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sixpossumsinatrenchcoat · 6 months

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The things we leave behind: PERSISTENCE

In the last act of my postgame Headspace AU, Sunny and Omori finally, *actually* talk. You can start from Chapter 1 (of 6) here: ao3.org/works/45213322/chapters/113743957

Then nothing happens for two weeks.

...Well. That’s technically not true. Now that Sunny lives in the real world, things are always happening. Kel’s intramural basketball team wins a grudge match against the YMCA that Kel’s decided is their nemesis. Aubrey bums a cigarette off some girl in an alley and then drops off the grid for eight days before resurfacing to report, with clear regret, that “Helen still has a lot of growing up to do.”

Sunny squints at her. “You’re like... 20.”

“Maybe physically,” Aubrey sniffs. “But I’m wise beyond my years.”

Basil spirals into a full-fledged breakdown over an end-of-term deadline before very nervously accepting a few of Kel’s Adderall. Then he writes the whole paper in five hours and spends the rest of the night deep-cleaning Sunny’s kitchen and alphabetizing the spice rack and organizing all the treasures in the junk drawer by material and size. Which would be fine, until he wakes Sunny up at 4 in the morning to ask if the arthropod fossil should be filed under ‘stones’ or ‘organic materials.’

“I don’t care,” hisses Sunny, who’s 80% asleep and 100% incensed. “I hate you. If you ever take Kel’s meds again, I’ll kill you.”

Hero convinces himself that he bombed an exam and spends four days stress-baking before Sunny has to physically stop him, because the fridge is so full of banana bread and shortcake that there’s no room for actual groceries. (Hero gets an A. Obviously. This happens every month.)

Kel gets his ear pierced. Aubrey goes along to keep him company and walks out with two new tattoos. Basil starts experimenting with aquaponics. Sunny starts experimenting with gouache.

Things keep happening, but only when he’s awake. No more nighttime visitors. No more weird, reality-breaking dreams. Sunny thinks about Omori sometimes, but he doesn’t waste time worrying. If Omori needs him, he knows how to find him.

It might have been nice to find out how everything turned out. To wrap the whole ordeal up neatly, with a bow. But by now, Sunny knows that closure only exists in fiction. In real life, stories don’t end. They just… stop.

Then he starts seeing things.

And not just the usual things, e.g. street art, stray cats, sunsets. A specific thing. Something… behind him.

He’s in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, when his eye snags on a blur of motion in the mirror. Something long and lifeless, swinging from the rafters. When he whips around to look, it’s gone.

He’s lying awake late into the night, waiting for sleep to take him. He’s already taken melatonin and Advil PM and two CBD gummies and a Valerian tincture under his tongue, which is… pretty much everything a guy can do, sleep-wise. From there, it’s just about keeping your eyes shut and not looking at your phone. But Sunny hates doing nothing. He spent four years doing nothing but. And when he finally sighs and sits up, he can’t not see the figure looming over the foot of his bed. Lank black hair on dead white skin.

He’s getting up to get a glass of water. Or he’s skulking between high-rises on a storm-gray day, trying not to look at his reflection in the glass. He dips his brush into the palette and pretends he can’t see the eye glaring up through a pool of Eggshell White.

But he can’t run away forever. He’s not sure he’d even want to.

It feels increasingly clear that Mari (or Omori, or his subconscious mind or whatever) is trying to tell him something. He just doesn’t know what it is.

It would help if he could talk about it. Hero is unnaturally good at sussing out why Sunny’s feeling what he’s feeling, usually before Sunny’s even noticed that he’s feeling it. Not as good at Mari, but still very good. And Basil knows more than anyone about what’s going on in Sunny’s head.

But they would worry. Their nightmares might get a little more colorful; a little more specific. And it’s not like Sunny really minds. He’s always happy to see Mari.

####

Legacy is funny. It never looks the way you would’ve guessed, but it’s almost always right.

Take Mari. Mari’s legacy is:

Mischief (and with it, the growing conviction that she knows more than she’s letting on),

Unnervingly keen, loving attention,

Fucking with people for sport, and

Picnics.

Picnics are the big one. Like Mari, they sit at the junction between worlds. It’s the ideal middle ground between indoor kids and outdoor kids; between fragile, bookish readers and rough-and-tumble wrasslers. Even after seven years without her, the friends she left behind are still happiest stretched out on a grass-stained gingham blanket, with the wind in their hair and the sun on their skin.

Everyone picnics differently. Kel and Aubrey romp around in the grass, throwing a frisbee or racing to the nearest bodega to decide who’ll foot the bill for a family-pack of ice cream sandwiches. Basil likes to find a safe little corner to write in his notebook or read—anything that makes him look busy enough to speak up when he wants to, without feeling like he has to. Hero studies and studies and occasionally glances up to make sure Kel didn’t leave the cooler open again. And Sunny? Sunny sits back and watches the show. He yawns and rolls over and naps in the heat of the sun.

Speaking of which. Sunny stretches like a cat and flops backward, till his head comes to rest in the crook of Mari’s knee.

“Hehe,” she giggles, grinning down at him. “Silly little kitty. We should get you a bell. You and Mewo could match!”

Sunny wrinkles his nose. “It might wake me up.”

“A fate worse than death,” she says gravely. “Don’t worry, little brother. If anyone tries to bell you, I’ll bell them.”

Well. Good.

He’s about to close his eyes when a shadow falls over her. Long, dark. Cold. A gash of white in a pillar of black, its edges billowing in the breeze.

Sunny’s breath catches. Mari. But— But she was just—

…Oh. He must be dreaming. When he’s awake, Mari doesn’t go around hosting picnics. When Sunny’s awake, his sister is dead.

“Um,” he says. “Hi.”

His sister’s smiling face flickers. The phantom looming above her stretches longer still. “...Sun…ny… Can we… ta…lk…?”

Sunny sits up obediently. He always wants to talk to Mari.

“…ehe…” the shadow giggles. “Listen… Nee…d… you… Omori…”

Sunny stiffens. Does that mean that Omori really is in trouble? But—Omori knows where to find him. If he needed help, why wouldn’t he just ask?”

One huge, sideways eye creases with amusement. “…Like h…ow… you did…?”

Oh. Right. Sunny knows how to ask for help now. And even now, it’s rarely his first instinct. But when he was Omori’s age…

He shakes himself off. “What do I do?”

“...Eas…ier… if…” The phantom stretches out one long gray tendril of shadow. “…show… you…”

Her spectral flesh feels gelatinous against his skin, rubbery-cold as dragonfruit. “Show me.”

###

Sunny opens his eyes in a white void. Cold as the vacuum of space and just as endless. But this time, White Space isn’t vacant. He can hear murmured voices, the rustle of cloth and the hush of breath.

When he sits up, he finds three figures and seven eyes staring back at him. The weird thing is, not one of them belongs to Omori.

Ex-Chairman Hero is here, looking vaguely puzzled and majorly perturbed. Basil hovers by his elbow, wringing his hands worriedly. But his shadow is distinctly not wringing its hands. Its arms are crossed, its searing eyes narrowed with impatience. Behind them, the specter of Mari—or is it Something, now? Sunny makes a mental note to ask her what she likes to be called—still looms.

“Um,” Sunny says. It’s not exactly the welcome he expected. “Hi?”

Headspace Basil gives him an anxious little smile. “Thanks very much for coming. I think we could use all the help we can get.”

When he closes his mouth, his voice keeps on going without it. “Yeah, right,” it mutters.

Basil looks mortified. “S-Stop that!!”

“I just don’t see why he’d open up to some random guy if he won’t even see his best friend,” Basil’s voice says sullenly. The words seem to issue out from his shadow, without any intermediary vocal cords.

“Aw, c’mon, Basil,” Hero laughs. “We talked about this! Sunny isn’t just some guy. He’s Omori’s—um. He’s…”

Sunny listens with interest. He’d always wondered what Omori’s friends thought of him. (If they’d thought of him at all. Until recently, Sunny had never actually set foot in Headspace. And the only one who ever came to White Space was Omori. Sunny had sort of had the impression that no one else could come here.)

Hero clears his throat. “A-hem. Um. Sunny is— He’s Omori’s…” He frowns a little and leans back, looking up into Something’s sideways eye. “What did you say he was?”

“...I thought y…ou were su…pposed to be an… honor student…”

“It’s not like they put this on our exams!!”

The specter snickers. “…Don’t… think too hard… about it…”

Hero grins ruefully. “Yeah, that’s… not really something I’m good at.”

“…ehe…” the phantom giggles. It’s not the same as Mari’s laugh. Mari’s laugh was a cheeky little snicker, like a cat playing with its food—unless you caught her off guard, in which case it barreled out of her like a foghorn. This is barely an echo of that. But the mischief is the same. “...If you… insist… Just… think of Sun…ny as my… little brother…”

Hero frowns. “But Omori’s your brother.”

“…yes…”

“But Sunny’s not Omori’s brother?”

“…definitely not…”

Basil’s shadow snickers. “Trust your girlfriend on this one. You’re not ready for the big picture.”

“G-Girlfriend???” Hero squawks, his voice breaking halfway. “We’re not— I mean!! It’s not like we…” He trails off. On the ground in front of him, Sunny is raising his hand. “Uh. Yes? Sunny?”

“I don’t understand.” Of course Sunny is happy to see them all. Together, especially. But— “Where are Kel and Aubrey?”

The specter of Mari flickers like a moth trapped inside a projector.

Hero winces, too. “We’re, uh. Still working on that.”

“...Still… a little sc…ared…” Mari whispers. “...Not their fault… Doing their best…”

Sunny’s forehead furrows. It doesn’t make sense. Aubrey is famously fearless. And Kel never slows down for long enough to get properly scared. Basil, on the other hand…

Mari’s edges flutter with another whistling laugh. “...Stranger and… I… go wa-a-a-ay back…”

“The nerd’s only scared of stupid stuff, anyway,” Basil’s shadow agrees. “Being wrong, and getting in trouble and things. He’s fine when it’s actually scary.”

“A-hem!” Basil huffs, planting one foot squarely on his shadow’s two-dimensional face. “I-I think we can all agree that— The point is, we’re all just worried about Omori!!”

“Worried he’ll disappear again,” his shadow hisses. “That he’ll leave us all behind.”

“Which would be fine!!” Basil rushes to clarify. “I-If that was what he really… Or, I mean… If that was r-really what was best for him, then—”

“But it’s not,” his shadow says flatly. “What? It’s true. You don’t have to pretend like it isn't. He isn’t moving on, he’s just being stupid. Again. Running away like a scared little kid.”

“He is a scared little kid,” Sunny points out.

Basil’s shadow rolls its eyes. “Yeah, well. Join the club.”

…Fair.

But that still doesn’t explain what Sunny’s meant to do about it. If they just need someone to talk to Omori, there’s got to be someone more qualified. Like. Literally anyone else. There’s a reason that Sunny’s friends are so talkative. If you put two wordless, socially stunted weirdos in the same room, nothing ever happens.

“...N…ot about… what you say…” Mari’s ghost whispers. “...No one else can… get inside… Only him…”

Ah. Okay. He’s starting to see the larger picture. Sunny might be worse at talking than anyone else in this room—and that includes the sentient nightmare who can barely fit two words between a sea of ellipses. But he’s also the only one here who arguably is Omori. (A part of him. The rest of him? Whatever.)

“Okay,” he sighs. “I’ll try. But. I’m open to suggestions.”

###

Omori is holed up in what used to be Sweetheart’s Castle.

Not that Sunny has any idea what that means. Omori said something about “getting rid of it,” but… what? Even by Headspace rules, it’s a little hard to swallow. Weren’t there people inside? Sprout moles are one thing—their sentience is very much up for debate—but did Omori remember to flush Rococo out of the basement before wiping it out of existence?

…There’s only one way to find out.

Sunny turns to face the others. “Any ideas?”

Hero practically trips over himself in his haste. “I-I made some soup!!! It’s, um. It’s… the same kind Mari used to make.”

“...Tell him… I love him…” the phantom whispers.

Basil squeezes his eyes shut. “Tell him I miss him so much!!!! I— There’s no pressure, it’s okay if he still needs—but we just!! I don’t know what to do without him!!!”

“Tell him we’re pissed,” his shadow hisses. “He can’t keep pulling this shit. There’s a limit to how many times we’ll—”

“Shut UP!!!” Basil screeches. “You know that’s not true!! T-Tell him we’re— W-We’re not going anywhere!!!”

“...but… don’t fe…el any… pressure…” Mari’s ghost whispers. “…might not even… get inside…”

Sunny snickers. Cool. Got it. Very helpful.

He throws back the doors—

—and steps into his living room.

(No, Sunny reminds himself. Not his. Just a room, now. Just a room where he used to live.)

Omori’s hideout isn’t a palace or a prison. It’s just a normal room. Beige carpet. Beige couch. Beige walls papered over with photos, so so so many photos. School pictures and Christmases and family portraits from a shop that’s long since shuttered, all stiff stances and smiles with too many teeth. But afterwards they went to All Star Burger and Sunny got a milkshake for making it through the whole session without shutting down or crying. Mari got one, too, just for being Mari. She deserved a million milkshakes. Eighty more years of milkshakes, at least.

The stain on the carpet. The way the lamp always flickered, no matter how many times you tightened the bulb. Mari said it must be haunted. But when Sunny ran into her room crying, she didn’t yell or send him away. She just told him, gently, that ghosts are really only people. Just lost, lonely people. And when they act out, it’s not because they want to scare you. They’re just afraid of being forgotten. They just want one last chance to be seen.

Mari, Mari, Mari. Everywhere he looks, there’s so so so much Mari. Gap-toothed and beaming, holding out the stag beetle she caught all by herself. Standing stick-straight in front of the concert piano, prim and well-groomed and stiff with fear. Dancing. Laughing. Carrying her baby brother on her back even when her knees buckled. For years after Sunny should have been too old for it, Mari never minded carrying him home.

“What are you doing here?” a voice asks. His own voice, ten years out of date.

Sunny jumps. He’d almost forgotten why he came. “What are you doing here?” he counters, for lack of anything better.

Omori looks down at himself, then back up. “…Sitting?”

“Right. But. Why here.”

Omori rolls his eyes. “White Space isn’t ours anymore. I guess nowhere is. The others kept bugging me. I just want to be alone.”

Sunny frowns. “You hate being alone.”

“You hate being alone," Omori says dully. "I don’t know what I hate.”

…Oh.

“And anyway, I’m not alone.”

Sunny’s forehead furrows. He follows Omori’s gaze to the corner of the room, where there’s a heap of old laundry scrunched against the wall.

—No. Not laundry. Mari. Not as she was, but as she is. Dead gray flesh mottled with rot. Crumpled limbs stacked like kindling. Empty.

“I made this place,” Omori announces. “Like you made everywhere else. You made a million miles of light and life and I made one boring room. I couldn't even figure out the TV. I tried, but it’s only static.” He looks up at Sunny, stone-faced. “Did you put anything good in me at all?”

What is he supposed to say to that? “Your friends seem worried…”

“Your friends. I don’t have any friends. Just hand-me-downs.”

Maybe. “They’re still worried.”

Omori shrugs.

Sunny shifts his weight uneasily. Omori isn’t giving him very much to work with. “You’re—um. You’re… not having a good time.”

“No.”

Then why are you here? “Then…”

“Why did you leave?” Omori asks abruptly. The words short and sharp. “Everything was fine before you left. Kel was never busy, and Aubrey never picked on us. And Hero was happy. And Basil was always okay. And—” He digs his nails into the arm of the couch, forces the name through his teeth. “Mari was. Alive. Mari was alive and she was perfect. Everything was perfect.”

Yes. That’s true. Sunny remembers.

Omori’s face darkens. “I know you," he spits. "You can fool them, but you can’t fool me. I don’t care how many stupid piercings you get. Out there you’re pathetic. Just some loser shut-in freak who’s too afraid to be alone. You think because you can talk now, it means you’re doing fine? You’re not fine. You’re still a freak. And you’re still a murderer.”

Sunny nods. Why would he argue? It’s the truth.

“So—why?” Omori grits out. “Why go back there? Why would you even want to?”

Oh. Hm. It’s an interesting question.

Sunny takes his time, thinking it over. There’s no use trying to answer right away. A half-baked answer won’t do Omori any good, and it might upset him even more. You can’t just throw a slurry of wet flour in the oven. You have to give it time to rise.

…Why did Sunny go back? It wasn’t just that he was dying. He’d been dying for ages, for years and years and years. He knew he was dying and it didn’t scare him. He used to think about it sometimes. It sounded… peaceful. So it’s not as though he was running away from the dark. He must have been moving toward something.

A lot of it was Mari. Obviously. Always. Was it ever even a question? Mari was the catalyst for everything. She’s the one who taught him how to be a person, and then a decent person. Before her death and after. She crawled out of the grave to pound on his door and remind him to be brave.

But it wasn’t only Mari. It was just—everything.

Sunny opened the door and everything was different. Everyone was different. He’d stepped into the last act of a story that no one had bothered to tell him. His friends looked like strangers. Everything that should have been familiar felt alien and strange. There was so much that he didn’t understand. So why did he decide to stay?

Part of it was just concern. Love and fear and the guilt that blooms from the marriage of the two.

When he first laid eyes on Basil, Sunny didn’t even recognize him. Basil had always been brittle, but now he was broken. Bloodshot. All the meat chewed from his bones. He shuddered and twitched and his hands flinched around in violent little jerks, like a fledgling flung from the nest before it’s finished growing its pinions. Too weak to fly, but too afraid to die.

Basil moved like breaking glass. Like breaking bone. He looked at Sunny with a million words trapped under his tongue. Civilizations rose and fell behind his eyes. Comedy, tragedy, catharsis. What had made him like this? Could it really have been Sunny?

(No. Yes. Sort of. But Sunny didn’t know that yet. He wouldn’t find out till there was only one day left.)

But it’s not as though Sunny faced the truth for anything as noble as concern. Sunny is many things, but he isn’t noble. He’s pragmatic. Realistic. (Selfish.) He protects his friends because he loves them. He loves them because it makes him feel good. He knows that he’s nobody’s hero.

So it wasn’t only worry. He was curious, too. About Aubrey, especially.

Aubrey. Seeing her was a shock to his system, a lightning-strike straight to the brainstem. He’d remembered her fussy, unflinching. Brash, but not insensitive. Forceful, but never cruel. The girl he met in the park… It couldn’t be Aubrey. How could it be Aubrey? She was wild with hate. Her eyes burned coldest when glaring at him.

But Sunny had trusted Aubrey. She was his compass, his focus. The one he could trust to speak from the heart. Aubrey was true to the bone. What could have made her like this?

(Sunny, Sunny, Sunny. Everything she lost and kept losing, it was all because of—)

—But he’s getting carried away. And anyway, that can’t have been the reason. Sunny didn’t have to go outside to hate himself, or blame himself. He was doing a perfectly adequate job of that all on his own. So then, why?

Ohhh, he realizes. It’s because— “It was fun.”

Sunny confronted the truth—the searing torment of an unbearable reality—because he was having fun. Fun! While he was awake! When’s the last time that he could say that?

When Kel knocked on his door, Sunny was, truth be told, probably not taking very good care of himself. Not being altogether kind. He used to think that he liked himself well enough, when Mari was alive. And then she died, and Sunny realized it was only ever Mari. Mari had loved him, and Mari knew everything, so it stood to reason that he must have deserved it. He’d felt entitled to all kinds of kindness, when he was Mari’s little brother. But when she was gone—and after what he’d done—

And then he opened the door and Kel beamed at him like a living, breathing sun. Kel took him by the hand and drew him out into the light and then acted like Sunny was the one who’d done something amazing. He looked wildly different, a hundred feet taller and stronger and more beautiful, and somehow he still felt exactly the same. And hanging out felt exactly the same.

But everything else was so new! The town thronged with faces that Sunny’d never seen before, or that he’d known and then forgot. He walked up to a million strangers and made Kel do all the talking, just like he used to when they were small. And even though Sunny had spent the past four years rotting inside, somehow Kel had grown more confident than ever. He was just as utterly, instantly at ease as Sunny remembered.

You could make a sort of game of it. Pushing Kel’s buttons, pushing your luck. Pressing at the boundaries of his comfort zone to see where they would break. Of course Kel could find rapport with the anxious artist drawing landscapes in the park, or the boy on the bench with the dreamy green eyes. But what about those fashionable newlyweds lost in the throes of choice paralysis? Or the bearded old weirdo muttering to himself in the hardware aisle?

Sunny walked into the homes of total strangers just to see what Kel would say. He wasn’t doing it to hurt him. It was like Mari hiding spiders in Hero’s desk. It’s just so exciting, finding out what someone’s going to do. Never knowing what’s going to happen next.

“So that’s it?” Omori demands. “That’s why you left. Uncertainty? Surprise? You left because you wanted to lose control?”

Hm. Sunny wouldn’t have put it like that, but… yeah. Maybe, yeah. It sounds sort of right.

“But that isn’t fair!” Omori hisses, flaring hot. “You made me to protect you from change, and then you went and changed into someone who didn’t even want that!”

Sunny frowns. “Do you want to change?”

“No!!”

Hm. Maybe that was the wrong question. “Do you… want to want to change?”

“No!! Or—” Omori hesitates. “I—don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know if you could be here if I didn’t.”

…Hm.

“The others,” Omori says shortly. “They’re—different. From how you made them. They’re not just our friends anymore. They’re, like. People.”

(Ideally friends are people, but that probably won’t be very helpful right now.)

“It’s like…” Omori trails off. “Like they’re not bound by what happened. Or who they used to be. I don’t even know if Mari is our sister anymore, or if she’s just—” He slams one fist against the arm of the couch, burying his knife to the hilt in the faded upholstery. “I don’t know how to say it.”

Sunny knows how that is. “Just say whatever. Sometimes some of it is right.”

Omori lapses into silence, but Sunny knows how that is, too. He sits on the ground and waits.

A few minutes drift by before Omori opens his mouth. “…That story you told.”

Sunny blinks.

“About pissing yourself.”

Ah. Naturally.

Omori huffs a breath. “I don’t remember that.”

Well… of course not. When Sunny was in first grade, Omori didn’t exist.

“I’m supposed to be you,” Omori mutters. “Or, something that used to be you. A piece of you. Whatever. But I don’t even have any of your memories. I don’t remember growing up, or coming here or anything. I’ve been trying and trying, but the first thing I remember is just empty white. And a black hanging bulb. And hearing someone crying.”

Sunny frowns. “Do you want my memories?”

“No! I don’t know! I just want—anything! To know anything! What I’m supposed to be, or—who I’m supposed to…” He trails off. “I just want to know what I’m for.”

“I’m not sure people are for anything.”

“Maybe where you’re from,” Omori scoffs. “Not here. Anyway, I’m not a person.”

There’s a lot that Sunny doesn’t know, but that definitely doesn’t sound right. “You’re—”

“Don’t argue,” Omori spits. “I know what people are. They feel things, and grow, and—grow up. That’s why you left. Isn’t it? Because you wanted something real.”

Sunny hesitates. That’s probably true, but… it’s not the whole truth. But he doesn’t know how to say it.

Omori barks a laugh. “You made it so I couldn't change, and then you changed into someone who didn't want that. Not that I cared,” he adds, bitterly. “I still had my friends. But now they’re changing, too. And I thought… If I brought your stupid friends here and made them face themselves, like we did, then… maybe everything could go back to how it was. But it didn’t. They’re still changing. Everyone is changing, except me. Because that’s how you made me.” He bares his teeth, ablaze with sudden fury. “It isn’t fair! I hate you! I should hate you forever and ever! Till you die and ever after!”

For a second, Sunny is scared that he’s going to get stabbed again. But it only lasts a moment, and then Omori collapses back into his seat.

“After you left,” Omori says. Leaden, resigned. “I. Missed you. Isn’t that stupid? It’s not like you were good company. All you ever did was lay around and cry.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Sunny says quietly.

“Hah. Right. Of course you’d want me to be as pathetic as you. I’m just a memory. Just a scar over something that’s already healed. Being here probably feels nostalgic.”

That’s… not entirely untrue. But saying so would probably also not be very helpful.

“You threw me away and I can’t even hate you,” Omori says. “Or resent you, or—miss you. Because that’s not how you made me. And even if I could, I—” He has to force the words through gritted teeth. “—don’t. Want to.” He barks a laugh. “All you ever gave me was your ugliest, broken-est parts and I still won’t throw them away, because it’s—all I have left. Because I don’t want to lose you. Even after you threw me away.”

“I didn’t throw you away.”

“You—” Omori trips over his tongue. “—What?”

You can read the rest of the finale here: ao3.org/works/45213322/chapters/129661372

#omori fanfic #headspace au #omori spoilers #timeskip #omori sunny #omori #closure #no ships

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the-new-kiddo-on-the-block · 1 year

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A Detailed Report on Hawthorn Suites in Henderson, Nevada

(from a former Employee)

----------

Okay so as it's my last day at this miserable goddamn shithole of a job, so, in accordance with my leaving, I just want to make a cautionary remark to anyone in Vegas/Henderson who wants to work here:

DO NOT APPLY TO THESE ASSHOLES FOR SHIT. Don't even stayover.

Lemme explain-

Ok so, it seems nice, right? I mean, sure, it looks so nice, don't it? And the pay seems fair, and it sounds like pretty simple work.

It looks so spacious and clean and pristine-

Unfortunately, the truth lies within the poor reviews on Google, Expedia, Booking.com and Priceline.

These pictures? Hardly how the actual place looks, save the lobby and exterior photos.

The flooring is old. The walls are so thin that it's hard to get a good night's rest. Rooms have been put out of order, and they even have a condemned room on the third floor. Transients and all manner of folk come into the hotel, and as much I hate to say it, the managers on duty do not give as much of a shit as they say they do; they basically talk out of their asses.

Maintenance issues are a problem daily- from the elevator being down to the pool being cleaned, to tvs and baths and washing machines not working, to even leaks weeping from the floors above- and the place is severely understaffed. Everyone is working themselves stupid while the hiring manager stays home and barely comes in unless necessary; and is, suffice to say, an absolute weasel.

Think of Fawlty Towers with Basil, except nothing's fucking funny about anything happening there.

Now, some younger peeps and people who don't watch British television might not get that reference, but for those that do, you're the real ones.. and you know what I mean when I say this place is a heaping dung pile they try to shine up for hiring candidates.

They don't tell you upon hiring that they have several security cameras out, no door locks to the front or back entrances, several problems with their luggage carts, etc. They don't tell you that they run in with awful folk who will very likely threaten you, the company, and the job you have. They also won't tell you, probably until you're hired, that the elevator has major issues and, as I'm writing this, has been shut down already for over two months.

Did I mention that door locks often don't work and often need to be replaced in guests rooms, and god forbid it happen on swing shift? Cuz it's the front desk's responsibility, at night, to handle all guests needs.

Oh yeah, there's some fine print for ya. You have to work four different jobs at once.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Now, I could just be saying all this, I could just be blowing hot steam at a job I have worked half a year for--

HERE ARE SOME ACTUAL GODDAMN REVIEWS ON THE PLACE IN THE LAST SEVEN MONTHS:

Y e a h.

And this is from more recent and unhappy customers.

Past coworkers have even reached out to me after only working a few shifts to tell me their horror stories and why they ended up quitting. Or even intending to quit.

Employees are overworked and underpaid. $13 an hour to be exact, starting. If you have some experience, they might bump you up for a dollar more before deciding if they want you as a manager or not. Then again, they already have three working managers as of this year, so they don't need someone to be in charge-

They need sheeple to do what they say and ask without question, cuz they think they'll get productivity out of it.

And if you don't believe me? Talk with some of the long-standing guests over there, who have had to put up with bullshit from this hotel. They can tell you just how fucked the place is.

The managers only care about themselves. They don't care who they drag under, just to look like the better person, but they're greedy cheapskates. Overcharging their guests, who just want a nice place to stay away from the Strip. Getting stuff as cheaply as they can afford just to make guests times at the hotel a little easier.

And by cheap I mean they literally will order stuff from China and Costco, just to get it at cheap prices.

It gets worse. I don't know how, but it does.

The turnover for employees is incredibly bad. Like, employees have quit within days or weeks of starting. Some have lasted a few months, some only a day. I have only been there since August, and the place is just run foul and falling apart.

And if you're still considering working here? Good luck. This place will burn out so much hope and good out of you.

If you're considering staying here as a guest? Don't. You can do better. You really can. Seriously. Check out anywhere else on Boulder Highway or Henderson, and book ahead of time.

Oh yeah, the prices are off too. Rooms are anywhere between $99-150 on weekdays, and on weekends that shit doubles and possibly triples, depending on events and holidays. And if you have a pet? You would be better off leaving it or finding it a pet hotel, because they will charge you $27.09 for a pet every single day of your trip, as long as it's under 50 pounds. And there's a max of two pets per room. And emotional support animals aren't bypassed by the Hotel, so, they're getting charged. They have to be full-on service dog to stay for free. Period.

Oh, and the security deposit they mention online? $100. One fucking Benjamin. And locals have to pay that deposit in cash.

Yeah, you'd be better off elsewhere. Whether it's for a new job or staying over, just go somewhere else. Not worth it. The only good that came out of my working there was that I gained a shit-ton of confidence and know how a hotel fucking runs. And I have a deeper respect for all goddamn people who work at a hotel.

So, thank you Hawthorn Suites by Wyndham, Henderson, Nevada-- for being such a shit job and teaching me resilience.

#hotels #henderson nevada #las vegas #Henderson #hotel review #job review #do not work here #do not stay here #the place is a joke #shut up kido #spread the word

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hardynwa · 4 months

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Young Climate Change leaders to plant 10,000 trees in Enugu

Young climate change leaders in Enugu have pledged to plant 10,000 trees in Enugu as part of activities to make the state greener. The leaders made the pledge during a visit, coordinated by Prof. Chukwumerije Okereke, to the Enugu State Government to inform him of their plan to make the state greener and more resilient. The visit to the Enugu State government wa s one of the activities planned as part of the implementation of the International Visitors’ Leadership Programme (IVLP) impact award given to Prof. Okereke by the U.S. Department of State Bureau for Education and Cultural Affairs. The IVLP impact project which was implemented in partnership with the Society for Planet & Prosperity, the Center for Climate Change & Development (CCCD) Alex Ekwueme Federal University Ndufu-Alike & Eco-Cyclers, was designed to train young climate and environmental advocates from Enugu State and environs on the role of urban greening in combating urban air pollution and climate change. Thirty-one young climate leaders were selected from a pool of over 4,000 applicants to participate in the prestigious training programme. The purpose of the visit was to inform the state government about the activities carried out under the project's activities and their impact. These activities included a two-day training on climate change, urban greening, and air quality measurements. It also included a climate education exercise involving over 7,000 children from three public secondary schools in Enugu, as well as the planting of over 100 economic and ornamental trees in strategic locations throughout the city. Young leaders also took advantage of the visit to express their vision and ideas for transforming Enugu into a green and climate-resilient city in keeping with the city's reputation as a clean, ambient, and family-friendly metropolis. The young leaders were accompanied in the visit by the honourable commissioner for environment in Enugu State, Prof. Sam Ugwu. The SSG, Prof. Chidiebere Onyia, was very delighted to meet with the young leaders, stating that the present government in Enugu State, under the leadership of His Excellency Barrister Ndubuisi Mbah, is taking the issue of climate change seriously. The evidence can be seen in the modification of the state Ministry of Environment to accommodate climate change and the appointment of some senior officials in the climate change sphere to ensure success and sustainability. The SSG also informed the young leaders of a proposed trust fund for climate-related activities, which will benefit the young leaders once implementation commences. The target is to plant about 10,000 trees around the Awhum axis in the Udi local government area of the state as a pilot. The team presented the two artworks to the SSG on behalf of Prof. Chukwumerije Okereke. The presentation was done by Ogechi Nwonye, Basil Ojengwa, and Elochukwu Anieze. The SSG appreciated the young leaders and promised to ensure that the members of the team were carried along when the implementation of the trust fund is flagged off. The Hon. Commissioner pledged to contact the young leaders once the tree-planting campaign is underway so they can join forces with the state government to make it a success. Both the SSG and the commissioner commended Prof. Okereke for the initiative and his wider contribution to manpower and sustainable development in Enugu State, describing him as a worthy ambassador of the state Read the full article

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edgewaterfarmcsa · 2 years

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CSA WEEK 9

p i c k l i s t

TOMATOES! - CORN! - CHERRY TOMATOES - JALAPENO PEPPERS - SWEET CARMEN PEPPERS -

MELON - SHISO - THAI BASIL - FUNFETTI ZUCCHINI - CLASSIC ZUCCHINI - FENNEL - ARUGULA - ZINNIAS

I imagine when you read this your body will be in total peace and relaxation with the 10 degree drop in temps that is supposed to come our way Wednesday. But from here- Tuesday- it remains bloody hot. The air is thick, and the sun is just demolishing us all. It would be one thing if our work schedule for the day revolved around a swimming hole and the act of jumping in it, but that is not the case. This heat wave is relentless and we are feeling it.

Every morning we rise to beat the heat, but as soon as that sun peeps through, forget about it. All of us: plants, people just go to wilt mode. Very little complaints are heard from the field crew, but it’s not necessary, you can see how the day is going by the drench of the shirt. The sweat is also an indicator of where people have been. For example, If it looks like someone just walked out of a swimming pool in all their clothes, then you know they’ve been picking tomatoes in a greenhouse. If it looks like someone just got sprayed by an elephant truck, then I would guess that farmer just came from the blueberry fields.

It’s a lot of work to remain upright, but if we all leave the crops to take a little beach holiday, then they will ripen into rot. So we work 6 days of the week, and from the fields you can hear friends reminding friends to take gas.*

As far as crops go, some of them like our tomatoes are thriving. Others, like our brassicas- broccoli in particular- are struggling. What is usually a blueish green veg currently has a yellowish tint to it indicating stress. Downy mildew and other airborne diseases are making their way north, and this thick heat is really providing a great habitat for that stuff to thrive and travel. Farming is no breeze right now. But I’m trusting the weather apps, and come tomorrow morning, the breeze will come.

One more thing while I got a soap box- I hate when farmers complain about the weather- and I admittedly do it way more often than not. But damn, it sure would be nice to experience for once farming in perfect conditions. Gonna have to ask the elders, Anne and Pooh about farming pre extreme climate change- I promise to report back next week.

In other news that feels very important, the watermelons are coming! Every other day we go through the melons (cantaloupes and honeydew) crossing our fingers that the next row over is ready. We’ve wasted a couple of watermelons to foolish impatience (not quite ripe). But this past Saturday, on August 6th (also Jamaica’s independence day!!) we picked two from the field that were ripe and ready. It all feels like a spiritual experience when you find the first ripe watermelon of the season. Therefore it is mandatory to stop all harvest, put down all bushel baskets, take a slice and rejoice in the best fruit there ever was.

*take gas: field crew code for drink water

Pro-tips:

CLAIRE’S FIRST IMPRESSION: salad and poppers

Starting a new section this week called Claire’s first impressions in which I ask the most bomb chef I know to look at this list and tell us all what to make. Without hesitation she said salad, then paused and said, “but let me tell you what I’m gonna do with the jalapenos…”

Slice in half

Fill with goat cheese

Roast or grill

Devour as per usual

And as for me, i plan to pickle….

1) slice your peppers into rounds. There’s no law against using whole jalapeños, but smaller pieces will soak up the brine faster.

2) Bring 1 cup distilled white vinegar, 2 Tbsp. kosher salt, 2 tsp. sugar, up to 2 Tbsp. spices (e.g., peppercorns, coriander seeds, and/or mustard seeds), chopped fresh herbs (like cilantro), and 2 cups water to a boil in a saucepan You’ll want enough liquid to cover the peppers, so feel free to scale this ratio up or down as needed.

3)Transfer sliced peppers to clean glass jars and pour over the brine, leaving ½ inch of headspace between the liquid line and the rim. Screw on the lids and let the jars cool before transferring to the fridge. Your pickled jalapeños will be best after 48 hours and last up to two months refrigerated.

makes 12 Servings

DIPPING SAUCE

1/2 cup fresh lime juice

3 tablespoons fish sauce (such as nam pla or nuoc nam)

3 tablespoons sugar

2 fresh red Thai chiles or 1 red jalapeño or Fresno chile, thinly sliced

SUMMER ROLLS

4 ounces bean thread noodles (cellophane or transparent noodles)

12 8'-9' rice paper rounds

Tofu or other cooked protein cut into strips

1 cup fresh Thai basil leaves

1 cup fresh shiso leaves plus 1 tablespoon chopped

1 cup fresh mint leaves

1 cup cucumber, cut into matchstick-size pieces

1 cup sweet carmen pepper cut into matchstick-size pieces

12 small arugula leaves

Preparation

DIPPING SAUCE

Step 1

Mix all ingredients in a medium bowl. DO AHEAD Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover and chill.

SUMMER ROLLS

Step 2

Put noodles in a large bowl. Pour enough hot water over to cover; let stand until softened, about 10 minutes. Drain. Transfer to a large bowl of ice water to cool; drain and set aside.

Step 3

Fill a pie plate with warm water. Working with 1 rice paper round at a time, soak rice paper in water, turning occasionally, until just pliable but not limp, about 30 seconds. Transfer to a work surface. Arrange 3 tofu strips across the center of round. Top with some leaves of each herb, then cucumber, and pepper. Arrange a small handful of noodles over. Place 1 arugula leaf over, torn or folded to fit. Fold bottom of rice paper over filling, then fold in ends and roll like a burrito into a tight cylinder. Transfer roll, seam side down, to a platter. Repeat to make 11 more rolls. DO AHEAD Can be made 1 hour ahead. Cover with a damp kitchen towel and refrigerate.

Step 4

To serve, cut rolls in half on diagonal. Add chopped shiso to dipping sauce.

And now with all leftover greens, lets make SALAD

The following crops are begging to be made into a salad:

Shiso - Thai basil - arugula - fennel (thinly slice!) - zucchini (shave thin using a peeler!)

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1-beansss-1 · 2 years

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Basile

repost because i accidentally deleted it.. but more lore added

Little facts about him

• he's never been to a restaurant and he doesn't know what they are

• He doesn't have a phone except a home one his mom had

• Never been out to anywhere fun(like amusement parks, pools, or parks)

• Only place he isn't scared is his home

• He hates going out of the house unless absolutely necessary (like going to work or getting food)

• He likes books and hates watching tv because of the loud sudden noises

• He doesn't even know that his childhood was bad, he thinks everyone was raised like that

• The only place outside he was aloud to go was the small backyard

• He didn't go to his mom's funeral because he was too scared(didn't understand the significance of it)

• Very very very scared of snakes(more than his usual scared)

• He doesn't know what video games are

• He spents his time at home cleaning or reading

• He has never actually graduated because he was homeschooled so he just has a homeschooler's diploma

• The only thing he isn't scared of is cats because there were a lot of stray cats around his home and getting in his backyard

• He never noticed how controlling his mom was and thought it was normal

• He never liked it when his mom left for work or to go shopping

• He doesn't like to be alone but doesn't know a way not to

• He's even scared of children

• He is 5'1

• He has lost his voice before because he was screaming a lot and thought he lost his voice forever which lead him to cry and scream(try to at least) even more

• An "I LOVE YOU" drunk and will want all the cuddles

• Favorite color is an off red

#art #artwork #digital art #my art #artists on tumblr #character art #my oc art #oc #ocs #he scared of everything #scaredy cat

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fiberpest58 · 2 years

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cutearomantic · 2 years

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curveball

Josiah x black fem reader

Trigger warning; dub-con , DARK CONTENT (but the reader has a crush on Josiah), blood, murder, smut, degradation, josiah is a bit of a dick , public sex, hair pulling

/.0210

Swiping away at your phone as everyone else mindlessly tapped away at their keyboards, a friend of yours named Basil had went missing and you didn’t know where she was, never picked up her phone, wasn’t at her house ; hell you even called her mom and she was just GONE !

It worried you everyone wondered where she was until the manger came through and said Basil was on a trip out of state, this relieved you but where was her phone, she couldn’t of left without it that girl loves her phone too much to leave it behind but you thought it was best to need investigate, it was none of your business anyways—

You continued scrolling through your phone , as the hours flew by like it was almost time for some peoples shift to end had you really spent that much time on your phone?! You really need to get a hobby something because this is getting sad and pathetic, you cut off as one of your co-workers spoke “Have a safe night name, if you need anyone Josiah can help!”.

You smiled and waved “Thank you! I’ll turn to him if i need anything”. Josiah hearing the conversation started heading back to someone’s corridor, he smiled as he taps the person shoulder “hey, cmon I need discuss something with you, about the recent murders” the person shivered as he said murder but got up from his chair and headed out back. Following Josiah , he put his hand over the anonymous male mouth, muffling him from screaming as he dragged him into the break room.

The male biting Josiah hand as he tries to run to the door as Josiah grabs the knife on the counter, stabbing him in the back as he hits the wall, blood soaking the clean white walls as the male begs for forgiveness as he steps on the male dropping the knife right into his neck region. Silence, only thing being heard is the blood dripping down the walls he picks up the knife as he heads to counter he hears the door open, revealing you

Your beautiful body, pretty face , cute curves, everything amazing, but you had to ruin it you began to scream and backed away from the scene as you tried running down the long hallway he grabbed you by your shirt, dragging you into the room screaming and pleading for someone to help you as he slammed the door, pushing you up against the wall, hand over your mouth , he let out a chuckle “you see, you caught me huh? But I guess you know we’re this going until..” he paused staring at your skirt as he tilts his head near your ear “you can’t tell anyone if your dumbed out”. Breathe hitched in your throat as you gulped as he continued to push your skirt up , until your panties were shown , body hot and tense as his cold hands roamed your thighs squeezing and squishing them.

“J-Josiah, can we talk about this ?!” “We are talking about this, just in a different way”. You’d be damned if you told him to keep squishing your thighs as he hooked his fingers on your panties pulling them down till they pooled on the floor. And here you were pussy exposed while a your sexy co-owner was covered in blood, he took off his shirt and threw it somewhere where he returns back to you , fingers on the lips of your pussy rubbing up and down , moans slipping from your lips as you let him have his way with you as he kept teasing and rubbing on your lips, circling and pushing on your cunt as you moaned.

He sneaked a finger in as you moans his name loudly but don’t forget your still in the work establishment with this psycho of a hottie, he continued fingering you as small whimpers, and moans fell from your lips “hm, a slutty co-worker of mine getting off to my fingers even though I killed one of her friends, you must a common street whore huh?” the words that he said pulled your heart strings as tears fell from your face. But the pleasure attached felt so good until he pulled his out, that orgasm that you long desired gone, you pressed your head against the cold wall as Josiah, grabbed your leg pulling you both in position were he could free his cock.

Taking his cock out he pressed against your cock grinding against you as your pussy covered him in your juices until he pushed inside using his hand to cover your mouth from the loud scream you let out, the stretch was painful he was big, really big for someone who’s never talked to a woman before (sorry). He started thrusting inside of you all kinds of degrading left his mouth calling you a “slut, a whore even a bitch” you were dick drunk as he fucked you fast he was dumbing you out as your juices dripped down your legs. You were basically nothing mind foggy you didn’t even know where you were as he gripped your hair pushing deeper inside of you. Moans and groans filling the room as you put yours hands on the wall again for support your body was burning as you gritted your teeth, his last thrusts before he pumped you full of his load as his thrusted a little bit more rubbing your clit as you orgasmed, you gulped as you collapsed against the wall.

As you laid against the wall he smiled a pat your head “good girl..you won’t even remember this moment”

Note; omg a dark content smut so gross of me jk I hope u enjoyed

#josiah smut #overtime josiah #overtime x reader #overtime horror game #overtime smut #overtime #josiah overtime #tw dark fic #tw dark content #tw dubious consent #tw dubcon #smut with plot #tw murder #tw blood

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helloblobbyblobfish · 2 years

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A ghost of a memory

I'm supposed to be at work today. But I'm having a hard time getting up. My coworker Mehdi died falling into the pool. He apparently broke his ankle in the fall and couldn't reach the surface. He wasn't a good swimmer to begin with.

Mehdi shouldn't have been the one cleaning. It's not what a bellhop is taking care of. But nobody wants to confess. And a timetable that put him in charge of the pool last Thursday was given to the police. I tried to show them the one we were given the previous Monday, where he was tending the garden at that precise time. They didn't listen nor care that much.

Of course, we were given a week to mourn, but we migrants don't have a lot of time for ourselves before being without a single euro. So, our boss Basile Vlachos was more than happy to reopen. Assholes paid us less because we weren't working, to make sure we would crawl back to him.

His rich clients were more than happy that their vacations were only shortened by the death and not stopped. They couldn't check into a lesser hotel where the staff has rights!

But I was affected a lot more than the rest of my colleagues. Why, you ask? Because Mehdi was my boyfriend. We weren't open because we were worried how others would react. And because relationships with coworkers aren't well-seen by the management. But I can't see how I will work in the place where my love died.

Suddenly, somebody's knocking at the door of my apartment. Come on! I told my landlord about the death and that I would need a bit more time. I expect the person to leave, but I have to go soon. I close my bedroom door and groggily put on a sleeveless shirt and a boxer. It's hot under the sun in the red uniform but I'm not going to be nude underneath either. I take a look at my tanned brown skin. I have visible small muscles, but I couldn't tell if it's because of physical work or starvation.

I didn't really register the noises coming from the entry, but I realize I should have when I see a man has entered my home.

He's a tall greek with brown hair pushed on the side, a stubble and brown eyes that absorb the light rather than reflect it. He barely blinks and looks at my stuff, and a bit of Mehdi's, with nostalgia. He has a golden ring in one ear and wears a blue shirt and brown pants. He looks at me and whispers in broken greek: "Bassim… my love what happens to you?"

It's so weird. He has a mix of moroccan accent and a natural greek pronunciation. He also isn't sure of his words, like my departed boyfriend. Wait. "Mehdi? No way… You are dead…" I know I should doubt it, but I am so deep in grief I'm willing to believe the dumb idea that my deceased moroccan boyfriend is now a greecian hunk.

"Yes, dead… But living dead. Took man's body."

I decide to be smart about this. "Really? Then, can you tell me how you opened the door?" He looks hurt that I don't believe him at face value but pull off… oh god, the keys I gave to Mehdi. He simply states: "Hide it. Under carpet front of my house" I didn't know he hid it there. But nobody could have guessed it was for an apartment in another street if they simply found it.

I jump at him and kiss him. He is more than happy to let me take control. I am interrupted by a call from my boss, Mr. Vlachos. He tells me a man called Tylio Panagiotou requested that I serve him personally for the duration of his two-week stay at the hotel. He paid several hundreds more for it. Mr. Vlachos tells me to warn him if Mr. Panagiotou is acting "fruity", but I think that even if I were raped, my boss would fire me to protect the establishement's reputation.

After the call ends, I almost crush my phone out of anger. I turn towards Mehdi. "I'm so sorry, honey." I cry. I just got him back. And he won't have a job at the hotel today. Even if he quit his host boy's job and applied for a job at the hotel, he won't be here to protect me from that guy. "A man named Tylio Panago-something wants me as his butler. Fucking rich men!"

Mehdi, who I know as very protective, is surprisingly smirking. He pulls a card out of one pocket of his pants. I take a look and laugh. The papers of his host body are the one of one Tylio Panagiotou!

I come to the hotel by foot. I put on my uniform and try to calm Safia who worries what a man could want with him. I reassure her I will fight if I need to. I won't have to, but I'm not sure how to explain it.

I then go to see "Mr. Panagiotou". Room 297. He already checked in and arrived in a sports car. I wonder if he picked a rich guy specifically or if it was at random. He did take a week to reach me.

When I enter, he is naked on his bed! He asks me to close the door and add: "You wanted daddy? I can be daddy now!" Did I want?! I always wanted to call Mehdi daddy, but he wasn't into it. Did getting a new body released a kinkier side of him?

"Mehdi, you" I kiss his body everywhere

"always" neck

"were" belly

"an" hands

"handsome" tights

"daddy" dick.

I kiss his lips. "You didn't have to prove anything." I put my hand in his hair. "I love you and find you sexy no matter the body you are in."

He grabs my head and gives me a rough kiss, like he wants to swallow me. We fall on the bed. We rush to take my clothes off. But we don't destroy them. You learn to take care of the few things you have and other's propriety when you barely have anything.

Once I'm naked, I show my butt to the handsome man. He is captivated by it. He kisses my neck and continues down my back. I moan. "Please daddy, take my body. Let's try together what you can do!" But he continues kissing and uses his arm to keep me in place. When he finally reaches my crack, he rims me! "Oh, oh yes! Continue, greek daddy! Show me what you got compared to a Moroccan or an Algerian stud!"

He stops and makes a terrible greek accent imitation. "Quiet. Daddy shows how superior daddy is to African men. Daddy superior for other means than money." I laugh. "Most Greeks aren't even rich, daddy. I better hope you have something more than money to compete."

He shoves two fingers in my butt and does the scissors. I hope the walls covered the noise I just made. After stretching me, Mehdi finally shoves his sword in me. It's not as big as his previous one, but he sure does know how to use it. He manages to hit my prostate in a good rhythm, whereas Mehdi used to have trouble finding it.

After the phenomenal sleep, mehdi/"Tylio" put me against his chest and asks me to sleep. I had trouble after his death, so I won't complain.

When I awake, I see most of the afternoon has passed. Mehdi is bringing a bag of food. My uniform has been ironed and rests on a chair. Mehdi sees me. Wait, the eyes have a lighter color, but look dead. Mehdi speaks, in perfect greek: "You are awake. The master left my body for a surprise. But I am your humble servant. I will do whatever you ask, for you are his soulmate."

Okay, I might need to talk with Mehdi about his powers, and this is Tylio. Okay? Well, I can wait for my boyfriend to come back. I'm happy that he is just back at all, but he seems determined to make sure we have a great life from now on.

#Did this story a few weeks ago but never went around to post it #ghost possession #male possession #possession #mind control #gay mind control #my writing

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ratsoh-writes · 3 years

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Okay, so let's assume the boys have an activity they would prefer not to do. It could be helping someone move or clearing out their garage. They don't want to do it but if they were bribed, they could. What would said bribing item be for the main ten?

How about everybody?? ;))

Sans: he HATES laundry. The only way you can get him to do laundry is is to nag to tears for days straight. Literally. This is why papyrus nags so much. Sans is unbribable

Papyrus: honestly this guy will agree to just about anything legal if he likes someone. He’s not the biggest fan of dusting though. It’s a boring chore. If you really want to bribe him, a hug is enough. Papyrus doesn’t need convincing to do a less favored chore

Star: he really dislikes making the bed because he’s impatient and the sheets never look right. A SO can get him excited to do that chore with just a meaningful wink though. Or if you’re just a friend, promise some sugary sweet. Star is another agreeable guy

Honey: he hates scrubbing the toilet. He’s a skeleton monster! He shouldn’t have to do that!!! Honey can be bribed with doughnuts though.

Red: there’s only two people that can get red to do something he doesn’t want to. Edge and his SO. And it doesn’t matter what it is (besides murder). If his SO lays a leg on his shoulder red is ready to work lol

Edge: there isn’t really any chore that edge hates. A good bribe though is a new pen or notebook. Yes he has too many, but he can’t say no to another lol

Mal: he’s not a fan of yard work or any chore that’s especially dirty. He can be bribed with a jar of pickles. Only people who know him very well know his weakness

Cash: he’ll do anything for his SO if they flashed them some cleavage ;))). Or extra hot salsa for a buddy. Or just pay him honestly. Cash is no stranger to hard work and isn’t hard to convince for any job

Oak: a sandwich. But not any sandwich. It has to be one of those ones that are so thick it hurts your jaw to take a bite out. This bribe works for everything except laundry.

Willow: the majority of chores that one would have to bribe him for are ones that would really strain his back. Do you want that on your conscious?? Other than that, if willow likes you, a hug is all he needs. If he doesn’t like you, then something useful like jars or diy supplies

Charm: he hates the dishes and refuses to do them if he’s not on the job. Charm can only be bribed to do those with some sort of shiny new kitchen supply like a mixer or frosting tips

Sugar: he’s very eager to please and will do just about anything for a friend. If you absolutely insist on bribing sugar though, flowers are the way to go.

Lord: he can only be bribed by friends, but once you reach that point it’s not too hard. A promise of coffee or an old history book usually works

Mutt: only his brother or SO can truly get him to do something he doesn’t want to. And they don’t need to bribe him ever. Mutt just does it. If his SO asks what he wants for the favor, he always gives the same answer. A cheek kiss

Wine: he won’t be happy about any sort of dirty jobs like pool cleaning, but he can be bribed to help if you give him a bottle of the good stuff ;).

Coffee: nothing can get him to do anything involving greeting a bunch of strangers. But any other work coffee won’t mind too much if you’re a close friend and promising ice cream later

Pop: he’s a little bit scared of the vacuum and will avoid that chore at all costs. But bring him a nice bubble bath mix and he might be convinced

Rhythm: the only thing keeping this guy from helping every one is his busy schedule. Rhythm doesn’t need bribes but if you insist, he likes frozen yogurt

Pluto: if he likes you and you come bearing shiny rocks, he’ll happily help with whatever lol

Jupiter: he hates long drives if there’s no fun destination. So, say someone wanted him to come with them to a shopping center two hours away, Jupiter will need to be bribed. Bruiser likes really big cheeseburgers, or for especially annoying tasks, a promise of something fun and active like paintball

G: the only thing that can get G to wash windows is a pack of his smokes. And it has to be the exact brand he always picks. Nothing else. He’ll be offended if you don’t offer his usual

Green: he doesn’t like using power washers because he always gets wet. But green can be bribed to use one with the promise of some nice tea and conversation

Peaches: he can’t stand feeding the chickens but peaches is also a food whore. He’ll do just about anything for some good pie

Rancher: he actually enjoys work and doesn’t have to be bribed for chores. He doesn’t like sitting through romance movies though and needs time be bribed to watch one with a friend. Rancher is pretty easy, just promise that he picks next activity

Snipe: he’s pretty much unbribable if he decides he doesn’t want to do it. But for things snipe isn’t being stubborn on, greasy fast food burgers go a long way lol

Bruiser: what he can be bribed with is just as unpredictable as he is. Like one day, bruiser could care less about that 100$ bill but the bag of catnip could get him to rob a bank. You never know unless you try

Ace: thin mint cookies. Ace would even rough up a guy for them. But they can’t be any cookies. They have to be the ones butch is hiding. Ace doesn’t actually care about the cookies, he just wants to stick it to butch

Slim: a flirtatious text or photo from his SO is all slim needs to get working. If you two are platonic only though, then there’s not much you can bribe slim with. His helpfulness all depends on his mood

Butch: he’s very easily bribed with either thin mints or a bottle of the good stuff. Butch is predictable, and there’s not much he hates doing in particular

Boss: one thing he does hate doing is painting because of how it can stain his clothes. But if you have a cat that boss hasn’t met, you can bribe him with some promised pets later

Rust: he’s a tiny bit nicer than red and can be bribed by friends. Get him some basic craft paints and he’s cool for most chores.

Noir: he’s very specific about his paints and books so bribing noir takes planning. Your best bet is to ask him specifically what he wants for a favor first.

Lilac: he’s more likely to be helpful just because he’s a nice guy and wants to show off how capable he is. But if you insist on bribing lilac, any sort of sweets are the way to go. Except really chewy gummies. They’re his least favorite candy

Basil: if your task involves large crowds, then the only thing that could possibly get basil to agree is if he was worried about your safety. For other chores though, he’s easily bribed by fresh fruits and veggies. Basil likes variety

#undertale imagines #undertale headcanons #undertale #underswap #underfell #swapfell #horrortale #underlust #fellswap red #fellswap gold #dancetale #outertale #gastertale #farmtale #mafiatale #mafiafell #mafiaswap #horrorfell #horrorswap

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the-king-andthe-lionheart · 3 years

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A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Arya Stark and her Cinderella Motifs

In A Song of Ice and Fire, GRRM often uses fairy tale motifs to help tell a character’s story. Sometimes this motif spans all throughout the characters arc while other times it will only be used for one or two scenes, or anywhere in between. And often one character can have several fairy tale motifs at different times in their arcs or even running concurrently. For Arya, she has quite a few fairy tale motifs in her arc, but for now I’m going to focus on her Cinderella motifs that are mainly prevalent in A Clash of Kings but do show up at other times all throughout her arc as well. I’m going to focus primarily on Arya’s A Clash of Kings arc, but we will be stopping by A Storm of Swords and A Feast for Crows a few times too. And I am going to use several versions of the retellings of Cinderella, including the Disney version, but only the 1950 original and none of its sequels. I also want to note that not all the parallels are obvious due to things being more metaphorical or symbolic, while other times being whatever subversion that tickled GRRM’s fancy at the time.

There are many common aspects across the board when it comes to Cinderella retellings. Often it entails the heroine losing one or both of her parents, being oppressed by her abusive stepmother and stepsisters and being forced into menial, backbreaking labor that leaves the heroine dirty and often covered in ashes. It usually entails a magical guardian who helps the heroine, magical transformations, ballgowns and a ball where she falls in love with either a Prince or a King. An identifying item is also involved, usually a slipper made of gold or glass, where one of the pair is lost when the heroine is running from her beloved. And the Prince/King almost always searches the realm for the woman that identifying item belongs to, and when he finds the heroine they usually marry.

Written out like that it’s hard to believe that this is a motif used for Arya. After all she’s not in the position to be going to balls and she’s just a child so it seems unlikely at the time she’s at Harrenhal she’s going to fall in love. However, this motif appears all throughout her arc in various and creative and subversive and repetitive ways, and motifs don’t have to be all or none and they don’t have to be in the order the original stories were laid out. A lot of people also don’t like the idea that Arya has an actual Disney Princess motif in her story because she’s a “tomboy”, but the fact is that Arya is a Princess at the time she’s at Harrenhal, it’s even explicitly stated in Arya X ACOK, whether people acknowledge it or not, where a lot of these motifs take place. I know some people will be dismissive of this and think I’m reaching, but I hope upon reading this I’ll have convinced you of this motif being present. :)

Step-Mother and Step-Sisters

Some of the two most common features in any variant of Cinderella is the “Persecuted Heroine” and the “Female Persecutor”. Often this manifests as the wicked stepmother and the evil step-sisters, but in some versions a stepmother does not appear, and it’s the heroine’s older sisters who confine her to the kitchens instead. In the opera, La Cenerentola, Gioachino Rossini inverted the gender roles where the heroine Cenerentola is oppressed by her stepfather. And in some retellings at least one of the step siblings is somewhat kind to the heroine even. We symbolically see these archetypes many times in Arya’s narrative with various types of inversions.

When we enter ACOK, we find a dirty and disguised Arya traveling with Yoren and the Night’s Watch recruits, having just lost her father (a subversion of the prevalent theme of Cinderella losing her mother very young). She is also being bullied by two older boys, Lommy and Hot Pie:

At Winterfell they [Sansa and Jeyne] had called her “Arya Horseface” and she’d thought nothing could be worse, but that was before the orphan boy Lommy Greenhands had named her “Lumpyhead.” - Arya I ACOK

That wasn’t the hardest part at all; Lommy Greenhands and Hot Pie were the hardest part. - Arya I ACOK

“Look at that sword Lumpyhead’s got there,” Lommy said one morning […] “Where’s a gutter rat like Lumpyhead get him a sword?”

[. . .]

“Maybe he’s a little squire,” Hot Pie put in. […] “Some lordy lord’s little squire boy, that’s it.”

“He ain’t no squire, look at him. I bet that’s not even a real sword. I bet it’s just some play sword made of tin.”

Arya hated them making fun of Needle. “It’s castle-forged steel, you stupid,” she snapped, turning in the saddle to glare at them, “and you better shut your mouth.”

The orphan boys hooted. “Where’d you get a blade like that, Lumpyface?” Hot Pie wanted to know.

“Lumpyhead,” corrected Lommy. He prob’ly stole it.”

“I did not!” she shouted. Jon Snow had given her Needle. Maybe she had to let them call her Lumpyhead, but she wasn’t going to let them call Jon a thief.

“If he stole it, we could take it off him,” said Hot Pie. “It’s not his anyhow. I could use me a sword like that.”

Lommy egged him on. “Go on, take it off him, I dare you.”

Hot Pie kicked his donkey, riding closer. “Hey, Lumpyface, you gimme that sword.” […] “You don’t know how to use it.”

[. . .]

“Look at him,” brayed Lommy Greenhands. “I bet he’s going to cry now. You want to cry, Lumpyhead?” – Arya I ACOK

In the first two quotes we have Arya likening the behavior of Hot Pie and Lommy to that of Jeyne Poole and Sansa. In AGOT, Sansa and Jeyne took on the “evil step-sister” archetype (and before anybody attacks me, I don’t think these two are actually “evil”, just children who think it’s okay to bully someone who is different from them), but now we are shown that this archetype has temporarily shifted onto Lommy and Hot Pie, with some subversions. These two are now male and they aren’t related to Arya in any way. Some variants of the Cinderella story do portray male siblings mistreating the younger “Cinderella” sibling though. One of the stories in One Thousand and One Nights depict a story called “Judar and his Brethren”, in which the main character is poisoned by his biological brothers in the end, depicting a rare tragic ending for this retelling. However, these subversions are completely fine because either way, they took on the role of the “bully” to Arya’s Cinderella archetype currently in the narrative.

Furthermore, while Septa Mordane was the obvious “wicked stepmother” archetype to Arya’s Cinderella archetype in AGOT, I think arguably this has fallen to Cersei now (and the Lannister’s as a whole). Cersei may not be present, but she is the reason why Arya is in the situation she is in right now. After all, Cersei takes on the role of “Evil Queen” for Sansa and Jon (they both share Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs motifs) so I do think she is the metaphorical “wicked stepmother” in this equation regardless of the fact that Cersei isn’t anything remotely close to a stepmother to Arya in the narrative, but she fits the general archetype of “female persecutor” the most in the current situation. For the case about Septa Mordane being a “wicked stepmother” archetype, I want to point to Cenerentola by Basile, in which the “wicked stepmother” started out as being the heroine’s governess, and Septa’s are the closest substitute to a governess in the universe of ASOIAF.

This isn’t the end to these archetypes being in play. As the early chapters of ACOK go on we see the animosity between Lommy, Hot Pie, and Arya disappear to the point where they become allies and then friends. With this shift in dynamic we see the archetypes disappearing with some of these same characters taking on entirely new Cinderella archetypes, while the “wicked stepmother” and “evil step-sibling” archetypes move onto other characters as well.

At Harrenhal we are introduced to two wicked women who next take on the “evil step-sibling” archetype, Goodwife Harra and Goodwife Amabel. These two even comment on Arya’s feet:

When Arya's turn came round, Goodwife Amabel clucked in dismay at the sight of her feet, while Goodwife Harra felt the callus on her fingers that long hours of practice with Needle had earned her. "Got those churning butter, I'll wager," she said. "Some farmer's whelp, are you? Well, never you mind, girl, you have a chance to win a higher place in this world if you work hard. If you won't work hard, you'll be beaten. And what do they call you?"

Arya dared not say her true name, but Arry was no good either, it was a boy’s name and they could see she was no boy. “Weasel,” she said, naming the first girl she could think of. “Lommy called me Weasel.”

“I can see why,” sniffed Goodwife Amabel. “That hair is a fright and a nest for lice as well. We’ll have it off, and then you’re for the kitchens.”

“I’d sooner tend the horses.” Arya liked horses, and maybe if she was in the stables she’d be able to steal one and escape.

Goodwife Harra slapped her so hard that her swollen lip broke open all over again. “And keep that tongue to yourself or you’ll get worse. No one asked your views.”

The blood in her mouth had a salty metal tang to it. Arya dropped her gaze and said nothing. If I still had Needle, she wouldn’t dare hit me, she thought sullenly.

“Lord Tywin and his knights have grooms and squires to tend their horses, they don’t need the likes of you,” Goodwife Amabel said. “The kitchens are snug and clean, and there’s always a warm fire to sleep by and plenty to eat. You might have done well there, but I can see you’re not a clever girl. Harra, I believe we should give this one to Weese.”

“If you think so, Amabel.” They gave her a shift of grey roughspun wool and a pair of ill-fitting shoes and sent her off. – Arya VI ACOK

Later Goodwife Amabel even threatens to rape Arya:

Three Frey men-at-arms were using them that morning as Arya went to the well. She tried not to look, but she could hear the men laughing. The pail was very heavy once full. She was turning to bring it back to Kingspyre when Goodwife Amabel seized her arm. The water went sloshing over the side onto Amabel's legs. "You did that on purpose," the woman screeched.

"What do you want?" Arya squirmed in her grasp. Amabel had been half-crazed since they'd cut Harra's head off.

"See there?" Amabel pointed across the yard at Pia. "When this northman falls you'll be where she is."

"Let me go." She tried to wrench free, but Amabel only tightened her fingers.

"He will fall too, Harrenhal pulls them all down in the end. Lord Tywin's won now, he'll be marching back with all his power, and then it will be his turn to punish the disloyal. And don't think he won't know what you did!" The old woman laughed. "I may have a turn at you myself. Harra had an old broom, I'll save it for you. The handle's cracked and splintery—" - Arya X ACOK

Menial, Backbreaking Labor

When Arya is enslaved and forced into the oppressive walls of Harrenhal, she is forced to scrub floors and do other menial, backbreaking work from sunrise to sunset, just like Cinderella:

Weese used Arya to run messages, draw water, and fetch food, and sometimes to serve at table in the Barracks Hall above the armory, where the men-at-arms took their meals. But most of her work was cleaning. The ground floor of the Wailing Tower was given over to storerooms and granaries, and two floors above housed part of the garrison, but the upper stories had not been occupied for eighty years. Now Lord Tywin had commanded that they be made fit for habitation again. There were floors to be scrubbed, grime to be washed off windows, broken chairs and rotted beds to be carried off. The topmost story was infested with nests of the huge black bats that House Whent had used for its sigil, and there were rats in the cellars as well . . . and ghosts, some said, the spirits of Harren the Black and his sons. – Arya VII ACOK

She spent the rest of that day scrubbing steps inside the Wailing Tower. By evenfall her hands were raw and bleeding and her arms so sore they trembled when she lugged the pail back to the cellar. Too tired even for food, Arya begged Weese's pardons and crawled into her straw to sleep. – Arya VII ACOK

Magical Transformations and Mice

In Disney’s Cinderella, the fairy godmother transforms mice into different creatures. On the road to Harrenhal, Arya not only likens herself to a sheep, but a mouse and continues her time at Harrenhal referring to herself as a “mouse”. This is also a subversion, while Cinderella in the Disney incarnation befriends mice, in our story Arya becomes the meek mouse:

On the road Arya had felt like a sheep, but Harrenhal turned her into a mouse. She was grey as a mouse in her scratchy wool shift, and like a mouse she kept to the crannies and crevices and dark holes of the castle, scurrying out of the way of the mighty. – Arya VII ACOK

He does not know me, she thought. Arry was a fierce little boy with a sword, and I’m just a grey mouse girl with a pail. – Arya VII ACOK

She was very small and Harrenhal was very large, full of places where a mouse could hide. – Arya VII ACOK

Even Jaqen calls Arya a mouse:

She crept up quiet as a shadow, but he opened his eyes all the same. “She steals in on little mice feet, but a man hears,” he said. How could he hear me? She wondered, and it seemed as if he heard that as well. “The scuff of leather on stone sings loud as warhorns to a man with open ears. Clever girls go barefoot.” – Arya VIII ACOK

However, through Jaqen, Arya begins to feel more in control of her situation, stronger and is transformed, if only for a short time.

“…Some are saying it was Harren’s ghost flung him down.” He snorted to show what he thought of such notions.

It wasn’t Harren, Arya wanted to say, it was me. She has killed Chiswyck with a whisper, and she would kill two more before she was through. I’m the ghost in Harrenhal, she thought. And that night, there was one less name to hate. – Arya VII ACOK

I was a sheep, and then I was a mouse, I couldn’t do anything but hide. Arya chewed her lip and tried to think when her courage had come back. Jaqen made me brave again. He made me a ghost instead of a mouse. – Arya IX ACOK

Lucifer the Cat

In Disney’s Cinderella, Lucifer is Lady Tremaine’s cat who is described as being a sly, wicked, and manipulative mouse consumer. He spends the whole film trying to torment and catch the mice. I feel that Weese takes on aspects of this feline character, and I think this because of certain descriptors that are given to Weese to make him appear almost catlike:

“Weasel,” Weese purred, “next time I see that mouth droop open, I’ll pull out your tongue and feed it to my bitch.” – Arya VII ACOK

In his own small strutting way, Weese was nearly as scary as Ser Gregor. The Mountain swatted men like flies, but most of the time he did not even seem to know the fly was there. Weese always knew you were there, and what you were doing, and sometimes what you were thinking. He would hit at the slightest provocation, and he had a dog who was near as bad as he was, an ugly spotted bitch that smelled worse than any dog Arya had ever known. Once she saw him set the dog on a latrine boy who’d annoyed him. She tore a big chunk out of the boy’s calf while Weese laughed. – Arya VII ACOK

So here we have Weese purring, strutting, being compared to the Mountain who swats at peoples, and being watchful and observant, very much like a cat. And like in the movie, a dog attacks him. Now Weese didn’t fall from a tower window, but Chiswyck fell/was pushed. Considering these two are the two people Arya had Jaqen kill, I wouldn’t be surprised if they are meant to make up two halves of a whole in this regard. After all, they are both wicked creatures who prey upon the weak, just like Lucifer and they both got their just desserts for it.

Jaq the Mouse

In Disney’s Cinderella, Cinderella rescues mice from traps, as well as from Lucifer, and dresses and feeds them. They perform favors in return. At the beginning of the film, a mouse named Gus is trapped in a cage, and the leader of the mice finds him and retrieves Cinderella to free him. The leader of the mice is a mouse named Jaq, and he was also a mouse that was saved by Cinderella from a cage. This sounds awfully familiar…

Rushing through the barn doors was like running into a furnace. The air was swirling with smoke, the back wall a sheet of fire ground to roof. Their horses and donkeys were kicking and rearing and screaming. The poor animals, Arya thought. Then she saw the wagon, and the three men manacled to its bed. Biter was flinging himself against the chains, blood running down his arms from where the iron clasped his wrists. Rorge screamed curses, kicking at the wood. “Boy!” called Jaqen H’ghar. “Sweet boy!”

[. . .]

“Good boys, kind boys,” called Jaqen H’ghar, coughing.

“Get these fucking chains off!” Rorge screamed.

[. . .]

Going back into that barn was the hardest thing she ever did. Smoke was pouring out the open door like a writhing black snake, and she could hear the screams of the poor animals inside, donkeys and horses and men. She chewed her lip, and darted through the doors, crouched low where the smoke wasn’t quite so thick.

A donkey was caught in a ring of fire, shrieking in terror and pain. She could smell the stench of burning hair. The roof was gone up too, and things were falling down, pieces of flaming wood and bits of straw and hay. Arya put a hand over her mouth and nose. She couldn’t see the wagon for the smoke, but she could still hear Biter screaming. She crawled toward the sound.

And then a wheel was looming over her. The wagon jumped and moved a half foot when Biter threw himself against his chains again. Jaqen saw her, but it was too hard to breathe, let alone talk. She threw the axe into the wagon. Rorge caught it and lifted it over his head, rivers of sooty sweat pouring down his noseless face. Arya was running, coughing. She heard the steel crash through the old wood, and again, again. An instant later came a crack as loud as thunder, and the bottom of the wagon came ripping loose in an explosion of splinters. – Arya IV ACOK

So here we have Jaq who is leader of the mice, who also helps Cinderella by doing her favors. Then we have Jaqen H’ghar who is the leader of Rorge and Biter (this name seems even more fitting now) and who is performing favors for Arya, which leads me to Jaqen’s dual Cinderella archetype: Fairy Godmother.

Magical Helpers

Some versions of Magical Helpers come from fairy godmothers or talking animals or genies. In other versions this help comes to the heroine through her dead mother, often manifesting through animal aid. In One Thousand and One Nights, in the story of “Judar and his Brethren” Judar is our Cinderella figure, whose own brothers betray and poison him, but before that he was gifted a genie named Al-Ra’ad al-Kasif who granted Judar’s wishes. In the passage below Jaqen grants Arya three “wishes” which is typical for genies to grant in our popular consciousness:

She remembered that she hated him. “You scared me. You’re one of them now, I should have let you burn. What are you doing here? Go away or I’ll yell for Weese.”

“A man pays his debts. A man owes three.”

“Three?”

“The Red God has his due, sweet girl, and only death may pay for life. This girl took three that were his. This girl must give three in their places. Speak the names, and a man will do the rest.”

He wants to help me, Arya realized with a rush of hope that made her dizzy. “Take me to Riverrun, it’s not far, if we stole some horses we could—”

He laid a finger on her lips. “Three lives you shall have of me. No more, no less. Three and we are done. So a girl must ponder.” He kissed her hair softly. “But not too long.” – Arya VII ACOK

Later, we also see that “wishes” have consequences, which is also prevalent when genies are concerned. GRRM himself is a big fan of consequences and unintended side effects.

Jaqen is not Arya’s only form of Magical Help at Harrenhal however. Jaqen may take on the role of Fairy Godmother/Genie, but we also see Arya experiencing the help of not only an animal aid, but from a dead parent. For instance, the heroine in Aschenputtel, by the Brother’s Grimm, is given a hazel twig by her father that she plants over her mother’s grave. She waters it with tears and over the years it grows into a glowing hazel tree. The girl prays under it three times a day, chanting, and a bird emerges from it that grants her wishes. There are two instances of something similar happening in the books:

In the godswood she found her broomstick sword where she had left it, and carried it to the heart tree. There she knelt. Red leaves rustled. Red eyes peered inside her. The eyes of the gods. “Tell me what to do, you gods,” she prayed.

For a long moment there was no sound but the wind and the water and the creak of leaf and limb. And then, far far off, beyond the godswood and the haunted towers and the immense stone walls of Harrenhal, from somewhere out in the world, came the long lonely howl of a wolf. Gooseprickles rose on Arya’s skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy. Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father’s voice. “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” he said.

“But there is no pack,” she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. “I’m not even me now, I’m Nan.”

“You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you.”

“The wolf blood.” Arya remembered now. “I’ll be as strong as Robb. I said I would.” She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought it down across her knee. It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside. I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth. – Arya X ACOK

Here we see an inversion. Arya’s mother isn’t dead at this time, but her father, Ned is. He is who we hear through the heart tree giving Arya this empowering “Mufasa” moment that gives way to Arya’s true transformation in this arc, she reclaims her identity. And as soon as Arya asks the old gods for aid, a wolf howls in the distance as if in answer. It’s not confirmed but I do truly believe that this howl came from Nymeria, by way of the Old Gods/Greenseers, who somehow helped strengthen their bond. It is after this moment that Arya starts having full on wolf dreams in earnest and it’s through her first wolf dream that we see that Nymeria may have become Arya’s animal aid:

Her dreams were red and savage. The Mummers were in them, four at least, a pale Lyseni and a dark brutal axeman from Ib, the scarred Dothraki horse lord called Iggo and a Dornishman whose name she never knew. On and on they came, riding through the rain in rusting mail and wet leather, swords and axe clanking against their saddles. They thought they were hunting her, she knew with all the strange sharp certainty of dreams, but they were wrong. She was hunting them.

She was no little girl in the dream; she was a wolf, huge and powerful, and when she emerged from beneath the trees in front of them and bared her teeth in a low rumbling growl, she could small the rank stench of fear from horse and man alike. The Lyseni’s mount reared and screamed in terror, and the others shouted at one another in mantalk, but before they could act the other wolves came hurtling from the darkness and the rain, a great pack of them, gaunt and wet and silent.

The fight was short but bloody. The hairy man went down as he unslung his axe, the dark one died stringing an arrow, and the pale man from Lys tried to bolt. Her brothers and sisters ran him down, turning him again and again, coming at him from all sides, snapping at the legs of his horse and tearing the throat from the rider when he came crashing to the earth. – Arya I ASOS

We see here that Nymeria and her pack protected Arya, Gendry, and Hot Pie against their pursuers after their escape from Harrenhal.

Here is another instance of Arya praying under the heart tree:

Arya went to her knees. She wasn’t sure how she should begin. She clasped her hands together. Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently. Help me get those men out of the dungeon so we can kill Ser Amory, and bring me home to Winterfell. Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid again, ever.

Was that enough? Maybe she should pray aloud if she wanted the old gods to hear. Maybe she should pray longer. Sometimes her father had prayed a long time, she remembered. But the old gods had never helped him. Remembering that made her angry. “You should have saved him,” she scolded the tree. “He prayed to you all the time. I don’t care if you help me or not. I don’t think you could even if you wanted to.”

“Gods are not mocked, girl.”

The voice startled her. She leapt to her feet and drew her wooden sword. Jaqen H’ghar stood so still in the darkness that he seemed one of the trees. “A man comes to hear a name. One and two and then comes three. A man would have done.”

Arya lowered the splintery point toward the ground. “How did you know I was here?”

“A man sees. A mean hears. A man knows.”

She regarded him suspiciously. Had the gods sent him? “How’d you make the dog kill Weese? Did you call Rorge and Biter up from hell? Is Jaqen H’ghar your true name?

“Some men have many names. Weasel. Arry. Arya.”

She backed away from him, until she was pressed against the heart tree. “Did Gendry tell?”

“A man knows,” he said again. “My lady of Stark.”

Maybe the gods had sent him in answer to her prayers. – Arya IX ACOK

In Cenerentola, the heroine’s (Zezolla) father is given a date seedling by a fairy and he gives it to his daughter. Zezolla cultivates the tree in which a fairy lives. This fairy gives Zezolla magical aid. When Arya prayed beneath the heart tree in the above quote it almost seems like Jaqen appeared from the trees, leaving Arya to question if the old gods sent him.

And like in Aschenputtel and Disney’s Cinderella, Arya spends time at Harrenhal singing/chanting to herself as well:

Barefoot surefoot lightfoot, she sang under her breath. I am the ghost in Harrenhal. – Arya IX ACOK

This is very strange for a couple of reasons. When we first meet Arya she claims not to like songs and doesn’t sing. She continues this up until she goes to Braavos. There she discovers that she likes the bawdy songs when she is using the name, Cat of the Canals. The only exception to this is when Arya is at Harrenhal. Another reason this is odd is because of where Arya is at physically and mentally. So either Arya was always lying about not liking songs, or Arya singing here is supposed to tell us something.

And while this might not mean anything, I found it interesting that Arya spends a lot of her time in ACOK barefoot. Now Cinderella isn’t really said to be barefoot in the stories, but she did usually lose a shoe when running away from the Prince/King, hence making her barefoot. When Arya decides to escape Harrenhal, she does don a pair of shoes again and from then on out she mostly wears them. This also leads to a fun bit of subversion. In the originals tales it’s always the Prince/King saving Cinderella from further oppression. But in Arya X ACOK, not only did she (a princess) plan the escape, but she saves Gendry, a lost (albeit bastard) prince, along with Hot Pie, from further oppression (and torture and death) by their slavers in their prison camp. (Hot Pie definitely reminds me of Gus Gus as well by the way :D)

From Rags to Riches

In many versions of Cinderella, we also see the heroine become physically transformed. The heroine is usually dirty, covered in ashes, and wearing “rags” before they are made over. In the most popular version, Disney’s Cinderella, the Fairy Godmother magically turns her from dirty household servant to highborn lady, adorning her in a silver ballgown and glass slippers. In Ye Xian, magical fish bones, help the heroine dress appropriately for a local Festival, including a light, golden shoe. And in Aschenputtel, the doves that emerge from her hazel tree, that grant the heroine wishes, drop a gold and silver gown and silk shoes down to her to wear to the ball. Also, noticeably, this is the time the Prince/King notices Cinderella and finally “sees” her.

While we didn’t get anything like that in ACOK, we don’t have to look much farther than ASOS, when Arya goes to Acorn Hall and meets Lady Smallwood, who puts her in two different dresses:

And afterward, they insisted she dress herself in girl’s things, brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift, and over that a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice in brown thread, and more acorns bordering the hem. – Arya IV ASOS

It was even worse than before; Lady Smallwood insisted that Arya take another bath, and cut and comb her hair besides; the dress she put her in this time was sort of lilac-colored, and decorated with little baby pearls. The only good thing about it was that it was so delicate that no one could expect her to ride in it. – Arya IV ASOS

And while there is no ball, Arya and Gendry spend their time in the forge together. This is the very first time Gendry has seen Arya look like a proper lady. Cinderella and Arya are no longer dirty and in rags and they are now in gowns looking their place in society, despite Arya’s dress not being nearly as grand. However, it’s enough of a change for Gendry to finally realize just who Arya truly is when it comes to her place in the world. And judging by his behavior after this event, he also begins to acknowledge that if he continues to stay by her side he could potentially love her romantically in the future as well:

Gendry reached out with the tongs as if to pinch her face, but Arya swatted them away.

[. . .]

Gendry put the hammer down and looked at her. “You look different now. Like a proper little girl.”

“I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns.”

“Nice, though. A nice oak tree.” He stepped closer, and sniffed at her. “You even smell nice for a change.” – Arya IV ASOS

Runaway Princess

Now we may not have had a ball, but while taking shelter in a stone stable with the Brotherhood Without Banners, Arya does run outside, trying to get away from everyone:

His words beat at her ears like the pounding of a drum, and suddenly it was more than Arya could stand. She wanted Riverrun, not Acorn Hall; she wanted her mother and her brother Robb, not Lady Smallwood or some uncle she never knew. Whirling, she broke for the door, and when Harwin tried to grab her arm she spun away from him quick as a snake.

Outside the stables the rain was still falling, and distant lightning flashed in the west. Arya ran as fast as she could. She did not know where she was going, only that she wanted to be alone, away from all the voices, away from their hollow words and broken promises. All I wanted was to go to Riverrun. It was her own fault, for taking Gendry and Hot Pie with her when she left Harrenhal. She would have been better alone. If she had been alone, the outlaws would never have caught her, and she’d be with Robb and her mother by now. They were never my pack. If they had been, they wouldn’t leave me. She splashed through a puddle of muddy water. Someone was shouting her name, Harwin probably, or Gendry, but the thunder drowned them out as it rolled across the hills half a heartbeat behind the lightning. The lightning lord, she thought angrily. Maybe he couldn’t die, but he could lie. – Arya VIII ASOS

Now it’s not explicitly clear that it was Gendry who ran after Arya, calling her name, but due to the possible symbolism in the scene, and also his behavior in AFFC, it makes me think it was him. But whether he was or not I believe just Arya believing it might be him makes this applicable enough as a loose parallel for the Prince chasing after Cinderella, only for Cinderella to disappear like in many of the Cinderella retellings.

Searching the Realm

At the end of ASOS in the epilogue we learn that Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood Without Banners, who Gendry is a part of is actively searching for Arya:

The outlaw gave him (Merrett Frey) an encouraging smile. “Well, as it happens, we’re looking for a dog that ran away.”

“A dog?” Merrett was lost. “What kind of dog?”

“He answers to the name Sandor Clegane […] Did you see him at the wedding, perchance?”

[. . .]

“He would have had a child with him,” said the singer. “A skinny girl, about ten. Or perhaps a boy the same age.”

“I don’t think so,” said Merrett. “Not that I knew.” – Epilogue ASOS

In many retellings of the Cinderella story, the Prince/King searches the realm looking for the heroine with an identifying item, and typically that item is a shoe of some sort. Once the shoe is placed on the heroine’s foot it symbolically means the heroine is reclaiming her identity. Arya, however, didn’t lose a shoe, and I’d argue that when Ned/the Old Gods/the Greenseers spoke to Arya through the heart tree, empowering Arya, that’s when Arya reclaimed her identity, at least for that time as Arya must reclaim her identity multiple times in her arc. I’d argue that Arya’s connection to the North and her family is her overall identifying item. But I fully believe Gendry himself might be another “identifying item,” along with him still taking on the archetypal role of “prince”.

Why do I say this? Because in AFFC Gendry is stationed at one of the last known places Arya was sighted at with the Hound, the Crossroads Inn, where he is blacksmithing while also helping to look after orphans. He was likely stationed there by Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood Without Banners because he knew Arya the best out of everyone (remember LSH would probably have a hard time recognizing Arya after two plus years and a resurrection). So if she returned, he would not only have a better chance at recognizing her, but also possibly a better chance at keeping her there compared to anyone else. If people are doubting that this is Gendry’s role, just remember that the BWB is actively looking for Arya, and also note Gendry’s personality shift post-ASOS. Gendry has always been rude and moody, but in AFFC it has been taken to the extreme. He is absolutely furious and instead of being just plain rude, he’s actually become mean and more violent. He also seems to have something against the Hound now, someone who he previously had nothing against during the Hound’s trial by combat earlier in ASOS:

…The boy came and stood beside her, his hammer in his hand.

Lightning cracked to the south as the riders swung down off their horses. For half a heartbeat darkness turned to day. An axe gleamed silvery blue, light shimmered off mail and plate, and beneath the dark hood of the lead rider Brienne glimpsed an iron snout and rows of steel teeth, snarling.

Gendry saw it too. “Him.”

“Not him. His helm.” Brienne tried to keep the fear from her voice, but her mouth was dry as dust. – Brienne VII AFFC

That “him” was very pointed and because of the symbolism in the scene surrounding that “him” and the overall change in Gendry’s behavior I definitely take it to mean Gendry does have a problem with the Hound now. So what changed? The Hound kidnapped Arya. I think it’s safe to say that Gendry is just as invested as the rest of the BWB, if not more so, to finding Arya again, hence making him the “prince” searching the realm for his lost Cinderella.

A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes

In Disney’s Cinderella, songs like “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo”, “So This Is Love”, “Cinderella”, “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes”, “Oh, Sing Sweet Nightingale”, and “The Work Song” are included into the film. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen something like this in the previous retellings however. Like I mentioned earlier the Brother’s Grimm, Aschenputtel, features this as well to some extant. In Aschenputtel, the heroine would “sing a chant” to call upon the white doves that came from her glowing hazel tree. These birds would help her grant wishes and help her complete tasks, and it was most likely the inspiration for why birds were included in the Disney version, although birds have featured in more than just Aschenputtel. I mention this because GRRM wrote Arya a song in the novels:

“My featherbed is deep and soft,

and there I'll lay you down,

I'll dress you all in yellow silk,

and on your head a crown.

For you shall be my lady love,

and I shall be your lord.

I'll always keep you warm and safe,

and guard you with my sword.

“And how she smiled and how she laughed,

the maiden of the tree.

She spun away and said to him,

no featherbed for me.

I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,

and bind my hair with grass,

But you can be my forest love,

and me your forest lass.”

This is very clearly a love song also and we know it’s most likely about Arya and her foreshadowing a possible future relationship with Gendry. And it’s very clearly about them as Gendry is a bastard Baratheon “prince”, hence the mentions of “yellow silk” and a “crown”, and also because Arya quite literally is dressed as an oak tree at this time and almost a maiden and will be a maiden when they reunite later in the series. We also know the song is meant to foreshadow them because of the context. Tom O’Seven’s specifically winked at Arya as he sang this song, and after the song was sung Lady Smallwood, when taking Arya to get changed into a different dress, said to Arya, “I have no gowns of leaves,” which further tells the readers that this song is Arya’s song, her future love song.

A Mother’s Legacy

In the Magical Helpers section above I mentioned that a dead parent may be the one to help the heroine instead of the typical fairy godmother, by either sending an animal to aid the heroine and/or granting wishes, or by the heroine’s mother transforming into an animal. In some Greek versions, in “the Balkan-Slavonic tradition of the tale”, and in some Central Asian variants, the heroine’s mother comes back as a cow who is then killed by the heroine’s sisters. The heroine eventually gathers the bones and from her mother’s grave the heroine is gifted wonderful dresses. In other variants, the heroine’s dead mother comes back as a fish or a female dog. These animals represent the heroine’s mother’s legacy.

Jon chuckled. “Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms.”

“A wolf with a fish in its mouth?” It made her laugh. “That would look silly…” – Arya I AGOT

That night she went to sleep thinking of her mother, and wondering if she should kill the Hound in his sleep and rescue Lady Catelyn herself. When she closed her eyes she saw her mother’s face against the back of her eyelids. She’s so close I could almost smell her…

…and then she could smell her. The scent was faint beneath the other smells, beneath moss and mud and water, and the stench of rotting reeds and rotting men. She padded slowly through the soft ground to the river’s edge, lapped up a drink, then lifted her head to sniff. The sky was grey and thick with cloud, the river green and full of floating things. Dead men clogged the shallows, some still moving as the water pushed them, others washed up on the banks. Her brothers and sisters swarmed around them, tearing at the rich ripe flesh.

[. . .]

The scent was stronger now [. . .] Only the scent mattered. She sniffed the air again. There it was, and now she saw it too, something pale and white drifting down the river, turning where it brushed against a snag. The reeds bowed down before it.

She splashed noisily through the shallows and threw herself into the deeper water, her legs churning. The current was strong but she was stronger. She swam, following her nose. The river smells were rich and wet, but those were not the smells that pulled her. She paddled after the sharp red whisper of cold blood, the sweet cloying stench of death. She chased them as she had often chased a red deer through the trees, and in the end she ran them down, and her jaw closed around a pale white arm. She shook it to make it move, but there was only death and blood in her mouth. By now she was tiring, and it was all she could do to pull the body back to shore. As she dragged it up the muddy bank, one of her little brothers came prowling, his tongue lolling from his mouth. She had to snarl to drive him off, or else he would have fed. Only then did she stop to shake the water from her fur. The white thing lay facedown in the mud, her dead flesh wrinkled and pale, cold blood trickling from her throat. Rise, she thought. Rise and eat and run with us. – Arya XII ASOS

“So you sewed his head on Robb Stark’s neck after both o’ them were dead,” said yellow cloak.

“My [Merrett Frey] father did that [. . .] I only drank some wine…you have no witness.”

“As it happens, you’re wrong there.” The singer turned to the hooded woman. “Milady?”

The outlaws parted as she came forward, saying no word. When she lowered her hood, something tightened inside Merrett’s chest, and for a moment he could not breathe. No. No, I saw her die. She was dead for a day and night before they stripped her naked and threw her body in the river. Raymund opened her throat from ear to ear. She was dead.

Her cloak and collar hid the gash his brother’s blade had made, but her face was even worse than he remembered. The flesh had gone pudding soft in the water and turned the color of curdled milk. Half her hair was gone and the rest had turned as white and brittle as a crone’s. Beneath her ravaged scalp, her face was shredded skin and black blood where she had raked herself with her nails. But her eyes were the most terrible thing. Her eyes saw him, and they hated.

“She don’t speak,” said the big man in the yellow cloak. “You bloody bastards cut her throat too deep for that. But she remembers.” He turned to the dead woman and said, “What do you say, m’lady? Was he part of it?”

Lady Catelyn’s eyes never left him. She nodded. – Epilogue ASOS

In the Chinese retelling of Cinderella, Ye Xian, the heroine befriends a fish, which is the reincarnation of her deceased mother. In The Story of Tam and Cam, a Vietnamese version, the heroine Tam also had a fish which was killed by the stepmother and the half-sister, and its bones also give her clothes. And a typical scene in Kapmalaien tales is the mother becoming a fish, being eaten in fish form, the daughter burying her bones and a tree sprouting from her grave.

So not only is Lady Catelyn a symbolic fish, a daughter of House Tully, but she’s also been resurrected (reincarnated), and is looking specifically for our heroine, Arya, who I believe will be gifted several various things (both good and bad) by this incarnation of her mother, but we shall see if the parallel continues when TWOW and ADOS come out.

Conclusion

I really hope that after you read this monster you were as convinced as I am that Arya indeed has Cinderella motifs, and an extensive amount of them as well. Whatever it may mean I don’t rightly know, but what I do know is that at the end of the day, the many stories of Cinderella are an analogy. An analogy about someone “who unexpectedly achieves recognition or success after a period of obscurity and neglect”. Of someone whose attributes were unrecognized in their society, only for them to be recognized. And I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty hand in hand with one of her other biggest fairy tale motifs as well that runs concurrently with the Cinderella motif, and that is the story of “The Ugly Duckling”, who after years of neglect, finds acceptance within society, as well as self-acceptance within themselves. :)

#arya stark #gendrya #asoiaf

168 notes · View notes

sooibian · 3 years

Text

Star-Crossed

Pairing: Baekhyun x Fem!Reader, OC Lys, Minseok, Yixing

Description: In his struggle with his inner demons and the outside world, will Baekhyun succeed in saving the one he loves?

Themes: Romani AU, magical realism, fluff, angst, mildly explicit, implied smut, secret relationship, knife related superstitions

Warnings: Blood, knives, violence

Word Count: 8.2k

Tagging: @changshapatrol @rosetvler @bbyunz @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt @royal-aeris @bbhmystar @tydontstop shy tagging @his-mochi-cheeks !

Part of the Steampunk Romani AU collab with @leewalberg @vampwrrr @xui-n-soowillbethedeathofme

Pre-reading notes:

Baekhyun can influence physical objects with his mind, unnamed MC is a plant whisperer, Yixing is a dragon, and Lys is a mind reader.

Glossary: bulibasha - clan leader; chao - tea; dragă - darling; dya - mother; gadjo - someone of non romani descent/origin; iubit - lover; kafa - coffee; lăutari - musicians

**********************************

The camp was bathed in an enchanting silver of the sparkling night sky. Evenings like these were ideal for bonfires and conviviality. Merry peals of laughter reached your ears in sporadic waves - delightful by nature but not entirely alluring. You’d always preferred the abyss of your own thoughts. Encumbered by gaiety, not many missed you on such occasions for you were ordinarily out of sight - living on the far edge of the camp, a stone’s throw from the surrounding forest that served your clandestine gift for curative botanicals. The one that you had inherited from your mother.

You would have loved nothing more than to spend your days curating elixirs for inflictions superficial and of the mind. Hogweed for flu, Borango for the heart, lavender blossoms for the mind...the flora would sing sweet praises of her roots, stems, leaves, flowers, and fruits. Songs that could be heard by you and your mother before you. The others, they had to study. They had to spend nights on end learning and perfecting this scientific art.

Destiny demanded you take over your ailing grandfather’s weapons trade and spend a good part of your life acquiring and selling lethal daggers, swords, machetes, and often the antiquated colt. But you held no bitterness against the inexorable fate and accepted life as it came with its blunt and sharp blows.

As you sat tidying your workbench, your paring knife slid off and fell to the floor with a clang as if to signal you of an impending rendezvous. The wintry chill took you by the tips of your fingers ever so gently and guided you out of the comfort of your home only to envelope you in her warmest embrace.

The sound of his footsteps set your heart racing and you cursed at your rather self-destructive whims and fancies. Not wanting to seem like you were dawdling, you almost hurried back into the caravan but decided against it in the last minute. Even after everything, he had your soul dangling by a string, jerking it to the tunes of a bittersweet symphony. Appearing unflustered, you forced your eyes to marvel at the blue-white Rigel and red Betelgeuse instead but they battled for a mere glimpse at him.

The moon cast a beautiful, pearly sheen on the visitor but failed at masking his savagery. His black ankle banded pants, the frayed red brocade coat that was layered over a lace up shirt, the weighty golden azazel ring on his left thumb which was a sign of his elevated status in the clan, the leather belt around his lean waist, even the bandoleer strapped over his right thigh that steadfastly held his jamdhar all bore garish smudges of dried blood.

The guilt of seeing this dagger on his person never ceased to bog you down. Had you not found it, it would never have found Baekhyun.

He stopped at a foot's distance from you, one hand pressing a piece of cloth to an old gash across his eyebrow which seemed to have come undone. He watched you with an unmistakable conviction in his boldly lined eyes while yours landed on the sprig of basil resting against his throat. It made your heart clench with a fatal concoction of hurt and guilt.

He shouldn’t be here.

You pointedly scrutinized the smoky emanations that rose in black wisps from the weapon. Despite your continued dissent, Baekhyun insisted on using the jamdhar. He cleared his throat meekly, drew the weapon out of the bandoleer and hid it in the inside pocket of his coat and advanced towards you.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you said "Stay", and raised your index finger at him as if in command. The last time Baekhyun wound up in your caravan it didn't end well for you. In fact, every time he came to see you, he brought along with him agonizing memories of that day - the one day on which you both wished that the sun hadn’t risen.

As soon as you turned around, he grabbed you by your wrist to hold you firmly in place. The front window of the vehicle burst open and with a whooshing sound your medicine crate and teapoy flew out of it only to carefully descend at your feet.

"When will you ever stop flaunting your feathers like a peacock." You muttered under your breath, pursing your lips to suppress a smile. "I'll need a flask, a lidded dish...and a mat."

In one quick movement, he pulled you towards him, deliberately pressing his firm, laddish torso to your back. He leaned in closer, his tender lips and warm breath tickling your ear, as he whispered, "Take me inside, saves us the hassle", sending a frisson of wildness down your spine.

But you were quick to prise away from his captivating grasp and meet his misty eyes with an unwavering gaze. Crossing your arms over your chest, you stated with a hint of annoyance in your tone, "The Healer lives not too far from here. I'm just a weapons dealer, anyway."

Strangely enough, only the potions and cures concocted by you soothed Baekhyun’s woes - they helped restore his strength that was devoured raw by the jamdhar. But that wasn’t the only reason why he was drawn to you. If Baekhyun knew love, it was because he saw it in your eyes. With his head rested in your lap, the one feared by all felt at home... he felt at peace.

Averting his gaze from your stern countenance, he let out a deep sigh and conceded defeat.

***

You started him off with a decoction of Feverfew flowers diluted with water and honey to help soothe his muscular aches while concocting a balm out of beeswax, Laca leaves and powdered root of the Allheal plant for his bruises. He took a hesitant sip and thrust the flask back into your hand, wincing at the bitter taste of the brew, "More honey."

"Honey doesn’t come cheap." You jeered, immediately regretting your words as you glanced over his soul crushingly worn out demeanour.

Baekhyun’s undertakings as the money lender’s henchman always ended up taking an ugly toll on him. This wasn’t something he was cut out for but weighed down by the burden of fealty, the obvious facts seemed to elude him. Hastily handing him the jar of honey, you inched closer to him to clean his wound.

He retreated playfully. Gaping at you, he complained in mock-offense, “Men and women shouldn’t be inappropriately intimate!”

Unheeding, you responded, “Especially if they’re spoken for.”

His jaw dropped in protest but he clamped it shut at once. Lowering his gaze, he quietly added a generous dollop of the sweet nectar to the flask and stirred the mixture with one of the decontaminated knives from your medicine crate.

“Stir with a knife and stir up strife”, you taunted him despite yourself.

Undeterred, he continued to stir with an increased vigour. “Since it doesn’t bode well for us to see each other unless I’m battered and bruised”, he retorted, chuckling darkly, the sparkle of the entire galaxy pooling in the depth of his eyes, “this solves it.”

Growing up, you never concerned yourself with the frail and sickly lad who had the ability to influence physical objects with his mind; he didn’t mingle with kids his age and spent most of his time tailing the money lender’s son Minseok. Now that you think about it, it was the other way round. Minseok tailed Baekhyun, cleaning up the messes he made and looking after him despite the second-rate treatment the adopted boy received from the rest of his family. For someone that small-boned, Baekhyun was loud, boisterous, and slightly too obnoxious. It wasn’t long before you wrote the troublemaker off as someone you’d rather steer clear of.

You, on the other hand, spent the better part of your childhood and adolescent years learning the Romano Zakono at the feet of your grandfather, apprenticing with the Healers of the clan, practising intricate embroidery and the cursive script, and secretly mimicking the songs and dances of the lăutari.

You’ll never forget the day he sneaked up on you dancing to one of Damian Draghici’s songs. It was a little before sunset, you were alone by the pond, dressed in your newly sewn red crêpe skirt and a coordinated red blouse that showed off your elegant collarbone and just a tasteful bit of your midriff. Last year, you came of age and started discovering the sublime beauty of womanhood that was revealed by the luxe curves and graceful lines of your body. With a golden belt tinkling on your waist, beaded earrings dangling in your ears, a colourful cotton scarf around your head, eyes emboldened with the darkest kohl, lips tinted with a fearless maroon, you sneaked shy glances at yourself in the clear pond.

The soft evening wind had rendered your already wild hair untamed and you were draped in the fragrance of the woody white oudh carrying sweet undertones of ylang ylang flowers and patchouli. You’d stolen a tiny bit of the expensive attar from your mother’s dresser drawer and dabbed it behind the top of your ear. You always wore perfume in that spot since it was oilier than the ear lobe, and oil tends to hold on to perfume better, helping it to diffuse for longer. That way, you’d carry the delectable essence of nature with you at least until the next sunset albeit at the price of a scolding from your stern but loving dya.

To your knowledge, you were the only one by the pond. Everyone was busy celebrating the union of one of the elders’ granddaughter with the blacksmith’s son. Dressed up this splendidly, it would be an utter waste if you didn’t sneak out for just a bit to croon and sway to Damian Draghici’s latest Trandafire after being spellbound by the performance of the lăutari at the wedding.

Halfway through your routine, you were alerted by a sudden ruffling of the leaves. As you turned your head in the direction of the sound, struggling to see in the fading daylight, a scrawny boy fell out of the magnolia tree and straight into the pond, tush first.

Mortified, you wanted to run to the Healer to ask for a little something that would obliviate your memory of this ordeal, or better yet mix that something in this rude intruder’s kafa the next morning. But the impact of him falling into the water created a huge splash, leaving you partially drenched. There’s no way you could go back to the feast looking like this. What on earth was this boy doing here while the entire clan was by the gazebo, celebrating!

Upon a closer look you realized that he, of all people, was in dire need of some flesh to his bones.

Dripping wet he staggered out of the pond, a pout on his lips and eyes downcast. Ignoring you, he started to walk towards the camp but you yelled after him, “Creep!”

The boy who couldn’t have been more than a year younger to you, was half a head shorter. He turned around and sneered, low-toned, “Creep?”

“How dare you...how dare you..watch me..” Perplexed and livid, you contemplated on the choice of your words.

Hands on hips, he sauntered towards you with his head tilted to the side, brows pinched together and a corner of his mouth raised in a smirk. The mood of his tone sent chills down your spine when he asked, “How dare I what?”

Fuelled with an unadulterated rage, you glared at him but he merely stood there, countenance casual, as if he’d just asked for directions to your grandfather’s weapons’ store.

His outfit was ragged and clearly bigger for his frame but it highlighted his broad chest and shoulders. The cuffs of his pants were tattered, loose threads hanging by their seams and the right elbow of his black lace up shirt was patched with a squarish cloth of a different fabric. If you were dressed anything like him, you would have skipped the wedding, too. The patch on his elbow had come apart as a consequence of the fall, revealing a fresh wound.

Sighing in defeat, you grabbed him by his left wrist and dragged him to the edge of the pond. To your utter surprise, he followed without any protest. You sat down and he sat next to you, albeit a little too close for your comfort. You slowly dipped your feet in the cool water and he, reluctantly, after folding his pants up to his knees, did the same.

Unfastening the drawstring on the little pouch fixed to your belt, you removed a clean gauze and a vial of white petroleum from it. Soaking the gauze in water, you took him by his right forearm but he flinched and retracted. “What are you doing?” He asked, eyes widened in surprise.

“Cleaning your wound.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why would you do that? I have nothing to give you in return and I don’t like owing people.”

“..owing people? How old are you?”

“What has my age got to do with anything?”

Shaking your head, you gave him a small smile, “No, nothing. You don’t owe me, alright? I’m doing this to...to... improve my skills. If anything, I owe you. Clear?”

Baekhyun’s suspicious eyes eased into a soft smile and he nodded in agreement. His smile was radiant and his striking eyes were accentuated with smooth, bold strokes of glittering kohl which had smudged along the edges, resembling a beautifully chaotic thunderstorm. The dimming evening light cast a faint shadow of his eye lashes on the apples of his translucent cheeks. Amidst his pleasing facial features, it was his nose that stood out for you. You couldn’t quite tell what it was but you wanted a small bite of it.

He was undoubtedly the most handsome boy you had ever seen.

“Why aren’t you at the wedding?” You asked, carefully folding the sleeve of his shirt up to his upper arm and cleaning the blood off of his elbow with the wet gauze. As you were applying a generous layer of white petroleum over it, you felt his stiff posture gradually relax.

His gaze shifted from you and he stared into the distance and replied, “No reason.”

You simply nodded and decided against prodding him further. Taking the cotton scarf off of your head, you folded it into a makeshift bandage and swathed his elbow in it.

“Why aren’t you at the wedding?” He asked, fixing you with a steady gaze.

“Because I’m dressed way too exquisitely for a mere wedding.” You laughed.

“I’d have to agree.” He said in a small voice. “Do you come here often?”

“Would you like me to?”

“As a Healer isn’t it your duty to follow up on your patients?”

“I’m no Healer, but I’d like to see you again on the next full moon. To check up on the…. very deep gash on your elbow.”

Baekhyun’s lips curled upwards and his eyes crinkled. He nodded sagely in response.

“I have to go now”, you said, finding a part of your heart already missing the boy you never wanted anything to do with.

“I’ll leave first”, Baekhyun responded.

As you watched him go, magnolia flowers came floating in the air towards you in a straight line. They spun and wove around each other in a circle as if dancing to the beats of Trandafire. The brightest fireflies fluttered and joined in on the little gala of flowers, entwined like gemstones on a tiara, as the soiree adorned its rightful princess.

***

Thereafter came a seemingly endless string of secret rendezvous under the starry night skies. Baekhyun would braid your hair with flowers, sing you sweet love songs, bring you little gifts he’d find on his travels with Minseok and his father. They were mostly ingredients that you couldn’t find in the forest; you’d only describe their physical properties once and he’d commit them to memory, presenting you with only the best of the best of his finds.

Musings of the past were quick to pave the way for promises of a future. Even with its neck haltered and back against a wall, love was foolishly brave.

The more Baekhyun got involved with the money lender’s dealings, the lesser time he had for you which made every moment of yours with him even more precious. You held on to each other until the very last second as the agony of parting continued to amplify with the next meeting.

Years went by and one sweltering summer evening, you acquired a sealed weapon from a thirsty gadjo in exchange for an amphora full of fruit wine. The gadjo said it was a jamdhar, a rare push dagger, mainly intended for piercing armours. It was useless to him since the weapon had sealed itself and only an equal could unsheathe it.

But to you, the jamdhar meant freedom.

The dagger was rare, unreasonably powerful, mysterious and quite unlike any weapon in your grandfather’s munition. Merely fifteen inches long, it weighed about eleven pounds on the scale but it was quite heavy to be wielded by the average person. You could use the dagger to your advantage to evade inheriting the weapons’ trade and convince him to allow you to pursue your dream as an apothecary instead.

You later discovered that your plea had fallen upon deaf ears but you reckoned it was worth a try, anyway.

On Sara-la-Kali’s pilgrimage day, a feast was hosted by the babas of the clan. Among the many events held that evening, one event was held by your grandfather inviting men and women, young and old, to unsheathe the jamdhar.

Eyes outlined with an ebony galena and dark hair tousled, Baekhyun was dressed in black leather slacks and a loose midnight blue silk kurti which accentuated his broad and masculine frame. He wore an ivory tooth necklace and adorned the forward helix of his left ear with a gold ring. There was something different about him that day. He was unfaltering and undaunted. He was a force of nature.

He fixed the weapon with an unflinching gaze that sent shivers down your spine and proceeded towards it with one deliberate step at a time. He grabbed the sheathed jamdhar as if holding up a feather and drew the reticent dagger out of its cocoon with a sharp hiss.

The weapon gleamed in the moonlight. Its hilt was forged from pure carbon steel and it cut through the birchbark bench like cutting through floating sand. Vicious and double edged, its narrow blade was as clear as mirror glass. Yet, when Baekhyun glanced into it, he saw doleful eyes of strangers - men, women, and seldom children. These were reflections of the spirits of the lives claimed by the weapon.

The jamdhar was mighty and it made the man who possessed it invincible but it was bursting with resentment. Now that the weapon had found its true master, its energy only strengthened after each kill, rendering the master’s soul a shade weakened. Baekhyun would only continue to grow restless until he lost control of the weapon...and eventually of himself. You shuddered to think what might ultimately become of him if he didn’t discard the weapon soon enough.

It was after Sara-la-Kali’s pilgrimage day, the almighty Byun Baekhyun had become a stranger to you but your hearts were still tied together by the fragile thread of...love.

You wondered if you could still call it that.

It had been a year since.

A year of sleepless nights and frazzled days. You found him growing distant in your unyielding pursuit of asking him to relinquish the weapon. But the weapon had given him everything he couldn't afford to lose - fame, might, wealth, and most of all the respect that he yearned for growing up. Nobody dared to cross Byun Baekhyun. Nobody spoke ill of him. His mere presence would hush the busiest streets and people would bow down to him out of fear or admiration... or both.

They say time heals but it was now your arch nemesis. So you did what you knew best. You concocted brews that would help restore his strength only for it to be swallowed up again the next time the vicious blade had tasted blood.

You kept to yourself otherwise than when he needed you but the more you tried to fight shy of him, the more you found yourself in his company - observing the little things that pulled you deeper into your affections for him. The look in his eyes every time he saw fireflies dancing around your caravan, the erratic beating of his heart you felt against your palm when he kissed you for the last time...every time you noticed these things - your safekept heart threatened to leap out of it’s wrought iron cage only to land into his deceitful hands.

“You didn’t know ...they..they didn’t tell you?” Your trembling fingers grazed the fresh sprig of basil resting against Baekhyun’s sternum as you struggled to ground yourself by focusing on your breathing.

His palm met the side of your face in a gentle caress. “I didn’t. Believe me, I didn’t.” His voice was but a tremulous whisper in his futile endeavour to hold back tears.

“I was gone for one day.. I had some business up north.. and.. and everything.. everything’s changed! Just like that...everything’s changed!” You tried your best to lay hysteria off of your voice, but faltered. He wrapped his arms around you, his grip strengthening by the second, holding you closer, tighter as if his life depended on it. He then guided you to your bed and sat you down.

Whole body wracked by sobs, you squeezed your eyes shut. And then you saw her. Lys. The money lender’s youngest. She was a vision with hair as dark as the night rippling down to her waist, skin so beautiful as if covered in specks of gold. You envisioned a goddess enveloped in the strong, reliable arms of your beloved and your heart sank to your stomach.

As bewitching as she was, no man in his right mind would take her as his wife for she could hear the words they never dared to utter. And that was treacherous territory even for the bravest, the most virtuous of them all. Lys could crawl into the mind of anyone she laid a mere finger on and their deepest, darkest secrets would come unraveled to her.

She could hear them all. All but one - the only one you held dear.

As soon as they got a whiff of this, the elders arranged her marriage with Baekhyun showing utter disregard for his consent.

“Let’s run away together”, you managed feebly, dreading his obvious answer.

Devastated, he searched your eyes as a silent tear streamed down his cheek. He took your hands in his, tenderly pressed them to his lips and broke down in sobs.

“You do all their dirty work! Why are they so cruel to you? Why? You’re capable of so much more.” You argued in vain.

His dark eyes shot up to meet yours, stoic and resolute. “I’ve known only one thing all my life that is kill or be killed. You’re only saying this because you don’t know the real me. You’ve never seen me make a man’s head explode. You’ve only ever seen the things I let you see. I am a horrendous brute who was abandoned by his own parents...a monster who deserves no love.

My parents...my parents were simple-minded villagers who perceived anything out of the ordinary as black-hearted. After they found out what I was capable of, they started looking at me like I was different...like I was not human. They’d feed me leftovers, starve me for days, even try to beat the demon out of me. Nothing worked. I was still capable of doing the things that they considered wicked sorcery. At last they decided to sell me off to a merchant for a jagged piece of silver.

The caravan was on one of their travels to the east at the time. They stopped by a field outside my village. It was the elders who spotted me… an eight year old left to his own devices, drawing water out of a well only with the sheer force of his mind. It was Minseok’s father who saved me that day. He saved me from the unthinkable. I can’t do this to them… I can’t let them down. And the more I think about it, I know that I have nothing to offer you. I have mastered no trade, I possess no talent for the arts. I have nothing to give you. I believe you deserve better. You’ve always deserved better. Better than -” His voice trailed off.

“Show me your best blade.”

A glossy yet assertive female voice fell upon your ears while you sat polishing some of the antiquated procurements with alcohol. Your grandfather loved for his collection to be immaculate as if they were elegant relics or souvenirs and not lethal weapons, a single plunge in the right place from which could mean only one thing. Though gradually and unwittingly, you grew up to care for them as such too.

“What do you need it for?” You inquired, attention fixed on the task at hand.

The sound of the visitor’s footsteps grew closer but before you could turn around, firm hands rested upon your shoulders, squeezing hard. The visitor whispered in your ear, “One that is good enough for carving a man’s heart out of his chest”, and broke into a high pitched, maniacal laughter.

“Lys!” Scared out of your wits, you exclaimed as all sounds suddenly started to become more and more distant. Everything faded out of sight and you felt like a lamb to the slaughter under her terrorizing gaze. She continued to look at you intently and shot you a knowing smile, effectively binding your limbs in dread. Tossing a piece of silver in your direction, she walked away with a freshly polished navaja, a fighting knife.

The sheer idea of Lys being aware of your deepest secret rendered you physically and mentally incapacitated for the rest of the day. Anxiety took over, tormenting you with the worst possible consequences of your now unveiled thoughts.

One that is good enough for carving a man’s heart out of his chest.

What did she mean by that? Would Baekhyun have to bear the brunt of your feelings? Has he not suffered enough at the hands of this family by constantly living on the edge of terror and despair?

Would this cost him his life?

Sleep evaded you that night.

Wearing a weapon in the thick braid of yarn around your waist, you threw a shawl over your shoulders, gathered your skirts and headed towards Baekhyun’s caravan.

***

Just as you were about to reach for the door, it swung open and appeared before you two well built, dark haired men - one of them a head taller than the other. Your heart stopped the moment a pair of feline eyes bore into yours. Minseok closed the door behind him and you instinctively backpedalled, almost tumbling over a piece of rock until Yixing grabbed you by your arm to steady you.

"Bladerunner, what are you doing here?" Yixing asked genially but a glint of suspicion danced in his eyes.

Your mind made up too many excuses for you to actually be able to stick with one.

"Answer him, Bladerunner." Minseok commanded with a hardened expression.

Baekhyun trotted out of his caravan and answered good naturedly, "Bulibasha, I'd asked her to bring me a vial of chamomile essential oil. It helps with my muscle spasms."

"Why would you ask that of a Bladerunner, Baekhyun? Is she running an illicit trade?” Yixing inquired, tilting his head to the side, the dimpled smile on his face unflinching

“Bulibasha, I-” Trembling from head to toe, you bowed before him expressing repentance.

Minseok gave you a quick once over and asked Baekhyun, “Why is she dressed like a looter? Tell us what’s going on, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun and you were both well aware that Minseok and Yixing weren’t men you could deceive. They would smell a lie from miles away and the truth would lead to a certain death...or worse, banishment from the clan.

Forget about him, dragă. He's no nurturer...

Your mother's voice boomed in your ears, seizing your throat and bringing tears to your eyes.

“No chicanaries, Baekhyun.” Yixing warning came out sounding more like an advice.

The moment you opened your mouth to confess in a way that would save Baekhyun's neck from the noose, he took two small strides and stood next to you. Eyes downcast, he held your ice cold hand in his and declared defiantly, “We’re in love with each other, Bulibasha.”

***

Yixing ordered to see Minseok, Baekhyun, and you in his private chamber at the break of dawn. To your utter surprise, he permitted Baekhyun to walk you back home provided he would be back within the quarter of an hour.

Your caravan was encircled with a faint golden light from the fireflies dancing around it. Baekhyun smiled weakly at the tragically beautiful sight and you committed the slow upward curl of his tender lips to memory.

Your heart was laden with guilt. When wrapped you in his arms, you whispered into his strong chest as your mind was clouded over with the familiar, comforting scent of sandalwood on his skin, “You shouldn’t have.”

“I shouldn’t have let it come to this. I should’ve stood up for us long ago. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” He breathed softly and plucked the string akin to a noose from around his neck and slid it into the inside pocket of his coat.

“Whatever happens tomorrow”, he whispered as a silent tear made its way down his cheek, “remember that I will never leave your side. Rest assured, I will never let any harm come to you. I love you... I always have and I always will.”

Yixing’s bender tent was twice the size of your caravan. Dimly lit and carpeted, it exuded an intimidating aura. Draped in black, red, and gold panels it carried portraits of eminent members of the clan and the largest one, the one the clan leader himself stood before, was that of a black and gold dragon the mere sight of which was enough to bring the bravest of the men down to their knees. Minseok was seated next to Yixing against the backdrop of the portrait of his own father. His eyes were smoldering embers as he returned your meek obligatory smile with a scowl and stared you down as you and Baekhyun knelt before them. A sense of impending doom settled deep into your bones.

Sure, you felt dread and panic, but just this once you did not feel guilt. Apparently, neither did Baekhyun.

‘Being able to know you and love you has been the greatest gift of all’, was the only thing he’d said to you this morning.

“Bladerunner, did you not have prior knowledge of Baekhyun’s engagement with Minseok’s sister?” Expression neutral, Yixing was quick to do away with unnecessary introductions and jump to the heart of the matter.

When your eyes met his, you realized it would take him mere seconds to burn this room and everything along with it down to ashes. You wondered if he understood the language of the eyes because it was exactly what you implored him to do.

“Bulibasha, we -” Baekhyun spoke on your behalf but with a raised hand Yixing commanded him to stay quiet while holding your gaze steadily.

“I did, Bulibasha.” You declared with all the strength that you could muster, yet your voice was no louder than a whisper.

Lips stretched into a thin line, Yixing’s gaze mellowed as did his countenance when he asked, “Yet, you continued to pursue your relationship with him?”

You hung your head in response.

“Bulibasha -” Baekhyun stood up and pleaded fervently, “Bulibasha, please -”

“This is not something a woman of honour would do now, would she, Bladerunner?” Minseok spat in disgust.

“Minseok!” Baekhyun bellowed, hands balled into fists and seething with rage. You shot a glance at his reddened face, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. A part of you wanted to grab his hand to soothe him but a Minseok’s sharp glare of contempt changed your mind.

“Yes, Bulibasha.” You chose to answer Yixing in your effort to quiet things down.

“Bulibasha”, fiery gaze still boring into Minseok’s, Baekhyun said to Yixing, “I wish to secede from the clan.”

He turned to look at Yixing and pleaded with him, “If this isn’t something a woman of honour would do, then can I be called a man of honour? Should a man like me be allowed to serve the clan? I’ve toyed with not one but the hearts of two respectable young women. This is the only thing I ask of you, Yixing. If our friendship means anything to you, command me to leave and let the Bladerunner continue living with the clan as if none of this ever happened.”

“The Bladerunner has been found guilty of breaking ethical codes, Bulibasha”, Minseok reasoned, “the Zakono beseeches her expulsion instead and Baekhyun should be asked to keep the promise he made to my sister.”

Both Baekhyun and you stole a glance at each other acquiescing in how well-prepared Minseok was. Suddenly, you heard an unmistakable sharp, slicing sound of metal against metal. Acting upon instinct, you quickly rose and threw yourself at Baekhyun, pushing him down to the floor and out of range as a dagger came flying through from the entrance behind you. It flew past the top of your right ear, nicking your helix and lodging itself in the right eye pupil of the portrait in front of you. It was the portrait of Minseok’s father.

Under the startled glare of everyone in attendance, the knife thrower grinned proudly at her skills.

It was Lys.

It took you a moment to realize that had Baekhyun not been pushed out of the way, the blade would’ve gone piercing through his back straight into his heart. Her silken voice boomed ominously in your ears.

One that is good enough for carving a man’s heart out of his chest.

“Lys! You’ve ruined Father’s portrait!” Minseok lambasted his little sister.

Head cocked to the side, Lys sauntered over to her father’s portrait, brushing your arm with her fingernails as she passed you by. Full scarlet lips stretched into a gratified smile, lustrous skin and dark hair glimmering in the soft golden glow of the tent, she pulled the knife out in one graceful movement.

Chucking to herself, she came and stood before you. Placing a hand on your cheek she whispered, “You have beautiful skin, Bladerunner. I’d hate to ruin it.” She ran the blade of the dagger (which you recognized as navaja) along your jaw down to your clavicle. Unflinching, you met her eyes, letting her know that you’d long accepted your fate. She pressed the blade into the side of your neck, leaving you with a deep cut that was as long as your little finger. Blood began to run from it immediately but instead of pain you felt a sense of relief wash over you.

Baekhyun pulled you out of the way and stood like a barrier between you and Lys, glaring at her. His jaw went tight as he roughly grabbed her knife bearing arm, the firm grasp of his fingers was sure to leave her with striking red streaks along her wrist. Smiling to herself, Lys stretched out her other hand in front of Baekhyun. “Hand it over. It never looked good on you, anyway.”

He was quick to draw the basil necklace from the inside pocket of his coat and slap it in her palm. Next, he slowly drew the navaja out of her grasp, inviting a loud gasp from Minseok.

“Baekhyun! What have you done?” Yixing roared.

One prevalent belief still held by the clan was that taking a knife straight from someone’s hand meant that the relationship between the giver and the recipient had been severed. But the enormity of his own action was lost on Baekhyun.

He declared instead, “If the Bladerunner is to be punished, Bulibasha, I deserve a harsher punishment. I don’t care what the Zakono says. You can’t go on acting like she was alone in this!”

Minseok, who seemed to be at a loss for words, simply glared at Baekhyun’s out-of-character rebelliousness.

It was Lys who spoke first. Searching Baekhyun’s eyes, she said to nobody in particular, “He seeks her when he’s upset. And even when he’s not.” Turning to bow before Yixing, Lys stated, "Bulibasha, I would like to request a private audience."

You slept all day after the trial and woke up a little before noon the following morning.

It had felt like one mammoth nightmare - right from the day you laid your eyes on the sprig of basil around Baekhyun’s neck to yesterday when he smacked it in Lys’ hand - leaving you with yet another battle wound on your quest to rescue the man you loved. What transpired yesterday between Lys and Minseok was known only to Yixing, Baekhyun, and you and you were all under an oath to never speak of it again.

The jamdhar was now in Yixing’s custody and it was most likely to be buried deep into the earth after a final discussion with the Elders.

Work that day went by in a daze - all you wanted now was to spend every second of everyday with your beloved but you abandoned the idea till the dust on the matter had settled. You came home to a potted plant which stood pretty on the windowsill of your rustic brown caravan and looked picturesque against the pink bougainvillea creeper around it.

The plant was that of basil.

A basil plant on the window of a woman indicated that she was spoken for. Only one person could’ve put it there. The moment reached out for the plant, you felt a firm grip strengthen around your waist, pulling you closer. Baekhyun nuzzled the side of your neck, soft lips brushing along the edge of your clavicle. This time you didn’t fight this long overdue affection, instead revelled in it.

“Men and women shouldn’t be inappropriately intimate”, you breathed as you found yourself caged between the caravan and the length of Baekhyun’s muscular frame. His lips found yours, teeth playfully tugging at your lower lip before exploring every inch of your exposed skin crudely, eliciting soft moans from your parted lips. His hands found your hips, thumbs digging deep just over your hip bone. His lips teased the sensitive part on your neck as his fingers moved to unfasten the lace of your tan buckskin waistcoat. Threading your fingers through his hair, you pulled him closer evoking a throaty chuckle from him. Giving the sensitive spot the attention that it deserved, Baekhyun took you by the waist and in one swift movement you were lifted off your feet and scooped into his strong arms.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck as he pushed the door to your caravan open with his elbow. He gently laid you on the bed, one corner of his mouth raised in a smirk. Cocking his eyebrow, he allowed his eyes to mercilessly rove over your dishevelled state before slowly sliding into bed with you.

***

You were woken not by the everyday melody of songbirds but by a loud clang that rang mercilessly though your caravan.

“I just...wanted to make you some chao!” Pants hung dangerously low on his waist, a brazenly shirtless Baekhyun exclaimed, the boom of his voice echoing in your ears. Rubbing the sleep away from your eyes, you gave him a quick once over while your head had already begun to throb slightly thanks to the unwelcome blaring this early in the morning. Veiling your modesty with a fleece blanket, you floundered out of the comfort of the bed and meticulously studied the sorry state of your sacred space - your precious little kitchen.

Olive green eggshells were carelessly strewn across the counter. The contents in the saucepan that was perched atop the stove bubbled frenetically, threatening to overflow. Even in your sleep befuddled state you could make out that Baekhyun had carelessly thrown three deshelled pheasant eggs in boiling water which had now dissipated in a foamy mess.

“Baekhyun, what do you think this is?” You raised a green box the size of your palm embossed with a delicate gold flowery pattern, to his eye level.

“Sugar.”

The throbbing in your head increased and your eyes started brimming with tears.

“Where did you find this box, Baekhyun?” You questioned condescendingly.

“In your medicine crate?” He drew the sentence out in a question, taking a cautious step back.

But you took a threatening step in his direction and spoke in a deep, menacing voice. “You….you thought I’d keep sugar in my medicine crate?”

“There was no sugar ...no sugar in..in the cabinet!”

“You know I never use sugar in or for anything.” You maintained, as a tear rolled down your cheek.

“Why are you crying?” He asked, eyes fixed on the green box that was clutched possessively to your chest.

“Baekhyun did you use whatever’s in this box?”

“N-no?”

“You don’t seem so sure?”

“I did not! You’re scaring me now! What is in this box?”

“Tell me you didn’t use it, Baekhyun!”

“I did not use it! I promise! Now will you tell me? Please?”

Exhaling heavily, you answered, “My life’s work”, and hid the box in the farthest corner of the medicine crate.

“Explain”, he said with a yawn.

“Mithridatum...a poison antidote made from sixty-five ingredients. It’s an ancient recipe and it’s taken me fifteen years to research, scavenge for ingredients, and formulate.”

“Why do you keep it around so carelessly!”

“Carelessly?! It was in my medicine crate!”

“You know I need sugar in my chao, dragă.” He pouted.

You handed him a bottle from the kitchen cabinet, “Use this. It’s tapioca syrup.”

“Won’t taste the same but I’ll survive. Now let’s put Mister Mithridatum someplace safer, shall we?”

“Miss Mithridatum is safe enough in my medicine crate as long as you keep away from it. Thank you very much.”

Baekhyun beamed. You knew this smile a little too well so you checked to see if your fleece blanket was doing its job. But Baekhyun was nothing if not audacious. He advanced towards you as you retracted. Hands on hips, putting on a wide grin, he spoke in a voice laced with sugar and spice, “Nice outfit.”

You gathered the fabric up to your neck and bit on your lower lip to keep from blushing. “Thank you.” You said sweetly, feigning innocence.

“You’d look better without it.” He towered over you as you hit a dead end, with your back against the wall of your tiny living space.

You pushed him in the chest and he cried out like a wounded puppy. “Baekhyunnie, bring us some breakfast from my mother’s, will you? Don’t make it look like you spent the night with me, alright? Go now, I’m famished!”

“Of course, you are.” Baekhyun teased and his face scrunched up in a bright yet bashful smile.

“Don’t forget to put on a shirt!”

***

Your mother sent you a generous portion of pumpkin stew and fried cornbread which Baekhyun and you ate - no - inhaled in silence in the comfort of your caravan.

“I have something to say.” He looked at you solemnly and you felt your heart sink to your stomach. And it probably manifested in your eyes since he took your hands in his immediately and calmed you down, “Good...good something, dragă!”

“Baekhyunnie, you scared me.” Panic betrayed your voice and water started pooling in your eyes.

“We’re never to be parted again, dragă. I’ll follow you into the shower too if you like.” He nodded solemnly.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Frowning, you teasingly clarified.

“We’ll see about that later. Anyway, since Minseok has let me go as part of the settlement...you know whatever happened with...with -”

“Lys.”

“Yes. So, I have a lot of free time on hand. And your iubit doesn’t know much about anything but he knows weapons.” He looked at you intently and shot you a knowing smile.

You urged him to continue with an anxious nod.

“After we’re married, I could speak with dya and take over the weapons’ trade and you can… probably.. continue to make more Miss Mithridates? Or do nothing at all, I’ll be the sole breadwinner of our little, happy family.” He declared, flexing his muscles.

You held him by the wrist and put his hand back in his lap to reinforce the seriousness of the conversation and asked, “You would do that?”

“Unless you want me following you into the shower everyday...yes.”

“What if Yixing disapproves?”

“He can’t, dragă. My freedom...is...it’s part of the settlement.”

You leaned back and looked up into his face, blinking tears from your eyes. You held your finger up at him and mouthed, ‘One moment.’

Rummaging through his clothes you found what you were looking for and said to him excitedly, “I can’t believe you still have this!”

It was the scarf you’d tied around his elbow the day he injured himself while sneakily watching you sing and dance by the pond.

“Already snooping through my things? You wound me!” Baekhyun pulled you into his lap and whispered into your ear, “I take it with me wherever I go.”

You skillfully drew out a couple of loose threads from the scarf and reached out for a fresh sprig of basil from the plant on your windowsill. Weaving the sprig into the threads you studied his face with rosy eyes.

“Hurry up!” Said Baekhyun, tugging at your arm. As you were helping him wear the necklace with trembling fingers, his hands travelled the length of your back and his lips ghosted over yours, inhaling your unsteady breaths.

An disappointing knock on the door jolted you out of your celebration.

“Are we interrupting something?” A familiar voice reached your ears and you felt your face flame. Smoothing your hair and skirts you scrambled out of Baekhyun’s lap and bowed before the visitor, not daring to meet his eyes.

“Ah! Yixing! You should know better than to walk in on a couple unannounced!” Baekhyun grumbled and ran a hand through his hair, still seated with his legs wide apart. He took your hand in his and pulled you back into his lap.

“Bulibasha -”

Yixing merely chuckled at your embarrassment while looking around your uncharacteristically messy caravan for a place to sit. Pulling away from Baekhyun, you tidied the bed for him.

“Bulibasha, you said we.”

“I’m sorry?” Yixing gaped at you, confused.

“Are we interrupting -” You explained, feeling the heat rising up to your cheeks again.

“Oh, yes! Minseok, come on in!” Yixing bellowed.

“Are you sure Baekhyun’s completely clothed?” Came a high pitched voice from outside the caravan.

Yixing snorted and exclaimed, “Pretty much!”

Minseok cautiously stepped into your caravan and bowed politely.

“You too? Can’t I have some alone time with my beloved?” Baekhyun whined.

“It’s been less than a day and you’ve forgotten us already!” Minseok chided, taking a seat next to Yixing.

“Such is a woman’s love, Minseok. It beguiles the best of us! Anyway, we won’t keep you too long.” Yixing winked at Baekhyun and you bashfully retreated to make the guests some chao.

“Come and join us, Bladerunner, there’s no need for formalities.” Said Minseok curtly and you immediately obliged. There was nothing to serve the beverage with, anyway, apart from watery eggs in a pot.

You came and stood next to Baekhyun and rested a hand upon his shoulder. He immediately intertwined his fingers with yours and you felt relief surging through your veins.

“I’d like to apologise for the things I said to your woman, Baekhyun. It was unkind of me.” Minseok stated, his tone contrite.

“You were only looking out for your little sister. If I were in your place, I would’ve probably done the same.” Baekhyun replied in all earnesty.

Minseok and Baekhyun gave each other a meaningful nod before the cat-eyed man turned to you and said gently, “I truly wish you both a lifetime of happiness, and I’ll make sure to knock some manners into the boy before he’s permanently consigned to you.”

You glanced over to the kitchen and laughed, “That would be of great help!” before peering at Baekhyun who feigned offence at Minseok’s words.

“One last thing before we take your leave.” Said Yixing, slapping his thigh, “The Elders have suggested the full moon of the fourth month for the wedding. Bladerunner, I trust you will convey this to your dya?”

You gave Yixing a measured smile and nodded.

“And Baekhyun -”

Baekhyun pulled you into his lap and held you by the small of your back. Lovingly searching your eyes, he whispered, “I can’t wait.”

*********************************

A/N: This oneshot will be followed up with a spin-off for Lys which will explain what transpired in the “courtroom” but if you know me, you’ll know about my snail’s pace when it comes to updating. So I’ll be happy to give you a summary over DM if you’d like! :)

This was my first time attempting something in this genre/theme so I’d absolutely love to hear your thoughts on it.

Also, Piper, I’m sorry you got stuck with me :P

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