didn't live in the past, he didn't care who Ace's father was. What mattered was the present, what mattered was that Ace was Luffy 's brother.

Ace was Ace and that was all that mattered. Ace had always been enough.

"Luffy, I want you to listen to what I have to say and tell the others afterwards," Luffy knew at that moment that his brother's words would be his last. He wasn't ready for that. “Even though I've been a good-for-nothing my whole life, even though I carry the blood of a demon.”

The fighting raged around them and yet it had never been interrupted. Ace's family fought to give them one last moment, one last hug.

"Thank you for loving me!"

Crying, Ace formed a smile on his lips for the last time. Ace collapsed in Luffy's arms, his hand falling from Luffy's neck where Ace had clung to during his final moments, leaving a trail of blood along Luffy's cheek.

Ace fell to the ground, alive one moment, dead the next, and Luffy screamed out all his pain and sorrow, inaudible amidst the horrors of war. Ace was dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. 

Ace was dead.

Ace.

Was.

Dead.

Ace was dead.

Years of memories flashed through Luffy's mind in a split second - all ending with the same tragic phrase "thank you for loving me", all ending with Ace's death - shattering his psyche to the last piece.

They were always meant to end up here - Ace, dead and Luffy, helpless - there was nothing Luffy could have done to change things.

“ACE!!!”

In the end, when the darkness reached out to him, Luffy welcomed it willingly. Luffy fell into nothingness, hoping to never come out. Not if it meant living in a world alone.

Click. Again .

Rouge meets Roger a few months after she enters to the New World. He's funny, flirts with her endlessly, but more importantly, he has a ship. So she flirts back, lets him buy her a drink or two, and at the end of the night, she steals his ship. And his straw hat for good measure.

Roger chases her to the docks, his crew behind him, and by the time he gets there, Rouge has already cast off. Roger's fingers almost close around her wrist, a ghostly touch. The wind rushes through her sails, and Rouge blows Roger a kiss as she laughs away from the island.

A few weeks later, Rouge has all but forgotten about Roger, except for the fact that she's living on his ship. She could sell it and buy one more suited to her needs — a smaller one for starters, living alone on a ship that big feels like a ghost ship — but something's stopping her. There's life everywhere she looks, memories, of Roger and his crew. She almost feels bad for stealing it, not just the ship but what it represents.

But Rouge lives her life without regrets and it's not like she's going to turn back now.

Life goes on and so does Rouge.

Roger catches up with her the next day.

Rouge wanders the streets of the city, restocking her supplies to leave. The island was pleasant enough, with long sandy beaches, but adventure awaits. The air pressure increases as she exits a store and Rouge swallows to clear her aching ears, watching the clouds for any sign of a storm.

The danger does not come from the sky.

The crowd parts around him instinctively, and Rouge stares into his gray eyes. That's where the real storm is, dangerous and beautiful. Roger smiles, Rouge starts running.

They run through the city, between market stalls and jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Rouge almost lets Roger catch up with her once or twice before running out of his reach again. Adrenaline and joy flow through her veins, giving her wings. But when she reaches the port to set sail again, his crew is already there, aboard her ship.

Rouge stops abruptly and Roger lands next to her, laughing cheerfully. Jolly Roger, they call him. The pirate who laughs all the time, even when his sails are red with blood. Rouge wonders if she made a mistake.

"It's been a long time since I've had this much fun," Roger says, and there's a sort of breathless happiness to him that makes his eyes sparkle.

Rouge, who expected self-righteous anger and sharp steel, drops her hand from her dagger in surprise. His first mate scolds Roger, telling him that they had already lost their ship once because of him but Roger continues to laugh.

Rouge sees her opportunity. "Do you want to keep this going?"

The glint of interest in Roger's eyes tells her she's already won. The first mate throws his hands up in exasperation.

"What do you propose?"

"A little challenge, if I can keep your hat for twenty-four hours, you let me go and pay my bill at the bar. If not, I'll give you everything back and I'll even work for you while I pay off my debt."

Roger crosses his arms in front of him, smirking. "But I already got my ship back."

"I'll steal it again then," Rouge replies, matching his smile.

Roger's smile, if that's possible, widens further. His crew groans in frustration behind him, as if they already know what their captain is going to do. The first mate pulls out a bottle of rum and settles down on deck.

"On one condition, I get my hat back no matter what the outcome."

"You think I can win?" Rouge asks, raising an eyebrow. She knows she's going to win, but it's surprising that Roger accepts, thinking she has a chance.

"I wouldn't dream of underestimating you. I know what you're capable of, my flower," Roger replied grandiloquently, bowing to her.

"If that's it," Rouge whispers in his ear, making him shiver. "The twenty-four hours start now."

And she runs away again.

I love Roger and Rouge so much 😭😭😭

Please send me your headcanons for them or send prompts for me to share them! I haven’t written these two for a while and I want to spread my love again

(You can send for Shakky/Rayleigh or even other ships too!)

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.)

And also, because I'm nice like that, here's a snippet from tomorrow's story 👀:

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.

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!

My most kudoed fic is by far Children of the Sea, but when I went to check by how much I noticed that several of my other One Piece fics had more kudos than I remembered which makes me very happy.

My favorite fic is probably also Children of the Sea because I got severely attached to the characters throughout the chapters. It's a family-centric story where Rouge raises Ace, Shanks and Buggy (and coming soon, our favorite rubber kid!). And bonus point, everyone survives their tragic backstory.

But I still want to mention another one of my fics that I absolutely love, At The Dawn Of Time. I put a lot of myself into this story and it means a lot to me on a personal level. This is again a story about Rouge (shocking, I know) where after Marineford, Ace travels back in time for a day and meets Rouge when she was pregnant with him in Baterilla. This story is not so much about fixing the past but rather Ace's journey towards self-acceptance, particularly with regard to his parents, as well as self-love.

OH OH reblog game: fic writers, what is your most kudosed fic, and what is your favorite fic you've written? are they different? have any commentary?

Come Hell Or High Water Masterpost

The will of the D may have been a mere echo of the past, but its bearers were anything but. Standing in front of her lover's execution platform, Portgas D. Rouge vowed never to lose a single member of her family again. (She just hadn't taken into account that her family would be so large.) OR How many traumatized children can Rouge adopt?

I'm fascinated by Rouge's character and she's unironically become one of my favorite characters in One Piece while writing this, which is tragic considering we only see her for about two minutes. But if Oda won't give me content on Rouge, I'll do it myself.

Come Hell or High Water is a story that begins with Roger's execution 24 years ago and continues to the present day based on the concept that Portgas D. Rouge survives the Baterilla massacre and raises Portgas D. Ace as well as Shanks and Buggy.

Throughout the story, Rouge also adopts every child she meets in need of a parental figure (i.e. half of the One Piece characters). It's a family-centric story where everyone survives their tragic backstories with romance in the background far away and lots of fluff.

This story will cover topics regarding child development into adulthood while healing from past trauma, this includes fear of abandonment, self-esteem issues, child abuse, codependency, etc. It also deals with grief and (unhealthy) coping mechanisms especially in the first chapters following Roger's death.

(Disclaimer, I'm not an expert on any of those subjects except for the fact that I was a child once and had to grow up. The end result is mostly fine so I can consider it a success.)

I'll be referencing events from the manga as they happen like new characters and such. It won't be anything major until we caught up with the main timeline (unless specified at the beginning of each chapter), but if you'd rather not be spoiled, I understand.

If you have any more questions about this AU, feel free to ask me, I always love talking about my brainchild <3

Children Of The Sea (First Part)

Hi, I'm a twenty-years old fanfiction writer who aspires to one day write an original book. In the meantime, I write fanfiction to improve my writting skills and also because I have Feelings and I can't get certain ideas out of my head otherwise. (My writing is basically the screams in my head organized in a semi-coherent way.) So don't hesitate to give me your opinion on my work, it helps me a lot and I thrive on external validation <3

I also love yapping about my WIPs so feel free to tell me to shut up but if it's something you're interested in, I will love you until the end of times.

So let me introduce you to my current series. I won't bother you by introducing each story one by one (I'm not that mean), but they're all very good I promise.

Writing Challenges

Whumptober 2024

Against my better judgement, I decided to attempt Whumptober this year. The potential for angst and hurt just spoke to me.

Femslash February 2025

Here is my contribution for FemSlash February 2025, because I love women and there's nearly not enough F/F-centric fics in here.

Supernatural

When There's Blood In The Water

Family doesn't necessarily end in blood, but sometimes it's your family that makes you bleed.

A collection of stories centered around the very dysfunctional Winchester family (mainly including John, Sam, Dean and Adam) not necessarily related to each other unless otherwise stated.

One Piece

My One Piece stories are available in English and French. (My first language is French.)

Come Hell or High Water

Come discover the adventures of the most chaotic family both sides of the Red Line.

My main story where Portgas D. Rouge lives and forcibly adopts half of the Grand Line. I'm going to make another post about this because it's my baby and I need to talk about it more. But if you are already interested, you can always click on the link above which will take you to my AO3 account.

Happy Birthday My Treasure

A year worth of birthdays for my favorite characters.

All my stories celebrating a One Piece character's birthday, they have no connection with each other (unless specified at the beginning of the story). You can read them individually and still understanting them.

Made from Sun, Ink and Storm

Let Nami and Koala meet, dammit!

The first instalment of my One Piece soulmate AU centered around Nami & Koala' (sadly non-existent in canon) relationship.

From Dawn Till Dusk

Ace goes back in time and spends the day with his mom, it changes everything.

“Hi.”

Cause that was the only thing you could say. Really, you didn’t have a right to say anything. But you needed to. You needed to be here, back in this empty world again. “I know it’s been a... a really long time. You’re probably really angry. I don’t blame you. But I’m here now. I want to do something...I want-“

You want to help?

The sharp chill of the words made you shiver. But it didn’t surprise you. Why should it?

You want to do something...now?

Every emotion in those words is what started the tears. The accusation. The betrayal. The disgust. The despair. Nothing but the emotions of a person long forgotten and left to die. The person you once were.

“I’m sorry-“

You’re SORRY?

Black dust and curtains of dark matter whirled to life around you. You felt the anger in the sudden action. The hurt.

Why have you decided to come back? You left me for them. You abandoned me. You chose to become something you weren’t for them. And you dare to show your face to me again? Wanting to HELP?

The darkness suddenly lashed out and you went flying across the great, empty expanse. Your head hit the ground hard, but you felt nothing. Nothing could be felt in this place. That was the point.

The black winds swirled around you once again, striking wildly, unable and unwilling to stop. The fury within uncontainable.

“Please...” You began.

No.

They made themselves known, a black figure with glowing eyes appearing from the dark storm like a car appearing from a fog. Eyes that were dimmer than you remembered. Much dimmer.

Do not beg for mercy. You know how pathetic it is.

“Yea,” you coughed. “But I wasn’t.” The figure tilted its head.

Then you saw it. The light.

The light in their chest, trapped behind a thousand dark chains. It was barely flickering. The chains were cracked in some places, some were simply hanging from being broken long ago. But many were brand new. Shiny, harsh, and black as the darkness that was you.

“I’m sorry I left.” And that was it. That was all you said. All you could do as you lay there, weak and pathetic in front of the shadow that was once you. The real you. The person you forsook to please the ones you thought were more important than yourself.

The tears came down harder.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice wobbled. “I will never forgive myself for leaving you.”

You began to lift yourself to your feet.

“I will never forgive myself for thinking that I needed others’s approval to be whole.”

The figure began to back away.

“And I will never forget what makes me happy.” You stopped in front of them, shaking and humble, their eyes wide.

What makes you happy?

“Being you.”

...

“Being...

Being me.

Slowly. So slowly, the chains began to shake.

And began to break.