I remember watching this show when it came out and how every time there was a scene like this, everyone just going “Wow look at BEST OF FRIENDS they are. Such GOOD GOOD FRIENDS.”
I will mash that Reblog button every single time this shows up on my dash. I spent a lot of years martyring myself for “the needs of the business.” Young people? Don’t fucking do it. They don’t care about you, you are a “resource,” not a human being. I can’t say this strongly enough: see to your self-care!
[image description: A handsome green-eyed man with a well groomed black mustache. He wears classic western togs, A dark violet jacket, a blue vest, a nice green shirt, and a red tie with a pearl-topped stickpen. His head is round, and he’s a ripe rich berry color. The background is bright green foliage. Text reads, “19, Gay Lussacia, the small god of HUCKLEBERRIES”]
This isn’t what he expected his life to look like, but he’s not complaining.
Harvest gods are quite literally a dime a dozen, or a dollar for a bushel, and as a god of bilberries, Gay had never aspired to much beyond a place at the farmer’s market, a warm spot of sun, and maybe occasionally being part of the kind of pie that inspired someone to moan his name in between bites of flaky crust and vanilla ice cream. He was comfortable with his lot in divinity. He was content. He was never going to be important or essential, but he was going to grow in his own small way, and that would be enough.
That would have to be enough. Those who reach too far find their boughs broken and their leaves wilted, and he had no desire to lose his growth in such a way.
When European colonists reached North America, they found bushes growing there which fell under Gay’s domain, and called their fruit huckleberries. Tart and sweet and delicious, they expanded his profile, and filled his pie pans with fresh harvest. As time passed, he became known more and more by his new name, and less and less by the old.
Well, that was fine. “Huckleberry” sounded better anyway. It ran trippingly off the tongue, it tasted sweet against the back of the throat. And so he was content with what he was and what he had, until the day someone invoked him when what they meant was “I love you.”
It was a sweeter shock than all the sugar in all the pies in all the world.
And it began to happen more and more, people invoking him because they loved, because they wanted, because they needed. And as this happened enough to be common, his hands spread wide to grant his benedictions, and his blessing. He is a god of a small and specific love, and he treasures it all the more because it is less common than some other kinds.
Only call upon him, if you need him. He’ll gladly be your huckleberry.
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Artist Lee Moyer (The Doom That Came to Atlantic City, Starstruck) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.
Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:
if you don’t distinguish yourself from a bot, just any sorta indication that a human made the blog, like a funny pfp or description, or even a disclaimer that you’re a lurker, then you’re almost certainly gonna be blocked n reported for spam when you follow people
Having a good URL is no longer an excuse. We shoot on sight, it’s up to you to warn us you’re real.
This.
Once every couple days I go in and look at the piled-up new-follower default profile pics, and groan a little. AND THEN I DESTROY THEM, because (having more than once had the creature dearest to me in all the world come stumbling to bed half-blind with weariness after spending a good couple of hours he will NEVER GET BACK stomping on these pestilent bot accounts) I am now become a stranger to mercy.
Just give us a damn sign, okay? Change your blog’s title to something like Wait, I mean you no harm. Put some damn picture there instead of the default icon. Give us a chance to hang onto some tiny shred of our humanity, okay?
I will mash that Reblog button every single time this shows up on my dash. I spent a lot of years martyring myself for “the needs of the business.” Young people? Don’t fucking do it. They don’t care about you, you are a “resource,” not a human being. I can’t say this strongly enough: see to your self-care!
