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gingermintpepper · 1 month ago

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Day 4: Aristaeus

Interpretation notes and trivia below the cut!!

All rise for the entrance of my president !! Honestly, of all the figures and characters that were up for debate when I first started thinking about this story and who I wanted leading the charge Aristaeus was not one of them. Originally, I'd always known that Asclepius and Orpheus would be worked in somehow - they've always been favourites of mine in terms of children of Apollo (even if Orpheus as the child of Apollo and Calliope is less popular classically) and I expected my pick for the third child of Apollo to be involved to be similarly mortal like Iamus or Tenes but the more I looked into Aristaeus the more I fell in love with him! Ultimately, he's meant to be both a foil and a reflection of his father - a boy who grows up thinking his father's footsteps would always be warm only to realise that following in them would lead to death and destruction. While his status as a rustic and hunting god is still important here, Aristaeus' interpretation is much more focused on his connection to the Etesian wind and his quelling of the dog star Sirius which is why his hair in particular is so long and spiralling. All in all, more than any other figure I've chosen to interpret and represent in my work Aristaeus is the god I hope more people get interested in and research! I think there are a lot of important stories in his various myths and travels and I definitely want more people to discover and fall in love with them as I have!

Some fun trivia:

Apollo's firstborn son. Because he was born mortal on account of his very mortal mother, Apollo immediately took him to Olympus to eat ambrosia to begin his transition into divinity. Apollo would continue to feed Aristaeus small amounts of ambrosia and nectar for the next ten years until the child fully shed his mortal skin and was reborn as a god.

Due to the nature of making mortals deathless (namely the fun part of the process where they are completely remade and lose their mortal memories) Aristaeus spent most of his early life with his mother and siblings where they all pitched in to reteach him his family, his hobbies, his favourite things and ultimately how to live and love. Aristaeus was very attached to his maternal family because of this and his early acts of ingenuity were mostly born from his wish to make things easier for his family.

Aristaeus is the only one of his children Apollo hand raised full time. In those days, Aristaeus adored his father and believed him completely upright and blameless, the true face of a benevolent deity and the kind of man he aimed to be when he was full grown.

They would later have many bitter arguments and conflicts, the first and perhaps most impactful of all being their disagreement over Actaeon, Aristaeus' firstborn son. He wanted Apollo to teach him stating that it was a normal thing for a grandfather to do but Apollo vehemently refused to have any part of Actaeon's rearing, stating that he was not his child and that it was highly inappropriate for him to educate another god's son. When Actaeon later dies, Aristaeus blames a not insignificant part of that on Apollo - something that only worsens when he learns that it was Artemis who cursed the boy and that Apollo was always aware Actaeon would die young.

Spends most of his time travelling from place to place. Doesn't really like Olympus and prefers to spend his time minding animals or tending to fields. Is on wonderful terms with Demeter and Persephone and often makes decadent exchanges of olive oil and preserved meat for exotic flowers and fruit for his bees.

Big fan of wind and percussive instruments. Never liked the kithara because of how finicky it is and far prefers the hand drums and reed flutes of his mother's country. Exceptional dancer.

Will sell prized cattle for high quality and highly unique jewellry. Doesn't much care for gemstones but is an absolute gold fiend and has a massive collection of bracelets, anklets, nose and lip adornments and rings. Has never been north enough to hit India but got a ton of rare and different adornments from his Phoenician in-laws when he was married to Autonoë.

Hates dogs but doesn't mind wolves. Not a big horse fan either

Unlike other winds, he cannot transform into various animal forms. He's close enough to the Anemoi that he keeps up with the gossip but he's only really friends with Notos. Gets along poorly with Zephyrus whose preference for pretty youths has often led to them getting into physical altercations when they were younger. Aristaeus still holds a bit of a grudge about it.

Has a big stupid crush on Dionysus which is embarrassing because Dionysus also put him out of a job. Due to Dionysus' relative youth, he feels a bit conflicted about such feelings - mostly because Dionysus is on extremely good terms with Apollo and Aristaeus doesn't want him to get burned.

Despite kinda despising his father, Aristaeus is a pretty decent eldest brother and regularly keeps in contact with a lot of his siblings. He often delivers mead, flavoured honey and olive oil and uses it as an excuse to chat and catch up. Currently in a bit of a tiff with Asclepius because he's worried about him and his family.

Favourite colour is the rich gold of purified honey, favourite food is lokma and his favourite time of year is winter.

#ginger draws #pursuing daybreak posting #words cannot describe how much I love this man actually #other things Apollo has done that completely ruined his relationship with his firstborn include but are not limited to:#protecting and defending Aristaeus but letting Idmon die #giving Orpheus hope that he could recover Eurydice and not apologising for making Aristaeus immortal then raising him mortal #knowing how painful it would be to watch his siblings die #he firmly believes that Apollo knows a little bit of everything and could avert so much more pain if he just #warned people better #In a lot of ways Aristaeus still idolises his father - it's just that now he thinks of him as unfair and cruel instead of perfect #Apollo is content to let things be he's there when Aristaeus needs him but he won't force him to be around him #Aristaeus' intense reaction is why he started being more distant about raising his kiddos too btw #He can never detach himself emotionally but he tries not to be too permanent a fixture in their lives so they can learn about him #naturally from other people instead of growing up thinking of him as infallible or someone who would do things in their best interest #Apollo's beholden to Fate first and foremost - even his children can't change that #aristaeus #october art challenge #greek myths

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moongothic · 10 months ago

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You know I wasn't going to post about this, but the more I think about it the more it drives me up the walls

So when Luffy and co release Crocodile from jail, it's specifically under the threat that if Crocodile tries anything funny, well, Iva-chan has a trick up their sleeve to put Crocodile back in-line.

So what the fuck was that actually about? What is Crocodile's secret weakness? I'm specifically looking at the way this is phrased in the manga, because the anime's added dialogue kinda messes with what's implied here. But what Iva specifically says is that Ivankov in particular holds the key to one of Crocodile's weaknesses, but they'll stay quiet about it as long as Crocodile behaves himself ("Vataashi wa koitsu no yowami wo hitotsu nigitteru", a very clunky but literal translation could be "One of his weaknesses is within my grasp". The way Viz translated the line is a bit different so I'm not bothering with getting a cap of the panel, you wouldn't be able to tell how these lines were phrased in Japanese based on Viz's translations anyways) (The dialogue Toei added was Crocodile furiously shouting at Iva-chan, telling them to not say anything and Iva-chan reminding Croc to watch his tone or else they'll reveal Croc's past to everyone. A lot of people don't remember this was in-fact added by Toei, hence I wanted to clarify/remind what happened in this scene originally)

And now. Obviously. When Oda went out of his way to introduce a brand new character whose entire personality is being queer and their power is giving people magic HRT. And then like five chapters later re-introduces Crocodile. And tells us that these two have Secret Beef. And never proceeds to fucking tell us what the hell that was about. Yes, the natural conclusion one would come to would be that Crocodile is stealth trans. That is basic, good storytelling. You (re)introduce two characters, tell us they have beef, one has a very specific ability; you're supposed to connect these dots in your mind. So that now, if Oda revealed to us tomorrow that Crocodile was canonically trans, it would not surprise anyone because it's already been set-up in the story, by this very scene. It's a logical conclusion.

But. I'm becoming more and more convinced that Iva-chan's blackmail might actually not be about Crocodile being trans.

Like the general fandom assumption for the past 15 years has been that Crocodile's stealth trans, but we actually don't know he's stealth. He could be openly trans, and between that being a borderline requirement for Crocodad to be real (since he would've been a Shichibukai for years before Luffy was even born) and the possibility that his earring could specifically be a gay earring, like. Yeah. Crocodile could be openly trans. If Crocodile's perfectly happy to let the whole world know he's gay, then him being trans shouldn't have to be a secret either. We the readers could just be unaware of it because it wasn't relevant information to us, and his transition would be old ass news in-universe and not worth bringing up.

And thus, if Crocodile isn't stealth, then Iva-chan can't blackmail him by threatening to out him, becaus he can't be outted.

Now for a while I did considder that Iva-chan could've been actually threatening to detransition Crocodile if he tried anything funny. Surely he would hate that, so much so that he might not have wanted to even hear Ivankov suggest it. But thinking about it. Unless Iva-chan can use Armanent Haki or get Crocodile moisturized, they shouldn't be able to hit Crocodile actually. Like Croc's Logia makes him impossible to hit unless he specifically allowed himself to be touched. So even if Iva-chan tried to surprise attack Crocodile with Estrogen, Croc should just turn to sand automatically, the attack should not land.

Meaning Iva-chan shouldn't be able to detransition Crocodile against his will, at least not without Haki and we don't know if they can use it, so that can't be Crocodile's weakness either.

And so we have to ask the question. What the fuck is that weakness then that Ivankov mentioned?

All we really know is that Crocodile doesn't want this weakness to be brought up, it's a secret. And for all we know Iva-chan might be the only person in the world who knows about it.

And I just. Like.

There is one weakness, kind of a universal one that many people could have, one that has been brought up time-and-time again post-timeskip, one that has become more and more relevant in the story, especially now at the begining of the Final Saga.

A secret weakness.

If pregnancy is what cracked Crocodile's egg and he transitioned immidiately/soon after giving birth, then it's entirely plausible Iva-chan could know Crocodile had a secret child. And surely he'd want nothing more than for his child to be safe, not end up in trouble because of him. And Ivankov most certainly could put that child in danger, especially now that Crocodile was officially no longer on the World Government's side, there'd be no protection for the baby. All Ivankov had to do was leak the information out, that Sir Crocodile had a child, and anybody who had beef with him could get their revenge by attempting to find the child.

Like I'm just saying. This could line up nicely, actually

#Moon posting #OP Meta #Sir Crocodile #Crocodad #Keyword COULD #I know one might WANT to argue that surely Ivankov wouldn't put someone's child in danger #But Iva-chan can be mean or cruel if they feel like it. Remember they had no intention to help Luffy nor Bon-chan Luffy not begged....#...for them to save Bon-chan while HE was on death's bed. And they did forcibly transition that prince (to be fair he did attack first etc)#Point is; If Crocodad Real then Iva-chan would know that Crocodile's Secret Child would be 17 by now #And even if they did leak the info about the child's existence as long as they don't know the child's name it might not do that much damage #Like it could send people on a wild goose chase to find the child but without any leads how could anybody find the kid #And again. The kid would be 17. Surely that's old enough for them to defend themselves if they did get discovered #And hey what's the alternative here. Ivankov outting a fellow queer. That's not exactly great either.#The blackmail's gonna be kinda fucked up regardless but also Crocodile did attempt to nuke 1 million people so who cares about his feelings

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normalbrothers · 3 months ago

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TOMMY: The war is done! Shut the door on it like I did.

#peaky blinders #peakyblindersgifs #tv #tvedit #hehe #the fascinating thing here is that arthur does show restraint and that he can control himself: he very much doesn't try to throttle tommy #even if he could have easily grabbed him fully round the throat and then lets go as well. it's not so much that tommy actively fights him #which makes the question whether or not he had control over killing that kid (or beating these other young men up) all the more dubious and #unsettling #but then again it's self-evident because he was seeking them out; he could have sparred with men of his own size/age/experience #if control was such an issue and he just wanted to have an outlet for his anger while not wanting to cause too much harm #he may not have wanted to kill the boy but he definitely wanted to hurt someone who couldn't defend himself #which is definitely painfully reminiscent of what happened with their father and arthur's lack of defense then and humiliation at his hands #it's not quite that arthur is a carbon copy of his dad but he tries to emulate him #there's a sympathetic layer here in that he can't grow past this hurt little boy he used to be and puts on this mask. but when does the #mask become the man and he has a body count by now and the question of accountability has to be raised at some point #& note that at the beginning of the scene tommy tells arthur that the boy had a weak heart #tommy's role here is not one of cruel and abusive enabler but one who navigates harm and tries to absolve arthur of his own guilt #while actually being understandably angry over all this #the way *this* entire scene and what leads up to it is misunderstood is very symptomatic in how their dynamic is generally read in a way #that is ... just not true #and very unfairly places tommy in a role of caretaker/parent to arthur's eternal irresponsible child #but arthur isn't a child; that's the problem

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cosmic-cogs · 1 year ago

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I have ideas yet no motivation to write but hear me out

Bot/con of your choise x reader

There is a bot/con stranded on Earth, alone and injured, they barely have the strength to pull themselves the safety of a cave not too far from where they crashed, animals evacuating the are as quickly as they could. They loose consiousness, thinking this'd be the last thing they see but one day, after the years have taken their toll on the bot/con, their optics finally flicker back on, light so dim the creature infront of them could barely tell the difference, and the same as them, the large alien couldn't tell what was infront of them.

The human did what they could, using whatever they had to connect or seal the cut wiring, mend the torn metal, doing what they could to stop the bleeding, cleaning away the rust, caring for this stranger the best they knew how to. It wouldn't heal the bot/con, but it'd keep them alive, that was enough for both of them

Till one day, they are found. The bot/con carried away to safety by allies who wonder how they could still live, what has been caring for their injured friend, and the human has to come back to an empty cave with no sign of their injured friend.

They couldn't move on their own, not far anyway.

So, had another human found them?

Judging by the size of the foot steps on the ground, no.

They were alone, their friend taken away to who knows where, who knows if they'd ever see one another again, who knows if they were even on the same planet.

All they had was the hope that whoever had found them could heal what the couldn't

#cons are bad sometimes but what if I showed them kindness. what if a bots first introduction to humanity was kindness. what then.#someone so small someone they could so easily kill. someone who knew nothing of their intent. someone who despite all of this chose to help.#chose to talk to them even when they couldn't respond. chose to help when they had nothing to gain. someone who chose to be kind.#I wasn't supposed to think about this but man. I am thinking about it.#a con who is reluctant to follow orders because they've seen how kind this planet can be #a bot who doesn't question when they're asked to protect the planet. they've seen what this species is cabable of #enough of “humanity is inherently cruel” fuck that we're cabable of so much kindness #transformers x reader #tfp x reader #tfa x reader #tfe x reader #transformers earthspark x reader #mtmte x reader #i did not proof read this pls don't come @ me 🙏🙏

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possamble · 5 months ago

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Thank you for writing the (messy but neccessary) farcille breakdown. You handled it so wonderfully aaaaaaaah!! Like the other anon I was wondering how far "rock bottom" could get (because chapter 4 already felt pretty rock bottom) but. Yeah. That's pretty rock bottom, huh. The tragedy of loving someone but the other person not understanding <- this applies to both of them.

I think it was really neat how you flipped the question on who's reaching out to who with the academy flashback and the final scene with Namari, because... Marcille clinging onto Falin really is just a reversal of their academy days, isn't it? To everyone who met them after they reunited, it was always Marcille chasing after Falin, but to those who were at the magic academy, it was Falin chasing after Marcille. From picking flowers and berries to eat together, inviting Marcille out to see a play, and generally monopolizing her free time... I'm sure any of them would say the same thing as Namari, but in reverse. No wonder everyone thinks Marcille is just another friend to Falin. They weren't there to witness her pining /j. Idk!! I was rereading the chapter and the academy flashback girl was like "why do you hang off of Marcille so much" and I screamed to myself, "hey wait. HEY WAIT."

#asks #a little creature #im SO glad you pointed out how falin was the first to pine and chase but was discouraged #its a very very important part #i think a really common wlw experience is to internalize that first rejection forever #whether it came from the object of your affections or an outside observer #the first time you encounter disgust for what felt like just happiness and affection #it stays with you. it can turn into a cage for the rest of your life but what you dont realize is that #at some point youre strong enough to open the door for yourself and you have to be able to do it #ironically ive only been the perpetrator of this platonically #pushing away my friends and hurting them bc i didnt think that i mattered enough to affect them #romantically ive been mostly on the other end just begging a girl to meet me in the middle at the very least #because even if they feel intensely as i do its not fun to chase and chase and get nothing bc someone else in their past was cruel #so it dhsjjd shows up in my writing a lot #self loathing as a queer experience is almost universal. but are you able to stand up and grow beyond it? because you need to.#staying locked in your own head and never looking outwards is just another kind of selfishness #i dont always try to do it but lmao my writing almost always touches on this at least a little bit in various degrees as like #maybe my best attempt at a compassionate way of portraying this self-erasure as a kind of selfishness that needs to be addressed

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askblueandviolet · 9 months ago

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You don't love your daughter...?

She loved you so much and yet you killed her...Maybe she's feeling disappointed in her father now:(

MASTER POST

Asks Start 💙

Previous 💙

Next 💙

#lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid fanart #monkie kid #monkie kid fanart #lmk #lmk fanart #lmk mayor #monkie kid mayor #blue and violet #cruel words Mayor... cruel words #but they are being honest #how can they just accept the fact that they had a daughter- I think you guys have to understand that Mayor is the opposite of dad material #funny but really strange and mysterious uncle you know nothing about? definitely #but not a dad #they are not like Ling who was basically born to be a dad #its strange how much someone's behaviour can differ given the circumstances they live in #Mayor is pretty apathetic right now to be honest lmao-#also I would like to point out the reason why Mayor's eyes are so wide during these last few asks #its because they are in a constant state of shock

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queenlucythevaliant · 9 months ago

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Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down.

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived.

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out. “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?”

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset?

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him.

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say.

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food.

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands.

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway.

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say.

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now.

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered.

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room.

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters.

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her.

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?”

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years.

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl.

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint.

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet.

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.”

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try…

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

#inklingschallenge #theme: storge #story: complete #inklings challenge #leah stories #OKAY. SO #i spend so much time thinking about king lear. i think i've said before that it's my favorite shakespeare play. it is not close #and one of the hills i will die on is that cordelia was not in the right when she refused to flatter her dad #like. obviously he's definitely not in the right either. the love test was a screwed up way to make sure his kids loved him #he shouldn't have tied their inheritances into it. he DEFINITELY shouldn't have kicked cordelia out when she refused to play #but like. Cordelia. there is no good reason not to tell your elderly dad how much you love him #and okay obviously lear is my starting point but the same applies to the meat loves salt princess #your dad wants you to tell him you love him. there is no good reason to turn it into a riddle. you had other options #and honestly it kinda bothers me when people read cordelia/the princess as though she's perfectly virtuous #she's very human and definitely beats out the cruel sisters but she's definitely not aspirational. she's not to be emulated #at the end of the day both the fairytale and the play are about failures in storge #at happens when it's there and you can't tell. when it's not and you think it is. when you think you know someone's heart and you just don'#hey! that's a thing that happens all the time between parents and children. especially loving past each other and speaking different langua #so the challenge i set myself with this story was: can i retell the fairytale in such a way that the princess is unambiguously in the wrong #and in service of that the king has to get softened so his errors don't overshadow hers #anyway. thank you for coming to my TED talk #i've been thinking about this story since the challenge was announced but i wrote the whole thing last night after the super bowl #got it in under the wire! yay!#also! the whole 'modern setting that conflicts with the fairytale language' is supposed to be in the style of modern shakespeare adaptation #no idea if it worked but i had a lot of fun with it #pontifications and creations

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