The Gods Have Horns [Homestuck Mythology AU]

Shadow-Wasser · Jan 5, 2021

Godstuck AU. The post-scratch trolls all attained god tier and won Sgrub soundly, entering their new universe as a pantheon of gods and choosing Earth as a base of operations.

This story dates back all the way to 2015, and is posted on Ao3 and on its own tumblr page. However, in the last year, I have been revising it for better language, flow, and consistency, and am sharing these revised versions here for your reading pleasure. I wrote this story collaboratively with @Callmesalticidae, and we have edited and re-edited each other's work so many times that it's hard to say which story is whose.

The story will be told in a non-linear fashion, in pieces from different parts of the timeline.

Some generalized trigger warnings: Physical child abuse, substance abuse, lots of violence. Other triggers for specific stories may apply.

Survival Lessons

Your name is Jake Harley, and as an infant, you were chosen to be raised by a goddess.

You live in an underwater bubble with your sister Jane and with Mother, watching the creatures of the deep undulate by. You learn to swim before you walk, you learn to bite before you speak.

You are to play a game, Mother tells you, whispering prophecies in your ear. You are the chosen one. You fell from the sky, and you are to become a god, to soar through the stars like an eagle on bright gossamer wings.

You don't really know what that means. But it sounds just smashing.

Your name is Jake Harley. You are eight years old, and you are outside, on land, standing in a field with Mother and Jane. A flock of doves rests in a tree.

"This is hunting," Mother says to you both. "The predator culls the prey, and both species are kept alive."

You think that doesn't make a lick of sense. How can the prey be kept alive if it dies?

"That's the way of life," she says. "There are more prey than predators, and they are strengthened by the loss of their weaker members."

"That won't sound good to the ones who get done in," Jane says.

Mother smiles, gently, without showing her fangs. "Sounding good is not the point, silly. Only survival and adaptation matter, in the end. Now, Jake, pick up your gun, and shoot down that dove over there."

The dove is delicious.

You learn, in not much time, to take pleasure in it. Jane never does, but she loves Mother so much that she doesn't hesitate to please her.

You learn to read tracks and signs, to survive in the wilderness. You learn to savor the taste of fresh meat, of raw vital blood. It strengthens you, gives you life. When you are eleven, you are left on an island with nothing, not even clothes, to survive alone for a week by hand and tooth. The same happens to Jane, on a different island.

You made it through, but Jane... when Mother brings her back after the trial, she is shaking and crying.

"I'm sorry Mom, I'm so-"

"Shooooosh," Mother is calm. "You have learned. You will try again in a month."

Jane tells you only later, voice subdued, how close she came to death.

Jane walks like she's broken and talks like she's afraid. You do not. You are stronger than her.

You practice your aim, you shoot swift and true. You kill an elephant and wear its hide. You are the eagle, blood on your feathers.

Jane takes up baking.

Your name is Jake Harley and you are fifteen years old. You and Jane are called into the main bubble, where Mother is waiting.

"As it turns out, we were wrong about you," she says, without preamble. "You are not the chosen ones. You are not going to become gods. Our mistake. Anyway, you're both old enough now, to grow up. So you're going to leave."

Your stomach drops into a pit. The eagle pushes her young from the nest. Fly now, or fall. You know this is natural, is normal, is-

But, you are not the eagle. You never have been the eagle, you only thought you were. You are human. You are going to fall.

Jane cries out, "No, how could you, you can't do this!"

You put your hand on your sister's shoulder. "Mother, what did we do?"

"Mom, please," Jane begs. "Don't you love us?"

Mother, the Witch of Life, looks at you both with surprise. "It's not about love," she explains. "It's not about you at all. I just can't invest any more energy in you two. I'm going to take the bubble down now, so you should leave before you drown."

Afterward, Jane adjusts the trident slung across her back and says: "It was nice of her to warn us. She didn't have to do that."

'Nice' isn't the word you would use. But you let Jane think so.

You live in the woods. You know how, both of you, and you're stronger than you were at eleven. But still, the winter is cold, and one day you hurt your ankle badly. You cannot walk, cannot hunt. Jane sets snares and catches rabbits for you, and spears fish with her trident. You melt snow to drink and stoke the fire, but still, your ankle swells. You weaken.

After two days, Jane looks at the distant city lights and says, quietly. "Let's try there."

The city is frightening, crowded, and loud. You are scared as you limp along, but Jane walks with her head high. She holds her trident and strides into the first unlocked door she finds, demanding medicine from the strangers inside. They shout at her, then become frightened. Strong men come in with clubs and weapons that snap with electricity. She fights like a wildcat and nearly skewers them, but they overcome her.

As for you, you try to struggle, but you are weak and wounded, so the strangers bring you away into a soft white room. They treat your broken ankle. Jane is allowed to see you a few weeks later, after you have learned about things like 'hospitals' and 'insurance' and 'courts' and 'jail'.

"They took my fork," your sister says, mournfully. "It was Mother's."

After you recover, you wait for the police to release your sister. You visit the local church, but you don't pray there. You can't, not with Mo- with the Witch's stained-glass eyes looking at you. But as you walk back to the foster center, you whisper a wish to the Seer of Mind.

The trial goes smoothly, and Jane is released.

You want to skidoo, leave as soon as you can. You want to take Jane with you, back into the wild where things are quiet and pure as morning dew.

But Jane shakes her head. "We're humans," she says. "Not animals, and not gods. We should try to make our lives with our own kind."

You part ways, but not before she catches you a gift: a stray mutt, a pup, to be your hunting hound. You name it Halley.

Your name is Jake Harley, and you are twenty-one years old. You work as a safari guide on the savannas of Kenya. You speak English, French, Swahili, and Bantu.

Jane sends you money, twice a year, after Midsummer's Bleed and around Hallowhonk. As the years have passed, she's sent you more and more, accompanied by pictures of her, of her house and her growing bakery business. You are glad for her success.

Halley is a constant companion, and your closest friend.

One day you lead a safari for some reporters, and you impress them enough that they promptly hire you to lead expeditions for them. It's a living.

You uncover your first major archaeological find at age twenty-seven. An ancient Egyptian tomb, older than any that had ever been found, so groundbreaking that it rewrites the history books.

It's a form of fame, but you withdraw from the spotlight. You've never liked being around large numbers of people, and the archeological conferences are no exception. At least the gods seem to pay no attention your new celebrity.

Jane continues to send money, though you don't really need it anymore.

Halley grows old, and dies in your arms.

You stuff him.

You're working full-time for the Smithsonian, and you have been to more countries by age thirty- two than most men ever visit.

You want to travel the stars and see other worlds, but hesitate at the necessity of catching the attention of the Sylph of Space. But eventually, wanderlust wins out over fear. After all, you reason, the gods are everywhere. The Sylph of Space is on Earth, not only in the firmament, just as the Witch of Life treads everywhere there is life, not only in the sea.

So, you apply for an off-world passport, and win one. You leave Earth for a time, hunting alien game and sending their skins back to Earthly museums.

Your travelogues sell as well as Jane's cookies. You call and tell her that you really don't need her money. She insists that you take it. She tells you she's getting married to a nice man she met at the county fair. She thinks she might be in love.

You do not marry, though you take lovers from this world and from others.

Sometimes, you're lonely.

Your name is Jake Harley, and you are forty years old. You have discovered and described eighty unknown extraterrestrial species, uncovered sixteen ancient ruins from the dust, and written nine books. You have several million dollars to your name, and you live on a yacht.

You reunite with Jane around this time. By now, she is as wealthy as you, thanks to her highly successful baking corporation. You feel badly for her, confined as she is by civilization, while you travel from world to world.

You play with your young nephew for a while, then speak with Jane while the lad watches television.

"I'm going to retire," she says. "I think I've had enough of baking."

You ask her what she is going to do now, and she laughs. "Hoo hoo! I don't know yet! I'll do whatever I want!"

She is happy, you realize. She has found freedom, in her own way.

You both have your freedoms, so why do you feel envious?

You age, but you never slow down. You hunt. You explore. You do not marry.

You never, ever pray.

Your name is Jake Harley, and you are eighty-five years old. Your hands are withered, your hair has long gone white and fallen out. You still occasionally take lovers, but they never last.

One bright Sagittarius morning, out in the wide open deserts of the Australian outback, you see a meteor crash out of the sky. When you reach the crater, there is a live infant in the rubble. She is a little girl.

You know what this means, old memories of prophecies like ancient artifacts preserved in the sand. You will not let them get her. You will not let the Witch find her.

In time, you grow to love her more fiercely than you ever have loved before.

You name her Jade.

Your name is Jake Harley, and you are nearly eighty-six years old.

You are attending Jane's funeral service. There are so many people here. Was your sister really beloved by them all? You can hardly believe it, can hardly believe any of it. A factory explosion, a collapsed roof.... Little Jade, sleeping in your arms, is only thing here that seems at all real.

Your nephew is looking at you. He, too, is holding an infant, a little boy, with shaking hands. He is not praying, like most of the other funeral guests are.

He has not told you where the child has come from. You don't think he ever married.

You shake his hand, and wish him the best of luck.

You find a South Pacific island that bears some very interesting ruins. It seems like a good place to raise a child, so you purchase it without ceremony. Jade is less than a year old.

You find a dog there. You name him Becquerel. He is a strange dog, but he reminds you of Halley, and he is friendly. You think he will make a good hunting hound.

However, you soon learn that hunts with Becquerel are not sporting, and decide he will be a guard dog instead.

When Jade is two, you find the Mage of Doom in her nursery, playing with her.

"She's cute," he lisps. "Took us a while to find you, you know."

You tell him you are good at covering your tracks. Then you aim your rifle and fire.

He falls to the floor, dead.

Gadzooks, you just killed the Mage of Doom.

He gets up moments later, and tells you that shooting him point blank like that wasn't very sporting.

Becquerel takes him far away, and you sit down. Jade is crying. Your legs are shaking. You feel old.

"Pa," says Jade. "Pa!"

"Yes, Jade," you say. "I am your Grandpa."

Jade giggles.

"May I hold her?"

You look over at your new visitor. She is more considerate than the Mage. She knocked. You fired once, a warning bullet splitting the air over her head, and she held both hands out in surrender.

"I'm not here to take Jade," she said. "I only want to talk, like civilized people."

You let her in, and now she is sitting at your antique table, flipping a coin absently. Behind her opaque glasses and dapper suit, she looks bored.

You tell her she cannot hold Jade, and she shrugs. "That's ok. You know, I'm the one who freed your sister, back when you were a kid?"

You tell her you are grateful for her generosity, but you prefer not to be meddled with. You just want to live the rest of your years in peace and quiet.

"That can be arranged. You can keep Jade, too." You didn't ask about Jade, though you thought it. "We only want to train her, not steal her away."

You remind her that they were wrong, before.

She flips her coin. "I wasn't helping, before. We are certain, now."

You ask how certain.

"V3RY, V3RY C3RT41N, J4K3."

You fall into silence, blinking the teal out of your mind. You look at Jade. You imagine her in the wilderness, starving, eating raw meat.

"Think about it," the Seer says. "I'll be back."

Your answer is still no.

"You can't come in 'cause Grandpa says not to talk to strangers!"

You put your hand on Jade's shoulder. "Jade," you say gently. "Why don't you go play with your toys?"

The girl looks up at you. "Mkay," she mumbles.

You look at your visitor, dressed garishly in violet and gold and carrying a white staff. As soon as Jade is out of earshot, he says:

"You know, you can't protect her forever."

You are so, so old. You nod in acknowledgement.

"You want to turn her against us. We would rather not have to force her to do anythin', but if you succeed, then we will have to be harsh. Relent now, while she is young, and we can afford to be more gentle."

You tell him that you will defend Jade until you perish. You know you are daring him, in a sense. But he does not attack. He gives a long-suffering sigh.

"Bullshit, Mr. Harley. You are deceivin' yourself. You will perish long before we give up, and you know it. No, that's not a threat. That's a fact."

You appreciate his honesty.

"Listen," he says, his voice calm. "We're not goin' to hurt her. We're not goin' to take her away. We are goin' to give her the best chance she has, to live. This is goin' to happen. It's fated to happen. Whether she fails or succeeds at her task will hang on how we train her. We will help her survive."

You pause. After a moment you say, "You are the most reasonable and tolerable of your people."

He sighs. "I will take compliments where I can get them, Mr. Harley."

"But the answer is still no."

He is reasonable and tolerable. He nods. "Fine, but don't lie to yourself. Your selfish desire to keep Jade away from us is out of spite for Feferi, no other reason. It is goin' to hurt Jade in the long run. She will suffer for your stubbornness."

He gets up to leave. He pauses. "And don't think that this is the last you'll see of us, either."

Then the Prince leaves, and takes your hope with him.

Your name is Jake Harley, and you are a very old man.

You haven't seen the gods for two years. It is time to teach your granddaughter to hunt. She holds her bb gun steady and shoots down her first sparrow.

Then she bursts into tears. "Oh no! Make him better! Grandpa! Fix him!"

You never make her hunt again.

You do, however, bury a chest.

Your name is Jake Harley, and you are going fishing. It is not the first time you have done so. There is no big game on your island, but you enjoy occasionally pitting yourself against swordfish and sharks. Becquerel is watching Jade, so you have no fear.

Today, you hook a large marlin. It leaps magnificently, and you brace yourself against the railing of the skiff for battle.

Then, very suddenly, the line goes slack. Thinking you lost the fish, you reel in your line. All that remains of the marlin is its head, still hooked.

No shark, not even a Great White, could possibly swallow in one bite the entire body of a twelve- foot marlin. You feel a terrible dread creep into your heart.

Then, the dark form rises out of the deep. A black ropey arm, a tentacle, smashes off the front of your boat. The deck lists, and you stagger. More tentacles appear.

Your rifle is in your hand, and you fire. Several arms are hit, and flinch back, but it is not enough. The tentacles close in, wrap and squeeze your boat like a smaller squid might grasp a shrimp. The beast must be sixty feet long at least.

You are afraid. You can't let them do this. Jade has no parents. You are all she has.

"Witch of Life, please, stop!" Your voice is nothing against the sound of your boat being ripped apart. "Feferi Peixes! Mother! Stop!"

And everything, absolutely everything, stops.

The squid's tentacles hover in midair. The flecks of sea spray are suspended. The water is no longer rushing to flood the deck. And in front of you are two goddesses.

One is the Maid of Time, She Who is Both Beginning and End. You don't know why you add the honorifics; you never have before. It's something about her, in particular. She commands respect, the way the others don't.

The other is the Witch of Life. Mother. She looks exactly as she did when you were a lad.

The Maid speaks first, her voice Tinged in burgundy. "i t00k the liberty 0f anticipating y0ur last request"

This was not what you would have requested. And though you know there's no point in asking, you ask, "Why?"

"I knew you'd never give her up," Feferi says. She sounds, not sad, but... resigned. "We can't have you interfering with this. Everything we're doing hangs on Jade."

"So this is what you do when you can't convince someone, Witch of Infinite Mercy?" You are a bitter old man, and you simply cannot call her 'Mother.' Not aloud. Not again.

"Everyone becomes food someday, Jake," she says. "That is the way of life. You know that. Besides, is there any way I could have dissuaded you?"

You know there isn't. Your love for Jade, short sighted and utterly hopeless as it is, transcends anything the goddess could say or do.

But you failed. The Prince of Hope was right.

"Don't hurt her," you whisper, your heart in your throat. "Don't let her fail."

"we w0n't," says Aradia.

You nod, and brace for the blow. It doesn't come.

"Actually," says Feferi. "You don't have to take our word for it. What do you say, Aradia? Shall we show him?"

"yes," says the Maid, and takes your hand.

You are no longer on your shattered skiff. You are back at home, in the sitting room. You notice that the books on the shelves are different, and some of the furniture is rearranged. There is a dog bed, and Becquerel is curled up in it, sleeping.

After you recover from your disorientation, you hear Feferi calling from behind you, her voice Tinged a royal magenta. "JAD—-E!! YOU )(AV—-E A VISITOR!!!"

A voice calls out: "Coming, Fef!"

Then a young woman comes down the stairs, and you forget all about the Witch.

She grew up. The Maid took you to the future, and Jade grew up, while you were gone.

Her skin is dark from the sun, and her hands callused from working outdoors. She is wearing sensible clothes, and no shoes at all. When she sees you, she shrieks with delight, like she's still a small child. "Grandpa!"

"My girl." Your voice is choked with emotion. "My girl."

You embrace her, and she is so tall. How can that be? How old is she? How can she be a young woman, so quickly?

She is talking, so fast, stumbling over her words. "Oh my gosh, can I show you my shooting range? Oh, let me show you my dream bot, and my garden! And my music! I need to show you my new songs!"

She leads you by the hand, talking the whole while. You see her shooting range, and the dream bot, and the garden, and you listen to her play the bass guitar, mournful and resonant. She is a talented girl.

Then she says, "I'm so glad you came today. I'm actually going to leave really soon. Next week! To make the new universe, and become a god and everything."

What?

"I'm kind of nervous, really. And I'll miss the island." She's looking at her hands, fingers tied with string. "But I think I'm ready. Sollux says I am."

You can't breathe. She smiles at you, but then sees your expression and furrows her brows. "Don't worry! I'll be fine. I'm a really good shot. I hit the bullseye almost every time! And Sollux is actually going to be coming with me, did you know? He says he'll be by my side the whole time. I can do this."

The gods can lie. You want to say. They lie and throw you away.

You realize that when she leaves, she may very well die, sacrificed like a calf's brain thrown into the fire. You want to tell her, tell her everything, but you cannot. You cannot ruin her happiness, ephemeral as it is.

"...Grandpa?"

"Jade," you say. You swallow. You want to give her freedom. Will she feel free, knowing that she is trapped by fate? Will she be free, if she is a goddess? "Show them what for, my darling."

That's when you tell her, in a low, serious voice, about the chest. You tell her where she needs to dig, to find it. You are also about to tell her to be careful, to not give her trust away so easily. But before you can say it, you see the Maid. She taps two fingers to her wrist. The goddess is not wearing a watch, but you understand the signal.

"I can't stay, dear."

"Oh," Jade looks disappointed. Her voice is quiet, solemn but steady. "Well... I guess this is goodbye, then?" She bites her lip and looks away. "I... they told me you'd visit, before the end, but... I just wish it could be longer."

You wish that, too. You wish it more than anything.

She hugs you again. "I love you, Grandpa. I'll make you proud." It is the gods she will make proud. You realize then how deeply and completely you have lost.

The Maid touches your shoulder. "I love you, too, Jade," you say, leaning down. "I'm sorry." Then, you whisper to her the coordinates.

And then you are back on the crumbling deck of your boat, and the squid's tentacle drags you into the sea.

Shadow-Wasser · Jan 12, 2021

How Soon They Fly (the summers)

"What are you going to name him?"

You don't answer immediately, and you are grateful that you have been allowed the reprieve. You are still grieving for your mother's death. Meeting a god not even two days after the fact isn't helping. The only thing that's centering you is what you're holding in your arms. "John. I'm going to name him John."

"Good, good," the god says. Sollux, he told you to call him. As if you would speak the name of the Flaming-Eyed One. He's clad as you would expect him to be, in a godhood displaying the Sigil of his divinity. The black, stylized skull seems to stare out at you from where it sits on his chest. It's rumored that the Mage's preference for the godhood is less out of concern for ritual and more because he can't be bothered to dress in anything else. You had always disregarded that as prattle, but the casual way that he's lounging on your couch, so unlike how you would have thought a god would behave, gives credence to the rumor.

You look away from him, back down to where John is sleeping, swaddled in a blanket in your arms. You're going to have to buy a crib for him tomorrow. You just... haven't had the time.

"What do you want?" Maybe you aren't being the most hospitable, and maybe that's something you should be extra-concerned about with a god sitting on your couch, but you can't help but think that this visit means ill for John.

"I have twofold news, good and bad. The good news is there were no witnesses at the scene, and you were smart enough to not mention the boy's origin. That makes things cleaner."

"The police would have called me crazy and taken him away."

The god sniggers. "You won't have to worry about the hounds. Terezi keeps her people well- managed." You flinch at the sound of the Calibrator's true name. Your mother raised you well, perhaps a little too well, and, even coming from a god, part of you can't help but fear that there was something wrong in saying, and hearing, that name. "I've done a little work of my own. You don't have to worry about any documents, in case you were wondering. Which you were, of course. You're a smart man. You'll go far in the business world."

You mull over this, rocking John gently. "Because of my talents, or because of your intervention?"

"Both." He clasps his hands together. "Now for the bad news. As you supposed, I'm not here just to keep you company. Only a few of us, and you, know how... John came into the world. It is absolutely necessary that this remain so."

You frown. "He's just a baby. What's so important about him?"

"He represents change, Mr. Egbert. Change that some of us will not... appreciate."

Your eyes widen. "You mean that I have to keep this a secret from gods."

"Well, some of them. Karkat, Kanaya, Tavros... You know." He snorts. "Those fucking idiots."

You can safely say that you have never heard a god say "fuck" before, and you have to bite back the urge to tell him not to swear in front of the baby.

"They won't appreciate John. Does that mean what it sounds like?"

He nods. "They will do whatever it takes to prevent the change he brings."

Subconsciously, your arms tighten around the baby. "And what kind of change does he bring?"

The god smirks. "Does it matter? You'll protect him for us no matter what I say."

You don't like his expression. "Are you so sure?"

"Terezi checked for us. You would suffer her gallows for the boy, and you haven't known him for a week. Terezi knows already, of course, but I can't wait to see for myself just how dedicated you become." He stands up and briefly adjusts his reflective glasses. "I'm afraid that I can't stay for much longer. Terezi says that we should still keep Karkat distracted for a little while. Oh, and speaking of— for our sake, and his, watch what you say when you're praying."

The god leaves without another word. You don't see him out.

You're a terrible host. You don't care.

The gods have threatened you. He threatened you. You don't know what's going on, and maybe you'll never have the full story, but this is their doing, not John's. And whatever it is that they're up to, it's putting your adopted son in harm's way.

You don't know how long you sit there, holding John in silence, watching the baby sleeping. You are weak and afraid, but determined. You'll have to be. And strong, and courageous. For John. Even if the gods themselves turn their gaze against them.

The Gallows Ruler was right. It hasn't been but a few days, and John is already the most important thing in your life.

The very first thing you do is throw your household idols in the trash compactor.

Shadow-Wasser · Jan 19, 2021

Atheos: Greek. Meaning "Rejecting the gods, rejected by the gods, godforsaken." From which we derive the modern "atheist."

"This world could not have been the work of all-loving beings, but that of devils, who had brought creatures into existence in order to delight in the sight of their sufferings." - Freddie Mercury, probably

A Study in Maltheism

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are the most-hated student to ever blight the halls of Our Lady Who Is Without Mother or Father Academy for Girls—or Our Lady Without, for a title that's less of a mouthful. Those less well-read in theology are sometimes confused by the school's name, since the Book of the Zodiac teaches that all the gods are motherless and fatherless. However, the Seer of Mind, patron goddess of the Academy, is considered an orphan in a more ecclesiastically profound way than the others, although you're not sure why. Regardless, you can safely say that you spend the majority of your time at this prestigious institution in the engaging study of just what it is that you have to do before the administration has no choice but to expel you.

As of yet, all of your efforts have been fruitless. Your blasted mother is far too influential of a figure for anyone here at the school to want to cross her. She is an alumnus of the school herself, an orphan girl who went on to take her higher education at the Canon Order of She Who Measures, and now she is a high-ranking admin for SkaiaNet Laboratories, which everybody knows—but nobody says—carries out research for the gods.

She is, for all intents and purposes, untouchable, and she has made it clear on other occasions that she intends for you to finish out your education here no matter what you do. Even if you should manage to burn the whole campus down, you would no doubt spend the rest of your childhood in some solitary schoolfeeding cell but you would still get your education. This came much to the disappointment of the principal, who once slipped you a box of matches during a parent-teacher conference when your mother caught the action and told you both that it would do no good.

You and the principal don't exactly like each other, but common goals have a way of making allies out of the blackest enemies. Not that you're actually black for her, of course. Even if you were so... affected by the gods, you're sure that you wouldn't be directing caliginous feelings in her direction. Or anyone's, really. You think that you'd deny yourself a kismesis just to spite the gods.

That kind of attitude is exactly why you're in detention, of course. You wrote an admittedly scathing essay, well-constructed and thoroughly-argued, that couldn't have been more scandalous had you named it Ninety-Five Proofs that the Teachers Are Engaging in Lewd Acts with the Students, with Details of Their Exact Activities and nailed the pages to somebody's door.

Actually, now that you think about it, that doesn't sound half-bad for Round Two, and you get out your pen and paper to begin drafting an outline when there is a crackle over the intercom. You ignore it, more interested in your burgeoning next project—you'll have to make some adaptations to account for the switched sexes, but you think that you'll be able to draw on some material from your last creative piece, The Circle of the Sword, whose sleaziness was matched only by its blasphemousness. It was about an all-boys school, and one for wizards, but you can fix those details. It helps that you were inspired by some of your peers at Our Lady Without to begin with.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear your name through the speaker, spoken in a uncharacteristically tight and anxious tone, and look up.

"-TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE. I REPEAT, MISS LALONDE, DO NOT KEEP HIM WAITING."

...Odd. You haven't done anything new that is worth calling you to the principal's office. And who is 'him?' Still, hope springs eternal, in this case hope of being expelled, so you sigh and pack your things up to go to visit the principal. You know the way there by heart.

The principal's door at the end of the well-trodden corridor is ornate and heavy, but it swings open while you are still several feet away, revealing Principal Garland, her forehead shiny with perspiration and her eyes looking half-crazed. "Finally, you're here. Come in, Lalonde." The principal reaches out for you, and her lips curl into a fearful smile as she looks over her shoulder. "She's here, my Prince."

Prince? Curious, you peer around Principal Garland to see who it could possibly be, and your bookbag drops from your hands.

You are so, so dead.

You haven't seen a god before in person, only a recording of a speech by the Mage at one of your mother's work functions, but you still don't need to look twice to realize who's standing in front of you. Despite your best efforts, the school's theology lessons and your mother's own drunken rants and recollections have sunk deep into your mind, and his names and titles start spilling into your awareness almost by reflex. Standing there, casually leaning against Principal Garland's desk, is The Stormcrow, He Who is the Evening and the Morning, The Aquatic, The White, Thrice-Formed Eridan Ampora.

He's not wearing his god-hood. You know from your mother that most of them hate that kind of formal and ritual attire. Instead he is dressed in the most ridiculous and ostentatious get-up that your eyes have ever suffered to behold. You know for a fact that he doesn't need those glasses, much less a slightly-cracked set, and his yellow-and-white scarf is almost longer than he is. Emblazoned on his frilly purple shirt is the Aspect of three sets of stylized, curling wings, the symbol of his divinity.

Then you feel the blood drain out of your face, because you just noticed what he's holding. It's a stapled sheaf of paper, and it has your name, signed in your distinctive loops, across the top.

Principal Garland drags you into the room, your mind reeling and your every instinct screaming to run, not to go closer. How did he get your essay? Did...did the school send it to him? Why, why would they—

"Lisa," he says, and it takes you a moment to realize he's addressing the principal. "You can go, now."

Principal Garland gapes at him, mouth flopping open like a fish. "I, this is... Yes, sir." She bows stiffly, then straightens and leaves, but before she shuts the door behind her she spares you a single look of pity.

You are now trapped in the principal's office with one of the most feared of the gods, standing there with absolutely no way to defend yourself. You keep your voice as steady as you can. "Hello, Prince of Hope. To what do I owe this honor?"

He scoffs in your face. "Don't give me that bullshit, Rose Lalonde. That's not you at all."

And though your lizard brain wants to vault out the window and run for the hills, you manage to stay calm. You compose your face. You quiet your mind, as you learned to do in morning meditation. If you mess this up you won't get a second chance. There's a reason they call this one The Wrathful.

"I read your paper," he says. "I liked it. Every last word." And then he flips through the pages and begins to read from one of them. "As was well-said by John K. Roth, 'Everythin' hinges on the proposition that the gods possess—but fail to use well enough—the power to intervene decisively at any moment to make history's course less wasteful. Thus, in spite and because of their sovereignty, these gods are everlastingly guilty and the degrees run from gross negligence to mass murder."

He smiles, teeth sharp, and you want to run away. Maybe...maybe if you throw something, if you distract him, you might be able to get past him, away from him and the school both. Run away, change your name, never think too hard when the gods are present in your mind… They're not omniscient. You could do it.

But all your plans fall apart and you can only stare in horror as he continues to read, at first pacing back and forth, then walking behind Principal Garland's desk and sitting in her chair. "The gods, those Supreme Fascists, as Paul Erdos called them, are nothin' more than despots and liars. They are powerful, but Euthyphro demonstrated that power alone does not a god make. They made the universe, but like a clockwork device it now runs on its own, and by their own admission it would continue to function without their interference. They are landlords who charge too much rent, they are authors who don't know that they should step back and let their work speak for itself. They are not inherently good, as anyone can realize after thirty seconds of meditation on the Dark Carnivale, and they are not worth worshippin'."

Shit. The gods don't make a habit of killing heretics, but…sometimes there are deaths. Sometimes they make exceptions to their unspoken rule.

You swallow, and glance around the room again for anything you could use as a weapon or distraction. Certificates of scholarly excellence? The landline phone? A lamp? At least you have the desk between you and him, but—

"Breathe," he says, but you barely register the sounds. "I said to fuckin' breathe," he says again, and your frantic thoughts are swept aside by violet. You've never heard the Tinge before, but you understand it now, how deeply it cuts to your core. The purple in his words is like nothing you have ever experienced, and all of a sudden you could not deny, even if you wanted to, that what is talking to you possesses a wholly different nature than your own. You take a deep, shuddering breath. "There you go. Much better, Rose. Your mother raised you wwell."

You are such a mess. You would have liked to have at least died with dignity, but no. You sit down in one of the upholstered chairs reserved for prospective parents and turn away, hyperventilating.

"You seem to be missin' the part where I said that I liked this."

"You are as c-capable of sarcasm as the rest of us," you reply.

"You're thinkin' a' Sollux. I guess I can dally in it once in a while too, but I don't deal in lies. You know that. I particularly liked the part where you deconstructed Richard Dawkins, by the way. Sometimes I wish we could pick our theologians, but we try not to interfere that much."

"Then what d-do you want with me?"

"I want to take you under my thrice-formed wings," Eridan says, opening his arms and gesturing grandly. "You're a very special girl, Rose. I don't make a big deal out of it, but people like you are my soldiers. There's more to this game than you know, but you and I, our job is the same— we tell the gods when they're fuckin' up."

"So… I'm not going to die?" You're special? And not only is he not going to punish you for your heresy, but he's going to reward you? It seems too good to be true.

He smiles and shakes his head, steepling his fingers. "I'll bet you're tired a' this school. Am I right?" You nod vigorously, and he continues. "I can teach you more than these schoolmarms ever dreamed of, if you want."

Ah, there's the catch. "You want me to be a disciple. Like my mother."

"Consider it a partnership, more. Even the scientists and the teachers, they look up to me." He stands and leans forward over the desk, suddenly taller than seems natural. He looks you square in the eyes, pink meeting purple. "But I want somebody to look at me. Keep me honest, as I do for the other gods. I'll teach you everythin' I know, just as fast as you can take it in, and in return you promise to speak your mind about it all."

Eridan looks away, and you blink. You hadn't realized how hypnotic his gaze had been until he was no longer fixing you with it. You close your eyes and breathe, the deep violet afterimage still dancing behind your eyelids.

When you look back up, he's at the door. "Just consider it," he says, and then he leaves you to your thoughts.

Shadow-Wasser · Jan 26, 2021

Dave Strider and the Hollowed Heart

Part 1: Knight of Wands, Ace of Pentacles

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are six years old. Old enough to realize what is sitting next to you. But too young to know that you should be afraid.

There is a goddess sitting next to you. You think that you even know who she is. You've seen her on a lot of things. Idols, icons, even playing cards. The Rogue of Heart. She's wearing a long magenta coat with images emblazoned over the chest— a spade, a heart, a club, a diamond. But what seals the deal is the Sigil of her Aspect that she wears around her neck, a heart divided in two, one side hollowed out. You've seen that symbol plenty of times before.

Her claws are long and sharp, but she takes care not to hurt you as she rests her hand over one of yours.

"You should be worried right now," she says helpfully, but you are too young to take the hint. She seems to realize this. "Of course, if you could be scared easily then maybe you wouldn't be sitting on the edge of a roof."

"I like sitting here." It's a little cooler, the night air up here, but it feels nice. You're used to it.

"What would your Bro say?" It's not a surprise that she knows about your Bro. Old enough to expect a goddess to know everything, too young to realize that doesn't mean she would care.

"I want to see when he comes home." You kick your legs back and forth over the edge as you say this.

She smirks. "He won't be home for three hours." A beat. "Want to meet a friend of mine?"

"Bro told me not to talk to people who say things like that."

"Even living gods?"

You think about this for a moment. "He didn't say."

"Come on. It'll be fun. Besides," she adds, "your Bro has never gone on an adventure with a goddess, has he?"

That cinches it. You know for a fact that Bro hasn't done anything like that. He wouldn't have failed to mention it, as yet another thing for you to live up to. And even at six years old, there's a part of you that wants to best him— to prove yourself worthy of his attention or just to beat him, you don't know. But the result's the same. Wrapping you up in her arms, she leaps off the roof. For a moment you really are afraid, but then her wings pop out from beneath her coat, like green butterfly wings, and you flutter safely to the ground.

Your Bro's parkour skills are one thing, but that was a whole other level of cool.

The Rogue of Heart takes you by the hand and leads you to a hospital. People notice her. They notice her gray face, her horns, the Sigil swaying over her chest, and the crowd gives way, like a river being sliced in two.

No one puts up a fight when you go into one of the rooms. You're not really allowed in here, you're not a doctor, but she's a goddess.

The two of you take seats in a room with a sleeping, wrinkly old man and a bunch of machines that keep making beep-boop noises. You wonder if you're waiting for him to wake up, but your divine companion shushes you when you try to speak up. And then all of a sudden, you are no longer alone.

You immediately recognize her as another goddess, although you are not so quick to figure out which one. She is wearing deep red robes with the Sigil of a gear drawn upon them. Her curling horns seem to pour out of her hood. You think at first that she has only whites for her eyes, but then you realize that you are looking at her eyelids. She is wearing face paint in white and black. White over her eyelids and her face, black rings around her eyes and lines across her lips, as if somebody had tried to slash her cheeks open with a paint brush. It seems as though a spade was painted across her nose, but then you realize that the image on her face is a skull, and the spade is supposed to look like the empty pit where the nose should be.

"what is this 0ne d0ing here?" she asks, burgundy flashing in your mind, and for the first time you are afraid. Not because of her words, but how she is saying them. She is speaking with the Tinge, and for the first time in your short life you understand what it means to come face to face with divinity. "I d0 n0t have the time."

"Don't give me that, you silly," your companion says cheerfully. "You have time for everyone. Anyway, we made an appointment."

The other goddess does not open her eyes. "with myself, I presume? then wh0 is y0ur friend?"

"Dave Strider. He was right where you said he would be. And already as fun as a litter of kittens."

Most people don't meet goddesses like this, not even here on Earth. They're more like celebrities, making appearances at holidays and other events. Most people just admire them from a distance, not make friends with them.

But you're Dave Strider, and that's just how things go for you. And at six years old, you're a little too young to question why.

Shadow-Wasser · Feb 2, 2021

Dave Strider and the Hollowed Heart

Part 2: Tea and Melody

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are nine years old. You are getting wiser about the world.

You learn that the Maid of Time is the goddess that everyone will meet at least once. She is present for every death, just like the Book of the Zodiac says. She does not wish that anyone should die alone, and so she comes and sits with them in their final, frozen moments, between time. There are many who dream to serve her well enough that she will fulfill a last request, or heal the pain of dying with regrets.

Everyone will meet her at least once, but few people will meet her twice. Fewer still will meet her at six years old, and then be invited to weekly teas at the hospital, with her and another goddess.

The living gods have names, not just titles. Some people know them. Fewer speak them. The names are wrapped up in taboo and mystery, sounds too holy for the unwashed and profane to utter them. Fear and awe keep the names secret, not any act on the part of the gods. But then, they don't care enough to divulge their names in most cases anyway. Where the names are remembered, there is usually disagreement over who they belong to.

But you're different.

"I've been called the Queen of Bow, since before the foundations of this city were laid," the Rogue told you once over tea with the goddesses. "The Leader of Hosts, the Opener of the Womb, She Who Begets All, and Goddess of Goddesses." There was a steady beat as she said it, a ba-dum ba-dum to her words that seemed to mimic the pulsing of your heart.

"But what's your name?"

"Nepeta. And the mopey cat is Aradia."

The words were like honey, with an almost iambic beat to them. The Soothing Herb… Nepeta of Heaven and Earth, Who Begets All, Who Forgives Sins.

You find yourself repeating the words to yourself in the dark, not knowing why but only that it satisfied some part of your soul, something that wasn't entirely woken up yet. A chant, a rhythm, like you're trading whispered rap lyrics with spirits that never respond. A mantra, almost.

You don't really know how Bro is taking it. He seems disturbed, and has become more so after you mentioned that you were also seeing Aradia. He met Nepeta once, briefly, and now by mutual unspoken arrangement you have made sure that the two never see each other again. You aren't sure why he's so scared. He's the reason that you recognized her at all— there's a little idol of her sitting near the household shrine for Uncle Crab, draped with fancy Sigil necklaces that he cleans every Lejonday. But when she up and comes into the house, he doesn't want anything to do with her. These days, he more often prays to the Knight for protection.

You know he hasn't always been this distant with gods. There's Li'l Cal for one thing, propped up in the kitchen when Bro isn't using him, and he came straight from the Dark Carnival. Has the Sigil of Rage on his inside lining and everything. Bro probably got him there, though he doesn't talk about it. You wish he'd tell you about the Carnival, it was probably hella cool. But whenever you ask, he just shuts up.

Bro's older, you will someday understand. Old enough to recognize gods for what they are, and old enough to be cautious of divinity. He prefers his goddesses at a comfortable distance, somewhere on the other side of the world or the galaxy, not sitting in his living room, playing board games. So, instead you play them at the hospital.

Nepeta tries to explain it to you one day as the two of you sit in a hospital waiting room one night, waiting for the third member of your merry band. "He doesn't want to tell you, though. He knows that there isn't any point to it." She smiles, revealing the sharpest teeth you've ever seen. "Whom the gods choose, we have chosen."

"For what?"

"To be our company."

You shrug, thinking to yourself that if the gods want somebody to play Monopoly with, then maybe they should just ask. You are still not catching on. Even when she tries to make it clear as day. "People have written hymns to me. They've praised me and they've cursed me. We don't leave the world alone."

You would have to be blind not to notice that people try to clear out around her. All except for the occasional apparent maniac who can't get enough of being around her. Some of the staff have to stay in the waiting room, though, and there are a few people whose conditions are apparently serious enough that they can't wait for a night that the Lady of the Lands isn't there.

"I am the Rogue of Heart. I can make them want who I want them to, if I want. Do you see the nurse over there at the desk?" she whispers into your ear. "All I have to do is will it and she'll walk past us and drag that man with the cast there into a closet. You can forget about her wife. She sure will!"

"That could mess some people up. So, uh, thanks for not doing that?"

"I'm Lady Heartbreak, and I leave a trail of hearts behind me where I walk. I'm like a spiritual surgeon, making people trade hearts like playing cards. Not because I'm intending it, but because I am, I exist. :33 < I am She Who Sends Messages of Desire," she says. ":33 < I'm only holding it in beclaws I don't want to make a scene. But that's all."

You shudder at the Tinge in her voice, and then you try to pretend that it never happened. How would Bro handle this? What would he say?

"Yeah, okay, so I've got a friend like a walking leaking nuclear reactor of emotions, but that's cool. And I'm just too stone cold to fall for your wiles, is that it? All these losers are tripping all over themselves but your best bro here just wants to roll the dice and move his dog five spaces and pay the rent on Boardwalk."

Nepeta laughs. "You couldn't resist me if you tried."

"Prove it."

She grins. "Maybe when you're older, kid."

And then Aradia comes, and you play Chinese checkers and drink tea in the space between 1:05:04 and 1:05:05.

Later, you do catch on. Why people are afraid of divinity. But you're still so used to being around them. It's easy for you to understand why others might be worried. But not why you should be.

Shadow-Wasser · Feb 11, 2021

Potential tw: automobile accident

Dave Strider and the Hollowed Heart

Part 3: Love|Death

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are thirteen years old. This is the day that you're going to remember, more than any other. Even if you live forever this day will ring out clearly for millions of years to come.

You spend a lot of time at hospitals. That's where your friends are— and maybe you're a little weird, having gods for friends and hanging around the dying. But between the sword-fighting lessons and the smuppets, you've never exactly been a normal kid.

The doctors barely pay you any heed as you walk through the halls this time. They're used to you, and their only prayer is that your friends don't scare away anyone that needs immediate attention. Some people just plain never go to this hospital. They add another thirty minutes to their trip just so they don't have to go here. And other people, of course, slit their wrists or guzzle pills in the hopes that the Forgiver of Sins will pass them on the way.

You've seen it happen. You've seen it all. People who have hurt themselves, and people in the act of hurting themselves. People who have gotten what they wanted, or what they thought they wanted, as their hearts get swapped out and replaced and interchanged like so many puzzle pieces. Nepeta does it when she's asked and she does it when she's bored. She says that it's like breathing, that it's easier to let it happen than to hold it all in, and you wonder how that must feel.

But you aren't here for games today. This is business, as sure as the gods live. Your Bro has never been too chill with the gods being all up and in your business like they are, but you're going to make it up to him. All that worry that he's suffered on your account is going to be paid back with interest.

All you have to do is sit by his bedside and wait.

Nepeta isn't there. You didn't tell her and… As bad as it feels to acknowledge it, she only cares about Bro because you do. She only listens to what you have to say about him because you're saying it. She won't find out about any of this until after you've told her. And you think that you'd like to be alone. At least until she appears.

She'll stop for you. She has to.

You've done the calculations. GardenGnostic on the SBHJ forum helped you out. You got some basic figures, some estimates that GG got from some mysterious unnamed source, and then you crunched the numbers. If Aradia visits every single intelligent being in the universe, which is sort of the thing that she does, then she could be a hundred trillion years old before she finished. A hundred trillion years of personal history. When, in all that time, did she meet you? When did she become your friend? And when is she coming to talk with Bro?

She's always known who you were when you come to the hospital with Nepeta. You want to take that as a good sign, that she has some sort of system to this thing and doesn't just bounce around like she's the timey-wimey ball of a cosmic pinball machine.

You spend your time waiting for her to arrive, hoping that your guesses are right, and hoping that she'll care enough to have a word with you. Bro doesn't wake up. They're not sure when he will. If he will.

The clock turns round and round forever, endlessly tracking the minutes and hours, and you wonder if this is why she's called the Clockwork Witch. Or maybe there's some other reason why.

Eventually, you get impatient. You wonder if maybe she visited him some other time. Maybe your Bro won't ever wake up and she grabbed him before the truck hit. But you won't let him just die like this, some shitty mundane death, one out of thirty-three million.

"Aradia Megido. Aradia Megido." You nearly shout the name. She can't help but hear you. Wherever she is, she's hearing you. She knows you're calling. "Aradia Megido." You'll keep it up for as long as you need to, and if he dies then you'll fucking send her back and change the way things went. "Aradia Megido."

She comes like a sinking gale. You dare to think you feel her before you see her, but then there she is, and the whole world is silent. The beeping machines have quieted and frozen, and even your Bro has been left out of this moment-between-moments.

"Th-there was an accident," you begin, but then you quiet down as she lifts a hand. She does not look in your direction, but at your Bro.

"i kn0w why y0u called me," she says in burgundy Tinge. "i kn0w what he is t0 y0u"

"Then you'll save him," you say, but she shakes her head. Not sadly, either. Her eyes still appear white to you, painted over on the eyelids and shut tight.

"But we're friends. Aradia, I thought we were friends!"

You don't understand. She can freeze time. She can traverse its lanes like some kind of sleek shiny time convertible, cruising without crashing and crushing, splattering blood on the pavement and STOP. DAVE. FOCUS.

Anyway, she can bring people through time. When she is especially gracious, she can bring the dying to their loved ones, to offer last goodbyes or see the children they died too young to be remembered by. And somewhere out there, in the millions and billions of years that the universe will keep turning, they can fix him. Compared to that, she wouldn't even have to bring him very far.

And all that she gives you… All that she says, as if it's any kind of excuse, is "everything c0mes t0 an end"

Aradia vanishes, and in her wake comes the wail of the machine. The doctors rush in, but they know as well as you that he's dead.

She already did it. She waited with him as the rest of the world was frozen. She had her words with him, answered his questions and expressed her hollow condolences, and then he died, and she didn't let you say goodbye.

You hate her so much that it hurts.

Shadow-Wasser · Feb 16, 2021

tw: violent fantasies

Dave Strider and the Hollowed Heart

Part 4: Roguish Heart, Maiden Time

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are fifteen years old.

You don't see Aradia anymore. Maybe the goddess mentioned something to Nepeta, because she never brought you to the hospital again after what happened to your Bro.

But, at night, you dream of her. Weird dreams that make you shiver. Dreams of dark curls and painted lips and slender fingers caressing your chest, dreams of a low, musical voice like the tinkling of bells, dreams of eyes the color of dried blood. You wake in a sweat and forget them, only to have them creep back into consciousness during the day, slipping through the deep canals of your brain like slick black oil.

You stopped going to school almost immediately, but the truancy bot never broke down your door. Didn't have a job for a long time, either, but they didn't kick you out of your apartment. Nepeta keeps your kitchen stocked with apple juice and sugar cereals and a thousand kinds of tea and she was about to bring in another cabinet before you told her to cut it out.

Sometimes weeks go by and you barely see her at all. You can understand that. It isn't her fault. She has galaxies and galaxies to maintain, and she isn't like Aradia, she can't be in two places at once. But you miss her so much, and sometimes you think that she's the only one who understands. And the other gods... they do scare you.

John is too wrapped up in his own problems. Rose isn't close to anyone, really. You'd have thought Jade would be able to empathize, but maybe she's just too Zen to question the gods, never mind about her grandpa and why they didn't save him, and maybe she knows something you don't. But it hurts too much, and if understanding means you don't care anymore then you don't want to understand.

You don't know what you would do without Nepeta. Maybe the other gods can be scary, but she's your oldest friend.

The apartment still gets managed by SkaiaNet, a front company that handles work for the Mage and some of the other gods. For obvious reasons, the gods have more than a passing interest in you and your upcoming apotheosis, and they make sure to keep your head above the water. You wouldn't have to pay for food either, but your shitty comics and shittier raps are enough to make you a little money and you want to feel at least a bit like you can manage on your own.

It's 2:00 AM and the television has been running forever now and your eyes are starting to glaze over— you should really think about getting to bed— when you hear somebody move in the apartment. You don't know how they got in or why you didn't hear them playing with the locks but your hand goes to your sword all the same. Those are questions you can figure out later.

When you turn around the sword drops from your hands. All your questions too.

"Bro!"

Aradia is there too, and you try to ignore her. You can force answers out of her some other time, even if you have to stand next to every dying body in the city until she deigns to talk with you. Right now, Bro's here. He's wearing the same clothes he did the day he was hit, but he hasn't been hit, so he will be hit, so he's still going to die. But for just a moment, that truth is lost in the painful joy that he's here, he's actually here.

Ignoring his protestations that he's fine, he's not hurt, you lead your Bro to the couch so that he can sit down and get some distance from the goddess. But still she follows you, a silent red shadow. She doesn't matter.

How much time do you have?

"G-goodbye," you say, stumbling over the words. "In advance. In case she doesn't give us any warning."

Your Bro seems tired, distant, but he wants to see what you've been up to, so you bring over your comics and talk about your music. You try to shoot the shit, like you used to, but it's like a heavy, bloody cloud is hovering between you, two years thick. Two years, he's been in the grave.

Meanwhile, Aradia is there, too. She's there, she doesn't matter, but she's there, burning just out of sight like a hot black scar across what should be a moment between just you and Bro. You feel so tense, painfully aware of every sound she makes. She shifts her weight, takes a few steps, and runs her hand along your turntables, and you want to grab her wrist to shove her away from your records, want to know what her fingers would feel like against yours.

Gods, Dave. Focus. Bro's here.

You brew him up a pot of tea, this new kind that Nepeta introduced you to the other month, but you don't mention her specifically. Neither of you bring up the gods, or anybody else for that matter. You try not to think about how this is only a brief reprieve. You try not to glance too obviously in Aradia's direction. Thank the gods for your shades, nice mirrored ones, a gift from John.

Aradia is moving, and the sound of her approaching footfalls makes you shiver. When she lays a hand on your shoulder, you freeze. Her touch is warm. For a moment, you can't see, you can't think.

Too soon, her hand leaves, and she hasn't said a word but you know what she means. It's time. It's fucking time and no, you're not having this. He's going to stay, even if it breaks time itself, and— You turn around to face her, to tell her that, but she's gone. Bro is gone. The apartment is as empty as a gutted Jack-Noir-o-lantern.

She just killed him. She could have saved him so easily, let him stay here in the future with you, but instead she brought him back in time to the accident and left him there, for the car to hit him a second or a minute later and he's dead and she did it to him. You've been so angry, so long, at the driver, at the car, at the fucking manufacturer, but it's her, it's her fault.

When Nepeta comes over the next morning she finds you on your knees like a good little disciple, repeating Aradia Megido's name every minute to make sure that she hears every foul word that spills from your lips. And even though you won't take a second from issuing curses to acknowledge her presence, she takes you in her arms anyway.

She waits there like that until you finally run out of words, your throat almost too raw for you to speak anymore.

"Nepeta… Am I a bad person?" you croak. "Is it normal… to hate somebody this much?"

"Shoosh…" she whispers. "Shoosh…"

"I just… hate her and I just hate her…" You are shaking. "Like I…"

"Like you want to kill her?"

"No. I want to hurt her. Over and over and… make her feel like I do." You aren't even sure what you're trying to say. You can't say what you want. You can't say you want to grab her, tear her apart, squeeze her neck, make her beg—

The expression on Nepeta's face is unreadable, and the only thing that you can think about is how disappointed she must be in you right now. You bury your face in her shirt. To hide from her. To hide from the world and especially your own heart.

"Shoosh… Dave, shoosh…"

It's hard hating somebody this much. It's hard, and nobody understands. Least of all yourself.

Sterr · Feb 16, 2021

Threadmark missing?

Shadow-Wasser · Feb 17, 2021

Sterr said:
Threadmark missing?

Thank you for pointing that out! The threadmarks have been fixed!

Kloudianorici · Feb 18, 2021

So it seems by that ending that we are fast approaching the entrance to the game itself, and Nepeta is trying to Auspitize between Dave and Aradia, or she is being a temporary Moirail and secretly ships the two as a Calgilinous pair.

Shadow-Wasser · Feb 18, 2021

Kloudianorici said:
So it seems by that ending that we are fast approaching the entrance to the game itself, and Nepeta is trying to Auspitize between Dave and Aradia, or she is being a temporary Moirail and secretly ships the two as a Calgilinous pair.

Nice theories! Which, do you think, is more likely? Which would you like to see happen?

Kloudianorici · Feb 18, 2021

Shadow-Wasser said:
Nice theories! Which, do you think, is more likely? Which would you like to see happen?

Personally I'd lean towards the Auspices angle since Nepeta is VERY about good relationships in canon and I doubt she would moirail someone else behind Equius' back. Thinking on it, we haven't yet seen Karkles, Equius, Vriska, Tavros, Kanaya, or Gamzee, though a couple of them have had their influence made clear in some things. Should be interesting to see the reactions of them to the fact that the nascent godlings were being kept secret.

CupswithsomeDude · Feb 18, 2021

That was really cool!

Kraotop · Feb 18, 2021

Damn that takes me back...but I'm happy I get to read some Homestuck fanfic again.

Skippito · Feb 18, 2021

I'm really enjoying this so far - it honestly makes sense that most SBURB universes would have successful gods train/influence those of the next.

Do you plan to make MSPA-level insanity an intrinsic part of sburb, or is this going to stay more character focused?

Vaalintine · Feb 18, 2021

Ay first I was thinking this woukd be rather low quality, but the high level of feels are certainly worth it.

Shadow-Wasser · Feb 18, 2021

CupswithsomeDude said:
That was really cool!

Thank you!

Kraotop said:
Damn that takes me back...but I'm happy I get to read some Homestuck fanfic again.

I'm happy to provide.

Skippito said:
I'm really enjoying this so far - it honestly makes sense that most SBURB universes would have successful gods train/influence those of the next.

Do you plan to make MSPA-level insanity an intrinsic part of sburb, or is this going to stay more character focused?

I'm glad you're enjoying it!
Right now, the story is focusing on the characters. If time loop etc insanity strikes, it will likely not be on the scale it was in canon. It is not entirely lacking, however.

Vaalintine said:
Ay first I was thinking this woukd be rather low quality, but the high level of feels are certainly worth it.

I'm very glad to exceed your expectations! The feels will continue.

Shadow-Wasser · Feb 23, 2021

Possible tw:

underage/immortal, grooming, abuse. Suicide imagery. Nothing explicit.

A/N: This chapter has been very *very* slightly modified from the version currently on Ao3 and Tumblr. Nothing plot-relevant.

Dave Strider and the Hollowed Heart

Part 5: A Black Cat Love Song

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are sixteen years old. You're sitting on a roof top with a computer in your lap.

Today is the day the world ends.

You didn't think that you would have any visitors, but here she is, Nepeta Leijon.

"What's with the visit?" you ask. "I would have expected the Mage to see me off, if anyone. There's nothing more anyone can do, right?"

She doesn't respond immediately. "This was where we met for the first time. Do you remember?" She takes a seat beside you as you stare at your laptop and wonder if you should do it.

Install Game? Y/N

Nothing changes. It's all inevitable. You know that. She knows that. The rest of the world is going to find out pretty soon. But there are doomed timelines. You could take your laptop and throw it off the roof and, and… There would still be the Alpha Dave and he'd press the button and ensure your collective existences, but it wouldn't be you.

Stable time loops don't do shit for stealing your agency away, now that you think of it, and that sucks. You wish that you didn't still have a choice.

Your hand hovers over the button.

"I brought tea," Nepeta says, and you're grateful for the distraction. Your hand goes from the laptop to the little cup in her hand. You bring it up to your mouth and take a moment just to smell it.

Good old righteous Southern Sweet Tea. Sugared while it was hot, you think, and you're not going to wonder how it manages to be ice cold, or how Nepeta got it up here in the first place when all she has to carry the cups are those tiny pockets running up and down her coat. It's a divine mystery, that's what it is.

When you were younger, you just liked the tea. Loose-leafed sencha and nutty kukicha from Japan, zavarka from Russia, black tea, oolong tea, even visits to India for authentic right-on-the-street chai wallah. You are the Michael Jordan of tea, the generalissimo of genmaicha, the motherfucking Earl of Gray, and you are going to do an acrobatic pirouette off the handle if you can't find any in the Medium.

It wasn't until you were older that you realized what this was. A religious sacrament, a rite of making atonement with the motherfucking Goddess of Goddesses herself. Praise her name, maybe even without a complete sense of irony.

"It's okay to be scared," she says as you take a drink.

"I'm not scared." You lean against her, and tell yourself that it's for totally ironic purposes, some gesture of nonchalance or something like that, you don't even know. You just… It's just a nice feeling. And you're going to leave it at that. "Thank you for being there for me."

"No problem. It was a privilege just to be your friend, you know? Just to be around you and make the magic happen."

You laugh. "Gimme some credit, Nepeta! I would be spinning hella magic beats whether you were around or not."

Nepeta snakes an arm around your shoulder. "I was talking about your little black crush on Aradia. There aren't many humans that can feel really caliginous for someone. It's too bad. I was hoping I could get you to make a move before you hit twenty, but the Game got in the way, you know?"

What. You try to move away from her but one of her arms is around you tight and you can't get very far. "Are you kidding me? You did that? To me?" To this day, you still dream of Aradia every night, waking with a gasp and tingling all the way down and hating her and hating yourself and wanting her-

Nepeta smiles. "Aradia's the one who suggested it. She's lonely, you know, with just herself for company. I just gave you a little push over the edge from platonic hate to pitch, so you could feel it to your full...:33 < purrtential."

You can't breathe. "This was just a game to you."

"If we can call Sgrub a game then I guess that this was too. It was fun, anyway. Even if I couldn't get you together in time."

You struggle in her arms, but she's strong, too strong, and she doesn't let go. "I- I can't believe it. You! You introduced me to Aradia. Just so that you could watch me fall apart over her? You- do you have any idea how many nights-"

Nepeta purrs. "Yes. Not a bad job, right? All things considered. Especially since it'd be so much easier to swap your heart if you already felt that way about someone else, or if someone else felt that way about Aradia. It's not that she doesn't have admirers, but do you have any idea how very few people are jockeying to be her rival? So I thought, 'why not give my friend a little gift'?"

How could she, how could she? After all this time, being your friend, supporting you, caring about you, she was just... what, grooming you? No, no, you won't take it. She can't control you, she's the only one who wouldn't!

"You bit—" you start to say, but you're silenced when her mouth presses up against yours.

The kiss only lasts a second. "Oh Dave. Caliginous for two women at once? You really are the talented one." Nepeta grins, first playfully, then with a dawning, delighted realization. "Oh! Oh, of course! Aradia, you are a clever kitten!"

You don't understand. You gape at Nepeta. Your heart pounds. Your face burns.

The goddess' smile turns predatory. "Well, maybe I'd like to get just one more taste of that, before I go," she says.

She kisses you again, and that's when you lose it. You bite down on her tongue. She moans. You scratch your nails along her back. She whimpers, and gods help you, you don't know what's driving you more, if you want to hurt her or if you're just that turned on and gods, oh g—

Nepeta draws away from you, grinning. All it does is make you hate her more.

"And that's an itch that you're never going to get scratched." As she says the words, she grabs your hand, and your stomach flips, and no, no, she's doing it, isn't she, she's doing it right now-

You hear a click, and you look over to see she's guided your finger to the keyboard. "And if that wasn't enough for you to remember me by, then I don't deserve my godhood."

Install Game? YYY

You're left staring at the screen, dead to everything else, until suddenly you notice that she's pulled herself away from you. She's standing again, dusting off her sleeves.

She looks down, and it's only then that you realize that she's standing at the edge of the roof. "Considering what I just did to you, playing you like that, do you think if I died it would be Just? Or would I wake up?"

"Nepeta? Don't. Why would you—"

She smirks. "Give Aradia something to remember me by, won't you?" She sticks her tongue out lasciviously for a moment, and then she spreads her arms out. "Have fun on the other side, kid."

She falls out of sight before you can get to your feet.

Shadow-Wasser · Mar 4, 2021

The Blossoming Almond Tree

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are not a disciple of the Prince of Hope. You might call yourself his prophet-in-training, if either of you were given to such wording. Or his angel, but you aren't exactly on any of the Angel Scout membership rolls, so that could lead to some confusion.

No. Call yourself his apprentice. You think that you like the sound of that.

Tonight you are sitting in front of an open fire. The night sky hangs over you, cold and clear. Eridan has taken you out to see the stars. You would have appreciated this more had he not decided to bring you to the top of the Alps in the dead of winter, but he insists that there was no other way. The Alps are a wonderful place for stargazing, hence the location is mandatory. The timing is just as important because the two of you are here to celebrate Truth Day, when followers of the Prince of Hope all over the world gather together to record the lies which they tell themselves and throw these into the fire.

Regardless, you wish that Truth Day could have been set in another, more clement month. Leo, maybe, or Cancer. Despite your best efforts, you shiver violently as the heat escapes from your small frame. You edge a bit closer to Eridan. He told you once that his body temperature is one of the lowest amongst the gods. But on this frigid night, he is warm enough.

Eridan pokes at the fire with his staff, which, though it certainly looks like it is made out of wood, does not burn or even singe. "There is hot chocolate," he tells you.

You take the proffered thermos and drink it slowly. It is almost literally an ambrosia. It was brewed by a god, and tastes just as good. Or maybe that's just the cold talking, and the warmth spreading through you as you drink.

He shifts his position and points to another star. "Coma Berenices is risin'. See how it forms a right angle?" You nod, and he continues. "The northern part a' the Virgo Cluster, the heart a' this galaxy's supercluster, lies in that direction."

You sip hot chocolate as you listen, and lean into Eridan for more warmth.

"Also several globular clusters orbit there," he continues. "Very few a' the stars in globular clusters can hold rocky planets. But there are species that have colonized them with orbital habitats. I don't recommend doin' that. It takes a lot of resources. And for not much reward," he adds.

"What would be their reason for doing it then? I would think that their minds might simply be too alien for my own to comprehend their motives, but you have a remarkably human psychology— or else ours is remarkably divine— and the possibility that this would occur just by chance seems absurd."

"Various reasons, most a' which are irrational. The Inn'in'inn, for example, thought that no star system should be without intelligent habitation, no matter how difficult to establish. They suffered heavy colony mortality, but the sheer number a' attempts ensured occasional success. I guess if you're goin' to roll the dice at all, figuratively, mind, it is best to roll more than once."

"I see. You referred to them in the past tense," you note.

He nods. "Sharp ears. That's right, there are none left. They died out half a billion years ago."

You look away from Eridan, but still toward the sky. Perhaps now would be a good time to ask... "You didn't come here from nowhere. What was your world like?" What books were written there, you wonder, and what stories told? How did they think? Who was their Sigmund Freud, their Viktor Frankl? What were the people like? But you don't say that yet. Instead, you wait. Just a little at a time.

He pauses. A sigh escapes him, not through his mouth but through his gills. "Depends on what you mean by that," he finally says. "I could go on at length about my world's history and science, or its climate, or its geography, but is that really what you are askin'?"

You shrink back a little. "I had not actually arrived at a specific set of inquiries yet. However, I would be interested in knowing more about something. On the other hand, judging from your expression and lack of response, I take it that you do not wish to discuss the matter." You train your vision on the stars. "I suppose that I can relate to that." You've spent a considerable amount of your time avoiding your mother and any deep discussion about her. Perhaps there are things on his world that Eridan prefers to have left behind.

"It is not high on my to-do list, and I doubt it would be helpful for you to know. That world is gone. What few lessons you could learn from its existence are not relevant at this time. If it comes up, Rose, you will be the first to know."

You nod, feeling as if you had stepped on something that you shouldn't have. As if you had broken an urn, perhaps, though you don't know why that image would come up. "Thank you for taking me out here." You lean against Eridan again.

"It's no trouble." He pokes at the fire again. Sparks fly into the air at the disturbance, glowing like the stars themselves, but quickly go dark.

You take another sip of cocoa, watching the coals glowing against the winter dark. "How many worlds have you seen?"

He pauses. "Hm. I don't keep count. Many billions. In this galaxy alone there are hundreds of billions of stars. Though a' course not all of them are inhabited. Much as the Inn'in'inn might have tried."

You frown. "But I've seen you almost every day, and there are reports of your presence, if not daily, then at least monthly, somewhere on Earth. Why do you spend so much time here, when there are so many varied worlds out there? Surely it can't be just because your sign is written out in the stars of our sky."

"No, a' course not. Perhaps I've simply become a hivebody in my old age, but it is pleasant to call one world home, instead a' staying continually on the move. The choice was kind a' arbitrary, and maybe there were better ones, or equally good. But I don't think this was a bad decision, overall. The stars, as you say, are a special touch." He pokes the fire again, making the flames sizzle and snap. "Rose, do you have your papers ready? I think this fire is as large as it's gonna get in this weather."

"Um. Yes." You take a folded slip of paper in your hand. The ink does not bleed through, but you know that he knows what is on the paper. He hears every lie you tell yourself, and he surely noticed when one of them vanished. Written on the slip, in neat cursive words, is the sentence "I am okay."

It's vague, yes, and maybe that's cheating a bit, but every other wording you tried felt wrong. So, you take a breath and throw it into the fire. No more lies.

Eridan holds up his own piece of paper and tosses it in. Both of them burn quickly, leaving nothing behind.

You wish that you could ask, but that isn't really... Oh, blast it, you'll stage it as a rhetorical question that doesn't mandate answering. "What kind of lies could a god of truth be telling himself? After all of this time I would have expected you to be through with that."

Eridan continues to look at the fire. His expression does not change at all. "There are always more lies, Rose Lalonde. Very little is new under the stars and above them, but the sheer number a' lies that livin' creatures can tell themselves always surprises me. It's annoyin'." He cocks his head to the side. "I have passed through fire and deep water, since my lies and I first parted. I have forgotten much that I thought I knew, and learned again much that I had forgotten."

You frown.Then you lean back and stare. "That's The Lord of the Rings. That's Gandalf."

Eridan actually smiles. Only very slightly, but it is still unusual enough for you to take note of it. "Well, they do call me the White."

"B-But what happened to 'Magic isn't real and wizards are silly'? How many times have you told me that?"

"They are silly, and nonsense, and not real," Eridan agrees. He interlaces his fingers in front of his face. "And I suppose none a' that precludes a certain fondness for them."

"You... You, I don't have any words. I am at a complete loss for words. You bastard!" You're smiling, though, which kind of takes away from your words.

"Well, it is Truth Day, isn't it? So now I'm comin' clean. A bastard and a wizard lover, what a combination. I wouldn't be surprised if you left right this minute."

You laugh softly. "And walk down the side of this mountain all by myself, in the middle of the night in the dead of winter? You sure know how to treat a lady right." You settle yourself against Eridan again, still chuckling. "You should date my mother, if you like wizards so much. Just. Um. Don't, actually." Why did you say that? The idea is undesirable for a number of reasons. How disturbing it would be is only the first of them.

"I should not date your mother, that is a ridiculous idea. I am not even flushed for her. Never have been, for a human."

"Oh." You laugh, feeling light, even giddy. Like you've dodged a bullet. "Are you sure that you won't be tossing that into the fire next Truth Day?"

"One can only hope I won't be."

"Truly you are a wellspring of comedic genius."

Inside, you can't help but take heart a little from that. The Prince of Hope destroys his namesake. All the texts agree on that. He's the one that leaves you with ashes in your hands, because all your hopes were founded on sand. But maybe that's good. Because if it's a hope that he'll never feel flushed for a human, well...

You can't deny it. Lying to yourself would only let him know, like throwing cold water on his head and banging a gong next to his ear. He'd just know, and you'd be as transparent as glass. So you have to come clean with yourself, even if nobody else. And it is perfectly understandable for a young girl such as yourself, in a context such as this. Nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about— or at least that's what you keep trying to tell yourself.

You're crushing on Eridan. Really badly. Like, you want to take to him like your mother does to the bottle. And all this wizard business that you just found out about is so not helping.

Well, maybe he'll come around. Maybe he'll come around someday...

Later, you will ask him what he threw in the fire on that first Truth Day that you shared together. He will not tell you. Not until you are seventeen. In the cold of the night on that future Truth Day, without warning, he will remove his eyes from the stars and tell you what he had written so long ago.

"I will not miss Earth."

Skippito · Mar 4, 2021

I'm glad that Eridan seems to have turned out a decent fellow. Real shame about Earth though, but that's the way of SBURB.
Thanks for the update!

Jomasten · Mar 4, 2021

Skippito said:
I'm glad that Eridan seems to have turned out a decent fellow. Real shame about Earth though, but that's the way of SBURB.
Thanks for the update!

Its really surprising that I find myself agreeing, because I disliked Eridan for his douchecanoe'ry in OTL

Now I'm worried where Vriska falls under...

Vaalintine · Mar 5, 2021

I may not have seen ALL of his character arc, but I pretty much see where this is going with him. A combination of his class and the lessons he learned, together with the hindsight to see how he was a total douche in the past.

Shadow-Wasser · Mar 9, 2021

Possible TW: Alcoholism

Girl From Nowhere

Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and you are simply the best there is. No need to specify at what. You are the best at all of the things. All of them.

But if you did have to specify, you suppose that you would say you are the ultimate best at computers. In fact, you are the drunken master of computers. Nobody can hope to beat you when you've got a wine bottle in one hand and a keyboard under the other. Nobody. Not even you when you're sober, actually.

That unfortunate fact has forced you to scrap your computer wholesale and just buy a new one several occasions, on account of not being able to figure out how to get past the new security system that you designed on it while you were drunk, or the password that you set at the same time. You keep telling yourself that you need to write these things down but you never remember. You have absolutely no idea why that is.

But what can you do? Programming is in your blood; when you are cut, ones and zeroes spill out of your arm. Your fingers fly not like it's your nature, but like they're responding to the thrum of destiny. It was fate, it had to have been, that when some rich dude bequeathed half his library to the orphanage one Croakmas when you were still a tyke, that you were the one who got the programming books with all those pictures of cats on the cover. You learned to read out of those books, for crying out loud. You were made for this. It's your telos.

But you are not just the drunken master of all coding. You are also one of the many students to have blessed— or blighted— the halls of Our Lady Who Is Without Mother Or Father Academy for Girls. You are undoubtedly the best and most favorite of the superintendent's, but she doesn't like to let on that she plays favorites so she's always yelling about how she's one more misstep away from throwing your ass out on the curb. That never happens, though, no matter how many times you hack into her computer system, so you're pretty sure that it's all just talk and smokescreens.

After all, if she didn't want to share the bottles of gin she kept locked in her back cabinets then she wouldn't have put them there after you'd already picked her lock three times before, right? Nah, you're totally on the best of terms. The fake mad face is just a part of the charm.

Still, she does have to keep up a front if she's going to keep the rest of the school fooled about how much she actually doesn't hate your guts, so she has to make a profanity-filled house call every now and then. Seeing as you're the school's Little Orphan Annie that means she doesn't have to walk very far, just down the block, so these visits happen quite a bit.

Most people avoid coming in your room. You did have a couple of roommates but you kept hacking the records or breaking into the records office and changing your file, and eventually the matrons just plain gave up and let you have it your way. And if they want to talk with you, well, they knock, or they just scream at you through the door. Which is what just about anybody does but the superintendent, actually, since you have been known to come at people with broken bottles when they make too much noise or touch your hardware.

So when you hear somebody enter your room one morning, you don't bother asking who it is. You just keep at it, smacking keys and drowning your hangover behind a wall of monitors, towers, and books, completely dark save for the glow of screens dimmed to their lowest brightness.

But it isn't the super, it's a guy. Some jackass with a lisp. When you find that out you're about to curse him out but, on a whim, you poke your head over the Great Wall of China and— hot damn, and thank your lucky stars you didn't say anything, because this isn't a jackass, it's the jackass, Sollux Captor, the Mage of Doom, wearing some ratty moth-eaten coat over his godhood.

"Nice coat," you tell him.

He shrugs. "They tell me I have to look decent for the public. 'Like people,' is how Kanaya puts it. She says it looks like pajamas."

"Sorta does," you admit.

"Fuck her. You're lucky I'm wearing anything."

Yeah, this is totally his protest costume.

But what is he doing here? You don't know, so you ask him. And then you offer him breakfast, just to be a good host.

"What is that?"

"Pickled prunes, tripe, cinnamon, eggs, and rum. Hangover cure."

"You put rum in your hangover cure?" Sollux obviously doesn't know what to make of you— best person ever, or supreme best ever? You yourself know exactly how awesome you are, but it's more fun to keep him guessing.

"How else am I supposed to get a good start on my drinking?" Okay, you've nailed it. You are the best of friends or something now probably. Especially since he took a spoon from out of nowhere and is sharing your awesome hangover cure soup with you.

You eat in silence, or at least as much as you can get between the clicker-clacker of the keys. Meanwhile, Sollux is taking a look around your room, frowning, smiling, shaking his head, smiling some more.

"I want to offer you a job," he says, and you want to do a spit take but the soup's all gone and you're just now noticing that he snatched your wine from out of your reach.

"Uh, say who what now?"

"Let's just say that we're very interested in what you can do. So I'm offering you a job at SkaiaNet," he says. "And you will be given a place to study at Derleth University when you graduate from here."

You squint at him. "Derleth? Ain't that a medical school? I do computers."

"I need a biologist. They have a new program in computational genomics."

"A little squishy for me, bucko."

Sollux blinks. It evidently takes him a moment to figure out what you're going on about. "I don't need another programmer that I could outperform on my worst day. I need somebody with a tenth of Feferi's bioengineering and a third of my coding. A biologist with your special talents would have many uses."

A biologist? What the heck kind of biology needs coding and hacking? Then again, it would be nice to have a guaranteed job...

"But there is a catch," he continues, and you groan inside. "You're a good student, but you're still a menace and a delinquent. That kind of shit isn't supposed to happen, by the way. With your behavior you should be flunking or something."

You lean back in your swank rolly-chair. "Maybe I fixed my grades."

"You didn't. I would know."

Aw.

He continues: "So you have to keep off the booze." Wait, what? "You are, I have been assured, a functioning alcoholic. Nevertheless, you are also unpredictable when you are drunk, and I do not want to lose my investment at the age of thirty for the sake of an exploded liver."

"Why me?"

"Because you're very good at what you do."

You grin. "Pft, yeah, of course. So, what, the super recommended me?"

"More the other way around."

You blink at him. What does that mean? Your hangover is making you fuzzy, and slower than you should be. "How'd you know about me then? Unless I'm some kinda chosen one or something?"

He smiles, and your own grin wavers. "C'mon man, next thing you'll say you got me into this in the first place, that you gave me those coding books for Croakmas when I was three- oh fuck, you did, didn't you?"

You stare right into the god's shit-eating grin, and you don't know whether to scream or laugh or try to do both at once. The superintendent doesn't actually like you very much, does she? But she answers to a higher power that doesn't care about that...

"You got me into this to begin with? But... you're not just fucking with me, right? This isn't just, I mean, this is really happening, you're not just nodding at whatever I say?" You stare into the mismatched lenses of his shades and try to gauge whether he's telling the truth.

"It's all very real, Roxy. And yes, your intuition is correct; I've been interested in your progress for a long time."

"And you just want to play it all cool like it's nobody's thing or whatever, I just happened to be the best there is— which I am, don't get me wrong."

"Why would I select you, out of all of the orphans in the world?"

"Because I was... different?"

Sollux snorts. "You were a baby. What's different about you?"

You take a moment to think about it. "You knew my parents. They were something special."

His teeth gleam, sharper than any human smile. "Not a bad guess. But you're wrong. You don't have any parents. That's why you're special."

You just about leap out of your chair. "What do you mean? Was I some sort of... cloning experiment or something?"

The Mage of Doom slips a card into your hand. "Study hard. Stay in school and out of trouble. Then maybe you'll find out. And whatever you do, don't pray."

"Huh?"

"I mean, don't call us. We'll call you."

The coat falls down around him, his wings unfurl, and—Sollux is gone and the room is empty, save for you.

You don't talk with gods again for six more years. You manage to stay out of the bottle for nine.

Shadow-Wasser · Mar 13, 2021

Skippito said:
I'm glad that Eridan seems to have turned out a decent fellow. Real shame about Earth though, but that's the way of SBURB.
Thanks for the update!

You're quite welcome! 'Maturing' the characters and trying to figure out how they've changed over time has been one of the biggest challenges of this fic, for sure.

Jomasten said:
Now I'm worried where Vriska falls under...

With the current story schedule, Vriska should make her appearance next month :::: )

Vaalintine said:
I may not have seen ALL of his character arc, but I pretty much see where this is going with him. A combination of his class and the lessons he learned, together with the hindsight to see how he was a total douche in the past.

You are very perceptive! There's a lot that's happened in the last few million years, and the lessons taught by Sgrub itself have played a large part.

Shadow-Wasser · Mar 16, 2021

Capture the Wind

Part 1: en prise

The basement of the zodiac church on 8th street is not exactly the fanciest room. Its gray-carpeted flooring bears the stains and scuffs of hundreds of shoes, its fluorescent bulbs make your head hurt when you stare directly at them, and its shrine is one of those cheap paper rotating ones with the gods' symbols and sigils and not much else. Really, it's kind of a pathetic place of worship. But this is where the church youth group meets, the preteens and teenagers of the congregation gathering every Zakhday after school for religious discussion and services.

Your name is John Egbert, and you turned fourteen about a week ago. You've been going to these church meetings for several months now, and you love it, tacky paper shrine and everything. You've never really had friends, before this. You were always a bit of a weirdo at school, not even the class clown (as you'd always aspired to be). You've endured your share of bullying by schoolmates, but mostly you're just kind of ignored.

It's different, here.

Unlike the regular daily service, the god in focus at the youth group changes every week. Today's prayer session is to the Seer of Mind, and they've cleared the chairs to make an open space for worship. You don't think the Seer is your favorite, but you've decided you still like her service, since you get to move your body around while you pray. Worshipping the Seer involves a kind of directed, moving meditation, which is supposed to focus your vital energy and calm your thoughts.

You don't have to worship the Seer, of course. There's no rule about it, if you'd prefer to direct your prayers to another god that day. But because most of the others follow the schedule, you do too. It makes you feel like you belong.

Gabe, a junior from the local high school, is leading today's service. He's guiding the group as you move awkwardly from one pose to another, and occasionally he reads excerpts from the prayer book. You can tell some of the other kids have been doing this since they were really little, but you've only done it maybe once before, so you're less than adept. But no one makes fun of you or points out that you're lifting the wrong foot or your shoulders are too tight or whatever. At least not out loud.

"…and the community came together, and said, 'we shall cast out the evil men and women from our midst, as we cast the evil thoughts from our head,' and this was justice, and this was rightness…" Gabe droned on.

You probably shouldn't be thinking so much during this service. The point is to calm your thoughts and let them simply flow away. You are… not so great at that.

Still, it is relaxing. Not all the services are. The Knight's services can be pretty intense, and that's to say nothing of the Bard's! You still think that the Page's are your favorite, even though they have to set up a fan to get any wind down here in the basement.

"…and with clear head and clear eyes, I turn to you, Seer of Mind, for your most worthy of judgments in all the heavens. Amen."

Gabe closes the book, and rubs one of his eyes with his fist. "Okay everyone, that concludes the worship for today, let's bring the chairs back, huh?"

You and the other members of the youth group sigh and stretch, and eventually you all manage to get the tables and chairs set back up. Gabe sits at the head of the table and brings out a piece of paper.

"Okay. Today's discussion topic: why do we pray?" Gabe smiles slightly, and leans forward. "Anyone?"

The discussion, like most of the post-worship discussions, is not particularly conclusive. You don't have much to add to it, though you do give it a few moments of thought. Why do you pray? You don't have much to ask for. You're pretty content. You have your friends here in church, and you have Colonel Sassacre back home, and you have your movie collection if you ever get bored. You guess you could thank the gods, or affirm them, or maybe pray on behalf of someone else. You rest your chin in your hand and pick at the varnish on the table, half-listening while a sophomore talks about praying for good grades.

The discussion lasts about a half hour, and then the meeting is officially over. You usually hang around after to chat with the other kids, but this time Gabe interrupts before anyone leaves.

"I have a very special announcement," he says. "The Art Museum in Spokane is opening up a new wing on intergalactic artists in a few weeks, and none other than the Sylph of Space herself will be there to consecrate the opening. And I just so happen to have tickets to the event!"

Wait, you could get to see a goddess? A real goddess, not just the symbol on a piece of paper, and like, in person? Meet her? Shake her hand? You're not sure how to feel about this.

Everyone begins talking at once, chattering to each other excitedly.

"Ok, ok!" calls Gabe, and claps his hands to get everyone's attention. "I know you're all excited, but guys, shoosh, listen up. Space is limited, so you need to get a parent's or guardian's signature on one of these waivers-"

Oh. Oh.

You won't be seeing a real goddess. There is no freaking way that your dad will sign one of those. Ha ha.

You take one anyway, because everyone else does, then climb the stairs out of the basement. Once you're outside, Anna, a girl in your grade with short, mousy-brown hair, approaches you. "This is so exciting!" she gushes. "I can't believe it, Spokane is only a few hours away!"

You've spoken to Anna a few times before. You know that she goes to private school and likes to sing. "Yeah," you say, and sigh dramatically. "I will actually be a few hours away from a goddess."

She frowns. "Don't be like that, John! I'm sure there'll be room for you!"

You shake your head. "There is no way my dad will let me go."

"You sure? It's not that far."

"It's not that." You rub the back of your neck, and look away from Anna. "Dad is an atheist. He doesn't even know I come here."

Anna stares. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. He never even let me go trick or treating. How lame is that? What kind of dad won't let their kid go out for Hallowhonk?"

Anna blinks in surprise. "Oh wow, you're serious. That's awful!"

You smile. "It's okay. I really like it here. It's fun to learn about gods and stuff. Anyway," you chuckle. "Dad thinks I go to bowling club after school."

You both share a laugh about that, but Anna still looks like she's feeling sorry for you. "Look," she says. "Why don't you just tell your dad that you've found meaning in worship?"

You shake your head. "No way. He wouldn't understand."

"Oh," she says. "That's too bad." You both stand there for a moment. Anna looks at her shoes. Then, she smiles. "Well, if he ever changes his mind, you can, you know, come over to my house for Passover, maybe?"

"Dude, that would be awesome," you say, "But I don't think that is ever going to happen."

Anna sighs. "Okay. Wish me luck in getting a seat?"

"Good luck, Anna," you say, and she leaves.

On the way home on the bus, you read the waiver. It's just the usual brouhaha. List your food allergies and emergency contacts, no liability in case you wander off and get lost, etc.

Your dad is so stupid. This is an opportunity of a lifetime! Not everyone gets to meet the gods. This could be life changing and he's just…

Well, he's a hypocrite, for one. Your home has no shrine and you never observe religious holidays or anything, but he collects clowns. Yeah, clowns. If your dad isn't secretly longing for the Dark Carnival, you'll eat your glasses.

But still, you're not going to show him the waiver. Even if you do, and even if he somehow doesn't ground you for going to church behind his back, and even if he signs it, they'll probably run out of space before you get in. The whole thing is stupid.

You look out the window of the bus, at the buildings rolling past. Maybe if you pretend the waiver was for something else? Or maybe if you forge his signature? Can you do that?

Maybe you should have used today's prayer session to ask for guidance. Except, of course, you didn't know about the field trip at the beginning.

You crumple the waiver in your fist, and throw it away.

You arrive at your house. There was no car in the driveway, which means Dad isn't home from work yet, which is to be expected. You grab the house key from its hiding place under the light fixture, and walk in.

You freeze in place. There's someone in the living room, sitting facing away from you, on the couch. It's not your dad. You can see two horns, bright vibrant orange, sticking out like traffic cones from perfectly cut holes in the intruder's green hood.

"Hello, John."

The intruder, who sounds like a woman, does not turn to look at you. Everything you've learned about the gods seems to have flown out of your mind. You can't think straight. This can't be real. This has to be a prank.

"1T'S NOT 4 PR4NK, JOHN. TH1S 1S FOR R34L."

Her… her voice. It raises goosebumps all along your arms, and makes you see teal on the backs of your eyelids. There is no way that wasn't a divine voice.

You don't know what to say. What can you say? What are you supposed to say when you meet a goddess? Your frazzled brain is trying to remember which goddess has the sacred color of teal.

"Um." You swallow. "Hi."

"Come here, John," she says, with a normal, un-colorful voice. "Have a seat."

You comply, and sit on the reclining chair across from the couch.

She's just sitting there, wearing the green hood and the robe with her sigil in blue-green: a circle with three curved lines radiating from its edge. Her skin is gray, her hair black. Her hood covers her eyes and she's not showing her wings, but you've figured out whom she is, now that you see the sigil.

The Seer of Mind smiles politely, and flips a coin with one hand. "It's nice to finally meet you, John." She catches the coin.

"Um," you say. "Does my dad know you are here?"

Shit, that was a really dumb thing to say.

She smiles, more broadly this time. "I've heard dumber."

Oh gods oh gods. She can read your mind.

"And no," she goes on. "He doesn't know. Let's keep it that way, for now."

She flips the coin again. You try to remember how you're supposed to treat important guests.

"So, uh, what can I do for you, Seer of Mind? You want anything to drink? We have uh, coke, and milk, and coffee."

You're staring. Stop staring.

The Seer of Mind tilts her head up so you can see her sunglasses, and the red sightless eyes behind them. "Cherry Coke," she says, and you jump to your feet to get her some.

You run, maybe too fast, to the kitchen. You can't believe this. This is crazy and intense and way too weird. It's like meeting Nick Cage, but way more so. They'll never believe you in church.

You quickly grab a can of cherry coke and run back to the living room, realizing too late that you probably should have offered ice, too. Shoot.

You give the goddess her coke. Instead of opening it with the tab, she rips a hole straight through the metal with her teeth.

You freeze. You're not going to lie, that was pretty badass. And terrifying.

She drinks for several seconds while you just stand there, then says; "Don't worry about stocking up on the Coke. I'll bring my own next time."

Did she just imply what you think she did? "Next time?" you ask.

She smiles, sharp teeth like a shark. "You sound like you're not looking forward to it. Don't you like me?"

Oh. Shit. "Uh, not to be ungrateful, Lady Justice. I guess I am just a little nervous. How can I help you?"

She flips her coin and catches it with one hand, still sipping on the coke with the other.

"Everyone starts getting weekly visits from their favorite deity when they turn fourteen, didn't you know?"

Your mouth falls open. They didn't tell you that, but-

"You are joking with me," you say. "That definitely does not happen at all."

The goddess frowns, and a chill goes up your spine. "Are you implying that a goddess would lie to you?" she says. "Have a little shame, John Egbert."

You hold up your hands defensively. "No! No, no, that's not what I meant! Joking is not the same as lying, because everyone knows when you are joking. Or, they find out really soon."

"So, in that case, let us consider the evidence, John," says the Seer, once again showing fangs. "If I am not here as a matter of course, why would I be here? In your house? Just for you?"

And before you answer, she goes on; "It's not to dispense parental permission slips, I can assure you."

Well, you weren't going to ask for that. You wanted to meet a goddess and here she is, so maybe she's here to answer your prayers that way? Or maybe…

"I didn't pray or anything during worship today," you confess. "Are you angry because of that?"

"Yes, John," she replies. "I personally make it my business to punish those who are too lazy to pray. It is clearly the best use of my time."

You chuckle nervously. You think maybe you're starting to get a handle on the goddess' sense of humor. "Okay, I guess I'm lost, then. I give up. Why are you here?"

The Seer flips the coin and catches it. "There are several ways I can answer that question. There is a god in your house because you are very special. I am in your house also because you are very special. But these are two different kinds of special. Put another way, some of us gods are interested in you, John, because you have a grand destiny before you. And, being interested, we want to make sure you don't fuck it up. But me? I'm here because I think you're fascinating."

Your mouth falls open slightly. What? There has to be a mistake here.

The Seer continues, flipping the coin again. "John, there have been a few times, in the past fourteen years, when you have surprised me. These times are few and far between, but they exist. I know you don't have any real appreciation of what that means, but let me say it again: I cannot predict your actions one hundred percent of the time. And, destiny aside, that makes you a very interesting person."

You swallow. This is totally crazy, but also kind of awesome. "Well," you say, after taking a few minutes to absorb the Seer's words. "I was not expecting to be told that I had a grand destiny when I woke up this morning."

She nods in acknowledgment.

"So…" You trail off. "What is it? Am I going to be the best comedian in the galaxy?"

"Just one galaxy?" she says, arching an eyebrow. "That's as far as you'll let your dreams take you?"

You rub the back of your neck. You can't seem to say anything right in this conversation. "I have never been off-world," you venture as an excuse.

The Seer catches her coin. "Let me put it like this. If you do what you're supposed to, then an entire universe might regard you as the greatest comedic genius to ever live. In fact, and I'm not exaggerating, you may even go so far as to define comedy from that point on."

"What?" That doesn't make any sense to you. "Are you joking? You're sure it's me? Because I do not know if you have ever read Colonel Sassacre, but he is pretty definitive on comedy-" No, stop. You sound like an idiot.

The Seer's voice is low and quiet. "Future generations will only know of Colonel Sassacre because you tell them about him."

You blink. People will forget about Sassacre? You're not sure how to feel about that.

"Are you beginning to grasp the weight of your destiny?" the Seer asks.

You steeple your fingers and look at them. "Maybe? I guess I am still kind of getting used to the fact that the Seer of Mind is in my living room, heh..."

"Well get used to it, John Egbert!" The goddess stands up abruptly, and whoa, she's tall. She steps close, way too close, and then you're looking directly into her face, the divine gray skin and the red eyes. When she speaks, you can feel the goddess' breath on your skin. "You're going to be seeing a whole lot more of me."

Okay, this is an invasion of your personal space. You swallow. "Oh. Gosh. I'm honored."

She's still too close. "You haven't asked about the catch, John. I didn't expect you to, but you really should."

Oh. "What's the catch?"

She smiles again, her teeth mere inches from your nose. "You are not to pray to any of the other gods, under any circumstances. You will not write about them, nor will you speak their names and titles."

Oh. Shit. You won't be able to go to church, then. You won't be able to see your friends. You'll have to tell them somehow, but if you can't TELL them…

"I do not require that you pray to me," the Seer goes on. "I just need to know if, despite your unpredictability, you can follow instructions and keep secrets."

"Wait," you start, but the Seer interrupts.

"There is another option, of course." She steps back, giving you back your personal space, and flips her coin. "I can leave, and we can pretend this never happened. We never met. We'll never meet again." She smiles, this time without showing teeth. "I know what you're going to say, of course. But that doesn't mean it's not your choice."

You blink. She's giving you a choice? I mean, she IS a goddess, and it would really not be a smart thing to say no.

"Well," you say. "I think this is just about the most amazing thing that's ever happened, I just, wow, I feel like I'm about to be punk'd or something, or like I'm dreaming. I'm not dreaming though, there is no way I would dream up something like this."

The Seer just waits for you, and you take a deep breath. "Okay, I will do it. If it's my destiny or whatever."

She smiles. "Then just remember. This was your choice, John."

You swallow. That sounds really ominous.

The Seer turns, and opens the door to the outside. Then, without looking at you, she says, "Also, do think about how you're going to explain this to your father."

"Huh?" You're very confused now. "I thought I wasn't supposed to tell him about this?"

She shakes her head, still facing away. "No, but you're going to do a terrible job of keeping this a secret from him. He's smarter than you think he is." She moves a hand up to adjust her hood. "You have four months, one week, and three days before he confronts you."

And then, before you can reply, teal butterfly wings unfurl from her shoulders, much wider than the doorway. She steps outside, and is gone in the space of blinking.

You stare at the empty doorway for several long moments before you realize you forgot to ask her for an autograph.

For all readers and writers

After much ado, our new tagging system is here and being rolled out to the userbase. Read more here!

The Gods Have Horns [Homestuck Mythology AU]

Recent threadmarks

Shadow-Wasser

Shadow-Wasser

Shadow-Wasser

Shadow-Wasser

Shadow-Wasser

Shadow-Wasser

Shadow-Wasser

Sterr

Shadow-Wasser

Kloudianorici

Shadow-Wasser

Kloudianorici

CupswithsomeDude

Very Tired

Kraotop

Skippito

Vaalintine

Wild Wondorous Wolfalope

Shadow-Wasser

Shadow-Wasser

Shadow-Wasser

Skippito

Jomasten

Vaalintine

Wild Wondorous Wolfalope

Shadow-Wasser

Shadow-Wasser

Shadow-Wasser

Recent threadmarks