Happy Pride Month 2022!!!
Faust the Crow loves you even more than she did last year!
hello vonnie

Love Begins

ellievsbear
Sweet Seals For You, Always

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
The Stonewall Inn
Doug Jones
Game of Thrones Daily

blake kathryn
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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taylor price
YOU ARE THE REASON
Not today Justin
EXPECTATIONS
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

#extradirty

shark vs the universe
NASA

roma★

seen from Malaysia
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seen from Bangladesh
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seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia

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seen from United States

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seen from South Korea
@diddleymaz
Happy Pride Month 2022!!!
Faust the Crow loves you even more than she did last year!
Timmy Twinklepaws
Are you affected by the Coronaviurs?
My city declared a state of emergency. Many businesses are suffering. Social life is kinda frozen – schools, universities, restaurants, playgrounds and so one had to close down for a couple of weeks. People are still allowed to go outside for a walk and to go grocery shopping, unless they were put in quarantine, of course. Sadly, there are a lot of young people who don’t seem to understand that they shouldn’t have Corona parties or other gatherings… If they continue doing this, the government probably has to enforce a curfew here as well to stop the virus from spreading.
So, please stay at home if possible. Don’t endanger our most vulnerable fathers, mothers, grandpas, grandmas, sisters, brothers and friends…
Take care and stay safe, everyone.💓
P.S: There are also some good things happening, though.
Dolphins are back in Venice, since the lockdown has improved the water quality. 🐬 Air pollution in China dropped due to the lockdown… I guess the world really needs a break of us human beings.
Contrast
*reblogging art you love will keep Tumblr fun and generate more art!*
THIS IS UTTER PERFECTION
Happy belated birthday to tall edgy bat
Drarry
Where after the war, Harry’s Chocolate Frog card is so sought after that the company only released 3 of them. A marketing strategy that led to a 1000% increase in sales. The Great Card Hunt was underway and it was a disaster. Vendors would fight over the chance to stock more packs, fakes started popping up and the Ministry had to make a new department to ensure the safety of the people.
The first card was found by a Goblin who framed it in Gringotts torn to pieces. They were apparently still bitter about the break-in.
The second card was found by a Muggle child who thought the card would look lovely in the spokes of her bike.
With only one more card in existence, The Great Card Hunt increased. Where was it? Who would be the next person to find it? The Wizarding World waited with bated breath for any news regarding the next owner.
Only for all hell to break loose when reports sweep the nation that one Draco Malfoy had found the third and last card.
And by ‘found it’, do you mean ‘had been buying massive shipments of frogs up and getting the house elves to open them all just so he could find the card and taunt Potter that he looked ridiculous on it’ … or something …
‘Shut up, Pansy, no I have no idea what I’m going to do with 12,000 chocolate frogs.’
gay pride cat
dare i say that stuffed animals are one of the single greatest inventions of all time and im thankful every day for the fact that someone thought to make animals but in huggable plush form…..saved me from a lot of bad nights and nightmares as a kid, i love you stuffed animals
You may offer your thanks to Magarete Steiff
She lived in Germany and could be considered as the first person to sew stuffed animals merly for children to play with and to counter the common “hard” toys out of wood or metal wich were popular back then.
There is even so much more to the story, because she was as you can see paraliezed from polio, she couldnt walk or use her right arm, she had to fight all her life just to be accpeted as a human being, she wasnt even allowed to sit in the front row of church in her home village and had a pretty abusive mother. One time she and her brother almost drowned but the townpeople only attempted to save her brother because he was healty. Her father saved her from drowning in last minute.
Only her father and brother stood behind her, still she learned to accept her faith and make the best out of it. After a failed operation she said she had gone around living this way anyways. She started to sew, more importantly she started to sew with a sewing machine wich was realy new at this time. People would not buy from her at first but then she made a realy beautyfull dress for her best friend and suddenly everyone was crazy for her work.
Then she started to sew little elephants as pincushions, but when she attempted to sell them around christmas she quickly realized that for one children were crazy for them and wanted them as toys and also. this was what she wanted to do, bringing happiness to kids.
She expanded futher and gave work to over 20 women as sewers in her factory, her brother helped her to do so, and she started producing stuffed animals of all kinds (almost) their trademark was a button sewed into every anmals ear. It still is to this day.
Whit the economy crisis her factory, and she almost lost it, she already couldnt pay her workers, he factory was about to be forceclosed and the last hope was a toy fair they would attend,
and then she had an idea, she sewed a bear, the very first stuffed toy bear there was, with moveable head and limbs and realy soft fur and glass eyes, it was beautyfull, but at the toyfair most people thoght it was to expensive
most people because one american buyer fell in love with the bears, he bought them all and he ordered 3000 more, it saved the factory
you may ask why would anyone need 3000 stuffed toy bears easy, to support and advertise the candidacy of Theodore Roosevelt as the U.S. president, trough that the toy bear invented by Magarete Steiff became well known as the
Teddy Bear
Disability history matters!
The fact that she faced so much ableism and discrimination in her life was indeed sad (and infuriating!) – and that may be the reaction of many abled people when they hear her story (the poor disabled little girl).
But the fact that she survived, and innovated, and brought modern machines to her hometown, and advocated for herself, and brought joy to so many people, in spite of that discrimination (and I do mean “spite”) is not sad at all.
It’s downright victorious!
Drarry
Where after the war, Harry’s Chocolate Frog card is so sought after that the company only released 3 of them. A marketing strategy that led to a 1000% increase in sales. The Great Card Hunt was underway and it was a disaster. Vendors would fight over the chance to stock more packs, fakes started popping up and the Ministry had to make a new department to ensure the safety of the people.
The first card was found by a Goblin who framed it in Gringotts torn to pieces. They were apparently still bitter about the break-in.
The second card was found by a Muggle child who thought the card would look lovely in the spokes of her bike.
With only one more card in existence, The Great Card Hunt increased. Where was it? Who would be the next person to find it? The Wizarding World waited with bated breath for any news regarding the next owner.
Only for all hell to break loose when reports sweep the nation that one Draco Malfoy had found the third and last card.
And by ‘found it’, do you mean ‘had been buying massive shipments of frogs up and getting the house elves to open them all just so he could find the card and taunt Potter that he looked ridiculous on it’ … or something …
'Shut up, Pansy, no I have no idea what I’m going to do with 12,000 chocolate frogs.’
reblog if you support cats tucked up in bed
Y E S
Snug!! 😻
🤔🤔🤔 https://www.instagram.com/p/B1T0d0dgh5R/?igshid=az88x4x2v0g2
draco malfoy: i’ll take my secret love of potter to the grave
the grave: *beckons*
draco: POTTER
thank you to @dddraconis for the idea to do ‘dark twist on the little mermaid’ w/malfoy losing his gay ass voice <3
drarry flipped!au
james and lily potter moves to a new neighbourhood with their 8 y/o son harry.
draco lives across the street and is an incredibly nosy child.
while harry helps his dad moves boxes, draco crosses the street with an eager face after seeing him. he’s excited to have a new playmate.
don’t get him wrong, he likes playing with pansy and blaise but it’s nice to have an addition with their circle. besides, he’s basically a third wheel between the two. maybe this new kid can be his best friend.
he says hi to harry who almost dropped the box with a startled expression.
ever eager to help and energy flowing with enthusiasm, he snatches the box from harry.
“here let me help you. i’m draco. draco malfoy. i live across the street.” he holds his hand out but harry frowns at him and calls lily.
slightly hurt from the rejection, he beams his most lovely smile to lily and introduces himself while harry hides behind his mother’s legs.
lily smiles bemusedly at his son, “hello draco. it’s nice to meet you. i’m lily and this is my son, harry. he’s a bit shy.”
ah, draco thought, harry doesn’t mean to reject his handshake. he’s just shy. he just have to be determined for harry to like him. they’ll be friends in no time.
after helping the potters move the boxes, he and harry have at least exchanged ten words.
draco starts to visit harry a week after. he planned to visit the next day after the potters moved but narcissa stopped him and told him to let them settle first. he waited patiently and after exactly seven days passed, he runs over to his new neighbour’s front door.
sometimes lily would open the door and she would smile at draco, happy that harry will not be having trouble making friends. sometimes it will be james, but never harry.
draco and harry would play inside harry’s room. draco will talk for hours and play board games with harry but mostly, harry ignores him while he draws. he only plays board games with draco if lily is somewhere nearby.
that’s okay, draco thought. he’s just shy.
school starts and draco looks forward being in class with harry. there are not much kids around godric’s hollow. he and harry will be likely put in one section.
draco introduces harry to everyone much to harry’s dismay. he thought at least in school, he can avoid draco but apparently not.
draco always walk with harry going home after school. harry would listen to him while he tells about his day and harry will offer few non-committal sounds. draco understands that harry doesn’t speak much but that was okay. he and harry works, he thinks. he’s good at talking and harry is good at listening. it was a routine they have fallen into until when both of them turned 11. harry has picked up playing football as a hobby and has been staying longer outside.
always have turned to sometimes to rarely until they stopped walking together after that.
draco still sees harry in the morning waiting outside for lily while lucius drives him to school. he never fails to say good morning and harry would nod his head to him.
secondary school is different. draco watches harry grow into a young man. he watches harry sheds his shy demeanour in exchange for social confidence as the growth spurt did good on him.
draco will look at harry sometimes and he’ll find that harry has pretty green eyes. it wasn’t like that before was it? he asks himself. harry’s newly developed deep voice sends a tingle in his spine and draco will ask himself if this is a normal reaction you would have over your childhood friend.
as draco struggles with his identity and sexuality, harry’s social life blossoms after meeting ronald weasley and hermione granger.
now part of the football team and surrounded by friends, harry finds himself busy enough that he’s on the verge of neglecting his studies.
thankfully, draco always sits behind him and would whisper answers on his ear during tests, never mind that draco seems to sniff his nape occasionally.
draco joins the science club. draco’s love for experiment has never waned since childhood. he’s always curious. if he wants to be a chemist someday, his records should be spectacular.
begrudgingly, draco is not the only smart student. hermione seems to up him one way or another but it has always been a healthy rivalry between them.
outside the academic rivalry, he develops a friendship with hermione. although having harry as a common friend, they have never hung out all together before.
he and hermione would spend together studying at the library and talk about the latest news and discoveries. it’s an easy-going friendship that it’s hard for him to be angry at her. draco would never admit it to himself that seeing harry become closer to hermione and ronald and drifting apart from him hurts.
draco is seventeen and he has stopped talking to harry. he rarely cross paths with harry anymore and both are busy with extracurricular activities.
draco used to watch harry’s all football games, be it a practice or an official game and now has exchanged it for a lazy afternoon nap to catch up the sleeps he’s missing for all the late night studying.
draco is social enough to have friends besides harry but it’s never the same. he misses pansy and blaise, wishing both of them live in the same neighbourhood as him.
the opportunity to go out presents itself in the form of neville longbottom. the guy loves plants as much as he loves his girlfriend. maybe even more than her. they’re project partners and while in the middle of typing their research paper, neville invites draco to a party.
draco hums, not really aware of what he’s agreeing to, his focus is solely on the paper in front of him.
the day before the party, neville reminds him of it and draco is a ball of anxiety. he used to go to with harry but now, he doesn’t think he has the nerve to ask harry to go with him.
he spends two hours typing and re-typing his message to harry. this is harry only, draco scolds himself. you watched him lose his front teeth and cried with snot when he fell on the monkey bars. why are you nervous?! bc you both are not talking anymore, his brain offers.
he flails in his bed and screams into his pillow. he misses him.
he doesn’t send his message.
on the night of the party, he brings luna with him. they’re good friends. luna is pretty weird but the good weird. luna’s observant and probably knows how much draco needed someone to go with him. he’s secretly grateful that luna doesn’t ask why.
draco’s actually starts having a good time after seeing familiar faces.
surprised, he finds harry in the kitchen. he lowkey knows harry will be here but harry’s been put at the back of his mind all night until he sees him.
harry looks good. quite handsome, if draco is going to admit to himself. he’s wearing a tight jeans and plain v-neck white shirt that hugs his body, showing his muscle outlines. he’s seen this in his dreams too many times but never expected he’ll see one soon in reality. he touches himself at night with this mental image and sometimes with harry naked. he has accepted that he likes boys and his inclination towards harry but he still feels guilty that he finds pleasure fantasizing his friend; the shame has been part of the reason he stopped talking to harry.
but the sight of harry isn’t the reason that he stops breathing.
harry is standing in the corner and flirting with cho chang. he knows her from the sight of long black straight hair. draco stands there for a long time and doesn’t move. he thinks his world shatters when harry moves forward and closes the distances between him and cho.
they look perfect together. draco swallows a lump in his throat and blinks back the sting of tears in his eyes. he forces himself to move. he turns around and bumps into hermione. before she figures out why he looks like his pet cat died, he rushes outside the door. he didn’t bother finding luna. luna can handle herself, she’ll understand after he apologises tomorrow.
hermione catches up to draco. he ignores her, afraid to see the pity on her face.
“draco, stop.” he does when he realizes he’s walking fast and hermione is catching her breath.
“i— look draco, i know it’s not my business— ”
“damn right it’s not.” he sneers but regrets it after seeing hermione’s surprised and hurt face. “i’m sorry,” he exhales, hands pushing to his face and held it there, head tilt back to stop the incoming tears. “i don’t want to talk about it.”
“you can always talk to me draco, i may not understand but talking and telling someone helps.” hermione reaches out, pushing draco’s hands away from his face and squeezes it.
“but you’re his friend.”
“i’m your friend too.” the tension leaves from draco’s shoulders and he squeezes hermione’s hand back. “thank you,” he whispers “but not now. i want to be alone.”
hermione nods sadly and she watches draco walk away. she shakes her head solemnly, sometimes harry is an idiot.
the flip doesn’t happen that night. it happens weeks later after avoiding harry like plague. they still have classes together, but he stops looking at his direction. he stops looking at harry whenever they are at the same room. he can’t handle it, it suffocates him. if dealing with his sexuality before was a crisis, pining after a straight person is much worse. he’s afraid that if harry meets his eyes, harry would know. draco knows his face is like an open book.
he tries to fight down his panic when one day his mother wants him to go over to the potter’s and return a tupperware to lily. he’s just going to return it, there’s is no guarantee he’ll see or bump into harry, he tells himself.
he can feel his heartbeat going twice the rate when he crosses the street and thrice when he presses the doorbell. it calms down a little when james opened the door and it picks up its rate when james ushers him inside and tells him to wait for lily.
he goes inside and lily takes the tupperware from him.
he hastily says goodbye but lily tries to call harry so he can say hi, draco says it’s okay, let’s not bother harry, and they’ll see each other at school. lily frowns for a sec, confusion etched on her face.
“nonsense, harry would love to see you. i, for one, is happy to see you again. i haven’t seen you in ages! how are things at school?” lily says.
draco feels warm from the motherly affection but it’s not enough to bring his anxiety down.
he can hear voices from the upstairs that are coming closer.
“i don’t have the time to go outside recently. i’m focusing on my studies right now.” draco bites his lower lip, his heart pounding loud again bc that’s definitely harry coming down. he needs to go, asap.
“i’m sorry mrs. potter but i really have to go.” he turns back but lily yelps. “i forgot! wait, draco. can you kindly give this to your mother?” lily lifts a magnet off from the fridge and holds a letter. she flip it to the other side to check the receiver and turns to face draco again —
“…have you noticed malfoy is being weird than usual?” “idk ron, i haven’t been exactly hanging out with draco for months.” “that’s a good thing right? it means malfoy has stopped obsessing over you?” “yeah…” harry’s voice trails when he sees his mother and draco standing in the kitchen looking at them. lily is glaring at him and draco looks pale.
draco doesn’t meet harry’s eyes and moves to get the letter from lily, his hand shaking. he says goodbye and runs out of the house as fast as he can. he doesn’t look back when lily calls his name.
ah, he thinks. harry has never run after him. even right now, harry will not. he thinks that maybe if harry does, he’ll forgive him. but all he hears is the loud slam of his door and his blood pounding in his ears.
PART 1
What the world sees Harry Potter as: A somewhat bland protagonist. A little serious, and without much of a sense of humour. Why didn’t he end up with Hermione? And why did he keep Ron around?
What Harry actually is: A complete sass-master and sarcastic joker. Hot-headed and brash, with a fierce protectiveness over the people he cares about. Treats Hermione as his big sister, and finds her really annoying most of the time. Wouldn’t be able to function without his best mate and platonic life-partner Ronald Bilius Weasley. Will probably curse you if you diss Ron. NO-ONE disses his wheezy.
What the world sees Hermione Granger as: Bad-ass female role model, and a literal genius. Incredibly beautiful, brilliant at all forms of magic, and almost perfect in every way. Literally the reason why Harry survived everything throughout the series. Why did she settle for Ron?
What Hermione actually is: A vindictive know-it-all, but has a heart-of-gold and loves her friends deeply. Is jealous, emotionally insensitive, and has trouble socialising. While responsible for the book-smarts, she is also prone to ignoring small but important details that are important in the wider picture. Will start fist-fights with anyone who dares besmirch the name of the love of her life, Ron Weasley.
What the world sees Ron as: The sidekick and comic-relief of the trio. Eats a lot, and makes Hermione cry. Makes a lot of dumb jokes and silly faces. Not a brilliant friend, by most accounts. Emotional range of a teaspoon. How did he land such a great girl as Hermione?
What Ron actually is: The heart and soul of the golden trio. Completely irreplaceable to both Harry and Hermione. A literal cinnamon roll that deserves the world. Quite possibly the funniest and wittiest person you will ever meet. Has the best and healthiest emotional range of the trio. A flawed but solidly good individual who made mistakes, but always came through for his friends in the end. Has the best character arc of the three protagonists, and a great example of a person rising above their flaws and self-doubts. Never thought he was good enough for anything, but eventually developed his own self-confidence. The perfect match for Hermione in every way; the yin to her yang, the calm to her intensity, the water to her fire, and a person so wonderful Hermione can’t believe her luck that she ended up with him.
This says it all!
Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.
Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in.
“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.”
The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.
“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.”
“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?”
“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.”
The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.”
Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.”
“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.”
Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together.
“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.”
“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?”
The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.
A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer.
“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?”
“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.”
“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.”
The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god.
And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War.
Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him.
“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!”
“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?”
“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke.
“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile.
“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.”
“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.”
And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god.
Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them.
“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation.
“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.”
Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.
“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”
“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.
“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.”
Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.
“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.
“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.
“What?” the god asked.
Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”
Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies—homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to be empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow.
The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, he thought.
He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were.
So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god’s work on his dying breath.
“Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,” called a familiar voice.
The squinting corners of the god’s eyes wept down onto curled lips. “Arepo,” he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.
“I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, unconditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,” Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.
“That’s wonderful, Arepo,” he responded between tears, “I’m so happy for you—such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You’ll be adored by all.”
“No,” Arepo smiled.
“Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure.”
“No, I will not go there, either,” Arepo shook his head and chuckled.
“Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though,” the elder god continued.
“Actually,” interrupted Arepo, “I’d like to stay here, if you’ll have me.”
The other god was struck speechless. “…. Why would you want to live here?”
“I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo.”