#its like 'empty fandom? free real estate'

[procrastinatorimagines]

Helping Hand

Fandom: The Originals / The Vampire Diaries

Characters: Reader, Elijah, 

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 4,171

Request:  Hi! Can I get an imagine where the reader is a teenager (about 16) who has powers and she learns that Elijah Mikaelson has a necklace that belonged to her ancestor that will allow her to keep her powers under control and asking him for help?

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hey ,can u write something with elijah???? love your blog

Summary: The reader moves to New Orleans with her family after her grandmother dies, leaving them with a large property and inheritance. But the reader also starts to develop powers, powers she cannot control, not without the help of Elijah Mikaelson.

Note: I’ve had this first request buried in my drafts for a very long time, I don’t even still have the actual request anymore so idk who sent it but here it is

Your magic was... volatile, to say the least. They’d started to show themselves last year, around the time your family had moved to New Orleans, but despite your best efforts, you were still unable to keep them under much control. It felt like there was a well of power deep inside of you, but no matter how far you reached, you’d yet to find the end. 

You longed to reach the end of your power, to finally know your limits. By understanding what you were capable of, maybe you could begin to learn to control barely contained power within. It was a miracle your family hadn’t found out yet, especially given the whole you’d accidentally made in the back wall of the house, but as much as you wanted to tell them, you didn’t know how they would react. 

The timing of your powers couldn’t have been a coincidence, at first you’d thought it was related to your age maybe, did 15 mean something magical? You obviously had no idea, but the longer you were in New Orleans, you started to realise that that wasn’t the case. Your estranged grandmother had died last year, you’d only met her once as a baby and your mother never talked about her, but she’d left behind a massive estate and inheritance in New Orleans, and following the divorce from your father, your mother had decided maybe it was a good chance for a fresh start. So she’d packed you and your younger twin brothers up, ripping you away from your lives, friends, everything you’d ever known, and taken you to the Crescent City.

It had been an adjustment, especially with the added problems of your powers. Needless-to-say, discovering you had magic was a shock, a big one. At first you thought you were dreaming, or seeing things, but eventually you’d accepted that this was real... and you should really plant a few trees to make up for the damage you’d accidentally done to the ones on the edge of your property line.

That’s where you were now, headphones on, beads of sweat on your brow as you tried to concentrate your magic at a single tree stump about ten metres away from you. Taking slow breaths you listened to the beat of the music pumping in your ears, letting all else slip away as you felt that familiar opening inside of you, leading to the well of magic you could feel stirring in anticipation. It always gave you a bit of a rush when you started, but you had to be careful you didn’t dive in too quickly. 

Too much too fast was your problem, and you’d spent many, many... many, frustrating days trying to master it. You were sure there was a better way, maybe an instruction manual? But who could you ask, New Orleans may have been full of stores and stalls promising knowledge of the occult and the supernatural, but nothing had seemed to do you any good. Parlour tricks mostly, so you were alone.

Feeling that familiar build up of power, you yet again tried to steady it, tried to send a concentrated blast only. You felt your hands tingle, then warm, focusing intently as you felt sweat drip down the side of your face. Almost there...

A bird landed on the tree stump, catching you off guard as it cawed, stretching its wings but refusing to move. At the last second you threw your hands to the side, a blast of power flying into a nearby tree as you tried to reign it back in. 

“Damn it!” You swore, clenching your hands into fists and pulling them to your sides as you stared wide eyes at the giant smouldering hole in the tall tree, the creaking and groaning sound it was making as it began to splinter at the break.

You took a slight step back, casting a dirty look at the black bird still perched on the stump as it watched you, regarding you with a more curious look than you were comfortable with. A loud snapping sound caused you to look back to the tree, now unable to support the weight on top as it began to topple.

“Crap...” you mumbled, pulling your headphones down to your neck as you watched it start to fall slowly. Not again, you thought as it fell, crashing into another tree before falling back and slamming into the ground. 

You stared at it in stunned silence for a minute, glad you were too far out for anyone to have heard. The bird let out a small noise, still watching you, seemingly unaffected by the sound of the toppling tree. “What are you looking at?” You demanded, the bird cocking its head like it was listening, “this is your fault,” you told it, pointing to the mess behind it. 

The black bird actually turned its head, looking to the tree before turning back to you, cawing and flying off over your head. You ducked as it flew past you, wind blowing your hair. Well... that was weird, but honestly, talking to a bird was probably the least strange thing that had happened to you recently.

So with a shrug you turned on your heels, grabbing your school bag and heading back down the overgrown path you always followed back to your house, checking your watch to make sure you wouldn’t miss the bus. Your 16th birthday had been a few days ago, and the balloons your mother had insisted on putting up on the railings of your front porch were still flying as you appeared out of the clearing in the woods.

Your brother’s were waiting by the road as you picked up your pace, noticing the school bus turning down the end of your road and heading to where the boys were stood. “Cutting it close,” one of your brothers, JJ, commented as you rolled your eyes, ignoring him and Nick as you rifled in your bag for your pass, finding it just as the bus pulled up and the doors opened. 

You sat away from your brothers once you got on, headphones back on as you thought about how you were ever going to get a hang of your powers. 

The rest of your school day when like it usually did, you went to class, did your work, ate lunch alone, and researched magic whenever you had some free time. You’d had losts of friends back home, but being the new girl struggling to control dangerous powers didn’t leave you with much opportunity to be anything other than the loner who talked to the librarian more than any of the other kids. 

Your brothers fit in just fine, and the party your mother had been expecting to throw you over the weekend had been embarrassingly empty, so now she was worried about you. Great, another thing you had to worry about. 

Thankfully, your magic hadn’t really ever acted up at school, expect in gym once or twice, but nothing too noticeable. Heightened emotions seemed to make it worse, and the boredom you felt at school seemed to subdue it the most. 

After school you debated getting the bus home with JJ and Nick, but your mom was working until late so you decided to walk into the city instead, trying your luck again at one of the supposedly magic stores or stalls, you never knew, maybe someone might actually be able to help you.

It was a warm day, even into the afternoon as you strolled along the crowded streets. Okay, you actually liked New Orleans, the people, the buildings, the atmosphere, you felt like you could disappear here. If you hadn’t come into uncontrollable powers when you’d moved here... well, things would be very different. 

You ended up walking through the French Quarter, definitely lost but not caring too much, you’d just use your phone to find the best way home when it got a little later. You were so lost in your music and surroundings that it took you a while to realise you were being followed. 

It felt like a cold breeze on the back of your neck, like your magic warning you of danger. But there was so many people arround that you wouldn’t have been able to tell who was following you even if you saw them, so you picked up your pace.

That feeling didn’t leave, cold going down your spine as you weaved your way through the crowds of people milling about the square. You probably would have thought you were paranoid, but you’d learned enough to not doubt your magic right now. 

Spotting a side street you slipped down it, only realising once you were half way down that it was a dead end. You quickly tried to double back, heart pounding as you turned to see a man at the end of the way, blocking your exit.

He was a sharp dressed man, black suit crisp as he leaned against the cool shaded bricks on the wall, hands in his pockets, regarding you with a cool but intrigued gaze. There was something... off about him, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on as your magic buzzed in you with warning. 

“Hello there,” he said casually, pushing himself up off the wall and strolling towards you, hands still in his pockets. He didn’t look threatening, but there was something in his eyes that made you want to run, but where?

“H-Hello,” you got out, not doing well to pretend you weren’t scared as the man smirked at you. There was a lot of times over the past year where you wished you didn’t have magic, this however, wasn’t one of them. You’d never used your power on another person before, but the more scared you got, the more you could feel it burning in your core, ready to burst out to defend you if needed. 

“I’m Elijah,” he introduced himself, British accent clear as he slowly spoke the words. Was he expecting you to introduce yourself? Stranger Danger 101, you were not giving this man your name. He seemed to realise that when you didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem offended. “Very well, I apologise for startling you, but you looked like somebody I knew once.”

“We’ve never met,” you replied, you were sure you would have remembered this well dressed individual.

“No...” Elijah mused outloud, “no I suppose we haven’t, a relative maybe?” The only relative you knew in the city was your late grandmother, you supposed your mother had lived here, but not for the better part of 20 years.

“I don’t think so,” you answered, itching to get away. He seemed to register this, but he still seemed curious about you. What was this guys deal? You scrunched your fists at your side, palms warm with power, your fight or flight response sounding alarm bells in your head as your power threatened to spill out. 

He took another step towards you, glancing down at your hands like he knew what was going on inside of you. Was that possible? You knew that you couldn’t be the only one in the world with power like this, but still...

“I have to go now,” you told him quickly, trying to simply quickly walk past him back to the crowded street, determined to get home as you regretted not just getting the bus with your siblings. 

“On second,” he said, just as you passed him, hand reaching out to grab your arm. As you as he touched you, you exploded.

It happened so fast, one second you were trying to twist out of his grasp, the next a blast of energy had sent him down the street. Breathing heavily, your heart pounding in chest, you didn’t look back to see what you had just done, instead all but running out on the street and making your way back home. 

What had you just done?

-

You made it home before your mom, ignoring your brothers questions about where you had been as you ran up the stairs two at a time and into your bedroom, slamming your door shut and locking it. Only when you heard your lock click into place did you let out a shaky breath and try to relax, leaning against the back of the door and sinking to the floor. Your mind was racing as you tried to process what had just happened.

Had you killed him? You didn’t think so, you hoped not, but he had provoked you, scared you, it had been out of your control the second he’d put his hand on your arm. What were you going to do now?

You groaned and wiped your hands over your face, exhausted and drained. You just needed to think. Reluctantly pulling yourself up you went into your bathroom to take a shower. Every bedroom in this house seemed to have it’s own bathroom, what your grandmother did alone in this place was beyond you.

The water was scolding as you slipped in, but you didn’t care, standing there for a long time as it poured down your face and body, eyes glued to your hands as you thought about the power they contained, the power you possessed.

Your eyes drifted to the pale blue wall tiles, you grandmother had had most of the house redecorated before she died, she’d been sick for a while apparently, but your mom had never told you any of that. This was the room she’d decorated for you, the one she’d instructed you to take in the will, and you had to admit, she’d done a damn good job of decorating it to your taste. Eerily good, considering you weren’t exactly doing much talking the one time you’d met her. 

She’d left you a note too, on the bed when you’d entered. Old people rambling about how you had more potential than you realised, you were special and important and she wished she was there with you... You hadn’t thought much about it at first, but a part of you kept going back to those words in your mind, had she meant this? Had she known?

It seemed crazy, but there had been something not right about that man, Elijah, something cold and... not human? If he had known your grandmother, maybe he would have had more answers about what was going on with you?

With a sigh you finally turned off the water, drying yourself off as you thought about your grandmother alone in this big old house. As you did you walked over the creaky floorboard outside the bathroom door and paused, leaning back on your heel and making it squeek again. You shook your head, thinking you must be reading too much into everything that had happened to you. But as you stepped off of it and listened to it creak again you let out a defeated breath, what the hell, why not? You thought, kneeling down and prying at the sides of the board. 

To your slight surprise it budged, were you really looking for hidden compartments in your room? But your grandmother had left it to you, if your suspicions about her were correct, maybe she’d left you more than you realised. She did, you realised as you got the board free, a dusty box beneath it. This was crazy.

Taking it out you set it on your dresser and got dressed, eyes barely leaving to box until you tentatively tried the latch, it didn’t have a lock on it so you carefully lifted up the old lid, revealing a leather bound book within. It looked like an old-timey journal as you slowly pulled it out, your magic buzzing at the touch. What was this?

You went to sit on your bed, book on your lap as you opened the first page, careful not to tear the pages as you did, it felt fragile but it was definitely well worn, the spine was basically coming apart. The language inside looked like it was mostly... Latin? Maybe, you hadn’t exactly studied it in school, but there were annotations in the margins in English, fresher than the original text, the handwriting appearing to match the writing in your grandmother’s letter.

The more you flipped through the pages, skimming passages and trying to understand illustrations, the more you thought this was a spellbook of some kind. You assumed that was a thing anyway, especially with your grandmother’s notes. 

“Y/N!” A knock on your door had you slamming the book shut probably a little too hard and rushing to put it away, your mother calling you from the otherside. 

“Yeah?” You called back, frantically trying to replace the floor board, barely managing to as she entered, uniform on as she look at you, on your knees n the floor. “Dropped by earring,” you lied with ease and she believed you, it’s not like she’d have believed the truth anyway.

“I’ll have dinner ready in 20, okay?” She smiled and you nodded, standing back up, “how was school?”

“Eh same old,” you told her, deliberately not mentioning your strange encounter with Elijah, she’d freak out if she knew, and you didn’t want her involved in any of this.

“Okay, could you set the table when you come down?” She asked and you nodded again, more than eager for her to leave your room. 

She did after that and you breathed a sigh of relief, you couldn’t be doing any of this in the house, you’d go out into the woods again with the book tomorrow, maybe it was time for a new approach to your magical problem. You just hoped the answers you were looking for had been right under your nose, or feet, the entire time.

-

It was a quiet morning as you made your way down the familiar walkway into the woods, switching into autopilot as you stepped over the roots and stones you had been avoiding nearly everyday for the better part of a year.

You’d tried to sleep last night, but your mind was wide awake, thoughts of that book swirling around in your mind until you finally caved and switched on your lamp, reading through the pages until you’d eventually fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, book in hand. 

It had been eye opening. Vampires, werewolves, witches... well, you were a witch then, but the fact that the others existed too was nearly too much, your brain becoming so overloaded with new information you barely thought was possible. You’d fallen asleep at a chapter on New Orleans, the different factions there and information on the ‘Original Family’ that had once ruled, the name Elijah Mikaelson had caught your eye, was it the same Elijah you’d met yesterday? It would explain a few things, but it didn’t exactly make you feel any better.

You made it to the area you had been the previous morning, the fallen tree a reminder that you really needed to get your powers under control. You sat on the stump you’d been trying to blast yesterday and pulled the book out of your bag, a torn piece of homework bookmarking a page with a spell you’d decided to test out. It seemed simple enough, and this far into the woods you only had to worry about the damage to the trees, which was nothing new when it came to your magic. 

Leaving the book open on the correct page you stood back up, focusing your breathing as you held out your hands, facing the fallen tree as you reached down into that familiar well of power. But instead of firing blindly like you usually did, you now had a spell that you hoped would at least concentrate the energy.

“Motus,” you said when you were ready, feeling your power blast out of your hands, absolutely shattering the tree you had previously felled... along with a handfull of others in the vacinity. 

“No, no, no,” you muttered. It hadn’t worked, you’d just wanted to hit the one tree, now what were you supposed to do? 

You were so lost in your thoughts you hadn’t noticed that you weren’t alone, jumping and whirling around when you heard a twig snap behind you. Suddenly you found yourself face to face with Elijah. 

“Impressive, uncontrolled and reckless, but impressive nonetheless,” he commented, standing there in a suit as crisp as he had worn yesterday, seemingly unaffected by the blast you’d sent into his chest at your previous encounter. 

“How...?” You stammered, looking around to see where he had come from all of a sudden, what your grandmother’s book had said about Elijah the Original ringing in your mind as you faced him.

“I’m a vampire,” he told you, waiting for your reaction, “so you know what I am then?” He asked when you didn’t flinch.

“I did some reading last night,” you said honestly and he glanced down at where you’d left the book open on the tree stump, recognition flashing in his eyes.

“I can see that,” he noted, wandering over to the book. You wanted to stop him as he reached it, but your feet were firmly planted. What did he want now? “My apologies for yesterday by the way, you just looked so much like your grandmother that I let my curiosity get the better of me, I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“How did you know her?” You asked and he smiled, like he was thinking of fond memories.

“She was one of the oldest witches in New Orleans, most went to her for guidance, she had a gift of sight you see, I went to her from time to time as well, her passing was tragic,” he explained, “how long have you known?”

“Well I found the book yesterday so since then really,” you admitted.

He looked at you in confusion, “but you powers...?”

“Yeah I’ve had those since I moved here, but I never really knew what they were, or how to use them,” you elaborated.

“I can see that,” he said with a nod to the destruction behind you. You looked down sheepishly, embarrassed by your lack of control after so long.

“You know, your grandmother had the same problem,” he began, your head shooting back up to face him, finding that very hard to believe after what he’d just told you about her. “It’s true,” he insisted, noting your hesitation to believe him, “the witches in your family are born with an immense amount of power, more than most could handle, which is why she wore this, to channel that energy and take control,” as he finished he held out his hand, an amulet dropping from it. 

“What is that?” You asked him, drawn closer by the power radiating from the small half moon hanging from his index finger. It looked old, but it also felt oddly familiar in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“It belonged to your ancestors, passed down from generation to generation since before my family even reached these shores in the early 18th century, your grandmother gave it to me for safe keeping, so it could be given to you,” he told you and you shelved the comment about the 18th century away for another time, your eyes unable to leave the amulet as Elijah held out his hand, offering it to you. 

“Can I?” You reached out for it slowly and he nodded, letting you take it. It felt cold in your palm, so different from the heat you always felt when you were using your power. Elijah offered to fasten it for you and he did, a sense of calm and clarity washing over you as soon as he fastened the clasp and stepped back. 

“Try it now,” he suggested and it took you a second to realise he meant the spell. You swallowed, here went nothing.

Turning until you found a target you held out your hand, your well of magic seemingly contained by the amulet, a smaller opening available to you now as you whispered, “motus,” and sent a beam of energy into a nearby tree branch.

Usually, the whole tree would have been blown apart at least, but you your surprise and delight, only the branch was sent flying off. You’d done it. 

Smiling you turned back to Elijah, “thank you,” you breathed, hand going to the amulet around your throat.

“Of course, I gave your grandmother my word that I’d help you when the time came, but I’ll admit, family matters kept me from even checking to see if you’d arrived in the city,” he admitted, “for that I’m sorry, but if you’d let me, I’d like to help you now, it’s the least I could do for your grandmother.”

Although you barely knew this strange man, this vampire, he seemed genuine and it’s not like you really had many other options. So you straighten up and nodded. “Where do we begin?”

[flowercrown-bard]

The Boy who Ran: Chapter 5

Whumptober Prompt 17: Dirty Secret

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/ Jaskier

Read on AO3

part 1   part 2   part 3  part 4

“No! Geralt!” Tears streamed down Jaskier’s face. “Let him go! Please, let him go!”

He struggled, needed to get closer to Geralt, but he couldn’t move. He was stuck in place, forced to watch the knives slice into his beloved.

Jaskier screamed his name, begging for his tormentors to stop.

They didn’t.

Only when Geralt had fallen to the ground, having lost too much blood for him to survive, did they finally step away.

“Get up!” he pleaded. “Come on, Geralt, get back up…”

But Jaskier knew it was of no use. Geralt was dead. He had known it would end like this. It always did. Over and over again had Jaskier watched his beloved die, unable to help him and yet bursting with the need to do so.

The image finally changed. Geralt was back up, fighting again, dying again. Over and over, a twisted roundabout of destruction.

“Please stop,” Jaskier said, unable to avert his eyes as Geralt got killed by a monster, human bandits, the Fae, and worst of all by Jaskier himself.

All the while voices whispered in Jaskier’s ears, voices that he had once thought calming in their familiarity. Now the Faes’ words cut him like knives. Physical injuries had never hurt him much in the Feywild. They didn’t last. Unlike the poisonous whispers.

You cannot save him. No, no, it wasn’t true. Jaskier had saved him before. He could do it again. The one time you healed him was luck. It had almost killed you too. It… it was true, but Jaskier would gladly risk his life again if it meant Geralt would be safe. He could learn to use more of the Fae magic. Oh, but he would not be too happy about that, would he? If he ever finds out what you are, half-bred, he will hate you. He will hunt you down and if you want to save your own life, you will have to kill him yourself.

Jaskier screamed. He screamed and screamed as though it would drown out the lies – they must be lies!– as though it would make the images of Geralt’s torment disappear.

It didn’t help, nothing could. Geralt continued hurting, continued dying, continued screaming, shouting Jaskier’s name, begging for help that he was unable to give.

“Jaskier!”

He flinched as his name was whispered in his ear, not poisonous, not the last cry of a man as he was dying. Arms tightened around him.

“Jaskier, you’ll be fine. Everything is fine.” Geralt’s voice was a low rumble, soothing and familiar. Safe. “I’ve got you, Jaskier. You’re not there anymore.”

Slowly, Jaskier opened his eyes.

His head was buried in Geralt’s chest, as he held him close, protecting him from all the threats of the outside world, his voice desperate to protect him from the images in his mind as well.

The cool night air that came through the window of their room made it easier to breathe. He was free. He was free and he was held in Geralt’s embrace. This was fine. Everything was fine. Geralt was alive and safe.

Except that he wasn’t.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s arms loosened slightly around him and he drew back enough to look Jaskier in the eye. “Whatever you see in your nightmares, it’s over. Those dreams are not real.”

“No they’re not.”

But they could be. Owing a Fae a favour never ended well. Jaskier had known the risk he had taken when he had proposed the deal. He had known what he would get himself into. It had been worth it, if it had meant Geralt being spared by death, even if Geralt suffering and dying was all that Jaskier had seen for the eternity he had spent in the Feywilds, his life belonging to Valdo for as long as they would leave Geralt alone.

And stupid, reckless, brave Geralt had made sure Valdo wouldn’t leave him alone. Despite everything Jaskier had seen happen to Geralt, the moment he had realised what Geralt had done was the worst moment in his life.

Geralt had killed part of Valdo’s family. Whatever the Fae was planning on using their favour on, it would be bad.

A tremble took hold of Jaskier. Geralt held his shaking body, combing his fingers through his hair in a helpless attempt to calm him. But for all the monsters Geralt could fight, the ones that lurked inside Jaskier’s mind weren’t one of them.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Geralt asked carefully.

Jaskier shook his head. Even if he wanted to tell Geralt, he wouldn’t be able to find the words. How could he, when they would describe him dying over and over again. It had been months since Geralt had made that deal. Months of nights that were filled with terror. Months of throwing glances over his shoulder, and seeing Valdo’s eyes everywhere, ready to strike and take Geralt from him. Every sparrow seemed to have their eyes, every sound of the forest sounded like the echo of their laugh. It had been too much. Even those past weeks that Geralt had insisted on staying in town with Jaskier where the Fae couldn’t just summon their Fairyrings and appear out of nowhere, he didn’t feel safe. The Fae could always find a way to hurt Geralt.

“Just hold me,” he whispered.

Instead of answering, Geralt tightened his arms around Jaskier, showing him that he was here with him. Always. As he had been for the past months, not even straying from Jaskier’s side for a minute, just so he would feel safe.

Jaskier willed himself to relax. Hours must have passed, before Geralt’s breath took on a different rhythm, slow and steady and peacefully asleep. It was a luxury Jaskier hadn’t had in such a long time.

He brought his hand between them and rested it on Geralt’s chest, feeling his heart thrum steadily, strongly.

For a few blissful moments, Jaskier let it create the bittersweet illusion that everything was alright. Reality and the echoes of Geralt’s screams came back far too quickly, burying the calm under a wave of dread.

Careful not to wake Geralt, Jaskier slipped out of his embrace. His bare feet hit the cold floor and immediately he missed the warmth of the bed and Geralt’s arms.

One last glance at Geralt told him that he was well and truly asleep, even as his hands grasped at the now empty space where Jaskier had lain. With shaking hands, Jaskier went over to his bags and produced what he had been working on each night for a month now.

The necklace he had stolen from a blacksmith for a lack of money, was almost perfect for his cause. He let it glide through his fingers, as he hummed quietly. It had taken an eternity to figure out the melody he needed, but as he now felt the thrumming strings of chaos weave into the necklace with every note he sang, he knew that it had been worth the sleepless hours.

As he sang of a roof over his head in a stormy night, of hot tea in the winter, of Geralt, of all the things that kept him safe, he felt the chain get stronger. He sang of Geralt shielding him from the eyes of an angry monster; he sang of the secret escape route from his parents’ estate, he sang of the forest that had protected him from all harm.

With every moment he held it, the chain of pure iron burned his fingers, but the pain only served to make him more determined. It meant that it was working. If even he, the half- bred, was burned by iron, that meant that a true Fae would not be able to touch it at all. And with Jaskier’s protection woven into it, their magic would not even be able to come near Geralt. Hopefully.

His fingers slid down to the pendant as his song reached its end. The buttercup that was forever captured in glass lit up, before going back to normal. It was done.

Jaskier might not be able to permanently break the deal Geralt had made with Valdo – not for a lack of trying. He had spent many sleepless nights trying to do so, but to no avail – but he would be able to make sure that the Fae wouldn’t be able to come close enough to Geralt to collect their favour.

The smile on Jaskier’s face was quickly replaced by a frown as the exhaustion of the spell washed over him and the familiar pain of a thousand needles prodding at his skill returned.

Swiftly, he put the charm back into his bag and snuck back under the blanket and into Geralt’s embrace, letting sleep engulf him. For the first time in months, he wasn’t worried about the terrors of the night, for he knew that now, they would stay in his dreams.  

*

“I have something for you.”

Jaskier was brimming with excitement, as he told Geralt to close his eyes.

Geralt lifted an eyebrow, but obeyed. It had been too long since he had seen Jaskier with this spark in his eyes.

Once Jaskier was sure that Geralt wasn’t looking, he pulled out the necklace. He bit his lip to supress the hiss when he touched the iron and gently laid it around Geralt’s neck.

It looked perfect. The fine chain and flower certainly wasn’t Geralt’s style, but it wasn’t about being pretty. It was about protection, not that Geralt would know about it.

The tension that had choked Jaskier in its suffocating grip finally released its hold on him. Seeing the charm lay atop of Geralt’s heart finally made Jaskier believe the words he whispered to him at night, that they were safe.

“You can open your eyes now.”

For a moment, Geralt didn’t look at his gift, but at Jaskier, studying him with eyes that grew softer with every heartbeat that he took in Jaskier’s smile.

Only at Jaskier’s urging did he finally look at the buttercup pendant that rested next to his witcher medallion. Gently, he held it in between two fingers to study it better.

“It’s… it’s pretty,” he said finally. There was unmistakable confusion in his voice and uncertainty about how to react.

Jaskier huffed, but his smile didn’t disappear.

“I know you don’t really care much for pretty things – “Jaskier began only to be interrupted by Geralt cupping his cheek.

“There is one pretty thing I care about.”

Jaskier swatted at his hand, but his smile widened.

“It’s a reminder,” Jaskier said after a brief pause, in which he just stood there and soaked up the feeling of Geralt’s hand on him. “That I love you. No matter what.”

“I don’t need a reminder for that,” he said, no doubt lacing his words as his thumb brushed over Jaskier’s skin.

“Oh?” Jaskier said, tilting his head to the side and quirking his lips playfully. “If that is so, I guess, I’ll just take it back.”

Geralt’s hand that was still holding the pendant tightened and he growled “Don’t you dare. I am keeping this.”

*

Jaskier had a new skip in his step as he danced through the inn. The air that smelled of alcohol and sweat was easier to breathe and his songs held a happiness they had lacked in recent times. Jaskier was well and truly happy.

How could he not be? Geralt was wearing his necklace day and night, right next to his heartbeat, where it would protect him from Valdo or any other Fae.

Jaskier’s rediscovered joy was obvious and his songs brought more coin than ever – which they were in dire need of, since Jaskier had been the one providing for them both ever since Geralt had refused to go on hunts to protect Jaskier instead.

They had everything they needed. It was a good life. It was a safe life.

“You are happier again, aren’t you?” Geralt said one day, when they were lying on the bed, arms slung around each other.

Jaskier hummed happily, tracing lazy patterns on Geralt’s chest that always brought him back to the buttercup pendant.

Under his hand he felt Geralt’s chest rise as he took a deep breath.

“Jaskier, I’ve been thinking…”

“Realy?” Jaskier said, a teasing twinkle in his eyes. “Must have been hard for you.”

Geralt’s lips twitched, but he quickly became serious again. “You are happy again. You feel safe again.”

“We both are.”

Geralt nodded, even though Geralt must still think that the Fae could come collect their favour at any time. For a brief moment, Jaskier was tempted to tell him the truth, about the necklace, but the memory of what Geralt had said about Fae held him back. With everything that had happened, Jaskier couldn’t blame him for resenting the Fae. He wouldn’t be able to blame him if he would resent Jaskier too if he ever found out.

Geralt’s voice shook him from his musings.

“You are safe,” Geralt repeated. “and I was thinking that maybe… maybe you would be able to be alone for a bit again.” Jaskier grew rigid in Geral’t embrace and Geralt quickly added “Not for long, of course. I wouldn’t do that to you. Only for one contract.”

Jaskier swallowed hard. “Is there… do you have a specific contact in mind?”

He had known it would come to this eventually. Geralt was a witcher. He couldn’t stay holed up for months on end without going outside and hunting. As much as Jaskier knew Geralt loved him, he also needed to hunt. Not only for the money, but for himself. If it hadn’t been for Geralt’s sake that Jaskier had kept him in the town for so long, he would have called himself selfish for doing so. Now, that Geralt was safe from the Fae, he had no such excuse anymore. Geralt needed to hunt again and Jaskier had no right to keep him from it.

Geralt rubbed his face with his free hand and sighed. “Someone approached me while you were performing. There seems to be a griffin near-by. It shouldn’t take long to do the job. If I go early tomorrow, I will be back by dawn. I won’t leave you alone in the night.”

Geralt’s voice sounded so gentle, so reassuring, but Jaskier hadn’t registered any the words meant to comfort him. All he could focus on what was Geralt was risking.

“A griffin?” he said, voice shaking almost as much as his body. “Geralt, do you not remember what happened the last time you fought a griffin? You got hurt Geralt. You almost died”

“I was fine.”

“Yes, because I was there!” The words escaped him before he realised what he had said. As soon as the words were out, Jaskier pressed his lips tightly together, praying that Geralt would not question him.

For once in his life, the gods were merciful, for Geralt didn’t seem to have noticed the slip up.

“I am glad you were there, of course, but I wouldn’t force you to come with me. You can stay here where you are safe and I will be back in no time.”

“Oh, hoho, no, my friend.” Jaskier sat up in bed, towering over Geralt who was still lying on his back. “I will sure as hell not be left behind while you fight.”

Geralt simply looked at him for a long moment. “Do you…would you feel safer, if you came with me?”

“Yes!” There was no hesitation in Jaskier’s voice though it couldn’t be further from the truth. Jaskier wouldn’t exactly be safer accompanying Geralt on the hunt. But Geralt would be safer, having Jaskier there.

Geralt’s eyes softened. “I promise I will protect you.”

And I you.

*

There was no skip in Jaskier’s step, no joyful melody on his lips as they walked across the field. The tremble of his hand was only stopped by Geralt holding it.

Despite all of Geralt’s reassurances that everything would be fine – he had done this hundreds of times before after all – Jaskier couldn’t make himself believe it. After all, he had almost died because of a griffin before, hadn’t he? It had taken all of Jaskier’s might to keep him alive. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do it again.

Not that he would ever let it come that far.

The closer they got to where the griffin’s hunting ground, the fast Jaskier’s heart was beating. Geralt must have heard it, for he haltered and turned to Jaskier.

“You don’t have to come closer,” he said softly. “I know you don’t really like watching me fight.”

Jaskier’s grip on Geralt’s hand tightened. “No, no it’s fine. I want to be close to you.”

Geralt searched his face for a moment, but didn’t say anything. Eventually, he sighed. Jaskier watched with growing terror, as Geralt lifted his free hand and took of the pendant. The one thing protecting him from the Fae. Jaskier’s blood ran cold.

“What are you doing?” His voice was shrill. “You have to wear it!”

“I need you to hold onto this for me.” Geralt put the necklace around Jaskier’s head and it burned, burned but not nearly as much as the fear that Geralt wasn’t safe anymore. “I can’t risk it ripping while I fight. I promise I won’t forget your love.”

“You will take it back as soon as you are done, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Geralt paused. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait at a distance?”

“Absolutely,” Jaskier said without hesitation. Now, more than ever, did he need to be close to the fight. Maybe the aura of the magic he had caught in the pendant would be strong enough to reach Geralt if Jaskier was close to him.  

Together they hid behind some trees and waited for the sheep Geralt had brought as bait to catch the griffin’s attention. Jaskier prayed it wouldn’t. If the griffin never showed up, they could just turn around – “too bad that the griffin was a no-show, huh, Geralt? But what can you do?” – and go back to the town where nothing bad could happen.

The tiny glimmer of irrational hope Jaskier had was squashed, as a shadow passed over the sheep and Geralt shot out from behind the trees and towards the beast.

Jaskier held his breath, his heart hammering in his chest.

Geralt would be fine. He had promised Jaskier everything would be fine.

With wide eyes, Jaskier watched Geralt evade attack after attack. The thrill of the fight seemed to radiate around him. This was what he was meant to do. He was good at this. Nothing bad would happen.

And yet ….

Unbidden images crept up on Jaskier, slowly, quietly like a predator in the night. He didn’t even notice they were coming until they hit him with full force. Visions of the Feywild torture and real memories blending together in a twisted picture show of death.

Geralt lying on the ground, bleeding out. Geralt being slain over and over again. Geralt’s glassy, dead eyes staring unseeing into the sky because Jaskier hadn’t been able to protect him. Geralt calling out for Jaskier, but Jaskier couldn’t help him, he couldn’t move. He needed to move, get to Geralt, protect him!

The thought was so all-consuming that Jaskier didn’t even notice that he was no longer hiding. All he could think about was that he had to safe Geralt before it was too late, before his visions would become cruel reality.

He sprinted towards him. Geralt’s shouts rang through his ears, made him run faster, gave him wings. The wind and his blind desperation carried him to his beloved, who would not die today.

He shoved Geralt away with more strength than an ordinary human could possess, standing over him, ready to take on everything the world threw at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Geralt’s sword flying out of his hand at the impact.

For a split second he caught Geralt’s eye, saw it widen, saw his lips move, but he couldn’t hear.

Whatever Geralt said, it was drowned in the thunder that was Jaskier’s voice. What left his mouth didn’t resemble a melody anymore. It was a battle cry, filled with all the rage and fear and love inside of Jaskier that now finally burst out of him. The iron chain burned around his neck, but it wasn’t enough to hold him back, his own protection magic that he had woven into it strengthening him instead of blocking the erupting chaos.

The griffin swooped down towards him, talons at the ready to tear into him – to take Geralt from him!

Power surged through Jaskier. The screaming and pain in his head became unbearable. Behind his eyes burned a fire, hotter than a dragon’s breath and threatening to rip Jaskier apart. It didn’t. No pain, no fire could ever be enough to stop Jaskier from protecting his loved one.

As the griffin shrieked in pain and disorientation, crashing and wreathing in pain, Jaskier could almost imagine his teeth sharpen, his fingers turn into claws. He could almost feel the weight of antlers and the translucent wings on his back. Here, standing over Geralt, deciding over life and death and defying nature, for the first time, he felt more Fae than human.

“Jaskier.”

The name sounded far away. It sounded strange, as though it had never fully encompassed all that he was, until this moment that Geralt had witness Jaskier become.

Without warning the power left him. It wasn’t the gentle ebbing away that he had expected, it was a damn breaking. The pain in his head returned with a vengeance. Jaskier was forced to his knees. He clutched at his head, desperate to stop the agony that burned, burned, engulfed his whole being in flame.

He tried to focus on the voice that had spoken before. But it was silent. No one was speaking anymore.

With all of his strength and despite the pain, Jaskier opened his eyes. He needed to see Geralt. Needed to know that he was alright, that he had succeeded.

Why wasn’t Geralt saying his name anymore?

He found Geralt’s eyes. There was a foreign expression in them. No, not foreign. Jaskier had seen it before, countless times. But never directed at him. Betrayal, disbelief, unbearable hurt.

“Geralt,” he said and his voice sounded strange even to his own ears. “It’s alright. You are safe.”

Geralt didn’t answer. His lips moved, formed Jaskier’s name, but no sound left him. As though he wasn’t sure if the man before him was still Jaskier. If he had ever been.

Black spots danced in Jaskier’s vision and he blinked them away with vigour. He couldn’t look away from Geralt. Not now. Not until he was certain that he was truly unhurt. He looked so hurt. Why was he hurt? Jaskier had protected him! He had made sure Geralt was safe!

Not knowing what to do and not trusting his voice for the first time in his life, Jaskier reached towards him.

Geralt didn’t flinch. Witchers didn’t flinch. But for a split second his eyes darted away from Jaskier. Jaskier followed his sight and his heart stopped. There lay the sword. The silver one. The one meant for monsters.

Like a stone the realisation sank into Jaskier. Geralt had witness him become other. He knew. He knew and he was … he was afraid of Jaskier.

Geralt’s hand twitched, ready to dart over to the sword and before Jaskier could grasp at what was happening, he fled.

He ran, ran until he couldn’t run anymore. He pushed through and stumbled further away, no matter where, as long as it put distance between him and Geralt. The man who had seen Jaskier and reached for his sword.

Jaskier’s legs shook from the effort as he blindly stumbled towards the uncertain. Everything hurt. His legs, his lungs, his eyes. As long as he focussed on them, he wouldn’t be able to feel the other pain, the one that sat deeper inside him than any physical one ever could, the one that would stay with him long after his exhaustion had passed.

So he continued running. He pushed himself, chasing that hurt, so it would drown out everything else and make thinking – feeling – impossible, knowing that the bliss of the distracting pain wouldn’t last.

*

Geralt didn’t get up until long after Jaskier had disappeared from sight. He didn’t know what he would do once he got up. He was a witcher, there was only one thing to do. Witchers hunted monsters, killed them.

Was that what Jaskier was? A monster?

He couldn’t be. How could the one who had stayed by his side, who had combed through his hair and whispered sweet things that no other witcher had ever heard into his ear, be a monster?

Geralt wasn’t even sure what he had seen. He only knew that he had been lied to. Of course he had. It had been too good to be true. A joyful bard that loved pretty things didn’t fall in love with a witcher.  

From the very beginning he had known that Jaskier had not always been with him because he liked him. He had travelled with him for inspiration for his songs. Because Geralt was his chance to see the world. Because Geralt could protect him.

And yet, as the years had passed, Geralt had thought – he had been foolish enough to think that maybe Jaskier had enjoyed his company. That maybe he had actually meant it when he had told him that he loved him. That foolish hope had turned into a certainty. And now it was shattered, exposing itself as the deceit it had always been.

He closed his eyes against the sudden ache in his chest. Without thinking, his hand went to his chest, as though pressing against it until it physically hurt would make it better.

It didn’t. Instead it felt the painful nothingness where his hand should have met something cool and smooth. The pendant. The gift Jaskier had given him. The reminder that Jaskier loved him, no matter what.

A lie. All of it. And now it was gone. How fitting.

Except, Jaskier had never lied, not openly. Not even once had he told Geralt that he was a human. He had probably laughed about it, each time Geralt had been worried about the fragile and breakable human that he had so blindly assumed that he was.

Even more stupid, seen as Geralt had wondered about it. Every once in a while, when Jaskier was singing, his medallion had hummed lightly, as it had when Geralt had woken up thinking he had been on the brink of death. And lately, it had been vibrating constantly. Geralt had assumed it had been because of the deal he had made with the Fae. He had ignored the fact that it had gotten stronger ever since he had started wearing Jaskier’s necklace. Every single time Geralt had pushed the thought that something could be wrong away. Time and time again, he had made up some stupid explanation, everything so he wouldn’t have to confront his fear.

Gods, he had been so gullible. He had noticed how young Jaskier was, how special his eyes were, how strangely captivating his voice. How right it had felt anytime he had said Geralt’s name…

How much of it had only been a game to Jaskier? All this time, had Geralt only been some amusement for the Fae? A challenge, of how long he could keep fooling a witcher? Fucking long, apparently. Years, decades. If it weren’t for today, he would have probably let himself be fooled for a lifetime.

Or had it been more calculated than that? Had it been a ploy to get Geralt to agree to a deal with the Fae? Had Jaskier even been in pain at all, when he had been dragged to the Fae world? There was no way of knowing. The only certainty Geralt had, was that he had jumped to the opportunity to get Jaskier out of there, ready to risk anything. And he had. He owed the Fae and it was his own damn fault for trusting Jaskier.

There was no such a thing as a good Fae. He had said it himself. They were liars, cold-hearted beasts that manipulated people.

It was too much. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t do anything as he realised that none of it had been true.

A tremble shook his body. He wished he still had the pendant, so that he could feel the satisfaction of crushing it. Of throwing the pieces as far as possible or dropping them right here in the dirt and show the world that he didn’t care.

But oh, he did. He cared so much that his heart felt like it had turned to ice at the thought he had not allowed himself to think just yet, but that lurked in his mind, waiting for the right moment to strike. It was easier letting himself be drowned in anger. It was easier than to realise that he would never see Jaskier again.

And still he was fooling himself. Even with all the anger he felt, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to destroy the necklace, even if he still had it. Like the fool that he was, he would keep it as a reminder. A reminder of what exactly, he wasn’t sure.

He went through the motions without truly feeling them as he set the sheep free and watched it take off with a terrified bleat. He was numb as he chopped the head off of the griffin he had not slain himself. He felt nothing as he dragged it back into town and dumped it unceremoniously in front of the man who had given him the contract. The first thing he felt was an unbearable weight as he pocketed the money he was given. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. No amount of money would be worth today. If he had never found out – if he had stayed the blind fool, he could have used the money to buy his beloved a gift, to treat him, like he had been convinced he deserved. He would have been happy.

Instead he felt hollow. He would have to return to the room they had shared. The room where all of Jaskier’s things would be waiting for him.

He clenched his jaw and made to leave the man from the contract. He had just left the house when another man stopped him, a blacksmith from the looks of it.

“Master Witcher?”

Geralt grunted. He didn’t care enough to open his mouth.

“Earlier today a man came by, told me to give you this and to he said that I should help you with everything you needed.”

Geralt turned back to him, a frown on his face as he took the letter the man held out to him.

“What is this? Who is it from?” he asked, without truly caring for the answer.

“I don’t know,” the man said hesitantly. “But he said to tell you that it’s time to collect a favour.”

[minecraftoworymode]

💕✨🎥

this ended up getting longer than i expected so it’s a-goin under a cut babeyyyy

💕  tell us about one of your favorite characters and why you like them!

favourite as in ‘well-written’ or favourite as in ‘i love them’? shhh. one of many Cube that live in my heart, Rent Free:

i mean the easy way out would be to just talk about any of the three characters i’m gay for so i’m going to NOT do that and instead pick someone else. gimme a second to spin the wheel brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr      JACK

So there’s this senior citizen .. no but seriously i have a lot of fondness and admiration for the guy! it’s not easy to keep going on when one or more of your friends is/are dead (to the best of your knowledge) but he not only did that but also got himself a husband like, you go king! he’s like, not a capital-H Hero like jesse is, but he’s still pretty darn epic :’)

✨  what draws you towards your hyperfixation? what is interesting about it?

good questions! for the first part, honestly at this point i’ve just put so much thought into it that escaping from the event horizon is no longer possible. i am spaghettifying as we speak. i’ve mantled someone from it, man!- which was perhaps inevitable given the nature of the game.

(this is already just me rambling to myself but i’ll still ask you forgive me the philosophizing hgldfhglkdfh) i wonder if the swiss cheese-like nature of mcsm has actually led me to devote more time and effort to it than perhaps i might’ve something that was more ‘whole’. “Because unoccupied spaces, in our imaginations, must find something to fill them.”, says this interview (albeit about a completely different topic)- and mcsm is FULL (ironically) of emptiness, plot holes, unanswered questions. ergo: prime real estate for resolution. i like the sense of resolution. i like the act of creating. i guess mcsm is actually quite like its inspiration, in that way- a sandbox, a garden, a “take this and go and play”. though it’s not such an open invitation as that, so it’s maybe more “i am going to take this and go play.”

as for the second half, specifically speaking: the witherstorm and PAMA! the old builders are a cool concept, like the other two, but lack the depth that would make them more than just an honorary mention of an interesting idea.

🎥 do you have any favorite scenes from your hyperfixation?

YES there is a part in s1 e...3? e2? where before meeting soren jesse can talk to reuben and- hold on let me see if i can upload my clip of it

What is this???!?!?!? of course there’s the possibility that jesse is just humouring reuben/pretending that reuben’s saying stuff when really he isn’t, but i prefer the interpretation where no, jesse and reuben are able to communicate in such a complex fashion that they can tell each other jokes that are ‘a little risqué’. it’s so utterly funny i crack up jsu thtiking about it

also from that episode i really love soren’s little song and dance and i think it’s unforgivable that there was no option to let him finish, especially since i think a lot of the fandom would’ve been goddamn nicer to him. let him finish!!

[moominquartz]

rating: T fandom: Steven Universe prompt: Near-Death Experience warnings: CW: Drowning word count: 1.6k requester: @koffiepop​

Rusalka

Connie, Steven, and the others deal with a formidable foe: a wayward water spirit.

[Read on AO3]

~*~

Water.

Connie is no stranger to water, to holding her breath. She counts in her head as she thrashes in the freezing deep, determined to reach sixty, and then one-twenty, searching for a source of light despite the way the water burns her eyes. But there is some supernatural force pulling her down, and then it’s not supernatural at all, just the weight of gallons of water crushing her, and then—

Then, her body fights her. She needs to breathe but she can’t inhale water but her lungs beat against her ribcage, barreling for air, and she can’t find the way up and finally she gasps, the saltwater burning against her throat on its way into her lungs, and

PANIC

Something wraps around her waist and she kicks back on instinct; the grip tightens and her eyes squeeze shut and she’s going to die—

Then she hits air. She wheezes as her body hits the mud, coughing; she scrambles as she tries to get her feet under her, to right her sense of direction, to focus. There is a hand on her back and then a familiar body pushing in front of her, grunting from a hit, and then the situation hits her like a baseball bat.

“Steven! Connie!”

Right. The rusalka.

“I’m fine!” Steven calls, his eyes never leaving Connie. Worry creases his brow as Connie desperately tries to get her breathing under control, knowing that any delay could mean her death.

Rusalki are water spirits. Sometimes they bestow spring rain and fertile harvests upon farmland on or near their territory. Most often they operate in groups or ‘schools,’ sometimes playing pranks by tugging on children’s heels when they go too far, or bringing drowned or drowning humans to shore.

When left alone like this one, sometimes they turn vengeful and angry. And that is what they’re here for.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Connie murmurs with a rasping voice. “Guess my drowning charm broke.” She takes Steven’s hand as he helps her to her feet, and she glances over the field. 

“Mine hasn’t, so don’t worry about me.”

Ruby has her fire sparking at her fingertips, directly at Sapphire’s side, though the korrigan can clearly see that Ruby is in more danger here than she is. Garnet is in the thick of it with Pearl and Amethyst, and while Garnet’s onslaught of spells attempt to chain the rusalka, the spirit shrieks and sends a wall of marsh water at her, spiraling Garnet backward. Pearl swoops in with her sword and the rusalka ducks, spinning backwards into Amethyst’s clawed grip.

“Leave me alone!” the rusalka shrieks, so loud it almost makes Connie’s ears bleed. Her voice has a quality to it like it’s being shouted through water but is a piercing volume. Connie grimaces as she stands upright, and when she looks to the fight, the rusalka has slipped out of Amethyst’s grip. Steven hands Connie the sword that she’d dropped, though she hasn’t been using it.

“Still think we can talk to her?” Connie asks with a small, nervous laugh.

“We have to.” Steven’s response is fervent, without room for doubt. He looks at Connie and offers her a small smile. “I know the others don’t think we’ll be able to pacify her, but we have to try. I won’t let anyone else get hurt if they don’t have to.”

Connie smiles in a way she hopes is reassuring. “All right. Then let’s go.”

They nod and burst forward together. They run parallel, side by side, until they are close enough to the fight that Steven shouts:

“RUSALKA!”

And the spirit turns immediately, anger lighting her eyes. She is so incredibly blue, bluer than most rusalki Connie’s seen. Blue skin, navy hair and matching eyes, with a dress the consistency and color of the thick marsh water. 

“Do you have a name?” Steven calls.

That makes the others freeze. “What are you doing?” Pearl shouts to him, but Steven’s eyes aren’t on her.

Only the monster.

“What does it matter to you?” the rusalka spits. Her focus turns from the others and is solely on Steven. Out of protective instinct, Connie’s hand finds his and squeezes it, though she knows better than to intervene or draw her sword now. “You’re here to kill me!”

“No, I’m not.” Steven holds out his free hand in peaceful offering, and Connie would mirror him if she did not have the hilt of her weapon in her hand. “Why have you been killing everyone who passes through here?”

“They mock me,” the rusalka growls. Water swirls around Steven’s feet and up to his knees, trapping him. He glances down, nerves clearly spiking, and Connie wishes he had the proper sense of self-preservation, because right now she thinks he might let her kill him if she wanted to. “And you do too! Do you think you can trick me?!”

“N-no, that’s not what I’m—”

“Everyone here can come and go as they please! Yet I’m made to suffer for no fault of my own!”

She’s nearly at his side. Water swirls around Connie’s ankles and she sidesteps it, dropping Steven’s hand in order to do so. “Steven,” Connie whispers, urgently.

But Steven tries again, stubborn. “Why are you alone? Where’s your school?”

“They left me ages ago.” The rusalka’s laugh is hard, cold… Painful. “Trapped me here, in this land of purgatory. No way out.”

Oh. It clicks. Connie knows right away what she means. She looks to the surrounding environment; this is an estuary. The water flows toward the sea from the multitude of rivers pooling here, but the tides keep the rusalka from leaving. Or maybe not the rusalka herself, but the item to which she’s bound.

“What keeps you here?” Connie dares to ask. “What ties your spirit here? If we moved it, you could be free.”

The rusalka stops directly before them. Rage paints her face for another moment, and then it leaves as something pensive takes its place.

“You would do that? For what?”

Steven opens his mouth, “Noth—”

Connie steps on his foot as hard as she can to shut him up. He yelps.

“Stop this endless bloodshed.” Connie extends her empty hand. “The people who pass through here have nothing to do with you. If we free you, you have to promise. No more deaths.”

The rusalka stares at Connie’s hand with a frown on her unreadable face.

“Where will you take me?” she demands. “If I show you where I’m trapped, what will you do? Break me? Leave me somewhere desert-dry and ensure my demise?”

“No.” Connie smiles. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go. On my honor as a witch.”

“Warlocks don’t have honor.”

“This one does.”

“I can vouch for that.” Steven laughs, high and nervous, but Connie has seen him do this enough to know exactly what he’s trying. There’s a lilt to his voice, a velvet quality that isn’t always there. “She’s probably the most honorable person I’ve ever met.”

The rusalka seems to consider this. And then — after one long, painful moment, in which Connie can see others slowly creeping up behind her, preparing to strike if this negotiation goes south — she takes Connie’s hand.

Connie blinks. It isn’t wet or ethereal at all. Cold, maybe, but distinctly human. They shake, and the rusalka meets Connie’s eyes as the water around her ankles seems to vibrate. “It’s a deal. You can’t go back on that.”

“I won’t.” 

There’s a magical quality to this arrangement, but Connie is more than okay with that. She intends to follow through to the letter.

The rusalka’s smile is a genuine one. “It’s Lapis, by the way.”

“That’s a wonderful name. I’m Connie.” Steven looks at her, alarmed — giving your own name is often tantamount to suicide, but Lapis isn’t like traditional feyfolk. She’s a tormented soul, abandoned and isolated, with no home to return to when things go wrong.

Then Lapis turns, and she leads Connie and Steven through the marshland towards the sea. Steps behind her, Connie grabs at Steven’s arm and yanks him toward her, causing him to yelp again. “Steven,” she hisses. “What was that?”

“I-I was worried she’d refuse.” Steven hisses in return, under his breath. “I didn’t mean to, it just happened, and I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’ve gotten hurt before!”

“I just rescued you from drowning, so I’m sorry for helping you!”

“I thought you made this big deal about how you wanted this to be her choice!”

“I just nudged her in the right direction, it’s not that big of a deal!”

“Steven.” Connie groans and massages her brow. It seems every day Steven discovers a new power, but this is one he’s had the hardest time controlling. Connie wishes she was half-fey.

Connie thinks about Steven’s relationship with his mom and decides no, actually, she doesn’t.

When they almost reach the coastline, where the mud turns to sand, Lapis stops, pausing. When Connie comes to her side, the water is at her waist.

“Here. I’m trapped.”

“I’ve got it,” Connie says before Steven can say anything. 

She takes an inhale and drops to her knees. The water still stings her eyes, but here, Connie sees what she was referring to without issue. The handle of something sticks up from the ground, and it takes nearly all of the real estate in Connie’s lungs to dig it out. 

She goes up for air with mud all over her fingers, and then she goes down again. She does this twice more, and when she breaches the surface this time, she holds the hand mirror high in the air. “I’ve got it!” she gasps, coughing only a little.

“Great job!” Steven congratulates her, wrapping his arms around her and planting a kiss against her cheek. Connie giggles.

When she turns to face the rusalka, she finds the spirit has vanished.

[tumblunni]

Seriously “he’s got enough strength of will to be able to take xemnas’s place if he only got the chance” and “he has a nerdy loser type feel to him and this was an intentional thing we consider to be a positive character trait” are like THE BIGGEST AND BEST ODD COMPLIMENTS TO GIVE ICE DAD Its always such a nice feel to have the creator of some game you like actually mention your underappreciated fave for once and practically say “we have a soft spot for him too”

This is like how i felt when i got that one Charon trading card thats his only piece of merchandise ever and its this unexpected kinda cute not-so-evil looking thing of him being cute with a tiny pokemon friend. Plus out of all the admins he was the only one who even got a full artwork card! PLUS the whole fact that this card if depicting an event from his super fuckin rare ridiculous wifi rotom event and its the closest we’ve ever got to confirming that the Cute As Fuck Sympathetic Backstory Diary was meant to be him and not cyrus. Tho I mean I thought it was plenty obvious when the dude signed his name on it, its written in his distinctive speech pattern, and both of these things were translated correctly to match how they were changed in the english dub. Also like seriously the dude fuckin has an entire secret basement lab full of rotom machines all painted in rotom colours and the rotom is in an OLD house with an OLD journal and rowan talks about an OLD coworker in an OLD conference telling an OLD story about a rotom and charon is OLD and cyrus is NOT OLD and also has been stated that his childhood home is in sunyshore not eterna. Also the second rotom room in HGSS chronologically earlier in the timeline which looks identical and implies that Charon worked for team rocket before team galactic so even if you go with the theory that “oh the signature is just saying the ROOM belongs to charon but he actually stole someone else’s rotom journal and just went looking for rotom to steal it too” then i dont think it could be cyrus then if he had it before team galactic was formed and he ever met cyrus? Also how and why would he be able to have all this completed research on rotom and all these functioning rotom machines that are painted showing he knows exactly what rotom looks like? If he only just found this journal and hasnt captured a rotom yet? Also you’d think that the player would find the one rotom capture spot in the entire game inside this particular lab and find it locked in a cage or something, instead of .. yknow... NICE AND CUTE ROOM FULL OF DECORATED MACHINES AND NO SCARY CAGES and also the rotom is in the OLD house of an OLD guy which is just down the fuckin road from this secret lab. like if he was looking for rotom he’s a dumbass to miss it being five metres away the entire time, and also a fuckin psychic to even have his own door key have a plastic figurine of the pokemon he hasn’t ever caught. 100% EVIL DUDES DO NOT MAKE CUTE FIGURINES OF THE MON THEY ONLY WANT FOR WORLD DOMINATION

*pout*

tfw ur fave is never confirmed for sympathetic OR unsympathetic and you just get caught on the tiny evidences that seem very convincing but might be completely false and you just read too much into it and the specter of Finally Someday New Content For This Man That Will Answer All The Questions is hovering around on an indeterminate relase date and you dont even know if he’ll make an appearance in it at all

vexen and charon really do have a lot in common lol

So yeah i’m excited for kh3 to expand more upon Vexen’s role and give us some damn answers as to whether the ‘he is actually good and also a dad’ headcanon is remotely possible. even if im still gonna make fanart of it even if it ends up being non canon, i’ll just know to label it as a “this would have been better i think” au, yknow? And maaaan i really hope we get sinnoh remakes someday and charon gets a chance of having his hanging questions get answered too. I can’t believe its really been 11 years now! It’d be ironic if it ends up being exactly the same length as the wait for kh3, lol

Anyway thats why even “he was intentionally meant to be a funny underdog that you felt sorry for” is a real big revelation for characters like this, when you’ve put up with literally over a decade of being told He’s Bad And Creepy And You’re SUpposed To Hate Him Thus You’re A Terrible Person For Being His Fan. Like yo its funny how bigger villains who do bigger evil things like i dunno maybe ALL THE CANONICAL MURDER THAT AXEL COMITTED BEFORE GETTING REDEEMED can get easier forgiveness for it just cos theyre pretty and not pathetic. I love axel as much as everyone else but ive gotta agree that it sucks that vexen is more hated just for being mildly shrill than this dude is for burning him alive while he begged for mercy >_> And charon is more hated for wanting to be rich and not succeeding at completing even one single evil plan, than cyrus is for wanting to destroy the entire world and succeeding in very many bad things before you manage to stop him. Again, i fuckin love cyrus and i absolutely agree that he has sympathetic motives and is possible to redeem, i just get frustrated that because he’s more.. i gues.. mainstream likeable? that he gets more easily forgiven for bigger stuff. and the same people turn around and say charon is a terrible character who shouldnt have been there and he’s somehow more evil for committing less crimes but in a less serious way. JUSTICE FOR THE COMIC RELIEF GRAMPSES!!!! THE COMIC RELIEF GRAMPSES THAT KINDA ALMOST RHYME!!!

why am i like this. what are even the odds id find two of them. why do i have the most specific type in the world

[ed-edward-blackbeard]

Last Line Meme

@shipperfiendobssesser​ tagged me in the Last Line WIP meme.  YOU ASKED FOR IT.

Long text post, so I’m sticking it behind a “read more”

Fandoms behind the tags:  Hannibal, Doctor Who, Gotham, SVU, BBC Sherlock, a couple of Walking Dead, a couple of Xenaverse,  a couple of Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Live action), Star Trek (TOS), Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland, The Following, and some original stories  (Not included, because I probably won’t ever go back to them:  Supernatural, Stargate, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Deadwood, and Harry Potter.)

Not tagging anyone BECAUSE I WOULD NOT SUBJECT MY LOVED ONES TO THIS.  No, seriously.  I’ve been working on this goddamn thing for two and a half hours.

Hannibal WIPs:

Ripper!Hannibal:  Hannibal picked up the scalpel, hid it in his coat pocket, and followed him in the shadows.  

Temple Body (Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham):  His presence warded off nightmares and ushered in a calm and dreamless sleep.  "Sure, a shower."     

There Were Three (Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham):  "Excellent.  I shall expect you Thursday night, promptly at 8."  Hannibal rose when Will did, and followed him out of the office.  "Are you returning to the crime scene tomorrow?"  

Sanity and Empathy (Hannibal/Will):  Knew it as well as he'd known the feel of Hannibal's broken heart, left in the chapel written on a broken man.

No Place Like Home (Hannibal/Will):  When Hannibal got back to Will's room, Will was sitting up on the side of the bed.  "You just missed the cardiologist; my heart's fine.  They're gonna stitch me up and as far as she's concerned, I can go home right now."

Murder Husbands In Denmark (Hannibal/Will):  "I can do that, soon as I'm out of the shower."  He leaned across the bloody butcher's block and nipped at Hannibal's ear.  "Hurry up."  

Leather Hannibal (Hannibal/Will):  "So I think you like my new motorbike."  Will squirmed as Hannibal's leather-gloved hands pressed down against the erection straining his zipper.  "But perhaps that is not all you like."

Keeping It In The Family AU (Mischa Lecter/Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham):  Hannibal reached out and raised her up, and offered her his elbow.  "You're not going to bow to me, Mischa."

I, Profiler (Crossover SVU/Hannibal, Hannibal/Will, Barba/Benson):  "I will sign your form," Hannibal agreed.  After Barba hung up, Hannibal sighed, and turned his attention back to the sausage browning in the frying pan.  "Mr. Barba seems to be at loose ends," he commented.

Hannibal’s Nightmare (AUish, Hannibal/Will):  He knows who he is--My name is Hannibal Lecter, and I am a psychiatrist.  I am a serial killer, and I am a cannibal.--but that doesn't seem to matter.  He is trapped in a place that does not seem to exist, and yet, it does.  

Great Escapes (Hannibal/Will):  Hannibal placed her plate in front of her, then dropped the fork carefully on the napkin.  Once he was out of range, Will let her go and returned to his seat.  "Do enjoy your dinner."

Firsts (Hannibal/Will):When the dance--and the music--ends, they're both breathless and ready for more.  Hannibal empties his pockets over the balcony rail for the violinist below, then follows Will to bed.

drunken kisses sequel (Hannibal/Will):  "I know."  And he had.  It was almost as if this entire conversation was useless; Will and Hannibal were so much in each other's heads, the answers were known before the questions were even formulated.  

Building A New Life (Hannibal/Will):  In the back cargo hatch was their luggage, their bloody clothes which really needed to be burned, and a large igloo cooler that carried all their provisions plus a few… special treats for later.  

Biokinetics (Hannigram AU, Hannibal/Will):  "No, not at all."  Will put his glasses back on as Hannibal led the way out of Will's living quarters and into the Institute's foyer.  

Original WIPs:

Roxy The Pink Police Poodle:  Oh, boy.  I recognize Shit Detail.  That means we’re going to do something Not Fun.  For either one of us.

Paralegal:  No amount of whipping furniture at my head can shake the solidity of the facts of the law.

Ghosts of deBerk:  (scriptfrenzy screenplay):  You want to ask me if I can talk to them for you, but you realize I am not Whoopi Goldberg and this is not Ghost.  You know things do not work like that.

Baywood:  All the things that you could need, but wouldn't ever think of buying for yourself when the time comes.

The Nature Of Time:  The Eternal was confused.  And so to experience time, He became a part of it.

Small Things:  And if any found it, they did not live to tell the tale because many went out, and few returned, and the ones who did died quickly, without relating what they knew.

Sleep Deprivation: The clock on the microwave read 2:03 AM as Mara heated her second milk of the night.

Sangria Falls:  "Put on the shackles, now," Nick repeated, loosening the snap on his gun.

Misty Valley:  Rain splashed on the windows, matching the rolling drops of blood that pooled red on the inside of the glass.

Midnight Scratching:  .  If she was losing her mind, then Poe was trying to console her.

Mars Rover:  The air was circulating slowly inside the helmet to stretch out the final oxygen supply, but as soon as they were out of the atmosphere, they wouldn't really need it anymore.

Fall of the House of God:  .  As it dug itself in, Lamiel planted the seeds for further discontent before going to sleep to gather its strength.

Dymond Family Murders:  Fiona's estate contested the agreement when first announced, but has since withdrawn the challenge and given the arrangement its full support.

SVU (Special Victims Unit) WIPs

Cedro Barba (Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson):  Turning the box back over to Cold Case, Olivia headed for SVU.

Checking In (Barba/Benson):  "I'm no role model, Olivia." He jostled Noah into sobs as he handed the child back to Liv. "Almost twenty years later and I still dream of punching my old man in the face every morning."

Post-”October Surprise” fic (Barba/Benson):  "Come on, let it out."  She cradled him close, resting her chin on his temple.  "It's going to be all right, Rafael."  

Dinner With Mami:  Rafael just smiled at that, and a little kernel of heat blossomed in the pit of his stomach when she smiled back.

Starbucks:  "Three cups, Liv," he reminded.  "Three cups of Starbucks all over Armani."

Barba and Benson Dinner Untitled:  "I think I like you better all put together.  A present just waiting to be unwrapped.  Although…"  She made an appreciative noise at his bare chest.  "I can see the benefit of keeping you naked."

Barba/Benson Vampire AU:  “Come on.  The blood bank is open by now, and you’ll think a lot more clearly when you’ve fed.”  Olivia held her hand out.

Doctor Who WIPs:

Running Up That Hill (9/Rose):   Disappointed in Rose,which was even worse for both of them. 

1920′s Gangster AU (10/Rose):  But there was no harm in looking, the Doctor kept telling himself, and so he continued to pay regular visits to the club.

A Crack In Time (12/Rose):  "Rose, is it really you?" he asked, and even his voice was changed, Scottish and hard.

Come Back To Me (10/Rose):  The Doctor's words were rushed as he hastened to reassure Rose.  "There's only a really tiny little bit left, not even enough to hurt you, or even know it's there.  I took all of it out of your head, scrubbed it clean, remember?  That's how we met.  This is just one tiny little glitch that saved your life."

Doctor John Smith (Tentoo/Rose):  John looked steadily at Jackie.  "It's a lot to take in.  Rose has been through a lot.  I just want to make it easy for her, that's all."

Drips (A Coffee Shop AU) (Ten/Rose):  It had started, for Rose Tyler at least, with the gas leak that had blown up the Henrik's shop she'd worked at--thank God she'd been off shift that night.  

Sunshine and Roses (9/Rose/Jack):  The crinkles at the corner of his eyes made his mouth turn up in a perpetual smile, which was accompanied by laughter at Rose's antics.  

Light and Dark (Ten/Rose):  "We like children, we like them young, they are still light and generous and they want to play!"  A few free light specks floated around Rose again, and lit on her hair, on her shoulders.  "Oh, we see!  You keep him light, he glows when you're with him!"

Part Of Your World (Ten/Rose Little Mermaid AU):  He sort of waved through the front glass, and several of the whales flicked their rear fins as a sort of answer before the TARDIS bobbed around and headed back for the Trench and the Challenger descent point.

Untitled Post Impossible Planet/Satan Pit (Ten/Rose):  She knew the why well enough, and went in for a second kiss.

Pregnant Rose Tyler (Ten/Rose):  "All right.  Anything for you, Rose Tyler."  And this time, he meant it with all his hearts.

Two Hearts, Two Hearts (Jack/Ten/Rose):  "Back in the TARDIS, or else she's wandered off again," was the Doctor's reply.  "Didn't know what I'd find in here, so I asked her to wait.  But you know how rubbish she is at waiting about, so we'd better go."

Gotham WIPs:

Father Nygma’s Bird Problems (AU, Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot): This time, Carmine’s smile was far more rueful than he’d like.  “There’s no way you could let me down,” he answered.  Especially not given his own personal history.  “Good evening, Edward.  Remember, you can call me or see me at any time you like; I am always available to my priests.”  

 Hello, Old Friend (Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot):  Ed gave a negative shake of his head. “That's far too generous, I couldn't accept.” Especially when he had no real way of paying back the kindness. 

Mine (Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot):  Getting up from the chair, he rapped the table with gloved knuckles.  “I’ll swing back by later to see what you decided.”

Cuts Like A Knife (Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot):   He was relatively certain that a google search of How to fix the ice-muddled memory of your best friend turned worst enemy would return exactly zero helpful results, so he was going to go with the closest approximation he could think of and adapt what he found to help Ed.  

Walking the Tightrope (Jim Gordon/Oswald Cobblepot):  Oswald simply nodded.  That was fair enough; the agreement was to take each other as they came, profession included.  It kept things interesting, to say the least.  

What He Needs (Jim Gordon/Oswald Cobblepot):  The black eye mask was folded on top, and while he withdrew it with his fingers, he carried it back in his mouth and offered it up to Oswald.

BBC Sherlock WIPs:

Untitled Johnlock #1 (John/Sherlock):  "Not important at all.  It's common.  Any two individuals regardless of gender can have sex, and a portion of those can make love with sentiment behind it.  Boring.  What is important, what is unique, is the closeness two people share.  Especially when one is less than personable, as it were.  But you, John, you are what is important.  Not how you choose to use an appendage."

Life Form (John/Sherlock):  Sherlock did allow himself to blink, and when no catastrophe happened, he relaxed microscopically.

Past Life (John/Sherlock):  "Sandals and swords, how exciting.  I can certainly see how it would pull one from the realm of sleep."

The Following WIPs: 

Sacrifice (Joe Carroll/Ryan Hardy):  The ghostly shapes moved like quicksilver behind the mist.

That Night (Joe/Carroll/Ryan Hardy):  The heat from their touches made the room-temperature glass seem almost icy.  

The Ending (Joe Carroll/Ryan Hardy):  The answer that Ryan couldn't give, and that's why this moment, here in this nowhere place, was most important.  In this place, the answer didn't matter.

Unexpected Savior (Joe Carroll/Ryan Hardy):  Joe disconnected the call while studying his reflection in the mirror. “Dear Ryan, whatever shall I do with you?”

Everything Else:

Untitled Rickyl AU (Walking Dead, Rick/Daryl):   So it was as a civilian that Rick rolled up at Carl's school that afternoon.

Wintering (Walking Dead, Rick/Daryl):  "Don't worry, Papa Bear.  Little Ass-Kicker's in good hands."  

Destrus (Xenaverse, Ares/Xena):  Well, his great sword through a few puny mortal chests had put an end to that idea

A Friend’s Faith (Xenaverse, Autolycus/Xena):  "It's hard to have faith in yourself when you think nobody else does, but it's even worse when you think you've let down the ones who do."

Kunzite and Darkury (Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon/PGSM/BSSM/Bishojou Senshi Sera Moon, Kunzite/Dark Mercury):  Both are trapped in the whirlpool at the base of the waterfall, a deepening vortex that sucks them deeper and closer together.

Untitled PGSM (Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon/Bishoujo Senshi Sera Moon, Human!Nephrite/Ami):  He was only Nephrite, outcast and human, and he was shamed for feeling gratitude to Sailor Mercury.

Responsibility (Star Trek TOS, Kirk/Spock):  No--that was unfair.  Jim was not fire, and it was only Spock who burned.

Return To Underland (Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland, Alice/Hatter):  The Unicorn chuffed nervously, pawing the marble floor while the Lion paced and growled, tail flicking madly.

The Girl With the Tuxedo Kitten (Millennium/Dragon Tattoo series, Lisbeth Salander/Mikael Blomkvist):  Blomkvist laughed.  "Why don't you take Sally and let her sleep?  I'll set up the litter in the bathroom and put out some more dry food."  

[typhonserpent]

Sugar-Coated Memories

Fandom: Dragon Age 2 Pairing: Anders/Fenris/Hawke Rating: T (swearing) Summary: Hawke’s attempts to recreate her mother’s pudding recipe go awry. Fenris steps in to help. Pure holiday-themed fluffy fluff ensues.

Another one for Let It Glow as hosted by @teamblueandangry this one is for @newkate and I must confess that this pairing isn’t my usual forte, but this idea got stuck in my head and I just had to write it. So even though this isn’t the usual ship I sail, I hope I did well and I hope you enjoy it!

My writing tag

Hawke was pouring over the stove, sweat dripping from her brow, frantically stirring the pot and watching as the lumps inside the sauce churned in circles with no real end in sight.

Her lip curled and a little growl formed in her throat. Her eyes watered and smoke wafted up from where the pudding spilled over the sides.

The pan clattered across the kitchen floor, splattering pudding in every direction. Hawke held her hand - now red from touching the pan - hissing and doubling forward over the stove. Waves of heat assaulted her cheeks, and as she let out another growl, she moved to the counter next to her and punched the surface of it.

Snuffler padded in, dog nails clacking on the kitchen's stone floor. He made right for the spilled pudding and began lapping it up, stubby little tail wagging all the while.

Anders poked his head through the kitchen door. "Um ... Hawke?" He asked, forcing a stiff smile, "Is everything alright?"

Frown etching wrinkles into her face, Hawke swiveled and glared at the mage, her fist still frozen against the counter top.

Anders held up his hands in surrender, "I'll take that as a 'no', then?"

Hawke took a deep, shuddering inhale. Her shoulders slumped as she ran a hand through her sweat-soaked bangs. "Okay, maybe I need to ... chop the fruit up smaller?"

Anders shrugged. She let out a snort of laughter, "You're not any help."

"We didn't have Satinalia Pudding in the circle. The Grey Wardens served it but I didn't make it. They had me scrub pots."

She sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. She could clearly picture Leandra in her head, though the woman had been much taller back then. Hawke's eyes could barely see the surface of the counter top as she watched her mother dice dried figs and apples into tiny little cubes and piled them into a sauce pan. She watched Leandra reach into the cupboard and pulled out a little bottle.

"Ugh, what was in that bottle?" Hawke was interrupted when Snuffler released a booming bark. "Don't interrupt me!" Hawke snapped while the Mabari raced out of the kitchen and slid as he turned the corner.

There was a knock at the door.

Her shoulders slumped. She took one step towards the door before he placed his hands on her shoulders. "Stay here. I'll get it." He said before planting a kiss on her forehead. She forced a smile.

A gust of cold air and a few snowflakes burst into the house when Anders opened the door. He froze solid at the sight before him. "Fenris?"

It was almost comical, seeing the elf with his arms folded, shivering and looking stiff as a board as he lifted one bare foot and scratched at the side of his leg. "I smelled something burning. Is everything alright?" He asked.

Anders blinked, then barked a laugh. "Oh, yes. Everything is fine. Hawke is just having some trouble."

Her voice echoed against the estate's walls, "ANDRASTE'S FUCKING ASS CHEEKS!"

"Actually, maybe I should go check on her." Anders said.

He stepped in, allowing Fenris to follow before he shut the door and jogged towards the kitchen. Snuffler was waiting in the entryway and wagged his tail as padded up to greet Fenris, earning a scratch under his chin. Fenris shook his head, dislodging clumps of snow that flew this way and that. After wiping his feet, he made his way to the kitchen with the dog trotting behind.

Anders had Hawke's hand cradled in his own, fingertips on one hand glowing blue as he ran his hand over the sizable gash in her thumb.

"Where is Bodahn?" Fenris asked.

"Gave him the week off." Hawke sighed as she pulled her hand back from Anders'. She took the bloodied knife and tossed it into the wash tub on the counter, then fished through the counter drawer for another one. She produced a small steak knife and turned back to the cutting board.

She hadn't gotten so much as a full slice into a fig when Fenris came up behind her. In one smooth motion, he reached into a drawer and produced a small paring knife. "Use this one for the figs and you won't cut yourself." He said.

She glanced at Fenris sideways, but picked up the knife nonetheless, and made a few more cuts. Anders came up behind her on the other side and picked up the steak knife, running his thumb along the blade. "This is dull as a spoon! Even I know better than that!"

She stabbed the paring knife into the wood cutting board. "If you're so smart, why don't you make yourself useful and cut the apples?" She snapped.

Anders frowned, taking a step backwards as he set the knife back on the counter. Hawke sighed and ran her free hand through her hair, cheeks flushed. "Sorry." She muttered, "I shouldn't snap at you like that, I just-"

She was cut off when the familiar thump of metal hitting wood reached her ears. She turned to see Fenris deftly chopping an apple slice with a large chef's knife. Up and down, the knife rocked on its curve until the apple was reduced to familiar little cubes.

Retrieving the pot from where it had been flung before, he scraped the apple pieces inside, and opened the cupboard. After scanning for a few seconds, he asked, "Where is your brandy?"

Anders shrugged, "I'm a whiskey man myself."

Hawke slapped a hand to her forehead. "Brandy, of course!"

Fenris scoffed, "How did you intend to make Satinalia Pudding without brandy?"

Hawke held up one finger for him to wait and stepped out of the kitchen. Crossing his arms, Anders leaned against the counter. "How do you intend to make Satinalia Pudding at all?" He asked.

Fenris had turned his attention to the figs, cutting them into eights with the paring knife. "Danarius donated his slaves to the Satinalia feast every year. He got to feel charitable, and we got to cook for half of Minrathous." He popped a piece of fig into his mouth and chewed slowly.

"They made you work on Satinalia?"

Fenris raised an eyebrow, lips curled a little while he glared in response, "Does it surprise you that a slave empire built by slaves would have slaves working on slave tasks?" He looked down at one of the figs he was cutting and rubbed his finger over it. "These are dried. They would be better fresh." He said.

“Hawke payed through the nose for those. They aren't exactly a Free Marches specialty." Anders stepped aside to allow Fenris to move the pot to the stove and scrape the figs inside.

He added a splash of water from the pitcher on the counter and set to work simmering the fruit. "To answer your question, no. The feast was prepared the night before. We did not work on Satinalia."

"Well, there's that at least. We did the same in the circle. No studying, no drills. No pudding either, mind you. But we tried for gifts, with what little we had. Karl gave me a coin one year." Anders could still feel the weight of the coin if he held his hand out. Round, smooth, fitting perfectly in his palm, "Silly, I know. But there wasn't any need for money in the circle, so it must have been important to him if he held onto it for so long." He frowned, corner of his lip twitching a little, "I misplaced it sometime after becoming a Grey Warden. I never told him."

Fenris was stirring the fruit sauce. "And then he died."

"Yes." Anders sighed.

Fenris lifted the spoon from the pan, letting a little bit of sauce drizzle back in, "I imagine he would not have cared. It was something simple that meant a lot to him, so it wasn't about the coin. It was about sharing a moment with you."

Anders scoffed a laugh, wiping an eye with his thumb. Hawke stepped inside and slammed a thick glass bottle onto the counter top with a bang. "How's this?" She asked.

"That will do." Fenris uncorked the brandy bottle and added a splash to the fruit sauce.

"What next?" She asked.

"Cream together some butter and sugar."

Anders straightened, turning to Fenris. "Anything I can do?"

"Stir a fire in the hearth if there isn't one already."

The three set right to work. Once Hawke had the mixture made, Fenris instructed her on how to add the eggs and fold in the fruit mixture. The had a sizable bowl filled once they were done. It was hulking and heavy enough that they had to both lift it to pour it into little metal cups they had lined up in a baking pan. By the time the bowl was empty, Anders was finally standing up, having gotten the fire going to a full roar. He accepted the pan that Fenris held out for him and set it by the hearth to bake.

Hawke knelt in front of the bubbling pudding mixture, watching it bake while she wiped the sweat from her brow with a rag. "It looks just like Mother used to make!" She said, smile lighting up her face.

In one smooth motion, she stood, swiveled, and hugged Fenris tight. The elf lifted his arms and hesitated, earning a stifled giggle out of Anders. Fenris settled one hand on her head.

"Thank you." She said before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

By the time the sun was peeking through the windows of the Hawke estate, the pudding was finally done. The cups were left on the counter, forgotten, above where Hawke, Anders, Fenris, and Snuffler had passed out in a puddle of limbs on the floor. A light snore rose from Hawke's lips. She was content, warm, and wrapped in the arms of her three favorite men. For once, as the sun rose on the first day of Satinalia, she didn't have a care in the world.

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Rekindle

Set Me Free - Chapter 9 (Previous Chapters)

Rated: T

Fandom - Sing 2016

Pairing - Johnny x Ash (Jash)

Chapter Summary: Ash reluctantly finds more than one reason to let her past go and embrace a brighter future…

Fanfiction.net

A03

The next few days passed in relative silence; Ash's mind a torrent of faltering emotions and a torrential downpour of thoughts she had to live with on a daily basis even if her life outside her head was sadly more boring than a lazy snail's. Days consisting of eating, sleeping, watching mindless television, throwing fits a toddler would be proud of, and pounding the pavement in hopes of finding a job. Yet as hard as she tried, Ash's multiple attempts at getting employment; even being able to book a single gig, were fruitless at best.

It wasn't as if the managers and owners of these establishments didn't give her a shot - they did.

A coffee shop, a few restaurants, and even a sleazy bar had given her a chance when all their regular patrons were absent or they had yet to open for the day. Accepted her offer with a smile, allowed her to hook up her equipment on their stage (sometimes make-shift at times but she handled it well enough) and perform for them in hopes they'd actually like it enough to hire her.

Ash did her best - she really did.

Voice strong, powerful, and admittedly, a bit too forceful like she always craved when she sang by Lance's side. Her microphone now turned all the way up and she projected like she always wanted to. Sure, she could have done things differently; such as choosing to perform with her and Lance's old set of music mainly because it was one she could execute in her sleep. Ash had not the time or energy to put into a whole new set with music and figuring that out especially when in a tight time crunch but she thought she tweaked it well enough it could pass as her own. Yeah, the lyrics didn't work out exactly right since she was singing for two people and couldn't carry out the duet as well as she would have liked - but she did her best. ...Yet not everyone felt the same; in fact, everyone who heard it were less than enthusiastic almost as soon as she started and only got worse when she was done.

…if they let her finish at all…

The look on their faces were what bothered Ash the most. Pitied almost. As if they'd pat her on the back and say "Well, ya tried, kid" before kindly escorting/kicking her off the premises.

It all felt way too familiar and Ash despised it…

Loathed the sympathetic looks and making her feel completely pathetic - she was a hard-core rocker dammit - looks of pity and sympathy were not what she wanted from anyone, let alone employers!

While walking away from yet another gig she failed to book, Ash's pace was more or less defeated. She'd went everywhere these past few days and sang what always got her at least a couple of gigs before. Yeah, Lance wasn't there anymore, but wasn't she supposed to be past that already? He was the one holding her back…wasn't he?

…she dared not think about the connotations if it was the other way around…

Ash swallowed back a lump that clogged her throat as she pushed herself to the train stop. Whilst waiting for it to show up, she thought back on these past few days. The looks on their faces now permanently ingrained into her mind and showcased whenever she was forced to blink. A slight furrow to their brows and lips pursed as if they wanted to say something but decided against it. Instead they sugar-coated their words with such things as:

"Y-You did well, i-it's just not the kind of music we want for our establishment." - said the owner of their sleazy bar with half of his other employees being bikini clad (sometimes even topless) animals. Their other wanted sign advertised for more female "dancers" - he didn't bring it up and Ash didn't know whether to be unbelievably grateful or kinda insulted…

"Um…that was…something. …I-I'll call you." - the coffee shop people never did.

"...We're kinda looking for something more along the lines of 'smooth jazz'." said a manager of a Hard Rock Cafe. The least they could have done was come up with a somewhat convincing lie.

"You call that music? Damn, what is it with this new generation and their god-awful music? …What are you still doing here?! Git out!" - said a grouchy old turtle who owned a expensive Tapas restaurant; Ash at least appreciated his honesty. Much preferred that than their lame excuses, fake smiles, and truth hidden behind kind words that really didn't mean anything. It was just a feeble attempt at trying to save face.

Mind flitting to her past for a second; how much easier things seemed just a few months ago…Then it was that competition that seemed to turn her life up on its head; showed Lance for who he truly was and destroyed a growing hope she had come to depend on. A future, a career, and a better life.

…but that all turned out to be a lie too…

When the train arrived, Ash quickly got on, grabbed an empty seat and desperately hoped tomorrow would be better…

Another two days came and went.

Just like last time, she was given more fake smiles or cheap excuses; even more flat-out "No's". Promises of being called back went unfulfilled and Ash felt more hopeless as the days trickled by at an incredibly slow, almost unbearable pace. Growing more numb to their words and false promises as the days slipped by like sand through the gaps in-between her fingers.

Needless to say, she was not feeling her best when she finally made it back home to her apartment later that night after yet another long day of pounding the pavement. Hoping against hope the next person to hear her would like it enough for their establishment.

Ash had no such luck.

Feet and fingers aching something fierce; throat a bit raw from all the sets she had to perform for absolutely nothing in return, she slammed the door behind her. After dropping her guitar case and kicking off her shoes by the front door, she plopped onto her couch and just stared at the ceiling; fine cracks, smudges, and a bit of peeling white paint staring back at her.

Perhaps throwing Lance's record collection at the ceiling fan was not her brightest idea…

Ash suddenly groaned, rolling over and burying her face into a freshly washed pillow that thankfully was finally rid of Lance's scent after three washes and half a container of extra odor-eating detergent. She really didn't know what to do now. Certainly, she'd asked almost everyone in town about performing for their business but yet no one cared to call her back or offer her a gig. Almost the same answer at all of them; a back-handed "NO" that was hidden behind their means of trying to distract her with fake smiles and cheap excuses. There was really nothing left for her to do. Ash loathed the fact that when she was performing with Lance they got gigs occasionally and rather quickly; sure they never could become full-time because Lance refused to change up his set but they were semi-working musicians nonetheless.

Other than those few times, they never had too much trouble booking about once a week; sometimes even more if they were lucky. Ash hated to admit it, but Lance had a way of schmoozing people; a way of conversing and speaking with pretty much anyone. He was charming and had a way of convincing people hire him even if his music was never quite their taste.

Lance had the one thing she didn't - an outgoing personality - a laid-back charm that so many people warmed up to almost instantly even if his words were a two edged sword at times.

Ash was always quieter, kept to herself, and never felt too comfortable walking up to a stranger and having a conversation - it just wasn't in her.

In all actuality, she felt pretty good about herself as of late. More confident and outgoing; pushing herself out of her shell a bit by going to all these establishments and being able to ask them to give her a chance. Proudly performed her set without hesitation. She'd excelled past those boundaries even without Lance or anyone else by her side and for that…she felt proud.

Fruitless as it was in getting her a job, at least it was something.

Yet that pride quickly flicked away like a soft summer breeze. She still didn't have a job and the money she had saved was in no way going to last forever. Rent was expensive and bills weren't just going to go away anytime soon. A job was needed and if she couldn't even book a single gig (which paid barely anything regardless) than how the hell was she going to make ends meet this way?

Oh, that's right -

…she wasn't…

Ash picked her face up from the pillow and pulled her phone out. Staring at the dimly lit screen in her darkened apartment (electricity was so damn expensive to keep too many lights on anymore) and hesitated before going to the internet browser and searching for local job openings. Her stomach plummeted as she kept reading the listings; while multiple of them filled her with dread as she continued down the list.

Most of the interesting jobs listed were adamant about requiring college degrees to even be considered for the position and while she graduated high school (or rather her GED), she was never able to afford college on her own while also supporting her boyfriend and their lifestyle. As much as Ash had wanted to go to college, Lance always told her it was a waste of time. Her mother didn't want to hear it or her desires to be a singer/musician; she instead wanted Ash to go to work for her real estate business instead (Ash preferred death). The last option, her father, only opted to pay for it if she broke up with Lance to focus completely on her studies.

Being the young, naive teen she was (one who was certain she was hopelessly in love at the time) stupidly refused her father's offer…

It was only now she wished she listened to her dad. As she stood now, Ash desperately wanted to bitch-slap her younger self for believing her father didn't have her best intentions at heart…Wishing she broke up with Lance, went to college and who knew where she could have been in her life at this point?!

Shaking her head to rid herself of a past she could not change, Ash continued looking.

There were plenty of retail and food service gigs open that didn't require college but the thought of going back to those establishments made her skin crawl. She'd worked at them for years trying to support her and her ex and she sure as hell didn't feel all up to doing it all over again. Recalling the rude customers and hellish closing shifts she was forced to work - long and arduous hours for minimum wage and zero respect.

…but as she continued, she began to wonder if she even had a choice…

Without a college degree and no experience doing much else but grunt work at these establishments, she had little options open.

Ash stared at a few more options and her stomach sunk as she made it to the musician/artist section and every single establishment she already went to was now staring back at her.

Every.

Single.

One.

She had gone to all of them and was systematically rejected; pushed aside and basically told she wasn't good enough to perform there. Yet, another part of her clenched when she re-scanned the list and noticed many her and Lance had performed at before…the only difference this time around was now it was just her.

…and they rejected her…

Ash sat back up on the couch, her chest heaving and heart slamming against her rib-cage; valiantly and desperately keeping her tears at bay, She DARED not cry again. The faces of all those who refused to hire her flitting about her mind; their dissatisfied expressions and awkward excuses plaguing her thoughts.

In a pathetic attempt to weed them out, her mind (for some strange reason) wandered to Buster Moon.

Perhaps the only one that saw something in her that these managers and owners of all these various establishments never saw in Lance. Buster looked past him during their performance; focusing on her; witnessing her abilities even as she fought to be heard over Lance's loud speakers a microphone; a hidden potential that no one else did before…but Buster did. Even with Lance there, he heard her voice and it was enough for him to reject Lance and choose her…

Yeah, he lied about the money…but what if he didn't lie about anything else like she wanted to believe?

Ash thought about those days they practiced at the theater. A half-smile formed at the memory of him trying to coerce her to sing "Call Me Maybe" - sure he didn't understand teenagers whatsoever but his intentions seemed so pure at the time. Remembering when he heard her perform a bit of her own song while she was locked in her own practice room backstage. Silently, he walked in and was genuinely astonished that she'd written it herself; wasn't shy to praise her abilities.

Very few had done that before…

Buster choosing her over almost a whole roomful of animals - save a handful or two. Out of all the varying voices (some so astonishing and amazing) were rejected, but hers wasn't. To think Buster choosing her over Lance was what finally revealed to her the exact person Lance was; what truly laid in his unfeeling, selfish heart. That he wasn't happy for her getting to the next round whatsoever; instead he decided to showcase his selfishness with backhanded comments that went over her head for so many years before. Telling her Buster was crazy, that she should just give up even as she desperately tried to encourage him that she was doing it for both of them.

…lying to her face when he flat out said that she could never write a song…

It was Buster Moon that made her see Lance for who he truly was. His haphazard and random practice hours the only reason Ash caught Lance cheating on her at all. To think how many times he had another woman in their apartment…it made her sick… Ash bit her lip; refusing to let any tears fall at the very thought of how many times he must have been cheating on her throughout the years. Right under her nose and lying to her face about it; all his "gigs" and "late-night practices" all going over her head.

All the lies she believed for far too long.

To think if she never went for Buster's offer; if she believed Lance and never showed up to practice how different it all may have turned out. Ash would have never known about his cheating ways and would have been stuck in a loveless relationship for probably the rest of her life. Never knowing what a true asshole she'd been with this whole time.

If there was anything she wanted to thank Buster for…that was it.

A sigh leeching its way from between her lips, Ash stared out over the expanse of her apartment; the only light coming from the full moon peering in through her living room windows. So many questions and not enough answers; what if's plaguing her thoughts and just what the hell was she supposed to do?

There was absolutely nowhere to turn anymore.

Fingers freezing over her phone before she pressed the home button; seeing all the notifications of texts, e-mails, and voicemails she never bothered to see or listen to staring back at her. Ash went through her phone and saw Johnny's number. Recalling the conversation they had almost a whole week ago - about going to see Buster and convincing him to try again.

Apart of Ash let out a breath, an almost laugh at the sheer absurdity staining her lips but she stopped short. Seemingly helpless now lost in a world she was still trying to figure out; a career that didn't seem to want to leave the ground. For those few moments, she allowed herself to think of how good it felt to audition - to be chosen, and mostly, to write her own song. Using her own voice to speak out against what her ex had done to her…

"...because you love to sing. Isn't that the whole reason you joined the competition?" Johnny's voice echoed through her mind.

A question and comment she basically laughed off because of his seemingly never-ending supply of optimism, life of sunshine and rainbows, and "look at the bright side" mentality that had been plaguing her since she met him.

But the longer she thought about it - she'd always loved to sing. Ever since she was a little girl with her hideously pink "Princess"microphone and karaoke machine she begged her dad for when she was only five. Back there in happier, easier times when pitch, range, vibrato or tempo changes meant nothing - she just sang. Not caring if she was staying on perfect pitch or learning to learn the range of her voice. It was this joy she felt every time she opened her mouth and belted out a song she heard on one of those cheesy animated movies.

…being on Buster's stage somehow brought that back if only for a moment. Almost the same feeling when she practiced her song over and over in the quiet loneliness of her living room…

…she did love to sing…

Ash's face fell when Johnny's words suddenly made more sense; what was that reasoning she joined? Not Lance, not them as a group - her? Was it to relive those moments of fleeting childhood that went way too fast or to become a superstar for the notoriety of fame and fortune? Perhaps she could willingly admit that it was a little bit of both. Ash wanted to be a singer; always had…

Icy blue eyes gravitating to her guitar case by the door she knew that she always would.

Regardless if she made it big or even made it a living - she would always want to sing, want to play her guitar. Whether it was for herself or a stadium full of people - as long as she got to sing, what the hell did it matter?

"What do we have to lose?" Johnny's voice reappeared in her head and Ash barely had the time to ask herself what the hell she was doing before her fingers moved over the device and she pressed Johnny's name and hit the small green telephone icon.

It began ringing immediately and before she even had time to rethink her decision or consider hanging up, Johnny answered.

"'ello? Ash?" he asked not even bothering to hide the outright confusion in his thickly-accented voice; Ash hated how her stomach somersaulted at hearing his kind tone. It'd been far too long since she heard genuine kindness and damn, she hated how good it felt to hear.

"…Ash? Are you there?"

"Yeah. I'm here." she muttered out; hating how sudden tears burned the back of her eyes and hoped to God it didn't leach out through her voice. Just what the hell was wrong with her?

"Oh…um…you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"That's good to hear." Johnny spoke and she could practically see his soft smile over the other line.

"Yeah...Good…" she muttered, her fingers nervously tangling in her skirt.

'Spectacular conversing skills you have there, Ash…' she chided herself with a shake of her head. Pushing through her own doubts and before she could second-guess on what she was about to say, she just blurted it out.

"Listen. Johnny…?"

"Yes?" he asked.

"...Count me in."

[projectomerta]

DBH Bodyguard - Chapter 1: Replacement

Here’s the fanfic I promised, hope you like it. Just as a reminder, I will be posting every Monday until the fanfic is over. (which shouldn’t take long. 

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Words: 1804

“Hello, Mi-” 

“Hello, Steven. I’m here to see my father.”

Steven looked at her with a tired look. 

“Very well, Miss…” He sighed, “Mr. Evans will be expecting you.” 

Without a word, the blonde woman made her way to the elevators. Both elevators were on their way up but she waited with her arms crossed, furiously tapping her foot. Eventually, one of the elevators came down and she took it all the way to the top floor. 

She left the elevator and made her way to her father’s office. A blood red carpet decorated the floor and there were paintings, portraits and photos of the Evans’ family ancestors on the beige walls. 

The blonde arrived at the last checkpoint before reaching her father’s office - his secretary. Sharon insisted on making her life harder by treating her like she did everyone else. Bitch please... She put on her best smile and greeted her.

“Good morning, Sharon.” 

“Hello, Layla. Oscar is waiting for you.” 

It’s Ms. Layla to you, bitch. 

Brushing Sharon out of her head, she angrily opened the door and walked straight to her father’s desk, ignoring the man standing right besides the mahogany desk. 

“Dad, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

A fist came down on the table as she let her anger out on the table. Oscar looked at her, unphased. He adjusted himself in his chair as he started talking. 

“Layla, hear me out…” 

Layla gestered in anger, making her ponytail waver as she shook her head in disbelief.

“Hear out, what?! Andrew died last fucking week! And you’re already sending me a replacement?!” She looked at her father, looking for a reaction she never found, “I worked with him for two fucking years, dad!” She paused again. “I’m still mourning, I need to be alone!”

“Layla,” Oscar pointed at the man besides him, “He’s an android sent to us by Dimitri, from CyberLife.” 

The blonde woman finally turned her eyes to the other man in the room. She furrowed her eyebrow and let out a huge sigh.

“So now we’re using androids, how lovely…” Suddenly, her eyes narrowed as she remembered something. “Wait, wasn’t CyberLife backing up the Jin Family?” 

Oscar slammed his fist on the desk. “Layla, just listen to me, please,” he paused, pointing a finger at his daughter, staring her down, “I’m not asking you to start working now, I’m asking you to get used to it.” 

Layla rolled her eyes. Ignoring my question, how original… “You’re telling me this plastic twink is supposed to be my bodyguard?”

Oscar looked at his daughter, sternly, and even she knew better than to press him. “We need an advantage over the Jin family! Having an android is like having a soldier free of cost. It doesn’t eat, drink or sleep. We just need to do basic maintenance, which isn’t hard!”

Layla’s eyes strayed away from her father and on to the android. His hair was brown and so were his eyes. He had fair skin, almost pale, which contrasted with his jet black suit and tie. Almost as if he were guessing that she was done sizing him up, Connor approached her for a hand shake.

“Hello, Miss. My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Dimitri.” 

She looked at his hand for a long second before finally reciprocating the android’s gesture. She displayed clear surprise when their hands made contact. It’s cold. 

With the end of their introduction, she suddenly looked at her father with a slight smile on her face. 

“Guess what, dad? It’s your lucky day!” She paused to savor the anticipation seeping from her father’s face, “I wasn’t planning on taking any more days off.” Her expression darkened, “I’d already planned to go after Andrew’s killer.” 

Oscar was worried, and it showed. “Layla, please be careful,” he sighed, “Take Connor with you, at least.” 

Layla bowed slightly, in a dramatic way, “But of course, Boss.” Oscar clicked his tongue and gestured towards the door, telling her to leave. She knew her father hated it when she called him ‘boss’, so she made sure to always say it when she wanted to piss him off. 

Following her father’s instructions, Layla and Connor made their way out of the office, through the red carpet paved floor, onto the elevators.

“So, Connor, how do you like investigations?” She said, crossing her arms, curious for an answer.

“I was originally programmed to assist in law enforcement. I should prove useful.” 

Layla nodded her head, pleasantly surprised at the android’s answer. The elevator reached the bottom floor and she went straight to her car, followed by Connor.

“Should I drive the car, Miss?” Connor asked.

“No, you can’t Connor.” 

The LED on his temple flickered for a second before he got into the passenger’s seat. They were silent for a good portion of the ride, but Layla eventually broke the ice.

“So, what do you already know about me? Ask anything that could help you with the investigation.”

Connor turned his head to her. “Layla Jane Evans. Born on the 22nd of December of 2008. You were born and raised here in New York, and you’re the heiress to the Evans Corporation, the real estate company founded by your great grandfather.” 

Layla chuckled. “You know it’s a front, right?” 

“Of course. I’ve been informed and, slightly reprogrammed, to better adapt to the criminal nature of your actual work. You’re mobsters.”

They stopped at a red light and Layla looked at Connor. “You got any questions?” 

“Yes. Who’s the victim?” 

Layla felt a knot forming on her throat and gulped. She looked in front of her again. “Andrew Willem, my previous bodyguard…” She paused, “The one my dad thinks you’re replacing,” she chuckled.

The android’s light flickered. “Is there anything else I should know about the case, Miss? Do we know how he died or any other details?” 

“He was shot in the head. He was leaving his house when it happened.” 

“There must have been witnesses if it happened during the day. Is there anyone we can talk to?”

“He was sniped from afar, there’s no way we’d know for sure.”

“How do you know this?”

Layla bit down on her lip. “I saw it happen from his window.” 

“Why were you in his house?” 

She bit her lip with even more strength than before and the car started moving again as the light went from red to green.

“It shouldn’t take long to get there…” 

The android’s LED flickered in a yellow hue. 

“That wasn’t my question.”

Layla could feel her eyes start watering, so she took a deep breath to stop herself from crying. 

“Just… Shut up Connor.”

The android silently stared at her for a few seconds before looking ahead once more, as his LED returned to its usual blue color.

“Yes Miss.” 

…

They got out of the car in a busy part of town. WIthout a word, Layla made her way through the sidewalk, with Connor walking behind her. 

“Miss, can I ask you a question?” 

Layla hesitated, but gave the android permission with a simple ‘Yes.’

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“You’ll see when we get there. There’s no point in explaining.”

Connor remained silent for the rest of the walk, in the midst of the chaos that was NYC. At a given moment, the blonde woman stopped in front of a hairdresser, only to completely ignore its existence and go into an alley beside it. Barely a minute afterwards, they found themselves at a bar.

The bar looked surprisingly good on the inside, though it was completely empty, with the bartender making up the total headcount in the place.

“Oh, Miss Evans!”

“Is this your source of information, Miss?” Connor asked, looking at the bartender. 

Layla ignored his question while she looked around. “Congratulations on the new place, Diego.”

The burly mexican man looked Connor up and down with a suspicious look, which caught Layla’s attention.

“Don’t even ask about him…” She rolled her eyes. “It was another one of my father’s brilliant ideas…” 

Diego sighed and smiled at her, with a knowing look on his face.

“So… How can I help you?” 

“As you know, Andrew was killed. I wanted to know if you had heard anything about it.” 

Diego pressed his lips together and sighed deeply. Layla quickly realized that he knew something but didn’t want to say it, or maybe couldn’t - whichever it was, it didn’t matter. She needed that information and she needed it immediately. 

“Diego, please tell me what you know.” 

The mexican man pressed his tongue on the inside of his upper lip, as he thought. “Layla… I’ve heard from more than one person that the Jins were involved.” 

Layla’s face contorted itself in anger, and she got out of her sit without so much as a sound to Diego, or Connor.

“Layla!” Diego yelled in a strong voice, petrifying the blonde. 

She had known Diego for a very long time and she had never heard him talk like that to anyone, let alone her. 

Diego got close to her and started adjusting her collar and her sleeves while he spoke. His eyes were getting watery.

“You’re getting yourself into a dangerous business,” he sniffled, “I can’t stop you and God knows I wouldn’t even dream of trying, but please, be careful…” 

Layla’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Diego almost crying. In a lot of ways, Diego had been just as much of a father to her as Oscar.

Diego let go of her. “The Jins own nothing around Andrew’s house. Word is that they got an outsider to kill him.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, and turned around.

As she opened the door, she felt Diego grabbing her wrist, and expressed her confusion with a ‘Hmph?’

“I… I’m not sure I should tell you this with that thing here, but-”

“Worry not, Diego. I’m fully loyal to Miss Layla and the Evans Family,” Connor interrupted.

Diego stared at Connor with a mix of intrigue and confusion before looking at Layla for confirmation, which he got in form of a nod. “One of my most trusted clients told me that the tallest building in that area is... partially owned by CyberLife.”

Connor’s LED lit up and flickered with a yellow hue as he received that information, and Layla raised her eyebrows in surprise.

Yes! The light at the end of the tunnel had decided to show itself. Finally something to grasp on, after a week of weeping, and her father had given her the perfect tool for the job, though accidentally.

Leaving the bar, the blonde was already fantasizing about the moment she found the person who killed Andrew - she pictured a stone pavement drenched in blood, decorated by the killer’s body.