#pray the muses never show their best work to a mortal like me

[rainydays12]

listening to 'Butchered Tongue' by Hozier while reading Babel, crying uncontrollably

[sanjoongie]

FFF~ Day 18

♡Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader (f)

♡Genre: Smut with no plot :)

♡Au: apocalypse, god

♡Word Count: 2,676

♡Warnings: fem dom (m sub), seonghwa is a simp will always be a simp k thanks, Oral (f receiving, hair pulling, praise kink, begging, m and f orgasm

♡Rated: 18+ MDNI

♡Masterlist link~ | Previous Day~ Daddy, JYH | Next Day~ Double Penetration, KYS/KHJ

♡Dedication~@downtoamagicalland & @mejuii the unholy trinity beta team

The world you know does not exist anymore. The human race has been driven underground to escape from the machines that have taken over the world. Their numbers have dwindled, and they are at risk of dying off completely. But there is a solution, or so Park Seonghwa seems to think.

He is the high priest to one of the only religions that humans have clung to: fertility. If only they could breed like they used to! They'd have a fighting chance at getting back to the surface and reclaiming their world. So Seonghwa prays day and night, eyes unfocused and the skin around bruised with the lack of rest. All he wants is to be able to inspire passion back into the lost souls that flock around him.

But you never answer him.

"Oh Goddess of children, Goddess of love, Goddess of passion, I beg you, listen to my prayer!"

Seonghwa is desperate to reach out to you! So he prays the only way he knows… he masturbates to the Goddess. His long robes frame his body as he kneels to the moon. There is a porthole that lets in the moonlight and stars, and it is the only light he lets touch his skin. His hand is wrapped around his cock, jerking up and down, head thrown back in the pleasure of it all.

"Fulfill us! Make us full of your love once again! Allow us the gift of children!" His eyebrows furrowed together in a reverent manner. "Fulfill me! If only you would visit me. I am full of desire. I could be your muse!" His voice is desperate.

Seonghwa can't explain it, but he knows you're always watching him. Sometimes, in the aftermath of his orgasm after he prays, he swears he can feel your touch on his shoulder or your teasing laughter in his ear. He smells vanilla and sex in the air, and then it's gone. But Seonghwa knows in his heart of hearts, as long as he prays to you, and shows you his devotion, one day you will visit him.

Seonghwa, with a great throaty cry, comes upon the tiny patch of grass that grows due to the porthole to the overworld. His seed spurts on the ground, but he wishes it was buried inside of you. He lets his heart pang with disappointment once again that you did not deign him worthy to appear, and he moves to clean himself up after prayer.

~~~

You watched Seonghwa from the basin that acted as your window to the mortal realm. The goddess of wisdom and the goddess of war lounged behind you, eating delicacies no longer of the human realm.

“That poor priest,” the goddess of wisdom clucked her tongue behind you, “All that work, and you still won’t visit him. Not even in a dream!”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not going to wither away without me.”

“No but he might stop praying to you soon,” The goddess of war said pointedly.

You wrinkled your nose. “It’s different for you.”

“I’ve already visited mine,” the goddess of war waved her hand, “Multiple times, I might add. He says that I inspire him for victory when he fights the machines.”

The goddess of wisdom giggled. “Mine just asks for wisdom, so I tell him I’ll give it to him as long as he makes me come.”

You sighed, “Yeah but yours pray normally. Mine…” Yeah, you still weren’t sure about Seonghwa deciding that the best way to lure you in was to masturbate for you.

The goddess of war put a firm hand on your shoulder. “You know what happens to goddesses that lose their followers.”

You shuddered. If the people stopped believing in you, you would go back to the void, much like it had been before the machine’s had taken over. You did not want that. 

“Tomorrow,” you vowed.

The goddess of war and wisdom exchanged a sneaky glance and bet each other whether you actually would visit Seonghwa or not. It was a game for them now.

~~~

Seonghwa prayed to you once again, this time for no reason, eager to rub one out in your name. He had been daydreaming all day of what your form truly was like. You probably had lush thighs, wide hips for childbearing, huge breasts to carry milk--his cock rose at these simple thoughts of you. So when he decided to pray, he let out a loud moan as his hand wrapped around his cock. 

“Please, Goddess of Pleasure, please visit me,” He whined, “I would pay homage to you in all the ways you deserve.”

“You seem to be doing fine on your own,” You said sarcastically.

Seonghwa’s eyes flew open, and he could not believe what he was seeing. There you were, the goddess he had dedicated his life to, before him. He let go of himself and reached out to touch the hem of your gown on the floor before him. He snatched back his hand as if he had been burnt because you were no illusion, but flesh and blood before him.

You smirked down at him. “Surprised that I finally showed up?”

Seonghwa shook his head. “No, my goddess, I am grateful that you are here and not merely a projection of yourself.”

“Well, it seems like all the other goddesses are throwing around their favors. I’m sure Hongjoong and Jongho told you about their experiences,” You pursed your mouth to the side in annoyance.

Seonghwa nodded. “They did, but you have been so elusive. I thought perhaps we were unworthy of receiving the gift of children.”

You sighed, sounding exactly like a bored goddess. “We have to give you hope. Otherwise, you might stop praying. It’s a job, but it’s my job nonetheless to inspire you. So here I am.” You threw your arms open wide to underline your sentence.

“I would never give up on you!” Seonghwa insisted, fists clinging to the skirts of your dress now.

You waved off his distress. “Oh please, I’m sure you would have made up another goddess and started praying to her. It’s a habit of you humans.”

Seonghwa rubbed his cheek against your thigh, sighing at the soft material under him, nothing like the dirty and rough fabrics they had now. “You are my one and only, my goddess.”

You lifted his chin to look up at you. "I cannot be. If I give you the gift of fertility, you must spread it amongst your followers."

Seonghwa stood, following your hand obediently. "I don't want to think about anyone else but you right now."

You sighed softly. "Good thing I interrupted your prayer, hmm?"

Seonghwa smiled tenderly and shook his head. "I'm not the high priest for nothing."

You arched an eyebrow at him. "Hopefully, you know better than to lie to a goddess, Seonghwa."

"How many times do you wish to come? I can come for you as little or a lot as you wish. I am yours." Seonghwa bowed his head in subservience. 

"Pray to me, Seonghwa." You put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. You lifted your skirts and looked at him expectantly. "I expect a lot from you since you are my high priest."

Seonghwa's eyes sparkled at the idea that you claimed him. He was yours. That made him feel special in of itself. "I will not disappoint, my goddess."

Seonghwa used both of his thumbs to spread your pussy lips and licked your clit. His eyes did not break your gaze as he watched your breath hitch at the feel of the wet appendage on your sex. He circled your clit, flicking it randomly to watch you react with a direct connection. You were extremely responsive and he soon grew addicted to making you gasp as he played with your clit. But this was not a good position for him to pray to you the way he'd like to.

Seonghwa removed his robe and laid it on the floor. "Please, recline on my robe. I cannot offer you fine furnishings but you should not dirty your dress."

You couldn't help but laugh under your breath. Seonghwa really was besotted with you. "My robes cannot be dirtied, Seonghwa. I'm a goddess. But I shall repay you for your thought of kindness."

You gingerly settled onto Seonghwa's robe but removed your dress completely. "Pray to me at my temple, High Priest. And when you're finished, I will bestow upon you the favor of children."

Seonghwa nodded quickly. "Yes, my goddess."

He wrapped his arms around your thighs and began to pleasure you. You had to give him this: he knew what to do with his tongue. He licked at your hole first, like he wanted to taste you first and foremost. He moaned into your cunt when his tongue touched you. He dived in deeper, thrusting his tongue into your hole. You gasped, surprised that it could reach that far inside of you. Seonghwa’s eyes rolled up to watch you. You decided to put on a show, cupping your breasts and tossing your head backwards. Seonghwa, encouraged by your responses, thrusted his tongue into you at a faster pace, his nose brushing your clit now.

You dug your fingers into Seonghwa’s scalp, gripping him sharply and pulling him back. Seonghwa whimpered in the back of his throat. "You're good at this, Seonghwa. A little too good at this," you growled.

Eager pleas quickly fell from Seonghwa’s mouth, pink from lick-fucking your cunt. "Please, my goddess, I've only just started. You taste heavenly and your moans are like music to my ears. Let me please you."

You pushed his face into your pussy and he whined at the smell of you. He pursed his pretty lips to suck on your clit and you groaned. "You know, Seonghwa," You said as you pushed his hair out of his face, "Us goddesses are very territorial. If you do good, I might not want to share you with the rest of humanity. If you make me come hard enough, I might want to keep you all to myself."

Seonghwa’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, as if your words were giving him physical pleasure. His head was squeezed by your thighs and you bucked up into his mouth as he sucked your clit. He licked at like it was a sweet candy that he couldn't get enough of. He was truly dedicated in his worship, of that you were certain.

You were quick to come to your orgasm, hips lifting off the ground as your back arched, and you cried out in ecstasy. Pleasure stroked all your nerves in the right way. "That's it, my little human, give me all your prayers," you murmured into the sex-scent filled air.

Seonghwa sat up, a genuine happy smile picking up his cheeks. His face was covered in your slick, and he made no move to remove it. So you leaned over and licked it off his skin. He moaned when you kissed him, the taste of yourself in his tongue still. When you broke the kiss, Seonghwa’s eyes were blown out with desire.

"You seem both nothing and everything like I imagined," He whispered fervently. 

Your eyes zeroed in on the cock that was straining out of his pants and colored yourself impressed. That was quite the impression he was giving. Seonghwa smiled, proud of your attention to him. "That's also the other reason they made me the high priest. Surely you blessed me with such a long tongue and long cock. I was made to pleasure a woman."

You shook your head. "No, Seonghwa, you were made to pleasure a goddess."

Seonghwa removed his baggy pants, letting them drop to the floor and neatly stepped out of them. There wasn't an imperfection on him. He was the perfect candidate to be your high priest. Along with those big brown eyes that seemed to shine with the stars in them, he was made to be yours.

"I am ready for your gift, My Goddess."

You laid back on your side now. You coyly smirked over your shoulder. "Come and get it then."

Seonghwa straddled your leg against the ground and then curled your other leg around his side. When he pushed inside of you, he panted as each inch slipped inside of you. His eyes were screwed shut in concentration.

"Something wrong?" You goaded him.

"So…warm…so…tight…so…wet…" Seonghwa was clearly fighting with how well your pussy was sucking him in. 

"Can you handle it, Seonghwa?" You continued to tease him.

"I can I can I can," he chanted.

"You sure?" He couldn't see, but you were biting down on your lip as he bottomed out. 

His eyes flew open at the tiny threat that you would take your pussy away from him. "I can," he said with more conviction.

"Show me, Hwa," You encouraged him. He waved his body against yours. "That's it, show me what you can do for me, my High Priest."

His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs as he fucked into you. He whined at the feel of you around him. "So good, so good, I've wanted this for so long, it's so good."

"Gonna fuck me good, Seonghwa? You gonna make me come before you do?"

Seonghwa’s eyebrows furrowed. "Please."

You laughed under your breath, switching positions to straddle him. You took over, putting Seonghwa out of his misery. You rode his cock, eager to chase your own pleasure. You grabbed his hands and placed them on your breasts, encouraging him to squeeze and enjoy your body. 

"Goddess," he hissed.

"You don't need to ask for me, Seonghwa, I'm right here," you smiled.

"Please, bless me with the gift of your orgasm. Take whatever you want from me, I am yours, completely, utterly, forever." 

You pulled him upwards, hand curling around the nape of his neck. "I give this gift to you, Seonghwa, High Priest of Fertility. I give you the gift of the orgasm of a goddess so you may spread the wealth amongst your people."

You worked your hips against his, slotting your lips over his, until you came loudly and gutterly. You fed the blessing of a goddess into him, and then Seonghwa came. His eyes rolled into the the back of his head, and he moaned so deliciously you decided it was your new favorite sound. 

"Such a good priests for me, little human," You praised him, "You did so good for me."

Seonghwa panted against your mouth, the small puffs of air hitting your bruised lips from the kiss. "Did…I?"

You fondly kissed his forehead. "Perfectly."

You separated from his body and Seonghwa collapsed on the ground. "I just…wanna be… perfect for… you."

You smiled to yourself. He was cute for a human. "You are free to pass my gift to your followers. I hold you to no possession. Humans need a chance for hope for the future."

"Thank you, my Goddess." Seonghwa calmed his heart down, a happy smile on his face. Then he realized what you had said. "Wait!" He sat back up, eyes wide, but you were already gone.

Seonghwa raked his hand through his hair in frustration. He would do as instructed; he would spread his seed to his followers so that there would be children. But he would spend every night praying to you, hoping and wishing for the chance to be between your thighs once again.

♡Masterlist link~ | Previous Day~ Daddy, JYH | Next Day~ Double Penetration, KYS/KHJ

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - How A Star Is Born ch.II

A Hercules AU, founded by @evaroze, whom this fic is a gift for. I hope y’all like it!

ch.I - ch.III

AO3 link

~~~~~~~~~~

No one had ever seen Stanford so angry. Down below, lightning struck the Earth fiercely. A bolt even hit a tree, making it catch on fire, and it grew until the whole forest was ablaze. Thousands of humans prayed for the gods to show them mercy and forgive them for whatever they did wrong, but their pleas were ignored as every god was sent out and coordinated by Fiddleford to find the lost baby.

While awaiting for any results, Stanford paced the temple with Mabel in his arms, sensing his anxiety and missing her twin, and therefore crying weakly into his chest, clinging onto him for dear life. His anger finally burning out, Stanford ceased his pacing and cradled his grandniece as he blinked his eyes dry.

It hit him right then and there with a force that would kill a mortal that this tiny little girl was quite possibly his only family left. Stanford had sworn to keep her and Mason safe and he had failed just one month into the job. They had been home, secure and guarded, and yet Stanford failed to keep them safe and now Mason could be hurt or worse. And he could have lost Mabel, too.

Shaking, the distraught god kissed Mabel’s head softly and whispered, “I’m sorry, my dear. I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Footsteps could be heard. Stanford knew something was wrong when Fiddleford was not using his god-like speed to run to deliver the message. He was stalling, walking like a mortal. The god of intelligence swallowed the lump in his throat down and waited for his friend to speak.

Fiddleford sighed. “We found him. He’s alive. A very nice family took him into their orphanage n’ are takin’ good care o’ him.”

“Why did you leave him there?” Stanford asked. “Why didn’t you bring my boy home?”

“Stanford, he can never come home. He’s mortal now.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The ruler of the gods sat at his massive desk, holding his head as he re-read the reports of the sun’s chariot and when it was due to be covered by the moon, when he heard a small, childish giggle. He smiled to himself and rolled a scroll shut, deciding he had accomplished enough work for today.

“Hm, I wonder where my little starshine is.” Grunkle Ford thought out-loud and heard more giggling. He looked around the vast, open room, pretending to search, though he was quite sure he knew where his little girl was. “Is she hiding? She wouldn’t hide from her old man, would she?”

The giggling grew and was shushed in a hasty attempt to remain hidden. Grunkle Ford grinned and quickly lifted the whole desk with his super strength, but he was surprised to find no child beneath him. “Hm, where is my favorite niece?”

“Here I am!” A loud cheer ran behind him and made Grunkle Ford jump. He turned to find a little brown-haired girl in a white dress hanging from his big hair, grinning with a missing tooth in her mouth and with eyes that sparkled and shined.

“There you are!” Grunkle Ford tried to grab her, but Mabel hopped down and ran away.

“You gotta catch me!”

“Come here, you!” Grunkle Ford laughed as he ran after her, wiggling his twelve fingers, promising tickles if she was caught.

Mabel ran as fast as she could. Not quite as fast as Uncle Fiddleford could, but still fast. She ran through the halls of vases full of pictures and through the garden and in the fields of clouds, passing laughing gods as she did so and calling out hello and good morning to them. At long last Stanford dove and they tumbled on some fluffy cumulus.

“Got you!” Grunkle Ford laughed, making Mabel laugh, and he began to tickle her and nuzzle his little scruff against her neck, tickling her even more.

“Gr-Grunkle F-F-Ford, no!” The young god laughed. He ceased his tickling, having Mabel in his lap, and they both calmed down and reminisced in each other’s company. “All done with your boring grown-up work?” Mabel asked.

“For today, yes.”

“Yay! Can we play today? We can play sword-fighting!”

“That does sound like fun, but remember you have your art lessons with the muses soon.” Ford gently brought up.

Mabel’s smile dimmed. She liked her lessons, but she liked playing with her grunkle more. “Oh, okay. But can we play when I’m done.”

“Of course, and Fiddleford should be done with his messages by then, so he should be able to join us.”

“YAY!” Mabel cheered and bounced in her guardian’s lap. Playing with Grunkle ford was the best, but playing with Grunkle Ford and Uncle Fiddleford was the best best!

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel peeked out onto the valley below them. Just outside of the clouds was a vast valley filled with wildflowers. She could run around and play and even pick some flowers for Grunkle ford to surprise him. This was a good plan. Mabel smiled and took one step outside of the golden gate, but a pair of arms scooped her up and hugged her.

“Where are you going, young lady?”

“Grunkle Ford, let go.” Mabel giggled.

“Now, you know better than to leave Olympus.” Grunkle Ford said kinda stern-like.

“I’m just going down there, that’s all.” Mabel whined her explanation, pointing at the valley below. “I’ll be right back, I promise! I wanna go exploring.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you don’t go out there.” Grunkle Ford put her down so she could stand beside him. “It’s dangerous. You could get…”

“Hurt or get lost or even get kidnapped.” Mabel quoted. She had heard this many times before.

Grunkle Ford chose to ignore her cheekiness. “So, please, remember to stay inside Olympus…”

“At all times,” Mabel finished for him. “And if I see any strangers, don’t talk to them. Come straight home. Okay, okay.” She sighed as Fiddleford joined them, having heard much of the conversation.

“Mind your guardian, Mabel.” He warmed gently.

“Yes, Uncle Fidds.” She said, hugged them both, and ran off to play in the gardens.

“And be careful not to…”

“Stanford, who does she remind ya of?” Fiddleford asked with a chuckle. Stanford raised an eyebrow warningly at his friend, but then Fiddleford said, “She’s just like ya when ya were a youngin.”

“That’s what worries me.” Stanford sighed.

“She’s a god, for Hera’s sake, she’ll be fine.” Fiddleford assured him, ruffled the god’s graying fluffy air, and left him alone to his many thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel broke off a piece of the twig and threw it down on the clouds, watching it disappear through a little hole and the cloud reform, her legs dangling off the edge of the temple as she growled in her throat and snapped off another piece of twig. Uncle Fiddleford bit back his chuckle and sat next to her. “Need somebody t’talk to, lil’ Sweet Tea?”

“I just wish Grunkle Ford would talk to me.” The twelve-year-old snapped bitterly. She hated that; she didn’t like getting angry, and she especially didn’t like getting angry at someone who was trying to help. She took in a deep breath to collect herself and she began to explain herself. “I was in the Hall of Records.”

“Hm, hm.” Uncle Fiddleford hummed and nodded, to show he was listening.

“And I saw that vase again with Grunkle Ford holding two babies.”

“Hm, hm.”

“When I asked him about it he took it from me and told me to go away. Well, okay, he told me to go out and play, but he wouldn’t answer my questions or even talk to me or look at me.” Mabel was kicking her legs to let out some energy. She was a sweet girl who never hated anything or anyone, but she hated secrets. “I know that baby was me and someone else but Grunkle Ford won’t say who! Why won’t he just talk to me?!”

“Mabel, sweetie,” Uncle Fiddleford put an arm around her shoulders and she instantly threw her stick down and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m sure he wants t’talk t’ya, but it hurts.”

Mabel blinked and looked up at Uncle Fiddleford when he said that. “Why? Did… I do something wrong?”

“No, honey, no.” Uncle Fiddleford quickly corrected himself and petted her long brown hair. “No, it’s not your fault, it’s just… You’re the only family he has now. That’s why he’s so overprotective, see, n’ why… n’ why he doesn’t wanna talk ‘bout your brother.”

Mabel stared at him with a hanging jaw. “My brother?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Stanford held his head, his twelve fingers combing his gray fluff. He was doing it again. Making mistakes, letting Mabel down. He knew he should be more honest with her, but she would never look at him the same way again. Mabel was bound to blame him for the disappearance of her twin, just like he did, and the immortal didn’t think he could live with that precious little girl hating him.

A small hand touched his shoulder and he lifted his gaze from his hands, sitting up at his desk to try to appear more put-together than he really was. “Mabel, how may I help you?” He asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose and then smiled at her.

Mabel climbed up into his lap slowly and wrapped her arms and legs around him so she was giving her a powerful Mabel-hug. Grunkle Ford hugged her back and combed her hair with his fingers and rubbed her back, but was floored by what she had to say. “I know about Mason.”

The god’s hold tightened. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m not mad.” Mabel shared quickly in hopes that Grunkle Ford wouldn’t blame himself. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

“No, Mabel it was.”

“Grunkle…”

“You and your brother were… are my responsibility.” He said grimly. “I’m supposed to look after you, protect you, and I failed to do that. Your brother, Mason, was under my watch, under my protection, and someone stole him and turned him mortal.”

“Isn’t there something we can do?” Mabel mumbled into his chest.

“There isn’t.” Grunkle Ford said tiredly, but then made himself add something so Mabel wouldn’t give up hope, like he had. “At least, there is nothing we can do.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Soos and Melody held onto each other tightly on the cart, one grinning with excitement, one slightly terrified. “Dipper, slow down!” Melody shouted.

The twelve-year-old was deaf to the call as the wind howled in his ear from his speed. Despite being a scrawny kid with noodle arms and legs, Dipper was much stronger than he looked. Clumsily strong, but his strong legs promised speed when he chose to run, and with nothing but wide open spaces in front of him, in his mind, he was free to roam like a wild horse.

“You got it, dude!”

“Soos!”

“What? Best way to control his strength is to use it more.”

“Yeah, but… slow down, Dipper, we’re coming up into town!”

At once, the boy planted his heels on the ground, creating craters in the dirt, and the cart jolted so hard that Soos flew off and hit the wall of a building with a crunch.”

“Oh, man!” Dipper gasped and helped his boss up. “S-Sorry, Soos.”

“It’s cool, dawg,” Soos said calmly, dusting off his dirty, dark green toga and brown cap, smiling. “Best stop so far! You didn’t even break the cart.”

Dipper smiled sheepishly at that; most kids didn’t have to worry about that, but hey Abuelita always said count your blessings. “Want me to unload for you?” He offered, picking up the huge stacks of hay with one hand like it was as light as a feather.

“No, not yet, first I gotta finagle with the dude.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Any idea how much we made this season?” Melody asked, looking up the huge stack of hay Dipper let down on the cart with a loud bump.

“Well, let’s see…”

“Two tons of hay, making the weight four-thousand-and-three pounds, with a value of one-hundred-and-seventy-one euros.” Dipper stated plainly, not in a snobbish way like she should have known that, but in a way that made it clear that it seemed obvious to him.

This was not a surprise to either of the love birds. Not only was the orphan incredibly strong (and clumsy), he was very intelligent and had a head for numbers and math. “Wow, impressive, dude. Okay, you stay by the cart while Melody and I see if we can work out a deal.” Soos said and they walked into the ring of the town and entered a store.

Dipper sighed from the heat and leaned back on the cart, entertaining his imagination by multiplying thousands in his head, when he heard something that sounded like a struggle. The boy saw the other fellow farmer, Lady Susan, struggling with a huge box of fruits as she tried to carry it into the store, but Dipper hurried to her and helped her not drop it. 

“Careful,” He said gently as Lady Susan sighed with relief, grateful for the extra pair of hands as her helper was hidden by the crate.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” He said, peeking around to smile at the old lady.

At once her smile dropped. “D-D-D-Dipper, it’s you. H-Hi.”

“Hi. Let me help you take this inside…”

“Oh, that’s okay sweetie.” Lazy Susan said quickly and snatched the crate out of his hands and struggled into the store. “I-I-I-I got it, y-y-you go on and p-play.”

“You sure?” Dipper asked; it looked like Susan might break her back.

“Y-Yes, I’m fine!” And Lazy Susan let the door slam behind her.

Dipper kicked the dirt as he made his way back to the cart, but a frisbee blocked his path. He picked it up just as three boys his age came running, but froze like ice at the sight of him. “Hey, you need another guy?” Dipper asked, hoping for a chance to play. Maybe he could prove he wasn’t as weird as people thought.

“Uh, s-s-sorry, Dip, but we already got five and we want to keep it an even number.”

“Five isn’t…” But the frisbee was snatched and the three ran off before he could say another word, but that didn’t stop the hurtful mutter of “nerd” and “weirdo” from reaching his ears.

Dipper leaned back against the cart, hands behind his back. He tried to get his mind back to multiplying numbers, but voices echoed in his head. No wonder he was an orphan. No one would want a…

“Heads up!” The frisbee came flying back, way over Dipper’s head, but excited for a chance to show that he could do something right, he ran after the toy and jumped to catch it, a smile on his face, hoping and praying that for once…

SMACK! Dipper flew right into a pillar that wiggled and looked incredibly unstable. Dipper quickly stood up and tried to hold it still, seeing how if it fell a whole building would collapse. “No, no, no! Not again!”

One wrong motion and the pillar smacked into the opposite one, creating a domino-effect with the houses and buildings. Dipper gasped in horror and thought that if he could run to where the crash was happening, he could stop it. He freed his arms by throwing the pillar, but that caused another domino-effect. Dipper yelled with fear and ran as fast as he could to the edge of the town, but he was too late. Two huge rows of buildings were now reduced to rubble.

It was like all the townsfolk shot up at once and stared at Dipper. He smiled sheepishly and wiggled his fingers, but he didn’t have nearly enough charm to get out of this mess.

Soos and Melody were by his side in an instant. “Dipper…”

“That’s IT!” Lazy Susan screamed as she emerged from the rubble that was her store. “We can’t keep cleaning up after this boy, Ramirez!” 

The whole town yells like an angry mob in agreement. “L-Look, I’m really sorry, it was an accident.” Dipper stuttered. “I’ll clean it up, I can…”

“Haven’t you already done enough?!”

“He’s too dangerous to be around normal people!”

“Yeah!”

“Dudes, dudes, please,” Soos called and got everyone to quiet down. “He’s just a kid, he just can’t control his strength, but he will someday, just you wait and see.”

“I’m sorry, but we just can’t keep doing this!” Lazy Susan shrieked, stressed and angry. “You just keep that… that… freak outta town!”

The crowd yelled and shouted in agreement, leaving poor Dipper alone with the odd couple who were now shunned because of him. At least the cart was still in one piece.

~~~~~~~~~~

Soos stood at the doorway of the orphanage that sat on the farm. All the other kids had gone to bed or were inside playing, but one boy sat on the highest hill by a tree, watching the stars appear as the sun was setting. He was always stargazing. Soos sighed to himself and walked up the hill to try to help. “Dipper, you… don’t listen to those jerks. They’re just…”

“Soos, they’re right!” Dipper yelled and kicked the dirt beneath his sandals. “I am a freak! I try to fit in, I really do! But… I just can’t.”

“That’s a good thing, dude.” Soos said and stood next to the boy, who gave him a surprised look. “You shouldn’t try to be like anybody else. You should try to be like you, dawg, cuz you’re pretty cool.”

“No I’m not.”

“What, you kidding?” Soos lightly punched his shoulder. “Helping the lil’ dudes with school, getting tons of work done on the farm. You’re a cool dude, dude. Trust me.”

Dipper shrugged. “I guess, I just… I feel like I really don’t belong here.” He looked up at his caretaker and asked, “You said you and Melody found me, right?” When Soos nodded, Dipper pulled his metal out from under his toga and gazed down at the symbol of the gods. “This is the only clue I have to figuring out where I am from. Maybe… maybe if I know where I came from it’ll help me figure out who I am, why I’m so… weird.”

The boy sighed and tucked his necklace back under his clothes. He looked up at Soos and said, “I’m sorry, but I’m ready to go.”

To his surprise, Soos was smiling. “I know you are, dude. You’re old enough to know what you wanna do. I’ll help you pack.”

Dipper grinned and hurried back to the orphanage with him.

At sunrise, Dipper stood outside where he had been raised. Abuelita gave him a satchel full of food, Melody gave him a cloak to wear to beat the cold, and Soos gave him a noogie in farewell. With one last hug, the boy was off to discover where he belonged and who he was.

[claude-frollo-archives]

Imposed Fate

Imposed Fate A Count Duckula Story

Chapter 1. Prelude of a Nightmare

       One fateful date, Tuesday 7 April 1870, Richter Von Gosling, a student of the arts of healing, decided to visit Transylvania in order to shed light upon a mysterious and disquieting subject, which was a case of vampirism. Legends and stories about the undead had the young scholar read before, yet he remained  sceptical, until his colleague and confidant Reinfelt witnessed an attack by one of those creatures, and not an ordinary one but Count Duckula himself, a feudal Lord supposed to be dead centuries ago. Despite of the absurdity of the notion, Richter was not to doubt his friend; therefore, he had to investigate in more detail about this terrible menace and put it to rest.

   The evening of Gosling's arrival, a thunderstorm loomed above the village, the weather cold and windy but rain was not to fall yet. Not a soul could be found wandering on the streets, there was a sense of quietude, a preface of the storm that soon would be unleashed over the town. Despite the feeling of impeding peril, inside the public house 'Ye Tooth and the Jugular' the mood appeared to be festive, with the regular crowd assembled for a pint or two, regardless the tragedies of life. In this place, the scholar found refuge as well as some more information concerning the malevolent aristocrat provided by the innkeeper and the parishioners. Gosling thought the recently gained knowledge would be enough to prepare a scheme to destroy the vampire.

    During the following days, the scientist worked in the development of a mechanism designed to shoot a wooden stake but cleverly set inside a camera. When the contraption was completed, the gander headed towards Castle Duckula, an ominous fortress that oversaw the village from atop a hill. Presenting himself as a photographer from a newspaper, Gosling attempted to gain access to the castle and destroy the Count; these actions would end the suffering of the villagers and bring peace to Transylvania. No time was wasted once he entered the Castle. Introductions were quick, the battle between Count Duckula and Von Gosling finished as quickly as it started and not even Igor -faithful manservant of the undead Count- was able to interfere. However, due the thrilling sensation of triumph, the scientist returned to the town without realizing that the stake managed to harm Duckula, but it failed to stab through the Count's heart.

    "Got him, the vampire is destroyed! ..." Exclaimed the deluded scholar as he rushed his way back to the village bellow, eager to tell what he assumed to be good news. "... The beast is no more!"

     Meanwhile, the Count lied motionless on the stone ground. Igor knelt beside his defeated master, lifting the wounded vampire on both his arms. "... Master, Master! ..." The old vulture sobbed in anguish, fearing this to be the last hour.

   "... Is all right, Igor! …" Duckula replied as he rose to his feet, dusting and straightening his suit jacket. Praised the Abyss, his Lordship was not slaughter, much to Igor's relief. "It was just a mere scratch …" The Count added with anger on his raspy voice. "... But he shall pay for this ... he shall pay!" He growled and proceeded to concentrate his energy in order to cast a spell. "... Come here, to my aid, oh winds of north, I summon your powers---…"

   "Milord... if I may be so bold to provide advice... I must remind his Lordship that the appropriate way to conjure for the assistance of this element, Sire, would be quite simpler: ‘come gust of wind and be wild’… Brief but no less effective, of course" Igor admonished his Master on the proper casting of dark incantations.

   "Thank you Igor, I had almost failed to remember that part … Anyway, you had already cast the spell, so you have heard it wind, obey our demand and be wild!" With that, the Count cackled with cruel glee, an aura appeared to surround his frame and a red spark was ignited on both his eyes, like flames of fire as he began to transform, while outside the fortress, gust of heavy wind gathered to form a dreadful tempest.

   Oblivious of the dangers ahead, Gosling stormed into the tavern. "… Is done!--- The vampire--- destroyed! ..." The gander addressed the landlord, though he was out of breath and could barely articulate a word.

    "What do you mean, young man?" The perplexed innkeeper questioned, while three peasants seated on a corner enjoying their last drink of the night, just had to listen and stare with curiosity.

    "… ... What I am trying to say is that the vampire fiend is no more!---..." Gosling recomposed before resuming his speech in a serious tone. "... The Count now rests in peace, finally there would be no more suffering ... is over." He softly stated, honestly believing that evil was successfully vanquished.

   A tense silence filled the inn until one of the peasants reacted. "... That is impossible!" He muttered in disbelief. "… Count Duckula defeated, requiring no effort?!" Added the landlord in dismay. "Yes, on the times past, I know the tale, the vampire was destroyed... but he was cornered by a group of vampire slayers! When we talked about the Count, I never thought you would attempt something so stupid, what have you done, lad?!"

   Gosling was completely appalled, realising something must have gone wrong and to learn that the Count was previously overcame, then who was this Duckula he had just met?! However, before the scholar was able to find his voice, the farmer seated near the window screamed in fear. "He is leaving the Castle! ..." Every fowl residing at the hostelry turned to the window. They saw the rainstorm and a giant bat flying from the castle in direction of the village. In matter of few minutes, chaos settled on the town: the wind destroyed some of the houses, demolishing the roofs of the buildings. Duckula on his bat form attacked people running outside in a futile attempt to seek shelter from the storm; others tried to escape the wooden debris carried by the whirlwind, people cried in panic, the peaceful slumber of the village residents turned into a nightmare.

   "Where are you, my dear Gosling?! Not so brave to defeat me?! ..." The evil laugh from the Count could be heard amid the commotion. "... Come, come out to play, do not make me wait!"

    "I am afraid he is calling for you!" Exclaimed the innkeeper’s wife who stood on top of the staircase, from there she threw Gosling’s luggage; the two suitcases landed loudly at his feet. "If you have any respect for anything sacred, get out of my house! ..." She ordered furiously, pointing to the main door of the hostel. "... Away with you!"

   "Wait, please!--- I don't understand! …" Gosling stammered. "My intentions were honourable; I was only trying to be of aid!”

    "Yeah, thank you for your help, you just made everything worse for our village!" Retorted an angry peasant. "Why did you have to mess with the Count?! Now his wrath is unstoppable, he would go on rampage until sunrise and is all your fault!"

   "I did try to do something, while you appear to accept this fate without resistance, why you don't fight back? For what reason you would even stay in a place like this?!" Although the scientist's response came out with a hint of defiance, in truth there was guilt within his heart.

   "Because this is our home, foolish lad! …" Replied the proprietress without hesitation. "We shall not abandon our land! If someone has to leave, that would be you!”

   "Very well said, Madam! Now you, go away!" A peasant urged Gosling to walk out the inn. "Hope he eats you, better you than us!"

   "Came on folks…" The landlord interceded. "… Don’t be cruel with the outsider, he couldn't know any better, after all he is only a boy."

   "… Oh nein, I am not! I will show you, I … I shall stop that fiend at once!"

    "No, if you go out he will kill you!---..." The innkeeper warned but he was unheard. Von Gosling stepped out the tavern and the sight of destruction and the monstrous vampire bat, rendered him to freeze in fright. However, the landlord had followed him and he placed the travel cases on Gosling's hands. "Come on, son … I wish I never told you about the Count." He said with regret and grabbing the young doctor by the arm, he led him to the back door of the tavern despite protest of the parishioners but some of them were to agree on the fact that at the present it would be for the best to escape.

    "I don't care if this is the land where I was born!--- The stranger was right--- I don't want to die!" Despaired one of the farmers as he hurried out to prepare a cart and soon enough, several of the town's people had joined him. Before Gosling was able to object, the innkeeper pushed him inside the stagecoach. From above, Duckula witnessed these actions and he was utterly amused. The giant bat could deliver an attack directly towards the doctor, given how easy was to detect him due his antiquated attire and the camera he was carrying; still, he interfered not for he had mused a greater plan since the instant he laid his eyes on Von Gosling. "That mortal had come to face me--- he failed no doubt, but he arrived on his own choice ... or maybe was it a design of fate? ..." The creature growled quietly. "... Nevertheless, I detected on him no greed for a reward or a desire of fame, not even a wish for vengeance ... What a disgusting attitude! However ... Could it be?---.... ... I wonder... ..."

   In the meantime, the doctor was still unable to fathom the burden he would be carrying now that the threads of fate had been tampered with. ".... Sir., oh please I---... I thank you ..." Gosling at last found his voice to express gratitude to the innkeeper. "... I will be praying Gott for your souls until I am able to come back---..."

   "Prayers?! ... Don't trouble yourself, it would be of no use" Said one of the villagers, quietly and embittered. "... God have forgotten about us."

   "That cannot be true! I shall pray for you all, our Lord will never forget His children!" Gosling stated firmly as the cart began to move.

   "Well, then I pray God I will never see your face again … may He bless and keep you!" Von Gosling frowned in sadness, lowering his head upon hearing those last words from the proprietor of 'Ye Tooth and the Jugular', the man who had just saved his life.

   As the stagecoach departed from the village, Gosling silently stared at the silver cross pendant he had on his hands, a gift from his mother that now held a much more profound significance. "… So, they believe our Lord has forgotten, ja? ..." He lamented in shame and remorse; no matter his efforts or his courageous discourse, in the end he was left trembling with fear in times help was most needed, it was an absolute disgrace. "… … I am to return, this is not over yet--- this awful mistake must be corrected … I will be back; that fiend shall be destroyed, I am going to save all those souls ... is a promise!"

           Later, at the break of dawn, the Count had enough leisure time and his thirst was quenched, so he returned to his fortress. As expected, Igor was patiently waiting for his master's arrival. "Did you find that miserable mortal, Master?" Greeted the sinister butler.

    "Ah, I let him go …" Duckula replied calmly, tonelessly even, like if the latest episode were of no relevance.

   The vulture raised a brow with suspicion at the Count’s answer; after such an eventful evening, this behaviour from the master was something unforeseen. "… I am not sure, Sire … you should have taken the life of that wretched miscreant ... or perhaps brought him here to me, I could have offered that Gosling a most proper … … care."

   "Worry not, dear Igor." The Count spoke, a grin crept onto his beak. "... Amongst all the pleasant visitors we have received through these the years, this one had proven to be the most interesting opponent".

    "Oh indeed, Milord, Indeed! There is no use on finishing the fun so early …" Igor rubbed his hands in pleased anticipation of the delightfully wicked punishments he would be able to inflict over that insolent gander.

    "That is right; you got the idea, my Igor!" The Count chuckled darkly. "… He is coming back, I assure you, and I will be waiting …" Then, the vampire grabbed Igor by the necktie, pulling his head down to meet his gaze. "After all … ..." Duckula continued, lowering his voice into a threatening though gleeful snarl. "… We have plenty of time ... … … don’t we, Igor?!"

________________

This is the first chapter from an old fanfiction of mine I am re-writing (began in 2009, is 2020 not completed yet, only three chapters are ready), is an attempt to set a prequel for the Count Duckula series, based on the Dear Diary and The Rest is History episodes, a particular scene that appears on the show's intro, the Castlevania games and last but certainly not least, Dracula the novel. Posting it here now as an experiment given I have no idea how it would look like on Tumblr, and so happy to see fans of the series!

Count Duckula and the characters on this chapter belong to Cosgrove Hall.

[poc-movie-supremacy]

The Immortal Lovers

Mortals wonder, most can’t even fathom what a centuries long relationship is like. Is it bloody, is it passionate, is it kind? Steven and Andrew hear this and laugh. Immortality with your loved one is soft. 

I hope you (especially @mousemadej) all love this fic. It was so fun to write. 

----

There’s a certain softness that comes when you’ve lived forever. You end up knowing someone intimately. Your souls are so intertwined that where you end and they begin is untraceable.

The crackling of the fire and buzz from the cicadas and fireflies outside filled the room. Steven hands Andrew a cup of hot cocoa before clambering into his lap. Reflexively one hand covers Steven’s stomach while his chin rests on Steven’s shoulder. Together they quietly listen to Ryan and Shane recount one of their weird wonderful world stories. In truth, they stopped believing the story after the bloody pumpkin got involved, but they declined to tell the boys that.

Andrew skates and massages his fingers across Steven’s torso where he’s always sore. One would think the sore spots would move but not for Steven. He aches in the same places, places Andrew has memorized. Finding Steven’s sore spots, tickle spot… is as easy as breathing. If they were alone, Steven would start mouthing at Andrew’s neck. He would begin at the collarbone and make his way up to the shell of the ear. The shiver it elicited delighted Steven to no end. In response, Steven would humm happily into Andrew’s ear and use his arm to play with Andrew’s short golden-brown hair.  To show off his newly acquired strength, Andrew would pick up Steven and take them to bed. The shorter blonde would drink in the sound of Steven’s giggles like they were the freshly pressed wine in Italy.

Of course, they have company, so that’s off the table. Instead, Steven plays with Andrew’s calloused fingers as they trade stories with the self-named paranormal bad boys. When Ryan and Shane tire themselves out, the fancy boys, also penned by the paranormal bad boys, get up to wish them a good bye. By then they’re just exhausted so when they fall into the bed they just fall asleep. Steven curls his long-form around Andrew surrounding him like a blanket.

When work is over for Steven the first person he likes to see is Andrew. He likes to cup his face with his hands and rest their foreheads together. For a while, they just sway pressed together. It's nice to reconnect with your love after a grueling day serving capitalism. Steven breathes him in, the scent of earth and food filling his lungs. Right now he smelled like apple pie, Steven smiled in excitement. Andrew brushes the dirt off his apron before sinking his fingers into Steven’s hair, blue this time. He likes blue the most. It compliments outfits and makes him seem sharper like he was cut from stone. Once he dyed his hair pink though, Andrew won’t lie that he stared at Steven for a long minute before peppering him with kisses.

“Berrie baby. You smell like berries.” Andrew whispered to him one night. The world was silent as they lay together. Steven smiled sleepily against Andrew’s neck.

“Must be yummy or something,” he mused before falling asleep. Andrew thought Steven would drop the conversation, but ever since then Steven usually smells of some sort of berry.

While immortality has its benefits, there are some drawbacks. Sometimes Steven gets a little restless, he likes to go with Ryan and Shane on their demon hunts. Andrew packs him a bag and wishes him well on his travels. Stopping him was always absurd, and going with him was also insane. Andrew never was and never will be a fighter. He waits for Steven to come home instead, praying to gods he no longer beloved in to keep him safe, Adam turns out to be of great help during these times. He visits more often when Steven’s away, being a quiet rock to Andrew’s anxious mess.

Usually, he ends up ok, maybe a few cuts and bruises but generally unharmed. Andrew likes to run his hands over Steven to be 100% sure. When he gets proof that Steven’s not harmed they celebrate. A pie, usually apple, waits for them in the kitchen. Andrew feeds Steven slices as old music filters through the house.

Not all homecomings are that sweet sadly. One time Steven had been gone for two weeks. That in and of itself wasn’t odd, just unfortunate. Andrew had just finished shopping when he heard loud banging at the door. Distinctly making out Ryan’s loud calls, he made his way quickly to the door. It wasn’t Steven calling out to him, he also had a key, so Andrew was doubly nervous. What happened to Steven that Ryan had to be banging worriedly at the door?

Upon opening the door, Andrew’s heart stopped. Shane was cradling a barely conscious Steven in his arms. He quickly let them into the home, pointing them to where they should lay Steven. There was a large spot of blood on Shane's shirt and a matching evergrowing blood spot on Steven. Andrew took a deep breath so he could focus. First he checked Steven’s heartbeat and breathing. It was weaker than he’d like, gasping breaths and slower pumps, but it was there. That would have to be enough for now.

Apparently, they were fighting a demon who got a little too close to Steven. Shane and Ryan had their hands tied to notice it quick enough. When it finally caught their attention, they were too late to save Steven. He pinned to a wall by a seven-foot demon. Slowly, using its tail, it pierced Steven’s side before Ryan was able to rip him away. Shane tried his best to stop the bleeding while Ryan finished off the rest of the demons. As quick as they could, the next place they headed was here, to Andrew.

The man in question pressed his lips into a thin line. All the screams of frustration were bottled up tightly in him. He wanted to rage, at the boys, at the demons, instead, he took a few deep measured breaths. Losing his temper wouldn’t help Steven at all. Andrew directed Shane and Ryan around the house to get supplies while he examined Steven’s wound. It was about two inches deep and five inches long. The cut was a jagged little line that had mostly stopped breathing.

A tentative hand cupped Andrew’s cheek and he wanted to sob. “Hey, hey honey. I-I’m ok.” Steven gasped out. His voice was weak and stuttery. Andrew shushed him quietly, one hand on the wound the other carding through Steven’s hair. Steven leaned into the touch fully, practically purring at the contact. “Missed being home with you. Not always- not always fun being the third wheel.” Steven rambled. He started kissing Andrew’s palm almost happily. Unintentionally, Andrew’s heart fluttered at the action.

They didn’t speak much until Shane came bursting in with the medical supplies, and they didn’t talk much after that. Methodically, Andrew cleaned the wound before stitching it up. Steven tried as best as he could to minimize the pain on his face, but he wasn’t exempt from the occasional wince. Andrew noted it each and every time. He tried to be very careful, he hated putting Steven through any sort of pain. They wanted to give him anesthesia, but it was a hard commodity to come by (and sometimes a useless commodity). To replace anesthesia, Ryan and Shane each held one of Steven’s hands during the stitching.

Luckily it didn’t take too long. Andrew shooed the paranormal bad boys up to a guest room to unwind. He helped Steven to bed, slowly stripping him down before putting some layers back on him. They meandered into bed, Andrew as the big spoon for once.

Steven felt a kiss press onto his forehead. “Never leave me.” The low, syrupy voice begged him.

“Never,” Steven squeezed their hands together. Not many things in life were promised, but this? Steven could promise Andrew this. “Not for anything ever.”

Bonus:

Sunlight bathed a sleeping Steven and Simba who had curled himself into Steven’s side. Unconsciously, he wrapped an arm around his cat as he slept.

In the kitchen, Andrew softly puttered around fixing the food. Adam was there to help him, taking care of the goats, chickens, and pigs. They loved Adam, flocking around him wherever he went. It made it slightly harder to get the eggs from the chicken but he managed. He took his basket of about 14 eggs back to the kitchen.

“The animals like me more,” He teased Andrew in his ever soft voice.

Andrew let a faint smile grace his lips. “Yeah, that’s cause you indulge them.”

Adam tsked. “Excuses, excuses. What are you planning on making?”

“As much as can of anything. A few waffles, pancakes, some sausages, a few biscuits, and eggs. The boys will be starving after this ghost hunt. I’d rather cook too much than not enough.”

“You could make a large bowl of poutine.”

“Too late for that. Help me cook this all before the boys get it.”

“You sound like a prairie wife,” Adam pointed out. Andrew’s glare caused him to bark out laughing. Unbeknownst to them, their ensuing bickering about whether or not Andrew was a prairie wife woke up Steven. Shane and Ryan had already been up and found the argument incredibly amusing. They agreed with Adam, Andrew’s mothering definitely made him a prairie wife. Steven was too groggy to understand what they were saying.

He slowly blinked awake, groaning at the light in his eyes. He felt lethargic like he woke up from a nap in the middle of the day and not a deep sleep. There was a soft licking, tingling feeling on his hand. Frowning, he looked down to see Simba contentedly licking his hand. With his other hand, Steven scratched at Simba and tried to gather his bearings. Andrew’s side of the bed was cold, probably why Simba was snuggled so close to him.

When he tried getting up, a painful ache pierced his side. Looking down he saw bandages covering his side. Memories of last night flooded his brain. The fight, the stab wound, Andrew patching him back up. Steven flinched at the last memory. Andrew probably wasn’t too happy after seeing Steven like that. Unhappy would turn out to be an understatement, considering he was stress cooking. Steven slowly got up, put on a large sweater, picked up Simba, and headed out the door to find Andrew.

Half the meal had finished cooking by the time Steven found them. He watched them quietly before Andrew realized he was there. “Hey, how are you. I didn’t realize you were up.” Steven nodded at him before draping himself across Andrew’s back.

Warm hands encircled Andrew’s waist while Steven’s face was buried in his neck. A low hum raced down Andrew’s spine making him smile. “I guess you’re alright.”

“I don’t like waking up without you. The food looks good though. Good job to you and Adam.”

Andrew twisted his head to press a kiss to the crown of Steven’s head. “Go lie down, let Adam and I take care of this.” Steven would’ve objected but he was already feeling a little tired. He grabbed a water bottle as he went to lie down.

Adam and Andrew laid out all the food on the coffee table just as Shane and Ryan came straggling in. "Hey prarie wife," Ryan called. Adam snorted while Andrew glared at all of them. At Steven's confused face, Shane went over to explain it to him.

"Andrew, you are a prarie wife."

Andrew turned around to glare at his husband. "I thought we are on the same side?!"

A round of laughter rang through the kitchen. Steven readjusted himself to let Andrew sit beside him. "Do you really think I'm a prarie wife?"

Steven just giggled and kissed his husband on the side of his face. Andrew groaned into his hands. Immortality could be bloody, mean, and awful; but it was so so soft.

[kiatheinsomniac]

G O D S A U

Defluxit Cieux (Faded Heavens)

Realm of the tragic gods, their environments reflect their struggles which have overcome many parts of themselves.

Soul for Sale

Arno: God of the arts (also mourning and justice)

In life, she had been the greatest artist: her pieces were in galleries and noble’s homes all over the world for their photo-like realism. Everyone knew her name, knew at least ten of her works. Her art graced every gallery and inspired millions.

But this came at a price.

(Y/n) had sold her soul to the god of the arts in exchange for five years to become the greatest artist history would ever see. There had been a few rules: no cheating death when it came knocking and she could only dedicate herself to art and art alone — she had sold her soul to him so no one else could have her.

She had once painted canvases but, when she died, she had painted the floor under the crushing weight of a chandelier at a venue.

The artist had been confused, to begin with. She wondered and wondered until the world faded to black, worried that she had become lost.

But, she had found herself standing in a stream of wine among the dark mist of the world between the flesh and the world of the spirit. She followed that stream, staining her skin as her feet sloshed through it, until it led her to a grand door.

Upon crossing the threshold, labouring to push the heady door open, she was greeted by slow clapping.

“Here’s the great artist at last.” A man’s voice called out with a smile.

There, seated on a throne, was the god she had sold her soul to. He wore rich clothing in deep blues and the room seemed to have a midnight glow to it. Everything looked like it had been pulled from the Baroque period and (Y/n) adored it.

She hurried over to the throne and fell to her knees at the steps, bowing her head.

“Thank you.” She whispered, voice trembling in awe, “I’ve made my home among history books.”

“And were you satisfied?” He leaned forwards to capture her chin with his fingers, raising her eyes to meet his.

A series of memories flickered through her head like the flashes of cameras she had known so well in life. Canvas tearing, paint splattering, glasses being smashed, statues’ clay faces being smeared and smothered, soft pillows and wet cheeks, hours spent sitting down in the shower.

“I was.” She replied. The god smiled knowingly and released her chin, leaning back then looking down at her.

“You can’t lie to me, (Y/n). I’ve been watching you since we made that deal.”

“All the time?” Her eyes widened. He tossed his head around playfully as he thought.

“Most of the time.” He reached for a glass of red wine which seemed to have appeared from nowhere. “You’ll be taken away for the next hour or so before we begin.”

“Begin what?” She furrowed her brows.

“We had a deal. Deals are only made when there is a benefit for both parties, non?” A french accent slipped past his lips as he regarded her with a sense of melancholy almost.

“I let you slip past my fingers once and now you’ve come back to me, bound yourself to me. I won’t let you leave again. You’ll be satisfied this time, I promise.” He reached out to cup her face, thumb caressing her cheek affectionately.

Her eyes widened slightly as she was pulled to her feet. Statues of marble, cold as snow and soft as cotton, plucked her up by her arms and began carrying her away.

“What do you mean?” She blurted out, confused.

“Welcome home.” He simply smiled. Her dark brows furrowed over her steel blue eyes, even more confused than before.

—————

The Gods were less divine than they wished to seem. They were immortal, powerful, yes. But they were always victim to their own emotions. Fear that she would leave had devoured him, longing for her to return had tortured him and regret for ever letting her go in the first place had haunted him for nearly three decades.

But she was back now and he wouldn’t lose her again.

So, she sat at his feet. Black silk pooled around her, the dark colour a striking contrast against her pale skin. Sterling painted a thin layer around her ankles and wrists, the thinnest and strongest of chains connecting her to him, phasing through whatever object she may try to break them with.

A silver band, encrusted with glittering garnets decorated her ring finger.

In the flesh that came with new life, she had forgotten who she had been in spirit: the goddess of desire and fixation. She had been married to the god of the arts but, being the divinity of desire, nothing was ever enough. She had snuck away from him to lead a life among living mortals, leaving behind everything in search of more. But she hadn’t been able to change her nature of fixation: art. It was her passion.

In flesh as in spirit, she had been willing to do anything to harness the most beautiful art that the world had to give. To begin with, she had collected it. But it wasn’t enough. She began to create her own art, but it wasn’t good enough. She eventually began to pray to the god of the arts, hoping he would bless her with all the skill she needed to be the very best.

This is how he had found her again. For years, he had been grief stricken by the disappearance of his wife, mourning her and longing for her to return. She had left him as so many others had. However, in finding her, he had come up with a new idea: to trick her into binding herself to him so that she would never leave him again.

Everything had gone to plan and the only catch was the five years in which he had to wait for her. But she was here now. And she wouldn’t leave.

Her head fell against his knee and he reached down to stroke her hair affectionately. She hummed and turned her face to him. Her hair had grown a lot since she had died to be with him again: it now fell to her waist in loose curls and she realised that her new desire was him. Her chin became propped on his knee while she looked at him over the thick book on his lap.

The pages were battered and worn: as old as the first play, the first note of a song, the first sign of art.

“I’m tired.” She mumbled against his leg, feeling him smile, even without looking up. She could hear the pages of the book close before he leaned down to pull her onto his lap, her silk skirts pouring over the both of them like black gold.

She rested her head against his shoulder while her hand went up to gently caress the side of his face. He pushed her hair back behind her ear and smiled softly at her as she nuzzled her face against him.

“I want to start writing plays.” She hummed as he lifted her up bridal style and carried her out of the throne room.

“No you don’t.” He chuckled softly, allowing servants to open any doors that stood in his way while his wife leaned against his chest. He knew that if she started writing, she wouldn’t be able to stop and it would consume her. “Why don’t we get you some more paintings?”

She smiled contentedly at the idea of this, “I want ones with flowers and women in pretty satin dresses.” She mused as he sat her down on the bed and delicately slid the dark dress off her body, the midnight silk slipping over her creamy skin, leaving her in deep burgundy lace.

She sat there patiently, picturing what paintings she could add to her vast collection while Arno undressed himself.

(Y/n) was often mistaken for the goddess of art, leaving people to believe Arno was the god of theatre and music. But this misconception was created by art being the fixation goddess’s very fixation. She sat and pondered over how many people still believed it. She felt the mattress dip and turned over to cuddle up to her lover, feeling his large hands splay down her back soothingly, pressing her against his body.

She laid there, in the comfort of their romantically lit room, thinking. She was adorned in rich fabrics and fine jewels every day but she wanted more, needed more, desired more. Yet she also desired nothing more than him at once. It was a complex balance which she was yet to figure out.

“Arno?” She murmured against his chest. He tilted his head down to show that she had his attention. (Y/n) shifted slightly to prop her chin on his chest in order to meet those dark brown eyes. “Why did I leave? All I want is you but all I want is more? Why did I leave you behind?”

He let out a thoughtful sigh as his eyes closed in order to piece his mind together. They had already established that she could recall nothing of her previous life with him, just the life which she spent as a mortal.

“Because you’re difficult to please, chérie; and it’s not your fault. Your desires and fixations are at war — they go perfectly yet clash at the same time. I failed to give you my attention: I neglected you, failed to show my love to you, failed to even give you more than an hour of my time per week. With your desire gone, your fixation took over and you left to chase a life of art.”

He watched her (e/c) orbs fill with tears and her lower lip tremble. “I’m sorry that I left you for all those years. I didn’t know.”

He pushed her hair behind her ear, coaxing her to lay her head against his chest. His fingers glided down her arm to the silver cuffs that were melted onto her immortal skin — no latch nor key could open them.

“Don’t apologise. It’s ok now because I won’t repeat my mistake. And I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

—————

The story varies from here: some say that they continued to live happily, others say that he had put her in a trance so that she wouldn’t leave and some even say he killed her after that moment. Only the gods themselves know.

[spiritmaiden23]

HANDY DANDY RP PLOTTING CHEAT-SHEET FOR ZELDA (skyward sword)!

Want new-and-exciting plots for your character? Long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? Fear not! Fill out this form and give your RP partners both present and future all the of juicy jumping off points they need to help you get your characters acquainted.

Be sure to tag the players whose characters YOU want more cues to interact with, and repost, don’t reblog! Feel free to add or remove sections as you see fit. Templatehere.

mun name: Amber! ooc contact: My DMs are always open for mutuals and non-mutuals alike! In case I’m not here you can always reach my personal which is over @sealilys annnd I do have a discord however that’s only for mutuals, I rarely do drops. That out of the way let’s get started! 

who the heck is my muse anyway?

Well, for those who never touched The Legend of Zelda in their lives, I’m sure it’s pretty dang confusing to see more than one design of both Zelda and Link, I’ll try my best to explain this! The series follows a very, very convoluted timeline filled with plotholes, as such the Links and Zeldas we see throughout different titles of the game are actually reincarnations (well Link is the only one reincarnating, Zelda reincarnates once... more on that later) who are destined to seal away whatever darkness may threaten the lands known as Hyrule. 

Skyward Sword is the very beginning of that timeline, with Sky Zelda (this Zelda) being the first Zelda and she comes from a place outside of Hyrule, in fact high above the kingdom known as Skyloft. During her time, the kingdom of Hyrule was not yet established so the place below the clouds is known as The Surface to the Skyloftians. As such, unlike the other princesses we see throughout the series, she is not born a princess but is actually just your average, everyday girl who was studying to become a knight! Zelda is well-known for being charming and vivacious. She’s childhood friends with the sleepyheaded Link and the beloved daughter of the headmaster of the Knight Academy. Life was good and while she dreams of the lands below the islands, believing that there’s something down there instead of a barren wasteland like most seem to believe especially since she hears someone calling for her down there, she was content with spending her days with her best friend. Little did the two know that they both had a heavy destiny thrust upon them by the gods themselves. 

Zelda’s story is one that is about awakening. And she wouldn’t have that awakening until one faithful day where she was ripped from the skies by the self-proclaimed demon lord Ghirahim, with his magic spell that broke through the cloud barrier surrounding Skyloft, she falls and wakes up unharmed on The Surface. After being rescued by an old woman who then informs her of her shared destiny with Link to bring Skyloft back to The Surface while defeating the great demon Demise once and for all, this kickstarts her awakening and she begins her journey in purifying her body at the sacred temples on The Surface and praying to the goddess Hylia to retrieve memories of a time long ago. Along the way, she meets with a Sheikah warrior named Impa who acts as an escort and later treasured friend. 

In truth, Zelda is actually the goddess Hylia reborn as a mortal. In her past life, she knew the Gods of the Old, in fact they were the ones who had instructed Hylia to not only look after her people but to also look after the sacred power of the gods known as the Triforce. A golden artifact that can grant the wish of anyone. Gods can not use this power however mortals and even demons can, this would prompt for Demise to rise from the crack of the earth to obtain that power for selfish desires. As such, there was a great war on The Surface against the dark forces, her people were dying and the war greatly affected the lands. During her final battle against Demise, Hylia constructed a plan that would bring an end to his terror at the cost of her own death. The battle ended with her victory where she manages to seal away Demise while succumbing to her wounds from the battle, later she’d reincarnate as the spirit maiden Zelda. Once Zelda remembers her past, this only fuels her desire to end Demise once and for all with Link’s help. 

And sure enough, despite the bumps and heartache along the way, Link defeats Demise. Yet there was a catch. Before Demise passed away he placed a curse on all three of them where his grudge will bound them to the neverending destiny of Link and Zelda fighting off the incarnation of Demise’s hatred. The story ends with Zelda staying on The Surface to watch over the Triforce while helping colonize the lands. 

things you should know:

Zelda is not a princess. Nor does she become one after the events of the game. She remains as a guardian of sorts for the Triforce considering the fact that the Sacred Realm does not exist, therefore there’s no safe place to hide the Triforce someone has to look over it. Instead she’s a literal goddess, albeit human but she still has her divine powers despite it dwindling greatly compared to her form as Hylia. 

I PLAY LINK AND ZELDA’S RELATIONSHIP AS STRICTLY PLATONIC WITH HINTS OF ROMANCE. It is possible for her to develop feelings for Link but to avoid stepping on any toes, she’s happy with being his friend. 

Zelda does not have the Triforce of Wisdom. Considering the fact that the Triforce does not split, it’s whole in this era. While she can now use the power of it since she’s mortal she prefers not to honestly considering she still has her divine powers from Hylia, while weak when compared to her god form she’s far more powerful than the average human (speaking of humans are not yet known as Hylians during her time). 

She can hear the voices of the gods. Very minutely though but she can hear them. Considering her connection with them and the lore behind the pointed ears, I’d like to think she’d have moments where she can hear soft whispers of them. Rarely do they talk to her though. 

While Zelda is very capable of fighting, she cannot fight any of the beasts during her main verse where’s she’s traveling the Surface to find the temples to purify her body. Not only will they outnumber her, not only she is without a weapon, but the monsters let out this miasma when defeated and it’s possible for that miasma to affect her purification process. For the most part, you’ll see her sneak around monsters. If push comes to shove, she’ll use her harp as a bludging weapon...

what she’s been up to:

main verse: Which is during the events of Skyward Sword, as such she’s no longer in Skyloft nor does she have the full knowledge that she’s Hylia but Zelda is suspecting that there’s a connection there. She does not know how to wield her magic as it comes and goes in spurts. She’s seen throughout the Surface so she can be anywhere! Even in other timelines due to using the Gate of Time, we can just say that something screwed up causing for her to end up in another time period or even verse! LOZ series is pretty flexible in time travel. 

where to find her:

Faron Woods:  The place where it all started. Here the Sealed Temple along with Skyview Temple is located, so she can be either wondering throughout the woods or either of those places. She’s currently alone and is sneaking away from monsters yet is also enjoying the sights of the Surface while being mindful of her mission. 

Eldin Province: Neighboring Faron Woods and home to the infamous Death Mountain (known as Eldin Volcano). So what is she doing in a dangerous place? Why, praying at the Earth Temple of course! Here’s where she meets with a Sheikah warrior Impa, so chances of her showing up as an NPC in a thread is pretty high! 

Lanayru Province: Once a lush, green place now became a desert yet far from barren, hidden underneath the sands is a time long lost where hints of the past can be uncovered. There are many caverns throughout the desert. It is around here where she travels to find something known as the Gate of Time. Impa will most def show up as an NPC since she’s traveling with Zelda during this time. 

current plans:

Meet with Link and return Skyloft to the Surface while regaining all of her memories as Hylia.

desired interactions:

I would love for more wacky time shenanigans to happen where Zelda not only meets with LOZ muses from other timelines but also other muses from different universes all together since the LOZ community is pretty dang dead! This can work in post-game verse as well since she has more knowledge of timelines and the like! 

Muses joining Zelda’s journey while she uncovers her past, it’d be fun to do dungeon threads with potential of action happening since Ghirahim is hunting down Zelda along with the monsters that work under him. Protect tiny goddess at all costs!

I want her to make more friends but enemies would be fun too! 

Romance. I am a sucker for fluff and cuteness. 

This is very random but I want Zelda to interact with a Kina or even Kass so that they can do a jam session together! Actually any musically talented muse doing a jam session with Zelda is all I could ever ask for. 

things that bother me:

This doesn’t bother me too much but your muse insisting that she’s a princess despite her constant denial. I can understand this one considering her bloodline is royalty later on so it’s whatever.

Your muse magically knowing she’s Hylia. Yes, she has strong powers that can probably be sensed and yes she more than likely resembles her past life look but your muse shouldn’t make that connection easily on the spot unless she tells you herself and for the most part she keeps that knowledge away from outsiders. Insisting she’s just a humble spirit maiden should they feel something fishy with her.

YOUR MUSE BLAMING EVERYTHING EVER ON HER. This ties in with the one above, having your muse condemn Zelda for the choices she had made during her life spent as Hylia is a bad look dude. It’s hard to put into words and this happened long ago when the fandom was active but just... making Hylia/any Zelda out as the bad guy is just really annoying and just downplays her character. 

tagged by: i pirated it ;v; 

tagging: whomst ever! i recommend doing this since it’ll help a ton with those who still are unsure with your muse but feel too nervous to ask questions.

[7r0773r]

Frost in May by Antonia White

Once [Clare] even borrowed Nanda’s rosary. Seeing Nanda looking a little doubtful, Clare tweaked her pigtail and asked:

“What is it, baby? Will it hurt your rosary to be used by a pagan?”

“I’ll have to get it blessed again, that’s all,” Nanda explained.

Clare’s eyes danced. They were odd eyes, green and, like her skin, freckled with brown.

“I say, am I as wicked as all that? Do I actually put a curse on everything I touch?”

“Of course not,” said Nanda. “I’d have to get it blessed again if I lent it to anyone . . . even the Pope himself. You see, a rosary’s only blessed for the person it belongs to, and so if anyone else uses it they don’t get the indulgences and you don’t either until it’s been blessed again. Mine’s blessed for a happy death, so I mustn’t forget to have it done.”

Clare threw up her hands and crowed with laughter. “What a fantastic idea, darling. Does it cost anything, having your beads blessed?”

“Of course not,” said Nanda, profoundly shocked.

“Don’t look so hurt, baby. I’m only a poor, inquiring heathen. But I always thought there was something called a sale of indulgences.”

“Lots of Protestants think so,” said Nanda kindly. “But it’s quite untrue. They think that three hundred days’ indulgence means that you get three hundred days off purgatory. But of course, that’s quite impossible, because there isn’t any time in purgatory.”

“Well, what does it mean then?” 

“It’s rather a long explanation,” Nanda told her.

“Go on. I’m fascinated.”

“Well, it’s like this. To begin with, every mortal sin has two sorts of punishment, temporal and eternal. If you die in mortal sin, you go straight to hell. But you’re let off the eternal punishment if you confess your sin and get absolution.”

“Then I should just go on sinning and being forgiven as often as I liked.”

“Oh, no,” said Nanda hastily, “because part of the condition of getting absolution at all is that you have to have a sincere intention not to commit the sin again.”

“I see,” mused Clare. “By the way, how do I know when it is a mortal sin?”

“That’s awfully easy. There’s got to be grave matter, full knowledge and full consent. So if you kill someone by accident, it isn’t a mortal sin. Unless you meant to hurt them badly, when of course it would be. Then take stealing. It’s rather difficult to know just how much would constitute grave matter. But it’s generally supposed to be about half a crown.”

“So if I stole two and fivepence, it would only be a venial sin?”

“Ye-es,” said Nanda a little doubtfully. “But, of course, if two and fivepence was all the person had, or if they were a widow or an orphan, or if you stole it from a church box, it would be mortal.”

“And suppose it was a very dark night and I meant to steal a half-crown and it turned out to be two shillings, it would only be a venial sin?”

“Good gracious, no,” said Nanda positively. “It would be a mortal sin because you had the intention of stealing half a crown.”

“You Catholics are wonderfully definite about everything, aren’t you? It must be a great comfort to know just where one is. But go on about indulgences.”

“Sure I’m not boring you?”

“Not a bit, infant,” smiled Clare, showing very white teeth that had crinkled edges like a small child’s.

“Well, you’re quite clear about eternal punishment and temporal punishment, aren’t you? After the eternal and temporal punishment, aren’t you? After the eternal punishment of a mortal sin has been remitted in confession, there’s still the temporal punishment to be worked off in this life or in purgatory. Venial sins carry some temporal punishment, too, but not so much.”

“I supposed there are heaps of venial sins?”

“Hundreds,” said Nanda gloomily. “Almost everything’s a venial sin, in fact. If I don’t eat my cabbage, or if I have an extra helping of pudding when I’m not really hungry, or if I think my hair looks rather nice when it’s just been washed . . . they’re all venial sins. And then, as if one’s own sins weren’t enough, there are nine ways in which you can share in another person’s.”

“Good Lord,” crowed Clare. “I bet you a holy picture you don’t know ’em all.”

Nanda shut her eyes and gabbled.

“By counsel, by command, by consent, by provocation, by praise or flattery, by being a partner in the sin, by silence, by defending the ill-done.”

“It’s amazing. How can all you babes reel them off like that?”

“Well, I’ve done catechism and Christian Doctrine for two hours a day for three years.”

“Then tell me something. I was reading Rosario’s catechism on Sunday, and I came across something very peculiar. It was one of the commandments . . . ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery,’ and it said it forbade fornication and all wilful pleasure in the irregular motions of the flesh. What does it mean?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Nanda coldly. “We don’t do the sixth and ninth commandments. Mother Percival says they’re not necessary for children. They’re about some very disgusting sins, I believe, that only grown-up people commit.”

She could not understand why Clare laughed so wildly that her green eyes brimmed over with tears.

Rather offended, Nanda said: 

“I think we’d better be getting back to the others. I promised Léo to play tennis. And, besides, we’re not really supposed to be about in twos.”

“Nonsense, baby. Mother Percival has got us well in the tail of her stony eye. And besides, you may be converting me, who knows?”

“I shouldn’t dream of trying, Clare,” asserted Nanda, still hurt. “Catholics don’t try and convert people like that. They just answer your questions and . . . and . . . pray for you.”

Clare leaned over and touched Nanda’s arm with a hot quivering hand that burned through her holland sleeve.

“Do you pray for me, baby?”

“Of course,” said Nanda in a very matter-of-fact voice, but she blushed all the same. Clare’s touch embarrassed and delighted her; it gave her the queerest shivering sensation in the roof of her mouth. Why was it that when everyone else seemed just face and hands, Clare always reminded one that there was a warm body under her uniform? For a minute her freckled eyes searched Nanda’s, and then she laughed softly and shook her man of wiry bronze-bright hair. (pp. 109-113)

***

With a very stiff curtsey, Nanda turned to the door. But instead of dropping her eyes, she looked very straight at Mother Radcliffe. The nun threw back her head and gave the merest ghost of a smile.

“You are very fond of your own way, aren’t you, Nanda?”

“Yes, I suppose so, Mother.”

“And do you know that no character is any good in this world unless that will has been broken completely? Broken and re-set in God’s own way. I don’t think your will has been quite broken, my dear child, do you?” (p. 145)

***

Don’t you believe in miracles, Léo?”

“Not entirely, my child. But I’m willing to enter into the spirit of them. Like all the old men who bellow that they believe in fairies when Tinkerbell is at her last gasp.”

“But you wrote such a lovely and convincing one for your Christmas story,” protested Nanda.

“I like the Catholic way of looking at things,” said Léo. “Any way of looking at life is a fairy story, and I prefer mine with lots of improbable embellishments. I think angels and devils are much more amusing than microbes and Mr. Wells’s noble scientists.”

“But you’re a pagan,” asserted Clare in a shocked voice.

“So are hundreds of practising Catholics. I could tell you things about the Renaissance Popes that would make your hair stand on end.”

“I’m beginning to think that there’s something to be said for being a Protestant after all,” said Clare. (pp. 148-49)

***

In time, from utter exhaustion, Nanda’s breathless sobbing became quieter. She even looked up and dimly noticed the albums on the table, and a kid-gloved hand still fidgeting with the clasp of a bag. Then her eye caught the sight of a brown paper parcel only half-hidden by her mother’s muff. She guessed at once that it contained her birthday present. Another wave of misery poured over her. A little while before, one sentence of her father’s had torn right through every protective covering and shamed her to the very marrow. If he had stripped her naked and beaten her, she would not have felt more utterly humiliated. Never, never, could things be the same. Never again would he believe in her. Never again could she love him in the old way. But now, the sight of the absurd birthday parcel suddenly showed her all the small human losses included in that one great loss. She wept wildly for all the dear, silly things that were gone for ever; the happy tea times of the Christmas holidays, the talks in the study, the Haec Olim file to which she could never add her green ribbon. (p. 217)

***

Presently the nun said, still in the same gentle measured voice:

“Those are good tears, Nanda. I have waited for them and prayed for them. You understand very little yet, my dear child, but one day you will understand the significance of all this.”

Nanda did not reply, and Mother Radcliffe went on:

“You are feeling that you have been unjustly treated—that no offence could deserve so great a punishment. Nanda, you must try and believe that all this is for your own good.”

But Nanda could only mutter with dry and swollen lips:

“Daddy—Daddy.”

The nun put her hand on her forehead.

“God asks very hard things from us,” she said, “the sacrifice of what we love best and the sacrifice of our own wills. That is what it means to be a Christian. For years, I have been watching you, Nanda. I have seen you growing up, intelligent, warm-hearted, apparently everything a child should be. But I have watched something else growing in you, too—a hard little core of self-will and self-love. I told you once before that every will must be broken completely and re-set before it can be at one with God’s will. And there is no other way. That is what true education, as we understand it here at Lippington, means. Real love is a hard taskmaster, and the love of God the hardest taskmaster of all. I am only acting as God’s instrument in this. I had to break your will before your whole nature was deformed.”

Nanda glanced at the nun’s face. It was pale and controlled as usual, yet lighted with an extraordinary, quiet exaltation.

“Many things must have happened to you here at Lippington which have seemed unkind, unjust even. Very few of those things happened by accident. I am speaking to you now as if you were a grown-up person. Yours is a nature with a great capacity for good and evil; you are gifted but wayward; obstinate, yet easily led. You have one quality which I think will help you through life. I believe you are fundamentally honest. But there was a quality you needed more. We tried to teach you by easy ways, but to-day you have had to learn it by hard ones—the quality of humility.” (pp. 218-20)

[tvip11-fics]

.eros and apollo (pt. 1)

A/N: Here is the first part of the sequel of the Dan/Val Gods AU! I hope I have a chance to complete this soon because this was super fun to write. Also this of named after the Studio Killers bop (and they’re coming back soon!!!!!)

Warnings: Language and mentions of sex (courtesy of Paulina)

Paulina purses her lips, pink gloss shining in the light of the sun. With a flip of her curls, she turns her head to her other best friend, Sam, and ask the question, "How do you know when you're in love? Like really in love?"

Sam looks up from her book, surprised by Paulina's sudden interest in the topic. "Love? Well, people fall in love in different ways so there’s no one way to tell you’re in love."

"Well, how would someone who was...let's say....shy...fall in love?"

Sam hums a bit as she thinks. "Well, I guess, slowly. They probably wouldn't show a lot of affection, but they might spend more time with whoever they like. I guess they would do small things, like give their lover their favorite food or flower but, they might need a little push to help them make their move.” Sam cocks her head to the side. “Why?"

Paulina shakes her head. "No particular reason." She picks up her brush and starts to work it through her thick hair. "So....what if you had a friend who was shy and in love-."

Sam narrows her eyes. "Paulina."

"-hey! Let me finish!" She clears her throat. "As I was saying, what if you had a friend who was shy and in love and you can see it in their eyes that they really, really, really, really wanna be with their crush, would you help them?"

Sam huffs. "Paulina, leave Dan and Valerie alone. All this love you're seeing is just you projecting!" Sam turns her attention back to her book. "Should've known you were gonna bring them up again."

"I'm not projecting!" says Paulina. "It's real love. I can feel! In my heart, in my blood! Even in my vagina!"

"Paul-....Paulina, you can't just...say that."

"Yes, I can because I am the Goddess of Beauty and I know beautiful love when I see it!" Paulina rises from her vanity and walks over to her friend. "Spring is finally here. My season ripe with both love and worshippers; my altars have been overflowing with offerings. Venus and Jupiter are going to be in conjunction in two days time which means my power will be at an all-time high. If I can get the Goddess of Love on my side-."

Sam slams her book shut. "No. No, no, no! I will not allow you to bother Desiree with this."

"But if I could just give him a little push in the right direction, then he'll confess his feelings."

"Paulina, no. I don't want to hear any more about this." Sam stands up to leave, her robes swishing around her feet. "If I find out you're still trying to meddle in Valerie love life I will get Clockwork."

Paulina gasps. "You wouldn't!"

"I so would!" She crosses her arms over her chest. "So don't even think about doing anything else."

Sam leaves in a flurry, leaving Paulina to pout alone in her temple. "Ugh, she just doesn't understand," she mumbles to herself.

Phantom's so frigid when it comes to things such as love, women, and basic social interaction. Isolation wasn't doing the poor man any good and if time kept going, then Valerie would soon lose her patience with the god and poor Dan would be left alone.

No. She wouldn't let that happen. Paulina decides that she'll talk to him first, give him a bit of womanly advice, and if that fails....

Desiree is always a letter away.

Descending the winding stairs, Paulina made sure to look her best for her talk with Phantom. Men are more likely to pay attention when they're looking at something beautiful and flashy, so she put on her best robes and brushed her hair until it shined like the moon he reigned over.

She takes a deep breath as she stares down at the ornate marble doors of his temple. She hadn't been here since the day she came with Sam. To say she is a bit jittery is an understatement.

But before she can knock the door swings open and she is greeted by the sight of Phantom himself and Clockwork. The air is tense between them and the older god is so busy glowering down at Phantom that neither of them acknowledges Paulina.

"E-Excuse me?" she says.

They both look at her and attempt to wipe any signs of discord from their faces. "Paulina," says Clockwork, "What are you doing here so late?"

She flips her curls over her shoulder and prays that her words don't fail her in front of the old god. "I was hoping to speak with Phantom." There's a slight pause. "...if that's okay with you, of course."

Clockwork is the most important god in all the heavens. He can even tell Pariah Dark what to do. To upset him would be absolutely fucking stupid.

"No, it's fine." Clockwork steps to the side, allowing Paulina to enter. “Just don’t do anything you would…normally do.”

Dan blushes immediately, but it takes Paulina a moment to realize what he’s implying. No! Sure, her libido often had a mind of its own, but she would never sleep with her best friend’s potential lover!

“No! I would never-!” she sputters. “I-I would never come down here with that!” She turns to Dan. “Not that you’re ugly or anything, I’m just not interested.”

Her last comment earns her a soft shake of the head from Clockwork. “Well, don’t stay too long. Daniel has some important business to take care of in the morning.” Clockwork looks at Phantom, his good eye boring a hole into him. “And please, do take what I said to heart.”

Clockwork leaves, shutting the marble door behind him. The two younger gods look each other over for a moment before breaking the silence. “What do you want?” he says with a bitter tone.

Paulina bows. “Phantom, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk with you about Valerie.”

Dan groans. “Why is she the hot topic of the night?”

Paulina blinks. “Has someone already talked to you about her?”

Dan throws a glance at the door. “Yes. My…friendship with Valerie is causing some discord.”

Paulina’s brows furrow. “Discord? Why? You’re both mature gods. Sure, you’re about 4,000 years older, but who cares? That’s like four months in mortal time.”

Dan frowns at her. “My age is not the problem.”

“Then what is it?” Paulina can’t think of any reason that the two of them couldn’t be friends or even lovers, but if the older gods believe otherwise….

“I…they think I would become a danger if I formed any…attachments to Valerie.”

“Oh! Is it because you’re emotionally and socially stunned?”

Dan’s jaw goes a bit slack. “…why are you so blunt?”

Paulina stammers an apology. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to say it like that!”

Dan rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. This is first time I’ve interacted with people besides Clockwork and Jasmine, so they have a right to be worried.”

Paulina perks up at the mention of her sister. “What does Jazz think about all this?”

His expression softens a bit. “She thinks this is good for me.”

Paulina smiles gleefully. “Well, I think so too! Interacting with others and getting out of your cave is very good! And y’know what would be even better? If you and Val just made out. Like, just went at it.”

Dan looks at her for a good minute, trying to decide if he should kick her out or not.  “…Paulina, why on Earth would you say that?”

“Because you like her…or at least, I thought you liked her.”

Dan starts to blush furiously. “I-I may have some feelings for her, but I don’t love her-.”

“Ha!” Paulina pokes him in the chest. “I never said anything about love, I said like. Like and love are waayyy different, buddy!” Paulina does a little dance. “Eee! You love Val! You love Val!”

Dan’s blush grows. “Paulina-.”

“Oh, I’m so excited! That means you guys are gonna get married! That means I’m gonna be a bridesmaid!” She gasps. “That means I’m gonna cry.”

“Fine,” he admits, “I may have some romantic feelings for Valerie-“

“Love!” sings out Paulina.

“-but I’m not going to act on them. It would be foolish.”

“Love isn’t foolish! It’s beautiful so you have to try and snag Valerie.” Paulina puts her hands over her heart. “Spring is both my season and Desiree’s. Love is in the air. Now’s the time confess.”

“Why bother?” muses Dan. “It wouldn’t work anyway.”

“It will if you let me help you.”

“And how exactly are you going to help me?”

“I’ll teach you all the ropes. How to woo her, how to write poetry, how to serenade-.”

“I am not singing,” hisses Dan.

“Oh, you will if it comes to it,” says Paulina with a bit of edge. “If all else fails, I’ll get Desiree on my side and on the day of the conjunction I’ll create a little helper to give you some confidence.”

Dan frowns. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

Paulina huffs. “Just trust me on this! Okay?”

Dan sighs. “Fine, just don’t have me do anything stupid.”

“I can’t guarantee that but okay.”

[ruffoverthinksthings]

Thank you for answering as usual. I also enjoyed your point between Claudine and Quasimodo. Omg, Quasi is so sweet and so patient especially after everything from BGU and he keeps treating her like a poor misguided girl that she is and how they were raised similarly. Love love ❤️I can just imagine Jordan's hurt feelings that genies don't do parenting. I imagine their comfort for the wish dispenser thing was a bit outdated like "Just do it. You're a genie it's what they expect even it's unfair,"

He’sactually vastly expanded his patience and his understanding of peoplenow that he sees the people of Auradon suffering from the samesuperficial judgment problems he had. Theymay not be being shunned for being ugly, but they do feelawful and excluded because they aren’t “happy and shiny”enough, or are modeling themselves after the Royals and failingbadly.

I headcanon that after the first movie and especially after theevents of the sequel, Quasimodo went about finally being “outthere” with the people, getting to know them as they got to knowhim, and learning about how every single one of them is suffering insome way, some of them not even visible, some they haven’t toldanyone but him.

“There’s just something about me that gets people to open up,seeing this ugly face and feeling comfortable with baring the ugliestsides of them,” Quasimodo says.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Claudine asks.

“No, not really. I’m flattered, actually--this is something that theydon’t share to anyone else, to show to the world, to even thinkabout most days, and they trust me enough to tell it to me.”

This is one of a LOT of the conversations Claudine has withQuasimodo about all the various nuances of people and thecomplications of morality, especially when it comes to learning thatmost of her “Pharisees” are also suffering from the same heavilyexternal societal pressures and maladaptive beliefs as her, i.e.“Princess Chic,” needing to find “True Love,” and being“Happy and Satisfied” with their lot in life, however shitty thatis.

They do get to talking about Frollo eventually, a topic Claudineavoids both because she has literally and figuratively left himbehind on the Isle, and because she still feels ashamed about howdeluded and ignorant she was, how there were so many times she couldhave just run away in hindsight, and how stupid she was not to takethem because of her blind faith.

“Don’t beat yourself up like that, Claudine,” Quasimodosays. “You were just like me: you didn’t know better, and youcouldn’t know better. No one knows everything there is to knowabout something, what will happen if they do something or don’t dosomething; all you really can do is choose, and pray for the best.”

“And what if it turns out all wrong...?” Claudine mutters.

Quasimodo smiles. “Then you make a new choice, to try and makeit right.”

They move ontohow Frollo raised the both of them, and start noticing all thestrange parallels their lives had taken.

One was hiddenaway and had his sense of self-worth cut down at every opportunity,and the other was paraded around and sung praises to by Frollo’scongregation, on the day of her birth and every year since,constantly told about all the great things she was meant to do in thename of God.

Frollo killed themother of one with his hatred, and married then drove away the otherwith his “love.”

One child had theface of an angel, the other was uglier than sin.

One was thoughtto be capable of nothing but evil, but never did anyone harm, theother was thought to be the purest and most innocent soul, but wasdecidedly not.

“So I guessthis means while you get to be a Good Guy and living here in brightand sunny New Jerusalem, I’ll just be going back to the bombed outremains of Neo Sodom and Gomorrah soon enough...” Claudine muses.

“It’s not toolate, Claudine,” Quasimodo says. “This is what the VK program isall about—giving you the chance to change your life for thebetter.”

Claudine sighsand gives him a withering look. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but howdo I go about doing that? Being ‘Good’…?” Flatly, shecontinues. “Seriously, how? I’ve been kinda living in aworld where giving a guy a shirt instead of stealing it from him willget you fucking crucified, at the very least.”

“Haven’t youbeen paying attention in Remedial Goodness?”

“Quasi, I’mgonna burst your bubble here: no one pays attention inRemedial Goodness when it’s you teaching. We’re eitherdistracting ourselves from how fucked up you look, or imagining whatyou might look like after we put a decently sized shovel to your faceone or a couple of times.”

Quasimodo looksannoyed, before he takes a deep breath, and relaxes. “Well, you canstart by apologizing and meaning it when you do something wrong.”

“Like what?Quasi, you gotta give me a leg up here, doing shitty things is asnatural to me as breathing.”

“Well, therewas your calling me uglier than I was on TV when you first met me,for one. I’ve come to peace with the fact that I’ll never be aBrad Pitt, and I’ve learned to lessen the blow with humour, but itstill kinda stings.”

“Oh. Okay.”Claudine takes a deep breath. “I’m...” she looks like a demontrying to step through the threshold into a church, watching andfeeling themselves catch fire from God’s radiance.“Ss-s-s-sor-ry...” she says, sounding like the last gasp of saiddemon after they finally burn up completely.

Quasimodo smiles.“Apology accepted. Now was that so hard?”

“Yes,”Claudine says flatly.

Quasimodo reachesout and pats her on the shoulder. “We can work on it.”

“So what, Ijust keep saying it over and over again like I’m training for theApology Olympics?”

“We could, oryou could apologize for all the other horrible things you’ve saidor done to me.”

“Like what?”she frowns sheepishly. “… If you have an itemized list, that’dbe really convenient, because I really did forget...”

With Jordan,she’s so bothered by it largely because it just exacerbates heralready numerous issues with being an “Other” in Auradon society.

She’s Fae,she’s smarter than everyone and inherently thinks on a differentlevel, and even the one bastion she had left for a sense ofnormal—family—turns out to be just as weird, wacky, andfrom-left-field as every other part of her.

The “WishDispenser” thing is actually a sore point for Genie and Eden, andthey don’t encourage her to just grant as soon as someone asks,knowing the dangers irresponsible wishes can do, and more to thepoint, being coerced or forced into the act reminds them too much oftheir abusive masters.

Even without theMagic Ban in place, they would have instated a sort of Rules ofMagical Consent in her that outlines responsible wish making, how notto make someone’s wishes come true, and how to communicate yourcomfort levels with certain wishes to others.

This gets REALLYcomplicated when they have to explain the nuances of certain rules,or pratfalls that aren’t set in stone but avoided anyway, likeraising the dead.

Genie and Eden DOtry, but as many parents learn, there are no do-overs with children,you just gotta roll with it and try to do better from then on out.And for Djinn, this is their philosophy with mistakes, as therealways is tomorrow.

Jordan, livingand hanging out with mortals who have limited lifespans stock, takesa while longer to do this, but she does turn around to forgiving herparents and making peace with them.

It takes DECADES, but hey, they’ve got all eternity.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - How A Star Is Born ch.III

A Hercules AU, founded by @evaroze, whom this fic is a gift for. I hope y’all like it!

ch.II - ch.IV

AO3 link

~~~~~~~~~~

Drenched and wet thanks to the rain and thunderstorm, Dipper entered the Temple of the Gods in the middle of the night for some privacy. He was immediately faced with a giant statue of someone who was more of a fable to him than a belief: Ruler of the Gods and god of Intelligence and Ingenuity, the six-fingered immortal Stanford.

With his large stature on a throne fit for a king, his square chin, flowing toga, and stern look, Dipper felt a little intimidated by the ruler of the gods. He entered the temple quietly and moved his focus to the paintings and vases on both the left and right walls. Stories and legends were told and Dipper happily followed the fables down a hall, on the right of the giant statue, and into a huge room full of more statues and paintings and vases.

“Wow,” He breathed, his voice echoed, and he moved to the center of the room and rested on his knees. Got to start somewhere, right? “I pray my pleas be heard in this place.” Dipper prayed. “Please, someone tell me who I am, where I belong.”

“Wow, look at you!” A cheerful voice rang, making Dipper jump to his feet and look around wildly. “You look just like me! We’re like twins! Oh, wait.” And then there was laughter.

“Hello?” The twelve-year-old boy called. “Who’s there?”

“Oh, right, sorry.” The voice said, but Dipper still had no clue where it was coming from. “Hi! I’m Mabel! I’m a muse! Well, muse in training. Still working some stuff out, but so are you! Go figure!”

“A muse?” Dipper repeated. “A goddess of the arts?”

“You got it!”

“So… where are you?”

“Try looking down at the art, genius.” The voice giggled and he looked down at a vase with a girl his age waving at him. The painting on the vase was waving at him. “Hi!”

Dipper yelled and fell on his feet, scooting away. “What the…?!”

“What, never seen a vase before?” Mabel giggled and twirled around. “Pretty cool, right? Hold on, let me find something bigger to work with, I’m cramped in here.”

“I-I-I don’t understand.” Dipper scurried to his feet and watched Mabel’s painted form move from one vase to another. “Y-Y-You said… D-Do you know who I am?”

“Course I do!” Mabel said from a skinny vase, then the tile floor, then a painted pillar, still finding a comfortable place to talk. “Well, I only learned about you a few weeks ago, but I always knew something fishy was going on. It’s pretty sad, no wonder Grunkle Ford didn’t wanna talk about it, but now you’re old enough to know the truth and I think I can help you!”

On a painting the same size as Dipper, the girl appeared and popped her back and twirled, feeling her new space. “Ah, much better. Hi! Still kinda scared?” She asked kindly, though she was bouncing and giggling.

Dipper smiled. Mabel the Muse did look a lot like him. Same eyes, same button nose, same hair. The only difference really was the fact that one was male and one was female. Dipper bet that if Mabel cut her hair to match his they would be identical. “No, not really.”

Mabel calmed down a little and said sincerely, “Glad to hear that, brother.”

“Brother?!” Dipper gasped and stared at her with wide eyes. “I… I have… I’m…”

“Yup!” Mabel cheered from inside the painting. “Surprise! You got a twin! Now tell me EVERYTHING! What’s your favorite food? What’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite animal? Do you like sports? Do you wanna be my friend?!” She asked all quickly.

“Now, hold on, hold on.” Dipper said, trying to piece this together. “If… If you’re my sister, that would make me…”

“A god.”

“A god… A GOD?!”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted answers, Dip-Dip.” Mabel said with a shrug. “BTW, Dipper is a way better name than Mason, good choice.”

“Uh, thanks.” Dipper raised an eyebrow. “How do I know it’s true? I mean… I’m not a god.”

“Well, okay. No, you’re not. But only cuz someone stole you from us and turned you mortal. See, that’s why you’re down on Earth and not up here with us.”

Dipper shook his head. “I’m sorry, but… but this doesn’t make sense.”

Mabel giggled and gave him her Skepticals. “C’mon, bro-bro, ever wondered why you’re super strong and super smart? Ever wondered where you got your necklace?” And Mabel pulled out her’s from around her neck and showed him her name and symbol.

Dipper stared, slowly pulling his matching one out and looking at it. This was crazy. This was stupid. There was no way Dipper was a god, had a family that actually wanted him, but… but…

Mabel had no real gain as to lying to him, not that Dipper saw. Maybe he was stupid for buying it, but just this once Dipper wanted to feel like he belonged somewhere. So he took in a deep breath and said shakingly, “I… I think I believe you.”

Mabel smiled and then gasped. “Oh! I forgot! I have something for you.” She reached behind her back and pulled out a book, a navy blue journal with a golden forest on it, filled with beautiful pinetrees. “This is yours. Grunkle Ford kept it safe for you.” And the painting pushed it through and Dipper was shocked when a real-life journal was being held out to him.

He took it and smiled down at that beautiful cover. A twinge of remembrance came through him, but he didn’t dare believe it.

“Uncle Fiddleford says Grunkle Ford gave you that when we were born. And he gave me this music box.” Mabel pulled the box out and wind it to hear the music. She hummed and asked, “Isn’t it pretty?”

Dipper bit his lip. Okay he definitely remembered that lullaby. “I remember…” He whispered to himself, and then asked his sister, “Wait, Grunkle Ford? Isn’t y-y-your great-uncle…?”

“Stanford, yeah.” Mabel said proudly with a grin. “He’s your grunkle, too! He’s the best! He misses you, like a lot, since you can’t live on Olympus with us. He tries not to show it, but I can tell.”

Dipper sighed. This was great, he had a family, but what was the point if he couldn’t be with them. “And you guys can’t do anything?”

“We can’t,” Mabel answered with a grin. “But you can!”

“I can?” Dipper repeated, allowing himself to believe it. The evidence was overwhelming. “What is it? I’ll do anything to have a family again! Name it and it’s half-done!”

“If you can become a true hero on Earth then your godhood will come back!” Mabel cheered excitedly.

“Okay, great!” Dipper replied. “Uh… How do I do that?”

Mabel’s face suddenly dropped. “You know what, I have no idea.”

“Mabel!”

“Well, hey! I’m not the god of all-knowing, am I?” She laughed, then gave the matter some serious thought. “I heard a rumor that there was a Trainer of Heroes on an island… Crete? No, Paros. A Trainer of Heroes on Paros. He should be able to help you.”

“Got it!” Dipper punched the air and said proudly, “I can do it! I’ll become a true hero so I can come home!”

“That’s the spirit!” Mabel cheered. “I know you can do it! Go on out there!”

Dipper started to run out of the room, but he stopped at the doorway and turned, looking at his long-lost sister gloomily. “I… I don’t wanna say goodbye.”

“Aw, Dipper,” Mabel sighed happily and pointed to the journal in his hands. “Remember, I’m a muse! If you wanna talk to me, just draw a picture or create something in your book and I’ll be there.”

“Can’t I beseech you? Can’t you come see me?” Diaper asked; he had been taught that gods can pretty much do whatever they wanted.

“Believe me, I’d love to.” Mabel huffed and blew some loose hair out of her eyes. “Grunkle Ford won’t let me leave Olympus; he’s convinced he’ll lose me, too.”

“Oh.”

“But don’t worry!” Mabel encouraged. “I know you can do it! I believe… oh crud!” And she was gone. She must have been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing.

Dipper laughed and hurried out of the temple and was on his way for Paros.

~~~~~~~~~~

Out at sea, Dipper looked for a way to the island. Though he was super strong, he doubted he was strong enough to swim all that way. No, he would probably have to wait for a ship to come by and to offer work in exchange for a ride. The boy walked alongside the same as seagulls screeched above him, when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

At the mouth of a small cave, a sail flew in the breeze. Dipper grinned and grabbed some old rope and began to pull. Up from the dark cave and the damp sand was an old, busted sailboat with its name scratched out by a sword. Dipper grinned at the sailboat and examined it, trying to find a hole or a deficiency, but found none. Why would someone leave a perfectly good boat?

Dipper pulled the boat up onto the water and climbed on. He was beyond pleased to find it floated and he sailed onward for his goal.

After a few hours of peaceful sailing, Dipper came across a rocky island covered in pinetrees and fog. It was cold and unwelcoming, but the kind of place a Trainer of Heroes would swell, to test the bravery of hopeful young trespassers. Dipper quickly docked the sailboat and began to explore, a little surprised to find a triangular house on the top of a small hill, right outside the woods and a few safe feet away from the sea. The boy decided to try his luck there, but as he approached, he was bewildered to see a large yellow and red sign that seemed to shine through the fog.

“Mystery Shack?” Dipper read out-loud to himself. “What the heck is a Mystery Shack?”

The dethroned god opened the door labeled the main entrance and awed at the room filled with statues, but not of gods and goddesses or even humans. Of some of the weirdest monsters and frightening creatures the boy had ever seen. Dipper, oddly enough, was intrigued and excitedly entered.

“Wow, check all of this stuff out!” He gasped. “A six-pack-a-lope, a Gremloblin, and is that an opposite sphinx with a head of a lion but the body of a human?” Dipper paused at the more normal looking statue in the room.

An old man with his long gray hair kept back with a ribbon bore metal plates on his shoulders and a cape with his tall sandals, leather-padded skirt, and puffy shirt. Dipper peered at it closer, wondering why something so normal was among the abnormal, making it the most abnormal thing here. He reached to touch the statue, but he suddenly slapped him and growled, “Hands off the merchandise!”

Dipper screamed like a little girl, cleared his throat, and tried to scream a little more manly, all the while the old man stepped down from his tiny stool and dusted himself off, his tie red and his eyes a warm, sparkling brown, his snooze a strange orange color and his cloak was red, as well.

“Ah, the old mistaken-for-a-grotesque-lifeless-statue gag! Works every time! Welcome to the Mystery Shack, kid! Got any gold? If you throw some into this Sack of Mystery, I’ll give you a tour of the greatest, creepiest, deadliest creatures known to Greece!”

“Uh, no thanks.” Dipper said as he lightly shoved the Sack of Mystery out from under his nose. “Listen, you know where I can find a Trainer of Heroes?”

“Sorry, no one’s on this island but me.” The old man grunted. “So either pay to look at Snake-Haired Lady or beat it.”

“Come on, you sure no one else is here?”

“Listen, knucklehead, I’ve been here longer than you’ve been alive.” The guy growled as he walked towards the Employee Only door. “There ain’t no Trainer of Heroes here. Do yourself a favor and try Sparta, I hear it’s nice this time of year. Now scram before I find a big three-headed dog to chew you up and spit you out.” And the grumpy old man was gone.

Dipper rolled his eyes in annoyance. There were only two possibilities: either Mabel, a muse and probably the sweetest person Dipper had ever met, was lying, or a creepy old conman was lying, so Dipper decided that he wasn’t leaving the island until he found the Trainer of Heroes and he decided to investigate.

This place was filled with things heroes might fight, so maybe there was an exhibit full of heroes, and maybe there would be some information as to who trained them. So Dipper looked around and saw a doorway that had a big messy sign that read “Closed For Remodeling.” But a good inch of dust was on the door. Another lie?

Dipper turned the knob, but it was locked. He turned it again, his super strength coming into play, and he accidentally broke the handle off. Oops, at least the door was unlocked. Dipper let it swing open and he was delighted to find a big room filled to the brim with artifacts and old relics from past heroes. The boy slowly walked in, unaware of the log of wood over his head, and he bumped into it.

“Hey, HEY!” A loud voice rang and the old man was back, this time only in boxers, not even wearing a top to cover his round, hairy chest, and he growled, “Watch it, that was part of the mast of the Argo!”

“No way!” Dipper gasped as the old man shoved him out of the way angrily and moved into the room. “The Argo?”

“HA! Who you think taught Jason how to sail? Noah?!” The old man laughed harshly as he walked past paintings and vases. “I trained all those would-be heroes. Odysseus, Perseus, Theseus, a lot of -euses. And every single one of those knuckleheads managed to screw up! But then, oh boy. There was that Achilles guy. Now there was a guy who had it all! The build, the speed, he could not only throw a punch but take it and keep on coming for more! BUT THAT STUPID HEEL OF HIS! Barely gets nicked there once, and he’s done and out of the count.”

Dipper blinked a few times, letting this story sink in. “Y-You?! You’re the Trainer of Heroes?!”

The old man sighed tiredly and leaned against a wall. “Call me Stan, kid.”

“Listen, I need your help!” The boy said and hurried to him. “I wanna become a hero, a true hero! Please, teach me!”

Stan snorted. “Haven’t you been listening to me, boy? There are no trainers on this island.”

“C’mon, please!” Dipper begged. “I have to do this. Haven’t you ever had a dream? Or just wanted something so badly you’d do anything?”

Stan looked down at the boy kind of weird for a moment or two, but then looked away, his eyes down like his hopes. “Yeah, I had a dream once. That I was gonna train the greatest hero there ever was. So great, the gods would hang a picture of him in the stars.” But Stan shook his head, like a dog clearing water out of its ears. “I ain’t training no more. Guy can only take so much disappointment, you know?”

“Stan, please, I can do it.” Dipper pleaded. “I have to! If I don’t, I’ll never be with my twin sister.”

That made Stan’s eyes flicker to the boy, trying to detect a lie. “You got a sister?”

“Yeah,” Dipper sighed. “Her name’s Mabel. I only talked to her for five minutes my whole life, but she’s amazing. She and my Great-Uncle Stanford, too, I guess, are the only family I’ve ever known, and I’ll never be with them until I can become a true hero and get my godhood back.”

Stan snorted and held his breath. Dipper looked at him and then scowled. Was this jerk trying to not laugh? “H-Hold it, kid. Stanford, Ruler of the Gods and all that and a bucket of grapes, is your uncle, right?”

“That’s what Mabel told me.” Dipper said. “She’s a muse. Well, okay, a muse in training, but…”

Stan was covering his mouth as he tried not to laugh, but he was failing miserably. “St-Stanford? The big guy?! He’s your UNCLE?! Haha!” Stan beat his fist against the wall a few times as he howled with laughter. “Mr. Lightning Bolt! Haha! P-Poindexter and Poindexter Junior! AH, HAHA! ‘Read me a book, would ya, Gwunkle?’ HAHA! Th-Then Sixer goes, ‘Once upon a time…’ AH, HAHAHA!” Stan was wiping tears from his eyes at this point as he laughed and held his ribs, down on his knees.

“It’s true!” Dipper yelled and stomped a foot in anger, his face red.

“Oh, please!” Stan growled and stood up as he cleared his throat. “If that genius really is your family, why hasn’t he sent you here sooner, eh? You think that big jerk cares about family, or that any gods care about family for that matter? Take my word, kid, they don’t.”

Dipper shook his head. “Well, Mabel does. She wants to help me get home, so she sent me here. I’m gonna be a true hero and I’ll work as hard as I can to get there, and I’m gonna see her and be with my family.”

Stan crossed his arms over his chest and glared at him. “You’re really willing to sacrifice everything you got for some dumb sibling?”

Dipper glared back and nodded.

A slow, slightly-creepy grin grew on the wrinkly face until it ranged from ear-to-ear. “That’s what I wanna hear! Okay! I’ll do it!”

“Wait, what?”

“You wanna be a hero that bad? Fine, I’ll train you.” Stan said and led the way out of the door and through the museum for the outdoors. “I’m giving you one shot to prove to me you can take it, so show me whatcha got. Anything.”

Dipper grinned and hurried to a nearby tree that looked like it was dying. “Watch this!” He grabbed it like he was hugging it, pulled, and with very little effort the boy yanked it out of the ground and threw it into the ocean, where it splashed far out of eye-sight.

“HOLY HERA!” Stan yelled with a grin and slapped his forehead. “Alright, pipsqueak, listen up, here’s the deal. You’re a scrawny little twerp who could use a good slap from puberty, but lemme tell you, you got potential. You’re stubborn and crazy strong and that’s good enough for me, so here’s what’s gonna go down. I’ll train you, but fair warning: this’ll be the hardest thing you’ll ever do ever. I ain’t gonna be soft with you. I’m talking waking up before dawn and not falling asleep well past sundown. I’m talking potential broken bones and internal bleeding if you fail courses. You might even wish that blasted Underworld will come and getcha already. But if you can handle my training, you can handle anything. If you’re up to it, your training starts right now. Oh, and you’ll have to work for me in exchange for a bed and some food, got it?”

“Deal!” Dipper said and shook his hand without a second’s hesitation. “I’ll literally do anything you want.”

“You’re gonna regret saying that, kid.” Stan smirked and threw a broom into his hands. “First task, clean the museum. If I see a single speck of dust you’re going without dinner tonight. Now get to work.”

Stan walked back into the Mystery Shack, disappearing behind the Employee Only door again, but the moment he was safe from hiding, he held his face in his hands and swore under his breath. “Damn you, Sixer, you really made me miss the birth of my own niece and nephew? Fuck you.”

[scribomaniac]

Weathering the Storm (Silverflint)

(Gods AU)

Flint sighed as he woke up from his slumber, turning over to his side on the bed he and his lover slept on.  Keeping his eyes closed against the sun’s rays, he took in a deep breath, breathing in the salty, beachy scent that clung to his bed mate.  Humming, Flint reach out an arm to pull his lover closer and frowned when his arm met only cold sheets. Sitting up with a groan, the god of justice and righteous fury glared around his bedroom until he found the person he was looking for.  

Silver, god of mischief and transitions, sat at the foot of the bed with his back to Flint.  His long, curly hair was loose and hanging down his back in waves and just begging Flint to reach forward and run his fingers through it.  He would have, too, if he hadn’t noticed what Silver was so focused on. The dark haired god stared down at his left leg--or what was left of it, anyway--and was replacing it with one illusion after another. One second his leg was whole, his calf and foot back where it used to be before the accident, then it was a flurry of feathered wings, then a ship’s oar, and so on and so on before finally James reached out and touched his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly, trying not to startle Silver.  Although the god of mischief didn’t jump, Flint could feel the muscles in his shoulder tense and the parade of mirages immediately stopped, leaving only the truth that was Silver’s stump. “Silver?”  He whispered, leaning forward on his knees so he could kiss the space between Silver’s shoulder blades. 

The two of them hadn’t been together for very long, barely three decades, but--being immortal deities and all--they’d known each other for millennia.  Usually the god of mischief was upbeat and lively, never sitting or standing in one place for long and always trying to get a laugh out of someone--usually at the expense of someone else.  Silver still did that, of course, still caused mischief and trickery wherever and whenever he could, but he was more reserved now.  Sometimes Flint thought he saw something flash behind his lover’s eyes, or thought that his smile wasn’t quite so carefree, but whatever it was always disappeared as fast as it came.  

Straightening his back, Silver shook his head twice before turning around to kiss Flint fully on the mouth.  He pulled away, showing Flint the Cheshire grin on his face.  “Morning,” he leaned in for another kiss, but Flint leaned back just out of reach.

“What were you doing with your leg?”  Flint couldn’t help but ask, his brows furrowing with worry.  

“Nothing,” Silver said roughly, bringing Flint’s attention back to the present.  Flint’s green eyes met Silver’s blue, “I was just playing with some illusions--thought I might try them out on some mortals later today.”

Flint hummed, not quite believing him.  Sure, he believed Silver would freak out some unsuspecting mortals with illusions today, but Silver hated rising with the sun.  He always insisted that the morning was best spent in one of three ways: sleeping, lounging, or fucking.  The fact that he rose before Flint at all was sending off warning bells in the red haired god’s mind.  

Glancing down at Silver’s missing leg, Flint murmured, “You never did tell me how you lost it.”  It felt like barely yesterday that Silver was strutting about on both legs.  Then, barely a fortnight ago, during a prank gone wrong, Silver had returned home with just one.  He’d barely been able to tell Howell, the god of medicine and bitterness, that it’d been a Hydra that attacked him.  Beyond that, though, Silver never spoke of it.  He didn’t even try to spin one of the many lies that naturally flowed out of his mouth.  “Who were you trying to play a trick on?”

Flint knew immediately that was the wrong thing to say as Silver’s eyes darkened--again, only for a moment--before turned away from Flint and stood up from the bed.  Grabbing his silver crutch--a gift from the god of the forge, Joji--Silver quickly dressed.  “Where are you going?”  Flint asked, deciding to stand up as well.  Instead of moving for his clothing, he walked up to Silver and wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist.  Placing a trail of open mouth kisses along the curve of his neck.  “Come back to bed with me,” he pleaded hoarsely into Silver’s ear before taking the lobe into his mouth to tease with his teeth.

Pulling out of Flint’s arms, Silver pushed his hair out of his face, "I forgot, I promised Max I’d help her with some mortals today.  Apparently some of them have been evading her lately,” he shrugged, the stopped what he was doing to rack his eyes up and down Flint’s naked form. Smirking, he stepped closer and took Flint’s face in his hands.  “I’ll be back by nightfall,” he said softly, leaning in to brush his nose against Flint’s with such tenderness it almost made the red haired god whimper.  “Patience, Flint,” he whispered so softly against the other god’s lips, the sensitive skin barely touching.  His breath was arm and comforting against Flint’s face and he felt his eyes fluttering closed in anticipation of a kiss.  “Tonight--when I take you back into that bed, I’ll--”

“You talk too much,” Flint growled before leaning forward and taking Silver’s lips with his own.  The kiss was all tongue and teeth before teasing the skin underneath Flint’s jaw with his teeth.  The god of justice moaned and lowered his hands to Silver’s ass before giving the firm cheeks a strong squeeze, making sure to dig his fingers into the cloth covered flesh.  

“Oh,” Silver bucked against Flint.  Flint was sure Silver would forget about his meeting with Max and drag him back to the bed, which he would have done in the past, but instead Flint found himself being left high and dry as Silver pulled away.  “Later,” he promised, before disappearing in a haze of mist.  

Groaning, Flint walked back to his bed.  The god of justice and righteous fury had some unfinished business he had to take care of before starting on his work in the mortal realm.  

Winter was the busiest season for Flint.  Mortals would become desperate during the colder months and resort to thieving and killing, causing outrage and a need for his righteous fury to come down and warm them while delivering his swift justice to the perpetrators.  Flint loved the season.  He was always needed, always busy, always with purpose.  If he had the power, he’d keep the mortals in a perpetual state of winter.  Unfortunately for the god of justice, as the summer sun warmed Flint’s back as he watched the mortals from atop a cloud, he did not.  He stared down at the mortals with disinterest.  The sun had passed it’s peak, and the chances of anyone calling for his aid were quickly plummeting.  All mortals followed the same pattern, no matter how different each one was.  They all liked to get things over and done with early in the day, leaving their evenings for fun and rest, which meant if anyone had any grievances, they’d pray to him before noon.  It made sense, Flint mused as his eyes drifting over to some small children playing make believe, since they were all cut from the same cloth eons ago.

Flint thought he’d be bored, watching the children, but he found his curiosity peaked instead.  He was too far away to hear them, but he could see well enough that one of them was hobbling around on one leg while keeping his other leg slightly off the ground.  At first, the red haired god thought it was a balancing game, but the young mortal boy had a wooden sword in hand, too, and was waving it about madly, as if he was fighting something.  The other children’s eyes were large and alight with joy, enjoying the hobbling child’s ministrations.  Making a split second decision, Flint leapt off his cloud and plummeted down to the Earth.  He landed silently, thanks to his immortal grace, behind a house and transformed his godly form into a dull, mortal one.  He wanted to know what the children were doing, and he couldn’t do that if they were slack jawed and bowing down to him.

The children were alternating between giggling loudly and shrieking playfully.  One of the other children stood across from the hobbling boy and raised his hands above his head, roaring as loudly as he could. Scraping his foot against the ground, he huffed out his nose like a bull about to charge.  “Be gone!”  The hobbling boy yelled, a wide grin on his face as he flourished his sword at the pretend monster.  “Be gone!  ‘Tis I, the god Silver!  You cannot defeat me, beast, and you will not hurt these poor mortals!” He gestured to the other children watching on the sidelines.  They cheered and hollered for their champion. 

Flint’s brows furrowed and his lungs tightened.  He was used to reenacting the feats of the gods, but usually the stories involving Silver were more humorous and less heroic than the one he was watching.  He wracked his brain for a story involving Silver fighting a beast, but nothing came to him.  Silver wasn’t the type of god to help mortals, either.  Most didn’t even pray to him, or if they did it was in the hopes that’d he’d leave them be.  He wasn’t a helpful deity like Eleanor, goddess of fortune and resourcefulness.  He didn’t instill fear like Vane, the god of plague and destruction.  Nor was he very useful, like Anne, the goddess of protection and family.  No, Silver wasn’t like the other gods.  The mortals didn’t revere him, or fear him.  They loved him.  He brought them joy and laughter--good humored fun.  Well, usually good humored.  

There was something missing, some key piece of information Flint didn’t have.  He continued to watch the children, hoping to learn what that missing piece was.  The beast charged the hobbling child, playfully veering left at the last second before coming back around and slapping the Silver-impersonator on the left leg.  “Ahh!”  The child fell onto his back dramatically, dropping his fake sword.  “Damn you, Hydra!”  Flint stopped breathing.  If he were mortal, he would have died from suffocation.  His eyes dried up, but he wouldn’t blink.  He wouldn’t take his gaze off the little play for anything in the world.  Not even the return of the Titans.  

Everything blurred and Flint could suddenly see perfectly.  He saw the rocky cave where the Hydra lived.  Saw the cowering mortals backed into a corner, grasping at one another with white knuckles, and Silver--Silver bruised, bloody, maimed, on the ground before the ferocious beast with no weapon to save him.  The Hydra reared back, its heads letting out an ear piercing wail, and charged at Silver who was just barely able to sit up, his attention wrapped up in the pain of his newly missing leg.  The Hydra approached, and right before the it could strike it’s final blow, Silver pulled out his sword from no where--an illusion having kept it invisible to the beast, and stabbing the beast in the chest.

Finally Flint had to blink, and the scene disappeared, leaving only reality before him.  There was no Silver, just a little boy with a champion’s smile.  There was no Hydra, just another boy with a wooden sword stuck in between his arm and chest, lying on the ground.  The god of justice tried to swallow, but found his mouth too dry to do such a task.  Mortals weren’t this creative, he thought, they couldn’t have come up with this story on their own.  “You are safe now!”  The boy-Silver proclaimed, puffing out his chest with pride and once again balancing himself on one leg.  “Be gone, now,” he waved his hand at them carelessly.  “Before the Hydra awakens, and never return!”

Laughing, one of the small girls stepped forward and asked, “But what about your leg, lord Silver?”

Looking down at his fake stump, the young boy smirked and said, “Oh this?  ‘Tis but a scratch!” He threw his head back and laughed, then, as the rest of the audience bowed and said their thank yous almost as sincere and profusely as if they’d truly been saved from a Hydra.  

Flint watched in awed silence as the child playing the Hydra stood up and quickly began to jump up and down, “I call Silver next!”  Not able to watch any more of it, Flint disappeared in a flurry of wind, and rode the gust to find Silver.  Something was still missing.  Flint didn’t understand.  Silver had told him he’d lost his leg in a prank gone wrong.  He never mentioned any mortals, or trying to save them.  It didn’t add up--Silver loved telling stories, especially about himself.  Why wouldn’t he take this opportunity to brag?  To show off?  It didn’t make sense. 

Barging into Max’s palace, he found its mistress resting in bed with Anne.  They were both naked, though thankfully not in the throes of, with Anne resting her face in the crook of Max’s neck as she gently caressed the goddess of protection’s red hair.  Normally Flint would blush, apologies profusely, and turn around to give the goddesses time to either cover up or give him permission to look, but not today.  “Where’s Silver?”  He growled.

“The fuck?”  Anne asked, lifting her head to glare at him.  “He ain’t here.”

Not missing a beat, he asked, “When did he leave?”

“He ain’t been here all day,” Anne’s upper lip pulled back in a grimace and she rose fully now to kneel protectively in front of Max.  “Now get the fuck out.”

Not looking at the red haired goddess--which probably wasn’t the smartest ideas considering she looked ready to flay him, and wouldn’t hesitate to do it--Flint kept his eyes on Max and said, “He said he was coming here today.  helping you with some mortals who were avoiding your power.”

Max must’ve seen something in Flint’s eyes, something desperate, because she lightly placed a hand on Anne’s bony shoulder, easing the goddess’s aggression, and sat up.  Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “Does it look like I need help seducing mortals?”  When Flint didn’t answer, she sighed, “I haven’t seen him today, Flint, and did not ask him to stop by.  I am sorry, but I do not know where he is.”

Needing nothing more from the two goddesses, Flint turned heel and left the palace.  Something was wrong.  Something was terribly wrong.  Flint couldn’t get a handle on his thoughts.  Why would Silver lie to him about helping Max?  Where was he now?  Why didn’t he tell him the real story behind his leg?  Flint flew on a gust of wind to Silver’s home by the sea.  His heart was hammering in his chest by the time he arrived.  Unlike Max’s palace, Silver’s home was inside a quaint little cove that over looked the sea.  It was simple, really only a place for Silver to rest and be alone when he felt the need.  Usually the two spent their nights in Flint’s cottage on a small island off the main land.  Flint knew he wasn’t there, so he could only hope to find his lover in the cove.  If Silver wasn’t there, he wasn’t sure where else to look.  Silver never took to one particular place.  He was always much more attached to people.

Thankfully, Flint wouldn’t have to look elsewhere after all, and found the god of mischief and transitions curled up on his bed, staring blankly at the cave wall in front of him.  From his perspective, Flint could easily see the redness around Silver’s eyes, the way his back trembled with after shocks of tears, and hear the uneven breaths puffing their way out of his mouth.  “Silver?” Flint whispered, just as he had that morning.  And just like that morning, Silver’s back tensed up.  

Silver turned his face away for a moment, and then turned over and sat up to look at Flint.  Everything Flint had just witnessed--the red, puffy skin, the bank look in his lover’s eyes, the trembling body--had disappeared.  Silver looked at him, a small smile on his face, and a sparkle in his eyes.  “Hello, lover,” Silver greeted.

Flint wouldn’t be fooled this time.  His frown deepened at the sight in front of him, finding it much more worrying than the one he initially walked in on.  “Enough of the bull shit, Silver.  Take off the mask.”

Tilting his head to the side, Silver’s brows furrowed and he pouted.  He looked like the definition of confused.  “Beg pardon?  What specific bull shit are you referring to?”  He lips twitched, reminding Flint of his old trickster self.  He knew better though.  

“The illusion.  The one over your face.  how long have you been wearing one in front of us, hmm?  in front of me?”

“I’m not sure I--”

“Enough of the bull shit,” Flint hissed.  Then, letting out a burst of hot air through his nostrils, he ran a hand over his shaved head and said, in a much calmer tone.  “I know what happened.  With the Hydra.” 

Silver’s face froze, and for a moment Flint thought he was going to keep on playing his game of ignorance.  But then he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and his lower lip trembled ever so slightly.  After another second the illusion over his face crumbled and Flint was shown the truth.  Silver’s eyes were wet with unshed tears, and there was an endless darkness within them that made Flint’s heart falter.  His face was swollen and blotchy, obvious signs that he’d been crying before now, and for a long time, too.  His lips were chapped and bloody.  He was falling apart.

Rushing over onto the bed, Flint gathered his lover’s broke form into his arms and began making hushed noises into his ears.  Silver’s form curled in on itself and tremors rolled down his body as he tried to suppress his grief.  “Shh, shh,” flint kissed the top of Silver’s head, breathing in deeply before pressing another kiss to the dark curls.  “It’s all right, Silver.”

“No, it’s not,” Silver moaned, his voice hoarse and weak..  He needed water, but Silver was clutching onto Flint now, and there was no one else around to get him some. “I’m broken.”

“Silver, you saved those mortals.  You’re not broken--you’re a hero.”  Silver shook his head and whimpered at the word.  “You are,” he insisted.  “Why did you tell me,” he stopped, then tried to tamp down on some of his anger.  He was the god of righteous fury, after all, sometimes it got the better of him.  he couldn’t let it, though, not now.  “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”  Silver froze in his arms.  He didn’t even seem to be breathing.  “Why did you tell me you lost your leg due to a prank?”

“I didn’t,” he whimpered, his body still unmoving.  

Flint frowned, turning his head slightly in an attempt to look into Silver’s blue eyes.  He couldn’t.  Not in their current positions.  He thought about what Silver had just said, and all at once it hit him.  he felt like Vane had sucker punched him in the stomach.  “You didn’t,” he agreed softly.  “We assumed--I assumed that you were playing a prank.”  Guilt flooded him in waves.  He’d asked, sure, but Silver had never told him how he lost the leg.  Everyone just assumed he’d lost it by causing mischief.  No one for one second would have thought he’d lost it doing something heroic.  No one except those mortals down below, it would seem.

“I’m not a hero,” Silver whispered, finally releasing some of the tension in his body and slumping further into Flint’s embrace. “I’ve never tried to be one.  So why the fuck did I think I could play the part against a fucking Hydra and succeed.”  

“You did succeed,” Flint told him, his brows furrowing again.  This time he pulled away so he could cup the other god’s face in his hands.  “You saved those mortals, Silver.  You are a hero.”

Silver scoffed and wrenched his face out of Flint’s hold.  “Look at me,” he sneered down at his missing leg.  “I’m no hero--just a cripple.”  The amount of self loathing in his tone shocked Flint.  He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, trying to find the right words that would soothe his lover from his torment.

“Why didn’t you talk to me?”  He asked, tentatively reaching out to touch his face again.  Silver let him, which he took as a good sign.  Running his thumb over Silver’s cheekbone soothingly, his chest eased some when Silver’s eyes closed in pleasure and he hummed.  “You didn’t have to hide all this pain, Silver.”

The dark haired god sighed dejectedly, “Yes, I did.  Look at me, Flint.  Do I look mischievous to you?  Do I look carefree?  No,” he laughed.  It was short and desolate and made Flint want to cry.  “I look broken--bitter.  No one wants a bitter trickster god.  The other gods don’t, and the mortals don’t either.  I have to give them what they want.  What they expect from a trickster.”

“Not with me,” Flint said hoarsely, but with vigor.  Cupping Silver’s face again, Flint pulled them closer until their brows were touching and could feel their breaths mingling.  “You don’t have to wear a mask with me.  Never with me.”  He leaned up and kissed Silver’s forehead, then his right cheek, then his left, and finally placed a hard, brutal kiss on his mouth.  “Do you understand me?”  He used one of his hands to weave into the locks at the base of Silver’s head and gave a firm yank, making the other god gasp and his eyes glimmer with focus and life.

Silver’s face crumpled with relief and love and a million other emotions.  His eyes teared up again, but he didn’t stop them from falling this time.  Nodding his head furiously, he swallowed several times, trying to say something.  Unable to form any words, though, Silver just kept nodding.  Any other time Flint would have basked in the phenomenon that was a Silver lost for words, but not this time.  Now he used the hand that was still in the other god’s hair to guide his head to rest in the crook of his neck and lay them down on Silver’s bed.  They were in for a bad storm, Flint knew that--knew this was only the first step of Silver’s recovery--but he also knew, without a doubt in his mind, that they’d weather it.                                              

[dfroza]

Today’s reading in the ancient book of Proverbs and Psalms

for friday, july 17 of 2020 with Proverbs 17 and Psalm 17 accompanied by Psalm 28 for the 28th day of Summer and Psalm 49 for day 199 of the year

[Proverbs 17]

Wisdom’s Virtues

A simple, humble life with peace and quiet

is far better than an opulent lifestyle with nothing

but quarrels and strife at home.

A wise, intelligent servant will be honored above a shameful son.

He’ll even end up having a portion left to him in his master’s will.

In the same way that gold and silver are refined by fire,

the Lord purifies your heart by the tests and trials of life.

Those eager to embrace evil listen to slander,

for a liar loves to listen to lies.

Mock the poor, will you?

You insult your Creator every time you do!

If you make fun of others’ misfortune,

you’d better watch out—your punishment is on its way.

Grandparents have the crowning glory of life:

grandchildren!

And it’s only proper for children to take pride in their parents.

It is not proper for a leader to lie and deceive,

and don’t expect excellent words to be spoken by a fool.

Wise instruction is like a costly gem.

It turns the impossible into success.

Love overlooks the mistakes of others,

but dwelling on the failures of others devastates friendships.

One word of correction breaks open a teachable heart,

but a fool can be corrected a hundred times

and still not know what hit him.

Rebellion thrives in an evil man,

so a messenger of vengeance will be sent to punish him.

It’s safer to meet a grizzly bear robbed of her cubs

than to confront a reckless fool.

The one who returns evil for good

can expect to be treated the same way for the rest of his life.

Don’t be one who is quick to quarrel,

for an argument is hard to stop,

and you never know how it will end,

so don’t even start down that road!

There is nothing God hates more

than condemning the one who is innocent

and acquitting the one who is guilty.

Why pay tuition to educate a fool?

For he has no intention of acquiring true wisdom.

A dear friend will love you no matter what,

and a family sticks together through all kinds of trouble.

It’s stupid to run up bills you’ll never be able to pay

or to cosign for the loan of your friend.

Save yourself the trouble and don’t do either one.

If you love to argue,

then you must be in love with sin.

For the one who loves to boast is only asking for trouble.

The one with a perverse heart never has anything good to say,

and the chronic liar tumbles into constant trouble.

Parents of a numskull will have many sorrows,

for there’s nothing about his lifestyle that will make them proud.

A joyful, cheerful heart brings healing to both body and soul.

But the one whose heart is crushed

struggles with sickness and depression.

When you take a secret bribe,

your actions reveal your true character,

for you pervert the ways of justice.

Even the face of a wise man shows his intelligence.

But the wandering eyes of a fool will look for wisdom everywhere

except right in front of his nose.

A father grieves over the foolishness of his child,

and bitter sorrow fills his mother.

It’s horrible to persecute a holy lover of God

or to strike an honorable man for his integrity!

Can you bridle your tongue when your heart is under pressure?

That’s how you show that you are wise.

An understanding heart keeps you cool, calm, and collected,

no matter what you’re facing.

When even a fool bites his tongue

he’s considered wise.

So shut your mouth when you are provoked—

it will make you look smart.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 17 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 17]

A David Prayer

Listen while I build my case, God,

the most honest prayer you’ll ever hear.

Show the world I’m innocent—

in your heart you know I am.

Go ahead, examine me from inside out,

surprise me in the middle of the night—

You’ll find I’m just what I say I am.

My words don’t run loose.

I’m not trying to get my way

in the world’s way.

I’m trying to get your way,

your Word’s way.

I’m staying on your trail;

I’m putting one foot

In front of the other.

I’m not giving up.

I call to you, God, because I’m sure of an answer.

So—answer! bend your ear! listen sharp!

Paint grace-graffiti on the fences;

take in your frightened children who

Are running from the neighborhood bullies

straight to you.

Keep your eye on me;

hide me under your cool wing feathers

From the wicked who are out to get me,

from mortal enemies closing in.

Their hearts are hard as nails,

their mouths blast hot air.

They are after me, nipping my heels,

determined to bring me down,

Lions ready to rip me apart,

young lions poised to pounce.

Up, God: beard them! break them!

By your sword, free me from their clutches;

Barehanded, God, break these mortals,

these flat-earth people who can’t think beyond today.

I’d like to see their bellies

swollen with famine food,

The weeds they’ve sown

harvested and baked into famine bread,

With second helpings for their children

and crusts for their babies to chew on.

And me? I plan on looking

you full in the face. When I get up,

I’ll see your full stature

and live heaven on earth.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 17 (The Message)

[Psalm 28]

A David Psalm

Don’t turn a deaf ear

when I call you, God.

If all I get from you is

deafening silence,

I’d be better off

in the Black Hole.

I’m letting you know what I need,

calling out for help

And lifting my arms

toward your inner sanctum.

Don’t shove me into

the same jail cell with those crooks,

With those who are

full-time employees of evil.

They talk a good line of “peace,”

then moonlight for the Devil.

Pay them back for what they’ve done,

for how bad they’ve been.

Pay them back for their long hours

in the Devil’s workshop;

Then cap it with a huge bonus.

Because they have no idea how God works

or what he is up to,

God will smash them to smithereens

and walk away from the ruins.

Blessed be God—

he heard me praying.

He proved he’s on my side;

I’ve thrown my lot in with him.

Now I’m jumping for joy,

and shouting and singing my thanks to him.

God is all strength for his people,

ample refuge for his chosen leader;

Save your people

and bless your heritage.

Care for them;

carry them like a good shepherd.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 28 (The Message)

[Psalm 49]

Wisdom Better Than Wealth

For the Pure and Shining One

A poetic song, by the prophetic singers of Korah’s clan

Listen, one and all!

Both rich and poor together, all over the world—

everyone listen to what I have to say!

For wisdom will come from my mouth;

words of insight and understanding will be heard

from the musings of my heart.

I will break open mysteries with my music,

and my song will release riddles solved.

There’s no reason to fear when troubling times come,

even when you’re surrounded with problems

and persecutors who chase at your heels.

They trust in their treasures and boast in their riches,

yet not one of them, though rich as a king,

could rescue his own brother from the guilt of his sins.

Not one could give God the ransom price

for the soul of another, let alone for himself.

A soul’s redemption is too costly and precious

for anyone to pay with earthly wealth.

The price to pay is never enough

to purchase eternal life for even one, to keep them out of hell.

The brightest and best, along with the foolish and senseless,

God sees that they all will die one day,

leaving their houses and wealth to others.

Even though they name streets and lands after themselves,

hoping to have their memory endure beyond the grave,

legends in their own minds,

their home address is now the cemetery!

The honor of man is short-lived and fleeting.

There’s little difference between man and beast,

for both will one day perish.

Such is the path of foolish men

and those who quote everything they say,

for they are here today and gone tomorrow!

Pause in his presence

A shepherd called “Death” herds them,

leading them like mindless sheep straight to hell.

Yet at daybreak you will find the righteous ruling in their place.

Every trace of them will be gone forever,

with all their “glory” lost in the darkness of their doom.

But I know the loving God will redeem my soul,

raising me up from the dark power of death,

taking me as his bridal partner.

Pause in his presence

So don’t be disturbed when you see the rich

surround you with the “glory” of their wealth on full display.

For when they die they will carry nothing with them,

and their riches will not follow them beyond the grave.

Though they have the greatest rewards of this world

and all applaud them for their accomplishments,

they will follow those who have gone before them

and go straight into the realm of darkness,

where they never ever see the light again.

So this is the way of mortal man—

honored for a moment, yet without eternal insight,

like a beast that will one day perish.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 49 (The Passion Translation)

[illustir]

Highlights for Broken Angels

At the very least, you habitually find yourself in unfamiliar bodies on unfamiliar worlds where people are shooting at you. Even on a good day, no amount of briefing can prepare you for a total change of environment like that, and in the invariably unstable to lethally dangerous sets of circumstances the Envoys have been created to deal with, there just isn’t any point.

Since it is logistically impossible to expect everything, she told us evenly, we will teach you not to expect anything. That way, you will be ready for it.

But really, I’m optimistic. You’d be surprised how many soldiers still find it difficult to shoot small children, even in these troubled times.

Testing the human frame to destruction

Lapinee, a construct vocalist, was designed and launched to front the replacement song, which told the story of a young boy, orphaned in a Kempist sneak raid but then adopted by a kindly corporate bloc and brought up to realise his full potential as a top-level planetary executive.

Maximum utility for ALL resources is our ultimate goal.

Mandrake was the commercial world’s equivalent of Carrera’s Wedge, and you had to assume a corresponding approach to latitudes of initiative at executive levels. There was really no other way for a cutting-edge organism to work.

And like Quell says, rip open the diseased heart of a corporation and what spills out?’

‘People.’

Body armour for the soul.

There’s a virtual version of me in the machine with some psychosurgeon peripherals wired in. I’ll send it in to bring back the best dozen and a half.

‘Look at that, Kovacs. We’re drinking coffee so far from Earth you have to work hard to pick out Sol in the night sky. We were carried here on a wind that blows in a dimension we cannot see or touch. Stored as dreams in the mind of a machine that thinks in a fashion so far in advance of our own brains it might as well carry the name of god. We have been resurrected into bodies not our own, grown in a secret garden outwith the body of any mortal woman. These are the facts of our existence, Kovacs. How, then, are they different, or any less mystical, than the belief that there is another realm where the dead live in the company of beings so far beyond us we must call them gods?’

We don’t need recourse to the places of origin to explain them. I’m just trying to show you how limited your world view is without an acceptance of wonder.

Times change, but market forces are forever. History unreels, the real dead stay that way.

The rest of us get to go on.

She said wars are fought over hormones. Male hormones, largely. It’s not about winning or losing at all, it’s about hormonal discharge.

War has a soothing, simplifying effect on politics that must hit the politicians like a betathanatine rush. You don’t have to balance the issues any more, and you can justify anything. Fight and win, and bring the victory home.

‘Every skill must be practised. Every act rehearsed. A blade is only a blade when it cuts.’

The wisdom of the ages shredded at a stroke into the pipe-cooked musings of a bunch of canal-dive barflies. Lao Tzu, Confucius, Jesus Christ, Muhammed — what did these guys know? Parochial locals, never even been off the planet. Where were they when the Martians were crossing interstellar space.

Face the facts. Then act on them. It’s the only mantra I know, the only doctrine I have to offer you, and it’s harder than you’d think, because I swear humans seem hardwired to do anything but. Face the facts. Don’t pray, don’t wish, don’t buy into centuries-old dogma and dead rhetoric. Don’t give in to your conditioning or your visions or your fucked-up sense of . . . whatever. FACE THE FACTS. THEN act.

He was like all of them. Same intensity, same goddamned fucking conviction that he was right. Just a different dream of what he was right about.

The post Highlights for Broken Angels appeared first on alper.nl.

via English – alper.nl https://ift.tt/2EOvFNn