Thank you! I bent the prompt a little- but I would find it funny if the god gave the 7 year old a credit card.

I like to talk about writing and ideas and themes! And I got excited about it- and I usually don't see others do the same, I wish they did, so when I do it, it feels very self centered.

I like the idea of the over arching family in the background, the tree was a way for the family to redeem themselves or just prove they still see their daughter as property, like they would an object. You reap what you sow. If this were to be a longer story I would have the family turn up to visit every now and then, talk about the tree, become more lax, starting to treat the God less like a God and more of a son in law, demanding, expecting things, which he does for the sake of his "wife" who still loves her family, but grows to understand that some people are goddamn terrible.

And I was stuck on what the girls character was, inquisitive, but not studious, not adventurous, and for a while emotionally stunted. She might come to belive that the god does see her as property because of her parents influance, or a more complex house plant, not a student, ward or daughter. She might have a fear she'll be abandoned once she's no longer a child, her angst teen phase that of resentment and sadness.

I think I will run with this, and try and post more when I have time. I'm stealing time at work right now.

I'm a narcissist that likes to talk about my own work.

I like the idea of this girl growing up and learning and having such a bright future, growing past family trauma. I like the udea of the father coming back when the stone did not grow, and demands his daughter back as payment not fair- the stone grew a tree, an impossibility- and gave them the task to look after the tree, as nurturing a tree and a child are the same. The family was happy and treated the tree well, but became greedy. when the family took advantage of the tree, it began to yield less fruit, and their methods, starving the tree to produce fruit made it taste bitter, trying to graft branches failed- and the god refused, as he kept his end of the deal, and if he was a better father and gardener he would not have lost the tree.

Maybe other families coming to offer children as brides, maybe even dressing boys as girls and hoping they could get accepted, and the god accepting all of them to get them away from parents that would sell their children off, so more of these wonderful fruit trees that sold fruit for a fortune was becoming less rare so they couldn't make as much money of them, but they will always be fed, with "wealth" and "bounty" meaning the same to the god.

Maybe a family, desperate and only knew of the story, exchanged their kid after hearing that the temple life was better then what they could offer- and later, one family comes back to buy back their child. Stumpy finds this insulting, having dealt with so many shitty parents he thinks it's so that the family can exchange their child for another tree. The family then cuts the tree down as proof they did not want another tree, and their child matters more then wealth.

Other gods think stumpy is sus because they hear about a god accepting child brides. One might have a follower investigate, one might even come to visit.

As years go by and these children go up, they move to other temples to help get them up and running again- a happy ending is that Stumpy is able to make the world better in a little way. A less happy ending is people believing his kids are cultists who would steal children, or worship an old, heretic God and need to be purged.

So a lot of fun ideas, thank you for the prompt! Honestly might base a warlock and patron off it.

You know, it's been a while since someone gave me a child.

I used to have orphanages across the continent, my temples were second chances for children from homes destroyed by war. There were parents, unable to care for the children due to circumstances they could not control, offering their children a safe place.

So somehow I was mixed up with a different entity.I've never met the deity in question, we come and we go, take on new faces and names. I don't know who they were before they took on the mantle, or they even existed.

I'm content to be irrelevant, less orphans is a good thing, less people needing my temples. One of the recent wars had them evacuated, and they were simply never inhabitated again.

A family turned up, lighting candles on my alters, overnight meals. Flowers, lovely flowers, a feast, a celebration. I walked among them, the family large enough that they could mistake a stranger for a distant relative.

It wasn't until they brought the child out to walk down the path of petals to my statue, I realized this was a wedding.

Cultures come and go, scriptures lost in time. But a wedding remained the same. The extra extravagance may have been to lighten the mood, to overshadow the idea that they were offering up a young child.

Perhaps it was a mistake, and I have an ego befitting a God. Maybe this was not about me, and this ceremony was one to promise the girl to another family to a boy no present, or that this girl was ill, and they were celebrating a wedding that would never occur.

But she was instructed to place a wreath of flowers around the statues neck, one that matcher her own, and to sit at the feet of my statue.

"Accept my daughter as your bride, she is pure." The father said, and said nothing more for her. She was no older then 7. "I ask in exchange for wealth, befitting of the family of the god of prosperity."

There were many temples that littered the countryside, of gods of war and blood and worse. To offer and demand payment was something this family would have been smited for.

I waited, to see if this was just a ceremony. That they were not serious. I waited an hour as the families celebrations turned to restlessness.

"She's not a good enough bride." Someone said. "This was a waste of time."

There was a light of fear in the little girls eyes.

Some orphans that came to my temples were covered in bruises, praying for me to take them, as being an orphan was better then having parents. She looked up at my statue. It had lost an arm some time ago- a teenager had hooked their arm with mind and pretended to dance, and when they swung they broke the stone.

I could see her begging with her eyes, that I was real- because a husband might treat her better then her family.

"I accept your offer." I said, with turning heads. I had been an adult man moments prior. No one noticed when I changed forms to something a little smaller. I walked across the petals. Before they could ask me who I was, I motioned for the wreath around the statues neck to unwind, and pulled them to my own, they grew wild, growing into a cloak draping my back.

I did not have to kneel to meet her eyes, as my new form was that of a boy, just a little older then her. There was only curiosity in her eyes.

"What is your name?"

"Her name is-"

"I did not ask you." I spoke coldy, he bowed deep and walked backwards. I wish he tripped on a loose stone.

"Teveni." She said, so quiet a mortal would have trouble hearing her.

"Did you want to choose a new name?"

I would wait a few years, before asking. Names came with a weight to them and some kept their names, the only thing left that tied them to lost families, a gift they would carry until they died.

Some shed them. In this instance, I asked as Teveni ment "gift," in this context, it made me want to do like my fellow gods and smite the wedding guests.

"I don't know." She said, and shrugged like a child would being asked what they wanted for dinner.

"You can figure it out later." I said. "For now, I'll call you Teveni."

I pulled a loose stone from the ground. Her father rose after I stood, I suspected he wanted details on his payment, and was to scared to ask. This thing called itself my family. Part of my wished to remove the guests, to take the girl. But I had accepted an exchange.

I held my hand out. He extended his hands. I dropped the stone into his palm. He frowned, before checking himself to not seem disappointed.

"Plant this at your home on a fullmoon. The next morning with bring you wealth for generations, so long as you care for it."

He bowed once again, and I extinguished the candles, and opened the temple doors, a clear sign for them to leave.

When they were gone, I began to clean. The empty dishes they had left, and lit the candles once more so Teveni was not in the dark.

"Woah...."

She may not have seen magic before, I put on more of a show, she was in awe.

"Now, I want to make a few things clear." I said, sitting next to her. "Bed time is 8pm, always wipe your shoes at the doors and don't climb over the upstairs rafters, you might hurt yourself falling."

"Do I call you "husband"?"

"No, nah uh."

"Papa said to do what ever you said, even if I didn't like it, cause wives listen to husbands."

Maybe I should have gone the smiting option.

"I'll explain this better when you're older. Technically you're my wife, I accepted you in exchange for wealth, but you're not to do any wifely duties." I didn't know how much was explained to her about this. I used to watch kids play make belive, I saw marriages and divorces and marriages again as they played make believe. "I accepted you, to get you away from your family."

"They're mean."

"I thought so." I said. "I'm a God of nurture."

"Not nature?"

"No, nurture as is to help grow." I hoped she could understand what I meant, all kids had different ways of learning and retaining information. "A child is still growing, like a plant, so I have domain over both."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Be yourself, play in the mud, collect frogs, keep asking questions about the world." It was a strange question for me, kids naturally just wanted to be kids.

"What can I call you?"

I hadn't had a name in a while. I pondered for a moment, looking up at my statue. "Stump."

"Why?"

"Cause I got a stump." I said, the joke going over her head.

"So a stump means no arm?"

"Stump means a lack of something that used to be there." I said. "Like a tree stump."

"Oh! I get it now." She clapped her hands, and I missed questions, I missed classes, I missed watching people grow.

"Hey kid?" I said. "To nurture, is to protect. I protect kids, so they can grow. No one is going to hurt you in our home."

It felt like eons since I had said that. I spoke it to every child that called these walls their refuge.

This is excellent news and I might find me alt AO3 password. I don't want y'all to see the copious amounts of smut I've written through lockdown.

... just ignore the yugioh Harry potter cross over I wrote 100 years ago.

Thank you! I didn't mean it like i was not happy with it- to me it feels jumbled because i cut a lot out. I was worried that it would be too long and I had so many ideas for it but cut it short- like, the kid didn't expect to get picked up by the villian, but why the hell couldn't he go to any of the adult heroes instead? Why did he live on the streets for a week- what's the deal with his powers, his origin- and what makes Miss Terry a villian? I imagined her as a 'retired' lex luthor, and I sort of envisioned Terry's wife being a former Hero.

I had enough ideas for a full story and I've been working on it on and off, Cause I didn't kow if I wanted Terry to ruin the mother and step father's life, or have the kid be the one to go back and get revenge. I was also trying to figure out how to post it later, cause I don't think AO3 allows original work.

Eh. I'll keep working on it.

I didn't recognize him over the phone, not until I ran a scan of his number, finding it connected a an online account that had a profile attached. 14 years old.

Lionhart, boy wonder, popping out a year ago and taking the city by storm with a carefree, fun little attitude. I swear my boys were going easy on him, always reporting back how goddamn small he was, and that what ever veteran hero popped him out hadnt trained him well, his fighting style was inconsistent. Some days, he seemed to be a master at hand to hand, then the next encounter it was like he had never thrown a punch before.

The Brat just gave me his entire identity up on a silver platter. So I thought I could entertain him while I sent my boys his coordinates. I haven't interacted much with him, not had any reason to. I was "retired."

"How long have you had my personal number?" I said, putting my champagne glass on it's coaster, or I would have my entire ass handed to me for staining the mahogany table.

"Pulled it from one of your friends burner phones from a month back."

Christ, he sounded younger then 14, that made sense, his birthday was only a week prior. Huh.

"I didn't have anyone else to call." His voice cracked, not in the way a teenagers did. There was a heavy, wet sigh.

He was crying.

I felt a pinprick in my heart, and maybe it would bleed a speck of black blood. It was pathetic, like a kitten mewling.

"Take a moment." There was heavy breathing on the end, what sounded like he was wiping his nose. I had his account IP pinged for an address. Somewhere in the west suburbs. Not the best place to live. Drug dens, school districts with a classroom to prisoners pipeline the highest in the country.

"My mum killed Sammy." He said, and I frowned. I had a profile for the kid, trying to figure out his parents. Some heroes quietly retire. Some died. If any of them had kids that grew up and found their parents spandex pajamas in the attic no one would be aware of them.

My working theory was dead hero parent, but making a name for himself- but that was called into question.

"And who is Sammy." I asked, not sounding curious, but to keep the conversation going. He could realize at any moment he had made a massive mistake and hang up and run.

It was already too late, but it made it easier for me.

"My- she was my dog." He said. "I had her since I was 7. She was my best friend."

My questions on his legacy could go unanswered for now. I had been careful not to wake my old boy up, a bulldog, dense as a brick in body and brain, snoring next to me on the couch. A soft spot had been poked.

"I- I forgot to put the trash out- I was tired, I was just tired, and it was garbage day and it wasn't picked up, and mum said "You're not going to forget again." And while I was at school she took Sammy to the vet and had her put down."

And the tears started up again, I had to turn him down as Sonya entered the living room. One "this is not a good time" look from me had her cringe and turn back around.

It gave me time to look through my intel, and found that his phone was pinging from a bus station.

"Is that why you're at a busstop with a backpack that looks like it's got your clothes in it?" I asked.

He didn't say anything, as if figuring out that yes, with my vast array of connections, I could hack a nearby security camera to see him sitting on a curb.

Bus stations in the west suburbs had a tendency to have homeless people break in and sleep in the buses at night, something that the council had tried to crack down on.

"No." He said, bitterly. "It's cause they found out I liked a guy."

I felt like I had been slapped.

It was like I was 14 again. The entire class finding out I was gay, the pain bombs in my locket, my parents becoming stricter and the only reason I wasn't sent to a conversion camp was my grandma would have disowned them entirely.

"I mean, I don't even know if I like him, I just- I was tagged in a photo with him and my parents saw it and thought that just cause he was gay, mean that I was Iean I am but- when I didn't deny it, Bill started to throw my shit around the house, and they threw me out. He broke my school laptop, and there's a break fee, and the schools not going to let me borrow books unless I pay it back-"

He was worrying about all the wrong things. And looking through the kids instagram- that doing photo of him just side hugging this other kid with dyed hair, "future roommates" as a caption- had been a week ago on his birthday.

I sighed. The needle he hand managed to stab into my chest caused a tear. "In about five minutes, a black car with tinted windows is going to turn up to your location."

"Wait-"

"They're not gonna hurt you, Jack might hold a grudge but theyre not going to hurt you." I said. "Just get in and they're bring you to my penthouse, clear your head, get you off the streets."

"I didn't call you ask to stay with you."

"Too bad, don't hit Jack again he's sensitive." "I mean, you can be gone by the time he gets there, or you can get out of the cold. I have a fireplace, and a few spare rooms. It won't be forever. Just until you figure out what you're doing."

Sonya didn't pretend she wasn't listening in when she heard me hang up. "Are we expecting a guest?" She sat next to me- technically next to Bingo snorted at being disturbed, but didn't move.

"Yeah." I said. " Better under watch."

"Oh shut up "Miss Terry"." She smiled. "You're going soft."

40 years, retired. None of those vetren heroes could ever pin me down, but Sonya did. I enjoyed calling heroes out for homophobia and making them jump in thr media circus and they fumbled their words.

I couldn't pretend this was pure kindness. Lionhart was an in. He could be an asset if played my cards right.

But first, a 14 year old gay kid needed to get out of the late autumn night, get a meal inside him and have a good sleep.

Notes: I like the concept. Robot and inhuman showing humanity. Two guides on different sides. Inheriting identities, and as generations pass the generations change. The same tricks won't work because they've learnt from their parents.

I might work on this in my own spare time. It was fun figuring out the history of this world and heroes that I didn't manage to write down here.

Each new group of heroes I train always ask me the same thing. "How did you defeat the Scourge of Cities."

And I would always tell them the same thing. "I spoke to It."

Words can do what fists could not, come to a peaceful solution.

It's been too long. The new age of heroes, teenagers- had not been alive when Scourge had been active. They didn't know the sheer volume of power It held back because it only wanted to reshape the world, not destroy it.

Jester was a nuisance, made to teach heroes patience, teamwork, and that there was always another way to solve things then dashing head on into it.

Children always want to be like their parents. The golden age of heroes was coming to an end. Their parents had succeeded in making the world a little better, each generation there was something new to repair, the big villains defeated, the maniacs with massive power, the greedy ones in suits preventing the world from flourishing replaced with kinder souls.

In the end, this was inevitable. There was nothing heroic left to do. I had heard some of the younger ones saying that using their powers to clear out tsunami wreckage was beneath them, that they could be doing something far more important.

They weren't learning like their parents had. I should have known this was coming, when Cadet Marsh had asked me "how did you Kill the Scourge of Cities?"

So now I sat in the living room of the Scourge- Jester. The apartment was... homely. Comfortable. I saw pictures on the wall, of It's human form and a child.

The first time we lost a hero to death, Jester appeared to me, upset. "I'm sorry. I didn't prepare her enough."

We grieved together. It showed humanity I didn't think It capable of.

So I was here to beg It to hold onto that humanity. To not avenge their child.

"Please." I said. "Understand. It was truely an accident."

"Oh. You're worried I'll kill them in retribution." It said. "Don't worry. I don't plan to kill them. They can't learn if they're dead, but if they do so happen to fail..."

And with that final word, they disappeared. The apartment empty, only hollow memories remained.

It's been a long time since my "nemesis", Rodger Dodger- darkened my door.

Back in my youth, I was the Scourge of Cities, rebuilding metal into something beautiful without thought of those that resided in those skyscrapers I took for slag. My powers were beyond anyone in the world. No one could match my level. No one could stop me turning it all into what I desired. I desired domination of all so I can take what was broken and repair it.

These skyscrapers could have been homes for the homeless. These supermarkets with food abundance should be free so no one starved. When there was hoarded abundance I would fix the problem. It wasn't fair. It was never fair.

RD changed my mind. Asked me why break and rebuild when I could use what was there and gently nudge it into place. Why not equip others with the skills they would need to make the world a better place? I couldn't watch and make sure it all stayed in place forever.

So I shed the identity of the Scourge of Cities, to become something... smaller. Sillier. Something harmless.

I like to think of myself as a dungeon master, guiding hero's through trials. I get them to work together, work on their flaws, realize their strengths. I run them around, push them to their limits- but they were never in danger. Their success was my success. It ment they could put those skills to work. Make the world a better place.

And sure, sometimes I do things such as make all the furniture in a heroes apartment stick to the ceiling. A minor inconvience to their day when I'm feeling like Cadet Marsha has got a stick up her ass. Sometimes I needed a laugh.

A generation passed. Maybe two? The faces blur together, the spandex recycled. Cadet Marsha, Cadet Marshall- they pass on identies. RD was immortal like robots would be. He watched over the heroes, fighting their battles- and I would give those heroes the needed training they would need to face threats that without me they would be ill equipped for.

So I decided. If the heroes where having children, passing on their knowledge and experience, why couldn't I do the same? So I made a child. I raised them, showed them everything I knew, to create from their surroundings. To build, to plan-

And on their first time out, their villainous laugh still off pitch and their powers still unmastered- they were killed.

"It was an accident." RD told me.

Accident? No. It was not. They used deadly force. I had watched it from the cameras of the museum they had fought in.

"I missed out on my date because of some Jester wannabe?" One of the teenagers yelled. "Fuck it, wrap it up. I want to go back to the diner."

My child dodged their attacks, because they still didn't know their own strength, didn't want to damage the artefacts around them. And when they stopped to speak they managed to pin them-

"Accident." I repeated.

And since they always defeated me, as I yell out curses as I disappeared into a puff of smoke in a theatric way- they didn't see me as an actual threat, just a nuisance villain of the week to dispatch of and move to the next. This new generation wast taking away what I was trying to teach them. So I passed it to my child to deal with them as I began on a project in the desert. Maybe I was to out of touch. Maybe I needed to find new ways to guide the new generation. The same tricks become passed down and easier to manage.

I should have trained my child better. I should have been here.

"It wasn't fair." I said, sheding the Jester persona, feeling how my body itched like it had been held too tightly for years.