#this could be seen as a companion piece to that one toast one i wrote the other day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

notalwaysthevillian · 4 years

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Brewing Love

Warnings: kissing, implied nsfw

Pairings: Romantic Remile, Romantic LAMP

Word Count: ~1.5k

Read from the beginning!

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Chapter 18

Waking up with his arms wrapped around Emile, Remy couldn’t help but smile. This was how every morning would be for the foreseeable future, and he had no problems with that in the slightest.

Then he heard a crash, followed by some arguing.

Letting out a quiet groan, he carefully pulled away from his love.

Padding into the kitchen, he found Virgil and Roman whisper-arguing in the kitchen.

“I told you to be careful!”

“I didn’t think I’d knock over all the pans.”

Remy stifled a laugh as he saw Virgil playfully roll his eyes. “Can you do anything quiet?”

“Not from what I’ve heard.”

The two of them jumped as Remy stepped out from the hall. Immediately Virgil’s face turned a deep red, but a sly grin spread across Roman’s face. “Oh, we’re the only loud ones?”

Remy shot him a grin back, before surveying the damage. A few pots and pans were scattered across the floor. Bacon sizzled in a pan on the stove and he could see some scrambled eggs as well. The toaster picked that moment to pop up, scaring Virgil half to death.

“You’re making breakfast?”

Roman shrugged, grabbing the toast and starting to slather butter on one side. “It’s our thank you for letting us stay over last night.”

“I should be thanking you, it would’ve taken Emile and I at least a month to pack up and get them over here.”

Virgil flipped a piece of bacon over. “You helped me when I moved in. It was time to return the favor.”

Soft quacks made their way down the hallway. Remy knew he had the sappiest look on his face when Emile slid into his arms, but he couldn’t help it.

He was definitely a useless bi.

“Warm.” Emile mumbled as they wormed their way into his arms.

Carding a hand through their hair, Remy smiled. “Sleep well?”

“Until I woke up and you were gone.”

Roman acted out Cupid striking his heart behind them, making Virgil shake his head.

Remy gently tilted Emile’s chin up with two fingers, before giving them a short kiss. They tried to chase his lips when he leaned back, pouting when he pulled away.

“We have company, remember?”

Cheeks burning, Emile spun around. They were greeted by a waving Roman and a smiling Virgil. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.”

“No worries. That was only the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.” Roman told them, earning a smile in return.

Virgil pulled the bacon off, putting it onto a plate. “Ro, toast.”

“Do you need help?”

Before Emile could step into the kitchen, Roman blocked their way. “Nope! You’ve gotta be exhausted after everything we did yesterday. You let us stay here, so we’re doing breakfast.”

“Doesn’t Virgil still live here?”

The look on Virgil’s face made Remy burst out laughing, tears flowing down his face in an instant. “Did you forget?”

“It’s not like I’m here often!” He practically hissed, putting more bacon into the pan. His face was slowly turning pink.

Roman wrapped his arms around Virgil’s waist. “Nope, you’re usually at mine.”

As the two began playfully fighting, Remy scooped up Emile, carrying them back into the bedroom. They squeaked when Remy plopped them on the bed, pressing their lips together in an instant.

“The way I see it, we have two options.” He mumbled, before kissing them again. “We can either shower and get dressed before breakfast. Or -”

His words were cut off with a kiss from Emile. “Option two.”

Remy grinned. “I didn’t say what it was.”

“I know you well enough to figure it out.” Emile slid their fingers to Remy’s hair, gasping when Remy started kissing their jawline. “But not too far, okay?”

“Roger that.”

About ten minutes later, there was a pounding on their door. “Breakfast is ready! Get decent and get out here!”

“We are decent!”

“Then get out here!”

They slid out of their room, finding Logan and Patton at the table. It was the first time in a while that Remy had seen Logan with bed-head. He ruffled his hair, earning a half-hearted swat.

“You made him even hotter, thanks.” Roman said, grinning when Logan turned bright red.

Patton kissed him on the cheek. “You’re absolutely right, Ro.”

“Guys, any more and he’s going to spontaneously combust.” Virgil commented from where he was sitting on the counter, munching on some toast.

“Come sit over here, V!”

Virgil gestured towards the filled chairs. “No room.”

Remy pulled Emile onto his lap, making them giggle. “Now there’s room.”

“You should really get more chairs, Rem.” Logan teased. “How else are we supposed to have dinner with you?”

The six of them made their way through breakfast and clean up without too much teasing. Other than the usual roasting between the cousins of course.

After they’d put away the last dish, Patton cleared his throat, getting everyone’s attention. “So, since we’re all here...did you guys mind helping out with some wedding planning?”

An offended gasp left Roman’s mouth and he turned to Logan. “You needed help and you didn’t ask me?”

“Gee, I wonder why.” Virgil deadpanned, earning some giggles from Patton.

Roman shook his head. “You know, we should really help them out so we know what to do for ours.”

Instead of panicking, like Remy would’ve expected, Virgil blushed and slid to Roman’s side. He had to bite back a grin at the excited look on Patton’s face. Clearly those two had had some kind of talk.

Logan looked up at Remy, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Rem, you’ll want to know this for your wedding too.”

Heat bloomed in his cheeks instantly. He glanced at Emile, finding them looking at him with nothing but pure love in their eyes.

Once everyone had agreed to help, they moved to the living room. Patton dug through his bag, pulling out a binder decorated in light and dark blue washi tape. It was obvious that Patton had decorated it, but once he opened it Remy saw Logan’s spreadsheets and calculations.

“Emile, did you have any idea what you were going to wear?” Patton asked as Logan went over a few ideas with Roman and Virgil.

Emile hummed. “I’m not sure, I haven’t been asked to be a plus one yet.”

Without hesitating, Remy slid down onto the floor in front of Emile, getting on one knee for the dramatics. He heard a few gasps behind him and realized it might have been too dramatic. “Okay, first I want to say that I’m not popping the question. When that happens it’ll be much more romantic, I promise.”

The use of the word ‘when’ made Emile wriggle with glee, but they didn’t say anything to interrupt.

“Emile Christopher Picani, will you be my plus one to my cousin’s wedding?”

“Of course I will, you goof.”

Emile dragged Remy up into a kiss, earning small cheers from the others in the room. When they broke apart for air, Logan cleared his throat and gestured back to the binder.

They spent the next hour helping pick out a color scheme for the wedding, as well as finding an idea for table centerpieces.

“So grey, light blue, and navy blue,” Logan read off as he re-wrote his notes. “And we’ll do some sort of constellation light-box for the centerpieces.”

“Are you both wearing tuxes?” Roman asked as he carded his fingers through Virgil’s hair.

Patton shifted into Logan’s side, glancing at the carpet. “Actually, I was thinking of wearing a dress. Is that too weird?”

“Absolutely not!” Emile chimed in, pulling Patton up off the couch. “What kind of dress did you want? There’s all sorts of different styles, but I think you’d look stunning in a ballgown.”

“Either a ballgown or an A-line.” Roman commented, circling around him. “A mermaid cut would just have you tripping over your feet all night.”

“I know a really cool dress shop near my office!” Emile started bouncing on their toes, eyes bright. “We could go today if you want to!”

“The sooner we have our outfits, the better.” Logan mentioned, watching the three with a smile. “It’s one less thing for us to worry about.”

“One less thing to worry about.” Roman sang, earning giggles from his companions. “It’s settled then. The three of us will head to the dress shop, and Logan can go with V and Rem to get a tux.”

“That’s rather favorable, actually.” Logan said, quickly jotting down some notes. “None of us will be able to get, um...distracted.”

There was a flurry of motion as everyone quickly got ready for the day. Just before they split off into their two Ubers, Remy pulled Emile to the side, giving them a lingering kiss.

“At some point we should talk about a wedding, yeah?” He asked, heart pounding in his chest.

Emile’s smile lit up at least ten more gigawatts at Remy’s question. They kissed him again, much more forcefully. “Yes!”

“Em, come on!”

“Have fun dress shopping. And maybe check out some things for yourself.”

After throwing a wink to Emile, he jumped into the Uber and they headed off.

#romantic remile #romantic lamp #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #ts sleep #remy sanders #emile picani #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders

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zankivich · 4 years

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Can’t Help Falling in Love with You: Werewolf!Shawn x Black Reader: In My Blood Universe

a/n: hiya. This is a companion piece to In My Blood which you can read HERE if you haven’t yet. I really loved those characters and Shawn was MADE to write werewolf AUs for, and MADE for to write fall AUs for. I wrote this one day when I was really sad that I couldn’t go the apple orchard this year. She (the story) makes me feel warm and soft. I hope you like. K bye.

*Shawn’s point of view*

Fall is her favorite season. Which means that fall quickly becomes his favorite season. And not out of blind allegiance to his mate either, but because she became actually the cutest human being in the world more than usual in the fall. It was the cozy sweaters, the leggings that were so soft and melded to the curve of her thighs with ease, the scarves that she made with her own two hands. How was he not meant to fall even deeper in love with her in the fall? It was ridiculous.

He’s sitting on the living room couch with Brian and Zeubin discussing parameter checks for the week when she plops down on one of the chairs and lets loose a dramatic sigh for the whole room to hear. He pauses and stares at her, a grin forming on his lips, but ultimately keeps speaking. When y/n doesn’t get the attention of her mate immediately she decides to plop more aggressively against her chair and sigh louder. You know, like an adult?

“Darling, is something bothering you?” He asked, pausing his conversation.

She peered over at him with what he liked to call her bambi eyes. They were as effective as they were ridiculous.

“Me? Oh nothing.” She hummed.

“You sure?”

“Oh I’m sure!”

The problem with the fact that she was lying was that once he thought about the fact that she clearly wanted something, he couldn’t really think of anything else. It was the problem with being mated to someone. He was designed to serve her. It was his moral compass of sorts. Making sure that she was happy and taken care of and satisfied. So, despite the fact that he had actual shit to do, it would all have to wait. The love of his life needed something after all.

“We’ll finish this later.” He muttered already getting up to head over to her.

“Annnnnd conversation over.” Brian chuckled.

She was in his Harvard sweatshirt and a pair of shorts so when his fingers tugged at her legs to make room for him to squish into the small space, he can marvel a little at the feel of her thighs. It helps that she immediately falls into him, throwing her legs over his lap, and her arms around his neck.

“Baby,” He cooed softly into her ear. “why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I can fix it.”

“Apples.” She mumbled.

“I’m sorry?”

“I want apples.”

Needless to say he was a little confused.

“Oh...well I think we might have one in the kitchen, love? Is that all you were upset about?”

She rolled her eyes and cupped his cheeks in her hands. She was really beautiful. And a little scary. HIs favorite combination of hers.

“I don’t want those sad ass apples, Shawn. I want them straight from the tree. I wanna go to an apple orchard! But your sad ass town doesn’t have one of them. I already looked.” She whined.

“Awww. Babe, I’m sorry. You’d know I move us closer to one if I could.”

He rubbed gently at her back beneath her--his--sweatshirt as he worked to console his mate.

Her eyes widened. “Wait can we do that?”

“Do what?”

“Move!”

He chuckled softly. “Not quite, sweetheart. It’s kinda hard to protect the town, if I don’t live in it.”

She sighed and nestled her head against his shoulder, her fingers hidden in the sleeves of his sweater. The frustration and sadness on her was difficult for him to swallow. He hated seeing her so down, and he hated more than anything that he couldn’t do anything about it. It might be as simple as an apple, but his heart didn’t know that. All his heart knew was that she was sad, and that everything in him wanted that not to be the case. And so he would fix it. Because her heart desired it.

***

*Y/n’s point of view*

You loved the house in the fall. Shawn’s land was all hidden, a forest of greenery and trees, so when they all began to turn it was the most beautiful array of colors that one had ever seen. On the weekends, you loved nothing more than curling up in the living room with all the windows and knitting while Shawn played guitar. Your home, though only a few miles away from the pack house felt sacred, felt like your own space, and Shawn did everything to keep it that way. All pack and general wolfy business was there. When he came home, he was yours and no one else's. The way you liked it.

He’d gotten out of bed that morning far too early for you. One moment he was wrapped around you, arms warm and solid and firm. The next moment the bastard was letting you go. Rude.

“No.” You whined rolling over to snuggled deeper into his chest. “Mine.”

He chuckled softly. “Your’s, aye? I’m no longer a person?”

“You can be a person all you want.” You mumbled, eyes still closed. “Just as long as you stay in bed while you do it.”

You felt his lips begin to press along your hairline where your skin and bonnet met. He dipped down to your neck and nibbled slightly at the skin. Just enough to piss you off.

“I need to go to the main house to check on things, love. I’ll be back. You know that.” He whispered.

You opened your eyes finally to see him looking at you. Gentle and smirking and sexy as all hell. It was ridiculous.

“I want you here.” You argued. “In bed. With me. Holding me. Don’t I deserve that?”

He nodded. “You do. You deserve the world. Which is why as soon as I’m done checking to make sure everything is okay, I’m going to come back here and make you breakfast.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shawn your breakfast sandwiches are not going to stop me from being annoyed this time.”

“No?” He asked softly. “Not even if I took you on an adventure afterwards?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“An adventure?”

“An adventure. But...you know, if you’ll still be angry with me, I could always call and cancel. Let me just--”

He went to grab his phone off the nightstand and you immediately tackled him back down into the bed. Shawn’s alpha-ness had nothing on the power of you being his mate. He fell to you immediately. And then of course quickly rolled you over to show who was still in power. At least in his mind.

“Okay, okay! Go be an alpha or whatever. And then come back. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned. “I love it when you get all dominant on me. Now get that ass over here and kiss me good morning.”

Mmmm. Love.

So, while Shawn was off doing his job, you took the liberty to slide into one of his sweaters and went about making breakfast yourself. Just because home boy worked at a coffee shop didn’t mean you couldn’t throw down too. By the time Shawn came back you were pulling bacon out of the oven and toasting your english muffins for some eggs benedict. When his arms wrapped around you, it felt like home. Like you never wanted to be anywhere else. And that was how you knew he was everything.

“Did you miss me?” He hummed moving your curls out of the way to best kiss your cheek.

You shrugged. “Little bit.”

“Little bit, aye? I missed you a lot-a-bit.”

“Yea?”

“Mhm.”

“Well then I guess I missed you too maybe.” You smiled.

“Yea, alright. Come here already.”

He kissed you silly against the kitchen counter until your english muffins burned and you had to remake them. It was worth it.

If fall was your favorite season then your favorite part of fall was the shift in Shawns’ wardrobe. Nothing made you more soft and happy than that man in a big ole sweater and tight skinny jeans. He was the epitome of warmth and softness and it just gave you everything that you needed. Despite him running 102 degrees on a cold day, he continued to implement the sweaters into his wardrobe for your own benefit, and that ladies and gentlemen is why you loved him so much.

“What are you smiling at so hard over there?” He chuckled, sliding his watch onto his wrist.

There was nothing you could do or say but to run up to him and hide your face in his sweater. When his arms wrapped around you, it was all comfort. You wondered endlessly where this man had been your entire life. It was so rude to only discover him now.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your head.

You smiled up at him, head tucked beneath his chin.

“Me too. So much.”

A ride in Shawn’s jeep was always a good way to spend the day. The rain today was more of a mist than a downpour which meant it surrounded the car on all sides cozily as he sped through the streets. You quickly passed through all of the houses and stores in town before heading out of the limits and towards the city. You peered out the window in interest, with zero idea where your mate might be taking you. Things got more confusing when instead of heading for the exit that would take you to the city, Shawn kept going farther and farther away from anything that might look like an adventure. Needless to say you were a bit confused.

“Babe, where are you taking me?” You asked peering around as the trees turned to fields of corn and grass.

“It’s a surprise, honey. Be patient.”

Patience. Not in a Black woman’s DNA.

Another thirty minutes go by. And then another fifteen. At this point your knee is bouncing in anticipation. The rain had stopped, leaving behind soft, muted grey clouds. You were just about to ask your boyfriend again where exactly the hell you were going, when finally a glimpse of life appeared. A sign. But not just any sign. A sign with a big ass apple on it.

You reach out involuntarily and grabbed his arm with all your might and shook.

“No you fucking didn’t!”

He laughed. “Surprise, sweetheart.”

“H--How! How did you find it?”

“Just took a little digging. You’re right that there’s not one in town, and there’s not on in the city. But two cities over we have: Peggy’s Orchard. You happy?”

“Yes! Yes! This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me! Let’s go!”

Without the rain around you’re free to pick your apples in peace. You take time to pull them from the trees and eat and share with Shawn. He holds your hand and picks the apples from the top of the tree when you need him to, which is often because the best apples are always at the top of the tree. Children run around with their parents, playing games between the trees. It smells like fall and feels like fall. It’s everything you wanted and more. Cause he’s there. Which makes it infinite.

“I love seeing you happy.” He admitted quietly as you tucked another full bag of apples into the back of his jeep.

“Huh?”

You turned around only to find him standing right in front of you. He moved closer still, using his hips to press yours intimately against the back of the jeep. His hands joined your hips and you practically melted into him.

“You’re just so beautiful to me when you’re happy. I mean you’re beautiful to me always but...I just wanna make you happy for the rest of forever okay?”

You smiled and tucked your face into the warmth of his neck.

“I love you so much.” You mumbled taking a second to still yourself against him. “Ew. We’re so incredibly sappy.”

He reached to skim his fingers along the back of your neck. They were so warm that you shivered.

“It’s okay to be sappy every now and again, I think. As long as I’m with you.”

After apple picking, he takes you to this amazing little village that’s set up with different activities for kids and adults alike. There are caramel apples galore and apple cider and caramel popcorn. It’s everything you loved about fall and the person you loved most. He wrapped his arm around you as you walked and took pictures in the hay with you. It was clear that this day mattered a lot you, and knowing that Shawn cared enough to put the effort in meant a lot.

“Can we get the biggest pumpkin we can find?” You asked as you came across the pumpkin patch. “I’ve never been with someone with werewolf strength who could carry it to the car.”

Shawn laughed wide and bright and perfect. Ugh.

“‘Course we can, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

It’s a cumbersome process. The perfect pumpkin doesn’t just reveal itself easily. You have to search for it. You have to rub your fingers across the curves of the pumpkin. You have to become one with the pumpkin. The wild part is that he’s right there beside you the entire time. He knocks against the side of the pumpkins listening for the hollowness that you described to him. He rolled them over in search of that weird green stuff that sometimes appeared. He was in it with you, and he didn’t rush you or get annoyed or angry. You were having fun and so was he. And it felt like one of the most special days you’d ever had. Just you and him.

When you find the pumpkin, it’s so beautiful you could cry. It’s so big you couldn’t lift it if you used every muscle in your body. It was tall and round with a nice long stem on the end. Shawn picked it up with ease and brought it back to the car with promises of carving it together. He was again maybe the most perfect thing in the world.

“What do you say we go get some cider and sit by the bonfire before we head home?” He murmured when the pumpkin was put away. “I don't want this day to end yet.”

You smiled so hard you could feel the stretch in your cheeks.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

The bonfire at the center of the village seemed to be the beacon for couples and families. As night overtook the tiny town seemingly in the middle of nowhere, a chill set it. Shawn had wrapped a blanket from his truck around your shoulders and doubled up with his own arm. You got to lean your head against his shoulder and drink apple cider while staring at the fiery embers. It felt like home. You never knew that you could crave someone’s physical proximity so much. That you could just enjoy the essence of another being in the way that Shawn’s seemed to bring endless comfort to you. Part of it was that you were mates, sure, but you had a feeling that without it you still would have been drawn to him. He was like the sun. Just endlessly warm and kind and giving. You seemed to take up his entire line of vision, as if you were all that mattered even if you were far from it. You wondered if he knew that he was all that you saw too.

“Hey.” You murmured head nuzzling deeper into his neck.

You pressed a kiss there and love the way you could feel his body react.

“I love you.”

His arm tightened around you tugging you closer until there wasn’t an ounce of space between you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and placed his hand on your knee.

“I love you too, pup.”

You squirmed slightly in his hold. “I hate when you call me pup.”

“How come? I like it so much. You are my little pup.” He chuckled before sobering up. “You’re my mate, you know? My everything.”

You tilted your head up and he was already there staring at you with his eyes all big and warm and brown. It’s too much and he knows it, but you’ve always been helpless to stop him.

“Fine. Pup it is then.”

You turned to look back into the fire, the smoke and the heat swaddling you like a perfect cocoon. Shawn’s arms never left you.

“Hey. I--I have something for you.”

You pulled the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders and looked on as he stuffed his hand in his pocket.

“Shawn, I really think you’ve given me more than enough today. Seriously, today’s been perfect.” You assured him.

His oversized hand settled onto your knee, fingers curled loosely in a fist as he smiled.

“I know. Today has been perfect. But, that doesn’t mean I couldn’t make it a little better, right?”

“And just how could you possibly make this day any better?”

He unfurled his hand and stared down at your knee.

“What are you--”

You may have gasped and jumped back from him a bit. It probably wasn’t exactly the response he was looking for, but how else is one meant to respond to such a thing?

“It’s my mom’s.” He breathed softly holding the ring closer to you so that the light of the fire would make the diamonds light up. “My dad gave it to her. She uh she wanted me to have it once she found out we were mates. She wanted you to have it. I wanted you to have it.”

You bit your lip and sniffled as your eyes began to dampen.

“Is it...What’s it for?”

He smiled up you, his own eyes wet as well.

“Well it’s for you. If you want. And I--I would be for you, forever, if you want.” He mumbled before chuckling nervously. “We’d be married, basically. I’m asking you to marry me. I’m just doing a shitty job of it.”

“Yes.”

His eyes widened and he turned to you.

“Yea?”

“Yea! Are you kidding me? YES!”

You leapt into his arms and he caught you just as you were pressing your lips to his. You could taste the salt of tears and you couldn’t tell if they were yours or his, you just knew that it was the happiest you’d ever felt in your whole life. The people around you, having caught on to the tiny proposal, clapped and cheered, but even that was hard to recognize when the greatest person you’d ever known asked you to be his forever and ever. In the realm of mates, it meant so little, but in the realm of human beings it meant a lot. It was another example of Shawn meeting you where you were at, of making life as easy as humanly possible for you. It was more than you could ever ask for.

“I love you.” He mumbled still pressing his lips over and over again to your cheeks. “Can I take you home now?”

“Yes. Let’s go home.” You smiled.

And just like that you walked hand in hand towards the car, bonfire long forgotten. He only let go of your hand for the time that it took him to walk to his side of the car and get in. But then your fingers quickly intertwined again, the smooth metal of the ring touching his skin. You held hands the whole way home, the night caressing you on all sides except for the brightness of the moon. You had never felt more at home, more safe, more loved.

The end.

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blacknovelist · 7 years

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The First Step (Pyre fic)

So I had this thought, for a whole bunch of fics for Pyre, and god I’m so in love with it, I want to do it. But the blackwagon is very, very important to this series and so, naturally, I needed a fic for the finding of the blackwagon. So it’s more or less better if I post this as-is and turn it into a series rather than a multi-chap as I first thought (which is a relief, because I’m still not ready after going through A Place to Be tbh)

Shoutout to @littlestmedic, who wrote this super cute Pyre fic that gave me the idea to call Jodariel “Mama Jodi”. And who might’ve given me a little bit of inspiration to include some “i don’t want this to end” feelings, maybe (the rest of it is my own personal feelings anyway because i’m still in pain and want to keep enjoying my days with all of my friends happy and free don’t look at me) Also shoutout to the SGG discord, who helped me make the decision to add that one part with Tariq. You know what I’m talking about.

Attempting to study Hedwyn’s vague-ass story about how he found the blackwagon for this fic was an experience and a half. My first draft of the first part is something that deserves to burn, but that’s what happens when you write on an airplane, I guess. *shrug*

[AO3]

Strange things can be heard among rumors in the Downside - the strangest are the ones that are true.

(before it learns how to be a home again, it must be found; and in the end, it is.)

It starts months before you are plunged down the river - not in the pearly streets of the Commonwealth, where the seeds of a plan are still being planted, but deep among the dung-boulder homes and pearly-white bone forests of Jomuer Valley. Beneath the light of the moon and stars, among the five exiles drinking and eating beside the sputtering fire, a trader swings their arms as they regale their audience with theatrical exaggeration.

“…and these folks, they’re rushing about fighting each other, wearing these bright eyesore dresses and freaky white masks for all the stars to see. Like the Commonwealth’ll see and take ‘em back somehow.” They gesture upwards as the group devolves into another round of laughter and snorting. “Tossing a glittering ball and lighting up the place with bonfires like they want the howlers ten leagues off to know what’s going on. Lunatics, they are!”

“There’ll always be idiots out there in the world,” a demon rumbles, tearing into their plate of roasted lizard.

“Aye, you said it, El,” One cur chortles, “and that’s somethin’ I’ll toast to!” She starts gulping down her drink by the mouthful, and the others cheer her on.

A brunet leans over to slug the arm of the man next to him, laughing. “Good thing we ain’t out there to catch whatever those guys’ve got. The things that happen in the Downside, eh?”

Hedwyn chuckles. “Indeed, my friend.” He glances at his temporary companions, but his eyes soon drift back to the smoldering logs. “The things that happen.”

The first rule to surviving the Downside is to never stop moving.

Even the bog-crones, who often stake their claims in the Flagging Hands as soon as they arrive, do what they can to keep busy and ensure they never have a chance to realize how desolate and cruel the Commonwealth’s merciful sentences really are. It’s important to keep moving forward and leave the world above behind (both physically and mentally) so the burdens of the Downside (also physical and mental in equal measure) don’t have the chance to catch up and kill you.

Unfortunately, that means making connections and finding people down here is a near miracle if you don’t know what you’re doing, and a difficult endeavor nonetheless even if you do. Hedwyn’s only saving grace, in the end, is the fact that there aren’t that many demons around. It isn’t hard to keep his ear to the ground and ask the right people the right questions until he’s pushing and stumbling his way past the crags splitting Jomuer Valley from the Prairie, coming across the campsite of Captain Jodariel herself.

Her low grunt as he steps (trips, really) into the light would’ve been intimidating, if the sound were any less familiar to his ears.

“Ah, hello, Jodi.” Hedwyn beams. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Hello, Hedwyn,” Jodariel says. “Should I be worried about the reason you’ve come trekking across the Downside without help to find me, or is this another one of your passing whims?”

“I’d like to think it’s neither-” His pack clangs to the ground as the pots and pans inside bang together- “but I have a feeling you would disagree with me. Besides, explanations can wait. We haven’t seen each other in some time. Have you eaten yet? I managed to pick up some things from the traders by the Spring that I think you’ll enjoy.”

“Did you now?” She pauses and sighs, before standing up. “Very well. I think I may have enough provisions left for both of us.”

Having lived in exile for so long, Jodariel knows exactly how things best work here in the Downside. The problem instead lies in the fact that she is a demon and doesn’t usually associate with any settlements in either of the most populous regions (Flagging Hands and its crones aside, as Jodi refused to discuss the place), and as a result cannot really help Hedwyn hunt down the info he’s looking for. She does, however, know someone who can.

Rukey Greentail is someone he’s only met briefly in the past, when the cur wrangled him good deals at the Slugmarket, shared a night and drinks, and extended his services to the nomad not long after his exile. “You ever need somethin’ done,” Rukey had said, “you just come right on over, chum! I’d be happy to help you out, and nobody’s got connections down here like I do.”

It doesn’t take long to find him either - the message runner down at Hollowroot costs them a dinner and some of Jodi’s scavenged herbs, but nothing they can’t easily replace, and within a week the trio is sitting together, lunch hanging from the sticks at the makeshift fire pit’s edge.

“So,” Rukey says, switching between looking at the duo and eyeing the spits, “what brings you two to good ol’ Greentail? Not that I ain’t happy to see you chums, but Jodariel isn’t usually one for making house calls so we can drink together.”

“That’s correct, Greentail,” Jodariel says. “We have our reasons for contacting you, but the nature of those reasons are less business-like in nature and somewhat more… personal.”

“Oh?” One ear shoots up.

“It’s a crazy plan. You’re the one who knows people, out of the three of us, and you have the best chances of finding what we need to make it work. It’s a shot in the dark, I’ll admit.” Hedwyn prods the fire, turns the logs. “But our reward, I think, is worth the trouble, at least. If it happens to be true.”

“And what, pray tell, is the reward to your so-called crazy plan?”

“Freedom.”

The crackle of wood fills the air for just a moment.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard him, Greentail,” Jodariel rumbles. “Outlandish as it sounds, I believe he’s onto something.”

“Well of course you do, isn’t there some rule about mums and their sons that has to do with always believing them?” Rukey falters for just a moment. “Did you guys forget that part where exile is a life sentence?! If there was some kind of secret path to leave this dump, don’t you think everyone’d be jumping all over it already?”

“Not unless the secret to freedom is so unbelievable that no one thinks it’s true,” Hedwyn says. “Look, Rukey. I know it’s a tall order, asking you to trust us and hunt something down without a guarantee to you, or to any of us. But if we don’t at least look into it, or try to figure it out, then there’s definitely no way out of here. We’d be giving up before we’ve even begun, and I don’t think I could forgive myself for something like that. If this whole thing turns out to be fake, I’ll repay you. Every piece of it by pocket, I promise. If it turns out to be true, though…. This just might be our ticket home.”

Rukey eyes him, expression unreadable.

“…alright, you got me, chum. I’ll bite.” He settles down, and reaches for his share of lunch. “Tell me more about what we’re doing, then.”

It’s small, but enough tension drains from his shoulders to fill a lake. Hedwyn smiles.

“We don’t have many leads, but it starts somewhere up north….”

“This better work,” Rukey grumbles for the umpteenth time as the messenger vanishes into the shrubbery. “You guys are lucky I already have a good idea of who to ask ‘bout this. It costs a lot to guarantee zipped lips, and even more to get a run to and from the middle of nowhere like this.”

“Discretion is necessary,” Jodariel says. “If word got out as to what we are searching for and for what reasons…”

“People calling us crazy would be the least of our problems,” Hedwyn says.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Rukey sighs. “I guess we’re camping out here for a while longer.”

The sun rests well above the horizon without a cloud to obscure it, leaving the Downside bright and warm in the surprisingly picturesque afternoon. Jodariel stalks the length of the clearing with a deliberate slowness, scanning the trees and skies for any less-than-friendly company. Rukey sits by the ashes of the fire, taking stock of what few materials and possessions he has on hand, calculating which ones can be sold or used or traded should he need to. There’s a rustle in the underbrush and they both pause, alert, until it fades back into silence.

“Hey, Jodi, uh…” Rukey fidgets with a glass bauble. “How long’d that messenger say they’d be talking to Hedwyn, again?”

“They didn’t.”

“….right.” He turns back to his belongings, sighs, and starts counting again.

It isn’t until shadows start stretching long and they’ve started preparing for the evening that Hedwyn finally returns, alone. He smiles in greeting.

“I’m back.”

“Took you guys a while!” Rukey grins, bounding over. Jodariel doesn’t stop tending the flames, but she dips her head towards him and there’s a quirk in her lips.

“How did your meeting go?” She asks.

“Just fine, I think. The messenger left to go inform their employer.” Hedwyn turns to his supplies and effortlessly heaves his cooking pot up - Rukey turns to finish clearing space. “They asked a few questions, answered some of mine, and left me with quite a bit to think about in the meantime. Said word would be back before the next moon passes, at the latest.”

“So….. it’s true, then?” Rukey asks. “This whole fighting under the stars thing, it’s real?”

“They kind of twisted out of a straight answer, but… I think it is. The fact that someone came at all says quite a lot.” Hedwyn pauses. “They also left me the name of the one your contact reached out to. Said he’d probably get in touch with me directly, after this.”

Jodariel looks up. “Who is it?”

“Someone by the name of Sandalwood.”

After the second messenger arrives to deliver word from Sandalwood, the three relocate their semi-permanent camp to the edge of the pass leading to Jomuer Valley. Partly because, as Jodariel tells them, the local fauna is often too wary of the monstrous form of the Ridge of Gol to come within sight of it, but also because the messenger informs them that they will come from the north, and this makes communications easier for both sides anyway.

For weeks, Hedwyn’s days consist of their small clearing and sputtering fires, of Rukey slipping off for days at a time to chat it up with his associates and Jodariel wandering off to patrol or in search for useful flora, of familiar strangers appearing like they’ve been there the whole time to ask more questions and deliver more news and bits of conversation from Sandalwood. It isn’t even until halfway through the second month of their communications, while Jodi and Rukey are away from camp, that the dozenth messenger comes with something new, in the form of a sheet of paper.

“In the Sandfolds,” She says to him, holding the paper up for him to see, “to the west and south, where the River Sclorian delivered us into the Downside.” The messenger traces a crude map in the corner, then taps at the next image, a black and white ink sketch of a wagon with a massive horn through its top section to serve as what seemed to be a lantern holder. “Find the blackwagon of the Nightwings, and take it with you. Bring your friends, the two of them.” Then she points to the third image - a circle with an intricate pattern traced in black, all curved lines connected and overlapping each other. “This will be set in its floor, and will be how you know you’ve found what you seek. You’ll find almost everything you need inside the cabin.”

“For the Rites, you mean?”

“Yes.” The messenger doesn’t so much as blink. “Nothing within will be unnecessary to your journey.. Once you’ve found the wagon, there’s one more thing you need to do. I trust you know what this symbol is.” Her finger moves to the fourth picture; one that sends an unconscious thrill through his heart, even if it means nothing in exile. “Find a Reader, take them with you. How doesn’t matter, as long as they are willing to read for you until you no longer require their services - you could buy their loyalty, for all the Scribes may care. The Book of Rites is the key to unlocking the Rites themselves, and there’s more than enough copies for you all - you’ll need to wear the robes, as well. There will be a set for each of you, and then some. Sandalwood has requested you try and find someone for each mask and set you have.” The paper is flipped to reveal a series of diagrams - instructions of some kind, Hedwyn realizes. “These are directions he gave me, for you. Follow them as best you can.”

She meets his gaze, sheet held between them, and smiles. It’s the first time he’s seen any of Sandalwood’s people show emotion. “'I will eagerly await the day we may meet, face to face. May the Scribes watch over you and see you find the true freedom you seek, young man.’”

The messenger disappears back into the Downside from whence she appeared, leaving him there, the guide clutched in his hand the only sign she’d been here at all.

“You are certain this is the right place?”

“As much as I can be, Jodi.”

Hedwyn examines the map on the corner one last time, before folding the sheet and tucking it into the bag on his belt. In front of them the wreckage of exile cages twist out of the sands around the mouth of the River like the silver bones of some long-dead titan, ripped apart and in various states of rust and decay. A few are more intact than others and some are still trapped in the rocks and currents, but all of them are devoid of the lives they once held.

“And I thought I’d never have to see these things again,” Rukey sighs, knocking a bar of metal back into the river. “So you’re absolutely sure that wagon’s supposed to be somewhere near here, right?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Then we’d best start looking,” Jodariel says. “Before night falls and the howlers come.”

Rukey looks heavenwards. “Yeah, yeah…”

It’s only thanks to a flash of green and red among the browns and grays of the Sandfolds - from a potted plant sitting on the back step and a torn scrap from the hanging flags, no less - that they find the wagon, in the end. The greater half of the day is spent scooping the mounds of dirt and sand off the transport until they realize it’s trapped in a rut, and the other half of the day is spent attempting to lever and push it free until Jodariel gets impatient and heaves it out in one huge burst.

“Thanks, Jodi.” Hedwyn leans on his knees for a moment, heaving, before holding the canteen in her direction, She nods, and takes it.

Figuring out how to ready the blackwagon for the night after that is a trial and a half. Silently, they all give thanks to the Scribes that Sandalwood had the foresight to send them a *manual*.

“Hedwyn. I believe we have a problem.”

“What is it, Jodi?”

“There’s a man in here. Sitting in the corner. He doesn’t appear to be moving.”

“Huh. Whaddya know, there is.”

“…I don’t think I recall the messenger or Sandalwood saying anything about someone being in the wagon.”

“Maybe he’s a minstrel? He’s got an instrument and everything.”

“Greentail……”

“Is he alright?”

“Well, uh. I just tried waking him up and, he didn’t so much as twitch. Did get some really weird vibes from the guy, though. I don’t think he’s dead, at least. That’s something, right?“

“To you, perhaps, but it still leaves the matter of what to do about him. He is not dead, but he has not stirred, and there is no telling how long he has been here or if he is a threat.”

“Why don’t we just leave him here? Not like he’s hurting anything, or in the way. He’s even sitting in the corner.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Rukey might be right. We can’t just leave him in the Sandfolds when he’s unconscious, and if we can’t wake him, there isn’t much else we can do until he comes to on his own.”

“…….”

“If you want to try, be my guest, Jodi. But we aren’t thinking about kicking him out until he’s awake.”

“…Very well.”

“Great! Now that that debate is over, maybe we should figure out how we’re gonna look after the horde of drive-imps in the rafters?”

“The what.”

As it turns out, finding a Reader is something far easier said than done. While the blackwagon makes it much easier to get around so Rukey can send word out to his various contacts and associates through Hollowroot, given how long literacy has been banned in the Commonwealth, well. There just aren’t many Readers in the Downside to be found.

Or rather, as they learn from what they occasionally stumble upon among the torn cages by the river, there aren’t often Readers (or other exiles, for that matter) to be found alive.

“I’ll keep my ears open,” Rukey promises, sending another messenger out to yet another vague associate he knows. “But, maybe, we’ll have better odds if we just camp it out by the river and try to find some folks that actually make it down? At least that way we can ask ‘em straight off the bat instead of chasing a bunch of Downside cryptids that may or may not exist at all, let alone know how to read.”

“Incredible, Greentail,” Jodariel says. “That’s actually a fairly reasonable plan, aside from the abysmal rate of survival the River Sclorian tends to provide.”

“Thank you, Jodi,” Rukey drawls. “My plans are always impeccable, after all.” He would be angrier if it weren’t for the faint smile on her face and the fact that this is probably the first joke he’s ever heard her crack - as it is… he lets it slide, this once. “Besides, I’m sure we’ll find someone alive someday!”

“Perhaps.”

(It wasn’t funny. Really, he swears.)

The three of them settle into a new routine as they familiarize themselves with both the Nightwings’ blackwagon and living together in their surprisingly roomy new home. Some days are spent venturing the Downside Prairie, picking up rumors and word from Rukey’s people, selling what plants and trinkets they salvage from the land when they have the chance; others are spent wearing the raiments and masks they’d gotten along with the wagon, sweeping the Sandfolds and checking the River Sclorian for traces of new cages, new exiles, potential survivors of the treacherous trip downriver.

It’s difficult, sometimes. Hedwyn, having grown used to living alone, tends to leave his belongings in unusual and obscure places that make avoiding or finding them difficult for anyone that isn’t Hedwyn; Jodi tends to pace when she’s worried or in deep thought, which wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that her footsteps shake the wagon when she’s not careful and Rukey can only stand the squeak of the floorboards for so long; Rukey’s personality in general tends to get on Jodariel’s nerves, and vice versa. Occasionally, the hopelessness of finding nothing but scraps and remains starts to get at all of them, and they need to step back from watching the rushing waters and shifting sands for a while.

But some days, they make it work. Rukey finds ways to seem busy or occupied and helps Jodariel forage for supplies, and she works at not nagging him; Hedwyn starts restricting “his space” for his heavier possessions, so Rukey can stop running into them; Jodariel tries to restrict her contemplation for when they’re stopped or she’s off the blackwagon, and to avoid the noisiest of floorboards when she can’t. Some days it’s easy to gather around the fire and melt together into the comfortable aura, to become something that looks just a little bit more like a family with every hour that passes.

'I wouldn’t have had this in the Commonwealth,’ Hedwyn marvels some nights, when the stars glimmering above them seem just a bit brighter than they usually do. 'It would be close, maybe, but I’d still be on the Bloodborder, fighting the Harps. Fighting Fikani’s people.’

Once, the thought of fighting the age-old war had filled him with excitement (with awe, with a hope that maybe, someday, he could be like Mama Jodi, who always lifted him in her strong battle-scarred arms). Now, the idea leaves his head spinning.

If finding a Reader doesn’t work out for them, he knows, they will likely return to their lives before this. They will go back to wandering the Downside, surviving in the only ways they know how.

But is that all you want to do? Survive?

Silently, privately, he prays to the Scribes that their plan works. That he doesn’t have to watch his friends leave until nothing has changed and he doesn’t know when (or if) they might see each other again. He prays, for only a moment, that he can hold onto this just a little bit longer.

“So, what I’m thinking is, given how long we’ve gone without seeing anyone come out of that river, we’re long overdue to finding at least one person alive, y'know?” Rukey grins. “I’ve got a feeling. Today’s gonna be the day, I just know it!”

“That would be far more believable if you hadn’t said that last week as well,” Jodariel says. “What’s so different about today, Greentail?”

“Just a hunch.”

“If acting on a hunch means we might find something more than sand, I think I’ll take it,” Hedwyn jokes. Their cursory scan of the riverbank hadn’t provided any new leads, but as always, Rukey stays optimistic.

He turns back to the controls, veering around another splintered steel cage (it’s fresh, if the lack of rust and wear are any indication). Directing the drive-imps is surprisingly easy once one understand the basics of it, and as long as you keep the critters well-fed they seem content to follow orders.

Even if those orders consist of slamming on the brakes so hard you nearly fling yourself and everyone in the blackwagon right out the window.

“Ugh, not that I’m insulting your driving skills, chum, but WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!?”

“For once, I’m with Greentail. What’s going on, Hedwyn?”

The tips of his ears turn pink. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to slam on them like that. But outside, in front of the wagon - I think there’s someone there.”

The impostor members of the Nightwings pause. Then, Jodariel and Rukey are stepping towards the front window, towards the unfortunate and sad lump sitting in the distance.

“…So there is.”

Rukey beams. “Well, what are we waiting for? How’s about we go and say hello?”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

Out on the barren wastes, you sink low to the sands, your ragged cloak doing little to shield you from the blistering winds. The fear your arrival brought you has started to fade, replaced by the numbness exhaustion and starvation brings you. Your vision is starting to swim. You won’t last much longer, like this.

Off in the distance, you hear the rumble of a wagon.

#pyre #pyre fic #jodariel #hedwyn #rukey greentail #blacknovelist writes #the nightwings #a brief appearance from the reader at the v end #pre canon #hi 2am how are u today #skipped the ffnet crosspost bc there isn't even a pyre archive. what's the point #maybe i'll do it later but fuck im tired man #also.its spoiler free!

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sam-oflaherty · 4 years

Text

It’s been a while. So here’s a short story.

It’s something I wrote long ago as a rambling, poorly thought out, quasi-autobiographical piece. It’s called the Wizard and the Wandering Man, or something.

----

CHAPTER 1:

To find oneself on the floor of the aisle

The hum of refrigeration and fluorescent lighting didn’t sound very gentle to him. In fact, he found its insect-like incessancy rather agitating. His state of mind was already relatively unstable.

There was no music – not even the elevator kind. The hard linoleum floor was uneven at the joins and polished to look like marble. And save for the rattling shadow of his trolley, it reflected the artificial lighting with a brightness that made him squint and think of waking up late, drunk, and hospitals, and death. This, inevitably, led him to ponder his own hopelessness. Confusion, self-doubt and rage – directed at himself and the world around him – murmured alongside more practical wonderings. Things like the unnerving realization that he was almost entirely alone in there.

He was just one of those kinds of people.

His moustache was thick, dark and heavy. It dominated the lower part of his face and had even caused, on a couple of occasions, the recently introduced to adopt what could be best described as a Mediterranean accent while talking to him. If it were not for a pair of piercing green eyes, rimmed with dark, long and almost straight lashes that glistened with tears when he yawned or spoke with uncomfortable frankness about his feelings, one might not have noticed that he was, in fact, beautiful.

“Call me Ismael,” he said to himself as he passed the frozen fish. Then he suddenly realized the narcissism of the act, especially considering his solitude. It then occurred to him that he disliked frozen fish simply because it didn’t smell like fish. It worried him for a few more seconds. He passed the loaves of hardening bread, the bundles of wilting flowers and packages of weeping spinach. The cereal aisle was all bright colours and calls-to-action veiled in invented health benefits. He thought for a moment whether the extravagant sugar content in some of them actually caused the labels to shine with enchanting radioactivity.

A couple of deep and thoughtfully miserable breaths whistled through his moustache. He was wandering. Brooding, breathing, and wandering. He wasn’t necessarily lost in there. He knew where he was. But he had no aim. He had touched various things on his journey, even picked up a packet of gnocchetti at one stage and held them to his nose. But his trolley continued the same, weightless rattle over the linoleum joins.

“Ah! There you are.”

At this unexpected interruption of his melancholy one corner of his moustache jumped upwards, quizzically, along with the opposite eyebrow.

A Wizard shuffled toward him, one crooked arm raised, suggesting he wait there. A Wizard? He wondered why such a name had been occurred to him above anything else. He lowered his eyebrow, then his moustache too, and squinted to get a better look at this Wizard before it came too close. After a quick appraisal, he soon decided ‘Wizard’ was not such an outlandish deduction.

He saw street darkened feet, wrapped in straps of worn leather and buckle. He saw a nondescript grey robe – although it was too heavy and stiff to billow dramatically like in the films. He saw a long, once white beard dipped in ash and beer. And most of all, he saw a hat. The brim drooped and shadowed the Wizard’s soft, wrinkled face and hid the brightness (or madness) in his curiously large eyes. The pointed top was bent to one side. It was a ridiculous wizard’s hat – but one that did not seem so ridiculous on such a man.

He must have just been one of those kinds of people.

“So how have you been doing?” The Wizard spoke with disarming familiarity. He had a thick, closed accent that revealed nothing more than untraceable origins and innumerable influences.

“OK. I suppose.”

“Good. Good. So, old friend, how is it…”

“Hey. Hang on. Who…?” The moustache and eyebrow sprung back into their interrogative positions.

The Wizard simply ignored his question and carried on, uninterrupted. The moustached victim looked around, embarrassed, wondering whether anyone else had noticed this character. But he saw no one else. He decided the Wizard was quite clearly insane. And you never can be too careful with crazy people. Best to hear him out for a bit.

It turned out most of what was said that day made perfect sense. The Wizard was full of friendly chatter, rude proverbs and an impressive array of wisdoms. He spoke constantly, frankly and captivatingly as he led his bewildered companion around the aisles.

The Wizard never actually touched any of the items on the shelves. Nor did he ever place any into the rattling trolley. Instead, with a gnarled and sun spotted hand hooked under his new friend’s elbow, he made small gestures – the vague indication with a crooked, hook-nailed finger, the raised eyebrows and slight upward inclination of the head – and encouragements to his confidante to pick things up himself. The trolley’s rattle softened to a faint tap under the weight.

All the while they chatted – rather one carried on croakily and the other listened and let himself be led – in a dreamy, casual way that beguiled any suspicions the latter held initially. They covered everything from broad concepts of life and death to the just as important minutiae of newspaper prices and the strangely pleasurable feeling aroused by inducing cramps into the bottom of one’s foot.

Abruptly, the moustached man experienced a moment of what he thought was mental clarity and independence of thought. He laughed at the Wizard. He swore at the Wizard and degraded him for the hobo he was. At this outburst of cruelty on his partner’s part, the Wizard wandered off. He waved a hand nonchalantly past his ear as he departed, mumbling something about “get some liquor.”

The trolley ceased to sound when the Wizard left. One wheel, higher than the others, continued spinning, expectantly, slightly off the floor. A reactionary gap opened up just below its pusher’s moustache. He was immediately assailed by a feeling of whose main ingredients could be recognized as confusion, querulousness and outright rage. (Rage was kind of his thing). Within seconds, confusion proved to be the strongest flavour. Sure, this Wizard was probably a hobo. Maybe both. But why was he so cruel?

Then, with nonchalance and a ‘humph’ at the ridiculousness of the situation, he started to carry on his way. It was a vain attempt to shake off the shame caused by his own cruelty. And a sign of sincere, unexplainable regret.

The realization of this regret began to overwhelm him. He stopped abruptly again – after just three or four steps this time. The one, raised wheel spun momentarily, then stopped.

“Fuck.”

With a sigh, he sat down on the cold, hard, shined-to-marble linoleum floor. The artificial light was not so bright down here. He crossed his legs and rested his elbows just above the inside of his knees. He rested his face in his hands. The pressure squashed his cheeks into his teeth.

He realized he was hungry. Hungry for something delicious. He had intended to pick up a couple of microwaveable dinners – he once tested his culinary talents with reasonable success, but laziness and self-pity (and a predisposition of character in which one flaw inflates the other and vice versa) meant beans on toast and other basic, unsatisfying and bad-for-the-soul concoctions had made up most of his diet for the last few years. It was not just a question of what to cook – it was a question of how. He seriously doubted his ability to boil an egg at this stage.

If it weren’t for his moustache right then, one would have seen his lower lip tremble. Only the dimpling of his chin belied any emotion more profound than the blank look in his eyes.

Then, with a rustling of leather on linoleum and wool on old skin, the Wizard wandered past. He carried a bottle of Irish whiskey and a larger bottle of red wine. The man on the floor caught half the label – Campo Viejo… Spanish, he decided.

“So, I was half right” he said.

The Wizard stopped. “Of course. But half wrong too.”

“You’re not just a Wizard, or a hobo. You’re a drunk.”

“Ah.” The Wizard looked away from the pitiful source of this malice, which still sat cross-legged on the floor. He gazed into the middle distance (in this case much shorter than usual, as the distance to the opposite shelf, covered in tinned tomatoes, was not very far). His lips wavered as though he was about to say something. And then he did.

“C’mon” he said, looking the moustached man in the eye. He cleared his throat in what might have been an involuntary expression of awkwardness and continued. “Look at your trolley. You’ve everything you need. And you know how.”

At this, he received a blank, dejected look.

“Oh dear. Alright then, my friend. I’ll help you if you like.”

A twinkle of brightness flickered through the doubt and despair that cloaked the eyes of the man on the floor of the aisle. His moustache began to thin and stretch into an apprehensive, bushy smile.

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blastingxff · 7 years

Text

Fate that Binds 13

This part: Twerps are upset inside and out, James is dead on the inside, Jessie’s combative on the outside, and cats are just evil (FYI: This fic actually isn’t crack like please proceed with caution. And yes I am aware this tells you nothing about the part in question.)

first part // previous part // next part Series: Pokemon Characters: Jessie, James, Meowth, Pikachu, Ash, Brock, May, Max, Jessebelle Ships: hints of rocketshipping if you read it that way, mostly just friendshipping though Summary: It had been a throwaway wish, something made out of the frustration of the moment- it wasn’t actually supposed to happen. But the magic of a well haunted by a pokemon’s spirit ended up altering reality. Now, Jessie, James, and Meowth aren’t in Team Rocket. They don’t even know each other. And it’s created far darker a world for the TRio than Ash could have ever imagined, and now he and his friends want nothing more than to change things back to how they were. Genre: Friendship, hurt/comfort, so much angst, all the angst, drama, butchered canon, Words: 1,526 / part 13 out of 16 Trigger Warnings (this part): injuries, violence Notes: This popped into my head and didn’t get out until I wrote it down. It’s 16 chapters, and entirely written already in about three days. So that will explain a helluvalot. Like the bus-sized plotholes. I just wanted to be mean to my favorite characters, geeze, is that so bad? XP Also can be read on Ao3.

Chapter 13 The Morning of the Wedding

Complimentary breakfast for trainers at the Pokémon Center in Celadon was served from six am for the early risers to ten am for those who slept in. Weekends, of course, saw these hours extended. If it weren’t for the delicious danishes, knowing these hours would not be necessary. As once ten am (or two pm) came by, the meal switched from breakfast to snacks as lunch was prepared (or on weekends, snacks and then dinner. Lunch and breakfast would be served simultaneously).

It was 9:30am, Ash was barely awake, having had his first somewhat guilt-free sleep since the whole ordeal began. It was sleep long needed and his body was angry at him for having awoken so early compared to its desires. He had been the last of his companions to wake up, and he had only done so due to a small shock from Pikachu, an imperfect yet frequently used alarm clock replacement.

They had a long list of things to do that day. First would be to contact Professor Oak and hope that he believed them. Second would be to try and piece together the new reality with whatever Professor Oak could provide him with. Did Ash know Misty? How did he meet Brock? What about his other friends? Ash hoped he could find some way of making sense of the world. If Jessie and James had never met… did he still get that badge back in Viridian? Had his entire journey changed up to now?

They were questions that he needed answered, but this also sounded like a lot of work and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d like all of the answers. So he ate his danish as slow as possible, eyes unfocused on the television screen in the Pokémon Center’s dining hall.

Weather said it was supposed to be nice and clear through the afternoon, with light rain coming in the next morning. Temperature was moderate, but the sun was strong. Wear sunscreen!

The weather reporter bowed, thanking for the attention and the television station switched stories as Ash took another labored bite.

He tried to swallow. His throat had gone dry.

“Oh no,” May’s hands had gone to her mouth to hide her gasp but she couldn’t hide the horror on her face. It was coverage about the wedding. It hadn’t been cancelled. Instead, an even more beaten down James than before was caught by the news station’s camera. He was getting into a limo, flanked by his parents.

“The guy looks like he’s headed to his execution instead of his wedding,” a trainer from the table beside them commented. It was still hard to swallow the toast, the crumbs scratching at the skin, that’s exactly what it is for James.

“Tell me about it. But like, come on. He’s stinkin’ rich, probably just sulking because the venue isn’t the high class one he wanted,” another commented. Not an ounce of sympathy in their voices. Ash just felt panic bubbling. What had happened to Jessie? What had his wish done this time?

“Hey, don’t talk about people you don’t know,” May snapped, earning their shock. But her fury had been ignited. Her attention shot towards her friends and brother, “Guys, we gotta save him.” She looked back at the screen as the limo drove out of the picture, “Somehow.”

* * *

Seeing James put into the limo only served to harden Meowth’s resolve. He was sick and tired of humans and their disgusting ways. He had to buy some time, at least until he could free Jessie. As the limo idled, Meowth moved to the far side of the vehicle- sneaking past the people and the cameras- no one noticing the small pokémon as he came to a stop next to the front driver’s side wheel. With a sharp claw he poked a small hole into the tire- not enough to deflate it completely yet, but they’d only get so far. He went to the back tire as well, doing the same. Once satisfied, the pokémon rushed to the house with a mission to find a way inside.

Time was ticking as the pokémon went from window to window, trying each one at the bottom floor, all serving to be locked or sealed in some way. The limo had left and he knew that despite his meddling his time was limited. And then he got an idea- one he had seen in one of the movies he had watched years ago. They used a knife, but dammit, his claws were sharper than any blade!

He jumped onto the sill of one of the windows, a claw elongating and glowing with fury swipes. He put it against the thin glass, drawing an… er… interesting attempt at a circle big enough for him to get through. His paw fit right on its center and he pushed with his body’s strength. The glass popped out, falling to the carpet inside the building.

“Huh. How ‘bout dat,” He slipped through the window, landing on his paws before standing once more. It was darker inside, despite the amount of light that should be coming in from the windows. The dark maroon carpet luscious and fluffy- the glass didn’t even break from its fall. But he had no time to admire the decor. If he were a passageway to a dungeon… where would he be?

* * *

The binds on her wrists above her head were really getting on her nerves. On occasion she tried to struggle, trying to free herself, but it only served to tighten the rope. She was entirely sure if she continued pulling she’d cut off blood circulation and lose her hands completely.

Didn’t seem like the ideal outcome, but hey, what did she know.

She did know that she looked terrible, she had allowed herself to cry out of frustration and anger. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep without putting that pressure on her wrists. The guards had been less than kind to her, refreshing her bruised eye and leaving some new marks.

There was no way of knowing for sure, but she had a feeling that James and his family had already left for the wedding. It had to be morning, with how much time had passed. James was going to get married to a woman who wanted nothing more than to keep him as a little show pony. She had promised to save him and yet she had only served to seal his fate.

Now she was trapped here, and she had a sinking feeling that they weren’t going to let her go like they had promised.

“FUCK THIS,” Her voice was ragged and dry, it wasn’t the first time she shouted such words into the abyss, “FUCK THIS,” She repeated.

“I mean, sure, but I’m not sure what good that’ll do.”

“Meowth?!” Her head snapped up, the pokémon was working on picking the lock of the cell door to let himself inside. It was a small cage in the corner of a dungeon that looked as though it belonged in a horror film’s circus/torture chamber mix more than in some rich person’s basement. The only sound in the area was the clinking of a claw against the metal as Meowth worked carefully and precisely.

“Who knew dese would end up being so useful?”

With a click the door opened and his focused turned to the ropes holding her.

“If you move, you may lose a finger!”

“You cut up my finger I’ll stick my foot up your ass,” normally she would be more careful with her language, however the night had put her in a sour mood. Thankfully, by Meowth’s continued interest in breaking her free it seemed he minded the cross words very minimally. So she took the opportunity to release her stress further, “I need the middle ones for when we meet up with the happy couple later.”

“Noted!” And he jumped, slicing the rope with fury swipes, Jessie’s arms screamed with relief as they were allowed movement. She held out her bound hands once more for the cat pokémon who repeated the previous action on a much more controlled scale.

She shook out her arms, little pin pricks shooting through as blood began to circulate once more, “Thanks, Meowth.”

“Ain’t nothin’! But we gots to get goin’! James and dat goil of his are already on ‘dere way. Dunno how long they’ll be stalled!”

“Stalled?” Jessie was tying her hair back with a piece of the rope used to bind her. Partly for convenience sake. Part a way to fuel her fury- as though she might forget this little incident. If she were being honest the names on her list of ‘deserving of petty revenge’ were getting rather numerous. It was going to be a lot of work to ensure karma did its job.

“Less’ just say, I hope dey got two spare tires!”

Jessie’s grin widened as Meowth began to lead the way out of the dungeons, “Perhaps you were a part of an evil organization.”

“I’m a cat.”

“Is that a denial or a confirmation?”

#fatethatbinds #musashi #kojiro #team rocket fanfiction #Pokemon Fanfic #pokemon fanfiction #((I might just rapid fire the last few chapters unless people want to wait more inbetween. I have a friend coming into town #so it'd be either rapid fire or hella slow. there are only 3 more parts))#((also sorry if this part sucks I was really tired when editing XD))

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