Temples Are Built For Gods. Knowing This A Farmer Builds A Small Temple To See What Kind Of God Turns

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.

The sunrise this morning

the love between the ocean and the moon if that's too vague?

The moon asked the sun, “What do you know of love?”

“It burns,” said the sun. “It brightens. It is something you make and then give away.”

“Don’t listen to him,” said the clouds. “This big ball of gas doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Yes, I do,” said the sun. “Who but me makes the roses grow?”

“We do,” said the clouds. “Love nourishes, like the rain. We turn the hills green and fill the creeks so they will sing in their creekbeds.”

“Why do you ask?” said the sun.

“I think I might be in love,” said the moon. “I am trying to understand.”

So the moon went and looked at the deserts. They were dry and hot and empty. “See?” said the clouds. But the deserts were still beautiful.

And so the moon went and looked at the creeks in their beds, and they were cool and wet and full. And they were beautiful too.

“What do you think?” the moon asked the sky. “I want to know if I am in love.”

“Ask the earth,” said the sky, and so the moon asked the earth.

“The clouds cover me,” said the earth. “They make me bloom. The sun warms me. Without them I would be cold and dry.”

“You would be ugly without them. That is love?”

“I would be cold and dry,” said the earth, “but not ugly. You are cold and dry, my little one, and you are beautiful.”

“Not like you,” said the moon. “Not like the ocean.”

“No one is like me. No one is like you,” said the earth.

“I feel loveliest when she holds my light,” said the moon.

“Who is it that you love, my child? What kind of love do you wish?”

“Are there different kinds?” the moon asked.

“The sun warms me and pulls me in. The clouds cover me, when they remember. The sky turns every color for me. How do you and yours love?”

“We dance,” said the moon, and they knew she meant the ocean. “I push and she pulls. I rise and set, she rises and ebbs. She pushes, I pull. We go around and around and I watch her tides and I do not think I will ever tire of calling her beautiful. Is that love?”

“It is only your own reflection you see on the ocean’s surface,” scoffed the clouds. “It is like when the sun sets, and calls us beautiful, but it is only his own colors he loves.”

“I love her even when I shine no light,” said the moon. “Maybe I love her most then.”

“You only love her because she follows where you lead,” said the sun.

“It is a dance,” said the moon.

“It is self-centered,” said the clouds. “Bossy. Mean.”

“She is the heart of my orbit,” said the moon. “I will live my life by her until she is gas and I am dust and the universe is cold and dead.”

And the sun and the clouds were quiet and went away, and the stars came out from where they had been listening.

“Is this love?” said the moon.

“You are not asking the right people,” said the stars.

“I have asked the sun, who burns,” said the moon. “I have asked the clouds, who cover. I have asked the sky, who stays forever. I have asked the earth, who made me.”

“But have you asked the ocean, who loves you?” said the stars.

“Oh,” said the moon.

And so the moon went down to the ocean and asked, “Is this love?”

And the ocean said, “Yes.”

Specification is Important

Something seems fishy about the omelets the crew made for Human Steve and Human James

.  .  .

“Human Steve! Human James! We wanted to share in your culture on this very important day of Cheese Appreciation, so we made you both an omelet for breakfast!”

Both humans paused in the doorway of the mess hall, blinking at their crewmates. It took a moment for the words to register in their tired brains. Steve’s brain clicked first and he grinned brightly. James said a pleased thank you a second later.

(Steve was always a little faster walking up in the morning, he said it was because he drank coffee, which was obviously the superior beverage, James said it was because of his stupid American energy, and that good tea should be savored in the morning- they had yet to come to any form of agreement)

“I’d love to try it!” Steve said, walking over to the table.

“How did you guys find ingredients for omelets?” James asked as he followed Steve.

“It was not too difficult, the last port had all we needed.”

“The most difficult part was figuring out what recipe to use.”

“There were so many!”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, people have wildly different tastes.”

The men sat down and looked at their plates. The omelets looked a little different. Maybe they didn’t use a yoke? Or it was some weird powdered egg stuff?

James decided to let Steve take the first bite. He was more discerning than Steve when it came to food. Steve called him picky. James called him a garbage disposal.

Steve took a bite and immediately regretted it. He forced himself to chew and swallow. James was silently laughing at him, he just knew it. He hoped the others couldn’t read the tension in his body language.

“Wow! That certainly was creative! What, um, what did you put in it?”

The crew brightened and they started speaking over each other.

“Onions!”

“Munster cheese!”

“Bell peppers.”

“Cheddar cheese.”

“Black pepper.”

Salmon eggs.”

“Mushrooms!”

“Salt.”

Steve’s mind blanked at salmon eggs. James was shaking. He just knew the Brit was trying not to laugh, the bastard.

“Salmon… eggs?”

“Only the best for our human crew!”

“The recipe said eggs, so we researched earth eggs-”

“- and discovered that caviar is a delicacy-”

“-and got salmon eggs because they make the best caviar!”

The four looked very pleased with themselves and the care they had given to researching earth cuisine. Steve smiled weakly. James’ face was getting red. One of the more observant members picked up that something was wrong.

“Is there a problem with the omelets?”

Steve began to sweat. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to make them feel bad. “Omelets are usually made with… chicken eggs.”

“Chickens?”

“But those creatures are filthy!”

James lost it, howling with laughter. Steve kicked his chair out from under him. James wheezed as he hit the floor, but kept cackling. Steve ignored him.

“Yeah, chickens. Um, I guess none of the recipes specified that?”

The heartbroken looks were answer enough. Steve felt really bad.

“Its okay though! I promise! We’ll still eat the eggs!”

James stopped laughing. Steve smirked.

(both of them ate all their omelet, though the crew couldn’t figure out why Human James was so grumpy at Human Steve for the next week)

.  .  .

AN: This was inspired by a tumblr post about people trying to make concrete the way Romans did, but it didn’t work, because the Romans used sea water, not fresh water, but all the Romans knew ‘water’ meant ‘sea water’ and never bothered to specify. Someone else pointed out that all our recipes say ‘egg’ and not ‘chicken egg’ and someone else said in the future people crying while eating scrambled fish eggs. Thus, this story was born.

remembering the time i drunkenly told a stranger i was a trans man and he started going off about alpha sigma and beta males and how each one was equally important no matter what anyone says and that i shouldn't feel pressured to be a strong alpha male because emotionally intelligent beta males were just as important