#mutuals to sit in a field and listen to the birds sing with

[lilyevansgf]

daisy and lavender!

rae! u too!! and also peach <3

#viodora #mutuals to sit in a field and listen to the birds sing with #asks

[sleeping-lilies]

robin era jason, dick, and babs headcanons because there’s too much comedic potential to ignore

- dick and babs were the ultimate gossip buddies. whenever dick was with the titans for long periods of time, babs always filled him in on everything

babs: dick you’ll never believe what hal said to bruce last night, i even have videos. dick, the look on his face please—

dick, immediately locking doors so his teammates don’t hear the mad shit about to be dropped on main: tell me everything

- vice versa too, dick filled babs in on everything going on with the titans and all they can say is thank god those lines are bat secured with no villains being able to listen in, imagine deathstroke hearing through bat gossip that joey’s dating who?!?! 😳

- batkids have been and always will be the holder of superhero gossip. it’s a business, you see, but we’re getting off topic 😡

- lmfao anyways this is literally how dick finds out about jason

babs: anyways, jason—

dick: who the fuck is jason

babs: ....

dick: barbara?!?!

babs: ok promise you won’t freak out

- babs and dick’s first reaction upon meeting jason being “why is he so small i wasnt that small” “dick you were literally nine when you were robin—“ “he’s tiny” it’s like those two share the same braincell

- i’m making it so that dick gave jason his number earlier because i feel like it 😡😡😡 (not that it changes much other than the fact that i want more gossip dropped in dm’s)

- when dick gave jason his number, he went to babs like “give me jason’s number” “didn’t you literally just give him your’s?” “ya but i’m gonna make sure he texts me” “ya ok that’s fair”

- whenever jason didn’t want to be in the manor (fight with bruce, boredom, etc) he went to wherever the fuck babs lived and they would facetime dick and talk mad shit. it was a thing.

- despite them all being able to drive, babs was the only one during this time with an actual, legitimate, legal license (jason was too young to have a license and dick is too lazy/busy/whatever-excuse-he-wants-to-use to take the permit and driving test) so babs drove them around everywhere and it was a mess™ consisting of a bunch of backseat drivers

- “dick omg look at this video i found from the batcave” “omg he said robin gives him magic” “robin gives him magic” they both cry about it for years to come

- babs sometimes kidnapped jason after school after telling the head of wayne manor (alfred) and took him to get ice cream, then to the library while she worked. jason was the greatest kid in the library, he even had his own throne special chair just for him whenever he came provided by library staff who adored this absolute angel.

- jason 🤝 babs 🤝 dick -> i believe in annoying yet endearing nicknames supremacy

- nicknames include (some used by some more than others or just one, or by both equally because they’re annoying pick and choose my good people)

little wing (iconic, we all know this one fellas and who uses it)

red (used for babs, absolutely fantastic, but in the future it gets confusing because some people with their goddamn hero names 😡)

boy wonder (classic, babs calls them both that)

barbie (for babs, jason uses this one and he’s the only one able to get away with it)

dickie (jason just really gets away with everything huh)

dickhead (jason’s lucky he’s cute)

baba black sheep (jeez i’m on a roll with babs’ nicknames she’s so nickname-able and that’s very cool and sexy of her)

jay z

jay allen

jay jay jay (shut up, dickhead—)

big bird

and a bunch more i’m too tired to look for them in canon or make new ones up, but you get the idea

- dick can totally bake, and babs and jason keep bugging him when he’s baking and add more chocolate chips while pretending to not notice that he can see them 😡😡😡

- headcanon that jason had hero worship for babs and dick because they’re so cool in and out of costume and it never really went away when he got older listen his older brother and pseudo sister are so cool and that’s not his fault but he’ll never admit it

- barbie movie marathons because barbie is an iconic legend and they all recognize it. they have the fucking “she’s the queen of the WA-A-A-AVES” song memorized along with all other barbie movie songs, they sing it on patrol.

- dick and jason’s sibling dynamic was and is basically “ur a little shit and i hate you but i will literally kill for you”

- dick had tension with bruce while jason was just a little shit who would totally cause drama for the sake of it, and people never take advantage of this absolute power duo for destroying bruce

- dick sending cryptid texts to jason through a burner phone because he’s dramatic jason totally knew it was him about things that drive bruce mad, like leaving the shower turned to the coldest setting before bruce got there, leaving the lights in the batcave on, etc. jason, a wise little child, totally took advantage of this. bruce came to accept his fate

- the gc names, guys the group chat names

- jason crashing into titans tower whenever he wants and dick doesn’t bat (hAH) an eye, occasionally he very sweetly asks babs to come with him and she agrees but only sometimes because some people have jobs, jason—wait dick is being flirted with by who?!?! i’ll leave it up to your imagination ;) and they totally crashed titans missions too

- one time bruce was busy with the league while alfred was on vacation and bruce absolutely could not dip (i’m imagining bruce getting a call from the headmaster during an honest to god fight and bruce just picking up while punching the daylights out of some asshole) (“mr wayne, what is that noise in the background?” “sorry, headmaster, the cat is having a seizure”), so when jason got into a “fight” (read: some jackass picking on jason before he snapped and yelled at him and the bitchass kid tried to punch him and jason’s no quitter) bruce called dick who was an adult and legally family (yes dick is adopted sometime after jason was, stay mad) like “son... son please” and dick was like “oh no need to plead with me, this is too good” but of course this bitchass doesn’t have an actual lisence yet and he was hanging out with babs anyways so he and babs rolled up to gotham academy and the kids stared at them like “holy shit they’re so cool” ya dick and babs are those power couple, whether romantic or not, that turn heads, they’re just that powerful strolled into the office, bailed jason out while intimidating the headmaster because the altercation was the result of school staff negligence of actual bullying like those cliche tropes, said “ayyy you got that brat good” and get him chili dogs or whatever the fandom made robin jason’s favorite food. omg i just made an entire fanfic in rough draft form someone please steal it and write it in full form and send me the link

- jason is very very tiny, you see. babs and dick pick him up and move him for any reason, whether because they want to sit on that chair or to just throw him out of harm’s way and take the bullet for themselves.

- jason and dick both get adorable blushes on their faces it’s genetic yes that’s how genetics work shut up meanwhile babs’ ears turn red when she’s embarrassed and all three of them clown each other for it

- i yelled about this to my mutual (cough cough @littlespaceboii) who also added to this absolute dogshit headcanon and then in the discord full of mutuals, but the basement of wayne manor is haunted. dick found it when he was a little gremlin (i stand by that dick was the original demon child) (“you see damian, before there was you there was me” the real reason he was good with damian lmfao) and was like “omg this is so cool” @littlespaceboii came up with that it was just alfred fucking with bruce and so when jason first came and dick was comfy around him he was like “so have you been in the basement” and jason was like “im literally robin i’ve been in the batcave?!?!” and dick goes “no the basement, the haunted one” and jason’s like “hAUNTED?!?!” cuz jason has at least some self preservations and knows not to fuck with the spookies until he too became a spooky and bruce was like “there’s no ghost it’s not haunted” because he’s a skeptic and a party pooper and babs is like “no go on let him finish” even though she knows full well there are no ghosts or does she? and uhhhh basically they becomes ghostbusters 2.0 but cooler and funnier

- this trio is basically baby pan/bisexual jason and two resident expert pan/bisexuals solidarity but that’s literally canon. they go to pride every year that jason’s alive what who said that?

- they all tease each other for their crushes like all siblings/family friends do, i don’t need to say it but it’s important that’s emphasized for my well being

- yelled about this in the discord to the mutuals who added onto this absolute train wreck too, but jason used to play baseball during his robin days, and dick never showed up to those games with being busy as an excuse, but babs always showed up with bruce and alfred and took pictures for dick so dick could be like “mlb players are jobless now that little wing is on the scene” babs (and sometimes bruce) always shouted loudest for jason whether he was in the field or in the dugout and jason would get this extremely adorable blush on his face (jason finds out in the future why dick never showed up (cough cough ptsd from two face’s massive baseball bat which led to everything that came after including being fired and veangance academy and nearly killing two face and omg that’s a ride) and is like oh my god my childhood is even more ruined—)

- remember when i said dick got adopted after jason did in this new absolutely fabulous canon i just created? bruce did that because “ahhh fuck that’s my kid and i want him to know i love him through every means possible since i have the ability to do so” i believe in good dad bruce supremacy and made a whole thing where he invited dick to dinner for like a week to work up the courage and bonding to ask him and show him the adoption papers and then everyone cried :) bruce decided to finally adopt dick after jason referred to dick as his brother and bruce was like “...oh” and alfred was like 👀

- dick, as the first child hero and one of the first heroes period like at least a year or two before babs, holds the “back in my day” card over literally everyone in the hero community in general and pulls it out to annoy babs and jason even tho babs literally joined the scene only a year or two after dick

jason, shaking in his panties: it’s so fucking cold

dick, standing strong in his tits out outfit, who had to wear the panties on his own decision: oh, you’re cold? back in my day—

babs, throwing her boot at his face: god shut the fuck up—

and then dick doesn’t give back her boot and it becomes a whole thing with lots of tackling and play fighting and someone nearly gets thrown off they rooftop for funsies but anyways

also on a side note, babs would take off her cape and wrap it around jason whenever she noticed his discomfort with the weather, or use the weather as an excuse whenever she saw him uneasy for whatever reason and they never mention it to each other

- yelled about this in the discord to the mutuals at some point too holy shit i have friends, but those three are team rocket. they went out as team rocket for halloween one year after bullying bruce to let jason out only jason because he can’t tell dick and babs what to do and jason is under his care and when they do convince him, dick and babs bully jason into being meowth. manifesting jason in a meowth onesie ARTISTS PLEASE—

- dick finally took his license seriously and took his driver’s test after babs became paralyzed.

- those were a rough few months for those three. and then another rough few months for those two

- yikes, sorry to throw angst at you (sorry (unfeeling)) anyways, in the future alfred finds those old photos and shows the rest of the fam, so dick and babs bully jason, 6’2 jason that towers way above both of them, and once again bullies him into being meowth “for tradition, little wing!” “shut up, dickhead” the rest of the batkids lose their shit over this, naturally. bruce and alfred stand in the back teary eyed reminiscing the old days when things were a little more simple.

- discowing walked so terrifying handsome squidward red hood helmet could run (even tho the ugly helmet tripped and fell and missed the mark because discowing wasn’t ugly and will always remain superior, i feel i have committed a terrible crime comparing the two)

dick: jason what the fuck is that

jason: it’s fashion

dick: it’s terrifying

jason: i’m only following in my older brother’s footsteps 😔

dick: listen here, you little shit strangles him haha just kidding that illegal wait theyre vigilantes they don’t follow the law—

- these three and cass refer to the rest of the batkids as “the kids” (if she’s older than jason, sometimes she is and sometimes she isn’t and i’m really confused but whatever)

- babs and dick’s relationship with jason pre death literally shaped how jason treats his siblings post pit madness like he literally goes “what would red and big bird do?!??” when he needs to go into big brother mode over the “little ones” (“little” because tim and steph are adults and duke is nearly an adult himself oh my god he’ll graduate from high school soon and jason never got to do that himself he’s totally going to the ceremony legally dead or not) 🥺

- holy trinity continue hanging out with each other, whether lunch or games or whatever, and just enjoy each other’s company after long, rough years

#i believe in meowth jason supremacy #license is spelled differently every time i type it is it license or lisence #oh whatever i’m failing anyways #good dad bruce because and reconciled bruce and dick father son dynamic because good dad bruce and extremely bitter son dick cannot exist #in the same realm #like it literally ruins dick’s whole character and makes him look like a brat when that’s literally not what happened #I MADE A FUCKING TYPO NOOO #OK ANYWAYS #dick grayson #jason todd #barbara gordon #oracle #batgirl #red hood #robin #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #alfred pennyworth #headcanons #batfam #batfam headcanons #dc comics #3am blue strikes again #long post #mine

[popatochisssp]

if/when you get the energy/time to- im really curious; what kinda fuzzy friends do the newer skeles have? does pitch have a seeing eye-dog version of princess? or does ell and/or nemo have a fuzzy buddy to help with their anxiety or anything similar or in-between? spare fuzzy friend hcs for the poor, ma'am????

Well, you asked for it!

Ash (Undergloom Sans): A cat named Annie (Ragdoll), adopted as an emotional support buddy! She picked him, really, just ambling right on up to him, and it was love at first flop-over-his feet. Having a little sweetheart like her to take care of has really helped to pull Ash out of the doldrums and he loves her a lot. She’s a big-time cuddlebug, just like he is, and they definitely spend a ton of time napping together, everywhere and anywhere.

Annie’s Quirks: Extra chunky (master of the ‘I haven’t been fed yet 🥺’ con), stockpiles socks and undies beneath the bed, shameless catnip junkie

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He feels like he’s not as active as he should be, lots of time spent indoors doing academic things, when there’s a whole beautiful world out there that he should be getting out to see at least sometimes... He has the idea that maybe an animal companion would be the right motivation to get up and out at least a couple times a day, and Cannoli (Pembroke Welsh Corgi) is the solution to the problem! They click pretty much immediately and are just very well-suited to each other, especially as exercise partners.

Cannoli’s Quirks: Loves (short) walks, rests his head on any feet that stay still long enough, must sleep in the same bed as the people and will hop/bark/cry if he can’t get up there himself

Brick (Horrorfell Sans):He doesn’t know too much of the story himself, he’s sure he was told in more detail but probably forgot. All he remembers is, a friend of a friend had a dog who had an accident...or maybe it got sick? Either way, it went deaf, and the dog was too big and unwieldy for them to try to retrain themselves. But they had a friend who was HoH, and that friend was active in the community with lots of other signing and HoH folks and could ask around about someone who might be up for the challenge of having and training a real big dog that couldn’t hear a word you said to it. That’s how Brick heard about it, anyway, and he’s not deaf but he’s big, and he figures he probably knows at least enough sign by now to train a dog. And that’s how Tiny (English Mastiff) comes to stay at his place. They clumsily work on understanding each other, it’s definitely a Process, but there’s plenty of fondness there to make any difficulty worth the trouble.

Tiny’s Quirks: Bit of a digging problem, gets very excited about balloons, likes to sit near people and lean his entire weight into them

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): This one may look familiar, but it’s fate-- Doomfanger (Persian) belongs with him and could find her way to him in any universe. ...But King was a little later getting to the Surface, and wasn’t there to pick her up when she was freshly on the streets. She spent awhile longer being an alleycat, a few years of living the rough life, and one day when she’s not quite fast enough to scurry out of the way of an oncoming car, it probably would’ve been the end for her... if not for the kind Samaritan skeleton who was just passing by that scooped her up off the pavement and brought her to a vet. King tried very hard not to get attached to her, especially when it was still looking like she wouldn’t make it, but he kept moving the goalpost of when he’d let himself care about her. ‘IF IT LIVES UNTIL MORNING,’ ‘IF IT MAKES IT TO THE VET,’ ‘IF SHE SURVIVES HER SURGERY,’ ‘IF--’ and then she looks at him, with her goofy drugged up face, freshly missing the foot of her back paw so that they even match now, and... And just like that, Doomfanger has a home and a devoted cat-dad owner and anything else she could possibly need.

Doomfanger’s Quirks: Likes to be raked, makes an incredible fuss when shut out of any room for any reason, very spooked by loud noises and immediately runs and hides under daddy’s bed

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He wanted a pet, especially when things were still a little strained with his brother and the nature of his...condition...made it difficult to make friends. He was lonely and a little pal would be very welcome in his home, but he’d also really hate to curse a furry friend with the ever-present threat of being dripped on and getting nasty bone-goop stuck in their fur... Ella (Sphynx) is the workaround to this unusual problem and makes herself right at home with Merc, happy to love on him whether he’s solid or sticky.

Ella’s Quirks: Has an extensive collection of sweaters that she adores (will sit by her dresser and meow until she is clothed), great sense for emotions and tends to appear whenever she’s needed, transfixed by mirrors

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): He didn’t choose Ripley (Maine Coon), Ripley... well, he’s not even sure Ripley chose him. He definitely chose Ella, because that pretty little sweater-wearing vixen in the window is what drove him to bust into Ell and Merc’s house and start sauntering around like he owned the place. Ripley (named before they realized he was a boy-cat) was definitely feral, with a notched ear and a missing eye, but he just keeps coming around, breaking and entering, cuddling with Ella and sharing her food, and when he one day hops into Ell’s lap and curls his big fluffy body up there... Ell makes the (possibly bad) decision to just shut the doors and windows on this mean, fat bastard and make him commit to the self-domestication he’d started. Ripley’s fickle, anti-social, and nine times out of ten mean as hell, but despite it all, Ell’s attached to the fucker. Doesn’t stop him from talking mad shit about his demon-cat to anyone who’ll listen, but y’know, there’s a weird sort of love there, between them both.

Ripley’s Quirks: Hates other cats and people, with Ell and Ella as the only exceptions (Ell sometimes, Ella always), does truly heinous things to birds and rodents and even bugs if the opportunity presents itself, an escape artist who is not to be trusted around doors or windows

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Ms. Sandy Peaches (Golden Retriever) is a service dog, trained to assist people with visual impairments in a variety of tasks. Pitch, who’d long been mulling over the idea of getting one such dog, eventually follows through, and as soon as he hears her name, he’s decided-- Sandy Peaches is the one for him! He’s been blind awhile by the time he gets her and generally knows his way around things, but she’s very helpful in his day-to-day and some of the things that were moderately inconvenient to get through before are only mildly inconvenient now, and her value as a helper and a companion is much appreciated.

Sandy’s Quirks: Gets excited when it’s time to put her vest on and go work, thinks the appropriate amount of brushing time is probably about three hours, loves to go swimming

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He found Dizzy (American Shorthair) after an accidental click led him to a local shelter’s Instagram, where they had a video of her playing and a few hashtags that explained her condition. He learned a lot about cerebellar hypoplasia, aka ‘wobbly cat syndrome,’ and when he eventually made it back to her video and watched it again... it was too late, he was already half in love with her. He contacts the shelter and after a couple weeks making arrangements, purchasing necessities, and wobbly-cat-proofing the house, he braves the outdoors to go get her and bring her home. She’s probably 100% his baby within the first hour and he loves being able to take care of her and help a kitty that not everybody would have the time or dedication to take in. The love is very much mutual and Dizzy’s tail does the ‘omg it’s you, I love you!’ tail-quiver whenever she sees him and trots on over.

Dizzy’s Quirks: Sixth sense for when there’s clean laundry to be laid on, likes to hold extended warbling and yowling conversations with people, chews on anything that crinkles (keep plastic wrappers out of reach!)

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): As soon as he knew he wanted a dog, he knew he wanted to pick up one of the less adoptable ones. Skipper (Beagle mutt) was certainly that, with only two legs--one in front and one in back. Sunny had a play session with the little guy and admired his energy and how enthusiastically he played, like his missing legs didn’t even phase him. Whatever happened in Skipper’s past, he’s not letting it be his problem now, and needless to say, he’s adopted and taken home in pretty short order. No holds barred fetch and spontaneous frolicking in open fields are a great bonding activity for these two, probably a match made in heaven.

Skipper’s Quirks: Tennis ball fiend (literally can never have enough), chews on unattended shoes, loves to sing (read: howl) along to music

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): He wanted a guard dog, some big intimidating-looking thing that would look really, really cool guard the house. He finds Ace (Doberman/Great Dane), unfortunately with his ears already cropped (Aster wouldn’t have chosen the procedure himself), but otherwise a very handsome fellow and still definitely in need of love and a home, both of which Aster was willing and able to provide. He’s attentive with all the care and training his new pup needs, and when Ace grows up just as huge as predicted, looking like a cross between a panther and a hellhound, he’s become an extremely well-mannered and obedient dog, full to the tips of his pointy ears with love for Aster.

Ace’s Quirks: King of naps, the worst nightmare of any strangers at the door (but very affectionate and loving once they’re in!), will tell you if you’ve stopped petting him too soon, boofing and trying to put your hand back to make you resume

#animal #cat #dogs #headcanons #sans #papyrus #undergloom #ug!sans #ug!papyrus #horrorfell #hf!sans #hf!papyrus #horrorswap #hs!sans #hs!papyrus #horrorswapfell #hsf!sans #hsf!papyrus #gastertale #g!sans #g!papyrus #mapleshmaple

[lezliefaithwade]

Being An Actress

I remember the moment I decided I wanted to be an actress. I was walking across the parking lot of my high school after an undoubtedly stellar performance as Portia in an all-girl production of The Merchant of Venice when my father turned to me and said, "Do you think you might want to do this for a living?" At the time I remembered feeling a little insulted. My grades were excellent. Didn't my father think I could be a lawyer or a veterinarian or a psychologist? It wasn't that I didn't love to act, but everyone I knew who wanted to be an actress was either egotistical or unstable. Not that one was mutually exclusive of the other. What did this say about me? No one in my family acted, although my Grandmother often hinted of an unsubstantiated family connection to Hermoine Gingold. Occasionally my parents would take us to see a play or listen to a concert, but only to help make us well-rounded individuals. When someone would go on about the Sound of Music my father would roll his eyes and say, “How can I take a nun singing on hilltops seriously?” And I found myself admitting that he had a point.

When I was four I appeared on Romper Room for an unprecedented two weeks. At the time my best friend, Mary Lou, had been selected for the local cable network but her incredibly shy demeanor had her mother worried.

“She’s gonna sit there like a sack of potatoes.” Mrs. Dean told my Mother who quickly suggested that I accompany Mary Lou for moral support.

“What do I have to do?” I asked my mother as she was tucking me into bed.

“Just be yourself,” she replied. My mother knew exactly what that meant. Naturally loquacious I kept things hopping on the set by constantly commenting on the camera man kissing the teacher. When asked what my father had in his garage, I remarked that it was presumptuous to even assume we had one. There was some discussion about a third week, but Miss Dawson put her foot down and said I was stealing the show.

Soon I was taking dance classes and skating lessons. My first stage appearance was as a rabbit in the famous ballet, Bugs Bunny's Birthday Party. I was excited because we second tiered rabbits were going to eat sandwiches on stage. Then disaster struck. The sandwiches were going to be peanut butter and I hated peanut butter. Teary eyed I complained to my mother who told me to grin and bear it. “That’s acting,” she said.

In grade four I wrote a play about a pair of motorcycle lovers and sang Baby Driver while they straddled their desks and rode off into the sunset.

“Hit the road and I’m gone.

What’s your number?

I wonder how your engine feels?”

“Okay,” Mrs. Orcutt interrupted, “I think that’s all the time we have for that today.”

After my father gave me his blessing to pursue a career on the stage, I decided to explore all of my options. I auditioned for an amateur theatre company and played bird #4 in Aristophanes’ The Birds, and a milk maid in Galt MacDermot’s musical adaptation of Shakespeare’s Two Gentlemen of Verona. Not exactly earth-shattering roles, but I knew there was a pecking order (no pun intended) and that dues must be paid. In Niagara Falls, where I lived as a teenager, there were two amateur companies. The youth group that took over the Firehall Theatre in the summer months of July and August, and the adult group that staked their claim the rest of the year. The youth company was run entirely by a handful of 18 to 20-year-olds who took themselves very seriously. We stretched ourselves artistically, which is really just another way of saying that were out of our depth. I remember as Bertha in Pippin I had to say, "Men raise flags when they can't get anything else up." At the time I had no idea what that meant but I certainly enjoyed the response I got every time I said it.  

The amateur theatre company in the neighbouring city of St. Catharines were doing large scale musicals with professional directors and a cast of a thousand. Even I could tell the difference between Garden City’s production of West Side Story and the Niagara Falls Music Theatre Production of A Shadow Box. We told ourselves that we were doing something significant for the five or six audience members who sat in the dark to watch us perform. “At least they can appreciate art.” we told ourselves, ignoring the occasional snore beyond the footlights.  When someone who had seen our production complained in the paper that “…smut didn’t belong on stage.” I was devasted. “Some people just don’t know a good thing when they see it,” I ranted, “It’s a Pulitzer award winning play.”  I forgot that we weren’t Tony award winning actors.

Anxious to spread my wings and get a taste of the real thing, I auditioned for a one-act play festival at the nearby University and managed to get the part of an uptight bible thumper in an original musical called A Hundred Bucks a Week. It was the story of a topless shampoo parlourist who castrates a guy with her teeth. Did I mention that it was narrated by a cat? I still remember singing:

“We all must be as babies in the garden.

Smiling with our mouths all bright and new.

Innocently smelling lovely roses.

Not prying with our fingers in dog doo.”

Needless to say, my father was a little shocked when an actress appeared on stage topless while I sang my heart out in a futile effort to convert her. This time as he walked me across the parking lot to the car he suggested that perhaps I should seriously consider journalism at Carleton. “Impossible!” I stated dramatically, “I’m an actress.” And I actually believed it.

I arrived at University wearing vintage clothes with frizzy hair and John Lennon glasses. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be Doris Finsecker from Fame or Janice Joplin. My dorm room-mate was an engineering student who was the first to know of a kegger and had never seen a play in her life. She often returned to our room late at night reeking of booze and sludge water after spontaneous dips in the Detroit River.

At theatre school I was told I couldn’t dance, I couldn’t sing, I had speech impediments and a wandering left eye that would completely destroy any hopes of a career in film “Too bad you didn’t have it looked at when you were a kid,”one professor told me, “It’s easily treatable if caught when you are young.” At the age of five I was a frequent visitor to Sick Kids Hospital for my eye and wore a patch over my glasses for a year. It didn’t cure me. So much for trusting the knowledge of my professors. Strike one!

I began to sink under the pressure of looks and expectations. While the rest of the women in my class wasted away proclaiming to have eaten nothing but broccoli over Thanksgiving, I gained seven pounds over a new found love of peanut butter and developed a bad attitude towards anyone who encouraged me to “feel space”. When my teacher overheard me mutter under my breath one day that I hated improve she called a class meeting to discuss why I hated her. Everyone stared at me shocked and disappointed. Why was I resisting the pu-pu platter of techniques spread out before me? “You’re a very stubborn actress,” the teacher announced, “but I’m going to break you.” That was strike two.

At my first semester tutorial I was told that I had talent, but I wasn’t tall, thin or pretty enough. “You have the face of Sally Field,” the department head told me, “but the body of Kathy Bates.” Strike three.  I went home for Christmas and announced to my father that I was dropping out to focus, instead, on getting into a proper theatre school in New York. After all, I reasoned, it’s where I really wanted to be anyway.

There is probably nothing quite as depressing as returning to your hometown in the middle of winter when all of your friends are away at school having the time of their lives. The overall perception is that you have failed. It didn’t help to think that I had willfully brought myself to this point in time. The phrase, “small fish in a big pond” kept going around in my head. While my best friends were acing all of their classes and dating interesting freshmen, I was eating cookies, and counting the days until everyone would return to amuse me. In the meantime, I moped around the apartment, wrote letters to theatre schools and read a lot of plays.

“You have to get a job.” My father announced and for the first time I was forced to slog my way through the want ads in a half assed attempt to find work at either a wax museum or a fudge shop. Completely unqualified for anything except theatre, I was forced to become a chamber maid at a tacky little hotel near Clifton Hill. Picking up after the kind of clientele that honeymoon in tacky hotels in Niagara Falls is enough to get one thinking seriously about their life choices. Maybe Dad had been right. A career in the theatre wasn’t looking so good anymore. Something had been tarnished from University and I couldn’t pretend that my trajectory to success was going to be one clear straight line to the top. I’d hit rock bottom and was picking up the condom rappers and dirty Kleenex to show it.

There have been many times in my career when I’ve been very close to throwing in the towel and becoming a real-estate agent or a tour guide.  At each one of those moments of genuine universal surrender something miraculous always happens. That year it was a letter of acceptance from the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York. By now my father, less convinced that I could make a go of it, made me a deal. If I could find a place to live in Manhattan within a week, he would allow me to go. So, I boarded the train in Buffalo and headed for the Big Apple.

I arrived in New York at around 2:00 PM on a very, very hot day in August. I walked straight to the library, took out the Village Voice, circled an advertisement seeking a room-mate for a four-bedroom brownstone on the Upper West Side, was interviewed at 7:00 PM and secured my living accommodations within twenty-four hours. It didn’t matter to me that I had no idea who the three men I’d be living with were. The place was nice and the price was right. I think I heard my father drop the phone when I called to tell him that I had accomplished the impossible. Studying in New York proved to be the best and possibly the worst thing that ever happened to me. I developed a philosophy of acting that has served me in every way, but it also created a high standard that hasn’t always been easy to live up to.

_________________________________________________________

A few years ago, I was invited to direct a production of Blue Stockings at the same University I had so unceremoniously departed from those many years ago. Parallel universes collided as images of my past kept imposing themselves on the present. There was the quad I had been initiated in. There was the building where I’d slept and laughed and cried. There was my window with the view of the cemetery and McDonalds. There was the library where I looked up the address of every theatre school in New York. There was the theatre I did my practicum in, all pretty much the same as the day I left it. The walls, hallways, buildings hadn’t changed, but I had. I didn’t need reassurance anymore. I didn’t need someone to tell me what I wasn’t or couldn’t be. If only we could teach students the value of tenacity and resilience.

I enjoyed directing that class. I hope I encouraged and inspired them. I was happy when they came to rehearsals in sweats and tee shirts, less concerned about how they looked than we had been. More confident in their choices. More involved. On Opening night after the cheers and flowers and the congratulations, it felt good to climb into the car and head for home. I’m not cut out for institutions. I don’t like the brick and the neon and the bureaucracy. Still, it was good to make my peace with that time in my life. On the four-hour drive to Niagara I was thinking about the young people I had just worked with making the transition from student to actor. Maybe some of them will end up in New York. Maybe not. The thing about acting is it can take you anywhere…from Romper Room to the stars with a few tacky hotels in between.

#actress #new york #university #self esteem

[feralhogs]

ALL THE COLOURS

HERE WE GO BOYS

zinc white; how are you really feeling today? no one-word answers please!

I’m feeling tired because I’m supposed to be in bed. But happy because I did the work and I can get away with sleeping in and things are just chill right now. I have devised a way of sneaking waste food at work. If you put it in these little metal containers and hide them under the fridge, nobody notices them and throws them away. This eve I dined on garlic bread and prawns.

cadmium yellow; when you think of the word “happy” what’s the first thing that comes to mind?

Walking with coffee and tunes. I’m trying to appreciate things in my life I will feel nostalgic about later in the moment, so I don’t regret anything. This is one of those things. Although I might not have the tunes part for long because I fucking broke my headphones and they may or may not start playing my music out loud for all the world to hear. I hope people like disco!

lemon; what’s your comfort food?

Food from my old workplace. I have trouble finishing food usually but not this stuff. I will probably scream while eating it. You know this and you love me

hansa yellow; what’s your guilty pleasure song?

“I Will Survive”. People were singing it in the Office and I guess it’s so famous and ironic and cringey now or something. But then I remember that one fucker

yellow ochre; name an artist/band whom you just discovered & can’t get enough of!

Herbie Hancock. I don’t know if I’ll listen to every single thing from him but I was just listening to some funk as you do and his like solos? I was vibing. We were having brain to brain communication. It was an experience. It was so so good. It was good fucking music. Listen to this shit. Herbie Hancock - I Thought It Was You This stuff makes me want to wiggle on public transit. 

naples yellow; where do you feel most at home?

Bonsais and my quiet neat fucking room. Or not giving a fuck in other people’s mess.

raw sienna; with whom do you feel most at home?

YOU HO

golden ochre; describe the relationship you have with your closest friend.

We reblog asks and send each other all the asks. ADHD disaster energy finding balance. The worst posts I’ve ever seen followed by revenge. Two gay best friends who are best friends. No seriously I am so grateful for your unconditional love and your warmth

golden deep; what’s your favorite season?

Autumn. When the leaves were falling and the sun was shining all bittersweetly I was running around taking so many pictures because there’s like this golden time and then it’s gone.

cadmium orange; what do you like to do on your days off?

I like to buy too many plants and pretty rocks that are just vibing. I just like to wander around with coffee without a schedule. Listening to funk and disco. Seriously I’m the coolest person ever

orange lake; do you have anyone you can turn to when you’re sad?

U HO. And some online mutuals of course :) I feel like I don’t turn to people when it’s real sad hours though. I just give my ocs more PTSD.

titans; do you prefer slow mornings or relaxing evenings?

Relaxed evenings. Fuck mornings. All my mornings are slow buddy. 

shakhnazaryan red; are you currently binge-watching anything?

No, because I had to go and cancel my Netflix as all my favourite things got more episodes. 

red ochre; are you more right-brained (creative) or left-brained (analytical)?

Oh right brained bitch.

burnt sienna; is there a painting that brings you peace when you look at it?

No, paintings are stressful. It’s always like “Holy shit, that must have been so much work! I don’t enjoy painting myself! This person is better at painting than me!” I have much love in the heart for Van Gogh.

english red; what animal do you relate to most?

I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work. I could say a cat, because I want to lie down in a patch of sun, knock things over, and complain loudly. I would say a dog because I think people are way better than they really are, am tenaciously loyal to them, and get excited about going for a walk.

vermilion; what’s your favorite accent?

Whatever this one hot guy at work has.

cadmium red; do you have a “type” when it comes to a significant other?

FOR FUCKS SAKE okay I’m going to google what my type is

You got: Mr./ Mrs Perfect

You like someone that truly has is all. You need someone who is well rounded in all aspects of life. When it comes to looks and personality, only perfection receives your affection.

Wow, what does that mean at all

scarlet; describe your current crush/es.

Ok, one of them gave me cheesecake, one of them offered me pizza, another one is the guy whose Facebook you stalked for me and we still couldn’t find his birthday but I laugh about one adorable photo still (the car one), and one of them I spent half an hour trying to find where I put the birth chart of and we’re actually really compatible. I’m sorry, if you want more information I’ll have to ramble about it in your messages.

ruby; what does your ideal first date look like?

OH I JUST WANT TO WALK DOWN A STREET HOLDING HANDS AND GO TO A RESTAURANT WEVE NEVER BEEN TO BEFORE AND TRY SOME FOOD AND LAUGH A LOT, AND THEN MAYBE GO ENJOY THE VIEW OF THE OCEAN AT NIGHT. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? IS IT?

carmine; what does your ideal second date look like?

I don’t know, fuck it let’s go to the aquarium!

madder lake red; would you ever kiss someone (or accept a kiss) on a first date?

I dunno man. I feel like I wouldn’t if it wasn’t socially acceptable but I’m also wild and crazy.

rose; what’s something really positive going on in your life right now?

I REALLY ACTUALLY LIKE MY WORKPLACE. And my living situation is pretty okay. It’s not great I guess but I’ve been coming a long way.

quinacridone rose; what’s something you’re really looking forward to?

Literally what are these colours. Okay, I’m looking forward to putting wires around crystals to make them into jewellery. Then, I want to give the jewellery to my friends. 

violet rose; what does your dream house look like?

An old as fuck, old fashioned as fuck haunted-looking mansion I can give some love.

violet; is there any place in particular you’d like to settle down?

I need the outdoors bro. I need those trees. I gotta live in the countryside again someday.

blue lake; what would you like to do/accomplish before you settle down?

Write some books! Run rampant in the city…

cobalt blue spectral; what is the most beautiful place you have ever been to?

I think it would have to be the hills where I grew up. It was bursting with biodiversity, there was a rustic sheep farm, everyone shut the fuck up, there would be frogs, the smell of the fresh air in any season, some days would just be heart-stoppingly beautiful and I ache for it sometimes. Birdsong? I heard some birdsong today and I wanted to cry. I remember our hedges would be deafening with the birds in it.

ultramarine; when was the last time you were in a good mood? do you know/remember what sparked it?

Today, it finding something I maybe could sit around and read and then finding it in me to actually get out of bed lol.

blue; what’s the most recent dream you remember?

The one I just had. A lot of it is blurry, which is frustrating because I got some strong almost-memories of it throughout the day, but it sticks out to me because I was bawling my eyes out a lot in the dream, and I also hurt myself the way I used to and I had to check that I hadn’t done it in my sleep. But I think it was a very expressive dream and those are my natural emotions.

bright blue; what does your dream family look like? any kids or pets? 

I like the idea of a husband and some dogs, cats and chickens. Kids maybe.

how many of each?

A lot of chickens, but not too many please.

blue cobalt; do you like your name? would you give yourself a different name if you could?

I do like my name, and I did give myself a different name. Even if I knew how annoying everyone would be about pop culture Gordons, and I did. I still would choose this name.

prussian azure; what’s your favorite scent?

I’m running out of things to say as my favourite scent. OK, Nomad from Old Spice. I don’t know why, I think it must suit me or something. Maybe it’s the citrus… stuff going on there.

azure blue; what’s your favorite type of tea, if any?

Red Rose, my mom made it for me as a kid and she drank it all the time while teaching me piano or reading books.

turquoise blue; if you could start a garden, what would you plant?

Flowers, to show off to everyone, and then I don’t know, maybe some fucking pumpkins and easy things like corn and peas.

cerulean blue; if you were guaranteed to have a viewership, would you start a youtube vlog?

I think I’d be happier to have one if I knew no one was watching my antics LMAO

glauconite; describe your body without using any negative adjectives.

Best of both worlds

yellow green; picture yourself walking in a field. what do you see & hear in this scenario?

I’m still thinking of where I grew up. I see the sun through the branches of very old maple trees, and hear the wind in the long grass.

green light; are you in a comfortable place in life? if not, what do you think might make it better?

Yes, but I could make it better by moving in with cleaner roommates and getting a cat. And maybe work at something I’m actually interested in, or go to school or something.

green; name three countries you want to visit; do you have any actual plans in place to visit any of them?

I don’t have plans, but I’d like to visit Mexico, France, or Japan.

emerald green; do you speak any languages besides english? are there any additional languages you want to learn?

Kinda French. I want to learn Spanish… now Portuguese because everyone at work speaks it… literally, any very popular language. I want to learn so many languages

oxide of chromium; what’s your favorite book?

BRO WHAT IS A BOOK

olive green; are you currently reading anything? how do you like it so far?

Yeah, I’m reading a personal account of a Satanic cult. I had to stop reading it because I wasn’t ready for the graphic details.

mars brown; what’s a movie that always puts a smile on your face/makes you laugh?

Megamind/Thor Ragnarok

burnt umber; what’s something you plan to do before the day is over to take care of yourself?

Wow I feel really called out right now. I was going to eat some chicken because I’m hungry. Because that’s what I should be doing at 3AM.

umber; have you drank enough water today?

Yes, but probably not. I’ve been trying really hard today though.

voronezhskaya black; what or who is your go-to outlet for when you need to vent?

Probably you again, welcome to the salt mines!

sepia; name five things that always make you happy.

Buying a plant, rolling around on my fuzzy blanket, videos of cats being idiots, little unexpected thoughtful gifts, people sharing food.

indigo; what’s the best/sweetest compliment you have ever received?

A Treasured Mutual once spontaneously said I was a really good person because I was chill and they felt free to be themselves, to be vague.

payne’s gray; describe your aesthetic?

Looking around my room, it would seem to be whatever those studying people organizing notes with the window open on a sunny day have. I don’t know if this is me, but my room looks… vaguely feminine and organized in that way.

black; post a selfie because you are so beautiful!

I’m in my PYJAMA CLOTHES. I only want to take a selfie with GOOD NATURAL LIGHTING and the DAYTIME DARK CIRCLES around my eyes not the NIGHTTIME DARK CIRCLES. Maybe I have one hanging around

#chatty tag #zee5tarbug #ho #asks

[sassysweetstories]

Rivalry //Shawn Mendes Series

Summary: You are a demigod that’s been brought to Camp-Half Blood in hopes to find yourself and learn more about your powers. In fear of being bullied, much like before, you intend to stay behind closed doors until there in no choice but to come out about who’s child you truly belong to. 

Ship: Shawn Mendes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, fighting, swearing, fluff, blood, etc. 

Notes: none of these gifs are mine. i saw another fic about demigods and i wanted to try and make it a series. the thoughts been festering in my mind forever now. i hope you like it. (also, none of the demigods and gods are really related. because of the parents fucking around, it’s not legitimate in this series. I ALSO RECOMMEND YOU TO LISTEN TO THE PERCY JACKSON SOUNDTRACK WHILE READING THIS. IT’S SO COOL) 

Your P.O.V

Camp-Half Blood. There is was, staring back at me like some haunting horror movie scene. The outer perimeter only being lit by two burning fires alone gave me a strange mix of home despite the ominous setting. I belong here. I tell myself the same thought that I’ve been repeating the whole drive here. I belong here. This is the golden arches for the odd and weird kids, a place to feel accepted. A place where it’s okay to be different. Or, at least that’s what I was told. But I knew if there were teens here, people my age, there would still be judgement. There always is. And the trip here was nothing but ridiculous. This place seems to fall off the edge of the earth and right under the nose of humans. And yet, I feel a pull towards the location. I know in my heart that I belong. 

Despite the nerves that start to fester, I take a deep breath and walk forward. It’s dark and quiet but the second I pass through the veil, I feel a sense of comfort or warmth wash over me. You are safe here. It seems to say to me. Lugging my one suit case farther in, I find myself following the main pathway. That is until my eyes come across a centaur. He’s fucking huge, twice if not three times my height. "Mr. Brunner, I presume.” I say seriously. Everything about me screams business, not pleasure. But he ignores it and gallops up to shake my hand in mutual respect. “Please, call me, Chiron. You’ll be seeing me quite often. Might as well get on a first name basis.” I give him a hardy shake and follow him along the dark pathway, my heart beating with excitement and nerves. 

“Welcome to Camp Half Blood, (Y/n). I realize, as you’ve said before, that you do not want to disclose your parentage to anyone, but here in Camp Half Blood, we categories and home you according to your abilities. That is, until I realized who you belonged to-” He pauses, wary of his next words. “-We don’t get many rare demigods here, so in the interest of your discretion, and for you, and the safety of others, we will not disclose that information until it becomes absolutely necessary.” The second the words leave his mouth, I feel a weight being lifted off me. If anyone knew who I belonged to.. Gods, what a nightmare that would be. Mr. D continues to educate me on what exactly I would be doing here and the longer he spoke, the more excited I became. 

“Tomorrow (Y/n), I will personally show you around the facility, but for now I will take you to your living quarters, which are located not too far from the other kids but a good distance for privacy.” I want to look up at him and thank him but I’m so in awe by everything, I can barely form words. Instead I give him a small nod and unpack, mentally preparing for the next day to arrive. My house, since I’m the only one living in it, is a lot lighter than I thought it would be. It’s an odd mix of colors but nothing like I had anticipated. In one room it is black with shades of bright purple. In the other, it’s a vibrant orange/yellow with blue and green flowers the cover the ceiling which brought an odd contrast. It’s surprisingly warm and cosy despite my first wary impression. Everything about the room alone is far much nicer than I’d ever had. I can’t help but lean against my bed headboard and smile. I was home. 

The next morning I’m up bright and early, too excited to even hide it. I’m practically bouncing off the walls as I slip my shoes on. But the second Chiron shows up, I suppress it a little bit. I don’t wanna come off too strong, after-all. I’m not even outside before the sun is happily shinning down on us. The trees all gleam in delight under such warm and bright weather. I can’t help but smile at the sight. Birds fluttered above my head, singing their normal song. The trees around us sway against the wind and tower over my head like mountains. The longer we walk, the closer we come to the middle of the camp grounds. Kids of all ages and colors run by us in a hustle and bustle, not without giving me a once over, if not stare at me as if I had horns or something. 

For some reason, I’m something entirely new to them. It’s as if they know. Instead I stand up straighter, demanding respect and even scowl at some who dare to give me pointed looks. And instead of making the situation worse, I focus on Chiron’s words. “You will be training like the rest of the students. But before you get to that, you have a schedule with certain classes to obviously learn about your parents and the other gods here.” As we walk by, a boy with bright eyes and dirty blonde hair eyes me up and down like a piece of meat. He nudges his lacks and they look in my direction and have the audacity to howl at me. Instead of causing a scene, I clench my fists in frustration. Deep breaths. In and out. 

Finally pulling my gaze away from them, I can’t help but stand up straighter, as if I was trying to prove something to them. I can tell behind their cocky stares that their curious about me and what I can do. Who do I belong to and what I have to offer. But I hope they never find out. But all I know is that I do, in fact, belong. But if I wanted to show that, I would have to be on the field and in the classroom. My first class is Gods & Goddess and their powers. Before I even came to Camp Half Blood, I had always been fascinated by Greek mythology. 

I use to spend hours after school reading up on all sorts of stories only to find out I was the child of one them. Chiron escorts me to the class, if that’s not awkward enough. But when I enter, more than fifty kids look directly at me. I can practically feel their judgment filled expressions pressing down on me like an anvil. I suck in a breath of air, letting Chiron speak for me. “Professor Ryan, this is your new student, (Y/n) (Y/L/N).” I give him a hardly shake and give him my signature smile. I swear I hear a group of girls in the front sigh and swoon. Aphrodite kids, I’m sure. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss (Y/L/N). You can sit right next Mr. Underwood.” I glance up at the large college build lecture hall before my gaze falls on the satyr I saw early. He looks nice, giving me a warm and playful smile. I can’t help but return it because in all honesty, it’s quite contagious. When I take a seat, I pull out my hand for him to take. “(Y/n). Nice to meet you.” He grins and takes it before shaking it lightly. “Grover. Grover Underwood. Likewise!” It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Grover whispers comments at me the entire time, practically shit talking the professor. It takes everything in me to not burst out laughing. Once class is over though, we walk out together and the conversation flows comfortably. 

“Hey (Y/n), I wanna introduce you to my best friend, Percy Jackson.” A boy with ocean blue eyes waltz up to us, showing me an equally warm smile. I take his hand and give him a hardy shake. “Nice to meet you, Percy. Cool name. I’m (Y/n), (Y/n) (Y/L/N).” Percy is just as nice as Grover and they make me feel at home. He’s son of Poseidon apparently. Which took me by surprise. “You’ll meet the rest of the gang later. Until now, you’ll have to settle for us.” Percy says jokingly but I can already sense a slight insecurity. “I like your guys’ company just fine.” But the second the words leave my mouth, I see Percy and Grover ease up. The sight makes me chuckle. It was only the first day and I was already making friends. 

Grover has taken it upon himself to show me every nook and cranny of the camp, saying Chiron was an old fart who didn’t know any of their secrets. Pointing over to a warm pink lit dorm, he gave me a cheeky smile. “Aphrodite’s daughters. Hello ladies!” He gives them a wave and some of them giggle in response. I’d be lying if I said none of them were attractive. The art of beauty and seduction was always something they perfected apparently. Some even wink at me as we walk by. I can’t help but blush as we shuffle across the way. “Aphrodite’s daughters are nothing but wild, especially in the sheets. Stay away from them. Or don’t. I mean, I don’t stay away, haha. Not far from them is Athena, girls and boys are separated but that doesn’t stop us much. You’ll meet Annabeth later. She’s a child of Athena.”

We make our way over to the dueling field and the girl he was talking about, whom I believe is Annabeth, is dueling with three other opponents. I watch in awe as she beats them with ease, not a bead of sweat to cover her gorgeous features. I can’t help but gape as she strides over to us, looking nothing but powerful. “That was amazing.” I spew out before my mind could even think. Before she seemed more cold and wary, but the longer she eyes me, the more at ease she becomes. “Thank you. I’m Annabeth.” I take her hand, still gaping. “I’m (Y/n). That was incredible. Can you teach me how to do that?” She laughs at my genuine awe. “Of course, in due time. We have to meet up with the others.” 

“The others?” I can’t help but ask in curiosity. They all smile as Grover spoke. “Luke and Shawn. Luke tags along with us occasionally but he mainly sticks to the more jock type crowd, ya know? He’s more brutes than he is brains. But don’t tell him I said that. Besides, he only sticks around with us because he fancies Percy.” Percy shakes his head, chuckling lightly as we walk down a different pathway. “He’s my friend. They’re both really great. You’re gonna love Shawn. He’s super chill but can be a bit cocky at times. He’s also got a killer voice. Shawn might seem a bit off but he’s pretty down to earth-” Annabeth practically snorts. “And he’s not a dick like Luke.” I can’t help but laugh at the comments being made towards the young boy. “Is Luke the one with dirty blonde hair? I may have seen him this morning howling at me. What a douche.” They snort at my comment before nodding. 

We head over to the weapons hall and as we enter, I can’t help but gape in awe. Weapons from all shapes and sizes layer each side of the walls, some even attached to the ceiling. Running my hand over some, I can’t help but smirk at the glint of light they all give off. “Beautiful, ain’t she? You’ll start combat soon but before you get your hands dirty, you’re gonna need a weapon, eh?” Grover says to me, motioning for everyone to follow him. We do so and listen to the folk lore behind all of the swords and knives without homes. That was until a bright black shine caught my gaze. Without realizing it, I drifted away from the group to get a better look at it. Black as night, the sword stretches a good few feet with a dark red leather handle and small, thin white swirls etched across the blade. 

I feel a pull towards the blade, like it was meant for me. I’m so enthralled by it’s treacherous beauty I almost don’t hear the manager comment, “Gorgeous, isn’t she. Five carbon steel, practically unbreakable, with a dark red handle that’s both comfortable yet firm enough to grip.” I graze the outside of the handle and smile at the sensation. That was until the manager commented, “I wouldn’t try to pick it up. It’s the heaviest weapon we’ve got and you look pretty nimble.” I could stand men trying to down grade women. Instead of listening to his warning, I take the sword with one hand and lift, expecting it to be heavy for my too “nimble body” but instead it practically floats under my touch. I twirl it around and it feels like I’m holding air. “Are you sure it’s the heaviest? It feels light to me.” 

The look on his face is nothing but priceless. Jaw dropped to the floor, face white he manages to scrape the last bit of testosterone he had and heads to the front. I take the sword with a smile, intending to check out before I came to an abrupt halt. The blonde douche I saw early, Luke, I believe, was speaking to another boy in a hushed manor behind a stack of knives. He had chocolate brown hair and equally as appealing eyes. “I don’t know Luke.. We don’t know anything about her-” He said softly, scanning over the weapons. Luke replied hastily. “She could be a great ally when we have the battle Friday.” The chocolate haired hunk scoffed. “We don’t even know if she can fight yet! Nor do we know of her abilities! What could she possibly offer for the win?!” Luke rolled his eyes and nudged the boys arm jokingly but he didn’t seem to enjoy it. “Don’t worry. With my suave persona, she’ll be confessing everything in no time. We’ll win this fight Friday, Shawn.” 

Were they talking about me? They must be. Quickly and quietly, I slip away from them without making a peep and head to the check-out line. “Looks like you found one!” Percy exclaimed happily, eyeing my weapon of choice. Annabeth nods her head with pride. “That’s a beautiful sword. You’re sure about it though? Once you choose a weapon, it becomes like your mate.” Percy and Grover share a confused glance before shrugging at me. I look down at it with my own sense of pride, happy with my choice before nodding. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Percy’s eyes wander to someone over my shoulder. “SHAWN! LUKE!” He exclaims, smiling at the two. I don’t make eye contact with them yet. Instead I hand over my sword to pay. 

The cashier nearly drops the sword, half dragging it across the floor to scan the price-tag along with the belt attachment. “Do you need help?” I ask, trying not to smile at his struggling state. He puffs and curses under his breath, arms bulging in hopes to lift the weapon I’ve handed to him. “Nope, ugh, I- I’m f-fine-” The interaction has unfortunately caught the groups attention and Grover can’t help but ask, “(Y/n), did you get the biggest one?!” I glance over at him and nod. “Yeah, what can I say, I like big things.” The sentence was meant to be a casual response but all four of the boys turned bright red with embarrassment while Annabeth burst out laughing at their reactions. As I’m about to look back at the cashier, my gaze meets Shawn’s. 

His eyes are bright despite being a chocolate brown. They almost have a flicker of light to them. One I can’t particularly describe. He’s different, I can feel it. I give him a small smile which he returns with a mediocre smirk. “Hun, why don’t I take that before you pull a muscle-” I wrap the holder around my waist and tie it before taking the sword from him. He sighs, almost happy to not have to carry its gargantuan weight any longer. But before I can slip my beautiful weapon into its case, Luke saunters up to me with a cocky grin. “You must be the beautiful, (Y/n). I’m Luke. Would you like me to carry that for you?” Annabeth and I exchange a knowing look. What did this boy expect from me? To just drop my panties cause he decided to be nice? Pff. 

I give him the fakest, most innocent smile I could before sighing sweetly. “Oh my gosh, that is so sweet. Thank you.” I take a step back and toss the blade at him. He lefts out an “Oof!” before falling to the ground, coughing and grunting as he attempts to hold the weight up. I walk around his immobile body and stick my hand out for Shawn to shake. “I’m (Y/n). Nice to meet you.” The moment he takes it, I feel a shock run through my body, itching up and down my spine before it dissipates. What the hell was that? “I’m Shawn. Likewise.” When he lets go of my hand, his is warmer than when we first touched. I wonder if I rubbed off on him? He glances down at me with wonder and curiosity. We duel with our eyes, examining one another before looking away.

I strut over to Luke who is still thrashing on the floor before I lift my sword off him with one hand. He sighs in relief, taking massive breaths of fresh air to accommodate for the ones that have been taken from him. Sheathing my blade, I look back at Annabeth with an innocent smile. “Annabeth, hun. Would you like to go practice dueling?” She laces her arm through mine, waving at the boys as we walk out. “I think we’re gonna be very good friends.” I can’t help but laugh with delight at her statement, feeling the boys eyes follow us the whole way out. I can’t help but look back at Shawn and ponder. Who does he belong to? 

Annabeth and I head out to the battle arena to change and practice fighting. “So-” I say while adjusting my gear. “-who are Luke and Shawn’s parents.” Annabeth tosses me another accessory for combat before replying. “Well, Luke is Hermes kid. You wouldn’t have guessed it but he, like most kids, hate their parents. He despises his dad, which is understandable. And for some odd reason, he gets super defensive and competitive when it comes to battles. Thinks he has to prove something to someone because he thinks his parent isn’t the strongest. It’s all about titles to him.” 

I nod along to her words but ask about the other boy, not caring much about the first. “And Shawn? What about him?” She talks while she ties her boots. “Well I think Luke just hangs out with Shawn because of his parental title-” I sheath my sword, standing up straighter. “What do you mean? Who is his parent?” When she looked back at me, I expect her to tell me the name of a small god but instead it’s someone who rattles me. “He’s the son of Zeus.” I drop my shoe in shock, nearly dropping the rest of my stuff. Annabeth laughs. “Yeah. He usually has that affect on women.” I scoff, shaking my head before resting my hands on my hips. “Pff. No! I was just surprised. Um, that’s pretty rare, isn’t it?” 

She nodded, grabbing her sword before following me out onto the battlefield. “Yeah, it is. Percy and him are the only two sons of the big three. There hasn’t been a third son but I’m hoping it’s a girl. I think Luke is using Shawn and Percy’s friendship to get ahead during the trials and fights. It’s vile.” I nod along to her voice. She was definitely Athena’s kid, brilliant and tactical. “Okay so, what are you gonna teach me so that I’ll be prepared. I want to be as good as you.” Annabeth took a few steps back, stretching her muscles. “That might take some time.” I drew my sword and grinned up at her. “I’m a good learning.” Before I knew it, she ran towards me and our swords crashed together. “Let’s get started.” 

Annabeth is a brutal teacher but she’s nothing like Ares teachers. They’re ruthless and cruel, just like their god father. I half expect them to have sharp teeth. We practice for nearly two days straight I almost don’t notice it’s been that long. With only fruits, vegetables and water to keep us going, we keep fighting. It’s nothing but exhilarating. We’re dueling and running circles around one another so much I barely acknowledge the ever growing crowd that’s decided to make their way towards us, intrigued by our fight and what we have to offer, what I have to offer. I barrel towards her, dodging whatever attacks she intends to throw my way before slamming my sword down on her. When they clash, sparks fly. Our faces a mere few inches apart as we growl at one another before separating again. 

“How long have they been going at it?” I hear Percy ask Grover. To which he responded with. “Two days straight. A few breaks here and there but I’ve never seen someone hold a fight with Annabeth and not fall over. It’s incredible.” Luke and Shawn stand near the other two boys, watching us closely. I almost feel bad for Shawn but I’m then reminded that I don’t really know him. “Getting tired yet?” Annabeth asks me with a shit-eating grin. I stand up straighter with an equally as warming smile before getting into my fighting position. “Not even close.” The sounds of our swords clashing together echoed all throughout the camp. There wasn’t one person who knew we were fighting. She slams her sword down and instead of hitting me, smashes the grass. 

I turn over my shoulder to dodge her attack before making one of my own. When I reach my sword out, hers matches my movements. The tips threatening to cut the others throat. “You’re a fast learner.” She says, smiling up at me. We mutually sheath our weapons and examine the others sweaty state. “Gods, I need a shower.” I say, wiping off the sweat that dripped down all parts of my body. “I think the boys disagree.” Turning over my shoulder to see what she meant, Luke stares at me like I’m a prize, like I’m meat to be won over. Grover and Percy look at me as friends do, with pride. But I can’t quite pin Shawn’s facial expression. His is a mixture of things. Some I can’t read, others I can. It’s pride for a friend but with a hint of attraction, lust. “I think you’ve caught the golden boys eye.” 

I eye him up and down and watch as he does the same for me. I can’t help but take Annabeth’s previous words into consideration. If this battle is as important to Luke as she says it is, than how important is Shawn to him. What does he have to offer? What are his powers? Do they have limits? What if Shawn isn’t as innocent as people believe him to be? What if he’s just as wrapped up about the hierarchy as Luke is? Annabeth and I head over to the showers, very much in need of some soap. But the whole time I can’t help but ponder that all of this seems to dive deeper than I think. 

(I hope you guys liked it! This is just the introduction to the series. I think I’m gonna make it a 2-3 parter series. Comment below! I love suggestions and feedback!)

#fanfics #fan #fanfic #fandom #fanfiction #camp-half blood #percy jackson au #percy jackson #demigods #fighting #angst #anxiety #angry #angsst #persophones daughter #swearing #fluffy #conflict #flirting #fluff #holy shit #ship #shy #shawn mendes #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x fem!reader #shawn being an adorable fuck #grover #annabeth #gods

[thickskinandelasticheart]

Time Will Give Us Nothing

For Fanfiction Week Day 2: Angst

Summary: Sana and Yousef throughout the years. Not canon compliant after 4x04. On AO3 here

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She keeps interrupting them.

Elias’ five-year-old sister, Sana, says she wants to be a part of their games. Yousef looks at Elias for a response.

Elias won’t have it and pushes her away. When she keeps insisting, he gives in and says, “Fiiiine.”

Turns out the reason Elias didn’t want her in the game was because she was better than both of them. She moves like a bird, flitting so fast between them without missing a beat, a smile on her face the whole time. Sana runs circles around them and easily scores three times before he manages to snatch the ball and make a shot.

She isn’t even half as winded as they are. Sana smirks at them and asks, “Round two?”

the first time he sees the little bird, the quiet boy is mesmerized

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Yousef passes by her room and hears her crying softly. He hasn’t seen her around much lately and whenever he asks Elias just says it’s due to trouble at her school.

He wants to make it better, wants to go to her classroom and personally tell off each bully who dared to say a word against her, wants to do so much more than just stand outside her room and helplessly listen.

Like Sana, he’s never been great with words, and it was hard for him to express himself using them. He was one for gestures rather than speeches. So at the end, all he does is request his mother to make the homemade baklava that Sana loves so much.

A small smile graces her face when she sees the treat. He has missed that beautiful smile so much.

“Tusen takk” she says softly.

the little bird is trapped in a cage, the quiet boy can’t free her but he sits beside her and tries to ease her pain

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

If someone asked him to pinpoint the exact moment he fell for Sana Bakkoush, he wouldn’t be able to tell them. Sometimes it seems like it’s been this way forever, for he cannot think of a time when he didn’t feel butterflies when he saw her walk past them in the living room, or smile at him in the kitchen.

But he can tell you about the day he felt for the first time that she might reciprocate those feelings. Out in the fields, after a fun game of basketball and a solemn talk about life, religion and the universe, when he handed her the flowers and she tucked them in her hijab and gave him a smile filled with wonder, that was the day.

When she looked into his eyes and her own were sparkling with so many unspoken words, no wonder he got lost in them. That’s when he felt it, a flare of hope deep inside his chest, that maybe, it was mutual after all. Maybe with time it could become something more.

He dreamt of brown eyes and galaxies and little blue flowers that night.

he beckons her to come to him and the little bird perches on his shoulder, singing a song for him as the quiet boy walks through the garden

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Maybe is a vicious word.

It’s a word that keeps you dangling onto that single thread of hope, even though all the signs tell you to give up. Tell you not to go back and think what you could have done differently. Tell you to move on.

It’s been a long time coming, and truth be told he knew it would have to end someday. Their differences are too big to overcome; time gave them nothing.

“It’s best if we remained friends.”

Well therein lies the problem, he could never be just friends with Sana Bakkoush.

So once they parted ways, he packs up and leaves, off to a fresh start in a new city, where the ghost of the word maybe won’t follow him around.

the little bird spreads her wings and looks back at the quiet boy one last time. he shakes his head, he can’t follow her, no matter how much he wants to

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She takes his breath away.

Sitting on the Amariya carried by her brothers and his friends, in her magnificent white wedding caftan and silvery blue hijab, shyly looking down at her henna adorned hands.

He doesn’t know why he came; doesn’t know why he didn’t throw away the invitation like he should have.

But maybe it was worth it to see her like this. Radiant would be an understatement.

She smiles at her groom and he thinks it’s the happiest he’s ever seen her.

And he tries his hardest to be happy for her.

So when she catches his eye, she sees none of the pain, only an old friend come to celebrate with her as she begins her new life.

the quiet boy watches from the ground as the little bird flies away, higher and higher until she was nothing but a mere dot in the azure blue sky

goodbye little bird, may the memories last forever

#skammonth #yousef acar #sana bakkoush #yousana #skam #my fic

[charismaticknight-blog]

ROLEPLAY CHARACTER STATS SHEET

Repost replacing the old information with your muse’s information.

Pass it on to your mutuals for a better understanding of their muses.

» FACE CLAIM

Name: Diarmuid Age: 17ish (g. 777) / 20ish (g. 780) Gender: Male, he/him Nationality: Agustrian Birthplace: Isaach Birthday: October 2nd Sun Sign: He’s so Libra Residence: Nordion Marital Status: Married to knighthood.  Single. Alignment: Lawful Good

» LIKES

Drink: Soft, not very bitter wine.  Prefers fresh drinking water or fruit juices if available. Food: Agustrian foods, definitely.  Includes wheat and harvested crops & fruits.  Comes around to liking Verdanite cuisine through Lester, very selective about seafood (generally doesn’t like most). Day or Night: Do mid-morning and mid-evening count?  He likes peaceful hours to walk along the fields’ edge or shorelines while the birds are chirping and singing or crickets buzzing with the sun low in the sky. Bonbon: Likes sweets, but not too sweet or they’ll give him a stomach ache.  Noticeably way more indulgent on the mellow tasting spectrum and breads of many kinds (with or without butter) over ‘ovely spicy’ menus (like the fanciest Mansterian cuisine). Song: This Is Where I Belong by Bryan Adams as his character image song of sorts.  Musical genres he’d listen to range from country to soft rock to upbeat tunes.  Trumpets, percussions, strings are the ones he enjoys listening to. Quote: — Historical Character:  Hezul for ancient; Eltshan the Lionheart for recent.  (Sigurd comes second after uncle.... sorry Ares.) Pet:  Several years after Agustria’s civil war, a white, Siamese cat can be seen around the Nordion castle, often sitting at the top of staircases (nobody knows where it came from or if Diarmuid owns the cat), though they don’t disturb them—a beauty so gorgeous and elegant.  (Good thing is it isn’t a black cat, as they were the main targets of witch hunts once popular...)  Diarmuid talks to her sometimes.  Otherwise, he would’ve owned one or two hounds. Book: History, military/war, culture books (since he loves learning about the world); for fiction, they’re usually epics filled with folklore and legends as stories. Colour: Dusty rose red. Flower: Roses; favourite being dark pink. Sexuality: Gray ace/demisexual / biromantic.

» LOOKS

Body type: Tall like an average Agustrian male; about 5′11″ 1/2 with no boots on, moderately fit with a broad torso/upper back. Eye colour: Dark honey brown. Hair colour: Varying blond with a lot of golden streaks. Body reference: Here (SFW) Beauty scale: Nordion 10/10 charming.  Realistically, between 7 - 8.5/10?

#meme ; #headcanons ; #( wanted to fill this out to here too )

[thepathsofdestiny]

Trail of Embers, Ch. 1 - Who Carries The Flame

~*~ For Tamoline, who wrote Glory the happy ending she deserved, and for inspiring me to write the less-than-happy road that got her there. I hope you all enjoy the read. Read it on AO3 here. ~*~ The Flux State has fallen, and the Kreuzbasar with it. Scattering in the wake of Lofwyr’s corporate takeover, Aljernon Half-Dream leaves Glory a gift: a compass, and a clue- to follow the trail of embers to the one crowned in fire. Now Glory hunts for Harrow in a bloody trail across Europe, to face her demons in more ways than one. And she won't hunt alone... ~*~

It was a beautiful day in the woods. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The boss was locked up in the cabin and said not to be disturbed under any circumstances. That worked just fine for David Wen, gun-for-hire, who was free to stand out on the patio and enjoy the weather. There were worse ways to spend an afternoon, David figured. Especially when he was being paid 300 nuyen a day just to take in the country air. David was a mage- barely. He knew just enough to save himself from sitting through a twelve-hour first-aid course, and a couple of parlor tricks, ice breakers at the bar. Nothing too fancy. It wasn’t his magic that paid the bills. Still, his family saw his Awakening as some kind of sign- that he was “born lucky”. On a nice day like today, an easy 300 nuyen in his pocket, David could almost believe it. “Hey, skinny,” a gruff voice called out beside him. The company left something to be desired, though. David sighed. David looked up from his spot, leaning forward on the patio rail. A man lumbered up to him. He was huge, a human with a troll’s build, and he cradled a heavy autocannon in his arms.  David tried, and failed, to remember his name. But then, he didn’t try too hard. “That’s a nice gun,” the big guy said, jerking his head to where David’s rifle lay propped up against the railing. “Thanks,” David muttered. “‘Course, I like mine better,” he grinned, patting the side of his autocannon. “Now this is a gun.” “I like spending my pay on more than ammunition, thanks,” David rolled his eyes. “You’ll burn through your cut in a thirty second pull of that trigger.” The giant’s eyes glinted with malice. His lips pulled into a grin. “That’s big talk for a scrawny little leaf-eater,” the brute said. “You sure you can even lift that gun, arms like yours?” David exhaled, turning and looking out across the dirt trail leading away from the cabin. This was a conversation he wasn’t going to have. “Hey, I’m talking to you, elf,” the brute spat, eyes fixed on the tapered points of David’s ears. “Is it true what they say about knife-ears like you?” David seethed, but refrained from asking just what it was ‘they’ said about elves. He searched for something to focus on besides a racist tirade, settling on the autocannon in the man’s arms. He exhaled, feeling his vision slip into astral space. The world shifted around him, the vibrant colors of the surrounding woods fading into shapes and shadows, each leaf, each blade of grass only glimmering with the faint light of life. People, meanwhile, exploded into scintillating color. This, aside from some healing ability and a handful of parlor tricks, was the extent of David’s magical ability. He could read auras, see the memory of objects if he really tried. At the moment, he was seeing the history of the man’s autocannon unfold in wireframe outlines of golden light, tracing it back to the card game where he’d won it, with one lucky hand. A shadow flickered past, out in the trees. David caught a glimpse of it, distracted for a moment, before turning back to the brute in front of him- -and the very real red spot hovering over his heart. David dropped flat onto the patio, his belt buckle thudding into the wooden deck. His vision snapped back into realspace, as he craned his neck and hunted the treeline for the sniper… Laughter pealed out from down the patio, and an embarrassed flush ran across David’s cheeks. He slowly got to his feet and dusted himself off, glowering at the mercenary in the rocking chair at the end of the deck, pocketing a keychain laser light and having a good laugh at David’s expense. “That’s not funny,” David grumbled, returning to his spot on the railing. “What if we were actually under attack?” “Please,” the man said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his hands behind his head. A cut-down shotgun lay casually across his lap. “I wish somebody was actually gunning for us. Maybe it’d finally give us something to do.” “It’d be something to shoot at, at least,” added the giant to David’s right. “Lighten up, guy,” the merc to David’s left said, nodding at him. “We’re just killin’ time. I think we’re just antsy ‘cuz this gig’s such a sausagefest. Wish there were some women around.” “It’d be something to shoot at, at least,” leered the brute. David groaned in disgust, his chin sinking onto his crossed arms. He looked out into the woods again, spacing out, casually slipping into the bright lights and charcoal grays of astral space. Once again, a shadow on the edge of his vision caught his eye, this time with a hint of green. It was there for a moment, and gone just as quickly. He heard a shuffle of boots on the deck beside him, and realspace shimmered back into focus. “Look alive,” the merc with the shotgun was saying, nodding at the trail. “Here comes the sarge.” Out of the four of them, Sergeant Castor was the oldest, and carried himself with the strict air of the military, although David could only wonder if he was actually a sergeant. Everyone just called him ‘the sarge’, and gave him the respect due their seniors- which, considering the two meatheads David got saddled with, often wasn’t much. “Grimes,” Castor said, nodding at the hulk with the autocannon. His eyes flicked to the others. “Wen. Simmons. What’s your status?” “What do you know, Sarge?” Simmons shrugged. “It’s all clear. Just like last time we checked. Just like it’s been all week.” “Well stay frosty, gentlemen,” Castor said. “The boss is meeting a very important client today. It is imperative that he not be disturbed.” “Whatever you say, sarge,” Simmons said. “A word, Wen?” Castor asked. He jerked his head, and David followed. “Hey Sims,” he heard the brute whisper as he went down the steps. “What?” “What’s ‘imperative’ mean?” “Man, shut up, Grimes.” David joined the sergeant in the field leading up to the cabin, out of earshot of the two mercenaries on the porch. It felt uncomfortably intimate; David hadn’t really interacted with the other guns-for-hire on this job. He’d been more than happy to stay on the porch, watch the trail, and tune out everything else. “You wanted to speak to me, sir?” David began, adjusting the rifle strap on his shoulder.   “Mr. Wen,” Castor said. “...I hope those two numbskulls haven’t been giving you a hard time.” “Oh,” David said dumbly. He shuffled, awkward. “...No, sir.” “Well, good,” Castor continued. “Mercenaries should know that money speaks louder than metatype, or however that saying goes. Listen, son, it might be boring out in the countryside, but a job is a job. Best case, everything’s quiet, and we get paid without firing a shot. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take this seriously. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be professional…” A red dot appeared on the sergeant’s chest. David glared up the hill at Simmons on the patio, but Simmons wasn’t looking at him. And the angle was off… Castor’s lecture went on. The red dot lingered on his chest. “Sir-” David began. Castor’s chest exploded in a spatter of gore. Hemmed in by trees, the high-powered revolver shot, at close-range, was deafeningly loud. David spun, catching the glint of sunlight on metal. He drew his sidearm and fired, the sound of his pistol shot echoed by the booming roar of his attacker’s. Pain flashed up his arm as the shot slapped his gun out of his hand. A moment’s satisfaction flickered through his head when he saw the attacker’s pistol shot from their grasp. A mutual disarming. Lucky shot. Born lucky. David didn’t feel too lucky right now. A dreadful buzzing filled the air. David threw himself to the side as Grimes’ autocannon chugged to life, shredding the grass underfoot and shearing a ragged line through the trees. David watched as Simmons scrambled to his feet, bringing his shotgun up to his shoulder. Their assailant charged through the hail of bullets, a blur of movement at the edge of David’s vision. They pounced on Grimes, perching on his autocannon like a cat. They punched one cybernetic fist into Grimes’ chest, the other forming a beak with steel fingers and plunging into Grimes’ throat. They uncoiled their legs and leapt off of Grimes, tearing out his larynx and his heart in one gruesome, yet graceful move. The leap carried them over Simmons’ shotgun blast, his attack coming an instant too late. The blast tore a third, ragged chunk out of Grimes’ miserable form, slapping his ruined body flat onto the patio. The assailant landed behind Simmons and clutched his neck and jaw in their cybernetic hands. In one brutally efficient motion, they wrenched his head to one side and ripped to the other, breaking his neck and tearing out his throat for good measure. All this, in the time it took for David to take aim. There was an appalling amount of red, in the air, in the ground, but David didn’t see it. He shouldered his rifle, vision slipping into astral space, reflexively using the bright lure of the assailant’s soul to draw his aim like a red dot sight- -but he didn’t see a soul. He saw a hole in the world where a person should be, with a single green flame at its heart. A shadow. A ghost. They slammed into him with superhuman force, pinning his back to a tree. The jarring impact snapped his vision out of astral space and back to reality, replacing the phantom, the demon- -with a girl. A girl with long, dark hair and eerie, crimson eyes. A girl who had one cyber-arm clamped around his throat, and the other reared back, claws out, ready to strike. David cringed, the last ten seconds flashing across his eyes. Castor. Grimes. Simmons. Three people dead in thirty seconds. Hell, he didn’t even like them, but to see them torn apart like that… David was shaking. Frightened tears spilled down his cheeks. The girl stared at him with dark eyes, rimmed in red, her pale skin painted with blood. “Please,” he begged, choking the word out past her cybernetic grip. “Please.” She cocked her head, as if listening to something only she could hear. The claws on her raised hand slid back into her fingers with a mechanical whir. Her other hand remained locked around his throat. David stared at her, choking, pleading. He blinked, and his vision shifted back into astral space, revealed the shadow pinning him to the tree, a phantom with a wisp of green fire where its heart should be. Reality reasserted itself, and he was staring at her again, taking in her eyes, her face, her bulky, antique cyber-arms, her torso, bare but for a strip of cloth- David cringed, screwing his eyes shut. Stupidly, he hoped she didn’t think he was looking at her chest. It was an inane thought, but it rode the terror in his veins. With her fingers around his throat, all it took would be one twitch, one silent command, and those claws would- She let him go. David took a grateful breath, realizing that terror had stretched one moment into what felt like minutes. In reality, one moment ago- one minute ago- he was… His vision blurred, and he wobbled on his feet. He braced his back against the three, steadying himself. He watched the girl silently retrieve her fallen revolver and slip it back into its holster. Curiosity got the better of him. He blinked, and once more he saw her in astral space, a long-haired silhouette, tattered and ghost-like, with a core held together by green fire and the faintest scent of honeysuckle. There was something in that flame… antlers… a skull- David flinched away from the image as if slapped. “What,” he said, hoarse, before he could stop himself. “What are you?” Irritation, even anger, flashed across the girl’s features. David didn’t have time to wonder if he’d struck a nerve. She struck him first, with her boot, square in his chest, and kicked him into a tree. David hit the wood with a crack, and blacked out.   ~*~ The hunting lodge was modest by any standards- couch and fireplace on the first floor, bedrooms up top. Although, this lodge, at least, had tastefully foregone a bearskin rug or framed deer heads on the walls. Glory burst into the room, smashing the front door to kindling. Sticky, congealing blood dripped down her face, her torso, and hung in ropes from her cyber-arms. There was no cry of terror, no shout of alarm, no hail of gunfire or magical wards. There was only the swinging of a back door left ajar, and the sound of an engine rumbling to life. Glory swore and ran to the window, her aching limbs protesting every step of the way. She pulled her PDA from her pocket and snapped a holopic of the car retreating down the trail. “Damn it,” Glory muttered, her face impassive as always. Briefly, she considered chasing it on foot. She might have even caught it, if she hadn’t burned her adrenal pump to avoid getting shredded by a heavy autocannon. Her cybernetic adrenal pump was implanted in the base of her spine, right by her kidneys, and the access panel stretching across the small of her back was as close to a tattoo as she would ever get. Glory could feel it running hot, could feel the momentary surge of speed and pain tolerance fade back into reality. Glory sank into a wooden armchair, feeling the weight and stiffness of her limbs reassert themselves. Every high came with a crash, and that included adrenaline. Glory took a moment to catch her breath, before pulling herself up to the desk before her and plugging in her PDA. Even though her mark escaped, her consolation prize was his terminal, left unprotected in his haste to get away. Glory watched the stream of data as it was copied to her PDA. Names, addresses, dates, project plans. From what she could tell, this particular cell was brand new- not even into the recruitment stage. Scaring off their would-be leader before he could get any acolytes nipped this cell in the bud- but, of course, Glory would’ve preferred pulling the weed out by the roots. Fatigue began setting in. Not the simple fatigue that one minute of bloody mayhem would leave in your limbs, but a deeper, older fatigue, one that settled in Glory’s chest and made her ache. She closed her eyes and let the memories flick past, single frames on a movie screen. Berlin. The Kreuzbasar. Her old team. Her old flame. You made your choice. The voice came to her on the breeze, along with the scent of honeysuckle and freshly tilled soil. Glory got up and pointedly pulled the back door shut. She crossed over to the terminal, where her PDA had finished downloading. She hit a key and wiped the local copy. Then, as an afterthought, she dumped the cell’s stockpiled funds into her own account. Business expense. Glory disconnected her PDA and tucked it away safely, rising to her feet. She knew she should leave, but she lingered in the cabin, nonetheless. She found herself drawn to the fireplace, logs crackling away. There were no hunting trophies mounted on the wall above- only a banner. Black antlers on a white field, cradling a red flame like a torch. Anger flashed across Glory’s eyes. She tore down the flag and stuffed it into the fireplace with a grimace, kicking up a cloud of embers. She leaned on the mantelpiece, staring down at the fire. Slowly, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the stone. Another day, another cell. Another target. But somehow, her real target managed to stay one step ahead. Despite standing before a fireplace, Glory could only feel the cold. She was so tired. How long can you keep this up? Glory’s eyes snapped open, the voice hissing in her ear. Something in the flag, some chemical, had tinged the fire an acid green. She pressed her lips into a line. “As long as it takes.” Glory pulled a compass from her pocket, glinting in the emerald firelight. The engraving on its cover could have been a flame, or a rose. Inside, the arrow pointed down the trail leading behind the cabin, the one they’d driven down. The trail. There was always a trail. She had a holopic of the car they were driving. She had a list of members and addresses on her PDA. But more than anything, she had the compass, and with it, she always knew the way. The words came to her lips, an echo of the vow she took in a ruined city, now almost a full year ago. Her prayer. Her mantra. “Follow the trail of embers to the one crowned in fire,” Glory said. “Find him. Bring him to justice. No matter what it takes.” ~*~ David staggered into his apartment with a groan, kicking the door shut behind him. He pulled open the fridge, tossed an instant meal pack into the microwave, and then tossed himself face-first onto his couch. He got a nice, deep noseful of synthleather, idly observed that he had more ammunition in this house than food, and then groaned in exasperation when the microwave pinged behind him and he realized he’d have to stand up again. David sighed, his head throbbing. Despite his low magical potential, he did know one actual spell. His healing power knocked his concussion down to just a headache, but wouldn’t bring it any lower. So, now it was up to good ol’ Couch to finish his recovery. David closed his eyes, sinking into the synthleather, taking stock of his life. A month away from thirty. An apartment that was more of a closet. A career in CorpSec left behind for the freelance life. The majority of his net worth invested into his rifle, his pistol, and a duffel bag’s worth of ammunition, an investment he was still waiting to pay off. And, last and least, a thimble’s worth of magic in his veins, that was still enough for his family to consider him “lucky”. He was, somehow, still alive. He was also, unfortunately, unemployed. Not ideal, considering rent was due. David pulled himself up so he was sitting properly. His microwave beeped. He beeped back at it, mockingly. Then his commlink beeped, and he cringed at the noise, grudgingly reaching up and clicking it on. “Can I help you?” He muttered. A woman’s voice came on the line. Gruff, but playful. “Yo, David! It’s me. How was your gig?” “Hey Petra,” David sighed. “Let’s make this quick. I don’t know how much longer I can afford this comm frequency.” “That bad, huh? Hey, you heard that shit on the news? Some hunters out in the woods got fucked up. Torn apart. They’re saying it’s some Awakened animal, like a super-bear or something.” Sure, if by ‘bear’ you meant ‘girl with cyber-arms and super speed who almost killed me today’. David frowned. “That’s just the usual corp-sanctioned BS, Petra. You don’t believe that, do you?” “Nah. It’s just what we got playing at the bar. Why aren’t you here, huh?” David groaned. “...I have a headache.” “Gettin’ a head start on that hangover?” “Meh.” “Well, you better get over here. Some dude out front, some bounty hunter or somethin’, is hiring people for some gig. 2000 nuyen a head, as long as you bring your own gun. You could use another job, right?” “And if I don’t?” “Then you get to come to the bar and see me, asshole,” Petra laughed. “C’mon. At least see what your man has to say.” “Alright, alright. I’ll check it out. See you in a bit.” “Peace.” David clicked off his commlink, letting out a weary sigh. His microwave beeped at him again. He mockingly beeped back. Eventually, he stood up and stretched, the throbbing in his skull having eased to a dull ache. 2000 nuyen was a tidy sum. But a bounty hunter hiring an armed mob to help him go after a mark? There had to be a catch. There was always a catch. David’s microwave beeped again, and he glowered at it. Eventually, he heaved a sigh and slung his rifle back over his shoulder. A job was a job… ~*~ In the shadows of astral space, life shines with an inner light. Plants glimmer like fireflies. People without magical potential sleepwalk through the haze, all-but invisible in the sea of faces. But Mages burn brighter than most, their lives a beacon in a shadowed world. There are other things in the fog. Spirits. Phantoms. Daemons. If you can see them, they can see you. Glory was a Mage once. Power ran through her veins, a bright lure in the darkness that led the daemon to her heart. And then the daemon entered her, empowered her, made her burn out of control- -and her mother fell victim to the flame. In her guilt, and in her grief,  she cut off her magic. Tore her Essence away by installing outdated cyberware, the surgery mutilating her, body and soul. Now her magic slumbers within her, a flame smothered by a damp cloth, smoking and sizzling but unable to truly catch fire. Glory lay on a cot in her makeshift safehouse. She’d chosen an empty office building, which was as good a place as any for her to rest her head. She didn’t need much in terms of accomodation. This place still had water, electricity, and a roof, which was already more than she normally asked for. Not that it mattered. She wouldn’t be here long. Glory exhaled, gazing up at the ceiling, imagining she could see the stars beyond the plaster and the smog. She clasped her arms on her stomach, drumming her chrome fingers against her skin. Idly, she reached beneath her and scratched at the machined metal plate at the small of her back. When she first started her hunt, she’d tried to blend in. She tried covering herself up in long coats and gloves. But it was hard to find sleeves that would fit around her arms’ mechanical bulk, and simply extending her hand razors would ruin any gloves she wore. She was hardly inconspicuous. Anybody could pick her out in a crowd. But she wasn’t hiding from people. She was hiding from the things lurking in astral space, and there, she was all-but invisible. Glory raised a hand to the light and examined it, all chrome and dark steel and red stains that wouldn’t scrub out. She’d paid a high price indeed to escape the daemon, The Horned King. Now, she was putting all her time, money, and effort into hunting him down- him, and the human cult leader whose skin he wore like a coat. Harrow. Glory’s breath hitched in her throat. She shook the memory away. There was one thing the cyberdoc hadn’t told her, when she got the implants that would tear her Essence to pieces. Maybe he just didn’t know. It was a little thing, compared to the obvious, drastic changes. But, every night, ever since the surgery… Glory doesn’t dream. She remembers… ~*~ The Talismonger’s shop. Smoke. Incense. Velvet curtains. Candles. Gods stare down at her from every wall. Buddha. Vishnu. Ra. Amaterasu. Odin. Then, incongruously, their carved idols disappear into cardboard boxes and shipping crates, as the Talismonger’s assistant packs them away. The woman, Absinthe, grimaces as she empties another shelf into a box. She handles them delicately, even reverently, but the act still seems vulgar. Obscene. Absinthe looks up at her. The blonde elf is beautiful, in a mysterious, beguiling way, though her smile is heavy with a profound sadness. She reminds Glory of another woman she knew, once, although her hair was fire-red. The Talismonger stands, pensive, hands clasped behind his back. He turns, shimmering robe dusting the ground, regarding Glory with his glowing amber eyes and almost fatherly smile. She looked up to him, in a way. Aside from literally, as he was an elf. “I thought Saeder-Krupp had kicked you out,” Glory says. “I was worried I wouldn’t catch you.” “I have some influence with S-K,” Aljernon says casually, as if he isn’t talking about having ‘influence’ with one of the largest and most powerful mega-corporations in the world. “I was able to delay our eviction. And I’m glad you caught us, child. You have an order to pick up…” ~*~ They gathered in the street by the dozens, brandishing not torches and pitchforks, but pocket knives, beer bottles, sawn-off shotguns and cheap pistols. They were there, chasing the lure of easy money- but with his luck, David knew, no money was ever easy. David adjusted his rifle sling against his shoulder, gazing up at the squat, two-storey office building sitting in front of them. ‘For Rent’ signs peeked out of its darkened windows. David felt uncomfortably like a member of a lynch mob. All this, just for a single fugitive? What the hell did they do? He scanned the length of the street. He wasn’t too familiar with this part of the city, but he did know that they were a long way from the corporate holdings in the central district. Even with what looked like the beginning of a riot breaking out, nobody would come. Nobody would care. Beyond corporate property, this city had no law. They could burn down the whole sprawl as long as the blaze didn’t singe the topiary. The man next to him took a long draw on a cigarette, before dropping it on the street and crushing it under his boot. He blew the plume of blue smoke into David’s face. “What outfit are you with, skinny?” he asked. David waved the question away with the smoke. “Freelance,” he said. “Oh, yeah?” The other man grinned and rolled up his sleeve. On his forearm was a tattoo, a sledgehammer framed by a bolt of lightning. “Y’see this?” He asked, a cocksure grin on his face. “I’m with the Sixth Street Hammerheads. Most of these other guys? They’re my boys.” David casually scanned the crowd, noting the gang tattoos on exposed forearms. A good chunk of the crowd were street gangsters, sure, but he also noticed a handful of people with heavier gear- armored vests, shotgun shells in bandoliers, belts of grenades. Freelancers, most likely. Just like him. “We’re about to get the biggest payday we’ve had in months,” the man kept talking, to David’s quiet disappointment. “Check out this mob, man. There’s gotta be, like, fifty guys here. At 2000 nuyen a head? The boss must be loaded.” Or, David thought grimly, he doesn’t think we’ll survive. David glanced back at their boss, then, the man who’d hired them for the job. He wasn’t hard to spot, for a number of reasons. He was dressed in a fine, well-tailored suit that, on these streets, might well be a neon sign flashing ‘Rob Me’. He wore sunglasses at night, which was already conspicuous enough, but to top it off, had a pair of attack hoverdrones looming over his shoulders. For whatever reason, out of all this, the detail that most caught David’s eye was his tattoo. Because despite his nice suit, he didn’t wear a tie; the top of his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a tattoo on his collarbone that glinted strangely in the light. Not a tattoo, David realized. A scar. A brand. A pair of antlers, cradling a flame. Across the way, the branded man stood impassively, the calm eye of a restless storm. His assembled mob fidgeted and shifted their weight on their feet, eagerly awaiting his command. He smiled, relishing the power of a single word, and the promise of payment. Mortal men are so easily swayed. His commlink chirped. “Mr. Flint?” “Go ahead.” “Spotter 4 has visual. Target confirmed.” “Very good.” Flint clicked off his commlink and gazed up at the crowd. He took a step forward. Then another. And another. In the span of three steps, every man in that crowd had turned towards him, as if pulled by invisible strings. They were watching him. Waiting for him. Waiting for his command. How easy it was, how satisfying, for men to die for him. “Gentlemen,” he said, in a voice trained to carry. “Begin the attack.” ~*~ Aljernon opened a little black jewelry box, and there, cushioned in velvet, was the artifact she’d requested. Glory took it in her hands, carefully, delicately, afraid that the slightest touch from her steel fingers would shatter the piece, and her ambitions with it. “The Rose Compass,” Aljernon said. Glory studied the intricately engraved casing, the whorls of metal forming what could have been a rose, or what could have been a flame. Glory unclasped the casing and clicked it open. Inside, there were two needles- one red and black, pointing North-South, and a second, red engraved with a gold flame. “It functions perfectly well as a normal compass, of course,” Aljernon continued. “The red-and-black needle is attuned to magnets. Dreadfully ordinary. The other... “ He chuckled. “Well. The other is attuned to an astral signature. That of the Horned King, and those who serve him.” Glory turned, aligning the mundane compass needle with north and south. The flame swiveled on its mount, before settling on a direction. West. “How much?” Glory asked, her voice tight. Aljernon met her eyes, somber. “I cannot take your money, child,” Aljernon said gently. “Take it. Let the flame guide your way. This hunt of yours will cost you more than enough…” ~*~ A bang downstairs snapped Glory awake. She sat up in her cot, the perfectly-preserved memory of the Talismonger’s shop vanishing from her senses. The scent of incense parted like a cloud, making way for dust, plaster, and- less perceptibly- the scent of violence. Another bang shook the air. Glory crouched low, rising only for a moment to peek out the window. The glass shattered. Glory threw herself down as gunfire raked across the wall, the ceiling, the broken remnants of her window. She rolled across the floor to her cot, yanking her PDA and its charger out of the wall and tucking it away. Glory patted herself down, checking for her meager possessions- her PDA, her credstick, the Compass, her revolver- when she heard the crash of the front door giving way, and footsteps swarming the first floor. Glory sat on the floor, her back against her cot, facing the top of the stairwell. She’d only caught a glimpse of it, but it seemed like there was a whole damn mob after her. She was penned in, a hail of gunfire waiting in the street and a beating coming up the steps. Glory drew her revolver, a Ruger-brand Super Warhawk. On its grip, right above her thumb, there was an engraving- a poplar tree. It had been a gift, what felt like a lifetime ago. Her friends. Her team… Damn it. Try as she might, she couldn’t bite back the selfish thought flitting through her head. She wished she had her team. She’d picked this safehouse because it was inconspicuous, not because it was a fortress. But if she’d had her team, they would have made it work. If she’d had Dietrich, the shaman, shrouding them all in the Dragonslayer’s protective aura. If she’d had Blitz and his drone, Max, marking targets, working fire support, cracking wise to lift the mood. If she’d had Eiger on sniper duty at the window, or covering the stairs with her shotgun… Shit, in a mess like this, she wished she had two Eigers with her. And Poplar… You made your choice. Glory pressed her lips into a line. She didn’t have her team. What she had was a job to do. Which meant she couldn’t die here. Glory burst to her feet just as a man came up the stairwell, flecked in splinters of wood from when he’d crashed through her front door. Glory shot him in the face and kicked him down the steps, a dozen gangsters lined up behind. ~*~ The crowd was split. Half of them had guns trained on the office’s windows, watching for movement. The other half was charging inside and, from the sounds of the chaotic melee within, into a bloodbath. David wasn’t keen to go charging to his death. He was climbing the fire escape of a nearby building, searching for a sniper perch with a better view of the office. He shouldered his rifle, resting it on the rail. He panned his scope across the crowd. There was the client, Mr. Flint, with his two hoverdrones, standing behind the mob with his arms crossed, waiting for results. There was one hell of a fight going on inside that office, from the sound of it, but Mr. Flint didn’t seem all that bothered. Strangely, neither did the rest of the mob. Sure, they yelled and cursed and beat their chests like frat boys, but there was something… off, about them. David exhaled, slipping his vision into astral space. Mr. Flint’s aura burned hot and red, like a road flare. Threads of fiery red light trailed between him and the mob assaulting the office, as well as connecting him and the twin shadows of the drones above his shoulders. That was… strange. It was almost like- Focus, David. That would be ridiculous. David swept his aim, following the shining traceries of astral space even through the office’s physical walls. Inside, he saw a bonfire of red and orange light, a rich and brutal tapestry of threads being cut. He followed the storm of light to the curious darkness at its center. It was the eye of a hurricane. A shadow, with a green flame at its heart. David’s eyes went wide. No... ~*~ Glory fired her last round into a gangster’s skull. The flood of bodies behind him slapped his corpse away, like a parked car in the path of a flood. They surged up the stairs, barely slowing from his dead weight, forcing Glory back up the landing. Glory swore, holstered her revolver and extended her hand razors. Silver and crimson flashed in her hands. She slashed open stomachs, wrists, throats. She shattered a man’s jaw with a punch, smashed her heavy, cybernetic elbow into a man’s face, left him sputtering and spitting blood. A knife came down. It jammed into her cybernetic bicep with a flash of sparks. She flexed her arm and snapped the blade, breaking a man’s neck with a backhanded slap. An aluminum baseball bat smashed into her hip. Glory cried out, falling to one knee. She caught a wrist on the next swing, yanking the man forward onto his stomach. His neck snapped under Glory’s boot heel. A beer bottle smashed down into Glory’s forearm, the sharpened edge thrusting towards her stomach. Glory caught the stabbing arm with both hands, stopping the blow before she was impaled, and twisted, throwing the man into the room behind her. As soon as his silhouette passed in front of the open window, the shooters on the street below lit him up. Two spotlights came on behind Glory. She cracked a man’s skull against the staircase’s heavy wooden banister with a spinning kick, whirling around to meet them. Two hoverdrones loomed outside, their weapon mounts whirring as they locked on. A man charged at Glory from behind and she sidestepped him, darting behind his muscled bulk as two ragged holes tore him through. She ran, high-caliber shots shredding the room around her. Glory’s hand wandered to the grip of her revolver, knowing it was empty, cringing at the thought that her old Savalette Guardian, modded for high ammo capacity, wouldn’t have had this problem- but then, her revolver had been a gift. Instead, Glory splayed her hand razors, leapt up onto a wall, and pounced. She dove out the open window, raking her claws down the length of a drone chassis, kicking up sparks and shredded metal. She tucked and rolled as she hit the ground, the stricken drone falling and crashing down- And then a shotgun blast slammed into her back and threw her face-down onto the street. Glory gasped with pain, spitting blood onto the pavement. The buckshot left a bloody constellation etched into her back. Fatigue clawed at her, fraying her focus. An otherworldly green fire manifested in her skin, the soft green glow tracing her veins. Get up, Glory. Get up. Get up! Glory stood, shotgun pellets dribbling out of her skin and hitting the ground. The mob surged around her. She crushed a man’s wrist in her augmetic grip, caught his pistol and emptied it at the remaining drone, but it wove around her shots, exhaustion spoiling her aim. A machete chopped into her shoulder, burying itself in the seam between her organic shoulder and cybernetic arm. Glory hissed in pain and frustration, cracking the man’s ribs with a punch. She crouched and shielded herself with her cyber-arms, a second shotgun blast exploding off her augmetics in a cloud of sparks and chipped metal. She cried out and slashed the man’s torso open, shoulder to hip, slicing through the belt of grenades across his chest. She lobbed them into the crowd and they exploded into a cloud of electrified smoke. A gunshot rang through the air. It blasted a ragged hole in her thigh and she fell to her knees, gasping in pain and fatigue. Glory looked up at the remaining drone, hovering disdainfully above the fray. She sighed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The men nearest to her were dead. The men beyond them shivered and convulsed in the cloud of electrified smoke, stunned. The men beyond them were blinded by the smoke. But as soon as the smoke cleared, they’d be right back on her. How long can you keep this up? “As long as it takes,” Glory said softly, like a prayer. A man in a nice suit sauntered up to Glory, his hands folded across his chest. His surviving drone lowered so it was hovering behind Glory, just out of reach. Glory grit her teeth as she saw the brand on the man’s chest, peeking out from beneath his shirt. A pair of antlers, cradling a flame. “My name is Mr. Flint,” her executioner said as he approached. “And you, my dear, have been bad for business.” Flint raised his hand- -and a high-powered round struck his drone so hard that it spun through the air. Flint cringed as sympathetic pain flared across his senses. He clutched his head in pain, searching for the shooter. A second shot struck Flint’s drone in its fuel cell and it went off like a grenade. The explosion shook the air and the echo of it surged through Flint’s body, dropping the branded man in a crumpled heap on the ground. Glory watched as a rail-thin man- an elf- jumped down from a nearby fire escape and ran over to her. He crouched, scooping up a pair of fallen grenades and lobbing them at her safehouse. They exploded into a fresh smoke cloud, cutting them off from the rest of the mob. He raised a hand, soft blue light shimmering at his fingertips. Ocean-blue met forest-green as healing magic worked to mend the awful wound in her thigh. The pain ebbed, but the exhaustion lingered. It took a long moment for her to get to her feet.

The elf looked at her, urgently, his anxiety showing in his eyes. “Come on!” He pleaded. A shot rang out, and the boy jerked forward. Glory caught him in her arms, saw the tear in his long coat, the wound in his back, and the branded man, who’d produced a holdout pistol from his jacket. “Never turn your back on the Firepact!” He growled, and though he was still reeling from dump shock, his aim was steady. Glory’s gaze flitted from the boy, shot in the back, to the man who shot him, to the shadows of gangsters looming in the smoke. Glory’s adrenal pump hummed as it poured one last surge of energy into her weary limbs. She hugged the boy to her chest. Two pistol rounds spanked off the metal of her shoulder, her implants running hot, as she bundled him under her arm and fled into the night. ~*~ Glory stayed with her even as the others filed away, Eiger looking stiff in her old dress uniform, Blitz quiet and somber in the only suit he owned. Poplar stared down at the mound of earth, blinking away tears, but Glory’s grief settled in her heart like a stone. “It always ends like this,” Poplar whispered, letting a rose fall from her fingers and into the grave. ~*~ Glory blinked the memory away. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Not really. But then, she hadn’t meant for a lot of things. It was a moonless night. Glory coiled her arms above her head and stretched, popping her joints. Healing magic could physically seal a wound. Her own magic, a gift from the Heart of Feurstelle, could even repair damaged cybernetics- somehow. Bones reset, blood congealed, flesh reknit. But the pain always lingered. Grief was a wound no magic could heal. It did wonders for David’s gunshot wound, though. A soft green glow lingered above his chest, before fading, carried off on a breeze that smelled of honeysuckle and spring. David rose, blinking, his eyes adjusting to the pre-dawn light. At first, he mistook the charcoal-grays of the world around him for astral space- but as it was, he could see Glory only in shadow, without the green flame binding the scraps of her Essence together. David sat up, bringing his fingers to the ragged hole in his shirt- and the unbroken flesh beneath. “Thank you,” he said. Glory sat cross-legged on the grass, gazing out at the treeline. She looked almost meditative, not that David could make out much in the low light. “Why did you save me?” Glory asked. It wasn’t a demand, and it wasn’t a threat. The first thing that came to David’s mind was that his first encounter with her was terrifying, and that he would’ve rather taken his chances with a crowd of gangsters than tried to fight her again. He didn’t say that. Instead, he shrugged. “Karma,” he said. “Why did you?” Glory nodded sagely. “I was thinking,” Glory began, “that I might need a bodyguard.” The sight of Glory in combat flashed across David’s eyes. He snorted. “I don’t think you do,” he said. “Is that any way to talk to someone offering you a job?” David blinked. “...Oh.” “It seems only fair, as I seem to be the reason you’re now unemployed,” Glory shrugged. “There will be conditions, of course. I’m pursuing a cult leader across Europe. We won’t be staying in one place too long. There will be a lot of traveling. A lot of fighting. Even killing. Is that okay with you?” David swallowed. Nodded. “I don’t mind going on the road. And I didn’t get this gun to hunt rabbits.” “Good,” Glory nodded. “Because the people I’m after are much worse than that.” A red sun began to rise, staining the sky like blood in water. Glory drew the Rose Compass from her pocket, opened it, then turned toward David, her back to the sun. “What’s your name?” Glory asked, studying the device in her palm. “David,” he replied. Glory sniffed. Almost smiled. “‘And Goliath.’ That’s fitting.” She looked up from the Rose Compass, her eyes tinged with crimson. “I’m Glory.” David got to his feet, slinging his rifle over his injured shoulder. In the cool spring breeze, he couldn’t feel the pain at all. “I’m at your service, Glory,” David bowed his head. “Where do we go from here?” David blinked, and in that moment, slipping into astral space, he saw the threads of crimson light unspooling from the compass in Glory’s hands. He saw the trail of embers stretch out to the horizon, the path of fire leading Glory away from the rising sun and out into the dark. Glory turned to him, and he saw her heart- a silvery mass of tattered, ragged essence, held together by a green fire that suffused her soul like the roots of a great tree. And just like that, David was back in realspace, gazing into the eyes of a girl filled with grim purpose, haloed by the rising sun. “West,” Glory said, and she began to walk, David following in her shadow. ~*~ “I can go with you,” Poplar said, fighting tears. “Just say the word.” Glory didn’t say the word. She didn’t say anything. But the silence yet boomed between them, like a bomb had just gone off and left their ears ringing. “Go, then.” Poplar said, forcing a smile. “‘Follow the trail of embers to the one crowned in fire. Find him. Bring him to justice. No matter what it takes.’ That’s what Aljernon told you, right?” Glory nodded, instinctively curling a hand around the Rose Compass. “But when you’re done,” Poplar said, her voice low and pleading. “When you’ve caught Harrow, and you’ve finally gutted the bastard…" Poplar looked into Glory's eyes, and the fire stirred in her heart. "Come home, Glory. I’ll wait for you. We’ll wait for you. For as long as it takes.” ~*~

#Glory #Shadowrun #Shadowrun Dragonfall #fanfiction #Trail of Embers

[readbookywooks]

‘Yes.’

‘Yes sir,’ snapped Spelter. Coin gave him an unblinking stare, a stare as old as time, the kind of stare that basks on rocks on volcanic islands and never gets tired. Spelter felt his mouth go dry.

Billias held out his hands for silence. Then, with a theatrical flourish, he rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and extended his hand.

The assembled wizards watched with interest. Eighth-levels were above magic, as a rule, spending most of their time in contemplation -normally of the next menu - and, of course, avoiding the attentions of ambitious wizards of the seventh-level. This should be worth seeing.

Billias grinned at the boy, who returned it with a stare that focused on a point a few inches beyond the back of the old wizard’s head.

Somewhat disconcerted, Billias flexed his fingers. Suddenly this wasn’t quite the game he had intended, and he felt an overpowering urge to impress. It was swiftly overtaken by a surge of annoyance at his own stupidity in being unnerved.

‘I shall show you,’ he said, and took a deep breath, ‘Maligree’s Wonderful Garden.’

There was a susurration from the diners. Only four wizards in the entire history of the University had ever succeeded in achieving the complete Garden. Most wizards could create the trees and flowers, and a few had managed the birds. It wasn’t the most powerful spell, it couldn’t move mountains, but achieving the fine detail built into Maligree’s complex syllables took a finely tuned skill.

‘You will observe,’ Billias added, ‘nothing up my sleeve.’

His lips began to move. His hands flickered through the air. A pool of golden sparks sizzled in the palm of his hand, curved up, formed a faint sphere, began to fill in the detail …

Legend had it that Maligree, one of the last of the true sourcerers, created the Garden as a small, timeless, private self-locking universe where he could have a quiet smoke and a bit of a think while avoiding the cares of the world. Which was itself a puzzle, because no wizard could possibly understand how any being as powerful as a sourcerer could have a care in the world. Whatever the reason, Maligree retreated further and further into a world of his own and then, one day, closed the entrance after him.

The garden was a glittering ball in Billias’s hands. The nearest wizards craned admiringly over his shoulders, and looked down into a two-foot sphere that showed a delicate, flower-strewn landscape; there was a lake in the middle distance, complete in every ripple, and purple mountains behind an interesting-looking forest. Tiny birds the size of bees flew from tree to tree, and a couple of deer no larger than mice glanced up from their grazing and stared out at Coin.

Who said critically: ‘It’s quite good. Give it to me.’

He took the intangible globe out of the wizard’s hands and held it up.

‘Why isn’t it bigger?’ he said.

Billias mopped his brow with a lace-edged handkerchief.

‘Well,’ he said weakly, so stunned by Coin’s tone that he was quite unable to be affronted, ’since the old days, the efficacity of the spell has rather-’

Coin stood with his head on one side for a moment, as though listening to something. Then he whispered a few syllables and stroked the surface of the sphere.

It expanded. One moment it was a toy in the boy’s hands, and the next …

… the wizards were standing on cool grass, in a shady meadow rolling down to the lake. There was a gentle breeze blowing from the mountains; it was scented with thyme and hay. The sky was deep blue shading to purple at the zenith.

The deer watched the newcomers suspiciously from their grazing ground under the trees.

Spelter looked down in shock. A peacock was pecking at his bootlaces.

‘-’ he began, and stopped. Coin was still holding a sphere, a sphere of air. Inside it, distorted as though seen through a fisheye lens or the bottom of a bottle, was the Great Hall of Unseen University.

The boy looked around at the trees, squinted thoughtfully at the distant, snow-capped mountains, and nodded at the astonished men.

‘It’s not bad,’ he said. ‘I should like to come here again.’ He moved his hands in a complicated motion that seemed, in some unexplained way, to turn them inside out.

Now the wizards were back in the hall, and the boy was holding the shrinking Garden in his palm. In the heavy, shocked silence he put it back into Billias’s hands, and said: ‘That was quite interesting. Now I will do some magic.’

He raised his hands, stared at Billias, and vanished him.

Pandemonium broke out, as it tends to on these occasions. In the centre of it stood Coin, totally composed, in a spreading cloud of greasy smoke.

Ignoring the tumult, Spelter bent down slowly and, with extreme care, picked a peacock feather off the floor. He rubbed it thoughtfully back and forth across his lips as he looked from the doorway to the boy to the vacant Archchancellor’s chair, and his thin mouth narrowed, and he began to smile.

An hour later, as thunder began to roll in the clear skies above the city, and Rincewind was beginning to sing gently and forget all about cockroaches, and a lone mattress was wandering the streets, Spelter shut the door of the Archchancellor’s study and turned to face his fellow mages.

There were six of them, and they were very worried.

They were so worried, Spelter noted, that they were listening to him, a mere fifth level wizard.

‘He’s gone to bed,’ he said, ‘with a hot milk drink.’

‘Milk?’ said one of the wizards, with tired horror in his voice.

‘He’s too young for alcohol’, explained the bursar.

‘Oh, yes. Silly of me.’

The hollow-eyed wizard opposite said: ‘Did you see what he did to the door?’

‘I know what he did to Billias!’

‘What did he do?’

‘I don’t want to know!’

‘Brothers, brothers,’ said Spelter soothingly. He looked down at their worried faces and thought: too many dinners. Too many afternoons waiting for the servants to bring in the tea. Too much time spent in stuffy rooms reading old books written by dead men. Too much gold brocade and ridiculous ceremony. Too much fat. The whole University is ripe for one good push …

Or one good pull …

‘I wonder if we really have, um, a problem here,’ he said.

Gravie Derment of the Sages of the Unknown Shadow hit the table with his fist.

‘Good grief, man!’ he snapped. ‘Some child wanders in out of the night, beats two of the University’s finest, sits down in the Archchancellor’s chair and you wonder if we have a problem? The boy’s a natural! From what we’ve seen tonight, there isn’t a wizard on the Disc who could stand against him!’

‘Why should we stand against him?’ said Spelter, in a reasonable tone of voice.

‘Because he’s more powerful than we are!’

‘Yes?’ Spelter’s voice would have made a sheet of glass look like a ploughed field, it made honey look like gravel.

‘It stands to reason-’

Gravie hesitated. Spelter gave him an encouraging smile.

‘Ahem.’

The ahemmer was Marmaric Carding, head of the Hoodwinkers. He steepled his beringed fingers and peered sharply at Spelter over the top of them. The bursar disliked him intensely. He had considerable doubt about the man’s intelligence. He suspected it might be quite high, and that behind those vein-crazed jowls was a mind full of brightly polished little wheels, spinning like mad.

‘He does not seem overly inclined to use that power,’ said Carding.

‘What about Billias and Virrid?’

‘Childish pique,’ said Carding.

The other wizards stared from him to the bursar. They were aware of something going on, and couldn’t quite put their finger on it.

The reason that wizards didn’t rule the Disc was quite simple. Hand any two wizards a piece of rope and they would instinctively pull in opposite directions. Something about their genetics or their training left them with an attitude towards mutual co-operation that made an old bull elephant with terminal toothache look like a worker ant.

Spelter spread his hands. ‘Brothers,’ he said again, ‘do you not see what has happened? Here is a gifted youth, perhaps raised in isolation out in the untutored, um, countryside, who, feeling the ancient call of the magic in his bones, has journeyed far across tortuous terrain, through who knows what perils, and at last has reached his journey’s end, alone and afraid, seeking only the steadying influence of us, his tutors, to shape and guide his talents? Who are we to turn him away, into the, um, wintry blast, shunning his-’

The oration was interrupted by Gravie blowing his nose.

‘It’s not winter,’ said one of the other wizards flatly, ‘and it’s quite a warm night.’

‘Out into the treacherously changeable spring weather,’ snarled Spelter, ‘and cursed indeed would be the man who failed, um, at this time-’

‘It’s nearly summer.’

Carding rubbed the side of his nose thoughtfully.

‘The boy has a staff,’ he said. ‘Who gave it to him? Did you ask?’

‘No,’ said Spelter, still glowering at the almanackical interjector.

Carding started to look at his fingernails in what Spelter considered to be a meaningful way.

Well, whatever the problem, I feel sure it can wait until morning,’ he said in what Spelter felt was an ostentatiously bored voice.

‘Ye gods, he blew Billias away!’ said Gravie. ‘And they say there’s nothing in Virrid’s room but soot!’

‘They were perhaps rather foolish,’ said Carding smoothly. ‘I am sure, my good brother, that you would not be defeated in affairs of the Art by a mere stripling?’

Gravie hesitated. ‘Well, er,’ he said, ‘no. Of course not.’ He looked at Carding’s innocent smile and coughed loudly. ‘Certainly not, of course. Billias was very foolish. However, some prudent caution is surely-’

‘Then let us all be cautious in the morning,’ said Carding cheerfully. ‘Brothers, let us adjourn this meeting. The boy sleeps, and in that at least he is showing us the way. This will look better in the light.’

‘I have seen things that didn’t,’ said Gravie darkly, who didn’t trust Youth. He held that no good ever came of it.

The senior wizards filed out and back to the Great Hall, where the dinner had got to the ninth course and was just getting into its stride. It takes more than a bit of magic and someone being blown to smoke in front of him to put a wizard off his food.

For some unexplained reason Spelter and Carding were the last to leave. They sat at either end of the long table, watching each other like cats. Cats can sit at either end of a lane and watch each other for hours, performing the kind of mental manoeuvring that would make a grand master appear impulsive by comparison, but cats have got nothing on wizards. Neither was prepared to make a move until he had run the entire forthcoming conversation through his mind to see if it left him a move ahead.

Spelter weakened first.

‘All wizards are brothers,’ he said. ‘We should trust one another. I have information.’

#Sourcery