#sorry to be snarky but I’m about to have an aneurysm

[tevanbuckley]

I mean, this is a massive oversimplification of what happened. Just because this is the “just in case” finale they wrote doesn’t mean it’s what they wanted it to be. I’ve said before that everything in 6x18 screams last minute rewrites to me and I wouldn’t be surprised if the initial plan was to end on a cliffhanger (potentially multiple) and they had to scramble to wrap everything up at the 11th hour. We don’t really know how the renewal process went down, who knew what and when or how certain/uncertain it all was. And this isn’t me arguing that the writers are playing 4D chess or that they have some grand plan we can’t imagine, just that they’re human and working under human limitations. So no, just because this is the finale that aired doesn’t mean they think it’s the best possible endgame for these characters/arcs just the best they could come up with under the irl constraints of an actual TV production. And by that metric I don’t think they did all that terrible a job.

Who knows maybe this is their dream ending, or maybe they think they hit the last minute changes out of the park and decide to stick with it, or maybe s7 will air and they’ll immediately backtrack on a bunch of stuff because they (a bit tellingly imo) left a bunch of room to do that.

this is a great chance to save people from heartbreak. this is the finale they wrote. This is the endgame they want for every character and we don’t know if they’re gonna change their mind. In fact, they probably won’t and the final episode ever might be exactly like this. So if 6x18 affected your mental or physical health in any way I recommend using this 8 months hiatus to actually consider if you want to put yourself through that again. next time we might not even the luxury of thinking “thank god there’s another season”.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Bloody Mary | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions/descriptions of parental death, implication of suicide (take care of yourselves, my loves)

Word Count: 6379

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You and Dean hadn’t talked much since the events on the plane. In fact, the two of you barely looked at each other anymore. Not out of disgust, your stomach just fluttered every time you caught a glimpse of him for reasons you couldn’t explain. You didn’t exactly like him, but you definitely didn’t hate him, either. In fact, your most recent journal drawing had been of your hand wrapped in Dean’s. You smiled at the memory.

Sam slept in the front seat while Dean drove the three of you to Toledo, Ohio. You had actually been the one to find this case. Steven Shoemaker’s eyes had bled when he died. According to his obituary, his death had been swift. He was much too young to have had a stroke or an aneurysm, and seemed to be in good health. Therefore, you concluded this was your kind of gig. 

Sam began to stir, catching your attention. You straightened in your seat as the Impala came to a halt in front of a large hospital complex. Sam’s stirring and whimpering was getting worse by the second.

Dean shook his brother. “Sam, wake up.”

He bolted straight up, confused, taking both you and Dean by surprise. After taking a second to catch his breath, he said, “I take it I was having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, another one,” Dean reminded him.

“Hey, at least I got some sleep.” Sam’s faux optimism caused you to shake your head. 

“You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this.” 

Apparently, Sam was choosing the latter. “Are we here?” he asked.

Dean was happy to drop the subject, too. “Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

The three of you began to approach the morgue wing of the hospital. You noticed Sam was holding the newspaper you’d circled Mr. Shoemaker’s death in. “So what do you think really happened to this guy?”

“That's what we're gonna find out. Ladies first,” you joked, holding the door to the first floor of the hospital open for the brothers. 

After making your way through the labyrinth of hallways, you found the dimly lit and vacated morgue. In the large room were two desks. One was labeled with a nameplate for Dr. D. Feiklowicz with neatly stacked packets, files, and books atop it. The other was a chaotic mess of stray papers labeled “Morgue Technician.”

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yeah. We're the, uh, med students,” Dean responded.

“Sorry?” the morgue tech asked.

“Oh, Doctor—” Dean gave his best shot at the name, “—Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He— uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper.”

“Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch.” The morgue tech was smug, snarky, and clearly lacked people skills.

‘No wonder they have him locked up down here,’ you thought.

Dean changed course. “Oh, well, he said, uh— oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?”

“Sorry, I can't.” The morgue tech gave a tight-lipped smile. “Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.”

“An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then,” Dean tried. “Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—”

“Uh, look, man,” the technician mocked, “No.”

Dean laughed a little and turned around, mumbling. “I'm gonna hit him in his face I swear.”

You took the opportunity to try a different tactic. You leaned down on the morgue technician’s desk, doing your best to take advantage of the fact that he probably has had little contact with women. “Please?” you asked innocently. “These guys are my tutors. I’m really struggling in this class, and I just—” you bit your lip, “—I really need a good grade on this paper.” You used your arms to push your breasts together. “Please?” 

You could tell you had him on the ropes. “Uh…” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cleavage. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I guess I could do that for you.”

You smiled innocently. “Thank you so much.”

He began leading the three of you into an attached room to where the bodies were stored for autopsies. You turned around and winked at the boys with a smug smile. Dean rolled his eyes.

The morgue technician pulled the rack Steven Shoemaker’s corpse rested on out from the wall of stainless steel cells.

“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding,” Sam said.

The technician pulled the sheet back from over Steven’s face. “More than that. They practically liquefied.” The poor man’s eye sockets were still bloody, and they hadn’t yet been sewn shut. You could see the dried blood peeking out from under his partially-closed eyes. 

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean suggested.

“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone,” the technician answered.

“What's the official cause of death?” Sam asked.

“Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure.”

‘Nope, he’s way too young and in much too good health for that to have been the cause,’ you thought, but kept the thought at bay.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You didn’t like playing dumb, but with this guy, it was necessary. 

“Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen,” the tech answered. Although, he was more responding to your boobs than to your face. You fought the urge to snap in front of his face and get his eyes back on target. 

“The eyes?” Sam asked. “What would cause something like that?”

“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims,” the morgue tech shrugged.

Dean’s tone was still aggravated with the guy. “Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?”

“That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor.”

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper.”

“I'm not really supposed to show you that.” The technician looked back at you.

You suppressed the bile rising in your throat. Before you could do anything else, Dean stepped in front of you and pulled out his wallet. He shoved two twenties at him, hoping that would be enough. You could see the technician deflate, but accepted the money anyway.

Dean’s actions puzzled you. But you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t flutter at the thought of him doing it out of protectiveness of you. 

When you had finished looking over the police report, the three of you began making your way out of the building. 

“Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing,” Sam suggested after having seen the report. 

“How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean replied. 

“Uh, almost never.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, let's go talk to the daughter.” Sam started picking up his pace out of the building. You were happy to see him getting his mind off Jessica and back into the job.

“Wait, Dean.” You grabbed his arm lightly before he could catch up to his brother.

He turned to face you. 

“Why’d you do that?” you asked. 

“Do what?” He furrowed his brow.

“Give the morgue tech your hard-earned poker money,” you half-smiled. 

“I just didn’t wanna watch you prostitute yourself for information,” he replied gruffly, turning away from you. 

You took offense. “Hey, I was not—”

He turned back to you and brushed a hand over his hair. “You’re right, you werent.” He paused again, and his voice came back quiet. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you, ‘s all.”

Your heart swelled in your chest and your cheeks began to heat up. “Thanks, by the way,” you said as you continued walking. You nudged his shoulder with yours. “You’re going soft on me, Winchester.”

***

When you arrived at the Shoemaker house, you hadn’t expected to be in the midst of the funeral gathering. If you did, you would’ve dressed more appropriately. Given this fact, you felt slightly awkward when you knocked on the door. A man let you in and pointed you toward the backyard and the two daughters of Steven Shoemaker.

The two sisters were sitting with two blonde girls near the firepit. Dean addressed the older, dark-haired girl. “You must be Donna, right?”

“Yeah,” the girl responded.

“Hi, uh, we're really sorry,” Sam lamented.

“Thank you.”

“I'm Sam, this is Dean and (Y/N). We worked with your dad.”

The girl looked at her friend before looking back at your trio. “You did?” She seemed surprised. 

“Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke…” Sam trailed off.

“I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now,” one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends spoke up. 

“It's okay. I'm okay,” she assured her friend. 

“Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?” Dean asked.

Donna shook her head. “No.”

The younger sister, who looked to be about twelve, turned around. “That's because it wasn't a stroke.”

You were intrigued.

“Lily, don't say that,” her sister urged her.

“What do you mean?” you asked the young girl.

“I'm sorry, she's just upset,” her sister responded for her.

“No,” Lily wasn’t having it. “It happened because of me.”

Donna placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sweetie, it didn't.”

You got down on Lily’s eye level. “Why would you say that?”

“Right before he died, I said it,” she said softly.

“Said what?”

She lowered her voice even more. “Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror. She took his eyes, that's what she does.”

Donna interrupted. “That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault.”

“I think your sister's right, Lily,” Dean broke in. “There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?”

Lily tried to take this in. She shook her head. 

“Exactly,” you told her. “I’m sorry, we weren’t trying to upset you. We’ll just be leaving.” You pulled the boys away from Donna’s group and went back into the house. Making sure no one saw you three, you crept upstairs to the bathroom where Mr. Shoemaker passed away. 

Sam pushed the door open, and you noticed some dried blood still on the floor. “The Bloody Mary legend. Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?”

“Not that I know of,” Dean replied. He walked ahead of Sam into the bathroom. 

Sam stooped to the floor and touched the dried blood. “I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”

“Yeah, but maybe it’s fine everywhere else, but not here,” you suggested.

“The place where the legend began?” Sam tried.

You shrugged as Dean opened the medicine cabinet. 

“But according to the legend, the person who says B—” you stopped yourself and noticed your reflection in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. “You know what is the one that dies. But here—”

“Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah,” Dean finished for you.

Sam rose from the floor. “Right.”

“Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you-know-who scratches your eyes out.”

You considered Dean’s words for a moment. “It's worth checking in to.” You went to leave the bathroom when you noticed one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends approaching you.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked. 

“We— We had to go to the bathroom,” you answered, not believing yourself.

“Who are you?” the girl pressed further.

Dean stepped closer to you from behind. “Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad.”

She shook her head with scrunched eyebrows. “He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.”

“No, I know, I meant—” 

She cut Dean off. “And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming.”

Sam put a hand up to calm her. “Alright, alright, we think something happened to Donna's dad.”

The blonde looked at you three like you were stupid. “Yeah, a stroke.”

“I don’t think so,” you argued. “He was pretty young to be having a stroke. His eyes wouldn’t have liquified if he’d had a stroke. I think it might be something else.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Like what?’

“Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth,” Sam responded.

“So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead,” Dean snarked.

“Who are you, cops?” she asked, her brows still furrowed.

“Something like that,” you shrugged.

“I'll tell you what. Here.” Sam took a piece of paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket and wrote his phone number down. “If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary, just give us a call.” He handed her the piece of paper before leading you and Dean down the hallway.

Your next stop was the public library. 

“Alright, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town,” Dean began. “There's gonna be some sort of proof— Like a local woman who died nasty.”

“Yeah, but this is hard. The legend is unbelievably widespread with hundreds of different versions of who she actually is,” you rebutted. “One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more.”

“Okay, then, so what are we supposed to be looking for?” Dean asked you.

Sam answered. “Every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.”

“Well, that sounds annoying,” the older brother commented. 

“No, it won't be so bad,” Sam replied, “As long as we…”

You cleared your throat, gesturing to the only two computers in the library that had “Out of Order” signs on them. 

Sam chuckled humorlessly. “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”

The three of you picked up boxes of the town’s newspapers and numerous books of Toledo’s public records and brought them back to Sam and Dean’s motel room. 

You were beginning to go cross-eyed after reading for so long. Minutes turned into hours. Dean was sitting in a chair, you were sprawled across the floor with papers and books scattered around you, and Sam eventually fell asleep.

You stood up to stretch your legs and noticed his closed eyes. “Poor fella,” you said quietly. “How’s he been sleeping?”

“How d’you think?” Dean responded, eyes never leaving his book.

You nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Maybe we should get him to take something,” you suggested.

Dean chuckled. “He won’t do it.”

“Is it just because I’m suggesting it that you’re saying that, or do you really think he won’t take it?” you countered.

He gave you a deadpan expression. 

“You Winchesters are just about the most stubborn people I’ve ever met in my life. Including your dad,” you jested. You heard Dean chuckle a little, too.

“And I wanted to tell you,” you started, “I understand why you’d suspect me in your dad’s disappearance.”

He looked away from his book and over at you. “What do you mean?”

“What you said back in Colorado? The Wendigo case? I get it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re still on that?”

“I mean, yeah, that was just about the most heated fight we’ve had. It kinda stuck with me,” you answered honestly, looking down at your stripey-sock-covered feet. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

A moment passed silently.

“And I, um—” you took a deep breath, “I want you to trust me.” You looked back at Dean who was studying you carefully.

The tense moment was interrupted by Sam jolting awake in his bed. “Why'd you let me fall asleep?”

“Cause I'm an awesome brother.” Dean’s attention was back on his book. “So what did you dream about?”

“Lollipops and candy canes,” the younger brother responded hazily while staring up at the ceiling.

You laughed humorlessly.

“Did you guys find anything?” Sam asked.

“Oh, besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean responded sarcastically. “No. I've looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror—”

“And a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave—” you chimed in.

“But no Mary,” Dean finished for you.

“Maybe we just haven't found it yet,” Sam tried.

“I've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know… eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing. There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary,” Dean said.

Sam’s phone rang just as his brother finished talking. “Hello?” A look of concern crossed his face. He was trying to calm whoever it was on the other end down.

You waited until he got off the phone to bombard him with questions. “What? What happened?”

“Charlie,” he told you. “Her friend’s dead.”

***

Charlie sobbed as she relayed the story of what happened to her friend Jill. “And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her— her eyes. They were gone.”

You had met her in a park not an hour after she had called Sam.

“I'm sorry,” the latter responded.

“And she said it,” Charlie told you. “I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?”

“No, you're not insane,” you said.

“Oh, god, that makes me feel so much worse.” You feared that might be the case.

Sam was honest with her. “Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained.”

“And we're gonna stop it,” Dean assured Charlie, “but we could use your help.”

You knew exactly where Dean was going with this. And thankfully, Charlie obliged. She snuck you and the boys into Jill’s room through the window. Dean and Sam gave you a boost into the second story room before throwing up Dean’s duffel bag.

“What did you tell Jill's mom?” you asked Charlie.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things,” she replied simply. “I hate lying to her.”

You heard someone closing the blinds and curtains behind you. “Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights,” Dean instructed her.

She obeyed but asked, “What are you guys looking for?”

“We'll let you know as soon as we find it,” the older brother responded.

Sam handed you a digital camera. “Hey, night vision!” You turned it on. You aimed the camera at Dean.

“Do I look like Paris Hilton?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing an amused smile. You walked over to Jill’s closet door and began filming the mirror on it. 

“So I don't get it,” Sam began. “I mean, the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?”

You shrugged. 

“Beats me,” Dean answered. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke,” Charlie replied.

“Yeah, well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time.”

You had made your way over to the bathroom and filmed around the mirror. You stopped when you noticed a trickle of something running from behind it. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?” He came over to you. 

“Look at this.” You showed him the substance oozing from behind the mirror.

Sam looked to his brother. “There's a black light in the trunk, right?” 

While Dean left to get the light, you and Sam pulled the mirror off the wall. When Dean returned, you could see a handprint and the name “Gary Bryman” illuminated by the black light. 

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie asked.

You looked up at her. “You know who that is?”

She shook her head. “No.”

You learned from Sam’s research and Charlie that Jill had killed Gary Bryman, an eight-year-old boy, in a hit and run accident. Dean then decided you needed to return to Donna’s house. When you pulled the medicine cabinet mirror off the wall, sure enough, there was another handprint and the name “Linda Shoemaker.” You learned from Donna that her mother had overdosed on sleeping pills. You had left Charlie at Donna’s house to comfort her friend after you and the boys had upset her with your questions about her mother’s death. 

You then traveled to Fort Wayne, Indiana to investigate the death of a woman named Mary Worthington. She had died the same way these victims were; bleeding from the sockets where her eyes used to be. You spoke to the detective who was the lead on her case. He believed she spent her last moments trying to expose her killer she was having an affair with. She went as far as to start spelling out the name of her killer in her own blood on the back of her mirror. She only got to the third letter of her killer’s name before passing away. It made complete sense to you that her spirit would spend its time exposing the secrets of other murderers. Mary Worthington’s body had been cremated, but the mirror she wrote on had been returned to her family. Now, you and the boys were trying to track down where that mirror had ended up. 

“Oh really?” Sam responded to the man on the phone. “Ah, that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror… Okay, well maybe next time… Alright, thanks.” He hung up.

“So?” you asked.

“So that was Mary's brother,” he informed you. “The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.”

Dean momentarily looked away from the road to his brother. “So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?” 

“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow,” Sam responded.

“Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” you chimed in.

“Yeah, there is. Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped.”

Dean connected the dots. “So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit.”

“Yeah, but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?” you challenged.

“I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.”

“Yeah, I don't know, maybe,” Sam sighed. His phone rang. “Hello?... Charlie?”

***

You and the boys picked up Charlie and brought her to the motel you were staying in. You and the Winchesters were busying yourselves with covering every reflective surface in Sam and Dean’s room with sheets, blankets, jackets; anything. Charlie’s gorgeous blonde hair was knotted and messy, her eyes were puffy from crying but remained closed, and her knees were drawn into her chest. 

Sam sat on the bed next to Charlie. “Hey, hey, it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, alright?”

She looked up slowly. 

“Now listen,” he began softly. “You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?” Charlie’s voice trembled.

“No. No. Not anytime soon,” the brunet assured her. 

You sat on the floor in front of her and put a hand on her knee. “We need to know what happened, babe.”

“We were in the bathroom.” Her eyes brimmed with tears again. “Donna said it.”

“That's not what we're talking about,” Dean stated. There was something dark behind his tone. “Something happened, didn't it? In your life— .a secret— where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?”

The tears were flowing from her eyes now. “I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.” She pulled her knees back to her chest and buried her face between them. 

You felt completely horrible for her. But there was no time for a therapy session because you and the boys were off to that Toledo antique store where Mary’s mirror was being kept.

Dean sped down the road despite the pouring rain which you deeply wanted to protest against. You remained silent anyway.

“You know, her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault.” Dean broke the silence.

“You know spirits don't exactly see shades of gray, Dean. Charlie had a secret, somebody died, and that's good enough for Mary,” you told him.

“I guess,” he shrugged.

“You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror,” Sam chimed in.

Dean turned his head to his brother. “Why, what do you mean?”

“Well, Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror, so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”

“Well, how do you know that's going to work?” Dean asked. 

Sam shook his head. “I don't; not for sure.”

“Well who's gonna summon her?” his brother’s tone got a little panicked.

“I will. She'll come after me,” Sam replied solemnly.

“You know what, that's it.” Dean pulled over to the side of the road. “This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night— it's gonna kill you. Now, listen to me, it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don't blame you.” Sam’s voice cracked.

“Well, you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done,” Dean responded sharply.

Sam tried to shake his emotion away. “I could've warned her.”

“About what? You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway,” Dean said.

“No you don't,” was all Sam could muster.

“I don't what?” 

“You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything.”

You had been trying to stay out of it, but couldn’t hold it back anymore. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?” 

You and Dean were taken aback. “No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.” 

“Guys, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel, clenched his jaw, and pulled back out onto the road. The air was heavy and tense in the car. You sat back in your chair with your arms crossed over your chest. No one spoke for the rest of the drive.

When you reached the shop, you picked the lock on the door to reveal dozens of mirrors. 

“Well, that's just great,” Dean grumbled. He pulled out the picture you’d gotten from the detective in Indiana of Mary’s body next to the mirror. “Alright, let's start looking.”

The three of you split up. You were an incredibly detail-oriented person, but even still, all of the mirrors seemed the same to you. 

“Maybe they've already sold it,” Dean called from across the room.

Your flashlight came to rest on a mirror you could swear you’d seen before. “I don't think so. C’mere, Dean.”

He came over to you and held up the photo to the mirror. And sure enough, it was a match. 

“You sure about this?” Dean asked his brother. 

Sam nodded and handed you his flashlight. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

You whipped your head in the direction of a light coming through the store.

“I'll go check that out. Stay here, be careful,” Dean ordered. “Smash anything that moves.” He crawled away from you and you heard him distantly say, “Crap.”

You paid no mind to Dean as you tightened your grip on the crowbar. 

You heard a whooshing sound behind you and wheeled around. In the mirror was Mary. You sprang to action and smashed your crowbar through the dead center of it. 

You could hear a distorted version of Sam’s voice coming from behind you, but before you could aid him, your own reflection caught your attention. It wasn’t quite syncing with your movements; instead looking at you menacingly. 

Before you could move to hit it, you felt an insane pressure coming from behind your eyes, your throat constricted, and blood began to ooze down your face. 

“You can’t keep running, (Y/N),” your reflection told you. “How could you? How could you be so careless?”

The blood dripping from your eyes began to mix with your tears. You didn’t have enough breath to protest. You began to sink to the floor, the crowbar clanging to the ground.

“It’s your fault that they’re gone. Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you fight to keep them alive? Why did you have to kill them? Your guilt should eat you alive. You don’t deserve another family. You know you don’t deserve to be happy again. You know your recklessness will get these boys killed, too. You are so selfish! And your brother! If you hadn’t done what you did, he would still be alive, too. You are worthless. All you bring is death and—” 

The pressure around your throat released when Dean’s crowbar went through the mirror. He barely spared you a second look before going over to his brother. 

“Sam, Sammy!” you heard from behind you. 

You clutched at your throat and began to cry. You knew Dean had turned cold once more because he heard what your reflection said.

Sam groaned in pain as you saw Dean shouldering his brother and pulling him toward the exit of the shop. 

“C’mon, (Y/N),” Sam urged you. 

You shakily stood and did your best to follow the brothers out. Your dizziness caused you to fall back down to the ground on top of shards of glass, making you yelp as they pierced your hands. 

“Help her, Dean!” you heard Sam demand. 

Dean came to your side, clearly in no hurry, and cradled you in his arms. Before he could get anymore than two steps, you noticed Mary crawling out of the frame of her original mirror. Her dark hair was matted and fell in front of her face. Her dress was tattered, and her limbs moved in an inhuman manner; cracking with every movement. You and Dean were sent flying across the floor toward Sam, and the bleeding of your eyes started again.

You looked to the mirror inches from your head. Despite your weakness, you forced yourself to grab it and turn its face toward Mary.

“You killed them!” you heard her reflection cry. “All those people! You killed them!” Mary started choking just as you had and then melted into a pool of blood on the ground. You threw the mirror you’d been holding and shattered it completely.

You dropped your head back to the floor.

“Hey Sam?” you heard Dean say.

“Yeah?”

“This has got to be like,what, six hundred years of bad luck?” the older brother joked. 

Sam chuckled weakly. You couldn’t even muster up a laugh due to the bile rising in your throat. Memories were eating away at you, and the fact that Dean had heard your reflection was only adding to your anxiety. Your breath began to quicken, but you did your best to soothe yourself.

“(Y/N).” Sam drew you out of your trance. “Can you stand?” 

You tried your best to, but couldn’t. Dean squatted down next to you. “C’mon.” He motioned for you to let him carry you. You complied. You looked up at his chiseled face. You swore he was handcrafted by the gods; perhaps Adonis himself. Your hazy mind couldn’t focus on anything aside from his beautiful green eyes. You had so much to say to him about what he’d heard. You knew he didn’t think highly of you, but your relationship had begun to get better. You didn’t want, well, you, to ruin it all now. 

“Dean, I—” you started.

He cut you off. “We’ll talk later,” he said gruffly. Despite his cold and guarded tone, he put you down gently in the back of the Impala.

You ended up falling asleep in the back of the Impala. When you next awoke, you had been tucked into your bed in the motel. Your boots had been discarded, your jacket had been removed, and your key that you kept in your jacket pocket was now on the nightstand beside you. The gesture was sweet, but your mind immediately started reeling about the conversation you needed to have with Dean. 

You checked the clock; it was ten in the morning. You were surprised how late you had slept, and figured the boys had dropped Charlie off; potentially had even left town without you. Your anxiety getting the best of you, you rushed over to their door. Dean opened it when you knocked.

“Hey,” you breathed.

“Hey,” he echoed.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded. 

You led Dean back to your room. You sat cross-legged on your bed and Dean chose the chair across from you.

“Okay, um,” you sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Who’d you kill, (Y/N)?” came his straightforward and dry response. “Why did it say you’d get us killed, too?”

You looked down at the floor, the tears beginning to well up in your waterline. “I wanna tell you, I just—”

“Look at me.” His voice was firm.

You did.

“I need to know.”

You took a deep breath. “When I was eighteen, I was coming back home from one of my first solo hunts. My dad had sent me to take out a vampire nest on the edge of the town we were staying in. There were only three vamps there at the time. I got so excited that I had nuked them all, I didn’t account for the fact that all three of them seemed like newbies. I didn’t… register, I guess, that one or more was probably missing.” You averted his gaze, struggling to keep your voice level. “And so, I left. I went back to the house we were squatting in, and, um, one of them followed me.” Tears began to roll down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart, that’s not your—”

You shook your head. “It is. He turned them, Dean. He turned my mom and my dad. I— I had no choice. I had to—” Your sentence was cut off by a sob, but Dean understood what you meant. You wiped a hand over your face and did your best to continue your story. “I sat with their bodies for a long time after. When my brother came back and saw what I’d done, he drew his gun on me. He, um, he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t let me explain. He couldn’t shoot me, though. He… He just… left. And then— And then, his best friend called me a few days later.” The tears came back. “He found my brother’s car.” You pressed a hand to your mouth. “And he was dead in it.” Broken sobs wracked your body once again. “It’s my fault that they’re gone, Dean, it’s my fault.”

You couldn’t bear to look at him. You knew how disgusted he must be with you. And then, you felt the bed dip beside you. Then, a hand on your arm. Then, he pulled you to his chest, and you melted into his embrace. Your cries still shook your body, but Dean’s strong arms held you together. He sat with you like that for a long time. 

You and the boys had decided to leave Toledo sooner rather than later after Sam told you what Dean had done to the cops in front of the antique store. Long after leaving Toledo, Dean broke the comfortable silence that had settled over the car.

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.”

The younger Winchester sighed. “Look, you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.”

Your eyes remained trained on Sam as he looked out the window at something you were passing by. His expression went from confused to scared to saddened, and you knew he was seeing Jessica. After all, you had no doubt your face mirrored his every time you saw your mom standing on a street corner or your dad’s bloodied body lying in your footpath. In time, you knew he would learn to live with it just as you had. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz

[astoriias]

{ cisgender woman, she/her } ❝ Thank god women learned to whisper / though I crave a megaphone. ❞ huh, who’s CAITRIONA BALFE? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually ASTORIA MALFOY (NEÉ GREENGRASS). she is a 47 year old PUREBLOOD witch who is CHIEF WARLOCK OF THE WIZENGAMOT. she is known for being JUDGEMENTAL, DISHONEST, COLD, RIGID, and CALLOUS but also PRACTICAL, DRIVEN, INNOVATIVE, STEADFAST and DISCIPLINED, so that must be why she always reminds me of the song TOMORROW - MINER and BLACK LEATHER BRIEFCASES, THE CLICK OF HIGH HEELS ON TILE FLOORS, THE LINGERING TASTE OF FAIRY FLOSS, BURGUNDY NAIL POLISH, AND PEARL HAIR PINS. i hear she is aligned with NO ONE so be sure to keep an eye on her. 

BIO

Cursed with a blood malediction that left her and her parents preoccupied with maintaining her health throughout early childhood, Astoria grew up without direction, without passion, and without much to do or think about other than staying alive. She did what she was told and completed what was asked of her by her parents: mostly swallowing thick potions that made her head spin and remaining in bed when all she wanted to do was tumble through the lush gardens of the Greengrass estate and scrape her knees like other children. As she grew older and defied Healers’ expectations — making it past 5, then 10, then 15 — Astoria grew weary of the half-life she’d been prescribed. At Hogwarts, she followed her sister Daphne into Slytherin because she didn’t know where else to go. 

It took Astoria almost a year at Hogwarts before she would speak up in class or acknowledge anyone with more than a handful of words — and each time she did her heartbeat would quicken, her face would flush. If she was called on by a professor and — Merlin forbid — got the answer wrong, her eyes would fill with tears, her gaze would shift to the floor, and she wouldn’t be able to breathe. One day, outside her second-year Transfiguration class, an annoying boy named Colin saw her heavy breathing and told her about panic attacks — Astoria’s irrational fear of social situations and new people now made sense.

That same annoying boy became her close friend not long after. It was a month into study sessions by the Black Lake that Astoria Greengrass learned that her Colin, the boy who kept a camera slung around his neck at all times and was so nice to her, was Colin Creevey, yes, that Colin Creevey, who was petrified by a Basilisk a year prior for being MUGGLEBORN. Astoria found that didn’t bother her very much. Sure, she never advertised that they were friends and didn’t freely associate with Colin in public places, but he understood her position or in the very least, didn’t protest it. She even got him to join Herbology club — though she insisted that they enter and exit the greenhouse at different times and never spoke directly, his presence was a comforting balm.

Colin tried to get her to join up with the student resistance that was brewing in her third year — but Astoria knew she wasn’t the type to stir up such trouble. She couldn’t stand with the muggleborns and blood traitors no matter how right they were; she couldn’t risk losing her family. Unlike those in Dumbledore’s Army, Astoria didn’t see this conflict in terms of black and white, good vs. evil — there were plenty of others like her, struggling to find themselves in the midst of conflict, battling tradition and family expectations. She kept out of Umbridge’s way during that time. Kept out of her father’s way during that time — while he had no Dark Mark to speak of, his entrepreneurial hands passed cursed objects and ingredients for poisons to any Dark Lord-aligned wix who wanted them.

Through her friendship with Colin and her time in Herbology Club, Astoria learned she was a talented witch in her own right. Formed an identity outside of being the sick girl everyone doted on. Quietly realized that her muggleborn classmates  — despite what her pureblood indoctrination taught her — were fully-fledged human beings. To someone who didn’t grow up feeling trapped in the (sometimes socially constructed) confines of a blood illness, perhaps her time in Herbology Club wouldn’t seem so transformative. But for Astoria, it was everything.

Nowadays, Astoria is still defying life expectancy estimations and is perhaps best known for her robust political career. She joined the Ministry as a pupil/intern in its Wizengamot Instruction in Magical Law Program (W.I.M.P.), and in the span of twenty-five years has climbed the ranks to barrister’s assistant, barrister, then Wizengamot member, and finally, the youngest Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot in the last hundred years. She is extremely opinionated about the runnings of the legislature and judiciary, and her past two years as Chief Warlock have been marked by her love for procedure, due process, and fairness -- essentially meaning trials are very thorough and very focused on making sure the Ministry doesn’t overstep its bounds. 

BLOOD MALEDICTION

i’m truly on my bullshit and this needs its own section..........,,,,, i’m sorry

I originally started writing Astoria out of pure spite — it enraged and continues to enrage me that all we’re given about this woman is a few lines about her and an off-page (or off-stage, I guess, but Cursed Child is its own beast) death. It makes me mad that she is only defined by her role as a mother and wife to Scorpius and Draco, that she doesn’t get her own ambitions and a life of her own. The racist and sexist underpinnings of the blood malediction/Maledictus concept are par the course for JK but still, bad!

And while I can’t choose for Astoria to have this particular chronic illness and completely divorce it from those origins, I can at least eschew parts of it I don’t like and give a Astoria a rich and fulfilling life with a chronic/potentially terminal illness — not in spite of the blood curse, but because those of us with illnesses and disabilities are people with rich and fulfilling lives, wants, desires, and ambitions.

AN IMPORTANT NOTE:  I try to be really careful about ableist language when I describe this blood malediction and its effects on Astoria’s life — I think that there is so much to explore regarding chronic illness and what, exactly, we constitute as ‘health’ — but I know that I can fall into the traps of my own internalized ableism. If there are terms or concepts here that make players uncomfortable and/or have harmful effects, let me know! I’m happy to make changes.

So anyway!

— origins of the blood malediction

I don’t have this fully worked out, but I think the Greengrass blood malediction stretches back a good ten generations to a very vindictive-in-her-righteous-cause-Muggleborn-witch cursing the family for their refusal to let her marry their son. It’s not limited to just the girls in the family, because I hate that, but it does affect at least one child per generation, so long as the family continues to marry exclusively purebloods — which they have continued to do, not knowing that their bigotry (though in some cases, real love!) is the reason for the curse’s spread. Astoria’s parents mistakenly believed that since the last few cases of the curse had cropped up in different branches of the Greengrass family — distant cousins living on the Continent — that their children would be spared.

— astoria’s symptoms and treatment

Since it’s a blood curse, I figure Astoria’s symptoms manifest as issues both with her blood and with her cardiovascular system at large. I’d compare it to haemophilia. Her blood itself is thin and cannot clot without healing spells and thickening potions, meaning that nosebleeds are frequent, bruising is easy, and bad cuts can be fatal. She’s at high risk for internal bleeding in her joints, and  a big — though often unvoiced fear — of hers is a brain aneurysm that ruptures into a haemorrhage.

(miscarriage tw) These symptoms have waxed and waned her entire life, with particular incidents that have brought her close to death; an accident falling from the garden wall at five, a wayward spell hitting her across the face in second-year DADA, trying for a child. She doesn’t regret that last one — not at all — though it was five weeks after her miscarriage before she was able to stand unassisted, and her Healer’s face when she said “I strongly advise you to not have any more children” haunts her to this day. Scorpius’s birth, possible due to a wonderful surrogate, was alternatively the happiest day of her life. (end miscarriage tw)

Then there come the potions — a barrage of them, to be taken at specific times of day, with extras if she’s bleeding externally or feeling pain in particular areas — that come with side effects like exhaustion, headaches, and nausea. She visits St. Mungo’s once every three months to ensure that the potions are working as intended and has learned to accept her Healers chastising her for the times she skips parts of the regimen or pushes herself too far physically.

PERSONALITY

astoria!!! my love. clearly i have a lot of thoughts and Feelings about her lol,,,,,,,

there isn’t any world or timeline in which astoria would be rushing to join the death eaters -- lol, i’ve always envisioned her being extremely inquisitive and Critical of other people, their motivations, their methods -- this makes her extremely Good at Lawyering and Suspicious of Bullshit. i also have always thought that it was important for her to make a muggleborn friend or two just to really hammer the point home that pureblood nonsense is just that.

still, again, she’s not really motivated by niceness, she doesn’t have a bleeding-heart-sense-of-empathy, she’s kind of snarky and mean. her friends describe her as an acquired taste. 

has a massive sweet tooth. her family is regularly concerned she does not eat enough vegetables.

adores her son. just, absolutely thinks he can do no wrong. she and draco agree that most parents think their child is the most perfect and amazing child in the world, but scorpius actually is the most perfect and amazing child in the world, so. 

a note on astoria and draco: i think draco doesn’t treat her with pity or kid gloves, and has never underestimated her capacity to get shit done in light of her blood curse. and they have an honesty and rapport with each other that astoria hasn’t been able to cultivate with anyone else. they may not be very great people but they’re great partners and great parents. i luv them ok bye

STATS

GENERAL

name. astoria céline malfoy (née greengrass)

nickname. aster (reserved for use by her sister only!)

birthdate. 1 january 1982

place of birth. greengrass residence via midwifery

family. daphne greengrass (sister), draco malfoy (husband), scorpius malfoy (son)

residence. malfoy manor, wiltshire

occupation. chief warlock of the wizengamot

gender identity. woman

romantic orientation. biromantic

sexuality. bisexual

blood status. pureblood

relationship status. married

pets. a scottish terrier named hades

HOGWARTS / MAGIC

house. slytherin

extracurriculars/leadership. herbology club

allegiance. neutral/no one

n.e.w.t. grades charms (o), transfiguration (o), herbology (o), d.a.d.a (a), potions (a), arithmancy, astronomy (o), history of magic (a), ancient runes (e).

wand. willow, nine inches, unicorn hair core

boggart. tbd

patronus. also tbd! my brain hurts 

magical strengths. nonverbal casting, herbology, transfiguration, ancient runes

magical weaknesses. flying, defensive spells, domestic spells

[angelofthequeers]

Hold Me By Both Hands: Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

Chapter 20 | Chapter 22 | AO3 link

At this point, Marinette could pick out the sound of Chat Noir landing on her balcony from the other side of a tornado, so she’s already poking her head out of the hatch before he’s even got a chance to knock.

“Are you really that keen for my ameowzing purresence?” Chat Noir grins. Marinette scolds him with a stern look for his pun before popping back down into her room so that Chat Noir can slip through to join her.

“Next time you make a horrible pun, I’m locking my door,” she says when she’s flopped on her chaise and Chat Noir’s dropping off her bed.

“Ah, but that will never happen,” Chat Noir says. “You see, princess, my puns are literary gold. I’ll never make a horrible one.”

“Some of us would beg to differ,” Marinette mumbles.

“Why are you so meeeean? If I wanted snarky insults, I’d go and see Ladybug.”

Ha. If only he knew. “I’m not the one who begged for scraps on a teenage girl’s balcony,” Marinette says. Chat Noir maturely pokes his tongue out and throws himself on the chaise next to her, and the warmth radiating from his dark leather suit is enough to set off a swarm of ladybugs in Marinette’s stomach. Whyyyyy?

“Marinette?” Black-gloved fingers snap in front of her face, jolting her out of her haze. “Everything okay up there?”

“Y-Yeah. Fine I am!”

Chat Noir’s cheeks pinken as he seems to realise that he’s essentially cuddling into her. “Sorry! Must be awkward – I know you’re still sorting yourself out –”

“Oh, don’t be such a martyr,” Marinette says and pulls him back down into her side so that she can run her fingers through his hair and turn him into purring putty. “Just because I’m not ready for a relationship doesn’t mean that I don’t want my kitty cuddles.”

“You’ve been blabbing to Ladybug,” Chat Noir says, letting out a particularly loud purr when Marinette scratches behind his fake ears. “I thought I could trust you, princess. Now she knows my weaknesses!”

“Tragic,” Marinette deadpans. After twirling a lock of golden hair around her finger, she says, “So…how’s that girl you saved today?”

“I didn’t know you cared about akuma victims,” Chat Noir says, then winces. “Not that I don’t think you care – stop melting my brain!”

Marinette snorts. “No, I get what you mean. I just…feel partly responsible for this one. If I hadn’t panicked and judged wrongly –”

“I’m sure Kagami understands,” Chat Noir says. Ah, Kagami. That’s her name. “Adrien would’ve talked to her, right? He would’ve made sure she understood that you didn’t mean to throw the decision.”

“I still could’ve abstained,” Marinette says.

“Yeah, and then it could’ve taken another two hours,” Chat Noir says. “From what I hear, Adrien and Kagami were pretty evenly matched when it comes to fencing. And I’m sure Kagami would’ve eventually come to terms with your decision without getting turned into Riposte if she was literally anywhere but Paris. It’s on Hawkmoth, not you, Marinette.”

Marinette smiles and snuggles further against Chat Noir, relishing how she’s not only allowed to cuddle with her crush, but she also knows that her crush is requited and that things will only change when she’s ready. It’s such a far cry from crushing afar and panicking over so much as seeing him on TV. “Thanks, kitty. You always know what to say.”

“Of course I do,” Chat Noir says, preening and purring when Marinette’s fingers slip under his chin and her fingernails rake across his skin. “I’m just –”

“Chat, no.”

“– purrmazing like that.”

“No. Bad kitty.” Marinette jabs his chest. “You can’t change puns up like that.”

“So, I can pun?’

Marinette purses her lips. “I’ll allow it, to spare Ladybug from having to endure them all.”

“Yes!”

.

“Are you sure about this?” Kagami Tsurugi whispers as Adrien ducks behind a wall and drags her with him. “Won’t we get in trouble?”

“It’s not our fault that Mr D’Argencourt was sick and didn’t think to tell us before class,” Adrien says. “So long as we’re back at Françoise Dupont by the time fencing class usually ends, no one will know.”

“Your bodyguard will,” Kagami says. She peeks around the corner, then darts back after a moment. “He’s been following us since we snuck out.”

“We’re not really trying to escape him,” Adrien says. “He’s just playing along. So long as he knows where I am and he can keep an eye on me, he lets me get away with a lot.”

“But…why? He must not be a very efficient bodyguard.”

“Because he’d get in trouble every time I snuck away if he didn’t,” Adrien says. “And…I think he knows this is the only freedom I get. He’s always been on my side.”

“Oh,” Kagami says softly. “That must be nice.”

Adrien frowns at her. “You don’t have a bodyguard? What about your driver?”

“We don’t have a driver. Our car is self-driving and responds to Mother’s voice, since she can’t drive herself.”

“Huh.” Adrien takes a moment to thank the heavens for Gorilla. God knows what he’d do if he was stuck with a self-driving car that wouldn’t be programmed with a shred of compassion. “Come on! While he’s not looking!”

Kagami lets out a giggle as Adrien grabs her hand and bolts down the street, weaving between the bustling Parisians who are thankfully so wrapped up in their own lives that they don’t notice who he is. Wow. Is that the first time Kagami’s laughed? It’s so…weird being able to empathise with someone, to actually know what it’s like to be in their situation rather than just sympathising from afar. And she’s so…radiant when she laughs like that, just like when Marinette laughs.

“We should go and see Marinette!” Adrien says when they skid to a halt against the front of a bakery, panting. “You said you wanted to get to know her, right?”

“Are you sure she’ll be okay with us just stopping in?” Kagami says. “Shouldn’t we call her first?”

“It’ll be a surprise!” The image of Marinette’s beaming face swims before Adrien’s eyes, tying his stomach in knots, and he desperately tries to push that picture away before his face starts flaming and Kagami realises that he’s hopelessly crushing on one of his best friends. Too late; Kagami’s narrowed her eyes at him before he’s able to banish the thought of Marinette.

“You like her,” Kagami says.

“Of course!” Adrien tries to sound more confident than he really is. “I love – she’s a girl – I mean, she’s one of my closest friends!”

Kagami rolls her eyes. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Adrien. You have romantic feelings for Marinette. Otherwise, your face wouldn’t be as red as my family car.”

Adrien groans and lets his shoulders slump. “Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want to be with me.”

“So, you’re just going to pine from afar and never tell her?” Kagami says.

“Trust me, she’s said to my face that she wants to focus on being friends first. Especially after someone outed her crush to me in front of her.”

Kagami winces. “Ouch. My sympathies. Why don’t you try and move on, then?”

“Because…” How does Adrien explain this mess of a situation without incriminating himself as Chat Noir or making up a lie that could get back to her? “Part of me doesn’t want to. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Adrien –”

“Kagami.”

Kagami sighs. “Fine. I’ll drop it. I just think –”

“Oh my god!” someone shrieks. “It’s Adrien Agreste!”

“Shit, gotta go!” Adrien grabs Kagami’s wrist and takes off once more.

“Is life always this interesting for you?” Kagami says as they round the corner and nearly collide with a middle-aged man. They shout apologies back at him over their shoulders.

“Interesting? This is just a normal day!” Adrien says. “At least you’ve only got the crushing weight of parental expectations without getting mobbed on the streets!”

“That’s…true. Is it that obvious that my mother’s like that?”

“Considering your speech to me before you were akumatised? Kinda, yeah.”

Turning another corner takes them to the Pont des Arts bridge. Great. How the hell are they supposed to hide in such an open space? Still, Adrien and Kagami leap down to the concrete bank of the Seine, with only a few people on that level, and duck under the bridge, and Adrien sends up a feverish prayer that their pursuers don’t think to look down here.

“Where’d he go?” someone cries from above them.

“Come back, Adrien! Have my babies!”

“Maybe he went down there!”

Adrien’s heart leaps into his dry mouth. But just before he can suggest to Kagami that they keep running or even just jump into the Seine –

“It’s him! It’s Adrien!” The speaker is one of the people down at the edge of the Seine, who’s looking right at Adrien and Kagami as he speaks. Adrien’s about to start planning a slow, painful demise for this arse, but the guy looks up over his shoulder and adds, “He just doubled back!”

“Oh my god!”

“Quick, before we lose him!”

The adrenaline still coursing through Adrien’s body as the sounds of his pursuers grow fainter is probably the only thing keeping him upright at this point. Next to him, Kagami looks far less stressed than he feels; although to be fair, she hadn’t been the target of those people.

“Thank you,” Kagami says to the boy when Adrien says nothing.

“Y-Yeah. Thanks,” Adrien adds shakily. “I know I should be used to it, but it’s still terrifying.”

The boy snickers behind his hand. Adrien idly notes that his nails are painted deep black and his dark hair is dip-dyed teal and that Gabriel would have an aneurysm if Adrien ever painted his nails and dyed his hair like that. He’s the antithesis of everything that Gabriel holds dear. Dear lord, this boy is just perfect.

“I could feel your fear before you even jumped down here,” the boy says. “And you shouldn’t have to be used to it. Chasing anyone through the city and shouting for them to have babies with you is way over the line.”

“Thank god someone else thinks that,” Adrien mutters. “Uh…I’m Adrien Agreste. Not that you don’t know that – great, now I sound up myself –”

The boy snorts. His teal eyes, alight with amusement, draw Adrien in like a magnet, scrambling his brain and leaving his mind momentarily blank. “That’s okay. You’re just socially awkward.” He strums a note on his guitar, something both off and yet perfect, something that punches Adrien in the chest and leaves him momentarily fumbling for breath.

“H-How did you do that?” Adrien finally forces out when he’s able to speak. The boy smiles.

“I can hear people’s heart songs,” he says. “Yours sounds delightfully perfect but if you stop to listen to it, there are little flaws.” The boy strums a few more notes that are both the same and yet so different to what he’d played before, in a way that Adrien can’t even begin to articulate. “Small imperfections. Ones that you wouldn’t see on the surface.”

“Holy –”

“That, and Juleka also talks a lot about her classmates to me,” the boy says with a small smirk. Adrien blinks.

“Juleka? You know Juleka?”

“Of course I do. She’s my little sister.” The boy holds out a hand. “Luka Couffaine. Glad our first meeting could be so memorable.”

“I didn’t know Juleka had a brother,” is all Adrien can say. Luka’s hand is warm as he shakes it, warm and tingly, and it’s like the sun has gone behind a cloud when Adrien finally has to let go.

“I’m not surprised,” Luka says. “She’s pretty quiet until you push a guitar into her hands. And you are?”

Kagami immediately straightens and bows slightly. “Kagami Tsurugi,” she says, shaking his hand. “I’m a friend of Adrien’s, though I don’t attend Françoise Dupont.”

“We have fencing classes together,” Adrien says. “Which is where we technically should be but hey, it’s not our fault our teacher didn’t tell us he was sick.”

“I’m never sneaking out with you again,” Kagami says. “The last thing I need is for your fans to think that I’m your girlfriend. They’d tear me to shreds.”

Adrien winces. “Sorry, by the way. I didn’t think about that when I was rushing to be a rebellious teenager.”

“I don’t see why you should apologise,” Kagami says. “You didn’t ask for your fans to behave like that. But we should probably start making our way back so we’re not late.”

“Thanks again for saving our butts,” Adrien says to Luka.

“My pleasure. Any friend of Juleka’s is a friend of mine.”

Warmth pools in Adrien’s gut. “Friends? Really?”

“Of course, if you want,” Luka smiles. “And I promise I’ll never ask you to have my babies.”

Kagami makes a strange sound between a choked snort and a strangled laugh. Adrien flips her off with a sunny smile.

“I appreciate that,” he says, pulling out his phone so he can exchange numbers with Luka. “I’m too young to be a father.”

“Glad to see that you’re so responsible about it,” Luka says as he punches his number into Adrien’s phone. Adrien does the same with Luka’s phone and although he’s tempted to add Kagami’s number too, there’s no point in risking the wrath of Tomoe Tsurugi; it had been enough of a battle to get himself added to Kagami’s phone, and Tomoe wholeheartedly approves of him. “Your future wife will be lucky to have you.”

“Or husband,” Adrien blurts out. Why did he say that? It’s not like he’s ever really shown an interest in boys before, and he’s in love with Marinette…but the way Luka isn’t even fazed by that and instead just smiles is making Adrien question a lot of things about himself right now.

“Or husband,” Luka agrees. “But you won’t have either if you don’t get back in time.”

“He’s right.” Kagami grabs Adrien’s hand. “Come on, Adrien!”

“Thank you!” Adrien calls over his shoulder as Kagami tugs him towards the stone stairs leading back up to the street. Luka just waves back, still smiling, for a moment even brighter than the sun in the sky behind him.

Well, shit.

[fierypen37]

The Oasis: Chapter 14

Sorry of the long absence, my friends! Enjoy!

Rage was an acid burn in the back of his throat. His hands shook with it. He staggered into the bathroom, holding a dishtowel to his throbbing eye. That tricky little cunt! How had she held onto that pen knife? Ramsay let the soaked towel thump on the bathroom counter, watching thick drops of blood patter in the sink.

“Fucking Lorathi bitch,” he muttered, peering at the damage in the rust-spotted mirror. It was a fucking miracle that whore Shae hadn’t blinded him. The pen knife had sunk in and stuck just above his right eyeball, jiggling around in the socket.  Each jiggle sent a bolt of white-hot pain arching through his skull. Under normal circumstances, if a target had pulled something like that, Ramsay would have taken them home. Played all sorts of fun games with them until they begged for death. Shae’s little stunt had surprised him though, and he’d snapped her neck.

Too quick.

Not to mention he didn’t get the answers his boss wanted. Add to that leaving buckets of his blood at the crime scene . . .

Ramsay snarled a string of foul words. He held a wad of petroleum jelly-soaked gauze in one hand. With the other, he grasped the hilt of the pen knife. Pain arched like lightning through his skull. The blood made the handle slick. A quick yank---fuck! His hand slipped. Ramsay bit down on the bloody dishtowel and yanked again. The penknife fell free along with a hot trickle of blood running down his face. His boss wanted that bitch Daenerys Targaryen dead, and Ramsay never forfeited a contract. Her and Jon fucking Snow would die slow. Ramsay would flay them living, like his ancestors before him. Just because one lead had burned out didn’t mean the trail was cold. Just like his beautiful vicious dogs, he’d pick up the scent. It was just a matter of time.              

 ~

 As the sun set, there was little to look at to occupy her mind. Just darker landscape framed against a dark sky. Nothing but an eerie stretch of highway lit by the car’s headlights. The silence within the car was leaden. She couldn’t find words to ease the tension. Barry was dead. He’d been a steady, comforting figure in her life. He’d been her father’s bodyguard since she was a toddler—the only one Vis held in any esteem. So when they at last had enough capital to require and afford a security detail, a then-retired Barry Selmy was first on their list.

Daenerys felt the press of Jon’s anxious glances. Her misery deepened. Jon. Gods, what danger had she put him in? If Barry Selmy, a decorated war veteran and professional bodyguard couldn’t stay alive around her, then what would happen to Jon?

“We’re still about twenty minutes from the cabin. Maybe try and rest,” Jon said. A half dozen snarky comments rested on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back. She was too anxious to sleep, too miserable to be any sort of companion.

“I don’t think I can sleep.” Her voice sounded weak and small. Daenerys studied his profile in the murky half-dark. A frown lingered on his brow, his generous mouth thinned into a hard line. Jon glanced over at her, his eyes as black as the sky beyond.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. Daenerys blew out a steadying breath.

“Well, De—Detective Seaworth said that Rakharo is doing ok. Vis is safe; he’s staying at Dragon with his security detail. Missy and her husband Grey are ok. There haven’t been any more threats or leads. And . . . and Barry’s family are t—taking him home to Harvest Hall for burial.” Tears clogged her throat. Going over it in such bloodless detail made it sound so bleak. Her life was in fucking shambles. Jon reached for her hand. Daenerys wove her fingers through his, squeezing his hand gently.

“Hey, it’ll be ok. They’ll figure it out. It’s their job,” Jon said.  They drove in silence for a time. The tires made a low whoosh against damp pavement.

“Did the detective say anything else? Do you know if anyone’s been by my apartment? Checked on Sam and Gilly?” Daenerys thumped her forehead against the window. What kind of self-centered ass was she? Jon had no less at stake than she did.  

“I’m sorry, Jon. Yes, they’re fine. The detective has a Watchman stationed at your apartment complex just in case.” Jon tugged her captive hand up to drop a kiss on the back. His beard was a ticklish counterpoint to the softness of his lips. The casual intimacy of the gesture made her heart flutter.

“It’s ok. You’ve got a lot on your mind.” The silence that followed was a warmer one. Daenerys groped for conversation.

“How long has it been since you’ve been to the cabin?”

“I came north for Bran’s nameday, but that was at Winterfell. The cabin . . . hm, it’s been six, seven years? Since before my dad died.”  Daenerys felt a pang. Orphans, the both of them. Ned Stark’s death had been all over the news, but Daenerys couldn’t remember the details.

“Was he ill?” she asked. A muscle fired in Jon’s jaw.

“Brain aneurysm. He died on route to hospital.” The suddenness of it was couched in the abrupt sentence. Much like her own father’s death by violence. Like Barry.  

“I’m so sorry, Jon.” He gave an uncomfortable shrug and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“It’s ok. It was a good trip. The last time we were all together. Sansa came home for the weekend, Arya had just graduated and was headed to uni, Robb brought Margaery and her brothers, Bran was finally finished with physical therapy and Rickon won a sailing medal on the lake.” Daenerys blinked in surprised pleasure.    

“Rickon sails? What type?”

“Uh I’m not really sure. A fast one?” Daenerys giggled at Jon’s aggrieved expression.

“I sail too. Does she have a cabin? Is she designed to sail on open water?” In the greenish light of the dashboard, a trace of a bemused smile graced Jon’s face.

“I think Rickon’s boat is . . . sloopy?” Daenerys snorted.

“Sloopy?” Laughter embroidered her voice. Jon grinned and offered a one-shouldered shrug.

“I don’t know anything about boats.”

“Does he still sail?”

“Not as much. His mother has him enrolled in one of those prep schools for college.”

“Is this the same stepmother who denied you your inheritance?” Daenerys asked. Another uncomfortable shrug was her answer.

“The same,” he said. Daenerys kicked herself. The stepmother was a touchy subject. She couldn’t imagine what it had been like growing up as a motherless boy despised by the only female role model left in his life. Chewing on her lower lip, she offered a tepid apology.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m used to dealing with her,” Jon said, squeezing her hand. Daenerys stroked his knuckle with her thumb. Jon negotiated another turn.

“We’re here at last.”

The pitted concrete road gave way to a smooth asphalt drive. ‘Cabin’ was apparently a relative term. A two-story log structure lorded over neatly manicured grounds. A balcony wrapped around the second floor. Daenerys looked around slack-jawed as the two of them parked and walked up the drive. The lake was a sheet of black glass roughly a hundred yards from the house. Threads of mist clung to the ground. The air smelled of crisp pine and lake water. Insects chirped and far away, she heard the hoot of an owl. The cool peace of it soaked into her soul.

“So, the ‘cabin,’ huh?” she said, framing the operative word in air quotes. Jon cracked open the fake rock holding the spare key, side-eyeing her with a raised brow.

“Is there a problem, ‘Dany Steele?’”

Daenerys snorted.

“Fair point.”

The door creaked open and Jon flicked on the light. Daenerys trailed after Jon as he moved toward the kitchen, drinking it in. Warm blond wood floors, exposed beams overhead, soft lighting, gleaming granite countertops in the kitchen . . . the understated beauty soothed her ragged edges. She turned at the sound of Jon’s low curse.

“What is it?”

“Robb and Margaery. They stocked the place for us, and they uh . . . went a little overboard,” he said, riffling through the fridge, “filet mignon with truffle butter, roasted asparagus, lobster, turtle soup, chocolate covered strawberries--” The subtext was clear: decadent food for a romantic getaway. Daenerys bit back a rush of surprised pleasure. Even if it was meant in a teasing manner, it was a tacit approval from Jon’s brother.

“I told them all we needed some food and clothes. Typical,” he said dryly. Daenerys chewed on her lower lip. In the heat of passion, he claimed her as his. In the cool of parting, he asked her on a date. Why is he so irritated now? Breaking the silence, she cleared her throat.

“Mm, clean clothes sound wonderful. I think I’ll take a shower,” she said. Jon took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. His expression softened.  

“Of course. The master is on the second floor, last door on the left.”

The rest of the house was as rustically chic with polished hardwood floors, stained glass windows, and glass doors leading to the balcony garbed in room-darkening curtains. The large bed beckoned, smelling faintly of laundry detergent. How sweet, they thought to change the linens.  Shopping bags on the dresser bore a post-it note with ‘Daenerys’ written in looping feminine script. Daenerys peered inside.

“‘Overboard’ is right,” she said under her breath. Inside was a heap of blouses, sweaters, jeans, socks, sneakers, heels, and a tangle of what could only be described as slutty lingerie. A flush washed over her. A note was pinned to a sheer black lace bra:

Daenerys,

I got you a couple different sizes. I hope our Jonno is treating you right. Robbie and I would be delighted to have you both out at Highgarden once all this mess is dealt with.

Warm Regards,

Margaery      

Daenerys breathed a soft laugh, clutching the note and bra to her chest. A giddy rush burst in her chest. How surreal could things get? She was on the run for her life from a shadow human trafficking organization, she’d been swept up in the arms of her god-like masseur-turned-bodyguard Jon Snow, and now Margaery Tyrell—an award-winning actress—was buying her lingerie. Daenerys plucked her favorites from the bag of goodies and hurried to the bathroom.

Twin vanities in granite countertops, rustic sconces over the large oval mirror, a faint tang of cleaning chemicals. Robb and Margaery really had thought of everything. The shower boasted two shower heads, the walls made up of grey river rock. Blissfully hot water undid the knots in her muscles. The nature of her life and work made finding female friends difficult, she thought as she shampooed and scrubbed. Even Missy who she considered her closest friend was her masseur at first. So the thought that someone like Margaery Tyrell would be interested in her relationship with Jon was an odd one. Cherishing her crush on Jon, it was easy to spin a fantasy of making their leisurely way south. Stopping at charming bed and breakfasts on the way, taking a barge down the Mander, a wine tour of the Reach district . . .

She stepped out of the shower and toweled off, taking special care to comb and moisturize and primp with all the lovely products Margaery left for her. Ah, the silky glide of high-end moisturizer. It felt good to blow her hair dry until it fell in a fluffy silver cloud around her face. The lingerie was she chose was robin’s egg blue stretchy lace panties and matching bra. Daenerys smiled coyly at her reflection. In between all the madness of being on the run, they hadn’t discussed little things like Jon’s favorite color. Would he like it?

Belting the sash of a terry cloth robe, she saw the heap of her discarded clothes. A thrift store shirt and bloodstained jeans. Stained with Barry’s blood. The happy bubble popped with startling violence. The cost was too high. Already an innocent woman had been violated and killed, then Barry, not to mention the countless people—including Jon—put in harm’s way after the attack in King’s Landing.

“Am I really worth all this?” she asked her steam-blurred reflection. The shadows in her violet eyes held no answers. A soft rap on the door made her start.

“Come in,” Daenerys said, clutching the folds of the robe tight to her chest. Jon appeared in the doorway, his curly hair damp. His dark eyes were fathomless behind the lenses of his glasses. The plain grey t-shirt stretched taut over the bulk of his shoulders, athletic shorts showed off the length thigh and calf. He really was more beautiful than any man had a right to be.

“Do you uh, have everything you need?” he asked. Daenerys hid a rush of hurt. When he suggested the master, she assumed they would be sharing a bed. But maybe time to cool off is what they needed. After hearing about Barry, gods knew she felt depressed and clingy. Not a good look for her.

“Yes, thank you,” she said. Cool and polite, she thought, inwardly congratulating herself. Jon lingered in the doorway, cracking his knuckles one at a time. A nervous habit, she’d noticed.

“Are you hungry? It’s probably a crime in culinary circles, but I could nuke some of the steak.” Daenerys grinned at the weak joke.

“I’m fine, just tired.”

“Right. Me too.”

A short, uncomfortable silence.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

It wasn’t until he turned to leave that her thin bravado gave way. As inviting as the bed looked, the thought of the long hours until dawn with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her made her stomach clench. That, and she’d gotten far too used to the sound of Jon’s heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

“Jon,” she said. The naked hope in his face calmed her worries.

“Stay. Please,” she whispered. Jon exhaled a breath and gave her a relieved smile.

“Of course. I just didn’t want to impose . . .”

“Impose? Are you joking? We’re standing in your family’s cabin and I’m wearing clothes your brother’s girlfriend bought for me. If anyone is imposing, then it’s me,” she said. Jon closed the distance between them and cradled her cheek.

“You’re worth it,” Jon assured her. Daenerys felt a big, stupid smile stretch her face. She turned into his hand and kissed his palm, tasting salt. A shy silence fell between them as they turned down the bed and drew the curtains. Daenerys slid into the bed with a happy sigh. Cool sheets over a downy mattress and a heap of pillows. Better than simple creature comforts was the underlying release of tension. Here the two of them were safe. Safe and hidden in their own private paradise. Jon’s gaze wandered over her with a familiar sleepy heat.

“I like the clothes,” he whispered huskily, trailing a knuckle over the lacy strap of her bra. Daenerys gave him a coy smile.

“Really? Does it give you any ideas?” she said. Jon’s hand disappeared beneath the duvet.

“Lots of fun ideas,” he said with a wicked smile.

[blog-sliverofjade]

Omega Protocol 23: Bite Me

Summary: In the mid-21st century, the elite decided to cement society’s strata into our DNA, creating a genetic caste system. One of the early Omegas is cryogenically frozen and forgotten. Revived nearly two centuries later, she has no idea what she has become and has to navigate a strange new world while surrounded by Alphas, whatever those are.

Leading the military arm of his people in exile on a dangerous planet is no easy feat for Captain Niklaus Reed.  He has to build and secure a settlement against megafauna straight out of the Ice Age before families start arriving on the distant planet.  When an Omega is found in an old research base, things become… complicated.

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15  Chapter 16  Chapter 17Chapter 18  Chapter 19  Chapter 20  Chapter 21  Chapter 22  Chapter 24

Word Count: 2172

Credit to @pandabearer for beta reading!

           Waking up to yet another bland room and ensconced in a bed that quietly registered her vitals made Emma want to scream, but the pounding in her head made her reconsider that urge.  Easing to a sitting position woke other pains in other places.  She winced, hissed, and grunted with each shift until she managed to swing her legs over the edge.  Geez, and she’d thought she was sore after getting knotted through her heat.  That was nothing compared to this.

           “We have got to stop meeting like this,” she muttered with a rueful pat to the mattress.  The bed must have tattled on her because a knock came at the door a minute later.  “Unless you’re Dr. Nguyen or Mihaela, go away.”  The door swung open to reveal Captain Reed.  Since there’d be no getting rid of him, she sighed and waved him in.

           “Where do you think you’re going?” he frowned.  She suppressed a shiver.  Since when was she afraid of disappointing him?  She must have hit her head harder than she thought.

           “To my own room,” she replied.  As inappropriate as it was, he wanted to kiss those primly pursed lips.  He could have fallen to his knees in gratitude that she hadn’t lost the spark of temper whenever he’d overstepped his bounds as she saw them.

           “You have a concussion.”  He could hear the edge of a growl to his voice, but she barely batted an eye.  “Do I need to sit on you to make sure you stay in bed, like you did to me?”

           “I did not sit on you!”  Her protest died as his grin grew.  “But that explains the headache.”  Grimacing, she squirmed to lay back down.  Her features were too pale and drawn for his comfort.  He’d crossed the room before he knew it and had to stop himself from touching her at the last minute.  Fists held uselessly at his side, he couldn’t force himself to turn away from her.  “Ok, fine, please help me before you have an aneurysm or something.”

           Slipping one arm behind her shoulders and another under her knees, he picked her small form up and laid her back down a bit higher on the bed.  She stiffened with a sharp inhalation and dug her fingers into his shoulders, mouth pressed into a thin, white line.  By the furrowing of her brow, he presumed she was hurting rather than afraid of his touch, yet he didn’t linger more than he had to.  If he wasn’t so focused on being gentle, he would have noticed the delicate sniff she gave his shoulder as he withdrew.  He hooked a foot around the chair in the corner and dragged it behind him while she fiddled with the bed controls until she was comfortable.

           “You’re not afraid of me,” he observed once she settled back with a contented sigh that was music to his ears.

           “Should I be?” she quirked a brow.

           “After…  You were after.  Afraid, that is.”  The memory of her dark eyes wide in terror still speared through him like a lance.  Now they were focused on the ridiculous pink camouflage blanket pushed to the footboard.  He took the bundle of fabric and unfurled it to drape over her legs before retaking his seat.

           “You were scary then,” she confessed in a tiny voice, still unable to look at him.  “You were…  you smelled kinda like him.”  With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, wracking his brain to come up with the words to explain.

           “I was feral,” he began, studying palms that a short time ago were covered in blood.  “When we or someone close to us is in danger we go a little berserk in their defense.  I was… I was worried about you.”  For someone who was a member of the Council, negotiating the terms of exile, and accustomed to commanding people he found it ridiculous he was tongue-tied.

           “Is it only Alphas?”

           “Any dynamic,” he shook his head.  “Although we are more susceptible to it than others.”  She gnawed on her bottom lip until it was pink and swollen.  He ran his hands over his face to shake thoughts from his mind that he had no business thinking.

           “I didn’t know there were other people here,” she said to finally break the silence.  “On the planet.”

           “You weren’t the only person experimented on here,” he began.  Waiting for him to collect his thoughts, the Omega reached for the water on the side table.  He nudged it closer so she didn’t have to move as far.  “The early Alphas and Betas weren’t easily controlled.”  She snorted at the idea of trying to control the Captain, or Barbie, or Chimi, or anyone she knew in the here and now.  “They were stronger than the scientists, and more of them, almost all of them permanently feral.  Before long they killed their creators and had the run of the planet to themselves.”

           “I guess I should be grateful that they didn’t find me back then,” she murmured, eyes a little too glassy.  “Otherwise this might have happened sooner.”

           “This shouldn’t have happened at all.”  A crack punctuated his snarl.  He followed her startled gaze to the piece of broken armrest in his hand.  Scowling, he tossed it into the corner.  “What were you doing out there, anyway?”

           “I’m s-sorry,” she whispered, hunching in on herself.  “I was too afraid of losing even one of the chickens.”  The one flock was all they had.  They couldn’t afford to lose a good layer.  His silent glowering was worse than any yelling he could have done.  To her shame, she trembled uncontrollably, still unable to look up from her fists tangled in the sheets.

           “And what if we lost you?  Over one chicken?” he asked softly.  She recoiled as if he’d struck her.

           “Technically, I’ve lived for far longer than I should have,” she mumbled, plucking idly at the soft blanket.  It was Barbie’s, which, last she saw, was in her room.  It still carried that smell of home, such as it was.  “Besides, I’m a liability and a drain on resources.”  A growl like the one he used at the nomads’ camp erupted from his chest.  Before she knew what she was doing, she tilted her bowed head to the side, exposing the line of her neck.  Niklaus moved so quickly all she saw was a blur at the corner of her eye, then felt a bruising, tearing pain before everything went black.

           What had he done?  No one knew if she could be Claimed, being the first of them.  The instincts didn’t develop until the second generation, there was no precedence for bonding with one of the originals.  What if she couldn’t and there were problems?

           “What-?” Dr. Nguyen rushed in, summoned by the noise, and stopped when she saw the bite.  If she wanted to harangue him for his rashness, she put it aside for the little female.  After an agonizing eternity, the doctor had results from the bed sensors.

           “Well?” he barked.

           “Does she know what you did?” she snapped back.

           “Is she ok?”

           “Answer my question, Captain.”  She spat his title derisively, hands on her slim hips.  “Did she agree to this?”

           “No.”  His molars ground painfully with his need to shake her until answers spilled out.  He would accept any censure as long as she would be fine.  The Beta’s right hook caught him by surprise.

           “After all that she’s been through, you…” she hissed, words failing her in her anger, and shoved him out of the room while he was still recovering from the shock of being attacked by the normally mild-mannered doctor.  No matter how deserved it was.

           “You can’t keep me from her.”  Only Emma’s need for Nguyen’s care kept him from fighting back.

           “Oh, but I can.”  She folded her arms and spread her feet as if she’d be any kind of barrier between him and the door.  The protective rage pouring off her would have done credit to any Alpha.  “Mihaela, please grab an Alpha grade sedative.  Don’t worry about needle gauge, I doubt the good captain will cooperate anyway.”  She activated her comm wristband.  “Lieutenant Triggs, I recommend that Captain Reed be relieved of duty due to mental instability.”  She paused as she listened to his response.  “Come to med bay and see for yourself.  I suggest that you bring a couple of your people to make sure he cooperates.”

           The throbbing ache at the juncture of her neck is what woke her.  She didn’t recall getting injured there.  There was a strange tension at the edges of her awareness.  It sharpened, feeding into her own.  The voices arguing in the distance wasn’t helping her calm down any.  The monitors barely started to beep a warning over her agitated state when Nguyen came bustling in.

           “You need to calm down,” the doctor crooned.

           “You do realize that telling someone to calm down doesn’t work, right?” she asked with a cocked brow.  Nguyen ignored the snarky response as she turned off the alarm and studied the readings.  “What happened here?” she asked, gesturing to the thin skin bandage on her neck.

           “You were bitten.”  Her blithe tone sent the fine hairs on Emma’s neck to prickling.  She froze.  Bitten?  That didn’t match up her with recollections of the assault.  Sure, memories could get fuzzy while protecting the psyche, but she was fairly confident that it wasn’t from the nomads.  Wincing at the pull of the wound and the pain between her legs, she swung her legs over the side of the bed.  The doctor moved to stop her.

           “Let me up.  I’ve spent enough time in hospital beds to last a couple of lifetimes,” she glared up at the Beta.  With a sigh, Nguyen helped her to stand.  “Now, is this what I think it is?”  She pointed to the mark.

           “It is,” she nodded with as much grace and solemnity as Emma had seen when she was given the diagnosis.

           “Is there any way to break it?”  She knew she was rapidly approaching hysteria, but couldn’t bring herself to care.  The squirming knot in her chest wasn’t easing up, which wasn’t helping any.  Rubbing at it with the heel of her palm wasn’t making it loosen.  She was pretty sure she’d only succeeded in bruising her breastbone, but she couldn’t stop, wanting to carve the odd sensation out of her like a parasite.

           “Emma…” Nguyen began soothingly.

           “Answer me!”  The doctor wet her lips and sighed, shaking her head.  Continuing to dig at her chest, the Omega began pacing the small room, her quickening steps mirroring the manic spiral of her thoughts.  I’m trapped.  I was finally starting my life.  Free of illness.  Got a job.  Making friends.  Real choices.  He ripped that away from me because he thought I couldn’t function as an independent adult.  Because of what they did to me.  It’s all been taken from me again!

           A slender hand gently tugged her wrist away from her breast.  Startled, she looked down to find her own smeared with crimson.  Nguyen said something, but she couldn’t hear over the pounding of her own heartbeat and ragged breathing.  The older woman was leading her towards a hospital bed.  No, she didn’t want to go back.  She was better.

           Shivers wracked her body and she sank down to the floor, ignoring the twinges in her backside.  Dropping her forehead against her drawn up knees, she tried to breathe through the impending panic attack.  Thoughts buzzed in her mind like the inhabitants of an upended wasp nest.  Society might have drastically changed during her extended snooze, but she was pretty sure both parties still were supposed to consent.  A curiously soothing sensation bloomed between her breasts as if in response.

           The foreign feeling had the opposite effect.  Anxiety shot through Emma like poison.  The doctor was speaking to her, but a curious droning filled her ears, drowning out all sounds.  She jumped to her feet and dashed for the exit, all physical discomfort forgotten in her terror.  Throwing the door wide open, the hall was thick with people who turned to stare at her in surprise.  Cold sweat trickled along the hairline of her temples and slithered down the small of her back.  Footsteps from behind spooked her into jackrabbiting again, leaping to her right.  As if someone had pressed play on a paused movie, motion erupted in the corridor.  Bodies roiled and she ducked and dodged, diving through at least one pair of legs.

           Flesh covered coils of steel wrapped around her from behind and lifted.  She threw her head back, but dazed herself against a chin instead of a nose.  Her bare feet collided with at least one set of genitals and a face before they were pinned.  A sting in her arm brought ice seeping into her blood.  Her last coherent thought was, I don’t want to wake up different again.

[jojowritesstuff]

Finally got to finish this up. Part one can be found here.

There’s not much happening in this part, it’s just a giant pile of fluff.

There will be more parts coming soon - I’ll split this up into multiple parts so it won’t become one large monster fic (which everyone would get tired of halfway through, haha) A lot of what’s coming will be for backstory purposes. I am still editing my drafts so I’m still unsure how many more parts will be coming but there’ll be at least two.

I hope this isn’t too long but if you want me to cut it into a read more let me know.

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 “Shh, it’s okay. Just relax,” Hazel said softly, unable to even feel the tears building up in her eyes. “You had a blood clot in your brain, you needed surgery, but you’re okay now,” she said, brushing the hair back from Raya’s face…

  Still affected by the anesthetics and several other drugs she was put on, Raya barely registered what Hazel was talking about. In a slow, nearly slow motion like movement she reached out towards Hazel's hand, laying hers on top of it.

 That was when Hazel absolutely lost it, and made no attempt to hide her emotion, both of her hands holding Raya's. "Ry, I'm sorry," she choked out. "I was distracted, I should have been keeping a better eye on you, and you-" she squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed with guilt, worry but also relief that Raya made it through and unable to even form the words. "I love you," she whispered eventually.

  Raya gave Hazel's hand a weak squeeze. She didn't fully understand what happened just yet as her mind was still way too fuzzy but judging by all the medical things connected to her body and Hazel's emotional outburst it must have been bad.  She tried to speak but her voice was still raw and barely carrying a sound.

  By that time Hazel was resting her forehead on the edge of the hospital bed, her shoulders shaking with sobs. She knew she should be keeping it together, but she had- for so long she had locked the floodgates. Ever since they had taken Raya into surgery she kept blaming herself, telling herself that it was solely her fault.

  Raya kept holding onto Hazel’s hand while she cried – there wasn’t anything more she could do but lightly draw circles on Hazel’s warm skin with her thumb.  "I need to go let the doctor know you're up, excuse me," Hazel sniffled as she eventually lifted her head, her cheeks still wet with tears, her red eyes magnified through her glasses.

  Hazel tried to compose herself before standing up but a light tug on her hand and a raspy, barely audible “Stay.” had her stop in her tracks.  She could hardly look at Raya- all she could see were how she hadn't noticed the signs of a concussion, how she hadn't monitored her closely enough, how she had nearly let Raya /die/- how she had failed in every way possible. Yet at the next light tug on her hand she sat back down – Raya was connected to all kinds of machines and monitors, getting a doctor in could wait another few minutes. She slowly lifted Raya’s hand, placing a feather light kiss to her knuckles so she wouldn’t disturb the IV. “Get some rest.”

  It didn’t take long for Raya to drift off to sleep, with the anesthetics still heavy in her system she wasn’t even fully awake to begin with. Hazel stayed with her until eventually she began to stir. Blinking her eyes open she seemed quite a bit more awake and conscious than a few hours before, albeit still not completely herself.

  “Hey, how’re you doing, Ry?” Hazel asked, pressing a gentle kiss to Raya’s forehead.  “Ready to hibernate,” Raya rasped out and Hazel took her snarky remark as a positive sign – while Raya was still out her mind kept torturing her with worst case scenarios of permanent brain damage and every possible thing that could have went wrong and gone unnoticed.

  “I’m gonna get someone to check you over – I will be right back, I promise,” Hazel said and left the room but returned with one of the doctors in a matter of minutes.

  The doctor conducted a quick exam, and Hazel stayed, holding Raya's hand reassuringly.  During the various tests it became evident that they had caught everything in time and there wasn’t any major or long lasting damage. The doctor put some notes on Raya’s chart while also talking to the two of them in fluent medical jargon and when he left, Hazel turned to face her girlfriend. "Did you catch any of that?" she asked, a smile quirking on her lips.

  "You know I don't speak doctor." Raya said. She really had not the slightest idea what the doctor was talking about, all the medical terms appearing like an entirely different language to her. "Care to translate all that gibberish so a normal person can understand?"

  "Yeah, course," she said. "Um, so when you fell, a little piece of your skull went into your brain. It was just in the dura, like a protective gel around your brain, but it eventually worked its way into a minor vascular structure- like an artery," she explained. "It gave you kind of like an aneurysm, blood clot situation- then /that/ made the pressure in your head go up, your brain swell, and it put excess pressure on the part of your brain that does things like control breathing and heartbeat. They took you in to surgery to fix it, and everything looks okay for right now," she finished, watching Raya's face closely. She knew it was a lot to take in but she also was aware that Raya wouldn’t settle until she knew.

  Raya listened intently, slightly shocked about how severe things were. "But... it was just a concussion. How...? I didn't think I hit my head that bad, expected to get away with a bump and be fine."

 "I should have seen it better... I looked at the scans too, symptoms looked... they looked just like a concussion. I should have been better, pushed for a cross-section or something with contrast, it would have been so much more obvious then..." Hazel said, listing all the ways hindsight was 20/20.

  "Hazel... Don't do this to yourself, baby. You heard the doc, I am going to be okay." Raya said, giving her a light smile. "It is none of your fault that I knocked a piece of my skull into my brain. Apparently our sink is stronger than me." she huffed lightly. "Just please, don't work yourself up about this. Such things happen. I should have probably told you about it when I arrived but I thought I was just getting a migraine or something."

  Hazel shook her head, a fresh tears welling up in her eyes. "No, I'm going into neurosurgery, this is something I should have been able to see," she said. "I just- God, Ry, I was so scared," she said, pressing her girlfriend's hand to her lips.

  Raya gently caressed her thumb over Hazel's cheek, trying to brush away a tear. "Did you just finally make up your mind what you'll specialize in?" she teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

  Hazel nodded, smiling lightly. "I was gonna tell you later - pediatric neurosurgery. The brain, it's just-" she shook her head. "I can't get away from it, it's beautiful," she said softly.

  "Not visually though." Raya shuddered, an incident with a preserved brain springing back into her mind. "I am so glad you made your pick though. And a perfect one to go with your research," she smiled, gently tugging at Hazel's hand. "Come here."

  Hazel smiled and gingerly climbed into the bed, laying parallel to Raya and letting her rest her head on her shoulder. "I was in the OR with you- legally, I couldn't do anything, but I needed to be in there."

  "Of course you were." Raya hummed, trying to cuddle up to Hazel without disturbing any of the IVs and other things she was hooked up to. “Now I can finally do this..." she smirked and gently leaned up to kiss Hazel.

  "Ry, you had brain surgery like six hours ago- how are you this chipper?" Hazel giggled, amused at her girlfriend's effervescent smile.

  "Hmm, blame the meds?" Raya suggested. She was tired and still had a dull headache going on but she was trying not to show it. The cocktail of drugs flowing through the IV obviously did their job at keeping her mostly pain free.

  "Oh yeah, I made sure they gave you all the good stuff," Hazel teased, kissing her girlfriend's temple- the one that wasn't stitched and bandaged. Raya’s head was growing heavy on Hazel’s shoulder as she heaved out a content sigh. Her eyes were starting to drift shut as her sudden boost of energy slowly began to die down.

  "Get some sleep- no one is gonna be coming in to wake you up anymore," Hazel said gently, and stroked her girlfriend's hair. "Finally some good news," Raya chuckled lightly. She wrapped an arm around Hazel and nuzzled her face into the crook of her neck. It wasn't long until Raya's breathing was evening out and she was snoring softly.

 Hazel couldn't help but drift off as well- Raya's surgery had been around five and a half hours, and she had remained stoically awake for the four it had taken her to come off the meds.

  ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

  Raya woke a little while later, smiling when she found Hazel was still with her. She pressed a soft kiss to the still sleeping girl's cheek. Hazel woke slowly. "S'everything 'kay?" she asked, her worry evident even before she was fully awake.

  "I'm fine. Go back to sleep, hun." Raya said, once again laying her head on Hazel's shoulder. "No, 'm'up, I swear," Hazel said though her glasses were askew and her hair mussed. "You're okay?" she confirmed, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend.

  "I'm okay." Raya assured. "A little tired and my head kinda hurts but it's not too bad." "I can see if they'll increase the oxy drip," Hazel said, already halfway out of bed. "Maybe you need to be switched to something stronger," she fretted.

  "It's fine. Stay? Please?" Raya cut in. She didn't want Hazel to leave, even though she wouldn't be gone for long. "I'd rather just cuddle." "Okay, but if you need something- /anything/- you'll tell me," Hazel said empathically and settled back beside Raya. "I can do cuddles," she assured, pulling her in closely.

  Raya pretty much wrapped herself around Hazel, resting her head on her girlfriend's chest. "I've got everything I need right here." "Mmm, me too," Hazel hummed, and this time she had the foresight to take off her glasses, setting them lightly on the table.

  "Hmm, I love you." Raya's voice was already heavy with sleep again. She was drawing light patterns on Hazel's arm in slow repetitive movements. "I love you too Ry. So much that," Hazel said, closing her eyes lightly. "'m still gonna write you those letters, don't you forget it."

  “Same with all those reasons why you love me?" Raya smirked, glancing up at her girlfriend. "Gave me the opportunity to scrub in on a six hour surgery," Hazel hummed, already halfway asleep. "Number 756," she teased.

  "So there were doctors poking around in my brain for six hours?" Raya asked, not expecting that it would have taken that long. She wasn't even aware of how much time has passed since she was awake the last time before her surgery – the past two days have mostly just blurred together.

  Hazel nodded. "Yeah, it was meticulous. You have the daintiest arteries, then there was a shunt debate, and just... complicated," she shook her head. "They almost kicked me out though."

  "Hmm? What did you do?" Raya asked, her eyes already half lidded as she listened to Hazel. "I- blood pressure usually drops in surgery, and yours just dropped- really, really low," she stammered. "I yelled at my attending," she said shamefully, ducking her head.

  "I guess she didn't take that so well." Raya said, sounding somewhat amused. "Hope I didn't get you in trouble for that." Hazel cringed. "She, ah… she hasn't spoken to me since," she said. It was a rash move, one she regretted immensely. "In my defense... it's a rule you shouldn't let family into the OR."

  "This is so weird though. There's hours of my life I cannot even remember. It's like I wasn't even there. If it wasn't for you telling me about it and this room I'm in with all these monitors and whatnot I wouldn't even know what happened," Raya hummed sleepily.

  "Miracles of the brain," Hazel joked around the lump in her throat. "It blocks out painful memories. You were pretty out of it," she said, unconsciously hugging Raya closer to her. She shuddered to think of what would have happened had she not been there, had Raya been by herself, or not come to see her... she never would have gone to the hospital, and likely.... Hazel squeezed her eyes shut, unable to even consider the possibility that Raya wouldn't be with her. "It's probably best you don't remember."

  "I... I remember taking the train here. And you were at the train station to pick me up, I brought you some of your books too. We were walking back to the hotel. Don't really remember what happened then, it's all just really fuzzy." Raya said, concentrating hard. "Hey, are you alright? What's wrong baby?" she asked, feeling her girlfriend tense.

  Hazel shook her head, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself. "I'm okay. You just- I was really scared, I've never hated a hospital as I did twelve hours ago," she admitted.

  "Twelve? But you said the surgery was six hours." Raya was clearly confused, trying to make sense of what Hazel told her. "There's so much time missing from my mind, I think. You probably have to do a complete timeline for me to really understand. But, not now. For now I want us to just lay here."

  "Anesthesia affects everyone differently... it took you a little while to come out of it." Hazel explained and kissed her tenderly, as if she were afraid the other girl would break. "Come on, you need sleep, I’ll  be here," she promised.

  Raya couldn't argue about needing some sleep, keeping her eyes open became harder with each passing minute. "You should get some rest too." she stated, moving a little so Hazel could lay down a little more comfortably...

TBC

[anewdiscipleofdiscipline]

Soooooo I haven’t really posted much... I’ve been dead tired for a few months. 

I quit the courier job. There were too many issues with it. I left the pharmacy job because I was expecting better hours and better pay... but I got neither of those things. The only plus to that job was I didn’t have to deal with as many customers. Still got yelled at or snarky clients sometimes.

This probably won’t make me sound too good, but I quit 3 days after giving my 2 weeks notice. I really did intend to last the 2 weeks, but I just couldn’t fucking do it. I was leaving the house around 8 am and getting home around 7-8 pm... For a “9-5″ job. The last day I worked, I was on the phone with my boss and he said “if it makes you feel any better, me and (his daughter), (his brother) and maybe (his other relative are still out, too.” It was almost 8 pm. I didn’t get home until 9. But before I left where we dispatch from, I called him and said “I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry, I was going to try to last the 2 weeks, but I just can’t". Also what I wanted to say was: No motherfucker, that doesn’t make me feel better, because you all live 20-30 minutes from home, I still have to drive an hour, hour and a half to get home. It being late like that when I had finished had been going on for months already. That was my last straw.

So that’s over with. 

I didn’t quit without a job to go to. I went to a place in town that hired me over the summers when I was still in university. I basically begged for a job, and I told him straight up the reasons why I wanted to get out of mine and work there. He also asked me right out if I’d be looking for other jobs. My parents told me not to be honest about that, but I couldn’t lie to him. So I told him honestly, that yes, at some point, I might.

Other big but also terrible news.  We found out this passed friday that my dad’s cancer is back for sure... and it’s inoperable. Last time it was a single encapsulated mass... this time it’s multiple nodes all along the sinus vein in his brain along the corpus collosum (where the 2 brain halves are connected, that area) and if surgery was performed, he’d either have an aneurysm or be a vegetable after.

So he’s essentially terminal.

I am handling it a lot better than you might think I would. I’m... I feel okay with it. When he started exhibiting the same signs and symptoms as he did when it started getting bad before, and how fast it was going downhill, I suspected it was going to be bad news. I was already anticipating this... so I wasn’t as surprised as, well, my own parents, were.

Mind you, he’d just had an MRI in June and was told he was clear.

The terminal diagnosis was given by the neurosurgeon who removed his first tumour. His oncologist called him that day after my dad left a message about what the neurosurgeon said and the oncologist talked to him awhile, and told him he wouldn’t write my dad off just yet. He hasn’t seen the MRIs yet though, so grain of salt. I’m still expecting the worst, but hoping for the best. I also feel someone in my family needs to be strong during this because my other family members are USUALLY more emotionally loose than I. 

I feel like them having a stable presence... is helpful for them. It has been when I did it in the past, anyway. 

[cursed-blade-gf]

Cassus, Chap. 2-The Vault of Glass

I grew very quickly in training. My work as a soldier, bounty hunter, and assassin only improved my class skills and refined my ability. All of these were a mix of things taught by my extensive “family”, past and present. I learned everything from close-quarters from my great grandfather to sniping from my great uncle, Garrus, to technical tinkering from my great grandma and mother to silent quick kills and knives from Aunt Kasumi. It was ingrained into my brain at a young age and only because I was willing to learn and practice. I also took lessons from Cayde, as he passed through our little camp in Manhattan back then. He filled in the gaps.

Eventually, I had mastered these new powers as well. The Traveler’s gifts were like being in a new relationship. You have no idea how it works, but somehow, You already know what you’re supposed to do. Eventually, I became so proficient that Cayde offered me the most challenging of the subclasses: the Nightstalker.

I had always dabbled in bows, in fact, I thrived in using them, but this was so much different. I had always respected the use of a bow and arrow. It had an elegance that my gunslinger heart had always been jealous of. It required a calm I struggled to possess. It took me almost two years to master and it drove me to the point that I wondered if I’d ever get it. Little did I know, it would become my greatest advantage and my greatest strength.

I spent days sitting in Bannerfall practicing, trying to hold the tether in form for more than a second but it proved almost impossible. As I sat on the edge of the tower, exhausted from use of light, a booming voice nearly knocked me off. “GUARDIAN!!”

“Shaxx, what did I say about yelling when I’m sitting. You are gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Sorry, but I haven’t seen you in the crucible lately. You love the Crucible. Cayde said you were here.”

“Yeah. This Void thing, Shaxx. I’ve been trying and I don’t know how Titans and Warlocks wield it so easily.”

“Ahhhhh. It’s why Cayde is the only Nightstalker this tower has at the moment. He was waiting for a student.”

“But how? It takes far more skill than he thinks I possess. Maybe it’s just not me.”

“Guardian, as your combat mentor, we’ve talked a lot about your fire for battle, but that is not the point of using Void. Both warlocks and titans...have you seen them use it? It’s not about unleashing something, it’s about focus. Reigning in the darkness for your control.”

“But I am ADHD? How do I use focus when I can’t even finish a game of poker?”

“Guardian, a bow is much like the hand cannon you carry. You can’t just fire and hit something. You of all people know that.” he said as he walked away. “The Crucible beckons, guardian! Will you answer?!?”

Shaxx had taken a special interest in me. As I had walked into the Tower on the second day, still unsure of all of this, I found myself drawn to wielding this new power, but I wanted to protect people. Most people had always wanted to pit their light against each other, but I wanted to be a force of good to counter my more aggressive side. As I asked to join the Crucible, somehow, Shaxx had seen this and immediately took me under his wing and taught me himself. It was never easy. God, that Titan didn’t give a single inch, but I’m glad he didn’t.

As I pondered his words, I formed the bow in my hand. I felt all of tension and mistrust fade into a bow. This wasn’t darkness though. Void had a perfect combo of light and dark, each vying for domination, but blending perfectly. My heartbeat slows and darkness swirls to the arrow tip as I pull back. I fire the arrow and the tethers spring to the targets pulling them to me as I bullseye each and every one.

“That was so much cooler than I could have ever done it. And that’s saying something because I am awesome.” Said the snarky voice of my mentor.

“Cassus, my favorite Guardian, you have far exceeded my expectations and if I could leave the tower, I would want you on my fireteam.”

“Technically, you’re always welcome, Cayde.”

“Yeah but apparently I am a pivotal part of the Vanguard.” He mocked the Tower Commander in his not-as-deep voice.

“And Zavala said this, did he?”

“Maybe. I can never remember. Come to think of it, it might have been Ikora, actually, and with a lot more crying and much more undaunted respect.”

“Hilarious.”

“Keep at it, Cassus. You’re gonna do great things.” He said as he walked away.

“Cayde?”

“Yes, Cass?”

“Thank you for teaching me how to wield a bow.”

“Cass, I may not remember much about my past life, but I will always remember those days. That’s why I trust you completely with this bow. You’re the one I want at my back in a fight. You have more promise than anyone and you’re damn good in a firefight like when we faced the Cavanaugh uprising.”

I laughed. “That was a fun fight. Still have never seen someone put three people down as quickly as you.”

“What about you, my man? 28 headshots in a row! Not even I in all my glory have that good a precision.”

“Love you, dude.” I said

“You’re the best, dude. Always remember that. Or I’ll have to kill ya.” He said as he walked out.

Cayde knew better than most the shit I’d been through. Cayde had been my father figure for who knows how long. As a child, I’d been an active learner. I had to be prepared for anyone and anything. I studied fighting as I had a penchant for violence. By the age of ten, I had learned swords, pistols, sidearms, bow staffs, short knives and throwing them, archery, and especially hand-to-hand. All of those were refined and personalized by Cayde. He was known as the Ace of Hearts then, but he has been rebooted a few times since. He was a gunslinger by trade and had lived in our town and used it as a place to hang his hood before he left for god knows where. When I turned twelve, he said “Cass, no one is going to protect you or anyone else but themselves. Be someone people can count on.”

Those words rang true to this day. At 15, the town began tearing itself apart. People were stealing from people, murders were sky high. When the end of the world came about, people didn’t take it well, so me and my best friend Dredgen became the law. We kept people sane through fear. We made the hard decisions. We became vigilantes. Hellfire and Thorn. My parents never found out. Eventually, when we had to defend the wall, I juggled the two duties. No one ever figured it out except Cayde. Before he left, he said “That’s what I’m talking about. You are going to be great. People may think of you as a criminal or a bounty hunter, but Hellfire is who you are and those instincts will be crucial one day.”

It’s been years since I thought about those days, but two things were true. He was right and that it was time to return to the crucible.

I could never be beat in close-quarters combat. Crucible showed that as the Last Word I had acquired and I dominated in stealth and melee. That's not to say I was the best, but as it always had been, people fell like flies within five feet and people learned distance was best. Sniper rifles helped me close the gap and fusion rifles helped me cover the in between.

I became adept in all of the weapon classes and as I moved higher, Shaxx applauded my efforts. Zavala eventually called me to Vanguard headquarters to my surprise.

It was a cool October day. Years didn’t matter at that point and, honestly, I just couldn’t remember. I was just getting back from a patrol and I was about ready to keel over.

“You really shouldn’t be pushing yourself this hard, ya crazy.” Sapph said. Snarky ghost.

“I know, but I hate being cooped up in the Tower all day. It’s bad enough I’m relegated to known areas only, working with this piece of shit is the worst.” I said, holding up this old hand cannon called Ill Will. Clunkiest damn thing I’d ever used and it handled like a brick of solid iron ore counted as a pistol.

The Tower armed us with Vanguard issue gear until we prove ourselves worthy of stronger gear for the field. Materials were hard to come by.

“Oh come on, you only missed that dreg by a couple hundred meters.” Sapph laughed.

“The gun jammed! I can’t work with this junk! I need me a real weapon!” I grumbled as I dismantled it.

“Cassus Shepard, please report to the Vanguard immediately.” Zavala said over the intercom.

“You’re in for it now, you engram-stealing, sweet-talking ass BITCH!” Sapph laughed and giggled as I shuffled my way into the Tower.

“It was ONE TIME!!! Ok, two...maybe three tops, but that fucking cryptarch talks like a goddamn New Monarchy rep. I could spill a boiling hot coffee on the guy and he’d have an aneurysm because the colors didn’t match.” I ranted.

I walked in to see the Vanguard all standing together.

“Cassus, we’ve brought you here with an offer of assistance.” Ikora said, emotionlessly as always.

“We’ve opened some old files and recorded some happenings on Venus and we’ve discovered the Vex are up to something. We’ve sent fireteams, but none have reported back. The last time this happened, the Tower commander was exiled for overextension of authority and bad judgement, so we are taking every precaution in this decision.” Cayde-6 said in all seriousness, which was totally a first from him.

“What do you need from me?” I said, interested.

“Are you familiar with leadership, Cassus?” Zavala said, authority practically oozing from his armor.

“I’m solid enough for whatever you need from me, sir.” I said, even though I loathed running with big groups.

“Then it’s settled. A week from now, you will be heading a team into the Vault of Glass. The main objective is intel and possible elimination. Infiltrate the Vault and assassinate any and all high value targets. Take this relic in with you. I hope it serves you well.” Zavala said, passing me some kind of Vex shield…? I don’t know what it was. Don’t ask.

“I won’t let you down, sir.” I said, nervously.

“Go talk to Banshee when you have a sec. He’ll have some new gear for you. And study up as much as you can. We have little but hopefully it helps.” Ikora said.

“And of course, good luck. We don’t know all of what’s down there, but we trust you’ll handle it. Light go with you, Cass.” Cayde said. And with those words, I was dismissed.

I'd studied late into the night to learn all there was to know about the vault. It wasn't much. Apparently, Kabr’s fireteam was obliterated by the oracles and, while Pahanin was the only one that had survived and he forgot the trauma and practically became a tortured soul. Kabr, the Legionless, he became known as, sacrificed his life and his free will from the Vex collective to ensure that someone could lockdown the rituals they were performing. Praedyth had gotten trapped in the everlasting loop of time and was doomed to an eternal “fall” as all time exists all at once. Praedyth and I were never close, but he was the smarter of us three. As for Pahanin, I had come across info that Dredgen had killed him. I did not stand to believe it. Pahanin and I fell from the same tree, but he was a million times more cautious. Dredge knew that. And yet still…

Something must have happened and eventually, I would find out that story. They say Shin Malphur killed Dredge in a shoot out, but Dredge was the fastest draw I had ever seen outside of Cayde himself. Something felt off about the whole thing and I didn’t know what.

This info even spoke of Osiris and his time as Warlock Vanguard and that bastard could rot in hell for all I cared. His obsessive personality eventually got him exiled from the tower. A terrible fate, but that’s not to say he didn’t deserve it. The Vex and his interest in them had become too much before. I would be a fool to say he had changed now.

Before we left, I stopped by the gunsmith to arm myself and do a final check through. Banshee pulled me aside and said that as I had mastered the three subclasses and partly because I was his favorite and loved spending time weapon crafting, he presented me with the pride and joy of his creations.

It balanced perfectly in my hands as a hand cannon and the mechanics moved smoothly and flawlessly. I was a risk taker and being as much of a gambler of life as I was at cards, the name Ace of Spades suited it and me well.

As I tested the firing on the range, the first shot I took, a headshot, led to the combustion and incineration of the target.

“What the FUCK?!” I said, jumping as far back as a thrall could lunge forward.

“The light a guardian has not only extends to physical ability. Weapons forged in light gave unique abilities to the user depending on their style.” Banshee said in his usual dead pan.

“Mine is explosions?! Why the hell did I...ok I guess that does make sense…” I said, realizing mid thought.

“Your gun is rewarding precision and accuracy. It must sense you have a steady hand.” Banshee offered.

Now that you mention it…

“Like you wouldn’t believe, actually.”

This weapon and I would become very good friends.

I slid it into my holster. The next four days were spent studying and preparing. Days and nights flowed together and eventually the day came.

Two titans, two warlocks, and a hunter. All geared up and ready to go at the crack of dawn.

“Orders, sir.” One Titan saluted. It made me cringe oh so badly.

“First up, no formalities. No “sirs”, ok? Good. Guys, our job is intel and elimination. Watch each other’s backs, trust each other. Our ghosts will have limited power due to Vex countermeasures, so remember to keep your heads on a swivel. I want to see each of you fine ladies and gentlemen alive at the end of this, ok?”

“Ok!” They all said, eager and ready. God, I loved these people.

“Then what the hell are we waiting for, my friends?” I grinned. “Everyone, to your ships! Let’s get this show on the road!”

As me and my fireteam pushed our way to the Vault, I felt a heavy sense of foreboding. Venus was lost to the Vex years ago and the fact that the place was still this much of a mystery scared the hell out of me.

As we opened the Vault, the Vex obviously tried to stop us, but with little success.

“That seemed a little too easy…” Sapph muttered.

“Glad I’m not the only one thinking that…” I agreed.

The huge door shifted open and we moved inside, quietly as a group as the lights slowly flickered into an eerie darkness.

As we proceeded further, the ring of pieces of architecture and potentially creatures fading in and out of time chilled me to the bone or what little I had left. We had heard of a vengeful Hydra aptly named the Templar, but when and where it would show up, we hadn't the foggiest idea.

We come to a big platform only to discover that we were blocked by a heavily encrypted door. The Vault of Glass was not one vault but several.

“Maybe they are taking a coffee break…?” The other hunter offered.

“I hope so. Last thing I want is Minotaurs grumbling at us because Starbucks wasn’t open yet.” I remarked jokingly.

Without warning, a hellish mechanical screech, the likes of which I have never heard before nor since, shook the earth.

“What the actual hell!?!” I yelled, more annoyed than anything.

After all of us recovered from being deaf, we looked up to see the most decorated yet the most menacing Hydra I’d ever seen floating near the next Vault door. With what looked like a vengeful stare, his blocky shield turned green and started fluctuating to reveal conflicted and dozens of drones started rushing to sacrifice themselves for the cause. We immediately began shooting them to stop their advance.

All of us knew what this was. The Templar War Machine and his demented trials were upon us.

We were told of the trials of the Templar: the confluxes and the oracles, but we were treading new ground beyond that. As we destroyed the final oracle, with a demon cry, the Templar unleashed its weaponry as it charged at us.

Without warning, as I dived aside, a relic fell from who knows where to where I was in cover. I picked it up and without really knowing how to use it but somehow embracing its strange familiarity, I activated it’s defense protocol, defending my team before wielding it as a weapon against the shields as the rest of my team hunkered down and loaded every clip we had into that thing. After what seemed like forever, the Templar crippled and exploded opening the way forward. From now on, we were in unseen territory.