Henry Svarog

"Nam in omni adversitate fortunae

infelicissimum est genus infortunii,

fuisse felicem."

- Boethius -

RP Blog - Non Selective - Sherlock (BBC) Based / Blood Ties - Mun & Muse 21+

Does dessert count? If not, pomegranates.

To Henry, a pomegranate is a fascinating, silent contradiction. It requires surgical patience to open, protected by a bitter, leathery hide that completely seals the interior away from the world. But inside, it holds a labyrinth of tightly packed, glistening seeds that explode with a sharp, heavy sweetness. It is a visual echo of his own nature — a crimson depth neatly compartmentalized under a pale, rigid exterior. He eats them in absolute isolation, carefully picking at the seeds with his long fingers, and often pulling them directly with his lips into his mouth, indulging in a rich flavor that feels almost like a guilty transgression against his own clean routine.

The second would be fresh black figs, gently split open and warm, drizzled with raw honey. To his analytical mind, a fig is an intricate architecture of evocation. The fruit operates in complete secrecy, its blossoms completely hidden from sight, blooming entirely on the inside where no one can watch.

The third is a lemon tartlet topped with toasted meringue. The citrus custard beneath is sharp, acidic, and aggressively sour, matching the clinical precision he projects to the world. But it is the fluffy, velvety crown of meringue that holds his repressed secrets. It is sweet, delicate, and gently scorched by heat, a texture so beautifully soft that eating it feels like a silent surrender.

Never. His past cemented for him exactly what his soul claims to do: bring about justice. After witnessing so much violence and seeing the worst of humanity, he cannot conceive of not seeking justice, or bringing peace, or trying to prevent that cycle of cruelty from perpetuating. With a mind like his, he is uniquely capable of analyzing micro-behaviors, often allowing him to foresee events before they even unfold, stepping in before it is too late. If only the environment weren’t so agonizingly desensitized and cruel. If only the systematic attrition of his spirit wasn’t an ongoing assault, a soul-crushing blueprint executed through a deeply complex and emotionally debilitating architecture of abuse that leaves him utterly hollowed out and exhausted. But if you want to know a deep, hidden fantasy, Henry harbors a quiet, wistful dream. He would love to be a photographer of life. To capture families who are whole and alive, happy and loving. He yearns to preserve moments of unexpected tenderness and sweetness, freezing in time the very things he was denied, just to prove to himself that they actually exist.

This dream does not mean he would ever abandon his true callings as a Chief of Forensic Criminology and Behavioral Analysis, specialized in Clinical Victimology, a real title he hides out of fear, but rather that he longs for a parallel sanctuary.

In truth, he has had so few opportunities to explore or even conceive of pleasurable things in this life. His inner world has been barren for so long that he cannot even begin to map out what joy feels like. Someone will have to gently step into his life, open those tightly guarded horizons for him, and guide him with genuine tenderness to discover comfort, warmth, and simple pleasures he never even imagined he could enjoy, including possible new professional paths.

From “Symbol Headcanon Questions” Meme

What a tricky question! Yes and no. It depends on how you define “attention.” Professionally and paranoically, Henry sacrifices any type of recognition. He abhors the idea of anyone taking his photo and walks on thin ice with anyone who approaches him, whether they are rude or friendly—especially friendly, although that rarely happens. When a case grows too large and it becomes impossible to prevent his photos from crime scenes or non-forensic records from being leaked to the newspapers, he resorts to using a strict pseudonym to ensure his true name is never bound to his public image. On a superficial level, this is because he is terrified of exposure. Make no mistake, he harbors no illusions about his own capabilities; he knows the precision of his proficiency and exactly how far a mind that makes connections no one else can see could take him in terms of wealth and fame. But he also knows that with fame, money, and moles disguised as friends and foes, soon following behind, his family would not be far away. They are one of the most infamous gangs of his native state, known for their absolute cruelty, and they would be waiting for him with a gun or worse, eager to punish his dishonor and betrayal for working on the "light side of the force." Henry does not want to face his father. Worst of all, even though he knows it is practically impossible for them to ever track any hint due to all the extreme precautions, repressions and severe acts of self-violation of his very essence that he followed to the letter to erase his existence and any hint of attraction towards men, he still fears that if his family ever catches up to him, they will deliver an appetizer of Hell itself due to the "deviant" feelings he harbors. Needless to say, his father issues entail a terrifying reality that echoes heavily through his daily life.

On a deeper, less superficial level, Henry is fundamentally convinced that he does not deserve attention. Raised entirely without love, he witnessed a level of cruelty and sordidness within his family that defied comprehension. The fact that they could commit heinous crimes while paradoxically praising the name of God in absolute orthodox ways without a single flinch rooted a deeply distorted vision of the Almighty in Henry’s mind. We may never know if his family noticed real traces of bisexuality when he was a child. It was always veiled, never addressed through direct words to him, but definitely materialized through deliberate actions. They certainly noticed his keen, sharp perception and the quickness of his mind, which they knew would be fruitful for their future empire. But to their pure disgust, they also noticed his hyper-empathy. This sensitivity was quickly labeled as the Devil’s mark and met with the most revolting slurs. Heinous crimes were committed for the sole purpose of showing Henry what happened to "deviant" people in the eyes of God, without ever needing to address him specifically. As he grew, those crimes became increasingly cruel, their hatred growing inversely proportional to Henry’s expanding intelligence and sensitivity. For his family, these horrific displays became a routine Saturday family outing, a twisted form of bonding. This was their way of telling Henry that they loved him—by trying to exorcise out of him, through hatred and violence against others of his "kind," everything that made him different from them and therefore "wrong."

It is a deeply complex, dark reality. After escaping to another state, Henry saw that love actually existed, not only between women and men but between people of the same sex, trans individuals, and across a myriad of other sexualities and expressions of being. But for him? No. The claws of trauma are already too deeply carved into the very core of his soul. He genuinely believes he does not deserve love, attention, affection, or worry. Does he yearn for it? Absolutely, with every single breath he takes. He endures this ongoing suffering as a trial, a small part of the eternal punishment he believes he will face in Hell, desperately hoping that this earthly agony might somehow attenuate his sentences when the time comes for all the ways he turned out "wrong."

So, does he enjoy attention? I can only give you a token of hope: one day, he will.