"Why Hello, Hello, There, Little Godling."

"Why hello, hello, there, little godling."🌹

well he doesnt count in that generalization obviously. his sexuality is none of your business but if it WAS your business he'd be straight. mhm. least fruity man to ever exist he might as well have been named after plywood mhm yep

"would you like to help with this batch, wally?" she's holding a small recipe book in her wings, turned to a page of various different muffin recipes. "we can do any flavor you want, dear." (from @ohmyfeathers for wally!)

Wally was an almost mousey thing when he wanted to be. A nosy, peeking, small thing, one you could forget about in your own home, frame little enough in comparison to be a minor note in a major score: a song he wasn't part of, sometimes, but liked to watch, and liked to chime in on.

This was, to some extent, his intention today ━ though 'intention' implies a conscious decision, a plan, of which neither did he make. No, this was simply just what Wally did sometimes! peeking in & out of rooms, eternally curious of the little things hidden off in the corners of his vision, ever aware of the things behind his first line of sight. ( anywhere else, it'd be the curtains of a dark stage, but with Poppy, it's different. She makes the world feel no bigger than it is, cozy and right. Wally, unaware of oblivion, just himself in this little loving place, just himself and nothing else at all : Innocence lost turns to innocence sleeping but whole here, where the world is theirs. There's nothing more to this, and he likes that much more than being afraid, how he doesn't know he does at all. )

he'd just been beginning to poke around the edges of the kitchen, as though mind wandering enough to leave the room entirely, when she speaks in a sweet downy voice ( Wally couldn't explain how her voice felt 'downy' or 'dawn-y' or 'cinnamon-y', but it was all of these things to him, in a very kind way. ) that draws him back, gentle yarns tugging ever so softly on his hand, tied to his finger like a balloon's gentler sister.

Wally returns to her side as if only waiting to be called back, perfectly at home here, as he peers at the book held taller than him by sheer virtue of her size in of itself, angled down.

"I would like that." he seems happy to have been given the chance to help at all; of course he is, he loves Poppy! He'd gladly spend time with her any & always "Hmm..."

he thinks for a long moment, big eyes scanning through the ingredients left 'round, occasionally glancing back up at the book. Apple was tempting, and he knew Howdy would like it, but oh ━ he never liked breaking the shape of apples, or eating them at all. Admiring the way an artist admires, the way the skin dappled itself in a shiny-matte sheen and bright, bright color! So he was left to think and think...

after a few moments, he looks up to her with an idea, curious "What's your favorite flavor, Poppy? I'd like to try it. Maybe we could do that."

@starmuscd @gloryseized ━ x

Ah! How unfortunate. it would seem as though both of you need your eyes checked. If nothing else, Akira already has the faux eye-glass frames for such a procedure. :)

Replaying Pokemon black and white reminded me why i love these two so much

how strange these things were, — a winter without end.

but the strange and the cold have always been brothers, sisters, kinship undefinable; Demeter was the great great granddaughter of Khaos, the origin, the harvest & its frost embodied in the titan that bore her ━ Rhea, child of earth & sky; mother of many; righteous betrayer in the name of her blood ━ her blood, her babes ━ the refusal to die easily, to let the cradle go cold, has been a rage unkillable in their bloodline.

how great a failure, then, when it does. the searches never die, but they never find her; her precious Kore. how great a failure, and yet one Artemis could not understand.

Her blood was distanced from that of Rhea, of the titans, the offshoot of a gangled tree choking itself on its stretching limbs; hers, the sprout that fell. she understood children, she understood the boiling of a womans rage; she, the huntress, all hounds and buck and beast; but she did not understand the weight of losing child. she did not want to, but she understood well & fine the way it coated the world, a thick sheet of sleet, the way grief turns cold, the way grief is rage, the way one day: one day: the world may die.

Tooth and nail then, Artemis thought, let them fight.

But this means nothing, here, in the bitter ice. the history and cause in the scheme of the world unremarkable in the face of the wild & the game, and an unfamiliar pelt marks her sights, one who may not know; one who may not care. like her, perhaps, like her.

the end of Artemis' bow, just as big as the Goddess herself, imbeds itself in the snow next to Amaterasu like it itself was an arrow shot with perfect aim. Artemis sits, almost lounging, upon its upright end as if where it goes she too shall follow, feet braced down its shaft to hold the precision with a comfortable, trained dexterity. she watches the dog — pelt as pale as rain in sunlight. the hound smelled like bristles and pollen and cold to the strong-voiced hunter. of other places, not here, of wilds and trees and roots unlike the ones of Greece. the quills of the ink-dyed deer, rabbit, horse. No, she was not from here, a sky unlike theirs and yet exactly the same. a tension stretches up her legs, excited, whirlwind from another land.

Scarlet on her coat, first like the blood staining a hunting dog. No. She was more than that. Scarlet on her coat like the sun rising over frozen bodies, the sky reflected a thousand times, a thousand more, in the windows of ice. Bristles and pollen and cold. ━ she smelled like the sun ruled by different stars. ━━━ Brother would like her, if they ever met.

“ You're not from here. ” she; the eternally blunt. ancient language hanging off her tongue, old greek thick in the curves of syllables. “ Enjoying our great winter, Kyon? ”

─「天照」─  don't mind her, she's simply staring at the snow. it's quiet, and peaceful. a company would be delightful, however. no one really stopped to admire the snow anymore. she would even share her precious sake !