#i simply offer up this basket of symbolism

[flowerbetweenfangs]

To The Wolves

This was written as an entry for a contest. The theme was "masquerade" I played fast and loose and just focused on the "mask" part. It was a lot of fun. This is a Red Riding Hood retelling.

CW: Attempted non con, (Not by the narrator) Knot, beast form.

Originally On A03

Every year, once harvest was done and winter was about to begin, the village I watched over would perform a ritual. With the crops now reaped, they would sow the seed of their unions, in the hopes that their pack numbers would increase. 

I was an ancient One. Older than the fields I roamed. Larger than the village itself. While such a form would be cumbersome, I took up space elsewhere.

I was a whispered prayer. The howling of wind. A burnt offering. A scratching at the shrine door. A carving on a wall. A shadow moving across the ground. An image in a scroll or book. A sight just out of the corner of an eye. 

They called me “Hunt” and “Harvest”. But the few who had laid eyes on me called me by another Name. I answered to all of them. For what is a God without believers? 

As Winter’s chill settled in, I could see the villagers tirelessly working. They carved wood into masks. Many used the pictures of me in ancient texts as reference, but each one had their own unique form. A symbol of their devotion. Once they wore it, they would be acting on my behalf. While not as powerful as a direct offering, it was a gesture I preferred. 

They had chosen a woman to don the vestments this year. Not a maiden, nor a crone. Young enough to run and be free, but old enough to know what she was getting into. Unclaimed and untethered.

She worked with the matriarch of the shrine, creating cakes that could fit into the palm of her hand. Each one was prepared and placed in a wicker basket. They called the older woman “Grand Mother”, for all her work in keeping up with the myths and offerings. 

Those who weren’t taking part had to be shut inside, threats of me gobbling up any one who disobeyed. Sometimes a bit of fear was necessary. While I had never harmed a human under my protection, no one wanted to be the first. 

As darkness fell, Grand Mother went on ahead. She vanished into the treeline, the light of her lantern bobbing up and down until it faded from view. When she arrived at the shrine, she would wait there until morning.

The Mask Makers followed shortly after her. Some howled, some sang, many simply panted and grunted with the effort of the sprint. Soon, their voices also vanished into the night. 

The woman had been stripped of all her earthly belongings and name. She was given the basket and a crimson cloak. It fell over her shoulders, and hung just above the ground, but did little to preserve her modesty when she walked. 

Bare feet kicked up dirt as she walked to the edge of the village, the basket hanging from the crook of her elbow. She would not even be allowed sandals for her journey, only her faith to protect her from what lay within the woods. 

A howl in the distance signaled that she was to start her journey. 

At the edge of her home, she paused. The light of the moon illuminated her path. While she had grown up near the forest, it was a different thing entirely to see it at night. 

Once she got to the treeline, I could see her resolve waver. While she didn’t slow, her steps became more cautious and calculated. Shoulders slightly raised, jaw clenched, she listened. 

Clutching the basket close, she allowed herself to shiver. The chattering of her teeth filled the empty night. 

Bringing her hands to her lips, she held them close and continued to walk forward. A harsh wind whipped the cloak around, nearly ripping it from her shoulders. The force made her gait more serpentine, but she managed to right herself. 

The first one came from the trees, his eye holes slightly too big. I could hear his panting as he stalked closer to her, taking care to not snap a twig or step too heavily.

She saw him in time, her body going stiff. One hand snaked into the basket. 

When their gazes locked, he stood upright, eyes greedily studying her form. He took a few steps closer to her. 

“Lady Red, Lady Red,” His voice was muffled by the mask, but it was clear enough. “What have you to eat?” 

Slowly, she withdrew her hand from the basket. A small cake was in her palm. 

Holding it out to the man, she cleared her throat. 

“Dear Wolf, Dear Wolf. Here, have something sweet.” Her whole body was shaking. Whether from the cold or fear, it was hard to tell. 

The cake nearly fell from her grasp before the man finally took it. Clutching it tightly, he ran off back toward the village. I could taste its sweetness as he gobbled it down. My power increased slightly, tethering me further to the land. 

She watched him run, before rolling her shoulders and pulling the hood of the cloak up. Back straight, she began to walk again. 

Her steps, no longer cautious, were still slow. Calculated. The gait of someone determined but not reckless. The residue from the cake still clung to her hand, but she didn’t seem to care. Now that it was over, she allowed herself to feel relief. 

But it was short lived. 

I could hear the whispers as the others began to move. Some closer to her, some toward the shrine. Plans being made. I followed their words, and I could tell they knew I was listening. Shivers went up spines, some slapped the back of their necks when they could feel my breath on it. A few jerked their heads in my direction when they caught a glimpse of my shadow. 

One sprung forward, jumping into her path. The ears on his mask were slightly too large, making him look more like a coyote.

She slowed to a stop, eyes wide like a doe. Breath came from her lips in a foggy cloud. Goosebumps traveled across her flesh as she stared. 

“Lady Red, Lady Red,” The voice rumbled from behind the mask. “What have you to eat?” 

This time, she stood firm and didn’t hesitate. Once more, she pulled out a small cake from the basket. While it didn’t shake in her grip, there was a bit of reluctance as she extended her arm out to the man. 

“Dear Wolf, Dear Wolf. Here, have something sweet.” 

The man stared at her a moment longer, then leaned forward, shifting his mask up. She averted her eyes, holding the cake out insistently. 

He took the cake directly into his mouth, lips brushing against her hand. A few strands of drool remained on her palm, which she discreetly wiped on her thigh when he turned away. I could taste it again, and found my own mouth watering further. 

Once he had devoured the morsel, he stared at her once more, before dashing off back to the village. 

She put a hand to her chest and let out a sigh of relief. Her stride picked up again, and she seemed more determined than before. The light of the moon seemed to shine brighter than before, bathing the entire area in a silvery glow. 

I had been watching her so closely, I almost didn’t see the man in the bushes. But I did see the chips in his mask, where the mouth would have been. The jagged edges poked into his lips, a few drops of crimson welling. He followed behind, not announcing himself like the others had. 

Putting a hand over his mouth, he stifled his breath and continued to keep pace with the woman. Every so often, he would reach out, his hand brushing against the cloak’s fabric. I knew a hunter when I saw one. 

We all stopped at the same time. 

Craning her neck, she looked for her pursuer. Her eyes widened. Clutching the cloak tight, she attempted to draw it closed around herself. I could tell she wanted to call out to the man, to get him to come into view. But the words seemed caught in her throat. 

I saw him shift his form, starting to rise, and for a moment I felt relief.  

However, rather than announce himself, he pounced on her. The action was so sudden she didn’t have time to draw in a breath and scream. I don’t think she realized what was happening until he was on top of her. 

Armed with only her faith, she finally cried out the ancient name I’d been known as: 

Warg . 

The basket snapped in two, cakes spilling all over the forest floor. Steam curled off the top, and they blackened. 

I hadn’t taken on a physical shape in years, but I found myself coming out from behind a tree. To not frighten her, I took on the body of a human male in a rather intricately carved wolf mask, furs wrapped around my torso. Amusingly, the pelt’s tail dangled between my legs where one would be in my other form. 

The tree groaned as I rested a hand on the trunk, nails far too long to be human digging into the bark. A growl rumbled in my throat, tearing through human muscle that hadn’t used it before. It became more of a death rattle, and I worried I wouldn’t be able to breathe. Compressing my being down to a form so small had me ready to come apart at the seams. 

But I wasn’t one to ignore an offering. 

Pausing, the man looked up at me. I could see beyond the mask, the thoughts racing through his mind as he attempted to place who I was. Muscles went taut, and I could see flight or fight warring as he weighed the options. 

I strode closer, jaw clenched to prevent another snarl from escaping my lips. Even though I was around the same size as him, he seemed to notice the power rolling off me. 

Slowly, he slipped off the woman and scrambled away apologetically. The words became curses as he scurried away, the Grand Mother’s title on his lips. 

The woman stayed on the ground, eyes still wide. Each action that followed seemed to be a struggle with how much she shook. Finally, she turned on her side to face me. Attempting to stand, she sucked in a breath when her knees gave out. 

I stood back, debating whether or not to offer her my hand.

Shivering, she managed to struggle to her feet. 

Upon seeing the ruined basket, she covered her face. Suppressed sobs shook her, and I felt a pang of sympathy. Through no fault of her own, the ritual had been halted. 

While she had no idea that she had summoned me prematurely, it was obvious something had gone wrong. If the next harvest failed, she would bear the guilt. Although I knew her attacker would be punished, by myself or by the other villagers.  

Picking up the remaining pieces of the basket, I offered it to her. Once she took them, I could feel a shift in the wind. The scent of the approaching men. 

They’d heard the commotion and came running. They went to call her old Name, but stopped themselves. 

Despite my better judgment, I snarled. It ripped through my very being, and I could feel myself starting to become undone. I debated on changing my form right then and there, but I didn’t want to frighten her more than I already had. Instead, I began to walk. 

I could smell the fear. The confusion. The worry. 

Who is this stranger in our woods? What has he done to Lady Red?

In the light of the moon, I could see the shadow of my true form. A fierce wind howled, and I followed it, vanishing from sight. 

I could hear her running steps. No longer afraid, or maybe more so than ever, she sprinted for the shrine. All that needed to be done now was for her to make it inside. Hopefully the broken basket would be explained away and the night could come to a close. 

I could hear her voice call out for the Matriarch. 

“Grand Mother? Are you there?”  

Silence answered. 

I saw more fear take over her face. Confusion. This was clearly not the way things were supposed to go. 

Peering inside the shrine, I saw the cushion, where the elder had been kneeling, was empty. Sniffing, I followed the scent out the back and into the woods. The smell of gold was strong. The scent of the Broken Mask clung to it. 

Sneaking through a window, I slunk through the Holy Room. Masks from previous years lined the shelves, along with baskets, cloaks, and old recipes. The hearth was still warm, the embers from the fire still glowing. 

Growling, I resisted the urge to run out of the shrine and chase down the pair. 

Once more, Lady Red called from outside the gate. 

Behind her, I could see the approaching silhouettes of the masked men. 

I felt my form shift again, taking on a smaller, more delicate shape. I’d only seen the Matriarch a handful of times, but I hoped darkness would conceal me better. Taking one of the vestments, I wrapped it around myself.

Kneeling on the mat, I faced the front room. 

“In here, dear!” 

The door opened and she came inside. Through labored breaths, she attempted to tell the events of what had just transpired. Before she could get to leaving the village, I saw her stiffen at the sight of me. 

The longer she stared at the disguise, the more it seemed to fall apart. I could feel the power rippling off me, filling the room. I fought between compressing myself and holding up the illusion, or giving in and letting my true form come forth, consequences or not. 

“My, what big eyes you have.” She said, voice shaking. Still, she took a step closer and squinted at me in the dark. 

“The better to see you with.” My throat was scraped raw from the words 

“What big ears you have,” She continued, teeth chattering. 

And yet, she came to the side of the mat. Close enough I could smell her breath and fear. Kneeling next to me, she rested at the edge of the cushion. It was just enough to tilt me, ever so slightly, in her direction. 

“The better to hear you with.” Once more, the voice coming from my form was not made for a human throat, and I could feel it becoming raspy. 

“... And what big teeth you have.” 

We stared at one another. I could feel her warmth, despite the shivering. 

A knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips. I expected fear, anger, worry.

But there was none. Her eyes were wide as realization of what I was dawned on her. Lips parted slightly as she took in a shallow breath to steady herself. 

I allowed the form to unravel. While I still would have been bigger than the shrine in my truest form, I allowed myself to appear as something closer to my nature. Wind whipped through the air, stoking the embers back to life. As the orange glow mingled with silver, I saw my lupine shadow dancing on the wall and carvings. 

My tongue lolled out of my mouth as I inhaled her scent. White fangs flashed in the dark, saliva dribbling onto the floor. 

Despite the warring emotions, I managed to keep my mind. 

“Lady Red, Lady Red, what have you to eat?” My true voice rumbled from deep within. 

Her eyes went down to the ruined basket, then the old offerings lining the shelves. However, she quickly made up her mind. Untying the cloak, she let it fall to the floor. 

“Dear Wolf, Dear Wolf. Here, have something sweet.” 

The hands that had been trembling only a moment before were steady as they cupped my jaw. Fingers buried themselves in my fur, nails far too short to ever be a threat scraping against my skin. 

I wasn’t one to ignore an offering. 

I licked her palms, tasting the residue of cakes and dirt. Making my way up her arm, I stopped at the crook of her elbow, the scent of the town still clinging to her. I moved across her waist, leaving a glistening trail. 

I made my way down to her navel, letting my breath roll over pebbled skin. Condensation formed, a few drops mixing with forming sweat and rolling down. 

Parting her thighs, I lapped at the growing wetness between them. Fingers tangled in the scruff of my neck as her breath caught. She fell back on the mat, legs splayed open for me. Trickling folds invited me to devour them further. 

Massive paws were on either side of her, claws tearing through the fabric of the cushion. I continued to lick, fangs ever so slightly teasing at flesh. Despite my best attempts at being gentle, I still left marks. Nothing a human could ever leave. Soon, she was covered with them.

If she felt pain, there was no sign. In fact, her legs wrapped tighter around my head. I growled a warning, but the noise only seemed to excite her more. Moans and sighs echoed off the wooden walls. 

Such a tribute wasn’t one to be devoured in a couple of bites. I paced myself, drawing out each roll of my tongue, pressing a paw onto her when she attempted to make me speed up once more. 

Once more, she was quaking. As she shivered around my tongue, I could feel a need rising inside both of us. The seeds of harvest needed to be sowed. 

She must have noticed me dripping, because I was finally released. I stared at the dripping wet, panting heavily. My tongue was close enough to tease it, making her back arch and a shuddering groan escape her. 

Without a word, she rolled over onto her stomach, presenting herself to me. Once again, instinct threatened to take over, and I forced myself to remain in control. The literal earth shattering strength I had would make short work of a delicate human body. 

No sacrifice had ever been put through such a trial of faith before. 

Despite all the preparation and her resolve, she was tight around me. Almost too much. Fists gripped the cushion as she gasped in surprise. This was no human male rutting while wearing a mask. And if I had my way, no hands but mine would ever touch her in this way again. 

Once I was inside, my body moved of its own accord. Thrusts were punctuated with grunts and pants, paws covering her hands. I could feel myself being drawn back in when I attempted to pull out, almost like a game. 

The motion seemed to help her regain the ability to speak, and soon she was calling out my name over and over. Her hips rocked back, taking me in deeper than before. Initial resistance turned to eagerness, almost too much. 

As she came back onto me, I met her with a rhythm of my own. My name was called more times in those few short moments than it had been whispered that entire season. 

Such piousness should be rewarded. 

I leaned down and licked her cheek in an attempt to be tender. Salt tinged my tongue. Although I knew she wasn’t weeping from sorrow, I still forced myself to slow. My efforts only made her more wild, and she hilted me. 

My head shot up toward the moon, and I had to resist the urge to call out and stake my claim. I was glad she was facing away from me, because I worried what would happen if she realized that she could make a God see stars.

The thought of her becoming more bold made me shudder. With fear or excitement, I couldn’t say. It was a line that was easy to to blur. 

I ground my hips against her, and felt the release. As it filled her up, I felt a clench that held me fast. I swelled as she did, knotting. Our cries of ecstasy became labored gasps. The sensation sent another shock through me, spurting more into her.  

As she came down from the act, I took her into my arms. Despite being slick with sweat, she was all too eager to huddle up against me while I was still inside her. My hand went down to her stomach, and she shivered at the touch, still tender. 

I knew the villagers would be coming to the shrine in the morning, to see the result of the ritual. 

The seeds had been planted. The sowing had begun. 

I wondered what they would reap come next harvest. 

Something told me that my own pack would be growing soon. 

[mama-qwerty]

Let's talk about why Knuckles likes grapes. (After another conversation with @nights-nonsensical-ramblings)

The simplest explanation is, he simply does. They're juicy and tasty and a healthy snack. Why wouldn't he like them?

But let's deep dive a bit.

Grapes don't strike me as being native to Angel Island. I mean, they could be, I don't know the exact layout and local flora and fauna of the island. But, for the sake of this discussion, let's say they're not.

So where did they come from? How does Knuckles know about them?

Eggman brought them when he crash landed on the island.

In an attempt to befriend this little semi-feral creature who rushes out to confront him, the doctor offers the little beast some grapes. Knuckles cautiously takes them, discovers them delicious, and deems the doctor no threat.

Knuckles associates grapes with friendship.

When the doctor discovers this little creature loves grapes, he keeps supplying them as he gains the boy's trust, telling him of the evil hedgehog and fox who are on his tail. Yadda yadda, Knux fights in defense of Eggman until the guy betrays him, then he fights with Sonic and Tails to bring him down.

Okay, so why doesn't Knux associate grapes with betrayal?

Because after all this, Knuckles befriends Sonic and Tails. One day they're down on the planet, doing their thing, and Knuckles spies some grapes. He stares maybe a little too long, feeling a pang of hurt as he remembers how tasty they were, but now they're tainted because of Eggman's ultimate betrayal in the end. He draws the attention of the others, but when they ask he brushes it off, probably a little gruffly, and stalks away.

Later, as he's heading back to his island, Tails comes running up to him with a little bag full of grapes. Knuckles is confused--why did he do this? The little fox shrugged and replies with a smile, "You seemed like you really wanted them. And you can think of us and your time down here when you eat them!"

And maybe the pain he'd felt before fades a bit.

This works for SCU Knux, too. In that egg ship thing they used to return to the Mean Bean after Sonic and Tails escaped, there was probably a 'welcome back' fruit basket from Stone. (You know that's the kind of thing he'd do.) In the basket are a batch of grapes, which Robotnik doesn't like. He sees Knuckles kinda staring at the food--some of which he'd never seen before but he's hungry, he hasn't eaten in a while--and Robotnik gets that smarmy little smile and gives the boy the grapes. "Consider it a symbol of our alliance, and a welcome gift to the great planet Earth."

No one had ever given Knuckles food before, without some immediate payment requested. He and Robotnik were already allies at this point, so the offer of this food isn't necessarily tied to that partnership.

From Knuckles' perspective, Robotnik was sharing food to be nice.

No one's ever been nice to him before.

Movie!Knux wouldn't necessarily hold it against the grapes that Robotnik was a dishonorable dick, and they were tasty, which is why he asks Sonic about them at the end of the film. He's hoping to get more of them, and share them with his new friends/family.

[melbatron5000]

The fruit of the tree of the knowledge of Good and Evil

When Gabriel first arrives to Whickber street, a truckful of tomatoes dumps its load at his feet, he even squishes one and almost trips.

@scottishmushroom asked what this means in this post here, and I have some thoughts.

Every scene in this show is doing double duty, every image has symbolism attached to it. The symbolism needs to either be funny, or serve the narrative somehow (often both). And this season is lousy with Clues.

What twigged me to my thought was the further note that there seem to be baskets of tomatoes in the Job minisode. They seem to be a throwaway prop, except that they are placed exactly between Aziraphale and Crowley in the shot they appear in. The placement of objects matters, as it tells the audience what's important, whose POV we're seeing through, etc.

(Oh, hey! I just noticed that the plants in the shot with the pomegranates appear to be dracaena trifasciata -- common names include mother-in-law's tongue, SNAKE plant, and DEVIL'S TONGUE. Native to Nigeria, so not out of place here. I have a six-foot one of those in my sunroom! Hm!)

Back to the tomatoes.

Tomatoes in the Middle East during Bibical times? @docdust pointed out that those aren't tomatoes, they're pomegranates.

Aha.

Tomatoes used to be called "love apples" back in the day, and the Greeks referred to pomegranates as "grainy apples."

Apples, Bible, something something Eve ate something . . .

Eve ate of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, then offered the fruit to Adam who also ate it. Then both were cast out of Eden, because God was worried they would also eat of the tree of eternal life and elevate themselves to Her own status. (That part of the story gets left out a lot, I wonder why . . . )

There's actually no Biblical reference that we know of to any particular fruit. Some translator at some point labelled it an apple, and it's been thought of that way ever since. But apples weren't found in the Middle East during Biblical times, either, so it's unlikely it was actually an apple Eve ate. Pick a fruit to stand in, any fruit.

(In the TV series Lucifer, Eve jokes that it was always a metaphor, there never was a "fruit" of any kind. Unless maybe a banana? (She grins at Lucifer.) But I digress.)

So pick a fruit to stand in for apples. Maybe a tomato (love apple)? Or a pomegranate (grainy apple)?

In both scenes where these fruits appear, important characters are having a big crisis of faith. In both cases, their first crisis of faith. They are learning that Heaven isn't what it's cracked up to be. Gabriel has eaten of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, and has been cast out of Eden (Heaven). (Though we don't know that yet when he first shows up -- the tomatoes are A Clue!)

Aziraphale has eaten of the tree of knowledge and been cast out of Eden -- though in his case, Eden is simply naivete, his ability to go along with Heaven unquestioningly. ("What am I?")

Aziraphale's crisis of faith seems more clear -- even my bestie, while watching the show with me, got kind of upset at the Job minisode because of her own religious trauma. Job is touchy story for a lot of people. It's an appropriate place for Aziraphale to lose his confidence that Heaven is light and truth and good. It's a story that a lot of people lose faith over.

And Crowley, in this instance, is Eve. The one who's already tasted the fruit, and is offering it their partner. "Let me show you what you don't even know."

And so we have "apples" present at the moment of both characters gaining knowledge of good and evil. Or at least, gaining knowledge that Heaven isn't Good, and going against Heaven isn't Evil.

That's my take on it, anyway, and how I would interpret the symbolism of those two fruits present at that those two points in the narrative. Your mileage may vary.

[obsolete-stars-if]

Okay so i was wondering how each RO would react if they found a engagement ring MC was hiding.

Bt then i realized wait. MC is already married. Sooo is divorce a thing? Or are we just having open marriages here?

An engagement ring would be very cute for mikhail if MC was like i want to marry you again because i love you this time. And I'd love to know his reaction but what about the others.. and if we're already married how does tht work? 🧐🤔

Now, I'm feeling in a nice mood, so I'm actually gonna answer all the questions. Keep in mind that these answers would be more of the last chapters / epilogue kind of situation (depending how the relationships go), this is spoiler ish territory. So after general information, the individual reactions and personal needs of the RO will go under the cut.

Divorce isn't a thing, but all of the RO are aware that the marriage you're in is purely political (in non Mikhail routes that is), and that there are no strings attached. Mikhail has no qualms about it either, he is not gonna enforce that you can only be with him, which is kind of the situation in riag marriages being monogamous. Oh yeah, every kingdom has different marriage / bonding rules and rituals.

As we know, Riags marriage is more closely representing a gift, with a necklace to symbolize the bond. Strictly monogamous.

Meanwhile in Malam tradition, their engagement/wedding rings are antlers, decorated with flowers and plants, which each of the spouses take care of, the longer the plants survive and thrive, the better the marriage between them will be. The antlers are collected when they're being shed in their respective seasons, monogamy being more popular than polyamory. (TK specific)

In Abuyo it is a tradition to braid each other's hair together, as well as weaving baskets. Most of their traditions formed around the enjoyment of nature and spices, with a very close and tight knitted, loving community, polyamory being very common too. (Alia specific)

Meanwhile I am trying to not pin the Ita wedding rituals, as you as a ruler can simply change them. But I decided to not specify the monogamy/polyamory likelihood, as well as leaving options for gift giving getting tied to different ideas of marriage in general. Which might get added to the epilogue for the Itan population (Kate, Sammy, Sascha, Gigi)

Now we get to the specific reactions/opinions/needs of the RO and marriage.

So under the cut we go.

TK would want to marry you. Like really badly. Like they're jealous and bitter towards Mikhail BCS of it (even in the poly route). If you put the actual work into learning malam traditions and customs, and offer them the antlers? Jesus, they'll be a MESS. Like sobbing, quietly tho. Being unable to do anything but just nod, maybe kiss and hug. But yes, they so badly would wanna marry you, even without it being official, just knowing you care that much about them, just the best way to make em soft.

Sammy doesn't mind that you're married to Mikhail, and while they'd def prefer you to be married to them, they don't take it that badly. They don't care that much about all the marriage traditions, since they grew up in a part of Ita where marriage isn't prioritized. HOWEVER, they will absolutely take you to their family for a big feast, and call you their love all the time.

Alia would be shocked at first, but then quietly remind you that she is not allowed to marry. She keeps her hair short as a symbol that she cannot get "entangled" with anyone, as her life has been dedicated to the worship of the Gods and the Beyond. If you would ask her to weave a basket with her tho, she'd smile and admit, that it would be a nice activity, and she cannot imagine doing it with anyone else.

Sascha would be mortified. Even at the end of the story, you CANNOT tie this man down. It might even be enough to scare him away. Like he is back on the run. Just don't.

Kate would be so excited. She's secretly already planning your wedding with her (even just as a symbol and not legally binding). She wants a big festival, with food, gifts, and expensive clothing. She is also inviting everyone. Everyone needs to experience the love she holds for you, and love you too. Yes, J and K will visit. Yes everyone she met will be there. Yes even strangers. And you will be covered in gifts and kisses.

Mikhail would be a bit against it. For him marriage is a promise of submission and protection, and he cannot imagine commanding you. Once you tell and explain it's to renew the shared love, he is so down. Very down. On his knees actually.

Gigi is so very sad. She would have to decline politely, not because she doesn't want to. But BCS it is not fair to claim you. She would gently let you down. And while it wouldn't destroy the relationship unlike with Sascha, it would put a strain on it.

[oldmanffucker]

hello ive gone thru the gloaming tag. i see u have watched n i raise my previous query if ur so inclined 👁️

(previous query was about how I, as a grief specialist, feel abt in the gloaming)

ok i wrote out an outline as i was watching it and haven't had the spoons to do more with it but here's that:

Mourning rituals - letting danny have a say, but also the bag pipes - a connection to the grandfather, to danny, and to his dad, who could remember and offer them for the funeral. To be a part of the creation of the service.  “No lilies” “In the language of flowers, the Lily has long held the symbolic meaning of fertility, purity, and remembrance. They are a time-honored inclusion in memorial arrangements and are considered spiritually symbolic of the circle of life. Individual types of lily flowers and the respective colors of the petals may hold additional meanings.”

Father - head and dissonant griever. He grows tomatoes not because he likes them but bcause his wife does. He tends his tomatoes, covering them in the winter, tending to them gently throughout the year. Silently, lovingly. “I think he grows them for you”  Realizes that his father does love in his own, quiet, unassuming way. Must be an earth sign.

“I dont see that much love, I dont even see that much connection.” “sticking it out, doing it together. Endurance.” [later, I miss paul… i guess he didn’t have enough endurance as it were.] 

other moments of quiet care: “Come and see what I’ve done with your room,” “I seem to remember lamb’s his favorite” making him the reception dinner. “she’s one of the museum’s most valbuable assets,” we see him pruning the tomato plants and collecting the tomatoes in a basket to show off to his wife. He comes in after danny goes to sleep “did he talk to you?” “So you’ll talk to him about it?” “just tell carla and i give her the specifics of ti” “well i turned out all the lights” making things easier for her “tell me about your book” Dad sees she looks stressed while making dinner and takes action, trying to bring her to the places she mentioned. Gets up to try to catch danny when he needs to get up for his broncho treatment. We dont see the ramp getting installed, but i would assume that the dad put it there. “I thought I’d make it more homey in here” - he brings in his trophies, Trying to talk about what he’s interested in - tennis - but seems to be one step behind him on everything. The picture of him and Gary, the tennis, the trophy, the lamb. It’s not until the bag pipes at the end that he can seem to get it right. “I’ve got some donuts hidden in my desk,” him trying to let his son in, connecting, being more human.

Initially we see him dealing with the degenerating health of his son by constantly exercising - reminding himself that he is healthy, likely due to discomfort of being confronted with death. But also perhaps as a continuing bond to the danny he remembers.

Deep discomfort with not just death, but the visible death undertaken by his son. Adding the death he has a precarious relationship with to the already precarious relationship with his son, making undertaking a new relationship with his son may feel extra fraught or dangerous. “I dont think he likes being around me very much. He doesn’t know me. He doesnt have a clue as to who i am.”

Not everyone is built to be a hands on supporter in the intimate moments of dying. We see the dad cant engage until the son is gone. "Tell me what else my son liked," suggesting the bagpipes

Mother - was good with being understanding right out the gate - the embodiment of how to approach a dying loved one - she’s a masterclass in embracing that the death is real, and not speaking around that truth (while also never belaboring the point). “I have to write a will.” she says nothing “thank you.” “for what?” “For not saying there’s plenty of time for that or some similar hooey.” is his mom simply not saying that there’s still time to write a will. It’s her simply nodding and saying okay when Danny says he wants to write a will.

“What else do you remember?” I loved this as an example of starting a conversation in a way that communicates desire to listen, safety in reminiscing. Treating him as a person.

We see there’s a yarn swift in the background in the living room, meaning that she is liekly an avid fiber artist with yarn, and I bet she made that hat for Danny! What a labor of love.

Hardly leaves the house, is attached to danny at the hip, afraid that he’ll die if she leaves.

Sister - we don't see a lot from her, but we do see shame about AIDS in that she doesn’t ever bring her husband or son around to visit Danny. This indicated that, though it’s not shown, her grief is and will be disenfranchised, at least insofar as she is able to express it with her husband. She may be reticent to bring it up with family, or she may allow herself to express her grief with her family and not with her husband. She also suggests that mom’s over-attentions made him gay.

The movie is not only about grief, but about what a good death can look like. 

(Of course within that is the inescapable politics of what constitutes a good death, who gets a good death, and the privileges of affording a good death, so I will mention that here, but will focus mostly on what it is about the death that makes it a so called good death. )

His family takes him in to receive hospice care, sets up a hospital bed, has a safe and not overstimulating space to experience the end of his time and catch up with his family and have a part in planning his funeral, speak his truth, have in in home nurse keeping him as comfortable as possible.

When Danny first comes home, they are continuing to treat him with, at least a hearty performance of, normalcy, though his dad’s just shakes his hand when he comes in, and his sister pats his back as she leaves and when his meds come out the all scatter.

This is not a story about breaking the hard news of illness or dying to anybody. This isn’t a movie about the dying man scrabbling to make it to the solid ground of acceptance from some deep valley below. He’s at acceptance already.

Nurse, very straightforward. Honest, gentle. Letting Mom help with the medical stuff, feel connected to a new process in his life. 

"It’s amazing what vast sorrows can do to open up to the most essential action of loving out loud" Showing how this time of confrontation of the uncomfortable facts of death are opening the family up to saying all that they neglected to say in the intervening years.

“I think youre anything but average”

“How much do you really know about the range of my personal experience, mom?”

Mom goes from changing the subject when she has to talk about herself and the things she likes, saying there's nothing interesting about her, to explaining that there are little nuances to the things she likes about movies. to talking about the little things easily, even talking about sex scenes - things usually not talked about in “polite company”

“I think maybe we should change the subject.” “Well then maybe we shouldn’t.”

“What’s your favorite holiday?”

Talking about Paul “Don’t ask don’t tell?” “I’ve always accepted you." "I think you have, you just haven’t always…participated.”

('the 4 thanksgivings before we broke up' aaa awugh)

“I felt excluded, danny was always your favorite." "Why didnt you ever say anything." "Because we don't talk about those things.”

“Did you love? Were you loved in return?” “Yes.”

Obviously the gloaming in this time between life and death, the dusk of his life.

Of the gloaming: “Everything seems to move more slowly,” 

"You thought I said it was gloomy" “I always thought it hurt you somehow that the day was over, but you said it was a beautiful time because for a few moments the purple light made the whole world look like the Scottish highlands on a summer night.” (full quote from the original short story) - the dusk of life may seem gloomy because it's the end of a life, but in this story, it's a beautiful time because the mother and son come back together like comets.

(I am quite obsessed with the way Alice Elliot Dark used knitting as metaphor ESPECIALLY when she described Danny's death. It was so so beautiful.)

[morphofan]

Travels With Tech: Dinner And A Show

Took Little Tech to dinner and a show a few weeks back. #TravelsWithTech #TechLives

"Apparently, this is quite a renowned eatery, though I know not what either 'tacos' nor 'tequila' are."

"Well, I must say, they are very generous with the water!"

"This is a chip. Not an inhibitor chip, one that you consume with a concoction of chopped indigenous fruits and vegetables which goes by the name 'salsa.' The varieties of salsa offered here, according to my assistant, are 'Mild,' 'Medium,' 'Hot,' and 'Dayum.'"

"Wait... this candle is... electronic? How extraordinary, I did not think this planet advanced enough to create such a thing.

"Ah! Is that the 'tequila,' as mentioned on the placard outside?"

"How *hic* fascinating. It would seem that others from *hic* my home galaxy have had an impact on this planet's culture.

"Good to *hic* meet you, fellow travelers. I righly hecommend the *hic* tequila, gentlemen and lady."

"Keeping a *hic* deceased human on display at an eatery seems *hic* unsanitary, even if she is attired in compliance with the *hic* dress code.

"Drunk, ma'am? I am *hic* NOT drunk, I had less than *hic* half a jigger of tequila.

"Yes, said 'jigger' was the size of my *hic* cuirass... what is your point? *hic*"

Do you *hic* come here often, Madame?

"Apologies. My assistant *hic* has insisted that I *hic* 'work the room,' in order to 'sober up' before the show."

"Tacos. *hic* Chicken tacos, or 'el pollo,' in the proper tongue. Accompanied by a large, clay-like slab of another local fruit called 'avocado.'"

"Very *hic* humorous, ma'am. As I said already, I am no longer intoxicated. You may *hic* release me.

"Am I tasked with chip delivery amongst your guests, then? I do not believe that is the purpose of this loop on the basket."

"Plantains? Intriguing. On most planets, fruit is a dessert course, but here, fruits are used in both sweet and savory dishes."

"Time for the theatrical performance!

"Oh dear. I do not believe I will be able to traverse this motorway in the time allotted by the glowing symbol across the way. Please pick me up, ma'am."

"Now then, kindly make like a plant and depart.

"What? Oh yes, make like a plant and 'leave'. That is, indeed, funnier. Very good."

"Here we are at the Theater, or, 'Theatre' as it says on the building."

"AHHUGH! Oh dear, how very embarrassing. May I implore you for a bit of assistance, ma'am?

"No, this is NOT due to the tequila, my foot simply slipped...."

"I am NOT being a 'worry wart,' ma'am, whatever that may mean. Yes, the likelihood of a fire is low, but if there IS a fire, would you not feel safer with someone who has thoroughly perused a map of the escape routes?

"Yes, I am aware that you will need to carry me to prevent my being stepped upon in the ensuing panic, but I can still guide the way."

"The set of this theatrical piece is a stage, UPON a stage. A play within a play.

"I must surmise that this particular play has something to do with doors...."

"We will be observing the performance of a theatrical piece on the subject of the performance of a theatrical piece. How droll."

"I wonder if I may be permitted to take a closer look at the stage?

"I say there, Miss...!"

"Rather uncomfortable piece of furniture. The young lady in charge told me I may sit here, but that I am forbidden to touch or move anything. Each item, or 'prop,' has a specific place to be."

"The stage manager said something about 'sardines'? My assistant has confiscated my datapad for the evening, but I shall research the meaning of 'sardines' later."

"Very amiable folks manning this operation. I look forward to observing the theatrical piece entitled, 'Noises Off.'

"...Off of what?"

[sakkiichi]

The gentle breeze rustled through the leaves of the cherry blossom trees, creating a soothing melody that seemed to serenade you and Kazuha as you made your way to a secluded spot in the heart of Inazuma. The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden hue across the picturesque landscape. Kazuha had planned a surprise picnic date for you, his beloved, and the anticipation of your reaction filled him with excitement.

As you walked hand in hand through the tranquil meadow, Kazuha couldn't help but steal glances at you. Your eyes sparkled with curiosity, trying to discern the reason for this impromptu adventure. Kazuha simply smiled and reassured you that it would be a day to remember.

Finally, you arrived at their destination - a small, hidden grove surrounded by a sea of wildflowers, with a breathtaking view of the city in the distance. A soft, handwoven blanket was spread out beneath a tall, swaying sakura tree, offering the perfect spot for a picnic. A wicker basket sat at its center, holding an assortment of delicious treats that Kazuha had meticulously prepared.

With a playful grin, Kazuha invited you to sit down on the blanket. As you settled in, he reached into the basket and revealed an array of delectable dishes - delicate sandwiches, fresh fruit, and cold beverages to both of your likings.

But the true cherry on top was the selection of pastries, all lovingly baked by Kazuha himself. He presented a box of beautifully crafted sakura-shaped cookies and a plate of flaky, golden croissants filled with sweet cream and fresh berries.

As you enjoyed your meal, the conversation flowed effortlessly, like a gentle stream winding its way through the grove. You couldn't help but be enchanted by the sheer beauty of the setting and the thoughtfulness that had gone into planning this surprise. Kazuha, with his eloquent words and poetic nature, shared tales of his adventures across Teyvat, weaving stories of far-off lands and daring escapades.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, orange glow around you. Kazuha reached for a small, intricately wrapped gift hidden within the basket. With a tender smile, he handed it to you. Inside, you discovered a delicate necklace adorned with a tiny silver maple leaf - a symbol of his home country, so you had a piece of him with you, always.

As the daylight faded and the stars began to twinkle overhead, you and Kazuha lay back on the blanket, hand in hand, gazing up at the night sky. Kazuha pointed out constellations and whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his words as soft as the breeze that rustled the leaves.

-🌸(i dont know how to end this help im a bit rusty. also this is aly tumblr doesnt let me send long messages most of the time)

i send drabbles to moots very often so get used to the treatment /lh

WHAAAAAAAA OMGGGG? plsss this- i- i’m- AAAAAAAAAAAA

omg how did you know i love sakuras and silver jewelry? hello? i mean that i love sweets is a given atp gfhdjss but the rest of details? ily <3 picnic as the sun sets w kazuha hfhfhdjsjshhdjd KICKING MY LEGS SCREAMING CRYING SLAMMING FISTS ON BED AS WE SPEAK

“so you had a piece of him with you, always.”

THAT LINE AAAAAAA HE IS SO HFHDHSJSJCHDJSJS 🥺🫶🏻💕 also the comparison w a stream flowing through the grove aaaaaa this piece is so beautiful thank you sm for this gosh i’m honored you took the time to write this 😭💞 I WILL TREASURE IT FOREVER !!

[fangsanddaggers]

Astarion chuckled to himself, leaning into Roberto to hug his arm, happy to simply be close. He could smell the new cologne he'd bought the man, humming a sweet note as he nosed the other's neck. Reluctantly he stopped clinging so hard, but didn't release the arm.

The Promenade was wonderful, a vibrant sort of place. It reminded him of Baldur's Gate, though perhaps a touch more influenced by artificers. It was almost comforting.

Eyes trailed around, lazily pointing out a plushie store and some clothes shop - though he tutted their use of colors and fabrics in the window. However, one shop they nearly passed right on by rooted his feet into the ground.

It looked overgrown, plants hanging from the roof within, cloth draped down in a display of letters and occult symbols. A warm scent flowed from within, drawing him in as if possessed. The moment he crossed the threshold, his skin tingled, ears twitching as he all but released the human at his side.

He was home. If only for a fraction of time.

The lady at the counter smiled, the male moving around to stock a shelf with carved crystals looked kind, simply bowing his head in greeting. Each shelf within was lined with herbs, crystals, cards, books, preserved creatures and a slew of bones. Vulture Culture many would call it.

Home was what Astarion called it.

"Darling..." Hands reached up, grazing over the posed bird skeleton in a dome, drifting to the shadowboxes of bees and moths, earning the smallest hitch of breath. "Basket... Or bag, I need-" he's suddenly active, moving from the stiff statue to look around.

When the woman offers him a basket, he bows to her, returning to gently place a few things within, pausing only after claiming a few preserved bones and insects to look at Roberto. He hesitates, timid suddenly as ears folded back a touch.

"Ah.... Do.... Do you mind if we have some of these in the home?" He could just put it in his half of the study, all he knew was he desperately wanted some of this shop.

Roberto did not have to be another elf to be highly concerned after hearing all that. He hadn't known that hair was so important, and he makes a note to help Astarion with that from now on. If he wasn't going to manage to maintain himself, Roberto could help him with it and maybe coax him back into taking pride in himself. Maybe.

Maybe they can just... add it to their routine.

"Ominous? Come on now, don't you trust me? You think I'd lead you wrong?" He's hoping Astarion will like it as much as he thinks he will. Hopefully, it'll be novel enough to jar him a little more out of this depressive state he's stuck in.

Hopefully, the plethora of accompaniment they have will be acceptable. He'll just have to pay extra if they're not.

"I did a little poking around, but I figured parts of it will be a surprise for us both. It's not like either of us have been to the Promenade, so hopefully, something interesting will catch our attention." Lf course, the other part of the evening he researched quite thoroughly. Had to, to make sure it was what he thought. "Apparently they have rides down there. Maybe it'll be fun to explore for a while. If not, we'll leave. No big deal."

[dance-of-deduction]

#4 - Serpents, Sparrows, and the Samurai on a Mission

Spoiler warning: Major spoilers for all of TGAA2

This one is hard to summarize without massive spoilers, but today we'll be exploring some neat symbolism. At least I think you'll think it's neat. Trust in me and take the plunge!

🌸 Reblogs appreciated! 🌸

In the TGAA2 artbook, art director Kazuya Nuri says he wanted to evoke the image of a snake with Kazuma’s new design, so I thought it would be interesting to explore some of the symbolism surrounding snakes in Japan. As for sparrows, they receive one blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mention in G2-4 that nevertheless yielded some pretty interesting results once I dug in.

I'll start with a tidbit that I couldn't fit in anywhere else: Kazuma's new white outfit was meant to contrast with his black uniform. White was also the color of mourning in Japan until the Meiji Era, when Western influence introduced the custom of black funeral wear. Before this, though, both the mourners and the dead would dress in white.

Snakes

Throughout Japan’s history, snakes have been viewed as powerful beings that can bestow blessings if respected, and retaliate harshly if harmed. Snakes have been revered as kami (神, Shinto spirits), or as the messengers of kami. Snakes are one of the most common animals revered as kami, and they are associated with prosperity, health, and protection. Kazuma’s design is specifically meant to invoke a white snake, and the Buddhist goddess Benzaiten is believed to have a white serpent as a messenger. Also known as Benten, she is the patron goddess of literature, music, poetry, wealth, and in Japan, she is associated with snakes and dragons. To this day, Iwakuni is famous for its high rate of albino Japanese rat snakes, which are believed to bring good luck and protection to one’s home.

On the other hand, snakes were also believed to bring disaster if harmed. A disturbed snake might retaliate by causing harm to the offender. Disturbing a snake could even put one’s family or village at risk. This taboo extended even to venomous snakes; many would avoid killing them to avoid their wrath. 

One of the most famous noh plays, Dōjō-ji Temple, shows a snake’s capacity for vengeance. Nuri says he played with noh and kabuki elements when deciding on Kazuma’s redesign - which makes sense, because noh masks are a crucial element of portraying a character. In the play's climax, a woman who'd been betrayed transforms into a giant, venomous snake. She burns down the titular temple's bell with the flames of her rage. In some versions she escapes in the end or is exorcised, but some renditions end with the snake burning along with the temple, consumed by her own fury.

Sound like someone we know?

Nuri described Kazuma changing from his old school uniform to his prosecutor's suit like shedding an old skin. One word for a snake’s old skin, nukegara (抜け殻), can also refer to someone who’s become an empty shell or a shadow of their former selves.

This last tidbit isn’t quite as dramatic, but I still think it’s interesting. As seen in this post, Kazuma’s family crest (kamon, 家紋) is made of three snake’s eyes (ja no me, 蛇の目) and three swords. You can find more variations in the following crests here. The snake-eye motif is also believed to have originally represented a bowstring holder (tsurumaki, 鶴巻), and archery is one of Ryunosuke’s hobbies.

Sparrows

In case G2-4, when you inspect a corner on the right-hand side of the prosecutor’s office, you unleash a bunch of bats that made me jump, and then we get this dialogue:

Kazuma: You disturbed the bats, did you? Fitting companions of Lord van Zieks, wouldn't you say?

Ryunosuke: Actually…I've seen things flying in Lord Stronghart's office, too. Doves, I think.

Kazuma: Perhaps you have to like birds to attain rank in the judiciary here… Although bats aren't birds, of course.

Ryunosuke: …How about a sparrow for you?

Kazuma: What's that supposed to mean?

Ryunosuke: Oh! Nothing. Sorry. Just thinking out loud...

I was pretty darn surprised to see Ryunosuke’s choice of bird here. The tree sparrow (雀, suzume) is a common non-migratory bird that’s found all over Japan. They aren’t associated with any particular season in literature, and I wasn’t able to find any concrete symbolism for them. 

What I did find is that they feature a famous folk story, “The Tongue-Cut Sparrow” (舌切り雀, shita-kiri suzume). We’ve talked a bit about how, in the Meiji Era, contact with other countries prompted Japan to adopt ideas from the West. At the same time, people outside Japan now wanted to learn about it, and tourists began to visit the country. In response, Japan began to produce souvenirs for these visitors to take back home with them: photographs, paintings, woodblock print illustrations, and books of old folk tales like “The Tongue-Cut Sparrow”. This particular variety of souvenir, called chirimen-bon (縮緬紙, crepe-paper book), were translated into English and other languages, produced for the rest of the world to consume. Production of chirimen-bon was especially high in the mid-Meiji period. “The Tongue-Cut Sparrow” was translated into English and published in 1885, and you can download it here to read.

It tells the story of an elderly couple, a kind man and a woman with a fierce temper. The man kept a sparrow as a pet and doted on it, while the woman saw it as a waste of food. One day, the sparrow ate some starch she had been planning to use on their laundry. In retaliation, the woman cut out the sparrow's tongue, and the sparrow flew away. When he found out, the old man left in search of his wounded friend.

Days later, he finally found the sparrow. To reward the old man, it offered him one of two baskets, one heavy and one light. The old man chose the lighter basket because it would be easier to carry, and said farewell to the sparrow. When he returned home and opened the basket, he found it to be filled with treasure. Thinking that the other basket must be worth even more, the old woman went off in search of the sparrow. It made her the same offer, but when she chose the heavier basket and looked inside, it was filled with demons - or in some versions of the story, snakes and other venomous creatures. In some renditions, the old woman is killed, while in others, she learns the error of her ways and goes home a changed person.

No matter the ending, though, it remains a cautionary tale about the dangers of greed and anger, as well as the rewards of loyalty and friendship. I can't say for certain if this is the message Ryunosuke was trying to convey to Kazuma, but it's interesting to think about in light of Kazuma's self-destructive mission to avenge his father, and Ryunosuke and Susato's attempts to dissuade him.

And there you have it! Questions? Comments? Feedback? Just want to say hey? Send me an ask me any time!

Sources

Endangered Traditional Beliefs in Japan: Influences on Snake Conservation

Benten | Japanese mythology | Britannica

Shitakiri Suzume, Tongue Cut Sparrow, Japanese Fairy Tale #2, Books Published by T. Hasegawa, Tokyo, Japan

Kazuma's TGAA2 character design commentary @ 8:43

[apiratewhopines]

For @motherkatereloyshipper

Hope and luck and love…a hundred words at a time (7 Drabbles from Hook’s POV)

On AO3

A couple of notes to get us started:

-The number 7 is considered lucky or magical in numerous cultures.

-Rainbows symbolize hope.

-Oranges are given to wish people good luck.

-Irises symbolize hope.

-A drabble is a 100 word piece of fiction; for the best examples of this type of writing, please refer to any of Kit’s most excellent offerings. I suggest this one: Green Eyed Monster

Kit, here are 700 words to (hopefully) brighten your day and wish you (100 times the normal amount of) happiness on your birthday! (A couple of days early)

Red

The sunset bled over the horizon, painting the ocean a rosy hue in the far off distance. There was a time in his life he chased that illusion of eternity. Now he was content to let it burn away. He didn’t need forever, he simply needed her.

As his love’s soft sound broke the stillness of the moment, a quiet moan he was achingly familiar with now, he reached behind him. Instead of the blanket, his hand encountered something else. With a smile, he spread it over her prone form.

After all, he had always liked the red leather jacket.

Orange

The basket of oranges was cheery enough in the early morning gloom, but baffling in its presence on the deck of the Jolly. At first, he worried it was a trick. One didn’t spend as much time in the Enchanted Forest as he had without knowing that fruit could be weaponized.

The cheeky note of Good Luck gave nothing away but the timing did. Always the morning of his weekly trivia game. Soon he realized it was Belle, his arch-nemesis.

They toasted alternating wins with orange juice because he wasn’t sure how else to thank her for being a friend.

Yellow

He wasn’t much on modern music, but that one song always made him wistful. The melancholy longing of his past would inextricably be tied up with that color. Watching Emma drive away, being forced to let go before he ever really found his grip. The dented and patched hull in no way dimmed by its past accidents or its present course.

If only they were all so lucky.

Now as sunshine and sea spray fought for dominance, his eyes were blinded by yellow and gold. A pair of matching giggles and identical chins made his heart nearly burst with happiness.

Green

Jealousy was an indulgence he couldn’t afford. For a man who had lived centuries and came back from the dead, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was living on borrowed time. He tried his best to be a better man than the day before, the days of just settling for putting one foot in front of the other on his path to revenge behind him.

Still, as he watched his wife take her frosted mug and trail the icy glass down her throat to rest in the V of her shirt, he had never resented an inanimate object more.

Blue

Everything fades with time. He knew this better than most. However, he wasn’t prepared for the day he woke up and faced an old man in the mirror. The years had been kind, too kind some might say, but the magic of Neverland couldn’t last forever and time marched on.

As he studied the salt—completely lacking in pepper—he remembered how every gray and white strand came to be, recognized how each wrinkle was a record of the people he'd loved and the miracles he witnessed.

With a smirk and wink at his reflection, he thanked Zeus for the timeless blue.

Indigo

The sleepless nights were the worst. Curses were broken as easily as hearts in this realm, at least if you were the savior, but that didn’t mean the memories crept quietly into the darkness, never to be seen or heard from again.

There were times they screamed, times they cried, times they stared, times they accused and times they confessed. Each round a fresh fight in the battle to keep what they had. It never bothered him. He was a man who fought for what he wanted.

The indigo shadows of their shared pain made them stronger with each daybreak.

Violet

He never appreciated the symbolism of flowers until he had a daughter. More aptly, until he had a daughter who was dating.

How he hated the sound of that word on his tongue.

They came with red roses (romance), purple lilacs (love), bleeding hearts (passion). He grudgingly gave bonus points to the ones who brought snowbells and tiger lilies.

It wasn’t until one came bearing violets (faithfulness) mixed with bluestar (endurance) that he truly started to worry.

When the lad asked for a word, he wanted to refuse. Instead, he accepted a single iris and tried not to tear up.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @klynn-stormz @stahlop @qualitycoffeethings @tiganasummertree @jrob64 @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @snowbellewells

[thephantomessoftheopera]

Notes on Gaston Leroux’s “The Phantom of the Opera” - Chapter 13: “Apollo’s Lyre”

Image of the Apollo statue on the rooftop of the Palais Garnier from Wikimedia Commons

<< Previous Chapter

The chapter “Apollo’s Lyre” constitutes the basis for the “rooftop scene” between Raoul and Christine in the ALW version, but in the book, it is really all about Erik. It’s quite possibly the most important chapter in the novel because we meet our title hero face-to-face for the first time, and because Erik overhearing Christine‘s plan to escape provides a turning-point for the plot.

The symbol of Apollo's Lyre is not only present in the Apollo statue on the highest point of the rooftop (that Erik is supposedly clinging to here), but also adorns the chandelier both in the Palais Garnier and in the original production of the musical.

At the end of the preceding chapter, Raoul had vowed to take Christine away, but she is still at war with herself about the idea. She wants to leave because she is afraid, but at the same time, warns Raoul that he will probably need to force her to leave since she isn’t emotionally ready to let go:

““But if I refuse to go with you when the time comes for you to take me away, you must make me go!” [...] she spoke these words with a forcefulness that seemed to be directed against herself.”

Every time Raoul offers to take her away right then and there, Christine refuses with an excuse of why it’s not possible to leave just now. Yet she is afraid that the next time she goes to Erik, she may never leave again. Erik seems to make her feel very deeply - but too much feeling can be very terrifying, especially if it’s a wild ride on that emotional rollercoaster of ecstasy, horror, pity, despair and passion that he sends her on. It’s no wonder she rationally wants to get out before it consumes her, and yet is afraid of losing it.

While she begins telling Raoul the whole story from her perspective, they repeatedly think they hear sighs, but still remain in the same place. This is a bit odd, considering how they kept running around before, but now, Christine insists that they stay, which is a bit curious. It is possible that she thought they were safe - but considering her general unwillingness to leave, I think it is even possible that she might be subconsciously sabotaging her own escape plan.

When Christine speaks about how she first met Erik, it becomes clear that masquerading as the Angel of Music was not initially Erik‘s idea. When Christine heard Erik in her dressing-room for the first time three months ago, he sang and spoke to her like a real man, except that he had this beautiful angelic voice and was hiding in the passage behind her room, so that he could not be seen. The first person to suggest that he might indeed be the Angel of Music is Mama Valerius, who prompts Christine to ask Erik if he is the Angel her father had sent for her. Erik jumps at the opportunity presented to him and confirms that her assumption is correct, and asks if she will let him teach her. She consents, and together they make amazing progress, developing both Christine’s technique and her inspiration to hitherto unknown heights.

One day, Christine sees Raoul at the Opera, and eagerly tells Erik about it. I bet he bitterly cursed himself then for passing himself off as an Angel, leaving enough space in Christine’s heart for a real man. But his threats to leave cause her to despair and to try to ignore Raoul - also because a marriage to him would be out of her reach anyway. Now it’s Erik’s turn to whine and accuse Christine of being in love with Raoul in the same way we’ve seen Raoul do before. But just like with Raoul, she won’t have that and even challenges Erik that she will ask Raoul to accompany her to Perros. According to her, Erik’s jealous reaction made her realize that she loved Raoul. I wonder if madly jealous Raoul also made her realize that she might possibly be just a little bit in love with two very different men?

Subconsciously, she seems to kind of know already that Erik is not really an angel, because when the chandelier falls, she is half-mad with panic and terribly afraid that it may have killed “the Voice” (and it would be a bit difficult to kill a heavenly being even if you dropped a chandelier on it). She also admits that then, Raoul and Erik were both “the equal halves of her heart” (and I think they still are, beneath all the complications that have arisen in the meantime). She runs to her dressing-room because that is where she is most likely to find “the Voice”, and when she hears the sounds of Erik singing and playing the “Resurrection of Lazarus” on his violin, she follows his voice through the mirror without being able to say how exactly she disappeared through it. She suddenly finds herself being gripped by a man in a black cloak and a full-face mask and tries to fight back, but then faints. When she wakes, she is resting on the ground near a fountain, and Erik is gently tending to her, but doesn’t reply to her questions so as not to give himself away as “the Voice”. Christine recognizes César the horse, and realizes that even though she never believed in the ghost, she had heard the rumours about him stealing the horse.

Erik takes Christine to the house by the lake, first on César’s back (that’s what he needed the horse for, after all) and then in the famous boat (which is rowed in the novel). She is no longer terrified, but feels strangely peaceful - an effect which she attributes to the possibility of having been drugged, even though she admits that at the same time, she was still in full possession of her senses.

“Lake Averne”, the name of the lake under the Opera House, is a play on words as well as meaning. First, “lac averne” is almost the same as “la caverne”, which means “the cavern”. There is also a real lake named “Lago d’Averno” in Italy, and in Roman mythology, that lake is one of the entrances to the Underworld. This fits with the fact that Erik also bears characteristics of Charon, the ferryman to the Underworld, whose name can be literally translated as “with glowing eyes”. The iconic boat ride certainly resembles the passage into the Hades, which is even alluded to in the novel.

The water tank below the Palais Garnier. Image from atlasobscura.com

Let’s stay in the Underworld for a moment. “The Phantom of the Opera” can also be seen as a variation on the story of Hades and Persephone (Christine’s ship in “Love Never Dies” is not called “Persephone” for nothing). Hades, the god of the Underworld, fell in love with the young and beautiful Persephone and wanted to marry her, but as the goddess of spring, she wasn’t willing to abandon the world above and go to live in the Underworld. Therefore Hades abducted her, she finally consented to marry him and became queen of the Underworld. Due to the intervention of her infuriated mother Demeter, it was finally decided that she would divide her time between living on earth for some months every year and living in the Underworld for the rest of the time.

When they arrive, Erik sets a confused Christine down in his brightly lit drawing-room, which has been decorated with an enormous amount of golden baskets full of flowers. It is not quite clear where all the flowers come from, so I guess he bought them all for her. With a salary of 20,000 francs, he could probably afford the luxury of spending so much on flower decorations… He tells her that she is in no danger, as long as she doesn’t touch his mask. When Christine realizes that the Voice is not an angel, she starts crying. Erik then kneels down in front of her and proceeds to tell her without further ado who he is, begs her to forgive him, and lays his heart at her feet. He confesses how much he loves her, and how wrong his actions were, but that he did everything out of love for her. It seems that Erik was rather anxious to reveal the truth that he is not really the Angel of Music and end his deception, but at the same time, was waiting for an opportunity that would allow him to explain everything without the risk of her running away from him forever. Keep in mind that he took on the role of the Angel of Music for just a couple of months, not years as it is commonly assumed.

Christine then stands up to demand her freedom, and is taken aback when he actually concedes it to her, telling her that she is free to leave. But after all, she does not leave because he starts to play the harp and sing for her. The piece he is singing here is the “Canzone del Salice” from Rossini’s “Otello”, in which Desdemona laments the cruelty of love. It is often assumed that the „Otello“ Leroux is referencing here is the more famous “Otello” by Verdi, but that one didn’t premiere until 1887, while the story is definitely set before 1886. Furthermore, Rossini’s version of the “willow song” is the only one that starts with a harp solo. The song is included in the playlist, listen to it here:

https://open.spotify.com/track/25ILZhCIWIRjJVK8SqDWzn?si=U5EPiO_ySBOlIy5XvI1BGw&dl_branch=1

The next morning, Christine awakes on the couch in „her“ bedroom (aka the “Louis-Philippe room”) where Erik must have carried her after she had fallen asleep. When she can‘t get out, she suffers a fit of hysterics, although it seems that she has simply been unable to locate the door set within the wall. Erik has been out shopping for her, which is a rather cute scene when he comes back with all the boxes for her while she yells at him. He calmly tells her to get ready for lunch, and she slams the door in his face so she can take a bath in peace. She places a pair of scissors within reach so that she could kill herself if Erik “stopped behaving like an honourable man”. Her concern is understandable, being alone with the man who is madly in love with her, however it is important to note that Erik never physically forces himself on her throughout the story.

Remarkably, Erik’s house had both hot and cold running water, something that was still very rare then, which suggests that he actually lived in better hygienic conditions than most people at that time, and that he was a skilled engineer.

When she finally joins him, he tells her that she does not need to be afraid, and that all he asks for is that she will spend 5 days with him. After that, he hopes that she will come back to see “poor Erik” from time to time, shedding a few tears beneath his black mask as he speaks. He serves Christine lunch in the drawing-room, consisting of crayfish, chicken wings and Tokay wine, but he himself does again not eat or drink. From their conversation, we learn that Erik has taken on his name “by chance”, whatever that means. The meaning of the name is “sole ruler” which is quite fitting for him.

When Christine has finished eating, Erik invites her to see his room, and she doesn’t hesitate as she instinctively trusts him. Apparently Erik has a very gothic taste as far as room decorating goes, and all this also plays heavily into the death symbolism of his character. Erik sleeping in a coffin is reminiscent of vampire stories, especially because it seems to be a choice and not a necessity. There is also an organ with the score of “Don Juan Triumphant” on it, written in Erik’s customary red ink(?). Erik tells her that he started composing it 20 years ago. Christine asks him to play her something from his “Don Juan”, but Erik refuses because “some music is so formidable that it consumes everyone who approaches it”. It is quite significant that the “sing for me” motif is absent from the novel version, in contrast to the ALW version where it is very strong. Erik, in the novel, has no plans for Christine to sing any of his music. He wants her companionship and her love, and he wants to sing together with her and lose himself in their shared passion for music, but he definitely does not see her as an instrument of sorts. He did help advance her career, but not with the intention of having her perform his work.

Erik makes it clear that his own music is very different from Mozart’s „Don Giovanni“ and from “opera music” in general. “Don Juan Triumphant” can be seen as an allusion to Lord Byron’s epic poem “Don Juan” (in which, incidentally, Don Juan is sold as a slave to the sultana of Constantinople).

He sits down at the piano and starts singing the duet from “Otello” with Christine. There is of course more than one duet in “Otello”, but this one is most likely “Non arrestare il colpo/Notte per me funesta” from Act III (here: https://open.spotify.com/track/151M60b3qxzqKLDFwIVuUB?si=WX4TDWCeQVmIChqd6u7CyQ&dl_branch=1 and here: https://open.spotify.com/track/2Ep1OncGZCNR9yFevG6Pb6?si=QzG2JztuQ42MDoiVrLAaew&dl_branch=1 ) In this scene, Othello accuses Desdemona of betraying him, while she tries to convince him that she is innocent. She realizes that she has fallen victim to Iago’s plot, but Othello does not believe her and stabs her. This opera, for once, is in Italian, while most of the other pieces that appear in the “Phantom” are sung in French.  

The unmasking in the novel happens while Christine is swept up in the passion of her duet with Erik. She “stepped closer to him, attracted and fascinated, enticed by the idea of dying at the center of such passion. But before dying [she] wanted to see his face…”

It’s not like she is sneaking up to him out of pure curiosity, but rather reacting to an instinctive wish to pull away the barrier between them. The scene is even more tragic because with a normal face, the passionate mood that Christine was in would have potentially led to her kissing him. But sadly, his face is anything but normal, so Christine recoils in horror instead. Erik’s reaction to the unmasking is violent and horrific as he goes mad with rage at her, even hurting his own face with her fingernails - an expression of his self-loathing. Throughout the scene, Christine seems fixated on the horror of his face more than his behaviour, though. Ashamed of himself, Erik crawls out of the room and shuts himself up in his bedroom.

“Apollo’s Lyre” by Annie Stegg Gerard

Erik’s appearance as described in the novel is indeed bordering the realm of the fantastic and supernatural. He is so stuffed with death symbolism that it is hard to take everything literally. Christine’s description makes it rather hard to see him as “real” because he seems to look like something straight out of a nightmare.

It is important to note that Erik is not just run-of-the-mill ugly, but that he is very clearly associated with death in many ways - from sleeping in a coffin and having funeral-style decor in his room to actually looking like a „living corpse“. Erik and Christine can be seen as a literal expression of the artistic topos „death and the maiden“, which especially towards the end of the 19th century associated death very strongly with the erotic (see https://eclecticlight.co/2020/01/05/paintings-for-our-time-death-and-the-maiden/ for a very good overview of the motif). Death here is usually represented as either a skeleton or corpse, or as an angel - which is very much in line with Leroux’s Erik.

”Girl and Death” by Edvard Munch

Combined with the fact that Erik‘s music creates feelings of passion, rapture and ecstasy in Christine, it is not a big stretch to conclude that Erik is associated not only with death, but also with sexuality. The duality of sex as both a life-creating and life-threatening force was acutely perceived by the people of that period. Love and death are connected, and both are represented in Erik‘s character. ALW‘s musical adaptation recognized this strongly erotic undercurrent in the story and translated it very aptly into songs such as „Music of the night“ or „Point of no return“. The way in which Christine describes her lessons with Erik - that they “awakened an ardent, voracious, and sublime life” in her, and made her live in a “kind of ecstatic dream” can also be interpreted as her romantic awakening, with all the frightening emotional chaos attached to it.

Raoul, on the other hand, is more associated with purity and propriety - which is reflected in how he views Christine, and the standards that she must conform to in his opinion.

Before seeing Erik’s face, Christine admits that she *would* have come back, but that now, she would never return because “you don’t go back into a grave with a corpse that loves you”. Note how she switches from the first person to the impersonal “you” in this sentence - “you” might not do that, but we already know she did in fact go back more than once. And she is still able to see something of the angel in him because he does not take advantage of the situation, but leaves her alone, turning to his music again.

And then, “music has the power to abolish everything in the outside world except its sounds, which go straight to the heart”. Erik starts playing the finale of “Don Juan Triumphant” where “ugliness, lifted on the wings of love, had dared to look beauty in the face”. Through the music, Christine can glimpse into the depths of Erik’s heart and soul, feel his torment and suffering, and is overwhelmed with compassion.

Once again, she is the one to tear down the wall between them. She pushes open the door to Erik’s room and asks him to show his face, sincerely thinking that she can handle it - but it turns out, she really isn’t quite able to when there’s no music between them. But she manages to put on a brave facade and lie to him about being able to look at him without horror. She despises herself for her lies, but then she also does what she must in order to be set free. Erik takes her for walks along the shore of the underground lake, and for carriage rides to the Bois de Boulogne (that’s where they ran into Raoul in Chapter 9). After two weeks, Erik finally trusts her so much that he is willing to set her free (with conditions, of course). It’s really heartbreaking when she mentions how he dared to try to make her look at him even when he wasn’t singing, like a “timid dog”. At this point, he is in her power just as much as she is in his.

When she finally leaves, she is moved more by his tears than by his threats, and his pain is what gets her to come back in the first place: “Those sobs attached me to him more strongly than I thought when I said good-bye to him.” Part of why she is afraid to leave is that she fears it will kill him if she leaves him.

At the end of the chapter, Raoul asks the fateful question that sums up the tragedy of Erik and Christine:

“You’re afraid, but do you love me? If Erik were handsome, would you love me?” “Why tempt fate, Raoul? Why ask about things that I keep hidden at the back of my mind, like sins?”

Christine’s reply along the lines of “Don‘t ask” was cut from the de Mattos translation. It clearly evidences that Christine has conflicted feelings for Erik that go beyond only horror or pity, and that she prefers to suppress them so she doesn't have to deal with them. The statement also shows that if Erik had not been cursed with his face, then things might have looked very different for him and Christine. Attentive readers of de Mattos might nevertheless notice that her next line „If I did not love you, I would not give you my lips“ evades addressing the „what ifs“ Raoul posed, but it still makes her appear less conflicted than she really is. Christine’s heart is a pretty deep ocean of secrets, and at the back of her mind, there seem to be quite a few things that she is unwilling to admit to herself, as Raoul suspected before:

“You obviously love him, and your fear, your terror - all that is still love, of the most exciting kind! The kind you don’t admit to yourself.”

I haven‘t really counted, but this must be like the fifth time that Raoul insists on his suspicion that Christine is in love with Erik, and he just can‘t get a „no“ out of her. That “no” is given very directly though when he asks her if she hates him. She kisses Raoul to prove that she loves him, at the same time telling him that the kiss is just a one-time thing („for the first and last time“). Then “the night is torn apart”, and the last thing they see is a pair of glowing eyes looking down on them from Apollo’s lyre - which are clearly Erik’s, who has overheard the entire conversation…

Image from wikipedia

Next chapter >>

[goddamnitdazai]

Doldrums | Dazai {AU}

The Tea House is the only clean place in all of the three outlying territories; the capital and castle are overflowing with gold. There's boredom in both places and freedom in neither. Dazai finds the only way to amuse himself and you're just curious enough to agree. {fic under the cut} [ao3 link] x [patreon]

The long reign of the king ended unexpectedly. Within the first few months of the king’s death, the prodigal heir to the throne was crowned the one-hundred-and-fifteen King of Tartalya. Despite what the royal family toted to the public the new king only resembled his father in strategical demeanor. The prince’s (now king) features were prominent and sharp whereas the previous king had cheeks still plump with baby fat and a wide smile. Prince Osamu never smiled; that was the rumor anyway.

Per Tartalya tradition the new king was married within the first month of his new position. His wife, the dutchess of a rich port territory, fawned over him endlessly. A polished depiction of what Tartalya’s queen should be. Sweet, humble, and above all else, proper. Tartalya’s prior king required indisputable perfection within his court and their partners. Any imperfections were snuffed out quicker than a strong wind extinguishes a candle. The ruthless king’s only heir was no exception to these strict expectations; a rumor from the high court states the prince’s wife was picked when they were both ten years old due to her bloodline, manners, and demeanor. Rumors from the high courts were often stretched and dissected until they resembled fables, but there was truth to some extent. That is what you were taught to believe anyway. Take the words of a man with as you would an ill-cooked gift; chew with conviction then spit it out when their back is turned. You were taught this of all rumors and of all men. Of the region claimed by Tarayla’s century-old monarch, only three territories have been allowed to rule without direct sanctions from the high court or prince. They are considered the dark outliers in both qualities of life and the quality of inhabitants. These three territories provide shelter for merchants coming to port looking to gamble and drink, criminals from other territories seeking asylum, and those who are not able to afford a single room within the cheapest region of Tartayla’s kingdom. Like many of the other inhabitants born in Valnnin, your mother chose to leave you at the Tea House under the care of the Ozaki clan the day after you’d turned five. She was paid a handsome fee and signed a contract never to return to the Tea House. Supposedly, many women bear children simply to drop them at the Tea House for the reward. That rumor was not hard to believe given the state of Valnnin. Decent money offered the means to escape Valnnin to the closest region in Tartayla, Soinet, where large farms sit on rolling green hills lush with purple fruit that grows plentiful on tall trees. Anyone who made it out of Valnnin stayed out; by starvation or success. A part of you hoped your mother starved. There are worse fates in Valnnin than the Ozaki’s Tea House, though. Bred with a sharp wit and long cherry-red hair the Ozaki clan were well known all over Tartayla for their refined charisma and elegant beauty. Some of these traits were able to be passed on to the right young men and women making the courtesans of the Tea House the highest priced commodity in all of the three territories. Top earners are allowed to live in the lavish rooms on the top floor of the Tea House.  The Ozaki house, a four-tier traditional home lit with gold paper lanterns and endless vines wrapped over a cobblestone bridge, sits across the Tea House. The watchful guardian for the inhabitants of the Tea House. Other than becoming part of a legacy family in Valnnin, like the Ozaki, the best living was at the top of the Tea House. Residing in the middle, for now, was comfortable enough. “___, dear you’re staring.’ Kouyou tuts, whacking your knee with her lace fan. When her fan is fully spread the gold filigree becomes a long winding dragon sifting through the clouds. A well-known symbol of the Ozaki clan. The dragon is imprinted throughout the Tea House and stamped on the inside of each girl’s wrist in gold ink. Ownership and protection, that is what they preached while poking your skin with a hot needle. “Is that potted ivy really that intriguing? It must be with how rude you’re being during our conversation.” Her long manicured nail brushes over your nose to draw your attention. Her touch instantaneously forces your shoulders to go rigid as your eyes drop to your lap. Kouyou’s sharp nails bite at your jawline. “Don’t be rude to our company tonight. Understood?” You nod, wincing a bit at her grip. Kouyou-san only showed this type of intensity with newer girls in order to hammer in the traditions of the Tea House. You, however, had been here for fifteen long years and knew every twist and turn. Your familiarity had risen to the point that you and the other girls made wages on some of the staff’s mood based on an eyebrow quirk or tense knuckle. For the most part, you won each round. Kouyou-san did insist your looks and keen eye made for a high commodity, however, the blessings around your features were not as god-like as some of the girls. You were sure they came from a line of Queens and Goddesses long before humanity stomped over the grasslands. “Kouyou-san, I don’t understand why you won’t inform me who I am waiting for.” You shift uncomfortably in your silk robe. The pillow beneath your knees had become a hardened lump of clay that was sure to leave bruises. “Using the gold room is above my station.” “It is.” Kouyou agrees without an ounce of hesitation. If you were allowed to show your true emotions a dark frown laden with knitted brows would be reflecting back at Kouyou. Tea house manners forbade any type of backtalk, verbal or otherwise, toward the ladies of the house. It had been a long time since your feet had been whipped into a bloody mess due to your expressions. “You should be thankful a man of high caliber is interested in your company.” You exhale through your nose and adjust the pillow subtly just for something to grab and ease the tension rising up your spine. The golden room was incredibly expensive and reserved for foreign clientele or a man rich enough to buy the country twice over. What you could gather from the maids who set the room was scarcely what you could consider good information but their gossiping mouths let out that the changes were due to the man’s incredibly specific taste. Instead of immaculate gaudy golden candles, simple paper lanterns were hung in shades of red that bounced off the polished wood walls. The marble table had been replaced with a smaller traditional one stacked high with poker chips and two crystal glasses. A bottle of imported whisky more expensive than the entirety of Valnnin had been staring back at you for the better part of an hour. Jewels from all over the country were heaped into woven baskets spilling out their glittering gemstones of blues, pinks, reds, and purples. One stone looked as big as your palm. Within the baskets, bracelets, and necklaces sparkle and hang over the rim like a used handkerchief tossed in the garbage. Money can’t buy taste, you think to yourself, though you wouldn’t mind pocketing some of those jewels to sell later. Abruptly the double doors open and the lanterns are snuffed out. Above your head dangles an imported odd-shaped light with arms extending outwards holding each white candle as if it were trying to scorch the walls.  Kouyou stands to greet the unknown guest. Gliding across the wooden floor as a swan crosses a lake. You remain perfectly poised. Long red dress stretching out your arms to pool against your thighs. The Tea House provided silk garments for expensive clients that showed skin without being over-zealous. A strong dip in the back revealing your spine for wandering fingers. Bare shoulders for teeth to graze and tease. Your lips had been painted deep red to accentuate a pout worthy of a diamond necklace. Beyond Kouyou’s tall stance you barely make out the rough edges of a man much taller than Kouyou. “Enjoy your time, sir. Please, let me know if I can do anything to be more accommodating.” Kouyou’s bow is deep and longer than usual. The man doesn’t bow back.  The guards that had accompanied him to the golden room remain on the other side of the screen door once it’s closed, another uncommon occurrence. You get to your feet and walk towards the man in the same manner Kouyou did. You’d done this a hundred times. A thousand. Something high up, but there was an odd sensation growing in the pit of your stomach. Circling the pit of your belly like a serpent through the grass. “Good evening. Who do I have the pleasure of spending time with? I’m afraid my tongue has gone numb in excitement.” The man chuckles and takes a step forward; you take in his form with a simple blink. His hair is an unruly slue of dark browns overlapping each other held back by a deep ruby pin, an odd style but the capital tended to couple foreign fashion with traditional garments. The stranger is incredibly tall, thin, wearing traditional Tartayla clothing though the crest on his lapel doesn’t ring a bell. It did not mirror the crests members of the court wore nor the men stationed beneath them. Scribes, military, footmen, all members of the palace wore crests revealing their status to the world. A palace aid, even, would be able to afford the golden room for a night. “That’s a lie.” He takes another few steps towards you. Swift. His long legs easily bring him close enough for you to smell his cologne. Expensive and foreign. “I specifically told Ozaki not to speak my name. A clever way to ask without asking.” You blink rapidly but hold your ground, folding your hands politely in front of your thighs. His stare is honey lined with liquid gold. “As expected of a woman raised in the Tea House.” “I did not want to seem ill-prepared.” You finally answer, “It is uncommon to not know the name of my companion prior to meeting.” Nicknames--you roll through the most requested, but none of them fit. He bends a bit, you expect a hand on your cheek or your chin; he grips your throat. Contracting your airways with an eerily gentle touch. “You can address me as Dazai, nothing else.” His gaze remains ice cold. Something about the name bubbles up and up until your mouth unintentionally drops open just enough to let out a silent gasp. Prince Dazai. If he would let go of your chin you could bow to him but he anchors himself to the ground. “Ah, there it is. I can let go that you did not recognize me considering we let the territories exist as an extension. Not much royalty passing through here? What a scandal~”. He releases your jaw and walks over to the table in the center of the room. Out of instinct, you follow behind with your head bowed just slightly. What would the prince be doing here? You presumed when royal blood desired the flesh of someone else other than their betrothed they found it easily among the many women of the court. “Dazai, what is it you desire tonight?” Common phrases of your trade finally return once your tongue has melted off the shock. “Business.” He states, taking a seat on the plush pillows. “Come, and don’t speak unless I ask you a question.” Dazai pats his hand on his lap as he speaks. You follow his command and walk yourself to his lap. The scent of him is overwhelmingly pleasing in comparison to the other men that have requested this position. With your back against his chest, you can feel the ruffle of fabric on your bare skin from his vest, it’s an interesting sensation. You’d never felt this type of material before. “Now,” Dazai starts voice a rich smoky tenor, “you will come with me to the capital and sit just like this. You won’t speak, you won’t move, you won’t do a thing except look as you do now.” He drags his knuckles down your spine. “All you need to know is that. What lies in this room,” he lazily gestures to the jewels in the collapsing baskets, “will be your payment.” All you can do is nod dumbly. What the hell did he want you at the capital for? To be a lap ornament? What a strange request. You want to say no, to tell him you’re much more than a porcelain doll to play with. Your wit and charm has made you the favorite of so many men of his own court. Dazai presses his nose to the curve between your throat and shoulder. “You may ask one question but make it quick, I dislike having to ride home during the day.” Dazai gave you information without giving you detail. The bare-bones without an explanation or purpose, but he was the prince. You couldn’t pester him for more like your regulars who gave vague requests--of which you denied regardless of what it was. Taking a courtesan out of the Tea House was strictly forbidden. There was no amount that would interest the Ozaki women to allow their charges to leave the premises with a client. Every person had their price, though, it should have been obvious considering your line of work. “Am I to be a lap ornament for your entertainment or to prove a point to another person?” Dazai pauses his hand on your spine. For a moment your heart freezes--until he begins to laugh. Harmonious and cheerful, it almost sounds sweet but the tingle in your spine tells you otherwise. “Both,” Dazai places his hand on your thigh giving the soft flesh a tight squeeze, “but the latter. I don’t find very much of this world entertaining in the slightest.” Abruptly his teeth graze the shell of your ear as his hand wanders beneath your silk dress finding the edge of your hipbone. “This is just to waste time.”                                   __________________________ Jealousy was not something prince Dazai experienced. However, the man across from you seemed to be dripping green with it. You vaguely recognized him, a court-appointed general from the land across the sea. The name escaped you, anytime he appeared at the Tea House for your attention his words sank to the bottom of your consciousness. His conversation was as dull and his hands were fat with sausage-like fingers that didn’t know how to properly undo the knots that held your dress together at the side. He never had enough money other than to converse for twenty minutes and stare at your nude body. Prior to the meeting, Dazai had walked you through the main courtyard filled lined with enormous evergreen trees and rose bushes taller than your shoulders. Members of the royal court bowed and held their tongues as you passed. Your clothing served as a clear indicator of your position in the Tea House. Dazai had made it a point to dress you in the most elegant outfit the Tea House allowed. Draped in gold and black with hints of deep scarlet beneath the split up your thigh. The palace was, unsurprisingly,  massive in size and stature. Getting lost for hours within its corridors and monumental rooms seemed inevitable. Had Dazai let you wander from his side. “Do not speak or move without my permission.” His only warning punctuated with a sharp slap to your ass. While the meeting went on Dazai’s hands grew increasingly curious in tandem with his ever-rising boredom. Beneath the table, his fingers roamed between your legs never touching where you wanted. They drew teasing circles just outside your lower lips. Dug crescents into the meat of your inner thighs. The longer the meeting went on the higher his hands reached. Inside the deep cut of your dress to squeeze your breast while he spoke about the outcome of a fictional war the general had threatened, apparently. Something about trade prices rising. Anything happening beyond Dazai’s grip wasn’t sticking to your psyche. By the time the meeting was finished sweat was beading down the back of your neck. Your cheeks had grown hot to the touch and your clit was aching for touch. Dazai simply stood expecting you to catch yourself. “You will not be returning to the Tea House.” It was all he said before two guards escorted you down a long corridor lined with paintings of the royal bloodline.                       ___________________________________ The first time he fucked you the moon had appeared in splendor. Bright and bold against dark skies empty of stares and clouds. His wife had requested him to come to bed early. Her long dark hair falling in gentle curls illuminated by the candelabra she held in her fist. You watched from the corner of his study as Dazai used that talented tongue of his to herd her back to bed. Once the door was shut and locked with a metal key Dazai bent you over his desk and fucked you deep and slow. He left bite marks on your neck and laughed when you begged so pathetically to cum around his cock. At first, there was nothing inside him. No emotion to his touch and no passion beyond the carnal desire to fuck you when he needed release. His wife would often stare at you when you passed in the corridors trying to find some sort of entertainment. You had heard nothing of your position at the palace nor had anyone questioned your existence there. Dazai demanded you stay within his sights at all times and would punish you with hard slaps to your bare ass when you wandered too far. He was the softest after he left a red handprint on your behind. He’d cradle you in his arms and call you pretty things like a lover would. It only served to deepen your confusion in both your own feelings for him and what he wanted out of your existence in his life.                     _______________________________________ The queen’s illness came on rapidly and without a cause. She was pale with a fever and sickly looking. Her skin stretched over the bones of her face and her eyes looked glass. Nothing the doctors were doing had made a difference. She existed on her large bed surrounded by basins of water and broth, her ladies in waiting rotated washing her and feeding her the best they could. She couldn’t move on her own accord except to speak in a low muddled voice. Dazai did not visit her often. After a week she had been moved to her own room down two corridors and across from the King’s quarters. The bed was burned and the room scrubbed clean until it glistened. Dazai didn’t ask, he never did. When your room turned up empty you knew to find him in his quarters. His long legs propped up on the ottoman beside the window, fingers over his favorite book gifted by a friend long gone from this world. His touch had become gentle in the past few weeks. You presumed, at first, it was due to his grieving and perhaps guilt for the affair. Yet he did not change the frequency in which he kissed you, fucked you, held you against his chest for a few minutes before he eventually left the bed to finish whatever work he’d thrown across the floor when he grew too aggravated or bored. Nights he wanted to fall off the edge of the world he tied your hands to the bed and played with your body until sunrise. Dazai left his mark where he pleased. Nothing felt as good as his hands, his attention, his tongue. Rarely did he ever keep himself on top. No, he expected you to ride him. Make him cum while he watched you grow addicted to the feeling of his cock inside of you.                                  ______________________ Dazai had to produce an heir, he said, one morning while you’d been eating breakfast at his side. His wife could not fulfill that duty while sick. You pause for a moment and set your glass down. Looking at him as the sun rises behind his head. “You know I can’t have children.” Part of the process of becoming part of the Tea House; everyone went through the procedure. “What do you plan to do?” Dazai wipes his mouth with a napkin. “What makes you believe I haven’t already finished what I planned to do?” He places his elbows on the table and folds his fingers beneath his chin. That same gaze from the day you met him in the golden room returning to douse you in something unsettling. You blink at him and lean back in your chair. “As long as the queen remains alive you are not able to marry another. You will be expected to wait to have a child with your wife when she is well again.” Dazai tilts his head. “I don’t want children.” He says nonchalantly. “Dazai..” What makes you believe I haven’t already finished what I planned to do? “Dazai.” His grin spreads wide, eyes darkening despite the light from the windows splashing halycon all over the room. “Eat up, _____. I’m growing bored.”

[sacredpit]

↳               @mageshot​ wrote   :     touch .   touch the fox tails .

                            unprompted .          /          irresistible floof !

          your tails are your pride .   echoes of the saturnine voices of the elders ricochet from the walls of his mind ;   an utterance he’d been ceaselessly subjected to since birth makes for one that shall always stay with him .   while he stands out from his kin in a litany of ways ,   the one philosophical thread that binds them together must be this   ———   the eight tails blooming from his coccyx are to him as earned wings are to an angel ,   as dazzling jewels are to an agèd dragon .   they symbolize his power ,   his wisdom ,   his   prestige   &   all he has spent just under a century attaining with hope to achieve enlightened perfection   &   meet the fullest extent of his potential .

yet ,   for kakyoin ,   his tails are also a burden .   the one that still evades him has rendered him mad with frustration at times   &   woeful with desperation at others .   his elders offer little help ,   only hinting that he may find what he seeks among humans .   how annoyingly broad a solution .   what more are humans good for than entertainment ??   rarely ever does he meet one concerned with anything other than themself   &   their petty little needs .   perhaps ,   even with all his intelligence   &   grace ,   he has failed to study them close enough .

vernal daylight beacons the image of the yokai among a thick canopy of green .   he sits alone ,   clawed hands weaving harvested willow branches into a basket more out of boredom than necessity .   still ,   he thinks it will serve him nicely as he gathers fruit at some later time ,   indulging in the bounty of the flowering season .   upon hearing the footsteps drawing nearer to him ,   he thinks not to be afraid or on - edge ,   as he senses no ill - intent in the other’s spirit   ———  it closer resembles the scent of curiosity ,   of wonder ,   &   perhaps even   enchantment .   kakyoin has grown used to all of these responses .

&   even with the presence of expectation ,   he still finds himself stunned by the other being’s   audacity .   surely they know better than to approach a kitsune so recklessly ,   let alone to reach out   &   touch one   without the security of explicit permission .   deft hands delicate only in appearance halt mid - weave ,   ebony - tipped ears standing straight up as soon as a single strand of a particular tail’s coat registers the faintest touch .   slowly ,   the violet - eyed vixen turns his head to catch sight of the culprit ,   glaring at them with a gaze at the intersection of disgruntled   &   aloof .   ah ,   that explains it . 

“   lyric ,   ”   he begins ,   turning back to the basket in progress .   “   your scent is different than usual .   if i hadn’t recognized you in time ,   i would have killed you .   ”   such words are spoken with perhaps too much ease for a fox that nearly dispatched his own friend ,   though it could simply be that he’s not in much of a murderous mood today ,   anyway .   “   &   how many times do i have to tell you not to touch my tails without asking first ??   ”   probably many more .

          “   anyway .   just what are you doing ,   slinking around the woods like a weirdo ??   ” 

[hs-devote]

i. láthi: the myth

Moodboard * Content * Masterlist

Disclaimer:

All characters and situation in this story are fictitious. Resemblance to any person living or dead is only God knows.

i. the myth

“Fuck me.”

He collapses when he reaches his climax, along with the lady underneath him who's jolting when the pleasure hit them together. Their touched chest panting together, with sweats covering their naked body, confirming whatever activities they're having.

“That was good.”

He chuckles, “Absolutely.”

The man rolls from her, throwing his sculptured body next to the lady. He smiles when he feels the soft fingertips of her caressing his toned chest. He hums, lifting his head to land a kiss on her forehead.

“You're going today?” she mutters, “Why should you?”

“Selene,” he sighs, “Our people couldn't find her and they were too dumb. I can't wait any longer if I know I have more power to find her.”

“Fine then. But, don't take too long. I'll miss my husband so much.” the woman named Selene leans in to kiss her husband neck, “Our bed will missing you too, Harry.”

The man with the name Harry just laughs, twirling her blonde strand around his finger, “No need to worry, darling.”

Selene giggles sweetly as her husband cradles her face and brings their lips to moulded together..

. . . .

Harry feels weird.

It's not his first time being on Earth, but this will be the first time staying longer in the world of human and other creatures. Sure, the Earth is so beautiful but no one can against the beauty of Centauri. Centauri is where he lives, with his darling wife, Selene. Not only lives, but he is also the ruler of the realm, the lord of Centauri and all therein. He is the God of Centauri, and Selene is his Goddess.

The two of them have been married for a couple of years, long before the throne fell on him. Unfortunately, they haven't been given a child which is essential to keep their lineage. Selene is infertile, and that's why Harry has to go down to earth. To find the Goddess of Birth, who has been missing for hundreds years. He wants to ask her help for his wife.

And here he is, in Syracuse. Where everyone believes that the Goddess is somewhere in Italy, and Syracuse is the best prediction because the town was a witnessed the triumph of Centauri. Centauri is the realm that lies between the stars and moon, and cannot simply be searched for – can be found for the rightful creatures. The realm is unbelievable beautiful, a heaven-like, everything is so pure and sacred.

"Why human wears such odd clothes?" he hums, eyes darting from his foot to his chest. He feels weird and a little bit uncomfortable to wearing normal human clothes, everything they wear is so different from what he and his people wear back in Centauri. He used to wear silk, cervelt, or even satin. And when he's on earth, he has to adjust.

"This place is so plain." he averts his gaze around his temporary residence. He rents a cottage near the beach, for him easily return to Centauri at any time. The building is typically Italian country house, with stones wall and wooden door and windows. The things he likes about his temporary residential, it gives him more privacy than he asked. It's not in a remote area yet has traditional features combined with comfort and practicality. Even so, something is missing for him.

Flowers.

Back on his castle, flowers are always in every corner of the room and he's used to it. Flowers symbolize beauty and admiration, reminds him of his darling Selene.

Selene.

It's just a few hours after his arrival but he misses her already. But, in Centauri, it's only been a split second. Yes, the cycle of time in his realm is much longer than on earth. And because he isn't a human, especially a God, his aging is taking a really long time. If he's twenty-eight in human age, in fact, he's hundreds years old in Centauri time. But of course, his looks and physical like exactly a man on his mid-twenties. He's gifted with a beautiful face, perfectly sculptured body, voice as sweet as honey yet deep and firm.

Thinking of the flowers, Harry decides to step out of the cottage and roaming around the town to find a florist. He frowns as his eyes catch an Alfa Romeo Spider in his porch, looking at the vintage car with so much wonder. Even though he lives in a different realm, but he understands how the human worlds work and how human lives in general. That's why he got the car for his mobility.

But this time, he prefers to go on foot.

His green eyes full of wonder and curious, looking at his surrounding where humans doing their activities. But, the view this town got is more exciting to him. He admits how beautiful Syracuse is, even the town is small and the population isn't large. He thinks about inviting Selene to come here one day.

Then, his eyes catching a flower shop not too far from where he's standing right now. The shop looks pretty with so many flowers on their display, and it's the only flower shop near the beach – he guesses. He doesn't think twice and brings his foot closer to the shop. Feeling grateful that he doesn't need to walk far.

The shop is fairly small yet its collection of flowers is quite various. Before he goes inside, he looks at the flowers in the basket. The flowers are quite different with ones in his castle, but they're still pretty. Harry is too awestruck with them to make him unaware of the presence of someone beside him.

“Posso aiutarla, signore?”

He snapped his neck fast, eyes grow wider when looking at the young girl standing next to him. The girl offers him a friendly smile with a bouquet of roses in her arms. For a split moment, he's staring too long at her and makes the girl frowns. Shifting awkwardly, the girl asks him once again.

“Can I help you, sir?”

She speaks English with him, thinking he's not Italian and just a foreign tourist. But Harry just smiles, and pointing out her flowers, “Sono belli.”

“Si,” the girl nodded in agreement, “Grazie.”

"Err, I don't understand Italian that much." he scratches his neck nervously, "But, can I get a bouquet of each sunflower, daisies, and lilies?"

“Sure. Do you want to choose them for yourself or let me choose them?” she smiles, “But, I assure you they're all good.”

He nodded, “I trust you, thank you.”

“Fine. Coming right up.”

"Thanks." His eyes following the girl who just saunters into the shop. Shortly after, the girl comes out wearing gloves with scissors in her pocket. Her hands delicately pick out each flower and put them into the nearby basket.

“Is this the only flower shop in here?” Harry throws a question, eyes looking sharply at her – watching every move she makes.

“You could say that.” she shrugs, “Well, there's one but quite far from here. Not in the beach area, though.”

“Ah, I see.” he nods, “Do you know good places to visit? This is my first time and I don't know where the worth to visit.”

It's obvious Harry doesn't just stay for only a week or so, he needs more than that to find the missing Goddess. And he thinks visiting a place or two won't hurt. He loves to explore places, and it will help him to widen his search area.

Does he know where to find the Goddess?

No, he doesn't.

But, he can feel her if she's close. Also, the Gods and Goddesses have a special hidden mark on them to identify them as the extraordinary creatures.

"Is this your first time in Italy?" she looks at him with her doe eyes, "We have so many beautiful places to visit." then, she continues to pick the flowers.

“First time in Syracuse. But, I've been to Modena and Florence.” he doesn't lie. He went to Modena and Florence a few years ago, but it was just a quick visit. Really quick visit that only a day trip.

“Well, how much days do you have?” she questions him.

“Actually, I'm here for work so... I have much time, I think." he bites his lips, "Does it take many days?"

“No..” she laughs, putting the flowers into the bouquet and tied them up with black ribbon, “If you have a plenty of time, I suggest you visit several places in Sicily, not only Syracuse.”

“Thank you.” he says when the girl handed him his flowers, “But, I think this town is rich with Greek and Roman history. So, it will be more fun.”

"Oh, you're into a history?" she widens her eyes in surprise. Because not many people like a history that much. And finding a handsome man loves historical places, it tickles her a little.

"You could say that." he grinned, then stretches out his hand, "We haven't introduced ourself yet. My name's Harry."

The girl giggles and shakes his hand softly, “Hi, Harry. I'm Y/N.”

Her hand is soft like cotton and makes him wonder what treatment she did have to keep them so delicate. Even Selene's hands are not as soft as her hands. His smile fades a bit when Y/N takes her hand from him, and intertwining her hands together instead. He doesn't know why a disappointment swept over his heart when he lost touch with her. It feels like her hands convey a sense of safety to his soul. He drowns in his reverie too long, until he realises she's looking at him with an arched eyebrow. He blinks his eyes, shaking his head shamefully.

“I'm sorry. How much are these?” he says, looking at the bouquets in his arms like they are his babies.

“That would be €100.”

Harry then dig his pockets, taking out the money and hands her the cash. He politely thanks her before walking back to his cottage.

On the way home, he keeps thinking about the girl. Y/N. He doesn't deny that she's beautiful, charming, and she has something that he feels different. He assumes she's so much younger than him – than his God age and human age of course, and wondering how old is she. Then, he remembers Selene. Selene's human age is the same with him, but sometimes she acts like a few years younger and childish. He wonders if Y/N acts like that too.

He shakes his head, pushing the thoughts away. How could he compare his wife to another woman?

. . . . Flowers are quite essentials for him. And that's why he always buys them every day. For several weeks he's been here, he buys flowers from different shops and of course compares the qualities of each. Short story, he bought a few bouquets from a shop far from his cottage. He liked their flowers, but he didn't like the woman who sold them. She always flirted with him when he tried to pick the flowers, and openly asked him out.

Harry aware very well how attractive he is. And the way his wife keeps telling him how hot he is always being his constant reminder. He remembers when he was single, hadn't taken the throne yet, the ladies on Centauri always thrown themselves on him. Stared at him like he was their delicious prey, like he was the heaven that everyone always dreamt of. He knew they always had his name spoken between their conversation.

He was very cocky and proud of that – at that time. But, when he married Selene, all of them didn't diminish. The hunger stare, their giggly comments about him – it bothered him and Selene very much. However, the time when he took over the throne, those ladies zipped their mouth close. Very aware that they shouldn't talk inappropriately of their ruler.

But, the thing that bothers him more is those who talked about Selene. About her wife being infertile and hasn't produced an heir. Harry knows it annoys Selene more, and that's what brought him down to earth. For one mission.

How is his search been?

Absolutely nothing.

He still couldn't find the Goddess until now. He has arrived at the right place, but it's hard to find one person among the hundreds of thousands of people here. However, he must not give up. He tries to find a clue by going to historical places of the Gods and Goddesses. Time travelling to a few decades back to find any closure. But, it just gives him small pieces of the story.

Thinking about that saturated him a bit. He decides to go out and buying new flowers for his cottage since his last flowers were already withered. Climbing on his car, Harry started the engine and drive away. It only takes ten minutes drive for him to arrive at a certain flower shop. He smiles looking at the open signage hanging on the wooden posts but the girl he wants to see is nowhere to be found. He kills the engine, getting out of the car, and walking to his destination.

His smiles grow wider when his eyes catching the girl who just comes out from inside, holding a toddler in her arms. Is that her kid?

“Hello,” Harry greets her, looking at both the girl and the toddler.

“Oh. Hi, Harry.” Y/N smiles, adjusting the quiet little girl on her hips with both her hand wrapped around the small body, “Looking for some flowers?”

“Yes.” he breathes, “It's peonies and gardenias this time.”

“Good choices. They're still fresh because they just came a few minutes ago.” she nods, “Just a moment, I should take Lola inside.”

“Sure.”

Y/N gives him apologetic smile before going inside. It doesn't take a minute for her to comes out with gloves hand and no the toddler clinging onto her.

“Was that your child?” Harry asks curiously, watching Y/N picks out the peonies and putting them to the basket, “She's beautiful.”

"Unfortunately, no." she answers, "Lola is my friend's daughter. She asked me to babysit her this morning since she had to be out of the town until night. I thought my job is easy enough so I agreed and brought her here. Luckily my co-worker inside didn't mind at all."

“And yes. She's beautiful and such a happy baby. She's just three years old after all.” she adds, “Didn't bother me that much.”

Harry doesn't say a word, he just keeps looking at Y/N who's now putting the flowers together. He thanks her when she gives him the bouquets, then hands her the money.

“I've visited some places, most of them were historical.” he starts, “But, do you know any similar place? I mean, I'm interested with Greek and Roman myths. So, if anything like that I'll be happier.”

"Have you visited the town hall?" she asks back, "They have a lot of historical information about it, and one of them is the myth about Centauri."

Hearing his realm being mentioned makes him stiffened, but he has to play cool. Harry doesn't know if the people now know about Centauri since it had happened centuries ago and it's almost certain that no human has become living witnesses, only Centauri people who still have that memory to this day. Everyone thinks that the legacy of Centauri's victory was from another life.

“Centauri? What's that?”

"I think it's quite similar to Greek and Roman myths. But, everyone believes that Centauri's myth is greater than the Greek and Roman. Rumours say that the legacy of Greek and Roman, were actually Centauri's. Greek and Roman couldn't touch Sicily because it was overpowered by Centauri."

Harry scrunches his nose, “Only Sicily?”

"I guess? Because the rest of Italy was under Greek and Roman's power." she shrugs, "Well, I don't know much since I'm not Italian. But, that's what I heard from my granny."

“Oh, you're not Italian?” he asks in surprise, he doesn't think Y/N isn't Italian because her Italian accent that time was quite impressive. But, if he studies her carefully, he knows she's not.

“I'm English. I moved here since I was eight with my granny.” she chuckles, “That was after the passed of my parents.”

She's an orphan, and only live with her grandmother – he guesses. He feels bad to ask him that question if it would lead to a sad thing.

"I'm sorry about that." he gives her sympathetic smile, "I don't know–"

She waves her hand, "It's okay, Harry. You wouldn't know if I didn't tell you, right?"

“So, you're living with your grandmother? Only two of you?” “Correct.”

“How old are you if you don't mind?”

“I just turned twenty-one last month.”

See, she's much younger than Harry thought. He then nods, “Happy birthday, then.”

"It's late. But, thank you, Harry."

In all of sudden, Y/N co-worker came out from inside with the sobbing toddler on her hips. The toddler's face is wet with tears and pouting mouth.

“Piange perché le manca sua madre." her co-worker informs her and hands her the wailing baby. Y/N thanks her and begin to wipes the wet stains off the baby's face while cooing sweet words, trying to soothe the little girl.

“Va tutto bene, Lola. Andiamo a casa, va bene?” she whispers in Lola's, the little girl, ear. Her palms stroking Lola's back while bouncing her body. For a moment, she forgets Harry who looks at her in awe. Watching the precious scene unfolded before his eyes. He loves how gentle Y/N to the baby and thinking she will be such a great parent someday.

“Lo so, caro. Lo so. Ti manca moltissimo tua madre, sì?” she cooes, “La mamma tornerà stasera. Non preoccuparti. Vuoi giocare a casa mia?”

Harry watching carefully the way Y/N treats the little girl, the sweet gesture and fondness making him thinks about his future when he has children of his own. Thinking how beautiful and complete his life would be with the presence of a child whom not only he is the who craved, but everyone else. A child who would later replace him on the throne.

His lips forming small smile when Lola nods in Y/N's neck, refusing to show her face. She seems unwilling to let go since her tight fists wrapping around Y/N's neck.

“I'm sorry, Harry. I think I'll call it a day and go home. I don't want the customers to be bothered if Lola keeps crying.” Y/N says softly, her hands still stroking Lola's hair.

“Do you need a ride?” he asks hopefully, wanting Y/N to take his offer. He just curious about the little girl and fascinated about the bond between them. He knows she is close with the child, proven by Lola who agreed with her suggestion.

“Oh, don't worry, Harry. I can walk back to my house.”

“Why?” Harry is surprised by what he had just said, sounding so pushy. He hurriedly corrected before it was too late, “I mean, it will be a little inconvenient walking while carrying her. I parked my car not far from here. At least if I give you a ride, you will arrive sooner.”

“Uhm...”

"C'mon." he assures her when she looks a bit reluctant, "Besides, you haven't told me other worth visiting places in Sicily.

“Fine,” her agreement makes him smirks, “Let me take my bag first.”

He nods, letting Y/N take her time to grab her things. It doesn't take too long to her joins him in the front of the shop. She smiles, giving an okay to them to go. On the short walk to his car, Harry stealing glances at the lady next to him. Y/N tries to talk to Lola for the child to not feeling sad anymore. He doesn't realise that he has been smiling at the two of them.

He stops at his car, putting the flowers on the back seat before unlocking the passenger door for her. Y/N climbs into the car and thanking him for closing the door for her. She adjusts Lola in her lap while Harry joins her in the driver seat.

“Nice car, anyway.” she comments as the engine starting to roar.

“Thank you,” he replies while turning the steering wheel, letting the car down the street. Both of them didn't utter a word for the past minutes. If Harry busy behind the wheel, Y/N seems to be enjoying the ride by feeling the afternoon breeze sweeping her hair.

“Looks like you enjoying the ride.” he says softly, looking at her briefly before looking back at the road.

"Mhm, it feels nice to ride along this beautiful coastal with a convertible car." she nods, her head turns to see the beach not so far from here. Then, her head flicks to see him, "Do you know the direction to my home? I only gave you the name street."

"There's a technology called Google Maps," he jokes, "And luckily, I know how to used them."

Y/N laughs loudly, making him laugh too. Somehow her laughter is infectious, and he swears it was the most beautiful laugh he had ever heard. Yet, both of them hurriedly closes their mouth when Lola shushed them. The way Lola pouts her lips makes him gushes, thinking how cute she is.

“Mi dispiace, Lola. Non intendo ignorarti.” Y/N giggles, twirling her dark curls. The little girl just huffs, before cackling loudly because Y/N peppering kisses all over her face.

That makes Harry's heart flutter, seeing how precious a child is and the affection between them. For a moment, he looks at them like they're his family. A feeling of happiness filled his heart just thinking about it. But, he shakes the thought away. He has his wife back at home and will have a child someday.

“So, Y/N.” he coughs, “You just said to me earlier the town hall is a worth visiting place to know the history of Sicily. Where is it?”

“It's near Catacombe di San Giovanni actually, just five minutes walking distance from there.” she responses, “That's a nice place. Unfortunately, not many people come to visit.”

“Y/N, posso avere il gelato?” Lola whispers to Y/N. She just pinches her chubby cheeks, “Quando torniamo a casa, va bene?”

“Perchè non ora?”

“Perché non possiamo fermarci. non vogliamo disturbare Harry, vero?”

Lola slumps her shoulder before nodding softly, leaned back on Y/N chest while playing with her skirt. Harry who's behind the wheel, knows the girl is upset and he couldn't see an upset child. All he does now is, turn the wheel to stop by the ice cream parlor he'd seen before.

“Posso fermarmi un momento. che sapore vuoi?” he questions Lola who just staring at him with her big hazel eyes. She gives him toothy grins, nodding her head quickly makes him worry that it will fall off from how fast she nods.

“Posso avere due misurini di fragola e cioccolato?”

“Lola..” Y/N warns the toddler in her lap. But, Harry quickly shakes it off, “It's okay, Y/N. Just think of me treat you as a sign of our friendship.”

“Remind me to treat you back someday, Harry.” she sighs in defeat, then looking at the smiling child on her lap, “At least she will be better after this.”

. . . . It becomes Harry's habit to buy flowers at Y/N's shop. If usually he would buy them once a week, now he buys them almost every three days. Not only did he keep them fresh, but there was also feeling that would stick in his heart of he didn't see her. And he doesn't know why.

“Harry! Stai cercando Y/N?” Mia, Y/N’s co-worker greets him. She was sorting the withered flowers in front of the shop when Harry came. Harry feels his cheek heated; he nervously scratches his neck.

“Sì. Ma voglio anche comprare nuovi fiori.” he let out a nervous sigh, “Lei è qui?”

“Compra nastri per un po'. Aspetta solo un momento.”

“Grazie, Mia.”

Not long after, Harry feels a light tap on his shoulder. He smiles finding Y/N standing in front of him with the groceries in her hands.

"Hi, Harry." she grins, "Coming to buy another flower?"

He nods, “I will have three bouquets of baby breath and two bouquets of carnations this time.”

“Sure, wait a minute. I have to put this stuff inside.” She smiles, showing her shopping bags before storming inside. A few minutes later, she comes out with her gloves and scissors, obviously.

“I’m curious. Why do you often buy flowers?” she hums, “Are those for someone special?”

“No,” he answers honestly, “I just happen to like flowers, very much. They’re just pretty and I’m used to having a garden to plant them. Then, when I moved here and I don’t have a garden, flowers in a vase aren’t bad.”

“You’re just a romantic guy, aren’t you?” she teases him while tying the flowers.

“What makes you think like that?” he chuckles.

"Because…" she hangs her word, "It's rare to find a guy who happens to like flowers."

“Then, I’m such a rare guy then.” he wiggles his eyebrow, smiling a bit makes his dimples pop out. For a moment, Y/N thinks it’s cute. Moreover, the way she just finds out that Harry has bunny teeth, it’s just adding his cuteness.

“Cocky much you are.” she laughs, shaking his head. Then, handing him his bouquets, “There you are.”

"Thanks," he whispers then give her the money, "Actually. I came here also to ask for your help."

“Mhm, what is it?”

“About the Town Hall thing. Do you think you can accompany me to go there?” he nervously asks her, “If you don’t mind, of course.”

“When?”

“The sooner the better.”

“All right. I think I can leave now so we can go there faster.”

Harry widens his eyes, doesn’t think Y/N will agree and ask to go right now. To be honest, if Y/N refused him, it would be fine. He just wants to know what the people think about Centauri myth. Since Y/N is a local, she might know a little bit about it and maybe, maybe be able to help him.

“Is that OK? I mean, you’re at work and I don’t want to disturb you.” he asks with concern, “We can leave after you finish your work, though.”

“It’s okay, H. I’m not really working today and just stopped by the shop.” she bites her lips, “Besides, if I can help my friend sooner, why not?”

His heart flutters in awe after hearing that. He doesn't think Y/N considered him as a friend, a friend that happens because of the constant of buying flower. Plus, the way Y/N calls him by a nickname makes his heart stirs.

“Let me return the gloves and scissor and then we can go together.” she winks, then excusing herself before meeting him again. Harry leads the way to where his car was parked, not too far from the shop. He politely opens the passenger door for her, then putting the flowers in the back seat.

“Do I need to tell you the direction or.. you will use the Google Maps thing?” she teases.

He frowns a bit, “Google Maps is okay. But, you can tell me the right direction if the Maps goes wrong.”

“Okay then.” she hums, averting her gaze to the road in front of them. Looking at the beautiful Sicilian scenery. Sometimes, she glances at Harry who seems so focused behind the wheel. Little does she know, Harry is very aware that the girl next to him stealing glances at him. But he chooses to ignore it. Deep down in his heart, he knows she may be attracted to him yet the woman doesn’t want to show that.

“Here we are.” Y/N breaks the silence when they arrive at Town Hall, “You can park in the back of the building.”

Harry just nods, and park the car not far from the entrance. Before getting out of the car, they're quite surprised at the number of visitors that day – much more than usual, according to Y/N. Then, both of them close the door simultaneously and admiring the architecture. The building looks more like a cathedral, thick with gothic nuances and looks majestic. Y/N guides Harry inside and begins to stroll around inside. Of course, Harry goes straight to where the diorama of the Centauri myth is. His eyes catching a few illustrations that he admitted the truth while the people consider them a myth only.

The illustrations are where the Gods and Goddesses came to Sicily, built a civilization, and leaving it as dust when humans crossed their lines.

He doesn't realise he was staring at it for too long and deeply felt it while Y/N stands beside him.

“Harry.” she softly tugs his jacket sleeve, making him jolts and snaps his head to her. Looking at frowning Y/N.

“Uh, yes Y/N?” he scratches his nose, “I’m sorry I was daydreaming.”

“You look very carried away with the illustration.” she looks at him full of wonder, “You really like history, huh?”

“Actually, I think they missed one thing.” he deadpans, “Have you ever heard the myth of a missing Goddess?”

“What?” she blinks, frowning deeply.

“The missing Goddess of Birth. The myth said that the Goddess left Centauri and is believed to be in disguise among the Italians.” he exhaled, “I’ve heard if that myth but it looks they don’t have the illustration.”

“Well, after all it was just a myth, Harry. Some people believed it, and some didn’t.”

“But, do you believe it?” he challenges her, “The Centauri and myth?”

“I don’t know,” she jogs her shoulder, “But, if it was real, Centauri must be beautiful. The real, the people, everything… they’re believed to be between the moon and the stars.”

“If that was true,” he trails off, “Would you like to see Centauri?”

“Maybe. If I had the chance, though.”

Harry nods, assuming that she doesn’t know about the missing Goddess. Well, he could see a little when it happened. The Goddess had indeed disappeared, and she is, in fact, in Sicily. But, where should he look? Albeit he can sense the presence of other Gods, Goddesses, or Centauri people, it still complicated for him. He doesn’t want his mission in Sicily to be wasted, and he was thinking of getting to something as soon as possible.

Then, it happens.

He senses Centauri people nearby. Who sent them? What are they doing here?

"I think we should go now, Y/N." he murmurs, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, "I'm done, and it was mind-blowing. Maybe I'll look for another theory somehow."

“Why do get so attached about the Centauri thing, Harry?” she asks while exiting the building, “Is that interesting?"

"Like I've told you before, I just like.. history." he brushes her off, helping her to hop on the car. He hastily starts the engine and leaving the building behind before the Centaurian finds him. He doesn't like the idea of him and Y/N get caught. They will tell his wife and he doesn't want that.

Harry doesn't hesitate to drive Y/N home while the girl refuses politely, doesn't want troublesome him. Well, she gives up after all since Harry is so adamant.

He gives her a small smile when she thanks him for the ride, and drifts away from her porch after that. It doesn't take long to arrive at his cottage, he drives pretty fast and the road was quite clear that day. Then, he is surprised by a familiar voice greets him when he opens his door. A few feet from him, someone he hasn't seen in a while standing with arms wide open.

“Selene?”

“My darling, Harry.” the lady sighs happily, jogging towards him and hugs him tightly. Harry has no idea why does Selene come to see him? Is there something wrong back in Centauri? Then, he remembers the Centaurians he sensed in the Town Hall. Was it his wife? But, he could tell right away if it was her. Did Selene send them away?

“Hi,” he breathes, pulling away from her to kiss her full lips. “What are you doing here?”

“Missing my husband so much,” Selene giggles, “I know it’s only a few days, but…”

A few days? Oh well, it's a few weeks for him. Excuse the different cycles of time between Earth and Centauri.

"Are you going to stay for a while here?" he asks even though he knows what's her answer. Selene never likes Earth and humans, she always looks down on them, thinking they're lowly creatures. Being the Goddess she is, especially as the wife of Centauri's ruler, makes her feel superior and nothing nobler than Centaurians.

“Why should I?” she rolls her eyes, “Sometimes I wonder why you volunteered to come down to Earth even I know what’s your mission. But, still…”

“Selene..” he sighs, “We have discussed this, right?”

“I know, I know.” she pouts, “Let’s just forget that. This place looks nice, anyway.”

“This is your first time complimenting human building, you know?” he teases him while stroking her soft cheeks, “But, yes. This is the nicest in all of Syracuse.”

“Where’s your bedchamber?”

“Why? Do you want to take a rest?”

“No,” she hums seductively, “I just miss you terribly,” then she tiptoed, bringing her mouth to his ear, “And it aching me down there.”

Oh...

Harry unconsciously bites his lip when Selene sucks his skin below the ear, and he is sure it will leave a mark from how hard she sucks them. Not need to think twice, he scopes her body and brings them towards his bedroom. He hasn't had sex since his arrival in Syracuse and it makes him giddy. After all, he also missed his wife even that feeling was sometimes replaced by the presence of Y/N in his new life here.

*

unedited.

share your thought with me, here. 

[asian-hero]

[Im]perfectly You

A/N: Got an idea while watching something completely unrelated to bnha, so that was fun (I’m also sorry if this turns out to be absolute garbage)

I also like to imagine that this is the same Shouto and (Y/N) from “The Words I Desperately Want To Say,” so do with that what you will

Summary: While to the general public, Pro Hero Shouto was a symbol of otherworldly beauty and perfection, the man himself found it hard to understand how anyone could think he was attractive, let alone perfect. So, when doubts start to form in his head, it’s a good thing his partner is there to remind him of all the wonderful things about him

Words: 3,580

Todoroki Shouto, while a fairly smart man, could admit that he had his moments where he was rather dense. If you were to ask him what’s the best plan of action when working a rescue mission, he’d be the absolute best man to ask, as he’d have a level head, and would know every single point of entry where a Pro could go in and rescue the civilians in danger. If you asked him to help you out with some financing issues, while at first he may be a bit confused, he’ll eventually get it and help you plan for ten years into the future.

However, if you asked him why the reporter was asking him about his skin care routine, or how he looks so “effortlessly handsome” while working, he would simply shrug his shoulders and state that they do that for every other person they interview.

Perhaps one of the most shocking traits of Shouto’s is the fact that he doesn’t see himself the way the general public sees him. While most people view him as one of the most attractive heroes, he can’t even stand to look at his reflection for more than a minute, otherwise he’ll find things to criticize, things that make him feel ugly. He’s come to the conclusion, after years of testing, that it’s best for him to simply turn around and face something else if there’s a mirror or any reflective surface around, just so that he doesn’t have to see himself.

Of course, he doesn’t tell anyone about these issues. He hasn’t told his family, his friends, and he certainly won’t tell you. Not because he doesn’t trust any of them, but because he doesn’t want to be a burden to those around him, he doesn’t want his issues to be a source of sorrow, and he certainly doesn’t want pity. So, he simply keeps these bitter, harmful thoughts to himself, not letting anyone in on what’s going on in the back of his mind.

Somehow, though, you manage to break through his facade, the one that he carefully constructed to keep everyone else out, and he’s not sure of how to feel about that.

The first time that Shouto feels a pang in his chest is when the two of you are relaxing on the couch, on a rare day off from your hectic lives. His whole body covers yours, his arms wrapped around your torso while his face is buried in your chest, a small sigh of content escaping his lips. You’re watching some random food documentary the two of you decided to put on, completely entranced by the sights and sounds you’re seeing come to life on the screen. For a while, the two of you sit in complete silence, neither of you wanting to break the peaceful air around you. 

With your eyes still glued to the screen, one of your hands seems to move on its own, tangling itself in Shouto’s red and white locks. As your hand begins to brush back the strands away from his face, your fingers soothingly scratching at his scalp, Shouto tenses under your touch. He feels his breath start to catch as he feels your fingers move through his hair, almost as if you were inspecting it. Due to just how much he uses his quirk, his hair ends up feeling coarse and dry, with a few singed parts in the front. Though he tries to remedy that with the many types of shampoos and conditioners the world has to offer, he just can’t prevent the damage his quirk has done. 

After the feeling of your hand becomes too much for him, he lifts his head up from your chest, almost too quickly to not be suspicious. When his eyes meet your own confused ones, he doesn’t answer you with words, instead opting to wrap his arm around your waist, lifting you up a bit while he shifted his body to be behind yours, effectively keeping your hands off of his hair.

For a second, you’re oddly still, and it makes Shouto anxious. However, after a few seconds had passed, you let out a small giggle, relaxing your body into his, patting his thigh lightly. “If you wanted to be the big spoon all you had to do was ask,”

Luckily for him, you didn’t question his behavior. Though, for the rest of the night, Shouto couldn’t stop the feeling of anxiety from coursing through his veins. While he eventually found his breath, and he was no longer shaking, he still couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread for the rest of the night. 

He hated that he felt this way, for something seemingly so stupid.

The next time that he finds himself moving away from your touch is when the two of you are out shopping for groceries. Since it was after your patrol, you didn’t bother to change out of your hero costume, choosing to throw over your white button up shirt and blue jeans over your suit, figuring that it was good enough. You didn’t even bother buttoning up the shirt, and it took all of Shouto’s self control to not make fun of your outfit, though, he supposed that he couldn’t judge you, as he only threw over his overcoat on top of his own suit. 

As the two of you perused through the aisles, buying way too much food for the two of you, you found yourselves in a comfortable conversation. You talked about how patrolling with Yaoyorozu  went, and he told you about how Bakugou invited himself to his and Midoriya’s patrol. As the two of you continued to walk, with him holding the basket and you walking beside him, he felt your hand slowly snake its way to his, intertwining your fingers together. 

For a while, Shouto didn’t mind the way that your hand fit in his. In fact, he quite enjoyed the way his hand seemed to fold over yours, how small yours felt in his own. However, as soon as you started brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, he could feel just how different your hands were from his. While yours were soft and smooth, his were rough and dry, as if they hadn’t been taken care of. Where as yours didn’t have any bumps or bruises, his had callouses and tiny cuts from the extreme temperatures he held. The way that you stroke his hand soon turned from a soothing action to something that filled Shouto with vile thoughts. In all of his negative thoughts about himself, he never thought that his hands would be the issue. 

It finally became too much when you squeezed his hand and he could feel his callouses digging into the palm of your skin. Detangling his hand away from yours, he pointed towards the produce section, doing his best to keep a straight face.

“Look, they have a sale,”

At first, he was sure that you were going to call him out for his actions, as you wore your confusion and slight hurt on your face. However, that was quickly replaced with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes and an excited “let’s go!”

For the rest of the day, you didn’t try to hold his hand again, and Shouto wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

As the months went on, Shouto had wrongly assumed that his self-esteem issues would sort themselves out, that he’d be back to some semblance of normality. However, they only seemed to get worse, to the point where he couldn’t deal with your eyes being on him for more than a few minutes, otherwise he’d get anxious of what you were thinking. Of course, he still hadn’t told you what was bothering him, not because he was afraid of what you’d think, but for the fact that he knew you’d be upset for him, and he didn’t want to put that on your shoulders. 

Sometimes, he wasn’t as bothered by the voices of self-doubt in his head. On those days he’d gladly let you hold his hand, let you shower him in love. Other times, the voices would be too loud, so much so that he would revert back to how he acted before he met everyone from U.A., cold and standoffish, not that he meant to. Whenever those voices got to him, he wouldn’t even let you look at him for too long, instead politely telling you to stop staring. Whether it be that you were close enough to see the dry skin patches on his face, or the fact that you could see just how badly he was scarred, he didn’t want you to look. 

Eventually, all of the doubts in his mind started to make cracks in his facade, and soon enough he felt himself breaking down.

Right in front of you.

It was a rare chance that Shouto would get home before you did. Unfortunately for you, you were saddled with a mountain of paperwork that needed to be done quickly, so you told him that you’d be late, and that he shouldn’t wait up for you. So, as Shouto stepped into your shared home, he did what he normally did once he got home: make dinner, eat, take a shower, change into more comfortable clothes, and then head to bed.

Everything was going well at first. He cooked dinner by himself, making sure to make enough for you to eat when you got home. Once he’d finished eating and putting your plate in the fridge, he moved to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the closet and switching on the fan as he started the shower. Usually, he wouldn’t look in the mirror once he’d undressed, instead opting to  look at the wall as he moved to the shower. However, for some reason, on this day, Shouto decided to take a quick glance at the mirror before he headed into the shower.

Truly a big mistake on his part.

As his eyes landed on his reflection, the first thing he noticed were the scars on his skin. Running his hand over the ones on his arms, he cringed at the feeling of the slightly raised skin. As he continued to observe his body, he only felt his mood grow sour, picking on every single flaw that he could see. Running his hands through his coarse hair, he continued to stare at the large scar covering most of the left side of his face. He took in the deep reddish tone that it had, how the skin had puckered and left him with a rough, unpleasant texture. Looking straight into his own eyes, he looked at the two different colors with discontent, wishing that there were a solid color instead of being split. Eyes drifting further down, he looked at the other scars that littered his body, looked at how there wasn’t an inch of unblemished skin. He looked as the colors ranged from an iridescent pinkish color to more angrier reddish tones, ones that could never quite heal, and would always leave him with these ugly marks.

Continuing to analyze every single flaw on him, Shouto didn’t hear the front door open, nor did he hear you call out, announcing your presence. Footsteps drawing closer, he didn’t notice that you were there until he could hear the doorknob click, the door swinging open.

“Sorry for barging in honey, but I’ve been holding my pee in all night so I—“ Eyes stopping on him, you gave him a small smile, “Hey handsome,”

Head whipping over to look at you, his eyes widened ever so slightly. It was normal for either of you to come into the bathroom while the other was using it. The two of you grew comfortable enough to not bother to lock the door since there was only one bathroom. However, Shouto wished that he’d locked the door tonight, as he was fairly certain that he looked like a mess.

While he continued to stare at you with worry, you frowned. Pointing towards the door, you spoke, “I can wait until you’re finished? I don’t have to go that badly,”

At the sound of your voice, he frantically shook his head, moving away from the mirror and into the shower. “No, go on ahead, I was just getting in,”

Before you could say anything Shouto shut himself in the shower. Deciding to not push the subject with a full bladder, you quickly went about your business, washed your hands and promptly left, moving to sit on the bed to wait for your boyfriend.

It took about eight minutes for the shower to turn off, and another five for him to finally exit the bathroom, slowly walking himself into your shared bedroom. Once he caught sight of you sitting on the edge of the bed, not having changed out of your work clothes, he felt his heart rate spike. Cautiously, he moved to sit by you, a small smile resting on his face, though you could tell it was forced. Reaching for his hand, you found yourself hesitating slightly before deciding to put your hand beside his, close enough that your pinkies were touching. Tilting your head, you tried to get a better look at the man.

“Are you alright?”

He blinked, trying to contain his every thought from spilling out at that moment. Nodding, he spoke up, “Of course I am, why—“

“Please don’t lie to me,” You spoke softly, a frown finding its way onto your face, “I’ve known you since high school, don’t think I can’t tell when you’re lying.”

At first, your words were met with complete silence, with Shouto’s eyes trained on your hand. After a few more minutes of silence, just as you were about to give up your little interrogation for the night to go and take a shower, he broke the silence.

“I don’t get it,”

Eyebrows furrowing together, you leaned in closer to the man, as if the elimination of space would help you solve what was going on in his brain. “Don’t get what?”

He bit his lip, clearly going over the pros and cons of telling you what he’s been thinking for most of his life. Finally, he sighed, figuring that it was better to just rip off the bandaid rather than pretending that nothing was wrong.

“You called me handsome earlier,” He started, and when your face only grew more confused he continued, “The media likes to say that too. So why can’t I see myself that way too?”

He mumbled out the last part, as if he didn’t want you to hear it. At first, you stayed silent, unsure of what to say, or how to comfort the man in front of you. However, once you noticed his hands start to fidget, and his knees started to bounce, you moved so that he could see your face, a kind smile resting on your lips.

“Can I touch you?” You asked, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.

When he nodded his head slightly, you gently grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the headboard of the bed before plopping yourself right into his lap. When he looked at you with a blank expression, you smiled sadly, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“There, that’s better,” You started, gently brushing your thumbs across his face, “Now, let me into that gorgeous head of yours?” 

“Why do you call me that?” There was no venom behind his tone, just a confused boy who seemed hurt.

“Because it’s true,” You stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

When he still didn’t react positively, you retracted your hands from his face, opting to wrap them around his torso loosely. “Okay then, how about you list the things you don’t like about yourself, and I’ll tell you about the things that I love about you,”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. Though he still indulged you regardless, even if bringing up all of his flaws worried him to an extreme amount.

“Fine, I hate my hair,” He started, his hands roughly pushing his bangs back, “I hate the way it looks and how it feels,”

“Well, I love your hair,” You countered, your own hands moving to gently pry his away from the red and white locks you love so much, “It reminds me of strawberries and milk, and it smells like it too,”

“It smells like charred hair,”

“So what? Sometimes my hair smells like gunpowder because of Katsuki, does that bother you?” When he shook his head, you smiled, patting his cheek lightly, “Exactly. What’s next?”

His grip on your waist seemed to grow tighter, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded. “I don’t like my eyes. Sometimes I wish they were a single color,”

“It makes you rather unique, don’t you think?” You asked.

“It makes me feel like a freak,”

You hummed, a low sound in your throat as you caressed his cheek, your thumb gently soothing the area under his eye. “Well, for what it counts, I love your eyes. It’s probably the first thing that drew me in,”

He stared at you for a few more seconds, trying to see if there were any signs of falsehood in them. When he came up with nothing, he continued to list his reasons:

“I don’t like my hands,” He stated, looking at yours, “They’re too rough and dry,”

Frowning, you reached to grab one of his hands with your own, bringing it up to your lips to press a sweet kiss to the back of his hand. “That just means you work hard, there’s nothing to be ashamed of there,”

He snorted, though you could tell there was no humor behind it, “It can’t feel nice to hold,”

“I like them,” You announced, interlocking your fingers together, “It shows how much dedication you have when it comes to your work, and holding your hand is one of my favorite activities to do,”

You could tell that your words were getting to him, as his eyes started to glisten, unshed tears beginning to come forward. Pulling his hand away from yours, he turned his head to the side, not wanting to look at you as he continued to speak, “I don’t like my scars,”

Thinking back to what had just occurred in the bathroom, you felt your heart break just a bit. Squeezing him just a bit tighter, you did your best to keep your voice steady.

“Your scars show that you’ve saved lives,” You said, your hands brushing against the raised skin on his arms, “You love to help others, even if it comes at the sake of your own safety,”

“Well what about this one?” He asked, point to the one covering his left eye, “Not all scars show that I’ve saved lives, (Y/N). They’re not something that’s amazing or beautiful, there’s blemishes that I wish I could get rid of,”

Grabbing his hand with both of yours, you moved to press a feather light kiss to the bottom of his scar, feeling how he trembled beneath you. Moving back, you could feel tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“No, you’re right. Not every scar tells a heroic story. Sometimes they’re reminders of horrible memories that we’d like to forget,” Squeezing his hand, you continued, “Your scars don’t define who you are though, Shouto. Sure, they tell the stories of your life, the struggles that you’ve been through, and the heroic deeds that you’ve done, but that doesn’t mean that it’s the only thing that defines you. I know that it’s hard to believe me now, and I hope in the future you’ll be able to feel the same way I do, but I love every single inch of you. I don’t care if your hair is silky or coarse, or if your hands are rough or not. All I care about is being with you, and all of those things that you hate, that’s what makes you so special to me. 

I’m not going to say that I can take away all of the pain you’ve been feeling, because honestly, I can’t. What I can promise you though is that I’ll still be with you no matter what, even on the days where you feel terrible and just want to hide away.”

By the end of your little speech, Shouto had dropped his head onto your shoulder, and you could feel his body begin to shake, and tears soak into your shoulder. 

For a while, the two of you said nothing, and the only sounds in the room were his light sniffles and your quiet humming. After what had to been half an hour, Shouto finally moved his head from your shoulder, his eyes having taken on a pink tint. When you felt him reach for your waist, you gladly let yourself be pulled into his chest, with your back pushed against his front. 

With a soft kiss to the top of your head, you heard him whisper out a quiet “thank you.” Smiling, you patted his hands, silently telling him that you were there.

“Don’t worry about it,” You spoke, feeling his breath begin to even out.

“Until you learn to love yourself, I’ll love you enough for the both of us,”

[a-little-birdie]

Nests and why they are important.

This is just idea thinking. For the winged au (when talking about birds and people and such I mean the people with wings, sorry!)

(This is really long so, sorry about that)

Okay so nests

They are circles made of blankets, pillows, feathers and a soft mattress that is difficult to tear or cut, because claws.

They are the place these feather heads sleep and keep warm but

There is way more than that!

Okay so,,,, lets get into the world building

Predators (eagles/hawks) are bigger than most other birds with only a few exceptions, therefore they need less blankets and pillows to keep warm since they themselves can keep warm just fine on their own plus there’s wings, so adding onto that a predator will keep molted feathers that have been gifted to them in their nest, gifting a feather is something very important because it’s like giving a piece of your essence.

A birds wings symbolizes their freedom and who they are, a slaves or prisoners wings may be broken, burned or torn right off to show what they are, that they have lost their freedom and who they are as a person.

A predators nest is usually a bit above the ground, but babies bounce so it’s okay. When they have chicks there will usually be many more blankets and pillows. You can actually tell where the chick/s sleep because there will be this little separate nest made of blankets and pillows, inside the nest, with these large imprints around them. It’s really cute. ^-^

A song bird’s (Robbins, starlings, sparrows, etc) nest is naturally smaller than a predators and have many more blankets and pillows to keep them warm and comfortable. A songbird might give hand made blankets or pillows with one of their feathers sewn in.

It is very unwise to refuse a gift from a songbird since gift giving is something very important to these small but mighty people and if you refuse a gift they will take great offence and you will find a pouty songbird (but like seriously these guys are tiny terrors DO NOT PISS THEM OFF TRUST ME. They can and will out fly and out maneuver you, theres a reason they’re hard to catch.) How you can get forgiveness is by giving them a basket with some bread and a few other things such as berries or seeds and some sweets.

A song birds nest will be on the ground usually in an open area (in their house of course!) where natural sunlight can easily come in. There would usually be a wide window on each side of the room to let in light from the sunrise and light from the sunset. Song birds rise and set with the sun.

A corvids nest (ravens, jays, magpies) is actually one of the only ones to still use sticks and natural items for their nests, it’s actually incredible. Their instincts are still rather strong when it comes to certain things, so they tend to have a liking for tradition but there are some who don’t follow tradition.

Please do not offer to help a corvid with their nest, in their culture it means you have a romantic interest in them and they will either A) explain to you what that means to them or B) tell you no or let you down gently or C) accept your offer. If they accept your offer hopefully you understand their culture or you’ll be having an awkward conversation.

They still have a mattresses it’s just more bowl shape and surround by sticks, moss and leaves. Plus blankets, pillows and feathers, they’re still keeping up with the times. Usually with a corvids nest (specifically magpies but all of them do this) you’ll find shiny little objects woven into the branches that keep the nest together. Taking one of these usually means untold doom, adding one and it staying there means that you are trusted, the corvid thinks of you as part of their flock. Congrats you now have a giant puppy that will commit theft for you /lh

A Corvids nest because of the bowl shape can be hard for chicks to crawl out of. This is actually used to the parents advantage so that until the baby birds can crawl out of the nest without any help they’re more or less restricted to the nest for safety reasons of course! The parents will take the chicks out of the nest so that they can get fresh air, meet people and actually learn how to walk and further develop their muscles and wings.

Owls who? Haha don’t mind the pun. Anyways, an owls nest well more like their cities are up high in the trees, in the ancient forests. The trees in the ancient forests are at least three metres across and the height is very tall. They’ll have their nests in either natural or homemade hollows in these large and ancient trees high above the ground. But don’t worry! The have decks and bridges and railings and all that to help keep them safe! There’s even ramps that lead to the ground incase any chicks who are branching fall to the ground or any elders or just people who can’t fly in general are on the ground!

You will not catch a single stair in the owls home, they believe that for everyone to be equal everything must accessible by everyone, there’s even some elevators using the pulley system! Everyone there does their fair share, even the children, instead of money being used people will trade items or help the other person out.

Their nests tend to have a lot of animal skins instead of blankets, with pillows made of fur that has been taken off of the animal skin and wrapped or tied together with string or fabric. Their mattresses are flatter and tend to be made of moss, leaves and bark softened through boiling of water then covered in more furs because soft = yes.

Burrowers are birds that live under ground, it’s in the name. Think hobbit holes but put them at the base of large trees or bushes and make them not hobbit holes. Because the term “Burrowers” spread across most families it is difficult to pin point a specific design or commonality between all of the different “Burrowers”. Usually you can assume a Burrowers nest will be like the rest of their species/ family but put it underground.

Tropical birds will have their nest anywhere, inside a hut, on top of the trees (literally), inside a tree, on the branches, on the ground, hanging in the air, anywhere they will put their nests. But there are two things in common, one: it’s always in a heavily forested place or the jungle, tropical birds have grown up with vines and branches and a lot of things getting in their way while flying, they have grown used to the chaos of the jungle and they revel in it. Two: the roof is always transparent, removable, nonexistent or it’s there simply so the house is attached to at least something while its hanging in the air.

Because of their choice of residence (where they want to live) it’s extremely hard to get to their homes so we had to ask a tropical bird when we found one and the most they told us was: “we have a mattress, pillows and blankets.” And they wouldn’t tell us anymore because. “What else is there to tell?”

A hummingbirds nest is rather small with high walls. Because the chicks are so fragile they spend most of their time inside the nest sleeping, eating and trying to strengthen up their bones. In fact their bones are so fragile that if a hummingbird chick were to try and walk their legs would simply snap under the pressure of gravity and their own body weight.

When under quite a bit of stress or experiencing quite a lot of emotions or just one strong emotion, the nest will be changed. However, how much of the nest that will be changed is is a different story.

Another time the nest will be changed is when the people of the house are expecting chicks, either the entire home will be cleaned or the nest will become nothing but a blanket Fort, or something like that.

Thanks for reading this thing on nests I guess, I’ve still got a lot of world building to do but if you have any questions about the world or anything please send it in! I would love it if you did! It would actually help me a lot on the world building!