-table slaps- I WANNA KNOW DEDE’S BACKSTORY. That being if it pleases the great Goddess I’d like to know how one becomes a god

The goddess Deu’ma was born cradled in the ribs of a long dead hero.

 One among many surrounding her. Even millenia later, few would dare stray from the path if crossing through the Changeling Wood. Even those unfamiliar with the legends of The Traveller, or the lonely story of an infant goddess, can feel the heavy magic in the sunlight that filters through the canopy. All year round, in the center of the wood where The Red Brook forks then flows back into itself, dandelions bloom by the thousands. Only one small patch stays bare of the flowers. On the island created by divided waters, there is a bed of moss resembling a person laying down. It is barely visible from even directly overhead, however, on account of the density of the flowers all around it.

Of course, few have dared to see for themselves whether this is true, but those who have spread one of two stories about it. 

The first tale is written in the Saga of the Traveller. It tells of the ancient druidic warrior who journeyed for a lifetime in her futile quest to put an end to Fate Itself. It tells of her falling here, mortally wounded, only to be saved by the goddess who would become her lover. Saved by Deu’ma, the goddess of lost causes.

The other story tells of that same goddess’s birth on that very spot, born from the tenacity of the flowers that grow there. Some believe that it was the divine coincidence of nearly dying in this particular place that saved The Traveller.

The truth is that Deu’ma was born here long after The Traveller first died on that island.

Hogwarts AU Headcanons

Barbara Jared is a half blood first generation Irish American, whose letter came as a bit of a surprise. She’d been going to a magical “day school” for elementary, like her brother, and was expected to continue on through middle and high school- even if her dad still went back and forth to Ireland for work. 

Later she would find out that that might have been part of the reason. Her brother was transferred to a boarding school the same year.

Her dad is from a fork of a pureblood line, but he hasn’t been in contact with his family since his mom moved them overseas. Her mom is a halfblood: the last name she goes by is her mom’s maiden name.

Her dad works in bounty hunting and magical security detail: something went sideways and the kids needed extra protection. 

Barbara’s first time in Britain is the day she’s dropped off at the gates of Hogwarts by her father, officially given her wand, a sorta hand me down, a pat on the back, and left p much panicking and overwhelmed.

A hufflepuff and an easily frustrated, emotional child (gullible to boot) Babs is easy pickings for bullies both in terms of other students and teachers.She’s fun to torment until she lashes out. Of course then it’s fun to watch her get detention. She’s sort of an accidental shield for the other outsider kids in her year because she makes scenes and gets focused on.

Her animal is a banana eel named Applesauce. Her slytherin friend Al charmed a bubble of water to float after her with Applesauce happily swimming around in it.

Around second year, Babs has enough of Snape’s bullshit and starts stealing things off his desk and turning them into worms. She now has a farm of them.

She stole dying flobberworms from Hagrid in her 3rd year. (She’s same year as Harry)

Speaking of worms: since she was very small Babs has been able to understand long animals. Eels, snakes, worms, slugs. It has baffled her family since always as to where it comes from. 

Most of her free time is spent outside, in the greenhouses, by the lake, on the “edge” of the forest- or in the library.

She’s best at transfiguration, and manages to learn silent magic for specific spells early on. See worms.

Wand type: Hawthorn, dragon heartstring, 14 1/4″, brittle. It’s from her dad’s trophy collection.

Deu’ma’s ear twitches at that description of Penna’s friend. Another trickster, she gauges from the laughter. There are a few names that come to mind, and none she was particularly fond of. Not that she held any particular grudges, and she was aware of her oddity compared to the more disconnected and heavily worshipped gods. 

Willingly spending the vast majority of her time on the mortal plane was enough to label Deu’ma as an outsider to begin with. Avoiding the presence of immortals for the most part was another mark against her. Not that she minded…on a pragmatic level anyway. Of course she was lonely for companionship that might last more than a blink of time, but it was easier to be mocked and cast as a glorified nymph or nature spirit than have the others more aware of her actual role. Since…she tended to maybe interfere with some of their divine plans. Often. Not that Deu’ma always conspired to do this on purpose. She normally wouldn’t even realize that another diety’s hand had been on the cards until after she scattered the deck. As a rogue aspect of another deity, she had long ago learned to block out the feelings of divine presence and this made it hard to recognize other immortals most of the time. 

Thankfully, her divine aura was weak enough that she was rarely picked up on by the others, either. And when she was, it was just as a wisp of Destiny. 

This was a big part of why it was much, much easier to let them to believe that “the strings of fate (which they tended not to question from her experience)” had determined the escape, survival, or unexplained change in fortune of whatever mortals they were playing with. As opposed to, say, active prayers allowing her to become a loophole to an entirely new strand off those “strings.”

“I would hope I can find heroes well, at least,” she agreed, “Your contact with them seems lonely though. I recommend walking among them once in a while to find some of the best stories that aren’t written down. Not that I expect someone as important as yourself to have time or desire to do so.”

She means this genuinely.

 And she empathizes with Penna’s statement and the grimace even more. She knows full well how it feels to be at the mercy of the “greater powers.” Through death and worse…that incredible gaping feeling of something only remembered through disjointed tales and legends. Even as a goddess, she could still be hit with periods of overwhelming helplessness. 

And because of this and the fact that she was the concentrated concept of “getting out of sticky situations against more powerful forces…” Deu’ma didn’t particularly have the same sensibility against speaking ill of the others. With the one big exception, but that was the reason she loved to lampoon the rest.

“Not that you should be under their “service” in the first place. Really, most  ‘major gods’ succeed best at being major pains in the ethereal ass. They should be grateful you exist at all to run the errands the lazy idiots can’t figure out how to do themselves. You, on the other hand, have helped some friends of mine in the past, so I am inclined to appreciate you and offer my own services. Do you know what kind of hero you particularly dreaming of?”