To Be Continued - Blog Posts

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 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 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 .

To Be Continued ->(Mini-Spoiler)

El letrero decía: NO TOCAR.

“I was never really welcome here, was I?”

The darkened study was lined with bookshelves against three of the walls, with a stained-glass window on the far wall from the door providing red, green and blue light across the room in an image of the virgin mother. In front of the window was a desk of polished ebony. The atmosphere in the room was tense enough to cut air, and the man leaning over the desk, short and squat, with white hair and a priest’s frock, laughed bitterly.

“Of course not, you stupid boy. You may have your father’s power, but you have your mother’s naivete.”

The boy, dressed in a white shirt, a leather jacket and blue jeans, looked normal enough, but he was positioning himself to flee if he had to. In his hand he clutched the locket containing the greatest secret his mother had ever kept – one known only to a few. The priest before him was one of them.

“Why? If all this time you meant to kill me then why haven’t you done it?”

The priest drew a cross from his belt and said solemnly, “We weren’t allowed to kill you in the womb. Papal sanction. We weren’t allowed to kill you as an infant – for you seemed normal enough. But as time wore on, I knew your father’s influence would get to you – and that would be our demise. But it seems there is still time to slay you before you betray us. Still time to do the right thing.”

From the door sprinted two younger priests, each gripping one of the boy’s arms. The priest approached, holding the cross at arms-length towards the boy, and drawing from the desk’s top drawer a pistol. He got to within an arm’s length of the boy, and held the gun to the boy’s forehead. “God forgive me for what I’m about to do.” He said coldly, pulling back the hammer of the pistol with his thumb.

It was then, for the first time, in a moment of rage and panic, the boy felt his father’s presence in his soul, and the power within his body. With a shout somewhere between a scream of anger and a growl, the gun was thrown backwards from the priest’s hand, through the stained-glass window that was the only source of light for the room. Clear light poured in through the hole.

Like a surge of adrenaline, great strength and powerful instinct over took the boy, as he threw the two grown men pinning him bodily against the bookshelves on either side of the room, knocking them apart. Books fell on the ground, scattering the floor with ritual literature and apocrypha. The priest backed away, knocking into the front of the desk and holding the cross at arm’s length still, beginning the Litany of the Saints.

At this the boy laughed, a harsh bark that sounded only vaguely human. “Old man,” he said in a guttural tone, different from the voice of the boy who had spoken moments ago. He waved his hand, and the cross flew out of the priest’s hand, into a pile of broken and splintered bookshelves.

He raised his hand, and the priest’s did likewise, gripping himself by the throat. As the boy clenched his fist, the priest gagged and choked as he strangled himself. The priest’s last moments were as pathetic as a dying fish’s, kicking and squirming on the floor as he fought for air. Once the priest had ceased moving, the boy relented, and the strange power faded from him.

The boy looked at what he had done. The dead priest, laying against his own desk, his aged hand still gripping his own throat. Against each wall were another priest, either unconscious or dead, he could not tell.

He went behind the desk and searched through the drawers, finding the things he was looking for. Another pistol, this one set in silver, and a pile of cash. He ran back, out of the room, and into his room in the orphanage. Gathering a bag of clothes, he sighed, and let reality sink in. It really was true. He was… he was…

He looked at the amulet again. Gripping it tight, he slipped it into his pocket. He’d think on that another time. For now, he needed to get far away from here. Once he had as many of his things as he could carry – it wasn’t much, nor, he figured, would much be needed – he ran for the door, and out of the orphanage.

He ran down the street, and didn’t stop running until he had made it across town, to his ‘friend’s’ home. A well-built two-story on the more affluent side of town, he knew his friend could help. He knocked on the door, a steady banging until the person he was looking for answered. “What’s up, Daelyn? You look like you’re… wait, is that… blood?”

Looking down and silently cursing himself, he saw that he did indeed have some small portion of blood on his shirt, from either the priests he sent flying across from the room or somehow from the man he had choke himself to death he did not know. “Zeke, I don’t have time to explain. I need a shirt, and I need to get a fake ID or two. Out of state ones, too.”

Zeke looked scared. As well he should, Daelyn supposed. How would he respond if one of his friends showed up on his doorstep, drenched in sweat and bloodstained.

Zeke looked around the neighborhood, the empty street, and then sighed. “Get in the house, dumbass.”

“I never really was welcome here… was I?”

I am not finishing this anytime soon

Godzilla's Antarctica Entrance rescored with “Roundabout” by Yes (ft. To Be Continued).

Credit to The Toho Society on Twitter for the musicless scene.

To Be Continued (Bakugan Edition)

Revenges I did :D

Grace for Kiss_Ghostie (https://artfight.net/~Kiss_ghosti)

Carl for CheckersNToast (https://artfight.net/~CheckersNToast)

⭐️Drabble Stories #1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Human.

Why have you come back? You were almost at the barrier, closing in on the end of your journey, and yet... Here you are, near the beginning of your adventure once again.

Did you really miss my presence that much?

Or did you just want to see him before you left the underground?

...

I-I see.

Although I didn’t want to admit it, I knew that you would come back to Snowdin eventually, back to us... but that wasn’t the reason why I thought you would do so, nor how I hoped you would do so either.

...

Well, I’m not going to ‘beat around the bush’ as one would say.

Human, my brother has told me many stories about you and your recent... escapades... And I can only hope from the bottom of my soul that they were all lies.

He told me that you hurt people.

He told me that you made my friends go away.

He told me that’s you needed to be stopped.

And He told me that you would be coming for us next...

It seems he was right about that one.

...

And yet, despite what my brother has said about you, I still believe in you and your decisions. I mean, you are my friend, Human.

No...

You are our friend.

Even if Sans doesn’t agree with that sentiment right now.

...

I still believe that you could still be a good person if you tried. That you could still be a good person if you just... stopped. If you just stopped all the violence, and stopped all the lies, everything would be okay again!

We could go back to the way everthing used to be!

We could solve puzzles together, a-and we could make some spaghetti and—

...

Your face says it all, Frisk.

You aren’t interested in those types of things anymore, now are you?

...No, no you’re not.

You...

You don’t care about me at all.

You don’t care about the friendship we shared, nor do you care about all the memories we made together.

All you care about now is LOVE.”

{To be continued..?}

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was a story prompt that has been stuck in my head for a couple of days, so I finally got around to typing it out ;p

The story was based on the idea of a pacifist run that was almost completed, but instead of going up against Asgore, Frisk decides to go back and betray all of their friends (which ends up turning the world into a genocide run); The section I decided to write about was the initial conversation in between Frisk and Papyrus when they met for the second time, which conveniently helped give backstory without me having to write out a mini-prologue. There was supposed to be more, which included a scene of Sans forcing Papyrus to fight, but I decided to leave it there for now. Maybe one day I will make this into an actual story! ;D

(Feel free to reblog, but please don’t repost/reuse without my permission!)

-FanPan-

P.s. Sorry about the shift in mood from all my other posts, but when I write I like to make in dramatic!