It's Decided, I'm Going To Rewatch Supernatural Because Apparently The First Time Wasn't Painful Enough.

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)

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 .

Everyone, look at the amazing art of baby Ace that my little sister made for the chapter 7 of my story Children of the Sea. Know that I suffered to get this drawing (I had to accompany her on a ride that I hate at the amusement park) but it was worth it. I want to squeeze his cheeks, he's adorable.

“So Ace? What hat do you want to go out?” Rouge asked, holding a hat in each hand in front of Ace. Ace grabbed the frog hat with his little hands and started drooling all over it. “Excellent choice,” Rouge congratulated him, gently placing the hat on his head. Rouge added some sunglasses for good measure before strapping Ace into the baby carrier. As usual, Ace, who had decided that the baby carrier was his number one enemy from day one, began to stir. After successfully wrangling up Ace, Rouge matched her sunglasses with Ace's and left to join the rest of her family.

As a writer, receiving long comments with quotes and rambles is the best feeling in the world. There's nothing wrong with hearts, keyboard smashes or even silent readers, but the energy boost to keep writing that some of the comments I've had have given me is incomparable.

And as a reader, I often read my favourite fanfics on my laptop with two tabs open to comment my thoughts on real time. It works great for me !

BTW i see these posts all the time like "ohhh i dont know what to comment on fics.." and every response is "keysmashes! or hearts!! anything works :3" and thats GREAT!! thats helpful!!

but: consider. if u genuinely like analyzing writing.. do u know ur just allowed to go through and quote your favorite parts and ramble abt what they mean to u and the author will LOSE IT WITH HYPE?

genuinely. i felt SO WEIRD the first time i did it.. but like. holy shit authors love it. its crack for authors. the first time i did it, it was on a fic that hadnt updated in half a year, give or take, and the author made 3 updates that month BECAUSE OF MY COMMENT.

LIKE. as an author every comment is INCREDIBLE!!! but also, dont feel like your comment has to be short or otherwise ur invasive or smth!! authors ADORE long comments more than ANYTHING.

AO3 Wrapped 2024 [Writer's Edition]

As I only started writing in 2023 and haven't been able to write since October because of my exams, it's not as much as I would have liked but here is my AO3 Wrapped 2024 ! Based on this post if you want to do it too.

Sorry if this is long, I loved doing this and looking back on my year of writing.

How many words have you written this year?

I published 445,335 words this year on AO3, so I probably wrote more but I have no idea how to count them. But I'm cheating a little since all my One Piece stories are in French and English.

How many works did you publish this year?

I've published 35 works in English, 61 if we count the French translations.

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

At The Dawn Of Time, a story where Portgas D. Ace travels back in time for a day after Marineford to meet his mother Portgas D. Rouge while she is still pregnant with him in Baterilla. His arrival has no impact whatsoever on the timeline, all events remain the same after his visit but it has such a big impact on Ace, on how he sees himself, how he sees his parents and the world. It's the moment where he learns to love and forgive himself with a little help from his mom and it means so much to me, especially at the time I wrote it.

I love this story for all it represents and I also think it's really well written. Kudos to me.

What work of yours has the most hits?

It's Children of the Sea, my story about Rouge adopting Shanks and Buggy after Roger's death, with 24,428 hits ! But considering that it's also my longest ongoing project, that was expected.

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

Between the Waves and the Stars, a story for Nami's birthday (One Piece) about the first few weeks of the crew with just her, Luffy and Zoro. I love this story but I honestly didn't expect so many people to agree with me and take the time to write so many lovely and kind comments.

(The title may also be the inspiration for my username. I love astral imagery, sue me.)

Favorite title you used

I hate having to come up with titles for my stories, it either comes to me directly because I pull it directly from a song or I stare at my story for hours trying to come up with a title. That said, I think one I'm very prouf of is Gold On The Fingers, Gold In The Heart because the title plays on Roger's name and the attraction Rouge already feels for him without admitting it to herself.

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

These are not stories that I have already published but I have a whole series of stories inspired by Livingston's music and lyrics.

Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

The focus of my stories is rarely romantic and I focus more on platonic and familial relationships, especially and equally Ace & Sabo & Luffy from One Piece and Dean & Sam from Supernatural. However, the romantic pairing I've written the most about has to be Rouge/Roger from One Piece.

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

If we talk about romantic pairing, Rouge/Roger (One Piece). There is not enough content on them and if I have to do it myself, I will.

What work was the quickest to write?

Ghosts of the Past (And Those of the Present), I have a series where I write stories for One Piece characters' birthdays (which I've totally neglected since September, sorry) and I had forgotten about Perona's birthday until the last minute but in a few hours, I wrote almost 3000 words in one go. I've been trying to chase that high ever since.

What work took you the longest to write?

It's obviously Children of the Sea, for once because it's my longest work but also because I have a lot of things to tell and I want to do it in the most perfect way possible. The first chapters were super easy but I'm at an impasse in my story where I would already like to be at the next arc of the plot. BUT it's the first thing I'm going to get back to when my finals are over.

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

So many, honestly I'm drowning. I'd say I have over twenty and sometimes I wish my brain would just shut up.

But I'm also eager to start writing them properly. One mistake I won't make next year though is to start posting without a head start no matter how much I want to.

What’s your longest work of the year?

Once again, Children of the Sea (the French version anyway) with 59,166 if my calculations are correct. And I'm only at the beginning of the second part of the first book. At this rate, I'm going to get my master's degree before I finish this story I think, but it's so worth it.

What’s your shortest work of the year?

Blood On The Car Seats with 905 words, a story about Bobby's last moments with Dean and Sam in Supernatural.

Before starting Whumptober I rarely if ever wrote stories under 2,000 words but with the time constraint I had to learn to say less sometimes which was both very painful and educational.

What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

Without surprises, Children of the Sea. This work is my child and my sister has instructions on what to do if I die before I finish writing it.

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

Canon Compliant, which is a bit boring so I'll go with my second most used which is Found Family and totally represents my writing.

Your favorite character to write this year?

PORTGAS D. ROUGE! I love her dearly, she's my wife and my everything. And then I remember that we see her a grand total of once in the manga, which makes me sad. Oda, give me more content on Rouge and my life is yours.

But more seriously, since we have so little content, she has, even more than the other characters of One Piece, became my character and she more than anyone else has made me want to write an original book one day.

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

Luffy. I love him, he's one of my favorite characters in One Piece but he's so hard to write. He's so complex and well written with so much natural in the manga that I'm always afraid of not doing him justice and making him a two-dimensional character. And don't even get me started on when I have to write from his point of view, a real nightmare. But I love him, he's so interesting.

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

I don't know yet, I have a lot of ideas.

A lot of them are about Dean/Castiel (Supernatural) or Nami/Vivi (One Piece) if we're talking about romantic relationships. But if we're talking about platonic relationships, all the dynamics I'm going to be able to explore in Children of the Sea when I finally get all the characters to meet.

All the relationships, whether seen romantically or platonically, in the Straw Hat crew are also fascinating to me. I have a collection of one-shots about them in progress, I might have to pick it up again.

Which work of yours have you reread the most?

I have no idea, I must have reread all my stories once or twice to see if I could expand on this particular idea. The last one I reread though was Day Trip with Grandpa, the story about Garp's birthday (One Piece) because I got a comment on it today.

How many kudos in total did you get this year?

4,130 kudos, which is huge! Thank you so much to everyone who has ever left a kudo on one of my stories, I love you, I cherish you and I hope your pillow is always cold on both sides.

Which work has the most comments?

It's Children of the Sea again but that doesn't surprise me since most of my other stories are one-shots.

Did you do any collaborative works this year? Did you write any gifts this year? Did you receive any gifts this year?

No, maybe something for next year!

What’s your most common category?

Gen, and by a long way! Not surprising.

What do you listen to while writing?

I listen to absolutely anything and everything, probably more music with a dramatic vibe or a theme that is related to the story. I made a playlist a while ago for Children of the Sea, but I need to update it.

Favorite work you wrote this year?

Argh, I honestly like all of my stories, or almost, but I'm going to say At The Dawn of Time or Children of the Sea. I've talked about them enough already so I won't do it again but they really hold a special place for me. Coincidentally or not, both have Rouge as a central character.

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

[Not pictured, me freezing for ten minutes because I don't know which line is my favorite.]

Chapter 14, Children of the Sea

Excerpt from the correspondence between Portgas D. Rouge & Gol D. Roger, 17 years ago RETURNED TO SENDER My love, It has been seven years since your death today and even more since the last time I saw you, touched you and kissed you. I learned that the cells of the body renew themselves, and that every seven years, each cell of our bodies is different. Which means that from now on, no part of my body has been in contact with you. Only my soul and my heart. And the trace you left there can never be erased. I will forever carry you in my heart and in each of my actions. You will always be a part of me.

I don't know if this is my absolute favorite, but this letter and this whole chapter are very close to my heart.

Biggest surprise while writing this year?

I can write! All the stuff I was hesitant to write, fight scenes, romantic moments with tension. It may not be my strong point (yet) but I can do it! I can basically write anything I want.

“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

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.”

So, I was reading the prompts for Whumptober, just for funsies. What do you mean more than half (so far) can apply to Ace? How is this child so traumatized?

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? :)