#snippets without dialogue

[xenascribbles]

honestly, i also feel like i haven't seen as many snippets come across my dash as i used to. please share something with me! today, share something funny, something you wrote that makes you laugh.

[devildom-drabbles]

Leviathan has come over to Purgatory Hall at Simeon’s request to help him download a document onto his computer.

Simeon: *his cursor hovering toward the “download” button* Carefully...  Carefully...!  Carefully...!!

Leviathan: Uh, Simeon, we’ve been at this for, like, twenty minutes.  How many times do I have to tell you that the computer isn’t going to explode from clicking one little button?

Simeon: Sorry, I’m just so nervous...  Are you sure it won’t explode?

Leviathan: Of course I’m sure!  Do you know how many things I download a day?!  And if for some unknown reason it does explode, we’ll just blame Mammon and call it a day.

At that same moment, in the House of Lamentation...

Mammon: *stops walking in the hall* Y'know, I think I’m gonna bother Levi nonstop as soon as he gets home.

[tiredassmage]

six sentence sunday

I started making edits to seasoning on my agonizing little thing from a few past weeks'. i should really put a proper name on this doc or else i'm gonna have another 'disturbia' situation like the rhyst and savosta version of ziost.

... which suggest a running theme about me being unable to properly name ziost-related fics lest i get too emotional. oops >.>

He’d been on Ziost when the alerts had come in - one of her first set of eyes on the scene. He was one of the few that had been able to walk away after Vitiate’s control, owing no small thanks to the timely arrival of Darth Nox. And… with no thanks from her own suggestions about protections for the rest of their forces in the hunt moving forward, she was sure. His files from Imperial Intelligence were still largely classified, but as Minister of Sith Intelligence, and with Darth Marr’s acquiescence to his reassignment to her team after the Coalition, she… knew enough. And no wish to shield one of her best assets from further violation would change the odds they had both seen at hand against Vitiate. That she would not suggest of Nine what she had voiced of the fallen Sixth Line Jedi was but another icy footnote between her and the ex-Cipher.

[goatsandgangsters]

Word from your WIP: Feeble

“I should think not. I see only two bowls of soup and I’d never do something as ghastly as deprive a sweet, feeble old woman her portion.” 

Send me a word and if it’s in my wip document I’ll post the sentence that it appears in

[novasjaneway]

Reunion

By novasjaneway- writing as im thinking about them

Admiral Janeway: Seven, c'mere.

Captain Seven: Admiral?

Janeway: Is that any way to greet your long lost love? (Grins flirtatiously but holds her gaze sternly on Seven)

Seven: silent nervousness as she moves near Janeway

Janeway: I've been looking for you for so long...

Seven: nervousness intensifies

Janeway: ...but I never gave up. (a nervous pause) Did you.. (whispers her question)...give up?

Seven: (strained emotions) There were complications in my decision to proceed. Emotionally speaking, I did not know if you wanted me with you. I needed clarification, (nervous pause) I needed your approval to continue. I did not give up hope. But logically, I did not proceed as I did not know if my presense would cause you distress, Admiral.

Janeway: Always looking out for me huh? (A smirk, steps forward and hugs seven lightly, affectionately, forgivingly)

Seven: stiffens with anxiety and shame

Janeway: slightly frowns and hugs her tighter, leans close and whispers something in her ear

Seven: relaxes, all reservations fall away. She grasps a tight hold on her admiral and shivers

Janeway: releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding, pulls Seven closer to her, smiles warmly when Seven closes the gap. She closes her eyes, relief washing through her and over her and around her so deeply that she could only just now feel how much distress she had been carrying over the years.

Janeway: Vita Nova. Here begins new life.... (mumbles just above her breath)

Seven: Dante? (A subtle smile dances on her face.)

Janeway: nods her head softly while still nuzzled into Sevens neck.

Seven: Kathryn. (She whispers her name softly.) I knew you would overcome both my logic and my emotional reserves. I never doubted you would find me, if you wanted to. I'm sorry I allowed you to carry this search alone. (Smiles softly falling deeper in Kathryns embrace, and her love, fully, finally.)

Janeway: It was being alone that aided me in searching for you. Not even black coffee could stop me from wanting to find you Seven, not in any lifetime. But, from now on, lets walk this road together, okay? Janeway laughs and relaxes, allowing herself to be completly owned by Seven, fully, finally.

They are home.

[mikhardwheat]

Max and Eddie: Detention is a Family Gathering.

Eddie: okay, I won't ruin the school property anymore, I've learn my lesson, guilty as charged, never happening again

Principal: well, that's it, Munson, you can go now

Eddie: bye, see ya later

Principal: didn't you just sa-

He walks out of the principal's office, locks eyes with Max.

Eddie: no

Max:

Eddie: you can't do that again, Red

Max: but it's funny

Eddie: it was

Eddie: for the first three times

Max: Steve and Robin have shifts, Nancy is tutoring today

Eddie:

Eddie: okay, let's go

He turns around and goes to the principal office. Door opens, principal looks at him in question. He slowly moves away from the doorframe and principal immediately sighs.

They both sit down, Eddie's face is now clear of any emotion.

Eddie: what this little innocent lady could've possibly done wrong? whatever you have to say, it wasn't her fault, I'm sure

Max's knuckles are visibly bruised, there's still blood on her bottom lip and she struggles to keep her laugh inside, when principal sends them both an unimpressed gaze.

Principal: Mr. Munson, I would like to see one of Max's real parents or legal guardians for this meeting

Eddie: I'm the only one available at the moment

Principal: I insist on the matter.

Eddie: I am her emergency contact, and I am here. let's just discuss the issue so we all can go home

Principal: we've already discussed it three times in two weeks, and there was no improvement in Max's behavior, these conversations clearly do not work

Eddie: so what to we do

Principal: parent or guardian, Mr. Munson.

Eddie:

Eddie: I'm not sure if that's a good idea

Eddie: but what can I say... Max, call Steve, would ya?

Max: he's working

Eddie: principal here wants to see a responsible adult who can take some action, since I'm not capable, apparently, so give 'em a responsible adult

Max: Steve isn't a-

Eddie: just do it already, I'm not waiting here til the morning

Max: fine

It takes exactly 7 minutes for Steve to enter the principal's office. He still is in his uniform, breathing uneven - as if he was running. He should've used his car to get there.

Steve: good evening?..

Principal: Mr Harrington?

Steve: that would be me, yes

Principal: and your connection to Max is..?

Steve: I'm her brother. is... is everything okay, what did you need me for?

Principal: please, sit down, there's a lot to discuss

Steve sits down, looking at Max and Eddie beforehand. There is no guilt in those eyes. Eddie's mouth twitches as he tries not to giggle.

Principal: it's the forth time we happen to meet with Max in my office, second one this week

Steve: forth time???

He looks at Eddie again, but he avoids the eye contact, pretending to be interested in the wall's ornament.

Principal: her behavior is questionable, at last. she initiates lots of fights - mostly verbal, but there are physical ones too

Principal: she almost broke a boy's arm today

Steve notices Max's knuckles, and even though his expression seems thoughtful, both Max and Eddie could tell he is, in fact, angry.

Steve: who was it?

Principal: please, elaborate?

Steve: the boy you mentioned to provoke Max?

Principal: Mr. Harrington, I assure you, nobody provoked anyone

Steve: if there was a fight, there was a reason for it too. Who is this "boy" and why isn't he now here, with us?

Principal: I assure you, Jason doesn't need to be here, he wasn't the one to initiate the fight. we're talking about Max's predisposition towards violence

Steve: Eddie, do you know the Jason guy?

Eddie: probably? isn't he the one from the basketball team?

Max: yeah, he's the one

Steve: any idea where can we find him?

Eddie: not sure

Steve, turning to principal: do you have his address or his parents' phone numbers?

Principal: we do, but we're not allowed to share private information of our students

Steve: you are, if there's an emergency

Principal: there's no such thing as emergency-

Steve: didn't you previously say we should do something about Max's behavior?

Principal: you sure can talk it through

Steve: we did that already, you mentioned this meeting to be the forth one

Principal: they were in presence of Mr Munson, yes

Steve: and he can't be silent for more than a minute, so it clearly didn't work.

Steve: and I want to talk to a boy who presumably is the reason why I had to leave my job in the middle of the shift and waste my time here. Let me contact his parents or do it yourself, I don't care.

Steve: you can't expect her to be teached a lesson if she's the only one to be punished for her actions. either I see other kids who were included or I take her home and you don't call me here ever again, and are dealing with Munson instead

Principal:

Principal: I won't call Jason's parents, Mr. Harrington, you should-

Steve stands up.

Steve: then we're finished here. hurry up, kids, I'm driving you home

Steve: thanks for your time

He opens the door, Max and Eddie go through it without a question, principal is left alone in his office.

[bigsnzstanacct]

Two m/f couples on a double date:

F1: “Oh you know there’s all these things you don’t know about a person until you’ve been with them for a while, then the facade you’ve been dating for months comes down and you figure out if you actually like the person underneath.”

M1: “Well, and do you like me underneath?”

F1: “Eh. Mostly.”

All: *laughs*

M1: “Mostly? Well then what don’t you like about me?”

F1: “What don’t I like, what don’t I like… oh! Oh my god the SNEEZES! Baby, your sneezes are like… off the charts. And I know he was hiding them from me! I know he was doing it on purpose because before we lived together, when we were just dating, of course we stayed over at each other’s places or whatever but I never—never!—woke up from my sleep because the wilderbeast next to me in bed just unleashed that unholy… roar… snot… mating call… explosion thing you call a sneeze. Oh my god! It’s such a *man thing* too. I sneeze, it’s normal. Polite, I don’t spray my germs everywhere, you know? I keep it cute. This one… HAAAABLLOOOOEEYYYY!! Every morning. Every. Single. Morning.”

M1: “what can I say, I’m a big guy, I got allergies…”

F1: “Those aren’t allergies, dear, that’s an air raid siren for pollen. And dust. And cat dander—and you own a cat! Cmon, F2, back me up here, don’t men just sneeze like the world is ending?”

F2: *blushes, squirms a bit*

M2: Heh, see, she won’t answer, see! Tell them why honey, tell them why…

F2: Well ummm, I mean… I… sort of have allergies too…

M2: Sort of have allergies? Listen, F1, if you’re sleeping next to an air raid siren, I’m sleeping next to a full-blown mythological creature. Like a banshee. When she sneezes she like… transforms from a cute, sweet, pretty little thing to I swear to God, an actual banshee… these just huge… sneezy… screams, they’re not even sneezes—come on babe, you know it’s true—they’re just like… shrieks, so loud, so high pitched, I swear she’s gonna let loose and shatter every glass in the kitchen one day. And just like M1, it’s like every morning! Just like those, what do you call it, like the “dad sneeze”

F1: Oh my god that’s it, M1, that’s it you sneeze like a dad. Like a granddad hahaha

M2: F1’s just like that only it’s worse cause it’s like four octaves higher pitched. But just as loud!

F1: Hahahahaha M1 and F2 should have a sneeze-off… just warn the neighborhood, you don’t need to call the bomb squad, it’s just these two, sneezing their heads off!

M2: I mean hey at least I can’t oversleep in the morning, I got the world’s best alarm clock right here. Not so great on a Saturday morning but that’s just how you get me going to the gym to stay in shape for you, huh, honey?

F2 (absently): Mhm, yeah honey…

F2 and M1: *blushing, squirming, rolling their eyes, sneaking curious glances at each other…*

[juniperhillpatient]

if the dyke drama isn't consistently amping up to previously unimagined levels of unhinged did I even write the story

[waywardsalt]

fuck it, unedited snippet from an early early post-ph scene i decided to write one night

[total-serene560]

Okay first draft of ch.3 is officially done

[sleebyplampts]

Death of the Endless, my beloved

[skinreflectsthesun]

.

[aria0fgold]

BONUS: Alec, Ray Ages: 13, 11

Ray walked to the front of the class, holding the paper that contains his essay to present to everyone, all he needed to do was read it, simple. He's done it several times before now so he should be able to do it as easily this time, surely… But he still couldn't.

He stood, facing his classmates as he held his paper close to his face, bringing it down slightly so as to not block his view of them, just as he was taught. He needed to look at them too, eye contact. But each time he does, he can't help but feel as though he was being judged. He didn't like it at all, but he has to do it anyway. It's easy, it'll be fine, all he needs to do is just read what he had written, easy as that.

Ray took a shaky deep breath, no matter how many times he stood at the front of the class, it never gets easy, it's never so simple. Why can't he get used to it already?

He glanced around the room, looking for something, or more specifically, for someone. Strangely, Ray had gotten used to the presence of a particular boy that is always there whenever he has a presentation, when that should've been impossible in the first place. They have entirely different classes, one two grades above him. But being the troublemaker that the other was, he's always there for Ray anyway… Just like now.

Ray's eyes widened slightly as his gaze landed on a familiar redhead. His best friend, Alec, hid behind the chair of the kid at the back of the class, he poked his head out to smile at Ray, mouthing “You can do it!” before hiding again.

A quiet giggle escaped Ray's lips. The suffocating air he once felt slowly vanished as he read aloud his essay for the class.

…

“Alec, you know, you always have such good timing.” “Really? But you do tell me whenever you have a presentation the next day anyway.” “Yeah but the teacher calls us randomly each time, but you're always there when it's my turn.” “Hmm… I guess, it's just cuz I wanted to see you! Maybe that's why, hehe! Anyway, let's head to the cafeteria! Cmon, cmon!” …I wanted to see you too. “Hehe… Okay!”

[inafieldofdaisies]

💭

Calahan cocked his gun, pressing it to the back of John's head. At first all he got as a responce was a frustrated sigh, and he couldn't blame the bastard, he too would be feeling that way at the realization he was getting sloppy, careless. John hadn't heard him enter his ranch, not until it was too late, not until Hartley had him at gunpoint. Right in the middle of his living room.

Ironie in French. A bitch in any language.

"You're making a mistake, Deputy.", came out in a hushed, but still stern voice.

"Do you have your words for God ready, or should I give you a minute to come up with your defense? Don't forget to tell Him Joseph will be joining you soon. In Hell, bastard, it's where you're all headed to."

"Wrath.", John muttered, at the same time a child's laughter carried over from the kitchen.

Fuck.

"John.", a female voice called out next and then its source came into view. A tiny readhead, face full of freckles, carrying a sleeping baby in her arms, her eyes shifting in worry between her husband and Calahan.

"Well, look at that, Johnny-boy, it's your lucky day. We'd have to reschedule your rendezvous with God.", he gritted out, lowering his weapon, taking few steps back, ready to make his escape. Retreat, something he hadn't done ever. But Reaping or no Reaping he had a code, in comparison to the Seeds.

"M'am," he nodded his head to the woman he knew as Esther, copying Leslie in his polite mannerisms when meeting new people. He hated John, but something about the woman's energy told him she didn't deserve any cruelty. Killing John in front of her and her child would be just that. Her gaze remained on his, but didn't say anything as she joined her husband, hugging him around his waist with her free hand.

Just as Hartley was at the door, his fingers reaching behind him to push it open, Esther called out, "Deputy, I made a pie, would you like a slice?"

"He was about to kill me and you're offering him pie, bumblebee?", John asked incredulously.

"Remember what Joseph says.", was all she uttered out.

The name made Hartley's blood boil. Reminded him of his goal, what was at stake.

He ignored the peace offering, addressing John instead, "You're a lucky man, John Seed. Remember that.", he lowered his voice, "Enjoy it while it lasts."

John's eyes darkened at his words, he was ready to follow Calahan as he exited the house, but whatever Esther said next held him at bay.

Lucky man, indeed. Too bad this ends with one of us dead, Seed.

He knew next time there won't be anyone to hold him back, to make him hesitate. He promised himself that. Too many people depended on him to let doubts creep in.

Prompt: Send 💭 to hear my OCs most recent thought about your OC.

[i-eat-deodorant]

For the WIP ask: the first untitled document. :P

(super sorry for the late reponse, apparently your ask only shows up on desktop and not mobile? tumblr what the hell)

anyways here's the entire first chapter of a rain world fic i never ended up publicising

Reinforcements needed, the messenger had told them in shaky, wide-eyed gestures, their side mottled in a topography of bruises and claws torn red from running across sharp metal in such short notice, Sky Bridge. Ambush. Losing. 

In the armory, Smear of Soot fumbled with a stubborn spear sling strap as the rest of the scavengers prepared for battle. Unlike the tribes in lusher places with more abundant prey, every one of them had to know how to fight, honed on an accuracy needed to pin a vulture in a cloudstorm. Soot’s mentor, Ardent Spring, ran by them with a bark of urgency and strings of grenades strapped to their light green body; they were followed by storm siblings Bright Thunder and Swift Lightning, cackling as they shoved Soot into a wall and stole their spears. They snapped at the two, but they’d already disappeared into the clamor of preparing scavengers.

By the time Soot recovered, everyone else was filing through the exit in loose formation. Twilight Dew led the procession, eyes gleaming the yellow of high-status veterans and dark purple horns bobbing in the dim pipes. 

Soot brought up the rear, their single spear hanging in a too-loose sling, which banged against their hips as they scrambled to catch up. This was their first real battle, with real metal spears and bombs rather than the rocks and sticks typically used for training. It was a chance to grow stronger, to taste the courage their troop prided themselves on, to land their first spear on an actual enemy. Moreover, it was a chance to prove themselves better than the storm siblings, who used their three-cycle age difference to push Soot around. 

Outside, the winds howled, threading through the metal girders and sending dandelion puffs scattering. One gust sent Soot stumbling, and they watched wide-eyed as scrap metal fell over the ledge. 

Underneath, Sky Island's endless clouds and fog yawned like a great white beast, swallowing all unfortunate enough to slip. 

They hurried after the rest of the brigade, now huddled together tight in a single-file line, edging across the narrow beam that connected to the Sky Bridge. Commands rippled between scavengers like waves, tapped onto each others’ backs: lean left, hunker down, mind the gap. When sound was an invitation for predators and death was a misstep away, little room was made for stragglers. 

The smell of battle was the first thing to reach the crew��the acrid snap of firepowder and smoke, of burning metal and flesh. Fighting. The battleground was the center of the Sky Bridge, across a broken junction where the beams had caved under the elements. Little Locust, warrior-general and the Chieftain’s right hand, was poised atop an outcrop of rebar, explosive spear hefted and aimed unflinchingly at the foggy distance. Raw, blackened burns splotched their right side. Both Plume of Frost and Runes in Copper lay unconscious in the dirt a little ways behind, and Ardent Spring rushed to drag them further inland. Soot moved to follow, but their mentor pushed them back, pointing at their spear and at the fog. Fight. The rest of the procession waited with bated breath. 

Then there it was. A flicker, a trick of the eye, the streak of brilliant blood-red within the fog. 

In the split-second of instinct Little Locust had already thrown their spear, but rather than strike true it turned at an angle and burst into sparks in the clouds–it had deflected–which caused a flurry of panic as more spears were thrown blindly into the fog, and there it was again, that blood-red, heralded by crackling pops of pressure. Bright Thunder charged off against the protests of Swift Lightning, only to have their war cries silenced by a superheated boom that rattled Soot’s teeth in their skull and sent dark smoke curling like an omen. 

Violet Dew held up an arm, the signal to pause and wait. There was a dark figure in the smoke, stumbling forward. Little Locust's claws tightened on another explosive spear. 

The creature that emerged was not Swift Lightning. 

The Artificer.

A tall tale written in tragedy, of a beast that preyed on scavengers, capable of razing entire tribes to the ground. A scourge gifted with the scavenger’s craftsmanship and their cunning intellect. Who had fangs tipped with cinders and a pelt that burned, eyes like embers and blood flowing with firepowder. The tribe had dismissed the threat (after all, they were the drama of the warring lower tribes; the Sky Islands were both secluded and inhospitable, not exactly prime territory to conquer) until a couple cycles ago, where the Chieftain left in the thick of a Rain and never came back. 

It took a running leap across the gap between them, sacrificing momentum to twist out of the way of Little Locust’s spear volley. Just as it was about to miss the ledge, there was that same little pop that propelled the Artificer into the air in a shower of sparks.

Directly into the fray of scavengers.

Spears were tricky in such tight quarters, especially when there was a greater likelihood of hitting friend than foe. Little Locust raced to clamber down from their vantage point. Bright Thunder abandoned the fight entirely in favor of plunging into the fog to find their sibling. The Artificer took advantage of the commotion to grab a stray spear, stabbing it at Twilight Dew. They successfully blocked and dug their own spear between the junction of its shoulder blades, making it back off.

Soot ducked behind an outcropping, grabbing the spear from their back. Their fingers were shaking so hard they could barely find a grip. 

The Artificer rolled out of the way of a spear.  A thin trickle of ink-dark ran down its arm, but whatever damage Dew had inflicted only seemed to anger it. It backed away, directly into the crosshairs of Soot’s spear.

This was their chance. They had one spear, one shot. 

Soot threw. 

…And missed. 

The spear sailed over the Artificer’s head by an embarrassingly wide margin. Not only that, the clatter alerted the beast of their presence. They felt the air turn hot before a slimy body slammed into their stomach with enough force to drive all air out of their lungs; a parting kick to the sternum finally unbalanced them, and Soot felt Ardent Spring screech their name before they teetered off the edge. 

Nothing but pure terror and instinct allowed them to lash out their arms and find a grip on the underbelly of the beam, hind legs swinging freely with little but the sky’s gaping maw beneath them. 

They heave themselves up against the metal, heart thumping like it might leap out of its ribs. There was no safe way directly up, but Soot spotted a path of grooves battered into the beam that they could shimmy upwards, angled away from the thick of the fight. 

It was precarious work; they tried for several precious seconds to get a foothold, only to give up and rely on only upper body strength. Cycles of hiding from the storm brothers gave them a knack for clinging to the most unlikely of places, but Soot needed to hurry. Every moment of hesitation gave the Artificer more time to slip past their ranks. 

A mad scramble over the lip of the beam had them on solid ground again, at the junction where The Artificer originally crossed the gap. The battle was coming to a close–a tactical retreat on the scavengers’ side, taking their wounded with them and deeper into the maze of pipes. For those too wounded, or too late to save, they were left behind. 

Runes in Copper lay on their side, still. 

Soot saw the Artificer stoop over Copper’s prone body. It reached down to pry open its eyes, eliciting a whimper from the scavenger–they were alive, but barely–before shaking its head at whatever it saw. 

(Copper’s eyes were brown, Soot remembered; indicative of their lower status, yet always warm and kind.)

The Artificer lowered Copper’s head onto the ground with uncharacteristic gentleness before taking a rock and swallowing it. It quickly then spat it back up, except now the rock was coated with dark red mucus that congealed in air and stank of firepowder. 

To Soot’s dismay, the Artificer glanced at the retreating backs of the scavengers, got into a pitcher’s stance, and took aim. 

Soot had no spear, no grenade. Nothing to do significant damage. They didn’t have the courage to fight two bully scavengers for their own rations, much less a beast that forced a tactical retreat. But at this moment, time slowed to a crawl; a path became clear, scrawled in second chances. 

They did the stupidest thing they’ve done in their life. 

The Artificer's eyes widened–it seemed they weren’t expecting them to return–as it tried to dodge Soot’s pounce, but they managed to snag its mucus-slick tail and dug in with furious claws. The impact sent them both tumbling head over heels. 

Then the bomb went off. 

Loud.

Pain.

Falling. 

Soot reached, and nothing caught them.

.

(this was intended to be a enemies to friends multi-chapter story between a runty scavenger and the Artificer--a slugcat that thrives off killing scavengers--as they both are stranded in the strange land of the Farm Arrays far from home. given my track record with multi-chapter fics however, it was doomed to never get off the ground :'D

writing non-human societies is fun! one of my favourite things to do is just nix gender as a concept entirely; there's no reason aliens can't have pronouns based on, say, status or something)

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

The minute you die, you know what is going to happen to you. The minute you’re reborn, you find yourself at Olympus. The next second, you’re up on your feet and you run. You rush through the colons and you make your legs move at quickly as possible. As you’re a deity now, it’s way faster than it’s ever been on Earth. The trouble is, of course, that everybody here is also one and so anyone could catch you up. You sprint among the clouds. You don’t have time to admire the view. You know very well what is going to happen to you if the God in chief reaches you. Or, more terrifyingly, you don’t exactly know and you don’t want to find out.

Your death was an accident, of course. During your vacation on Greece, you were minding your own business when a very weird guy accosted you. Unable to push him away, you found yourself stuck in a dinner you didn’t want while he was making most of the conversation. Oh, he knows a lot of words all right. It’s a shame that “no” is not part of his vocabulary, at least when you’re the one who’s saying it. You couldn’t get away. No matter how hard you tried, he always seemed to find out where you were hiding. He told you several times he was a god, Zeus himself, but of course you didn’t believe it. Until the moment when you were forced to run away from the country, and once in the boat, he materialized in front of you. Panicked, you’ve jumped back. Unfortunately, it was the place where the deep blue sea was, and well, maybe you shouldn’t have skipped your swimming lessons in middle-school, but it’s a little too late now to regret that.

Once dead, you briefly saw Hades who wisely decided he wanted nothing to do with this and sent you right up at Olympus. He advised you to yield to his brother, because once “he’s satisfied, he gives up very quickly”. That’s the kind of suggestion that makes you sprint faster.

A deity you might be, but you can still be tired. You can still be hungry. After several hours of running, you begin to think about taking a break more and more, but the idea of his face popping in front of you motivates you into going farther and farther. You know there’s nowhere you can hide, you’re not even sure your escape was for something. Maybe he patiently waits for you to be exhausted before appearing again. This thought stops you right there. You stay still for a moment, wiping the sweat off your face and trying to spot anything suspicious. Seeing that you’ve not yet been kidnapped, you give yourself a moment to look where you are. There’s nothing around but a modest house made of stone. You’re close enough to smell the odor of soup that is coming from the windows. Your stomach grumbles. Before you decide how foolish it is to knock and ask for a refuge, the door opens. A middle-aged woman smiles at you. She’s larger than tall, and she’s also very beautiful. There’s something disarming about her smile. You feel the tension on your shoulders ease a little.

“Come on in, sweetie”, she says.

You don’t answer. You don’t even wonder if this is a trap. You step closer without a word. The door closes behind you and you follow the unknown woman into the kitchen. On the cooking pot over the fire, the liquid simmers and your stomach answers back. It smells of chicken and coriander and cabbage and you whisper bashfully:

“Please, can I have some ?”

“Of course”, she replies in a soothing tone.”Every traveler is welcome here.”

She gives you a look and adds softly:

“And no harm ever come to my hosts. You’re quite safe here.”

She gives you a bowl full of soup and a wooden spoon, and you follow her as she goes through the small courtyard in the middle of the house. She invites you to settle yourself on a reclining couch in the living room. You don’t dare lay down, there’s no way you won’t spill your meal. Instead, you sit on the edge. Your bowl burns your knees but you don’t dare mention it. You don’t even know if you can eat it - you’ve recently learned that a Greek god mostly consumes nectar and ambrosia. At your relief though, everything is all right when you swallow your first sip. It tastes as nice as it smells. On the table by you, there are plates of olives and dried figs. You give a grateful look to your host who’s laid on a couch nearby and contemplates you with an air of maternal satisfaction. Once your hunger is mostly satisfied, you risk to ask about her, and she obligingly answers:

“I am Hestia, goddess of the hearth and the house.”

You don’t know her, but maybe it’s for the best. All the stories about the Greek gods include some atrocity or two. Maybe there is no tale about her because she stays in her little house, far from trouble. At least it’s your hope before she adds:

“I am the oldest sister of Zeus.”

The bowl shivers on your knees. She notices and smiles sadly:

“I know about you, child. Were you pursued ?”

You nod. She sighs:

“You have to understand, it’s a very hard time for him. He was a great king once, but since he’s lost some of his power – I don’t say that to make him look bad, of course, times change, that is all – he’s gotten a bit desperate. So when he sees a mortal with potential, he has great difficulty to control himself. You mustn’t resent him too much. Maybe you should learn to know him.”

A violent shudder runs through your spine.

“I don’t want to” you whisper, shaking your head uncontrollably.

“Try not to look at this so negatively. It means you’re special. Not a lot of people can say a god has fallen for them.”

Your stomach drops into your feet. The goddess in front of you means well, and tries sincerely to be nice to you. However, nice doesn’t mean kind, even less good, and her advice is killing you. The more she talks, the more you feel you have no choice, you have no voice, you are nothing. In a spur of despair, you interject:

“Can’t someone help here ? Can’t someone hide me, or tell me how to escape ?”

“No one can hide from my brother.”

“At least I want to try...something. Anything.”

“You’re not reasonable.”

There’s a moment of silence. You have enough. Unwillingly, your eyes well up. Hestia watches as the first tear rolls down your cheek. Biting her lip, she seems to ponder something, and reluctantly whispers:

“Well...maybe there’s someone you can talk to. I shouldn’t tell you that,” she adds quickly. “It’s not a sensible thing to do. However, he is a seer, so maybe he could tell you a little more about your situation. And you were a human before, after all. He has a soft spot for humans.”

“Who is he ? How can I meet him ?”

“He doesn’t show much here. I don’t know a lot about Earth nowadays, but do you have some kind of human technology to communicate with someone ? Like a horn, or a piece of parchment ?”

You pull out your phone from your pocket.

“Something like this ?”

She gives the strange object in your hand a dumbfounded look.

“...I suppose ? How does that work ?”

You press a green icon. Your phone rings in the emptiness. One time. Two times. Three times. Hestia and you jump a little when you hear the main door opening and closing. For a moment, you dread that it is Zeus himself, but you’re proven wrong. An old, very tall man stands in the room. You barely have time to be surprised by how modern his clothes look. A screwdriver sticks out from one of his multiple pockets, and he still have his phone in his hand.

Most importantly, judging by his eyes, he seems very, incredibly angry. He glares daggers at your host who braces herself, clearly preparing for what’s to come.

“Again ? How many times ?”

“I welcome thee, Prometheus,” Hestia sighs.

“I salute you, daughter of Chronos, sister of a tyrant who has never dealt with his loss of power.”

“And you’ve never tried to be understanding” she answers, a note of reproach in her voice. “For all your knowledge, maybe this is making you unable to see the big picture.”

That doesn’t seem to calm the new visitor at all. He steps in the middle of the room between you and her, his voice fierce:

“And what is the big picture, child ? What is your strange version of it ? How easily you forget, how comfortable it must be ! I remember Europa, Danae, Leda, Aegina, Ganymedes and Io, poor maiden Io. I remember gods letting their glorious king do whatever he wanted with them and Hera exert revenge on the mortals as she pleased. And if these scales are not big enough for you, daughter of Chronos, I remember the flood and all the times humanity was nearly crushed to extinction. There are too much to count. What I don’t remember is one of the Olympians raising their voice on any of this, including you.”

“I am not involved in Earth business,” says Hestia. “It’s not my function to take a stance. I’m taking care of my family and any of my hosts. It is quite enough for me. Take a couch, Fire-bringer.”

He doesn’t, though he angrily pops a fig in his mouth. All of this leaves you unsure of the wisdom of Hestia’s decision to call this newcomer. The epithet does nothing to reassure you. Indeed, this deity seems like he has a temper to decimate forests. You make a shy tentative to defuse the situation:

“Um, I’m sorry I’ve disturbed you, sir ?”

The change on his expression is nearly magical. All anger vanishes from his face and he crouches in front of you to meet your eyes, his voice suddenly soft:

“No, not you ! This is not your fault, you did nothing wrong, and you were right to call me. ”

You feel your pulse has gone steady again. Unfortunately, this doesn’t last, because the next words that fall out of his mouth are:

“There’s no time to put this delicately. You are in great danger. You can’t run forever, and there’s no place to hide. The only way you can escape him is by changing yourself.”

“Change ?”

“You are a deity, but you don’t have a title yet, or a function. You must change into someone he won’t be able to grasp. It’s your decision to make. What is it going to be, new deity ? Who are you ?”

“ I am…”

You hesitate.

« I am... »

You repeat yourself several times, but you can’t go further. Having two gods in the same room than you does not help. You never were too good to think under pressure, there’s too much information to absorb at the same time. In your past life you were a waiter in a bar, but there are already several people who take care of wine, drunkenness, and food. None of this would repel Zeus. You’re getting a little distraught. Prometheus doesn’t seem to mind the wait – he has already half-emptied the fig plate – but you see Hestia giving signs of unrest. More than once she’s gazed at the door. You apologize to her.

“You’re my host,” she answers, her voice anxious. “No harm will ever come to you in my house. However, if my brother comes here, I cannot let him outside.”

You bury your head in your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I really can’t think of anything good.”

You hear a slight clinking. You open your fingers slightly and you see some lone figs in a plate under your eyes.

“Try them before going,” says Prometheus. “You’ll be safer in my workshop.”

“Really ?”

Hestia says nothing, but it’s clear she shares your surprise.

“I have no reason to accept Zeus in my household,” he dryly retorts. I think he’ll find quite difficult to enter in without permission.”

“That’s what you wish,” says Hestia.

“That’s what I wish and what is true. Your brother isn’t the king of the universe anymore. Things have changed.”

He holds his hand out.

“There’s no reason to linger here. Are you ready to come ?”

Hesitant, you decide to eat your treat first. While you finish to chew, he turns his head towards Hestia:

“Thank you for warning me. And your food is still pretty good.” he adds a little reluctantly.

Hestia smiles at you as you both disappear from her house. You didn’t have the presence of mind of thanking her before it’s too late. Maybe you will be able to...after you’ll make up your mind.

When your new host told you about “a workshop”, you didn’t expect it to be some kind of huge maze. You suddenly understand why even the king of Olympus would not find his way easily in here. You pass areas that look like shiny white laboratories, with lines of microscopes and huge machines you can’t even begin to comprehend. Some rooms look like museums, with objects carefully labeled in their glass display cases. More than once you stop to examine one thing or another, before he gently reminds you that you’re not here to visit (although he does admit that his collection of flint tools is pretty amazing.) Himself stops only once, when a lady with literal waves of blue hair comes to meet you. Her eyes twinkle at your sight and she presents herself as your new host’s spouse. Intertwining her fingers with her husband’s, she adds:

“My name is Hesione, newcomer, and you’re welcome here. Can someone explain what is happening ?”

Mumbling, you try to resume the situation. Prometheus’ wife loses her smile.

“ Poor child ! I’m sorry for what happened to you. There’s a study room here if you want to rest.”

You obediently follow her. As all of this has left you overwhelmed, you ask to be left alone for a little while, so you can brainstorm in peace. Hesione wishes you good luck before getting out. To make sure you’re comfortable, Prometheus brings you a table, several kinds of seats, a rug (if you don’t want a seat), a pair of slippers (if you need to pace up and down), a notepad (to write your ideas), an encyclopedia (your knowledge of Greek mythology is a bit rusty), a computer (with an insanely fast Internet connection), a tablet (in case you don’t like keyboards), a phone (with several kinds of apps to organize ideas), a weighted blanket (to help you focus), a fidget spinner (in your favorite color), water (to clear your thoughts), alcohol (to relax your thoughts), and grilled poultry wings (in case you need a snack; they’re delicious, you suppose that all the gods associated with fire are all very good cooks). He then closes the door, telling you that he’s there if you ever need anything else.

You don’t think you need anything else. He’s already brought you half the objects manufactured on Earth.

However, you still have no idea what to do.

You try very hard, though. You browse the encyclopedia and Internet for hours and hours. You learn many interesting things, but nothing clicks. It seems there is already a god or a goddess for everything, and you don’t want to be changed into a tree or an echo or another inanimate object just to escape your fate. Time passes. Time passes too much. You don’t know how long you’ll be allowed to stay here, how long it will be safe, if you put your hosts in any danger. You don’t want people hurt for your sake. You’re too much trouble for nothing.

You finally decide to get out of your room. You don’t know how you can get away without been noticed, but…

“It’s already in you, you know.”

Ah.

You stop. You go towards the voice. Prometheus is inside of what you can actually call a workshop. He doesn’t even turn his head towards you, focused as he is on his work. He’s wood-carving.

“It isn’t”, you say. “I’m empty.”

“No, you’re not. You were a human, and as such full of impulses and emotions and ideas. I know better than anyone.”

You stay silent for a minute, trying to gather your thoughts. There is something soothing in watching him work. In very little time, the bit of wood he had in this hands has become an oval shape. It’s too early to know what it’s going to be, but you like it like that, it’s fun to guess what form it will take. It’s nearly with regret you see it take definite humanoid features.

“Well, maybe, but it’s all...useless. I’m no one special, you know. When I was human, I had no special talent or abilities, I’ve never been really noticed by anyone – before now, I mean – I just tried to survive, basically.”

“All these millennia,” says the Titan, “and I’ve never seen a human who wasn’t special. Have you thought that maybe you were looking at this the wrong way ?”

He puts the knife he was working with on the table, chooses a chisel instead, and adds:

“Forget about Zeus. Nothing good will come from him. What would you like your function to be ?”

“I don’t know...everything seems too big for me.”

“You think you have to do something impressive in order to save yourself, but it’s not true. There’s nothing impressive about being a god.”

“Still….”

He interrupts you in a cutting tone:

“My function was supposed to be fore-thinking. It’s not impressive. It’s also the function of my wife. She’s a river nymph, one among her thousands of sisters. It’s not impressive. There are gods who take care of beekeeping, cooling breezes, fishing-nets. All of this might be important, but very unimpressive, and certainly none of that is above you.”

Without warning, he throws his miniature at you. You yelp, lean forwards to catch it at the last moment, and clasp in your hands the tiny wooden human. It’s not animate, of course, but it’s eerie in its perfection. You think about the imprecise oval shape it was before with an ounce of absurd regret.

You raise your head towards your host, who gives you a fond smile. Maybe he guessed you finally had a breakthrough.

“What is it going to be, young deity ?”

Playing with the figurine, you tell him your idea. It’s scarcely concrete, scarcely logical, and nothing dramatic. But it’s yours, and it’s all you have.

You ask to be sent back to Earth so you can exert your function.

You don’t lack assignments, and you never will, but you’re okay with that. You’re used to work hard and serving multiple people at the same time.

You’re here, of course, when the children learn to walk and succeed for the first time, but not just that.

A girl manages the courage to show up at her volley competition and you’re here.

A teen signs up for college and you’re here.

A young person begins to chat with a support group and you’re here.

A man sends his resume to the enterprise he wants and you’re here.

Another man sends his resignation letter to an enterprise he hates and you’re here.

A depressed middle-aged women succeeds to stand up after having spent all her day in bed and you’re here.

A widow opens a tutorial to learn how to draw and you’re here.

An old man finally sends the mail to his doctor and you’re here.

You’re the deity of the First Step. You’re not exciting. You’re not pretty. Your hands are dirty. Tyrants – all the kinds of tyrants - sneer at you. “Oh, it’s only you”; “It’s only that.” You have your fair share of contempt, and are only barely acknowledged long after you’ve gone. You’re very far from success, after all. You’ve never seen Zeus again.

You’re not impressive, but you always show up. You’re at the beginning of everything. It’s tedious, hard work, but all in all you feel you fulfill your function pretty well. You spend a lot of time on Earth and the rest with the deities who are not embarrassed to talk to you. You still regularly see Prometheus, his wife, their children and grandchildren.

After all, humanity owes you a little bit, doesn’t it ?

*

Back to Fantasy Masterlist (I know I know it's mythology)

Congratulations! You’re getting reborn. On the plus side, you’ll be a god/goddess. Downside, you’ll be a Greek god/goddess and Zeus is mad at you. Good luck.