So a few weeks ago during excitement about the new outline reveal, I posted a few mini metas / speculation pieces. In one, I said — not for the first time — that I’m in favor of the Howland Reed = Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse theory.
Now I’m finally back to share my favorite canon evidence. (Clarity! This isn’t a comprehensive list of evidence for the theory. It’s a post to focus on one piece I haven’t seen discussed before). I’ve already posted about it once or twice, but always buried in longer posts with tangentially related, more tinfoil-y theories, so I assume most people never read far enough to see this part.
But you really, really, really need to see this part.
To get to Ser Shadrich I first need to talk about Lyn Cobray. Recall that in AFFC there’s a moment where he threatens Littlefinger, but Littlefinger later tells Sansa not to worry, it was an act; Littlefinger is paying Lyn to fein hatred, join every conspiracy against him and report back.
Okay. So. In TWOW Alayne/Sansa chapter, she and Myranda talk with Lyn. Basically, the reader finds out that Lyn is pretending to be unhappy with Littlefinger because it’s his fault Lyn won’t be his brother's heir much longer. Littlefinger helped Lyn’s brother find a second, more fertile wife after his first wife died, and now a baby is on the way to push Lyn to a lower rank.
Got it? Okay, good. Because right after that part in TWOW chapter, there’s this absolutely insane line that needs to be dissected.
*
“The venom in his voice was so thick that for a moment [Sansa] almost forgot that Lyn Corbray was actually her father’s catspaw, bought and paid for. Or was he? Perhaps, instead of being Petyr’s man pretending to be Petyr’s foe, he was actually his foe pretending to be his man pretending to be his foe.”
*
Whaaaaat? What's Martin doing here? Why have Sansa think this line? What purpose does it serve? Sure, you can argue it’s just to make readers watch out for Lyn, to be suspicious of him and on the lookout for what he’ll do in upcoming chapters.
I think that could be a large part of it. But I don’t think that’s *all* of it. Because guess what happens next?
“Just thinking about it was enough to make her head spin. [Sansa] turned abruptly from the yard… and bumped into a short, sharp-faced man with a brush of orange hair who had come up behind her. His hand shot out and caught her arm before she could fall.”
That’s right, team. Right after Sansa thinks the insane thing about Lyn being a friend or a foe, who should appear but Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse!?
Who is definitely Howland Reed. Because check this out:
*
“Perhaps, instead of being Petyr’s man (a hedge knight Petyr is paying for) pretending to be is foe (telling Brienne he’s working for Varys when they met in AFFC), he was actually his foe (a Stark loyalist trying to save Sansa) pretending to be his man (again, a hedge knight) pretending to be his foe (again, lying to Brienne).”
*
I mean, honestly that’s enough to convince me. But also the alternative just doesn’t carry a lot of weight in my opinion.
If Ser Shadrich really is working for Varys but Sansa is going to make it to the North despite his attempt to intervene, then how much is he serving the story? Just one more enemy for her to overcome among so many? Plausible enough, I guess, but boring.
Whereas the Howland Reed theory? If it’s true, it could support elements of the Grand Northern Conspiracy — and if we’ve got Stark supporters tracking down Rickon, so why not Stark supporters tracking down Sansa — as well as support elements of R+L=J and Jonsa (or complicate the reveal as speculated in my earlier link).
I get that there are so many secret identity theories that they get tiring and tempting to dismiss. But GRRM certainly isn’t shying away from using them to explore themes and advance plots. So before you shoot down the idea, I hope you’ll at least consider an avenue where this theory could be true and done well.
And if it turns out to be true, I hope you’ll all say, “Hey, Green called one right!” ;)
Thank you and goodnight.
(other posts inspired by the latest outline reveal: 1 and 2)
Prompt list #2 with Bucky? I love you so damn much 😭
When Shit Hits The Fan
Prompt: #2 - The ceiling fan crashes to the floor. "Um I can explain."
It was such a hot, unbearable day as you were slowly cooking from the inside out from the unexpected heatwave outside.
Bucky, Sam, Steve and you were slouched uncomfortably on your leather couch, sticking to the material like hot glue.
Bucky sighs, fanning himself with a rolled up newspaper, and you had no intention of telling him that was the incorrect way to do it.
"Y/N?" Bucky speaks, staring straight forward as trickles of sweat drip from his neck and forehead.
"mmm?"
"Be a doll, and go grab us some cold beers." He demands, rather than asks.
With a tut, you stand begrudgingly and strut lazily to the kitchen, bending over in your cold refrigerator looking for the bottled beer.
In the living room, Sam is playing with Redwing.
"Man, it's so hot in this damn apartment!" He complains, your ceiling fan doing absolutely nothing to cool the air down, he's actually convinced it's swirling hot air around instead.
Sam has a lightbulb moment, and attaches redwing to the blade of the fan and instructing it to start moving quicker.
It works, kinda. The force is too strong and without warning the whole fan crashes to the floor with half of the ceiling.
"Sam she's gonna kill you!" Steve gasps, looking at his friend in horror.
Hearing the loud crash from the kitchen, you abandon your task of the beer, and begin to investigate the loud noise. Gasping when you walk in to the living room, seeing your life saving fan on the floor completely shattered.
"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?!" You yelled, the three men jumped up in their seats and backed away from you.
"ONE OF YOU IDIOTS BETTER EXPLAIN THIS!" you point to the wreckage.
Both Bucky and Steve look towards Sam with an apologetic smile.
"Um, I can explain..." Sam holds his hands up in surrender
"You got 1 minute." You state, looking at your watch and tapping the face of it.
***
After Steve and Sam left your apartment like scolded dogs, Bucky stayed behind to help you clean up.
He looks up at the mess of your ceiling and back at you with a smile.
"I could fix this." He says, pointing to the ceiling and the fan.
"Really? I couldn't ask you to do that Buck."
"You're not asking. I'm insisting."
"What's in it for you?" You ask with a slight smirk.
"I don't know... I was thinking dinner this Friday?"
You pretend to think for a second.
"You're on." You hold out your hand for him to shake, which he gladly accepted with a grin.
When Larkspur had sent Kagome an invite to her place for some tea and just some much needed girl time, Kagome had obvioiusly quickly replied with a yes. So now, the modern priestess found herself at the girls home, seated across from her, with a nice hot cup of earl gray tea.
Since it was just going to be her and Larkspur, sha had worn nothing but some sweats and a cute croptop she had found at a thrift store under a button up she had stole borrowed from Sesshomaru a few weeks ago when she’d tried to make him an apology dinner. She also wore the ring he had given her on a necklace hidden under her shirt. A lazy outfit for a peaceful lazy day with her precious friend.
“Ay Larkspur I can’t tell you enough how happy I am that you invited me over, I really needed this after everything thats gone on!* She sighed softly as she took a sip from her cup before putting it down and flexing her bandaged hand slightly. The bandages were irritating, but she still wanted to hide the fating mark until she found whoever shared it with her. “I really hope you’ve had a more peaceful few weeks than I have.”
Almost hypnotizing is the dancing luminescence cast by the fickle flames of the many candles that adorn the exquisite private room of the GISAENG: ancient paintings and almost perfect reproductions of even older ones are draped all over the walls, large vases of chinese porcelain and statues of jade adorn the surface of the wooden furniture, carpets of silk lay ‘pon the warm floor and, on one side, a giant queen-sized bed covered in furs and velvets easily catches the attention of her guests ; saccharine incenses burn, imbuing the already luscious atmosphere with scents of honey and vanilla and aphrodisiac bergamot, giving birth to a timid fog that soon ends up dissipating against the low ceiling.
And there, right in the middle of the enchanting chamber, the young woman impatiently waits for her GUEST. She does not know much about him ─── Only vague fragments of information that her boss has decided to generously share with her, among which the sincere warning that he could indeed become a DANGEROUS FOE, were she to fail in her mission to LURE him to their side. Infantile tedium bubbles thorny within her vacant ribcage as she leisurely fixes the position of her refined hanbok, whose bright gold and red colors ‘pon a much paler base easily complement the fair complexion of her skin ( a complexion marred by SCARS and BURNS, by marks that symbolize the end of her past existence and her eventual rebirth ) . Where is he ? A huff is barely suffocated betwixt lotus-red tiers as she yawns, growing more and more painfully restless with the incessant passing of seconds.
Dina flits around the hall, humming some unidentifiable tune as he collects the items he desires and assembles them. He adds them one by one to the massive construct he’s making, blissfully unaware of who else may be in.
Niome gazed out at the Ruby Sea from her perch atop the Isle of Bekko. Looking out over the open ocean filled in her a deep level of nostalgia. It had been so long… Tears began to well in her eyes, but she shook her head to try to bring some clarity back to her. It had been ages ago, now…. She had been a child. Besides, it’s not like her parents were going to be waiting for her in Tamamizu.
She took a deep, shaky breath and proceeded down into the depths of the underwater city. It reminded her so much of home… The walls holding back the rushing waters of the Ruby Sea just brought back a feeling of claustrophobia and nostalgia all mixed into one. She wanted to make this trip as quickly as possible, and it was true that she had heard the particular kind of fish she was looking for was only available in the area.
The story began with Niome opening a new cafe in Shirogane. While her pastries and confections were well liked, some of the Ijin customers wanted something more akin to what they would find in a Hingan restaurant - namely sushi. Niome figured her two best bets for sushi would be something savory and, if possible, easy to acquire. There were plenty of your basic sushi shops scattered around, oftentimes being family businesses. She didn’t want to compete with them, but at the same time she wanted to offer her customers whatever they wanted. And so she settled on introducing a tempura platter and Onigara-yaki into her menu. She figured the savory, fried and buttered seafood would pair well with a fine rice wine…. And then lead the customer to get something sweeter for dessert!
And so, here she was, in Tamamizu. She was here to broker a trade deal with the local Blue Kojin and then she’d be on her way to Yanxia to barter with the Namazu. All for fish. Lobsters, squid, and shrimp, to be precise. She took another deep breath and walked up to what she assumed was the a Kojin merchant.
“Excuse me, Mister Kojin, where would I be able to talk to someone about starting a trade deal?” Niome hesitantly approached the large shelled merchant. As she got closer she could see that he was older than she had first thought, he must have lived through quite a lot.
“Eh? Why sure… I’ll just need your name for our records and where to ship the goods. And of course, some gil.” The Kojin turned to face her and started to study her face, making Nio jump back slightly.
“Oh, well thank you… Er… is something the matter?” Niome scratched at the side of her face where her scales met her skin.
“You just look… I don’t know how to put it… but like someone else I know. Now then, name please.” The Kojin took out a scroll to prepare to write down Niome’s information.
“Ah, right… Well I’m Niome Mizune, I own the Carbuncle Cafe in Shirogane. I’d like to start getting in shipments of shrimp, lobster, and squid for the caf---”
“MIZUNE! AHA! You don’t say!” Niome jumped at his boisterous guffaw. “That’s who you remind me of! Little Mitsuki!”
Mitsuki? Niome had never heard of a Mitsuki before. “Mitsuki…? I can’t say I know anyone---”
“Ah, you know, the young daughter of Mika and Mizuki Mizune. She’s cute as a button, that one. In fact, she should be around here somewhere….” The Kojin starts looking around the settlement, finally yelling out the name Mitsuki and waving someone over.
If Niome wasn’t pale before, she certainly was paler now. All the color left her face as she saw this young girl approach her. The girl looked roughly like she had looked when she was 13 or 14 summers, but with longer brown hair in pigtails. Her scales were a lustrous cream color, just like Niome’s. But the most striking thing was her brown eyes and those signature purple limbal rings. It was like Niome was looking into the past.
“I…. er….” Niome stuttered out as she tried to beat a hasty retreat.
“Mitsuki, this here girl says she’s a Mizune! Any relation to your family?” The old Kojin had a sparkle in his eye.
The girl looked Niome up and down, taking in the sight of her. She walked around Niome, taking in every detail. Niome could feel herself sweating through her dress. The last thing she would have thought was that she would see someone from the Mizune family here…. Last she had been home, it had been forbidden for her to leave Sui no Sato. She thought maybe she’d get a question about her parents, but she definitely did not expect this… girl.
“She doesn’t look familiar to me…. But… her eyes…”
Niome started to back away, but the Kojin merchant grabbed at her wrist. “Miss Mizune, we still have to go over the exact address of your cafe.”
“A cafe?” The girl named Mitsuki’s eyes twinkled, “L-Like with sweets and cookies and cakes?!”
Niome could feel some color returning to her face, maybe if she could just distract this girl long enough… She knew she should have taken a false last name like her first name, but she never assumed that she would run into a situation like this. And… perhaps a part of her really wanted to return home one day, but she would never admit that.
“Yes, I own the new Carbuncle Cafe in Hingashi’s Shirogane district. It’s not much, but…” Niome smiled to the young girl, who was practically bouncing up and down. Then she did something that she couldn’t explain, “My name is Niome Mizune, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The old Kojin’s eyes lit up, “You know… there was another Mizune girl… but that was ages ago.” What?! Had this old geezer of a Kojin heard about her? She hadn’t even thought that maybe when she first ran off her parents had tried to find her with some help from them!
Mitsuki turned toward the Kojin with a questioning look on her face, “Wait…. Huh? Like a cousin of mine or something? I didn’t think my mother had any sisters… And Grandmother didn’t like to talk about the past before I was born….”
Niome’s hair bristled. “Didn’t?”
Mitsuki turned back to Niome and looked a bit sad, “Grandmother got really ill a few weeks ago… She spends most of her time holed up in her room now. Not that she ever spoke much before, but it’s almost like…”
Tears welled up in Niome’s eyes. Every day that she had been gone, she had thought about her dear grandmother. After all, it was her knife that protected Niome when she first landed in Yanxia. That ornate pearl knife that her grandmother had given her, a family heirloom, now tainted with blood. No matter how much she tried to clean the knife in the years following, nothing could erase the guilt.
“Miss Mitsuki… if you take me to your grandmother, I’ll bring you cakes and treats. All you could ever hope to eat.” Niome wasn’t even sure what she was saying at this point, were those really her words? But she had to try to make amends. “Please… I owe her something.”
Mitsuki was confused, but agreed after the Kojin put in a good word.
---
Niome didn’t speak at all on the way to the manor in Sui no Sato. Her misty eyes almost betrayed her a few times. Mitsuki, however, was watching her very closely, and Niome could feel the younger girl’s eyes digging into her.
Perhaps it was fate or luck, but Mitsuki’s parents were out at the moment, so the pair of girls snuck upstairs to their grandmother’s room. With a knock, Mitsuki slid open the partition and spoke, “G-Grandmother… I know you’re unwell, but… Well, this traveler said she had a debt to repay to you… And well, I know you don’t talk much to me, but I was hoping maybe you would talk to her. Her name is Niome. She owns a cafe in Hingashi.”
The elderly woman didn’t even open her eyes, but gave a light huff of approval.
Niome approached, digging into her pocket and pulling out the pearl knife. Mitsuki’s eyes grew wide as she tried to scream but Niome gently placed the knife in the grandmother’s clasped hands.
“Grandmother Hazuki… I came to return what was stolen from you.” Niome knelt beside the old woman and bowed her head. “I hope one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me… For taking it.”
Slowly the grandmother felt the knife in her hands, her boney fingers tracing over each detail like they were ingrained in her mind’s eye. It was then that her eyes slowly opened and a smile came to her lips, “Niome… eh? You wouldn’t happen to know my little flower Tsukimi, would you?”
Niome could feel the tears bubbling. She wasn’t sure what to say… what was there to say to someone you wronged so deeply.
So she sang.
“Oh little flower, swept up by the sea… The moon lights your path with her heavenly beam. Oh little flower, dancing on the waves… Little flower, my dear, try to stay brave. Little flower, little flower, carried out to sea… use this song to find your way back to me.”
The song had been the last bit to break her cool facade. As she sang the tears streamed down her face in torrents more harsh than the waves of the sea. She bowed her head low to the tatami, unable to look at either the elderly woman or the young girl who sat confused across from her.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the raspy voice of the old woman broke the silence, “Little Mitsuki… I don’t believe your parents or I ever told you about our dear little flower, Tsukimi. I hope to remedy that situation.”
---
Hazuki recounted for all present the story of Tsukimi, the heiress to the Mizune legacy. A sheltered child who was always quick to get into trouble with her parents, but her mischievous streak earned her a place in her grandmother’s heart. When she was 7 summers, her grandmother bequeathed to her a pearl knife, said to be made from the first pearls found when they built Sui no Sato. Though, that was merely a detail woven in over the years, her grandmother had admitted.
On the day it was announced that Tsukimi would be wed to a young lordling from Kugane, the young girl ran away and was never to be found. With the Garlean presence growing stronger in Yanxia, her frazzled parents had confined their search to the Ruby Sea. After several months of searching between the Kojin and any other residents of the Ruby Sea, Tsukimi was given up for dead.
After the grandmother’s story, Niome recounted her own tale. Of how she wanted to find her own love and not be stifled by what her parents thought was best for her. She told them how she swam all the way to Yanxia, but had been quickly discovered by a Garlean scout along the coast. In the dark of the night, she waited for the Garlean to approach her and pulled the pearl knife on him, ending his life. But she was not quick enough, for the sounds of his death were enough to alert the other guards. So Tsukimi ran. She ran and ran all the way past Namai. The Garleans were gaining on her, after all, she was much quicker in the water than she was on land. But then the sounds of the guards stopped. As she stopped to catch her breath she was ambushed by shinobi who, upon seeing the blood on her hands, figured they could make use of her. They offered to take her in, to train her in the art of ninjutsu. And so she survived for a time. She recounted her journey to Eorzea, of the kind old Elezen chef aboard the ship. About how she worked at The Bismarck and how finally, after years of hard work, had opened her own cafe.
“Do you regret running away?” The grandmother finally asked her when the story was done.
“Sometimes I wondered if it was the right thing to do… but… Looking back…” Niome looked down at her grandmother, laying upon the futon, “I don’t think I’d change what I did.”
Hazuki smiled, letting out a soft cough, “Then you are forgiven.”
wc: 1,408 | header | full of refs to my personal setting, oops
Wind swept across the clear surface of the lake. Elliot bristled from the sudden chill and hung over the side of the small boat. He set his wrists against the rail and balanced his knees in the curved hull, unfazed by Nolanel’s brisk warning to stay still, please.
“’Tis my saint’s day. I think that permits me to rock the boat a little.”
Nolanel tugged the rope bracelet digging into his leg a bit looser. “Do as you like, but I ain’t saying so except for you. Compared to my balance, yours is like a toddlers’.”
“Wrong. Compared to anyone’s balance, mine is like a toddlers’.” Elliot leaned further towards the water to feather his fingertips atop the water. Silver and gray stones shifted in the low current. Just above them, light enough to be carried, a crowd of golden hoop earrings tumbled by.
Nolanel rubbed his ear clip and said, “There’s so many observances. The other feast days aren’t like this.”
They already tied strings above their left knees, at the same place St. Nikolas’ leg was severed by heretics; they skipped dinner last night and ate ripe plums in the morning; the boat they rowed together into the lake was launched facing the Holy Vault. The thousands of rings in the lake were testaments of pilgrims the ages buried but never forgot: their offering of one of the earrings the church bestowed upon them turned their devotions into a collective eternity.
Elliot sat upright, licked his lips, and unclipped his right earring. “No, but today, like love and like courting, has many steps. ‘Tis a nice shift of responsibility to keep track of them instead of--I don't know--but it's nice.”
Nolanel reached under the seat to pull free a parcel of desserts. Unwrapping a dense bar of cake, he asked, “Was I ever courted?”
Elliot squinted.
“You used my given name from the first, gave me jewelry before candy, and threatened to blackmail my mother if she tried to interfere with us going to breakfast.”
Spinning the earring around his fingers, Elliot said, “All right, I failed all those steps. But I’m going to get these correct.”
Nolanel stretched his legs out afore him and poked Elliot with the toe of his boot. “I failed ‘em all too, but I guess we turned out all right.”
The wind blew again, sending ripples through the water. The pair went silent, Nolanel listening to the laughter of other worshipers along the shore and in identical boats; Elliot heard his own heartbeat.
He looked away to the cliff behind him--there lay the furthest reach of Ishgardian territory afore Dravania, sourcing the river which torrented in a waterfall to fill this holy basin, and which stirred its waters to a bubbling, restless pitch every sun of the year but for this week. Without that deafening waterfall, the lake calmed to clarity, revealing the offerings of the faithful and the object of their worship: a submerged statue of St. Nikolas, patron of love.
Elliot sunk against the boat and hung his arm over the side again. The cool water stung his hand until it numbed. Releasing a breath, he dropped his earring into the invisible current. It sunk, flashing white in farewell, and flew beneath the boat to vanish. His heart wrung. How long he waited to be here, to sacrifice that bit of gold to the azure, to promise with it that his life was in service to love, ever growing, swift and light, radiant in the depths--and it ended in seconds.
He withdrew his hand and cradled it against his chest for warmth, thinking over again how Nolanel pledged his earring to the sacred forge to be worked into his identification tag. Reason argued: Nolanel never sought love like he did vengeance, and his worship always turned toward the martial, but he devoted his fortnight to this, studied maps and observed the weather, argued coin and blood with tavern stops or inns, and bartered a day's ride with a caravan by relieving a merchant's chocobo with Marcasite. Nolanel never complained; there was silver in his laugh; he caught side glances and echoed touches; he sang on empty roads, kept vigilant on crowded ones. Drunk on warmth and the rhythm of breath, he held Elliot as he slept and woke with a quiet smile.
It ached somewhere in him that he treasured all that came before over than this moment. He could blame time, the waiting--no, not the waiting, he never felt so empty as this when Nolanel returned--himself, then, but that was no solace. His faith did not change, and neither did his need for it, but his reliance shifted: he felt stronger with Nolanel’s hand on his shoulder than under any angel’s gaze; even if not in words, Nolanel always answered his questions. If life was forever, and life was love and feeling and passion, why did he only feel it in other people? He felt life in others but peace in the church--but peace was a type of emptiness.
Elliot drew himself back into his seat and flicked the last drops of water from his hand. "Ser," he said.
Across from him, Nolanel responded only with "Mm."
"You traveled five days from the city with me."
"I remember."
"To take me to the church of my patron saint on his feast day."
"Mmhm."
"And we're here."
"Aye."
"And you haven't kissed me."
Nolanel dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping icing away. He spoke with his mouth full, voice piqued in insult: "I'm eating cake!"
“Then put it down!” Elliot scrambled across the yalm’s distance between them, unsettling the weight in the boat, and toppled into Nolanel with a shriek. A paddle jostled free of its pin and slipped into the lake.
Nolanel leaned back for balance. His ankles pressed against the flanks of the inner hull for grip, and his body sunk into the gap between the seat and aft. One arm leaned into the rim, and the other circled around Elliot’s waist to hold him flat against him. His head hung over the water and he laughed, in love with the sound of the water around them and with Elliot’s surprise. “Don’t move now,” he said, drawing his hand up across Elliot’s back and hair, bringing their faces together. “The boat’ll tip if you start.”
Elliot opened his mouth to retort, but Nolanel took his lower lip between his teeth and pulled him into a kiss.
The boat’s bow jolted free of the water. Beneath him, Nolanel's body shifted to steady their balance. The boat clapped back down.
For now, in exalting clarity, they were forgiven for life. They forgot the dead, abandoned worry in acceptance, loved sweetness, loved each other, delighted in ecstasy and knew it an ascension without gods.
Unknown voices blurred from an endless distance; there was none between them. Wind flew over the surface of the lake and spun beyond their sense. The numbness of the city melted away, and the brace of the mountains and heights of the skies seemed like nothing. None of it mattered compared to this.
Elliot shivered as Nolanel's free hand brushed across his unadorned ear.
He parted from the kiss with unwanted tears. He fumbled to the opposite end of the boat to hide them, knowing what they confirmed, and fearing them.
He cared nothing of the loves he would never know or share or meet. He desired only this one. If tenderness never existed outside Nolanel's arms, if the world went silent except for Nolanel's voice, and if all of life stiffened in abiding repose, let it be so. He needed only this love. Whatever love existed in the heavens and in the church, it was unnecessary.
Nolanel leaned his head back towards the water, wetting several curls of his hair. His eyes shut against the sun, and he hummed, amused. “How sacrilegious is it to fall in?” he asked.
Elliot looked into the water, where the statue's presence stirred no awe in him. “Don’t talk of sacrilege right now.”
Sensing Elliot’s severity, Nolanel grunted in and carefully raised himself from the boat’s shallow aft. After a time, he hesitantly said, "Did we fail a step?"
"No." Elliot reached into the water to retrieve the bobbing paddle. He set its length against his knees, unheeding of the cold water that dripped to his feet. "We did everything correctly. Thank you."
Lucifer lets a very, very, very select few touch his wings. Namely, Samael, Solomon, and Dantalion. He won’t let anyone else, not even Camio, lay hand on them. So much as TRY to touch them without his permission, and you would pray you had never come into existence. It’s one of the few things that WILL get an immediate reaction in a very bad way. A demon once tried and it was so bad even many demons were horrified. Others have to earn the right to be able to touch them. Only those he truly trusts and cares for gets to touch something so divine and precious to him.
He does take pride in his wings, as beautiful as they are, white with the sheen of gold. He was made to be perfect and beautiful, and his fall didn’t change that in the slightest bit. However, Lucifer does not often FLY. He did as an angel, but once he fell, he no longer did. He will hover in place or use the to move faster, but it is extremely rare for him to actively use them to fly. He has an aversion to that.
Lucifer does have six wings as a show of his status, and they are absurdly large even in comparison to other angels like Metatron and Uriel and Michael. Each wing easily dwarfs an average size person, but he’s very good at maneuvering with them (most of the time ). It is possible for him to make them disappear, but he rarely if ever does. Only on the trips to Earth. Otherwise, he leaves them out, and often conceals his face with 2 of the 6 when meeting new people.
But for those who he trusts and grants permission to his wings, you have a world of possibility. They’re very soft and smooth and warm, good to cuddle with. And Lucifer loves when people comb through his feathers and help with them. He’s also prone to whacking them with a wing or burying them under the feathers as well as using the feathers to tilt chins up or trail over someone, things like that. The small feathers and where the wings meet his back are very... *ahem* sensitive areas.... But the rest mostly feel like running through his hair, only for his wings, which are both things he very much likes and approves. Hit the right spots and you’ll have lucifer absolutely melting in your arms or bed or wherever and cooing happily because it feels nice and relaxing.
