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txtdreamss · 3 years

Text

the boy who has everything// [f.w.]

Summary: Fred and you have been secretly going steady since the end of your fifth year. Now that he and George are making their grand exit to follow their dreams, you are struggling to come up with the perfect parting gift.

Inspired by: https://open.spotify.com/track/37hblhCnC5YzhDQH58Rgpi?si=0EISnLcTRE2mctlIXNObTA

Warnings: Angst, Malfoy!Reader, difficult home life, neglect mentioned

A/N: Currently going through a bit of a writers block that definitely came from school, but I thought something to do with my fav boy would help clear my mind. Just want some input from ya’ll, would you be interested in me starting to take requests? Also, low-key miss having mutuals before I decided to completely start over lol. Also, why does ‘each other’ look wrong to me? Like I am a native English speaker but the words just like sus...

Word Count: 2.2k

The numerous differences between your childhood and your boyfriend’s were anything but subtle.

Growing up, you felt as if you were a puppet being dangled for the world to see. Your mother, Narcissa Malfoy, was a complex woman; She obviously loved you very much. She held you, but never longer than it took to keep your tears at bay. Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, was your father in blood only. His disdain for your lack of enthusiasm regarding blood purity was obvious. He had never once in your 18 years on Earth said ‘I love you’, or even a simple ‘I’m proud of you’. Until the day came where you were willing to take the dark mark and fight on behalf of Lord Voldemort, you would be nothing in your parents’ eyes besides a test child before Draco’s birth.

Now, from what Fred had told you, his childhood was seemingly filled with sunshine and rainbows. He spent his summers wading in the pond near the Burrow, listening to the chirp of crickets and giggles of his numerous siblings. The entire family was open about showing their love in words and actions. Molly and Arthur, despite not being particularly rich, would give the clothes off their backs if it meant their children would never have to experience fear in any capacity. Fred always had a playmate, and never did he have to go through life fearing being expelled from the family home for his opinions.

In the simplest of terms, Fred and you were complete opposites. Your similarities were found in the small things; the way you both were headstrong and loyal, and most of all...

You both despised Filch. Fred had saved your butt from being caught in the halls after dark at the beginning of 5th year. He had decided then and there that despite the fact that you were in a different house, you simply had to be more than another member of the besmirched sacred twenty-eight. He knew from the second you were taking his outstretched hand in the dimly lit corridors that no matter what, you both were destined to be in each others’ lives. As he led you down a secret passage to the sound of Mrs. Norris’ eardrum-rattling mewls, you knew that the idea that he was just another impoverished ginger from the Weasley family was anything but true. Despite all the odds, that night was what laid down the foundations for you and Fred to become more than just another member of the family feud.

Going on almost 2 years later, and your relationship had shifted from what was a slightly odd friendship to an unexpected relationship. Fred and George were now planning their grand escape for sometime after the Easter holidays, but you had a totally different date on your mind; April 1st.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“Oi, Weasley! You are a whole 42 seconds late!” You giggled, and Fred simply chuckled before dropping his books next to yours.

It was rare for Fred to be on time, but he always made an effort (and usually succeeded) for you. Due to your obvious difference in house loyalty, the easiest way you found to spend time together was to carve out 2 afternoons each week to just bask in each others’ presence. Every Monday and Friday (unless there was a quidditch match), you would meet Fred in a secluded corner of the courtyard. The two of you would goof around study, snack on some treats from Honeydukes, or simply lie back and enjoy the sunset while talking about whatever came up.

“So, anything big happen today, love?” Fred pecked you on the cheek quickly before dropping his head on your shoulder.

“Just the usual. Apparently, my mother has finally given up on sending me howlers to come home.”

“Y/N, mum already said she would love for you to come and stay with us during the holidays. You could come get a feel for the family over the holidays next week, and you would finally get to see what the Weasley-Twin-Birthday-Bonanza is like!”

“You mean watch your aunt call you George for a whole evening while asking why you aren’t a prefect? Oh, I am so in.” The ginger made a face of mock offense while dramatically huffing into the shoulder of your robes. “That reminds me, will you finally cave and tell me what you want for your birthday?”

“Love, I don’t want anything at all. Having my gal be there for the big one-eight is more than I could ever ask for.”

Money was no issue; Your mother had continued sending you a small allowance, most likely in the hopes that it would sway you to ‘do the right thing’. Fred had always made an effort to get you a new charm for your bracelet for your birthday, which most likely cost him a few weeks in sales, so of course you wanted to return the favor and find the perfect gift. Last year, you had crocheted him a plush lion wearing a Gryffindor-themed scarf and he had loved it. For some reason, though, you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to find him something bigger and better for his final birthday as a Hogwarts student.

“If you say so, Fred. Just don’t complain when you open my gift and it’s a pair of socks embroidered with little kittens.” Fred simply smiled and grabbed your hand that was previously tapping on the edge of your potions textbook.

“I’ll wear them with pride.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“Ginny, please tell me you have some amazing idea for a gift that I haven’t thought of....” Ginny grimaced as you sunk into the wooden chair, obviously aware that this meeting you had called in the library wasn’t just to give her some advice in terms of course selection.

“Well... um... maybe you could bring him some muggle joke products? He really gets quite a kick out of them.” The apples of Ginny’s round cheeks became rosy, and she awkwardly rubbed at the back of her neck. “I mean, no offense, but couldn’t you just ask him?”

“I tried that already. At this rate, he will be turning 19 before I figure out what to get him...” A puff of air escaped your chapped lips, and you once again found yourself nibbling on them in thought.

“Well, here you are, big sis! Trying to figure out a gift for your git of a boyfriend?” Draco’s familiar greasy head popped out from behind the shelf before the young wizard marched up to you directly. “Do us all a favor, give him a little ‘life sans Y/N’... Merlin knows his parents probably don’t want a child of dark lord sympathizers at their shack anyways.”

“Shut up, Draco...” Before Ginny could attempt to soothe your anger, you had up and left the room.

“Psh, serves her right anyways...” A resounding smack was heard as Ginny wacked the platinum-headed goon on the back with the heaviest textbook lying nearby.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It wasn’t like doubt surrounding your relationship had never been an issue before. You often found yourself wondering if your company was putting Fred in danger, especially considering the current climate surrounding the resurgence in death eater activity. Fred had always tried to quell your worries, but sweet words and gentle kisses could only do so much. You and Fred knew how you both felt towards each other, but it seemed like the world was against you some days.

Maybe Draco is right, he could get out of here and find a nice girl with normal parents to settle down with. After all, who wants to be known as the significant other of a Malfoy?

A single tear slipped out of the corner of your eye, but you quickly dabbed it away with the edge of your sleeve to avoid grabbing attention from any of your housemates. The only perk you found that happened to come with being sorted into Slytherin like the rest of your family was that it was far enough away that you knew Fred wouldn’t find out if you spent any time sulking about your common room. For once, the slam of the heavy dungeon doors brought you comfort instead of a nagging chill.

Fred isn’t like me. He has everything he could ever want... All I do is create more stress for him.

Ignoring the harsh gaze of your housemates, you slipped into your dorm and found yourself slinking to bed without so much as slipping off your robes. Pulling the emerald comforters over your head, you let yourself slip into a restless sleep.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It was finally the day before the Easter holidays, and Hogwarts was more alive than ever. Young couples were spending their last day on campus wandering the corridors, groups of friends sat laughing and promising to write letters on what they each planned to bring back, and even some people that swore they were enemies seemed to be acting more hospitable. It must’ve been nice to not be spending the morning trying to calm your beating heart and convincing yourself that what you are doing isn’t wrong.

“Hey Lovey! Have you finished packing yet?”

“Well... not exactly, Freddie.” Fred’s face dropped, and he took your hand in his.

“Is this about my aunt? I promise you won’t even have to say more than a simple ‘hello’ to her.” The mere mention of Fred’s Auntie Muriel almost cracked your tough exterior.

“I can’t come home with you, Freddie. There is no way your family wants to spend their holiday break with the daughter of Lucius Malfoy. Look, I mean... here’s your gift. Just please promise to wait till you get to the station to open it.”

Fred opened his mouth to argue, but you had already turned away as to avoid him seeing hot tears trail down your cheeks. You would have to be insane to go and willingly spend your holiday alone in the Malfoy Manor. There would be no family meals, especially now that all your parent’s energy went towards providing shelter for the death eaters. As you stumbled away to make your way back to your dorm to finish packing, Fred’s warm hand grasped your shoulder.

“Please. Y/N, all I want is to be able to spend every day of this holiday mucking about with you. I know why you want to go home, and I’m telling you as your boyfriend and best friend to not do it. Just please, grant me a birthday wish... come home with me.”

Fred drew you into his chest, and you found yourself clutching onto his striped button-up as if it would save your life. His larger hands rubbed across your back, and he pressed a small kiss on the top of your head.

“Are you really sure about this, Fred? I wouldn’t want to make your mum and dad uncomfortable, or even your older brothers for that matter.”

“Y/N, my love, the light of my life, just come home. If you can manage to get George to like you more than he likes me, I promise you the rest of my family will love you.” His signature smirk spread on his freckled face, and he pressed a quick peck on the tip of your nose.

“Now, let’s go get you packed, Y/N.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“Oi, Fred, what’s in the box?” George elbowed his brother while somewhat attempting to be quiet. The train ride was almost over, and you had resorted to using the seat opposite to the twins as a temporary napping spot.

“I nearly forgot I had it on me to be quite honest. Do you think I should open it even though she is coming with us?”

“She said to open it at the station, but we are obviously past that point, so please just open it!” George bounced in his seat, and Fred gave in to temptation. He unwrapped the ribbon holding the small box shut, opened the lid, and discovered a dainty chain with a circular pendant hanging on the end.

“Is that a size reference for your-”

“George! Shut up, you dimwit. I think it might be a mirror-glass type thing, but I genuinely have no idea...”

“Freddie, bring it to your eye and look through it.” The twins both jumped as you rolled over, clearly no longer asleep.

Fred brought the pendant to his right eye, squinted, and his immediate smile couldn’t be contained. When held at the right distance, he could see a small picture of you and him from your first date at Hogsmeade. He was much more lanky and awkward looking, and you were almost matched in height. The smile you both shared in the photo warmed his heart to no end, and Fred found himself having to gather his emotions from the memories he had of that day.

The ginger all but leapt to your side of the cart, and he wrapped his arm around your still-sleepy figure. He squeezed you tightly to his side before leaning in to whisper something in your ear without allowing George to hear.

“It’s perfect, my love.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

~Post-fic A/N: I hope this was a good read for you guys! I am definitely on the verge of passing out, but proofreading is superior to sleep (jk). Anyways, if anything comes to mind, don’t hesitate to reach out or send in an ask! I love interacting with you guys, even if it is just a brief hello! :) ~

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred and george #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #fred x reader #fred weasley imagine #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #angst #malfoy reader #reader insert #weasley supremacy #txtdreamss

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mwolf0epsilon · 3 years

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“Eps’s Notes on The Illusion of Living”

It's taken me nearly three months to get this done due to writer’s block kicking my sorry butt. But, as promised, here are my notes on the "Illusion of Living". Good god has this been painful… But I did have a lot of stuff I initially thought of Joey somewhat confirmed for me, and got a few extra interesting tidbits of info that I feel are very curious...

--{Key}--

Italics are my opinion

--{Key}--

--{Quick retelling of the book’s contents}--

The Drews were among the more impoverished families in New Jersey, and Joey's father briefly worked in the silk industry to make end's meet before opening his own shoe store (that his mother oversaw profits for as the accountant). As such there were obvious limitations to a lot of Joey’s upbringing (like a lack of toys to entertain him with, and very few family vacations/trips that were memorable).

According to Joey, the shoes sold at his family’s store were primarily designed for people in the working class (clunky shoes and boots that would endure wear and tear rather than be flashy or comfortable to wear, which Joey complained never really fit him right), and had one singular design that was simply improved upon rather than any variety (I suppose the saying here would be “don’t fix it if it ain’t broke” but Joey really seemed to have some sort of issue with this, as he disliked his father’s works).

Joey's mother was a hardworking housewife and the primary parent when it came to rearing her child. She educated and played with him more than his father, so Joey was much fonder and emotionally close to her than to him and, while Joey’s father wasn’t an absent parent by any means, he was definitely more engrossed in working to sustain the family.

This family dynamic definitely had some impact on Joey, especially since his mother got him interested in the art of storytelling in general, and he seemed to have a lot more respect for her than for his father. In fact he even had a few reservations regarding his father’s mental integrity when he discovered his talent for making voices in a rather odd manner.

It should be noted here that, while Joey's father was strong, he looked deceptively frail and wasn't considered a particularly brave man by any means. He was however regarded as a bit of an entrepreneur, and Joey was very concerned that he may not be sane (which was a bit of taboo at the time, considering treatment for mental health issues hadn’t advanced past lobotomies and other disturbing medical malpractices) because he talked and sang to himself in curious little voices while he worked. Curiously enough, while a patient and loving man, Joey's father wasn't aversed to cursing around his young son (although Joey himself doesn't seem to use crass language, even if it was normalized in the household). Another curious thing to note is that Joey greatly dislikes mud, and especially hated it as a child (alluding to his later obsessive cleanliness as an adult).

Because of the financial issues his family suffered through, Joey didn't have a radio or many books growing up, and was thus more fond of Vaudevilles (specifically theatrical comedy, tragedy, and bizarre/surreal acts) which were pretty common in his city of birth. This interest for theatrics and third person story perspectives mixed terribly with later events in his life, like how at age 10 he witnessed a potential murder/suicide (Jesus christ...). Through this event he realized that there were different kinds of people in specific situations, especially when faced with the finality of death. Joey goes so far as to describe how theatrical the death was (Almost sounding disconnected from the reality of the situation as he noted that the crowd and even his own father seemed more like characters to him than real people). However, since Joey's neighborhood was ripe with strange people, he wasn't unfamiliar with bizarre events happening around him. Seeing a motorized ambulance was more amazing to a 10 year old him than actually caring for the death of a stranger at the front of his father's store.

At age 12, Joey went to Coney Island for the first time, and the journey excited him greatly since he didn't get to leave home very often. The trip to Coney Island was magical in a sense, and later in life he hoped to replicate it in Bendyland to a more permanent degree (the trip back home ruptured the magical effect, which he didn't want to happen with Bendyland).

Joey has his own set of rules he plays by which he considers his life’s philosophy that he calls "The Illusion of Living". This was inspired by several events in his life, including his father passing the time by playing make believe (the Shoemaker and the Elves). This unique perception of what illusion and reality are (“the same thing”), seems to point to Joey having developed a dissociative personality disorder from a young age, which got progressively worse as he grew older. This in addition with the ADHD patterns he displays in his confusing rambling writing (and Joey rambles a LOT), and the almost OCD behaviour in regards to cleaning up after himself, indicates Joey lacked impulse control and was more prone to listening to intrusive thoughts.

Joey's view of reality was often confusing to others and he greatly enjoyed poking fun out of slowly getting them to his point of view. Conversations with Joey were thus quite frustrating to some, but no less curious to others that actually tried to understand what the “Illusion of Living” was about (Like Nathan). According to Joey, only a few people ever got close to understanding it.

Joey enlisted to fight in the first war after he lied about his age (He was 15 years old, a year younger than the required age to enlist at the time). Out of all the positions in the army, he seemed most interested in comms, and considered himself more decent in communicating than actually fighting in the front lines.

It seems like Joey greatly enjoyed how he looked in uniform, and was also particularly finicky about his looks in general despite being in boot camp.

He made friends in the army, Private Donaldson and Private Eckhart, which Nathan (who worked at the tech lab that Joey later worked for) attests to being accurately described in the book. They were slightly older than Joey and were also interested in communication tech and shared his sense of humor. They also influenced Joey's social life, and tried to get him to date some gals that he wasn’t remotely interested in (the first indication that he may not be straight).

Another close friend Joey had in the army was Lottie (a communications officer) and he used to "chaperone" her whenever the four went out to party. He seemed to have a considerable amount of respect for her (which is likely a result of growing up observing his mother, thus understanding that women were competent in positions where other men would scoff at the idea of them working at all). As such he was quite supportive of the War's “Hello Girls” (comms female officers). Interestingly enough this contradicts Joey's sexist persona that he seems to take on in Dream Come to Life (a mask that seems to be among many others he employs to fit in with the rest of society).

Lottie was his special gal pal in the platonic sense and, while he often ate alone to be left with his thoughts, she usually sought him out to talk to.

Joey only ever empathized with people he was close to, often reserving telling stories to comfort his friends specifically. It was the only way he could brighten their day (which later supposedly helped a disillusioned Lottie when she was sent to serve in London). What one could take away from Joey’s days as a soldier was that he was incredibly perceptive in terms of studying people. He easily recognized people’s handwriting, and was greatly fascinated by others’s personalities.

He could also easily charm people just from reading into what they might be interested in, and liked the thought of subliminally impressing others (which he later incorporated into his cartoons). It’s never mentioned, but Joey was likely honorably discharged since the war ended in 1918 and didn’t need to return to the service of the military when the second world war hit (keeping in mind Joey appears to have mobility issues later in life, he might have not been fit for field duty).

At age 19 Joey ended up involved in investigating the murder case of Walter Richmond, a signal corps soldier Joey met briefly in his service days. The victim in question was responsible for documenting the war efforts, not being necessarily that great of a photographer, but taking a certain amount of pleasure in capturing the most viscerally gruesome pictures possible for shock value. How Joey got involved was a curious thing in of itself, since he didn’t know the victim all that well, nor cared to get to know him. Detective Adam Sinclair (a tall hulking man wearing the typical trenchcoat and fedora combo, who’s most noticeable features were his aged face and unshaven 5’o’clock shadow) tracked him down to his little minimalistic (and obsessively clean and tidy) apartment to question him. Joey was initially unsurprised that an ex-soldier ended up dead (not from the war, but likely ptsd), and was instead surprised that it was a murder case. He ended up inserting himself into the case as Sinclair’s shadow to help solve it. The reason was mostly out of self-interest, but his perspective did seem useful to the detective in the end. Throughout the investigation Joey displayed a few particular traits that indicate his attentive and peculiar nature, such as the way he reads others (their way of dressing and upkeep of posture), the manner of which he judges a good handshake, his distaste for smoking (which was taught to him via the idea that if something smells bad it’s usually bad for you) and drinking (he tries to be careful with alcohol intake in general, as he’s more accustomed to beer than drinks like champagne which one could over-indulge recklessly without noticing). Joey’s fascination for taboo subjects (war, violence, and death specifically) is also noted when he observes the victim’s photographic works.

This is a prevalent theme in an art gallery event where these particular subjects seemed to linger strongly in his mind, to the point where he noticed when one of the photos he recalls having seen before during his brief meeting with Richmond, appeared to be missing from the display. A detail that appeared to be dismissed by others, but of great interest to Sinclair.

During this same gallery event, there was an incident set up by the murderer that involved a firecracker and a crowbar that set off a lot of panic. Joey’s work at the signal corps labs saved him from the brutality of the trenches, but he's apparently familiar with the effects of severe PTSD (And ironically notes that reliving the same painful event over and over again is his definition of true horror/personal hell).

It became very apparent to both Joey and Sinclair that the murderer was amongst them, and that this onslaught of panic was a message: That the murder of the frontline photographer was personal.

They did in fact come into contact with the perpetrator and, after a while of radio silence between Joey and Sinclair, the case was solved with...Minimal success. While Sinclair knew who killed Walter Richmond, he unfortunatelly did not have enough proof to convict her (the sister of a casualty of war that could have easily been saved, had Richmond not left him for dead because it fit his narrative of the war just fine), thus allowing her to get away with literal murder. Worse yet, the resolution of the case seemed to further disconnect Joey from reality and consequence. He gained a disdain for Adam Sinclair where once he’d respected him as an authority figure of sorts, finding that he’d accomplished his role and still failed miserably. In the end, the only thing to come out of teaming up with Sinclair was learning a social skill that Joey employed later on, by mirroring back certain aspects of a person so they’d be more comfortable around him. Otherwise the detective became nothing more than a distant memory. Unimportant in Joey’s later narrative.

Two years later, Joey started working for a bookstore where he began satiating his vast hunger for knowledge, now that he had access to all sorts of books he could never afford as a child. Joey is fairly well read with an interest in various genres, although it was previously noted that during his army service people made fun of him for especially liking fictional novels. Joey being Joey however, wasn’t overly fussed about others’s opinions on what he sought enjoyment from, especially when it came to storytelling. Aside from getting his reading quota filled out, his bookstore job also helped him develop his salesperson skills through reading his customers. Through his experiences with his father’s shop and shadowing Sinclair, he had by now understood that people were highly superficial, and that he could apply whatever knowledge he gathered from them into how he sold his pitch to them. His charisma seemed to lure in customers.

While working at the store he met Abby Lambert who he immediately noticed had an eye for art. Joey quickly became friends with her and seemed to greatly appreciate her no-nonsense attitude towards life in general, going so far as to respect her capabilities as a working lady where other men would be disdained with her difficult attitude. In fact, he wondered why anyone wouldn’t hire her to do a job she could clearly handle, just because she was a woman (again contradicting his sexist persona). As a connoisseur of the arts, Abby was the one to fully introduce Joey to her favourite craft. He especially took an interest in Impressionism and its influences.

Abby also supposedly introduced Henry to Joey, which the latter insists wasn’t really that remarkable of an event since Henry was “unimaginative” and “lacking in talent” due to his specialty in cartoon caricatures, and not the richer awe inspiring paintings Joey seemed to prefer (basically Joey spends any given time in the book trying to make Henry seem as insignificant as possible out of pure unadulterated pettiness, which physically pains me).

Ironically, in terms of entertainment, Joey later favoured cartoons as the more appealing form of films since most other mediums didn’t really spark his interest, even if the genres were ones he found fascinating (I suppose that despite films being works of fiction most times, Joey likely thought real life actors were far too limited in their acts due to the natural limitations of the human body).

Returning to Abby, her friendship seemed to be more impactful to Joey than most others. Like with how he preferred his mother’s company to his father’s, Abby seemed to be one of few people he actually felt comfortable around, to the point where her criticism didn’t bother him. She was also mindful of him, where she could recognize Joey’s “preferences” and made it a point to clarify to him that their outings were purely platonic so he wouldn’t get uncomfortable in those situations.

Three years after meeting Abby and Henry, Joey became a manager at the bookstore and Henry began working there as well (by Joey’s suggestion it seems), and only then did they sort of start developing a meek little friendship of sorts (although Joey seems very dismissive about it and focuses primarily on Abby).

During that time, the idea to start his own business came about from two different events that happened that year. The first being his first ever theatrical script that he wrote and performed with Abby at a gallery event. During the performance of this little play (the theme of which was an angel and a demon discussing their role in influencing a mortal’s life), Joey discovered that he greatly enjoyed controlling situations and got way too into it (even considers what he could get away with in the name of entertainment, such as if he could act out actual violent or scandalous behaviours if he proclaimed it a part of the show).

The second event was his father sending him shoes once a year (which, because Joey disliked the make of his father’s shoes, he tried to get him to stop by pretending they weren’t arriving at his address or that they were getting stolen). As a means to ensure he got them, Joey's father started sending the packages to the bookstore. A doodle and writing on the package ended up inspiring Joey to create his own studio as he wanted to take flight in the entertainment industry.

Having thus decided that he wanted to open up a film studio of some kind, Joey immediately set off to get himself a memorable mascot. He had a vague idea of what he needed and what might be appealing to an audience, but he wasn’t particularly skilled in character design and openly admitted to this. Abby, who was also not particularly good at drawing cartoons, understood that her more realistic style wouldn’t really help (or appeal to) Joey, so she enlisted Henry’s help. Knowing that Joey was a bit picky in regards to how he evaluated art, she thought perhaps she could persuade him to take a liking to Henry’s works (which he wasn’t particularly fond of, due to Henry mostly working with pen-drawings of cartoon characters and caricatures that looked very unremarkable to him) if he could only see him actually work his “magic”. Joey was reluctant to bring Henry into his business plan, but upon actually reaching a design within a few minutes (that took a few tries experimenting with animal and human features in more detailed and then simplified ways) of Joey giving some directions, he seemed to be sold on bringing Henry on board.

Henry designing the company mascot was thus the final push to open up Joey Drew Studios.

The two began their partnership not too long after, and from then on out things got interesting very quickly.

The history behind the studio is...Not an easy one to validate in terms of whether or not Joey is sincere or even really knows certain dates (the more I look into the beginning of the book and the later exposition of information, the more I realized either Joey was starting to trip himself up on dates or his memory was visibly failing him). There are a lot of discrepancies in the dates provided, with some going back on how long Henry remained in the studio (even claiming to have at some point surrounded him with other animators and even a lead artist a year prior to his departure), when Sammy and Jack were hired (He says he hired Sammy in 1929 during the Wallstreet Crash, but later says he hired both him and Jack after the Wallstreet Crash), among other things... Joey Drew Studios was primarily funded by Mrs. Richmond (the mother of Walter Richmond), as Joey had forged friendships with the people involved in the case he’d helped Sinclair investigate (including the murderer whom he had grown to respect).

While other investors aren’t really brought up, it’s implied Nathan also had a hand in helping the studio taking off, as Joey often met up with him at the Russian Tearoom whenever he could. During these private meetings, Nathan would impart advice on Joey. Advice which he seemed to not care for, as he already had his own concerns at the time.

It seemed that his main plan was to acquire a talented and capable team to achieve his dream. A team Joey thought he wouldn’t need to "baby-sit", as he specifically wanted to hire individuals that were as studious and capable as he saw himself (curiously Joey mentions that Henry’s work ethic was exactly what he wanted, as Henry had never held work back or needed to be checked up on, which to Joey was an invaluable attribute).

For at least two years, the Bendy Cartoons were nothing but silence and sound effects (something we actually see in-game in BatIM Chapter One when the projector suddenly turns on and we hear nothing but the clicking of the projector and Joey’s whistling), which put them at a bit of a disadvantage when it came to competing with other animation studios.

This soon changed when Joey came across Sammy Lawrence and Jack Fain at a party he was attending on his 30th birthday (which he wasn’t celebrating, the party was a completely different event so supposedly Joey doesn’t care much for his own birthday).

He was already familiar with Sammy’s musical skills (mostly playing the piano quite masterfully), as he’d seen him perform at the theater when Sammy was still a teenager. Noticing him and Jack at the party was entirely accidental and was mostly due to the fact that, while Sammy was trying to keep out of the spotlight as he played, Jack’s showmanship shone through and caught Joey’s eye with how boisterous he was in their musical performance.

Joey approached them once their act was done and managed to convince them to work for him. Jack seemed to be immediately on board, while Sammy was a little more guarded in his agreement and immediately set up his stipulations for the job. This seemed to lean Joey’s interest towards Sammy (who Joey was unhealthily fascinated with because he was clearly not an easy man to control) more than Jack (who he likely considered too easy a read in terms of character, thus not much of a challenge to sway or condition).

By 1933 Joey officially bought the entire building the studio was set up in (which up until then was occupied by other people seeking their own ventures). Expansion and new hires likely started a year or so later and continued on despite financial instability, and between 1941 and 1942 Joey was already starting to work out how he’d get Bendyland to be just as perfect and spectacular as he had always envisioned (which was difficult because he never really got it to feel just right in his eyes, and something felt off to him).

In between listing several different projects, vaguely describing an innovative techniques (Sillyvision which seems to be linked with the Golden Ink?), and even setting up his own 7 rules on how to animate to help set up a guide for aspiring animators, Joey slowly drifts away from the studio topic and finalizes his book rather abruptly.

He insinuates there’s a lot more for him to tell but little to no connection with the “Illusion of Living” philosophy and he’d rather focus on his actual physical work with the Studio than sit down and write further, so he finishes off on a rather...Vague note.

--{On Joey Drew}--

Year of Birth - 1901 (Day and month are never mentioned, but it's possible that his favouring of the autumnal season alludes to a fall month) Year of Death - ??? (Supposedly he's died, hence why Nathan claimed the Bendy IP) Birth City: Born and raised in Paterson "Silk City", New Jersey (Joey doesn't seem to have an accent, so he likely masks it, or made an effort to lose it). Physical Characteristics: As a child he used to have curly hair (Considering the era’s general fashion and style, it’s very likely that Joey either cut his hair too short to see the curls, or simply uses too much gel to seem more presentable) Sexual/Romantic Preferences: Homosexual with Demiromantic subtones (Joey seems to be closed off in general, but more appreciative of the male figure. Could be interpreted as demisexual however, since Joey himself doesn't seem to like wasting time around people he doesn't have much of a bond with) Notes: Here are several notes I’ve compiled about Joey and his opinions on certain things and people. There’s a lot to look at as this man rambles like an old lady at a friday night bingo event, and thus I had a lot to take in!

Laughter is important to him.

Seems to be a dog person.

Likes Cheerios (yes this was a super necessary detail I had to jot down).

Considers having his ideas disclosed without permission to be disloyal.

Seems to have some sort of dissociative personality disorder (likely brought on by trauma or another undiagnosed mental disorder).

People-Watcher by nature.

Was taught by his father that the shoe makes the man (aka the art of studying people through their shoes).

Joey believes in the saying "The Truth is in the Pudding", a saying his mother often employed.

Never had enough money to own a pair of nice fitting shoes until he was 26.

Is narcissistically vain. Easily takes insult if people assume he can't look presentable.

His service in the army gave him experience with "experimental tech".

Enjoys music a lot, and he was considered a great dancer.

Finds modern feminine fashion standards appealing.

Disliked the way those with money romanticized lacking material gains. Found it personally disrespectful in a way, since he himself came from a poor family.

Seems appalled by too much color on one's wear (Joey is the goddamn fashion police).

Very picky about the arts.

Apparently disliked Henry's art style(???).

Lets people believe Henry is the creator of the toons, in an act of being holier than thou. (You lying son of a gun, stop lying to everyone and yourself whaddahell).

Joey's analogy of Henry starting a journey but Joey being the one to reap the benefits, is likely the truest thing he's said in this nightmare of a novel (boastful bastard...).

Thinks of Bendy as his firstborn, muse and messenger.

Took an art class with Abby (likely not a full art course, just a simple class to get the gist of it?).

Considers art the doorway to immortality.

Doesn't like post-mortem success (it frightens him, even). He'd rather be successful in his lifetime.

Admits to making mistakes, but not many. He also thinks mistakes don't need to be permanent.

Doesn't know what true rest is like, and is unsure if he'll ever be content enough to rest. On that same note he seems to really hate sitting still and his mind tends to wander, which he notes Nathan recognized with ease, even reserving a specific look for him (It’s the ADHD baby).

His friend Kyle was a lazy person and a gossip, which were traits Joey found annoying.

On their first meeting, Joey described having a desire to shove Sammy off a roof to see a more human reaction from him.

Assumes Jack is jealous of the attention he gives Sammy, or that the duo's relationship is strained, despite him barging into their lives out of the blue and making him feel like a third wheel.

Seems to think of himself as some sort of a messenger (going so far as to akin himself to the god, Mercury). His life’s mission is to help those who don't know they need to be helped (mostly through spreading happiness and laughter in such a dark and dreary era of human history). Bendyland is essentially Joey's means to fulfil this desire, as well as to chase his own need for a properly realized mixture of immersion and illusion.

He wanted Bendyland to be perfect, even the plot of land it might be built in needed to be perfect, so he inspected it himself with Nathan once he bought the deed.

Appears to refuse to call Bertrum by his proper name once he’s corrected the first time. Referring to him instead as either Bertie or Bert (toying with him perhaps? Testing boundaries?)

Doesn't drive. He instead hired a personal driver, Simmons.

For a little while he was living the American Dream, but thought of how he lived as less of a shared goal and more of a personal one (again setting himself apart from others).

His days were quite flexible and he seemed to despise set routines. He also doesn't like sleeping in. He liked to take a walk in central park early in the morning.

Joey used to make his rounds around the studio but the installation of the Ink Machine changed that habit a bit.

Nonchalantly notes that Shawn Flynn got a little defensive if he needed to be corrected on his work (OCD much, Joey? He was painting a lot of dolls by hand, slipups happen...).

He had priority meetings with Sammy, "meetings" with Jack (Sir what are these quotation marks for, are you snogging Jack while no one’s watching???), then met with the art department preceding the writing department, and finally he met with Grant Cohen in accounting to discuss finances and budget.

He had the final say in ALL paperwork regarding studio affairs.

Upon reading about it, found the concept of bringing in real animals to produce Disney's Bambi as funny, and joked about how trying to do so with Bendy and Boris would be chaotic.

Noted that Abby and Sammy were likely the only two people who closely understand the philosophy of the illusion of living, but not quite…

Was terrified of being misunderstood. Joey didn’t want to only be able to show half-truths, like a mirror reflecting the world darkly. Rather ironic considering he was quite deceitful in his adult life.

His desire for the world to love Bendy seems to be a projection of wanting to feel loved himself (quite honestly if one were to apply the theory of the id, ego and superego, it seems to me that Bendy is essentially Joey’s id, while Joey himself could be considered the Superego. The chameleonic social mask he wears is thus the ego. At the end of the day Bendy and Joey are and aren’t the same entity...).

Originally he didn't want to make a memoir (likely because he can't be direct and needs to work around the truth to fit him). It could also be that Joey didn’t want to linger on the past nor in death. He wasn't sure where it fit with his philosophy and thus tried not to explore too deep into it (existential dread?).

He wore custom tailored suits, and as of beginning writing TioL he had recently taken to wearing cravats (ever the vain man I suppose…).

Despite considering revisiting the past unnecessary, he couldn’t deny doing so if the time called for it. In fact, the Archives are Joey's memories of the past and he's sentimental enough to collect mementos of bygone eras.

Joey has trophies at home, the deeply personal things he couldn’t bare part with. Like the first sketch of Bendy, a napkin with the design of Bendyland, a letter from Henry, a ticket from a Vaudeville show, and his set of shoes he wore when he was surveying the plot of land where he planned to build Bendyland.

--{On Bendy}--

Notes: Here are a few notes I’ve compiled about the Little Devil Darling himself, and a few curiosities about his creation and the inspiration behind his character.

Bendy was officially created in 1928. According to Joey he was born of a dream, supposedly out of necessity, and he always had this idea of a little devil character doing mischief.

Bendy started off as a realistic little boy with a tail and horns (Abby’s attempt to bring to life Joey’s vague idea). Then, when Henry got involved, he became a cartoonish goat creature. The concepts were quickly worked out from a toony clothed amalgamation of both previous concepts, to a more intermediate design more closely resembling Bendy, and then finally, after Joey requested a simpler more shapely and less detailed toon, Bendy became the iconic little imp clad in only gloves and bowtie.

Joey named him upon seeing the completed design. There are two origins for his name: That of Walter Benjamin Richmond, who’s nickname in life was “Bendy” (a rather morbid homage considering what happened to him), and the mere fact that in Joey’s eyes, his little cartoon imp “bent all the rules”. Henry seemed to appreciate the name.

Bendy is meant to be the devil on one’s shoulders, much like the devil in Joey’s first theatrical play. He is however, a lot more like a little kid playing pranks on people. He is also a sort of embodiment of both the population and human morality (society at its most flawed point, but also quite relatable).

Buster Keaton was an inspiration for Bendy’s many shenanigans and movements, which were always meant to be fluid and a bit bouncy.

--{On Henry Stein}--

Year of Birth - ??? (It’s never mentioned how old Henry is, but I assume he’s around the same age group as Abby, since they were friends and likely went to the same art course. It’s likely that he’s younger than Joey, but not likely by much.) Year of Death - 1963 (It’s not really confirmed if Henry died when he was put into the Cycle, as he doesn’t seem to notice anything odd about himself, but it’s safe to assume the process very likely involves human sacrifice). Birth City: ??? (Unknown, it could be that he was born and raised in New York but Henry lacks a noticeable accent) Physical Characteristics: Average looking? (Irrelevant, he could honestly look like anyone really...) Sexual/Romantic Preferences: Presumably Heterosexual (He’s a married man in the 1930s-1960s, he’s either straight or hiding his sexuality, he seems to really like Linda however so could go either way really...) Notes: Here the few notes I could gather of the Henry info we got from TioL. It’s not much but its at least something to work with!

Henry is unremarkable appearance wise (to the point Joey forgot his face easily at first).

The way Henry dressed (mismatched and ill-fitted) indicates he likely grew up in poverty and likely only had hand-me-downs.

He mostly worked with pen-drawn cartoon character designs that were unremarkable but distinctly caricature-like (the Butcher Gang concepts were likely displayed in the gallery Joey attended, as noted by a comment he makes about them). Even if Joey apparently didn’t particularly like his style, Henry’s artwork was one of the final inspirations for the creation of Joey Drew Studios.

He is described as able to draw quite fast, great at taking directions, and as being a good animator. Overall Henry never really had any real need for someone to keep an eye on him which made him an exemplary worker.

According to Joey, Henry used to give pep-talks before he left the studio. This seemed to annoy Joey considerably for some reason (perhaps he was envious that Henry was generally a more likeable person).

Henry is remembered as forgettable, whereas Joey is flashier and more memorable.

Interestingly enough, Henry never claimed to own the design of Bendy, and was more interested in being business partners with Joey than starting a fuss about who owned the rights to Bendy’s creation (It’s very likely that he willingly gave Joey the design because Bendy was his character, and that instead the designs Joey did steal were that of Boris the Wolf, Alice Angel, and the Butcher Gang, the five other more notorious characters in the Bendy franchise).

--{On Abby Lambert}--

Year of Birth - ??? (It’s never mentioned how old Abby is, but I assume she’s around the same age group as Henry, since they were friends and likely went to the same art course. It’s likely that she’s younger than Joey, but not likely by much.) Year of Death - Possibly 1946 (Upon finally losing himself to the ink, Sammy seemed to have been actively hunting the Art Department and any stragglers that he encountered in the studio, so it can be assumed she died in the chaos) Birth City: ??? (Unknown but more likely to be born and raised in New York than Henry) Physical Characteristics: Frizzy hair, even when bobbed. Sexual/Romantic Preferences: Potentially Bisexual (She seemed to be acutely aware of Joey’s “peculiarities” so it’s possible she’s either a member of the LGBTQ community or perhaps an ally. Whatever the case it’s up for debate and interpretation.) Notes: Here are several notes I’ve compiled about Abby and some of her traits and mannerisms. There was surprisingly a lot more to work with than I expected.

She wasn’t really into the typical female fashion of the time. In fact, Abby wasn’t exactly fond of the typical mannerisms associated with women and was both notoriously rude and dressed herself in a “scandalously” modern manner (which is basically code for more practical less femenine clothing).

According to Joey, Abby is a very focused and determined person, which is why he admired her greatly. She didn’t know when to quit, however, and sometimes took things too far or involved others in situations or projects they didn’t want to be involved in.

She wasn’t very good at drawing original cartoon characters, and Joey was apparently not overly fond of her attempts at putting his ideas to paper due to her more realistic art style.

Abby was very insistent on Joey looking at Henry's works, even if he wasn't particularly interested in them (While it’s never said if she enjoys his art herself, it can be assumed she appreciates it enough that she’d want their mutual friend to see the potential Henry had).

She didn’t join the studio as the replacement Director of the Art Department until 1931, as during its founding she was still finishing art school. She and Henry never worked together. Despite this, she and Henry remained in touch even after he left for Pasadena.

--{On Sammy Lawrence}--

Year of Birth - ??? (From how Joey describes him, it can be assume Sammy was a teenager around either Joey’s early or late 20s before they officially met on Joey’s 30th birthday) Year of Death - 1946? (Sammy is one of few people who was turned without being killed first so it’s hard to tell if he’s really dead even within the Cycle since it’s a time loop...) Birth City: ??? (Sammy lacks a noticeable accent so it’s hard to tell where he’s from). Physical Characteristics: Has been described as bird-like and insect-like, with either brown or blond hair that’s kept longer than the typical fashion of the time (Not much more is known about his actual appearance but it can be assumed he’s either average sized or on the tall side considering his in-game height and build) Sexual/Romantic Preferences: Potentially Biromantic with a lot of Demiromantic subtones. Possibly Asexual? (Again this is pure speculation on my part because he did seem interested in Susie but isn’t really a people person in general. Does seem to know how to reign in people tho, so ???) Notes: Here are a few curious notes I’ve compiled about Sammy, the circumstances behind his hiring, and how much control he actually had as the music director.

He has an unusual appearance that, while not necessarily described as ugly, was clearly outstanding enough that some people were put off (Buddy) and others thought him handsome (Susie). His hair is also described as messy.

Sammy is an avid smoker.

He was among a few other musicians employed by the theater to drown out projector sounds and match the mood in silent films. Because he was good at improvising music on the spot, Sammy was excellent at carrying the story presented on screen through his melodies, which was what caught Joey’s eye when he first saw Sammy perform.

Sammy also recognized Joey and didn’t believe his dismissal that he was a “town person”. In fact, Sammy pinpointed the recognition to the fact Joey was that one loner that sat in the front row of the theater he played at.

It becomes very apparent that Sammy is suspicious of people in general. The way he observes others indicates he’s had some sort of struggle growing up. As such, he’s not big on sustaining conversations and he managed to aggravate Joey slightly by the way he addressed him on their first proper meeting.

Sammy had a songbook he shared with Jack, meaning they had a strong trust bond, which is why he only agrees to work for Joey based on Jack’s willingness to also be hired. Even so, he immediately set up professional boundaries for his position. He hired his own people without Joey’s interference, and he only ever indulged him if Joey was being particularly exasperating.

It’s very likely that since Sammy was the one hiring who worked for the music department, that he was the one who hired Norman Polk. This theory is made stronger by the fact he immediately demanded a projector and projectionist booth so he could better do his job.

Despite his surly disposition, Sammy is a no nonsense sort who wants things done and over with, rather than sit around and stall. As such Joey considered him one of the best decisions he made in terms of career.

Funnily enough, because the band seemed to be skittish around Joey, Sammy specifically prohibited his presence in the music department unless they had a scheduled meeting. This likely meant Joey was scarcely ever seen in the music department so as to not aggravate Sammy in person.

Alice Angel’s bigger (and failed) presence in the franchise is likely a consequence of another one of Sammy’s stipulations upon being hired. He had immediately noted that if the studio wanted to go anywhere, they’d need a female character (Perhaps Sammy really believed what he told Susie due to despising Bendy and actually favouring Alice as a character).

--{On Jack Fain}--

Year of Birth - ??? (Possibly around the same age as Sammy or a little older?) Year of Death - ??? (He was gone long before a few other people in the studio, likely in the first few experiments Joey performed) Birth City: ??? (Hard to tell, he doesn’t have an easily identifiable accent). Physical Characteristics: Has been described as an atrocious dresser (This man likes wearing bright colors!) Sexual/Romantic Preferences: Potentially Homosexual subtones (Not enough information provided to tell) Notes: Sadly lacking in the information department for Jack.

Jack is incredibly sociable and trusts easily. He's described as making bad jokes but laughing genuinely at them. His smiles are contagious.

Jack is an optimist sort who sees the good in any situation (even when being led around in a dark creepy room by a peculiar stranger).

--{On Bertrum Piedmont}--

Year of Birth - ??? (He was retired, so it’s likely he was around his 60s or early 70s when Joey first met him) Year of Death - ??? (It’s unknown when exactly he ended up in the Ink Machine but it’s very possible he was killed when all hell broke loose in the studio) Birth City: ??? (No clue). Physical Characteristics: Joey describes him (rather rudely) as a very portly man. Sexual/Romantic Preferences: ??? (No idea, chief...) Notes: Lacking in the information department like Jack, but what we get is a lot more substantial.

Bertrum was actually retired when Joey managed to get a hold of him. It took a bit of detective work on Mrs. Rodriguez's (Joey's secretary) part to actually find him as well, so he was not an easy man to get an appointment with.

His creative vision impressed Joey enough that the latter he ignored his apparent dislike for reminiscing so as to get him on board of the Bendyland project.

While discussing the Bendyland Project, Bertrum confidently jokes about it being quite the catch. He agrees to joining forces with Joey as long as he gets full creative control of the entire project. Although Joey agreed to this, he still managed to fight Bertrum on a few ideas, which annoyed him greatly.

It’s very likely that it didn’t take long for their initially friendly relationship to sour into open hostility on Bertrum’s part.

--{On Wally Franks}--

Year of Birth - ??? (No clue, but he was very likely in his late teens or early adult years when he was first hired as the studio Janitor) Year of Death - Supposedly still alive (I really do hope he got outta there like the letter insinuates...) Birth City: Brooklyn, New York. Physical Characteristics: ??? (All we know is he likely wears overalls and a sport’s cap) Sexual/Romantic Preferences: Possibly Heterosexual (Unless the letter is a forgery, he apparently has a wife, kids and grandkids) Notes: I’ll admit I didn’t expect to get Wally lore, but here we are!

Wally's actually quite skilled with maintenance. He can tinker with the projectors, other machinery and even plumbing. His schedule is a little off however, but Joey turns a blind eye to it because he gets the job done without question.

--{On Allison Pendle}--

Year of Birth - ??? (No idea! But she was relatively well known when she was hired!) Year of Death - ??? (She was likely lured back to the studio after everything went down but before Henry) Birth City: ??? Physical Characteristics: She’s a beautiful tall blonde according to DCTL Sexual/Romantic Preferences: ??? (She and Thomas are married but I honestly have no clue how to feel about her, she’s a mystery to me.) Notes: Extra minimal Allison lore for your Allison Pendle lore needs.

She was a famous Broadway actress before joining the studio. Interestingly enough, Joey was the one to hire her to replace Susie, not only breaking Sammy’s stipulation on the matter but also stirring Susie into becoming resentful towards Sammy and actually trying to recover her former role at all costs (even her own life).

--{On Nathan Arch}--

Year of Birth - ??? (He was likely a little older than Joey since they were in the army at the same time but Joey lied about his age to enlist earlier) Year of Death - N/A (Still alive and kicking) Birth City: ??? Physical Characteristics: ??? (I guess Boswell Lotsabucks is sorta modeled after him so go off on that???) Sexual/Romantic Preferences: Heterosexual (He has a wife and son and doesn’t give me any other vibes besides and overall instinctual distrust) Notes: Oh boy...I do NOT trust this man...

Immediately upon beginning reading TioL you get the impression that Nathan is not only trying to appear friendly and trustworthy by referring to himself as Nate A, but also that he’s trying to cover for Joey and make him appear more personable to the reader. But to what gain exactly?

Nathan is, like Joey, very narcissistically vain, and is also writing a book of his own (an autobiography maybe?)

He’s a smoker and prefers cigars.

When Joey discusses his childhood, Nathan is unable to contradict or confirm anything as he noted that Joey was always very private about his origins.

Nathan seemed truly surprised and impressed with Joey’s ability to make up uncannily believable stories, even suspecting that his accounts of “Lottie” might have been false as he couldn’t find any of the supposed letters Joey sent her when he started working on republishing TioL (it’s likely he could see that Joey often lied to himself just as much as he lied to others).

It seemed to Nathan that Joey was rather oblivious of subtle compliments.

By the manner of which Nathan phrases it, he seems to think of Joey as a professional and kind man, capable of seeing the good in others. That said, Nathan remarks that Henry's departure was a great betrayal for his friend, and that the latter shouldn't have been so "gracious" and "forgiving" towards him…

When the studio began to struggle financially, Nathan worried that Joey might not be aware of the issue at all, or that perhaps he was lying to himself to cope. He also later notes that Joey’s memories seemed to have deteriorated in his old age. He was often mixing up information and seemed rather guilty, which Nathan considering to be very unbecoming of the man he knew Joey to be.

A lot of the deeply philosophical Joey and Nathan interactions seen in the book might actually have occured between Joey and Henry (the "I think therefore I am" conversation is an especially telling one for me), hence why Nathan doesn't recall them. It also seems more likely because they contradict the way Joey portrays Nathan, but seem to fit his portrayal of Henry better.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #The Illusion of Living #TIoL #Notes #Reference

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fanfics-for-the-hockey-fan · 4 years

Text

Break Down Walls - Kevin Hayes

Notes: Writer’s block has hit me hard recently but this was something I managed to write in about 2 days so let’s hope that this is me kicking writer’s block out the door so I can get back to my requests.

"You didn't tell me he was going to be here." I turned back to see Gina turning to avoid eye contact with me but I was standing right in front of her with my arms crossed. When she had invited me over to watch football I didn’t expect most of Shayne’s teammates to be scattered around the apartment.

“I thought I told you Shayne was having teammates over.”

“You never mentioned that.”

“Huh, weird. So what can I get you to drink?” Gina started walking away before I could tell her I was just going to head home before anyone else saw me. Now I had to follow her further into the apartment and TK spotted me from his spot on the sofa.

“Kasey! You came! Please tell me you brought that amazing dip!” I nod, holding up the dish I had been carrying. Travis let out a whoop before rushing over to grab it from me, kissing my cheek before he hurried back to his spot. Gina came over, handing me a beer before she went to sit in Shayne’s lap. Looking around the only open area was on the armrest of the one sofa, right next to Kevin Hayes. Rolling my eyes, I went over and leaned on the armrest before acknowledging Kevin’s.

“Boston."

"Philly." With that we didn't acknowledge each other for the next little bit of time. Knowing Gina through work, I had met and interacted with most of her boyfriend's teammates. All of them we're super nice and we got along well except for Kevin Hayes. I was always polite but never went out of my way to interact with him.

So even though I was sitting next to him, we didn't speak to each other at all after our initial greeting. And I was hoping for it to stay that way, but of course that didn't happen. After the football game everyone had come over to watch was done, someone suggested a game of truth or dare. Everyone else was excited so against my better judgment I sat down in between Gina and Travis. The first few rounds were safe, the guys mostly trying to embarrass their teammates. I was ignored for the most part and on my turns I only asked easy truth questions. That all changed in the 4th round when it was Shayne's turn to pick a person. "Alright Hayesy, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

Shayne had a smug look on his face as he took a sip of his beer before speaking. "I dare you… to kiss Kasey.” Everyone in the room froze for a second before all eyes went to Kevin or myself. Kevin looked shocked and was still frozen, staring at Shayne. Before anyone could do anything I was standing up and moving quickly towards the door. I heard several voices call out my name but I just quickly pulled on my boots before leaving. I didn’t even bother with the elevator, taking the stairs down the 20 floors to the underground parking.

I knew Shayne wasn’t trying to be mean but I didn’t need to be the butt of a joke. Heading towards my car I froze when I heard my name again. “Philly, wait up.” Looking up I saw Kevin standing next to my car.

“Not now Boston. I just want to be by myself right now.” Kevin stood next to my car, hands in his pockets and his eyes pointed at the ground. He gave me a quick nod before taking a step back and leaning against the wall. Getting into my car I drove home in a trance, barely realizing it as I parked in front of my house. Once my car was parked in front of my home I could feel the tears start falling. I brushed them aside quickly and hurried inside, trying to forget the whole afternoon.

***

Walking into work the next day I saw Gina waiting for me with a styrofoam coffee cup in her hand. “Shayne sends his apology in the form of coffee.”

“He didn’t need to apologize.”

“You literally ran out of my apartment yesterday because of his stupid prank on his teammate. He needed to apologize."

"Thank you, and I'm sorry for running out yesterday." I took a sip of the warm coffee and let out a little happy sigh.

Gina laughed before we headed down the hall together. "Don't worry about it. Oh! I have your baking dish in my car." I only have time to nod before we are pulled into work. It was a steady kind of busy at work today, the kind that made time go by fast and made you exhausted by the end of the day but I was never overwhelmed with work. Gina was waiting for me at the end of our shift, bouncing as I finished up some paperwork. "Do you want to come over for a bit? Shayne has a game tonight."

"Yeah, let me run home to change and then I'll be over." Gina nods before leaving me to finish my paperwork in peace. After a quick trip home I was back at Gina and Shayne’s apartment, a nervous feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. I knew that it was all in my head so I headed up to the apartment with the bottle of wine I had stopped for. I was greeted at the door by Gina and all three of the dogs, I gave her a quick hug hello before we had a night of takeout, wine, and watching the Flyers game. I completely lost track of time after the game finished because before I knew it Shayne was walking in the front door calling out for Gina. I quickly said my hellos and goodbyes before going home for the night. When I pulled up in front of my house I saw something sitting on the landing of my door. Walking closer I saw a beautiful flower arrangement in a vase waiting for me.

Quickly carrying them inside and leaving them on the table I locked up before going to look at them closer. A small card was tucked into the flowers, a simple note was hand written.

Kasey,

Sorry for the other day.

Looking at the flowers I smiled as I set them in the center of my dining room table before getting ready for bed. My plan was to thank Shayne in the morning but it completely slipped my mind as I smiled at the beautiful arrangement the next few days. I finally remembered a few days later when I was working the same shift as Gina and Shayne came to visit on our lunch break. “Shayne, thank you for the beautiful flowers. Really the coffee was more than I needed for an apology.”

“What? That’s so sweet Shayne. Did you pick out a nice arrangement?”

“I didn’t send flowers. Kevin’s asked for your address the next day, he felt really bad about my stupid prank.”

“Oh. Um, tell him thank you.” Luckily Gina could tell I was a little uncomfortable so she changed the topic until Shayne left and we went back to work.

“Are you okay with Shayne telling Kevin where you live?” Before I could answer, I was called away and didn't see Gina for the rest of my shift. And I was glad to be pulled away because I wasn’t sure how I felt about the whole thing. I was hoping that was the end of the whole Kevin Hayes drama session but when I pulled up outside my house Kevin was sitting on the porch. My heart was screaming at me to drive away and hope that when I returned he would no longer be there but before I could shift the car back into drive Kevin looked up and made eye contact with me. Swearing to myself I parked and got out of the car, taking a deep breath before walking towards him.

“You know some might consider it creepy to get home and have a guy sitting on their porch.”

“Yeah, I realized that I was being a little stalker like after I sat here for 10 minutes. I’ll leave now. Sorry.” Kevin tucked his hands into his pockets and managed to hunch over so much you would never believe he was over 6 feet tall. I moved up to my door, unlocking it before turning to him.

“Boston, get your ass inside.” Holding the door open I watched him quickly move towards me, giving me a kind smile as he walked past me into my home. I said a quick prayer that I wouldn’t regret this before following him inside. “Make yourself comfortable, I need to go start a load of laundry so I have clean scrubs for tomorrow.” He nodded and sat down on my couch before I hurried to my laundry room. I did need to start some laundry but I also needed a minute to compose myself before talking to Kevin. Taking a few deep breaths I left the room and headed back to Kevin. “Not to be rude, but why did I come home to find you on my porch Boston?”

“Gina told me to man up and grow a pair.” I laughed and sat down on the other side of the sofa. “I should have said something after the first month of knowing you, not waited a year. But you seemed to hate my guts and I didn’t want to be rejected. But my feelings kept growing and all of the guys knew it, I would always ask if you were coming to something. I think Shayne did the dare in the hopes that I would tell you how I feel.”

“Kevin…”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say my name. I understand that you don’t feel the same way, but I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. I just needed you to know that I am sorry about what happened last week, I never wanted you to be embarrassed.”

“Will you shut up for a second Boston?” Kevin looked into my eyes, a little embarrassed but stayed quiet. “The minute I met your loud mouth I was into you. But my last relationship, calling it a disaster would be way too nice. He was so charming at first and then it went downhill fast. He didn’t like that I spent time studying for my nursing classes instead of spending time with him. It ended when he pushed me down some stairs on campus. He went to jail and I moved home to Philly when I got out of the hospital.”

“Kasey…”

“Please let me finish.” He nodded, turning his body more towards me to signal that he really was listening. “I know you are not anything like him. But I put up so many walls as I healed, I just wanted to move on and finish school and get a job. I did all of that but I never managed to take down any of the walls, Gina broke through in terms of friendship but there has been no romantic relationships since then. But your big personality instantly started to break down the walls, from the foundation. It terrified me, even with him I didn’t feel the kind of instant connection. That is why I was so closed off and short with you all the time. I can’t handle heartbreak again.”

“I didn’t know.”

“No one here does, only my parents do. It is not a proud part of my life and one I try to ignore.”

“You are a survivor, never be ashamed of that. I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable, but know one thing, if I ever find out who this guy is and see him… I might need you to get me a lawyer.” His eyes were set in a way I only had seen on my tv when he was playing, but I knew he meant what he said.

“My parents are lawyers, and they will instantly love you for it.” That got a laugh from him and his expression softened.

“I’m willing to take this at any speed you need, but I would like to see where this goes.”

“Me too.”

“While I want our first date to be spectacular, can I interest you in a pre-date of pizza delivery?" I nodded and smiled, realizing that if this worked out we would have to thank Shayne and Gina big time.

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dinoyoongi · 4 years

Text

Confirm or Deny (5)

SYNOPSIS: You’re a member of the rising group FRNZEE. You’ve been dating Namjoon for years when Dispatch releases an article exposing your relationship. Your company confirms the relationship. Big Hit denies it.

PAIRING: Namjoon x Reader

GENRE: Romance, Angst

WARNINGS: Strong language

WORD COUNT: 3503

AUTHORS NOTE: A bit shorter than the others but I felt this was a good spot to end the chapter on. There will only be one more part to this before it’s over! I want to thank everybody for your patience - I’m definitely not as quick a writer as some others on here and when I do sit down to work on this, writer’s block hits me like a garbage truck every time. This chapter is kind of rushed and Namjoon-less but it I hope you’ll all like it just the same! Thanks for all the love. ❤️

___________________________________

BREAKING: Y/N officially departs FRNZEE & terminates contract with Hot Star Entertainment!

After two months of speculation of whether Y/N would return to FRNZEE after being attacked outside the KBS building, it's been confirmed by Hot Star Entertainment that Y/N has officially terminated her contract with the company. Y/N was recently involved in controversy after her company confirmed dating rumors between Y/N and BTS' leader RM that the latter denied. She had been removed from the group's comeback and was on hiatus from all activities when she was attacked by BTS fans outside the KBS building during a taping of Music Bank that she had attended with her manager out of support for her members. Despite official statements being released by both Big Hit Entertainment and RM – who uploaded a handwritten plea on Weverse begging for his fans to stop the bullying – Hot Star Entertainment felt that Y/N's mental health was being compromised and released her from contract.

“Like they give a shit about my mental health,” you snicker sarcastically, dropping your phone a little too forcefully onto the kitchen counter. From your peripheral, you can see your mother's lips turn downwards in disapproval at your foul language but she fortunately chooses not to scold you, recognizing the delicate situation. It's not as if this is a blindside. Nobody was pulling the wool over your eyes right now. You had been aware that they were permanently removing you from the group and from the company only one day after you returned home to Daejeon.

You're only surprised that they waited this long to announce it. You imagine it wouldn't look too good for them if they kicked you out of the group right after you were assaulted – no surprise there. Their image is all they care about.

“Has anyone tried reaching out to you?” your mother asks from the stove, stirring a steaming pot languidly.

Your eyes fall down to your still-lit phone, catching the small red balloon icon that signifies missed notifications. Calls, texts, voicemail, emails; you don't need to open them to see who they're from – you've spent the past week dodging any incoming forms of communication from everyone including your members, your former manager, the CEO of Hot Star, numbers that you don't recognize that you assume to be reporters and even all seven members of BTS.

Out of all the names that showed up on the screen on your phone, Namjoon's appeared the most.

His unread messages and unopened voicemails feel like an anchor on your chest. Is he reaching out to pity you for what happened with his fans? Is he reaching out to get back together with you? Is he reaching out to cuss at you because you dragged his name into your articles again? Is he reaching out to hammer that final nail in the coffin and be done with you for good?

All of these scenarios are equally terrifying so you pretend that the messages don't exist. However, there are times when you miss him so much that your chest physically aches and the thought of loading up your phone's inbox to listen to his voice is so devastatingly tempting. Playing his albums or watching him on YouTube isn't the same. You don't miss RM – you miss Namjoon. Your Namjoon.

You're not completely depriving yourself of him, though. Two months ago, the day of your attack, he posted a message messily scrawled onto a napkin to his Weverse account. Despite his username displaying as RM, your heart can tell just by his words that it's Namjoon. You've stared at the message so many times over the past few weeks that you have the words ingrained into your head.

ARMY,

Today, somebody I care about was seriously injured. I want to deny that our lovely ARMY would do anything to cause harm to other people. That's not Bangtan. That's not what we teach, what we stand for. But that was our logo on their phone cases. That was our lightstick in the pocket of their bags. That was our faces on keychains that hung from their straps. At the risk of upsetting some, I speak on behalf of the rest of the group to say to those who harm other people in the name of Bangtan – both physically and verbally – you are not ARMY. ARMY is better than this. ARMY is too good for this.

Please ARMY, let's always be better.

It's a simple message but one that you know was difficult for him to write. Having known the boys for the majority of their career growth, you know that the admiration they have for their fans is one-hundred percent not an act. Knowing that some of them assaulted you in such a humiliating manner had to have felt like a knife in the gut.

“Nobody,” you lie to your mom who quirks her brows, waiting for your response. “Nobody has tried contacting me at all.”

“When are you going back to Seoul?”

You sigh, dropping your eyes onto the kitchen counter. “Mom, why would I go back to Seoul? There's nothing there for me anymore.”

“What are you going to do then?” your mother asks softly. You hear the spoon she was stirring with drop the table, followed by a heavy sigh. “Is that it? You're done with your music career?”

“It isn't as if my contract just expired and I can shop around for new agencies. I was the center of a very huge scandal. I was the butt of jokes and online bullying for so long. I don't think there's an agency out there that would poke me with a ten foot pole at this point.”

“But you trained for so long. You didn't go to university. Y/N, what -”

Your body slides from the stool, your feet slapping against the linoleum so hard that your mother flinches from the sound. “I'm suddenly feeling kind of sleepy. I'll just go take a nap before dinner.”

She calls your name as you lug yourself upstairs towards your bedroom but you pretend not to hear. You're not angry with her – absolutely not. If you're angry at anything, it's your life. It's this situation. It's the world. It's a fact that most idols audition and join agencies for two things and two things only – money and fame. And while those two things can be really great at times, that's not why you decided to be an idol. You decided to become an idol because, well … there was really nothing else you could do.

Throughout your life, whenever anybody asked you “what do you want to be when you grow up?” you never gave the usual answers that your classmates did – police officers, veterinarians, doctors, lawyers, judges, the president. Your answer from the first time you were asked until the last remained unchanged: an idol. Music was everything to you. There was nothing that you could study for, nothing you could major in that would give you a sense of happiness and fulfillment like music did. Like music still does. It was the upbeat songs, the quirky choreography, the super cute but super outrageous outfits, the camaraderie and bonds formed between group members and the thrill of satisfaction when all of that came together for a comeback. That is what you've always wanted. There was nothing that came even close.

And now that you've had it, now that it's slipped right through your fingers … what do you do? What are you supposed to do with your life?

Heaving yourself onto your bed, you groan in frustration. Your phone chirps from the pocket of your hooded sweatshirt, alerting you to a text message. Waving the device in front of your face, you sigh when you see Ji-na's name.

Ji-na: please be strong. keep your head up. don't skip meals. i love you and i'm sorry.

Your chest throbs are you reread the words again. And then for a third time. If you were being honest with yourself, you stopped being angry with Ji-na and the rest of the group the moment you arrived home. If you were to put yourself in their shoes – would you have reacted the same way? An idol's career is already typically short; seven or eight years if you're lucky. Would you be willing to risk that for another person? The knee-jerk response might come easy to some but only those who have been in your shoes, trained as long and hard as you and your members did, can answer that question. But despite not holding onto any anger, you can't erase the betrayal from your heart. Ji-na was more than just a member of your group. Ji-na was your best friend. Ji-na was the hand that you reached for when FRNZEE was getting mobbed at airports. Ji-na is your first dibs sleeping buddy when you had to pair up in hotel rooms. There was very little that you couldn't and wouldn't tell Namjoon but if there was – Ji-na was the one you confided in. Ji-na was everything.

And going through this without her and Namjoon seems incredibly impossible.

Your eyes leave the phone, slipping over to the corner of the room where your suitcase and bags are haphazardly strewn about as you were too lazy to commit to unpacking. The one thing propped neatly against the wall is a sparkly, medium-sized gift bag, intricately tied with rainbow ribbons. Ji-na's birthday is coming up in week but you've had her present ready for months. Instead of leaving it at the dorms, you brought it home with you. At the time, you were so caught up in your anger and woes and self-misery that you had every intention of sending it back to the store once you settled in but now?

It seems you have a present to hand deliver.

_______________________________________

- TWO WEEKS LATER -

You've only been gone for two months but it seems like Seoul has already changed so much. The first big difference? There's now a doorman stationed in the lobby of the dorm apartments. You can tell that he recognizes you immediately by the way his cheeks flush red but he still refuses to let you go any farther, keeping you a safe distance away from the elevator. You get it, you really do. He was probably hired to keep out nosy reporters and fansites and journalists but knowing Hot Star the way that you do now, you have no doubt that he was also explicitly warned not to let you in. Sighing, you pull your phone from your bag, typing a few quick words to Ji-na before hitting send.

It only takes three minutes for the elevator to open with a loud ding and a flash of pale skin is hurtling itself at you. Ji-na wraps her arms around your neck so tightly that you cough from the pressure until she loosens her grip. You try to ignore the moisture that you see building in her eyes when she pulls away.

Grabbing her hand, she tugs you toward the elevator. “Come on. We have some talking to do.”

“Ah -” the doorman interjects, nervously stepping in front of you. “I'm sorry, Ji-na. She's on the no clearance list. She can't go up.”

Ji-na scoffs. “Even with my permission? Even though I'm bringing her up with me?”

He grimaces. “I'm sorry. It's my job.”

“It's okay, Ji-na. I just wanted to drop this off anyway,” you say, thrusting the bag in her direction. She stares at it for a few hard seconds before hesitantly accepting it. “Happy Birthday. If you're ever near Daejeon, let me know, okay?”

You turn on your heel to leave but a painful grip on your hand stops you. Ji-na twirls you around to face her, like a scene straight out of a cheesy drama. She's toe to toe with the doorman, facial features locked in what you know is supposed to be intimidation but on Ji-na it just looks like an angry kitten.

“If you won't let her upstairs, let's compromise. Your office?” she quirks an eyebrow, head jutting toward the door behind his podium. He contemplates this offer for a moment before relenting with a sigh, dropping a pair of keys into her hand.

“Don't tell your management about this, okay? She's not even supposed to be in the building at all.”

Ji-na throws him an obnoxious salute before yanking you into the room.

_______________________________________

Your heart-to-heart is long and full of anger, accusation, revelations, tears, laughter, giggling and so much more. While you're not ready to completely forgive her for leaving you behind that day, you've accepted the reality that Ji-na is one of the only friends that you have and you're not ready to let her go. She understands your continuing edginess with the situation and promises to do everything in her power to regain your trust and make it up to you.

You expected to leave with a heavier heart than you came with. Instead, most of the weight has lifted.

You only exit the doorman's office after Ji-na receives a text from one of her managers about a project meeting the group has soon. Her arm is around your side as she walks you to the front door, squeezing you tightly. “Please come visit a lot more. We have some off time coming up – would you mind terribly if I came to stay with you in Daejeon?”

You roll your eyes but your smile stays wide. “No, I wouldn't mind terribly. Just give me a heads up so I can stock up on soju and shrimp chips.”

She throws her head back to laugh loudly, bumping her hip to yours as the two of you take a few more steps toward the front door. “Yes! You know me so well! And you also have to make sure that you have tons of-”

“Y/N.”

The voice is jarring but immediately recognizable. Lifting your head, you meet the eyes of your previous manager. The last time you had seen him, he was loading your belongings into the back of a car that would send you right home. He gapes at you, gaze wide and shocked. Behind you, the doorman audibly groans.

“Um, he has nothing to do with this,” you hurriedly declare, throwing your thumb behind you in the groaning man's direction. “He was in the process of kicking me out, I swear. He's very good at his job. You guys should give him a raise. Okay, bye.”

You squeeze Ji-na's hand one final time before moving to scurry out of the building. For the second time today, fingers wrap around your wrist and pull you backward. You sigh as you yank your hand away. “A simple 'wait! stop!' would suffice. Why is everyone so grabby today? Look, I was just dropping off a birthday present for Ji-na. I promise that the doorman didn't let me go upstairs.”

“Y/N, I don't care about the doorman. I have something for you,” he says quickly before reaching into the tote bag that hangs around his shoulder. He rummages somewhat frantically for a few seconds before producing a business card, raising it into the air with pride and beaming as if it was the cure to a zombie outbreak. “You remember me telling you about one of my old co-managers for a different group who quit Hot Star and started working for P NATION?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. This was not the greeting that you expected out of your former manager.

“Um … I think so. He's one of Hyuna's managers now, you said.”

“Yes!” he screeches, his chest heaving as if he has just finished running a marathon. You exchange a glance with Ji-na who looks equally perplexed. “Yes, he works with Hyuna. And he called me last week and said that Hyuna heard about everything that happened to you in the news. And so she started looking you up on YouTube and she thinks you're really talented and wants your contact information.”

It takes a few seconds for your brain to register everything that he has just said considering how quick, breathless and jumbled his words are. Ji-na is elbowing you excitedly in the ribs.

“I've tried asking Hot Star for your address but they wouldn't tell me anything. I was literally coming here to ask Ji-na to try to reach out to you so I could pass the information along but here you are! It's like fate!”

Ji-na throws her elbow much deeper this time, accompanying the jab with a sharp screech. You can see that there's something exciting happening but your brain isn't putting it all together yet.

“Um, why does Hyuna want my contact information? You said she heard about my situation in the news so she must know that I'm not with FRNZEE anymore, right? Or any company, for that matter. We can't collab or anything like that.”

Manager and Ji-na groan in unison, so in sync that it seems rehearsed.

“Y/N, please, are you really this dense? Do I need to dumb this down for you?”

You grimace but bat your eyelashes hopefully. “Would you?”

She sighs, slapping her hands down hard onto your shoulders. “Hyuna was kicked out of Cube for a dating scandal. Psy – who founded P NATION – signed her right after. You were kicked out of Hot Star for a dating scandal. And now Hyuna is contacting you. I mean, I'm just speculating here but there's no way this is a coincidence.”

Wait.

If she's saying what you think she's saying then …

Hyuna wants to contact you … to sign you … to P NATION?

All you were here to do was to drop off Ji-na's birthday present. After this, you were going to stop into a few cosmetic stores to stock up on some harder-to-find products and then treat yourself to a well-deserved oreo bingsu before heading home. Talking to Hyuna – arguably one of the most popular and influential females in the k-pop industry ever – about possibly signing with Psy's new agency was not in the forecast.

Realizing your stunned state, Manager smirks smugly, lifting your hand to drop the business card into before wrapping your fingers around it and letting it fall.

The card feels like fire in your palm.

“Y/N,” Ji-na's voice breaks through your haze. You glance up at her silently, her warm smile only heightening your nervousness. “Go home and call her. Listen to what she has to say or what she has to … offer. Okay? And then call me and tell me every little detail.”

“You guys, that can't be right. Hyuna and Dawn's scandal was different – they both admitted to being in the relationship. Nobody bullied or laughed at them. I … I'm a joke. Why would P NATION want to sign me? Do you think they're just going around plucking up poor little k-pop idols who are mistreated by their labels? No, they're smarter than that. They-”

A hand – belonging to either Manager or Ji-na, you're not sure which one – whacks you upside the head. The strength of the blow is painful but it has its desired affect – it shuts you right up.

“Stop it, Y/N,” Manager scolds. “What happened to you wasn't fair and we all know it. You worked so hard for FRNZEE and maybe this is your good karma. Maybe this is ...”

“Fate!” Ji-na squeals hysterically.

___________________________________

An hour later, you're sitting in the corner of the cafe by yourself, a heaping bowl of bingsu untouched in front of you. Instead, your eyes focus on the card that you've set down onto the table. You wonder if this is a prank; if someone from Hot Star is getting one last act of cruel revenge on you before parting ways completely.

But what if it's not?

What if this is what was always supposed to happen? Everything that has happened to you, everything that you've been through, everything that you've lost … was it for this? Half of you jitters in happiness at the prospect of being signed to a label that houses some of the greats – Psy, Hyuna, Jessi. But the other half of you mourns what you had to give up for this.

Namjoon.

Was this opportunity supposed to make you grateful for losing him? Are you supposed to feel like your breakup served some kind of purpose now?

It didn't. Most of the happiest moments you can remember are either with Namjoon or because of Namjoon. If the choice was your idol career or Namjoon then …

Why do you have to make a choice? Why can't you have both? Why is that wrong?

For the first time, you shift your eyes away from the P NATION logo and onto the phone number scrawled messily onto the bottom of the card.

Lifting your phone, you dial with trembling fingers.

< -- PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER -- >

#bts #bts fanfic #namjoon #kim namjoon #RM #rm fanfic #namjoon fanfic #bts namjoon #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #rm x you #rm x reader #namjoon angst #rm angst #namjoon imagine #rm imagine #bts imagine #bts x you #bts x reader

325 notes · View notes

okamirayne · 4 years

Note

How long does it take you to write a chapter? Where do you get your inspiration/get over writers block?

Hey there, Anon! Whoa. These questions have kicked me into the deep end and I adore you for backing my brain into a corner it doesn’t often like to go to...it’s opened a can of worms...

How long does it take you to write a chapter?

Literally, as long as that chapter takes to write. And forgive me luv, I honestly don’t mean that as a smart-ass response! I’ve discovered that some people seem to work to “time” and others to “content”, if that makes sense?

The example I always give is how I study. Whenever I revise for exams or I’m learning something, I always study for as long as it takes to complete the module I am revising/reading. Some people may say “I study for an hour, or an hour and a half and then I take a break”...that doesn’t compute in my brain. I study until I finish the module/chapter/section. It could take an hour. It could take 20mins. It could take 4 hours straight. I work by project/content not time. So the time it takes to write a chapter depends entirely on:

the length of the content that is flowing, which I can never predict, as I never work to word-count...ha, which might be kind of obvious given the monster-length chapters that I often churn out.

the level of inspiration I’m feeling; when it flows, beautiful, when I’m feeling blocked or struggling, jaaaysus...it’s tough.

the lack of interruptions...both my own procrastinating bullshit and legit outside factors.

Where do you get your inspiration/get over writers block?

Inspiration comes from:

Music

Sadness

Research and the works of certain thinkers

My Witch Doctors (2-3 people in my life who’ve been carefully vetted; they do more than listen when I talk creative shop; they exorcise my writing demons, ground my arse, see me in ways I cannot see myself, unearth my ruins, understand my particular strain of creative insanity and the cost of keeping it and...yeah, they’re my compass pointing true north when I get lost.)

The storytelling vibe-tribe; those individuals with whom I connect or click with when it comes to the way I approach and enjoy storytelling. Those people I’m able to have wonderful discussions with and engage in awesome chats that require lots of chai and many happy hours to spare.

Intuition and a sense of guiding hands

Dreams and synchronicity

Stars (literal stars...the cosmos triggers something in me)

Re-connection

Poetry and/or random quotes...

....and probably a mild case of psychosis; such as when characters walk into my head and start talking, or entire visuals and scenes play out like a wicked acid trip...if there are pills for this shit, I sure as hell ain’t taking them.

Now that I’ve painted myself as a psychiatrist’s wet dream, let me say that I feel a kinship with any and all artists/storytellers who are struck by the thunderbolt of ungodly (yet wholly divine) guidance and unexplainable magic when it comes to their work. It’s like dots connect in your life the way stars align; tides turn you in unexpected directions; you find your way to people, places and pieces of writing, art, music, or a myriad other sources and they all resonate like beacons guiding your story along its charted course...feels like you’re discovering something that already exists...and you know you’ve taken a wrong turn when a character doesn’t feel right or a scene doesn’t read well...you gotta re-orient and find the path again...that’s why I approach writing as something hallowed...maybe that’s also why it scares me shitless at times, which leads nicely onto...

Writers Block....

There is no way to beat this bitch other than to sit my arse down and TRY. To just show up and start somewhere. Sure, I can reach for any one of the inspiration points I’ve listed above to help grease the mental wheels, but they often grind to a halt the second I sit my butt down to write....It’s been challenging trying to pin-point precisely why I’ve come up against this block, given that I never used to experience it. It only hit me after having finished the BtB series...which sucks. I could consider a variety of reasons why this happened...all of them valid...but none of them helpful for removing the obstacle. Ultimately, I just gotta sit my butt down and get over the huge screaming wall of FEAR by going THROUGH IT rather than over or around...gotta take a pick-axe (or a bloody ice-pick, in my case) to that big bad bitch and start chip-chip-chipping away at it. I think it’s different for every writer/creative...

Thank you for posing these questions, Anon...as you can tell by my lengthy response, it got me thinking and rolling. Thank you, <3

#okami rayne #okamirayne #okami-rayne #okami rayne ASK #writing questions

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xokiedokie · 5 years

Text

I’ll be with you every step of the way

Platonic Iron-dad and Spider-son

Fandom: Marvel/MCU

Description: Tony calls the Avengers together in an attempt to form friendships between past enemies. Peter is particularly nervous about meeting some of the team for the first time. Tony helps him out.

Warnings: This is a tickle fic. If you don’t like it, don’t read it.

Author’s Note: Hey! As you may have noticed, this is my first fanfiction. I don’t consider myself the best writer, but I hope it’s enough to satisfy everyone. I’ve been wanting to post something for quite a while, yet I never worked up the nerves to do it until now. I welcome any criticism that comes to mind, as I’m always looking to improve my writing! I hope you enjoy this piece of crap I spewed out, thank you! <3

—————————————————————————

Golden rays of sunlight interlaced across leather chairs, painting a picture of aurum and auburn against its expanse. The gentle hum of the car’s engine reverberated throughout the area, joining the rhythmic whir of the air conditioning. Happy sat behind the wheel, his gaze on the rear view mirror, lost in space. But oh, even as the ambience of melancholy laced through his veins, Peter really, absolutely, positively did not want to be there.

Thor. The great, all powerful, ever-praised Avenger, with his gleaming, coarse platinum hair, his piercing blue eyes laced with silver, staring, calculating. He was fierce. He was everything Peter dreamed to be. And no, in no reality could he handle the possibility of meeting him.

Yet there he sat, driving through the haze of his dreams. Colors blurred at the seams as he progressed, a sick feeling twisting in his gut. Oh, God.

It was an “Avenger Meet Up” that Tony insisted everyone attended. “It’s important for everyone to know who they’re working with,” he’d said to Peter, tapping a pen against his temple as he gazed aimlessly at a page of scribbles, “Remember when you used to stand in a circle and introduce yourselves in first grade? Same thing. Textbook stuff, Pete.”

Now, Peter was of course ecstatic. Meeting the entirety of the Avengers? He could hardly contain his excitement. However, though it was all nerve racking, nothing caused his blood to curtle quite as much as the great and powerful Thor himself.

Attempting to steady his shaking hands, Peter balanced himself against his knees, tilting forwards. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to meet Thor. No, not at all. It was his fear of making a bad impression. What worse than to embarrass himself in front of him? The thought caused his gut to wrench in pain. Peter exhaled, ignoring the look of curiosity his mentor wore beside him.

After a few more moments of silence, Tony sighed with finality. “Alright,” he removed his sunglasses, slapping his free hand on Peter’s shoulder. “What’s up, Pete? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because that’s bullshit.”

“Oh,” Peter stammered, waving his trembling hands in the air. The last thing he wanted was for Tony to know how nervous he was. He was Spiderman! Crime-fighting, butt-kicking, web-slinging Avenger. This was nothing in comparison to some of the things he had to deal with. Noticing the sudden burning sensation behind his eyes, he straightened his composure. “Uh, no, um, it really is nothing, Mr. Stark.”

Tony tsked. “Peter.”

“I just, it’s just— is it hot in here? It feels hot. I think we should turn down the AC—“

“Kid, c’mon.”

Peter groaned in defeat, shaking his head. Cars honked in the background, the sound echoing throughout the morning air. The smell of candy filled his senses as they passed some roadside shops, the scent sweet and syrupy. He wished he could fade away into the essence of it, to hide from this confrontation, to be anywhere, anywhere but here. “I- I don’t know, Mr. Stark.” He mumbled at last, shrugging with somewhat of a sheepish expression. “Just nerves, I guess.”

Iron-man’s features softened. He leaned back against his chair with a creak. “You know, Pete,” He said, glancing at the people outside as they passed in a blur. “A lot of the Avengers admire your guts.”

Peter perked up at that, turning his gaze towards Tony. “Really?”

“Really.”

“They said that?”

“Quite a few of them, actually.”

Peter smiled, one of happiness growing. It came from deep inside to light his eyes, spreading across every part of him. However, his smile faded just as quickly as it appeared, disappearing into nothing more than a simple twitch of the mouth. “What about, uh, Thor?” He asked, voice light and airy.

“Thor?” Tony repeated. He shook his head, staring at the roof of the car as he thought it over carefully. “No, I haven’t heard him say anything. But that doesn’t mean--”

“Ugh,” Peter whined. He buried his face between the crevices of his fingers. “I knew it! He hates me.”

“What?” Tony shook his head in bewilderment. “No. Come on, Pete. Thor has just as much of a reason to respect you as everyone else does.”

Peter sighed. Stretching, he raised his arms above his head, shirt riding up as he did so. A thin line of milky white appeared just above his pant line, revealing the softness of his skin. “I don’t know.” He muttered, gazing out the window. “What if he thinks I’m weird?”

“He won’t, kid. I promise.” He reached out, delivering a quick poke to the boy’s belly. “Now, pull down your shirt.”

Peter yelped, doubling over in one swift movement and successfully trapping Iron-man’s hand. Tony stared, taken aback by the sudden action. His eyes trailed from his hands to the kid’s flustered face, with a cherry hue against his cheeks, his lips contorted into a smile. Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Did I hurt you?”

If possible, Peter’s went ten shades darker. He bit his lip, squirming in his position, having yet to free Tony’s hand. “Um,” He stuttered out between quick intakes of breath, “No?”

“You sure? Because if you’re injured—” Much to Peter’s dismay, Tony began kneading into his stomach, searching for a nonexistent wound. He squeaked and squirmed, successfully trapping Tony’s hand even more. “Mr. Stahark!” He gasped, a few stray giggles escaping his lips. “Quihit it!”

Tony stopped, rendered even more confused than before. He studied his hand, before a wave of realization washed over his face, and his lips twitched into a smirk. Oh, that dreaded smirk. Just a subtle tug at the corner of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes and a tilt of his head, and Peter was at a loss for breath.

“Oh. You’re just ticklish.” He wriggled his fingers a bit at that, purposely this time, and Peter swore he nearly died. He scrunched his eyes closed, strained giggles flowing from his mouth as Tony just watched in amusement. “Is that it?”

“Nohoho! Cuhut ihit ouhohout!”

Peter had always been unbearably ticklish. It was a weakness he prayed nobody would figure out. Of course, everybody did in the end, as it wasn’t very easy to hide. Now, Tony Stark? It was one thing for him to know he was ticklish. It was a whole other thing for him to exploit it. Peter had never felt so utterly embarrassed in his life.

Happy sighed in the front as Peter’s childlike laughter filled the area. He pressed a button, causing a thin separator to rise from seemingly nowhere, blocking their view of him. However, nothing could hide the faint smile on his lips as the wall closed in between them.

Tony slowed his fingers until they lay completely still at Peter’s belly, buried in his skin. “Okay,” he teased, “Well, you have to let me go first.”

Peter whined as Tony’s fingers sat unmoving against the ticklish nerves in his stomach. His lip lay tucked beneath his teeth as he contemplated a safe escape. If he sat up, he’d leave himself vulnerable and susceptible to an attack, but he certainly couldn’t stay there.

“Can’t you just, uh, pull your hand out?” Peter asked sheepishly, a blush at his ears.

“Well,” Tony mumbled. He moved his hand a bit, fingers brushing against Spider Man's stomach and causing the boy to let out a rather high pitched yelp.

“Okahay, stahap!” Peter cackled. “Unngh.” He rolled to the side as much as the seat belt would allow, squirming until Tony’s hand slid free.

Tony sniggered at the mess of a boy before him, flustered, childlike bubbliness bursting at the seams. He really was just a kid, despite his Spider-Man display. His hair lay sprawled against his forehead, his eyes barely visible beneath his lashes as he squeezed them shut. He was, overall, just a teen trying to find his way. Tony smiled.

“Ya know, you really wouldn’t want the bad guys to figure this out.” He chuckled, squeezing the boy’s side.

“Ahah!” Cackled Peter, prying at his mentor’s fingers. Somehow, the feeling rendered his spidey-strength useless. His mind felt too foggy and giddy to decipher the situation at hand, leaving him as nothing more than a flustered pile of giggles. “Dohohont!”

“Why not?” Tony asked, curious fingers now prodding at Peter’s ribs, searching for the weakest one. His bottom rib appeared to be particularly sensitive. “Don’t tell me Spider-Man is giving up already!”

“Shuhut uhuhuHAHA!” Peter threw his head back when Tony’s fingers found his belly once more, poking and spidering against his shirt-clad skin. Unbearable little shockwaves shot throughout his body as his tummy suffered ruthless attacks from Tony. He writhed and kicked, helpless giggles escaping him, leaving his lips in bubbly little spurts.

“We’ll need to modify your suit to protect you against future tickle attacks. I’m thinking thicker material around your midsection?”

“MR. STAHAHARK!”

“Tell you what,” Tony said, his fingers inching towards a small patch of skin, now exposed due to his shirt riding up. Peter shivered. “You stop laughing, and I’ll stop tickling you.”

“Thahahat’s not faihahriHAHAHA! NNHhah!” Peter let out a rather unmanly squeal as Tony’s hand slipped under his shirt, fiendish fingers now skittering across his skin. He scrunched up his face, batting at Tony’s hand, before giving up and sinking back against the chair. “AHAHaaahh!”

“You’re not off to a great start.” Tony laughed. He scribbled against his tummy, reducing the kid into a giggly heap of ticklish goo.

“P-pleHEHEase—“ Peter’s laughter faded into little hiccups as Tony found his lower belly, focusing his attention there. Peter drummed his heels into the car seat, back arched, hands retreating to cover his blushing face.

Any previous anxiety had been completely forgotten at this point, tucked away into the back of Peter’s mind as if it had never existed in the first place. Tony smiled at the mess of a boy now before him, happy to see him laugh. He didn’t laugh enough anymore, not after the whole dying-and-coming-back-again ordeal. He hated to watch the once vibrant boy change into what he had— lifeless, depressed, colorless. It was almost as if his laughter brought back the flurry of colors that made Peter Parker who he was, who he was supposed to be.

“Where else are you ticklish?” Tony asked, amused.

“NOHOWHEREHHERE!”

“Nowhere? Are you sure?” He trailed his fingers upwards, grabbing hold of Peter’s arms and holding them above his head. “What about... here?” He drilled his thumb into one of his underarms. He had to tighten his grip on Peter’s wrists as he yanked at his hands in dismay.

“AhAHa NOHOHah!”

“Aha! You little liar. Well, that’s not good, is it?” He scratched his fingers against the sensitive skin, clawing and prodding and doing everything else possible to torture the poor boy. His fingers were surprisingly skilled, knowing exactly what buttons to push to drive him up the wall.

He explored every little ticklish spot he could find, from his neck, Peter spluttering and giggling as Tony fluttered his fingers against it, all the way down to his hips, where he absolutely lost it, cackling and bucking and shaking his head as tears of mirth painted an iridescent picture along his cheeks.

It was when Peter’s laughter came out in ragged, exhausted breaths that Tony finally ceased, helping pull the kid’s shirt back down. He panted, chest rising and falling almost as fast as his heart raced. Slumped back against his seat, his eyes heavy, lips parted ever so slightly as his breath wavered in the silence.

“That,” he gasped, eyes wide and dazed, “Was awful.”

Tony laughed, patting the kid’s shoulder. “You feel better though, right?”

“Yeah.” Peter hiccuped, holding his stomach. He really did feel better, more free and upbeat. Though he was still nervous, he was far less so than before. He smiled a genuine smile, turning to Tony. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.” He paused to catch his breath. “But please don’t ever do that again.”

“No promises.”

The thin veil separating them from Happy retracted into itself. Happy’s face appeared in the mirror, smug. “We’re here.”

A large coffee shop came into view, very few cars parked around it. Tony had rented it out for the time being, not to anyone’s surprise. Tony could do anything, almost.

It was a bit of a strange meeting place, Peter thought. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t just meet at the Avenger’s facility. “A nice change,” Tony had said, “Besides, coffee shops are popular. What’s that one called? StripBucks, was it?”

He had received a face palm from Peter.

“You ready?”

Peter swallowed dryly as he examined the area. Faint silhouettes danced across the window, their shadows dull and plain, too many to count. The Avengers, Peter realized, stood casually in that coffee shop. He gulped.

“Yeah. I’m feeling better.”

Tony grinned, slipping on his sunglasses. “You’ll do great, Pete. I know it.”

Peter laughed as Tony ruffled his hair, causing it to stick out in jagged spurts. “Thank you.”

The door opened in a blur. He didn’t know when he left the car, but soon they were trudging towards the shop, Happy right behind them. The world seemed foggy in that moment, just a series of colors and shapes. All that mattered was the smile plastered on Peter’s face, Tony’s hand against his shoulder, and the words that seemed to echo throughout his mind as Tony nudged his arm.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

#marvel #tony stark #peter parker #iron dad #spider son #avengers #tickle #tickle fic #ticklish!peter #what else should i tag #tickling #mcu #fluff #fanfic #mine #lmaooo #k bye i'm done #ticklish!spiderman #ticklish!peterparker

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davidfarland · 5 years

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Read until the end for updates on upcoming writing courses and a special preview of my Serpent Catch series Book 1.

***

I often say that “Writing is easy, but writing beautifully is hard.” At least for me, I can sit down and put words on paper quickly and enjoy myself, but when I’m really working at telling a story on multiple levels, when I’m writing something that I know will be read by millions of people, when I’m struggling to be original and break out of cliché actions and wording, then the writing gets hard.

Yesterday I was working on a screenplay. Now, I haven’t written a lot of screenplays, but when you’re working on a project that you know could have millions of viewers and you’re struggling to launch a new film series, it really can slow you down. If you have that problem, here are some ways to speed up your writing.

Learn the basics of your medium. A person who is unsure how to use quotation marks or doesn’t know screenplay format will be more hesitant. Words and punctuation are the tools of your trade, so you need to learn how to use them.

Know where the story is going. If you understand who your characters are and what incidents are going to happen—in other words, if you’re prepared—the story itself seems to create its own energy and will hurry you along.

Make writing a habit. As Ralph Waldo Emerson put it, “That which we persist in doing becomes easier, not that the nature of the task has changed, but our ability to do has increased.” As you write on a daily basis, your brain forms new neural connections that let you craft your work more quickly, almost automatically, while your subconscious begins to focus on the task even in your sleep, so that when you sit down to write, you’re ready to write.

Focus on the work, not the distractions. Find the writing conditions that work best for you. For example, I have a favorite writing chair, a favorite laptop, and even a couple of spots in the house that work best for me. I know what kind of drink I want next to my writing chair, and I know which background music will distract me and which might energize me.

Eliminate fears. Don’t set your heart on winning awards and don’t worry about what critics will say. Many critics seem to speak out of jealousy. Extremely popular writers tend to get savaged. I recall when Stephen King got his first big deal and I heard some horror writers talking about how he was undeserving and “couldn’t write his way out of a paper bag.” So I read his work and felt surprised when I found him to be excellent. I heard the same criticisms against J.K. Rowling, John Grisham, Stephanie Meyer, and others. My message to young writers who criticize others for having the same kind of success that they wish to enjoy: Get your stupid butt in gear!

Remember that your first draft is just that, a first draft. Give yourself permission to get it done quickly. You can worry about perfecting your prose in the rewrites. Don’t compare your first draft to others’ finished drafts.

Stay in focus. Give yourself reasonably long blocks of time to write. Some people write at lightning speed, but most people find that it takes a bit of time to get warmed up.

Keep it fun. Stressing out just slows you down.

***

Sign ups for my online classes, the Advanced Story Puzzle and Writing Enchanting Prose, are now available at MyStoryDoctor.com. Both classes are $449 each and include weekly conference calls and I will also be giving feedback on your writing. Classes start August 24th which is also the last day to register. Each course will run for 10 weeks.

I recently spoke on the Legendarium Podcast, and discussed "Enders Game,". If you are curious about it, you can listen to the podcast here.

The Serpent Catch Book 1 will be available for $.99 on Amazon Kindle for the next 3 days only. You can read chapter 1 here as a special sneak peak into the series. If you are interested in reading more, you can buy the book on Amazon here.

Chapter 1: Night Watch

Tull felt teeth pierce his ankle, each tooth as sharp as flint, and heard bones crunching. Dimly he realized that it was dark, that he heard the growl of a great lizard. He kicked at the beast, struggling to rouse from his slumber.

“Yaagh,” he called. Most dinosaurs in Hotland were afraid of men, and he hoped that his shout would startle whatever had seized him.

Fully awake, he realized that it was only a strong hand that held his ankle.

His good friend Ayuvah laughed at the joke. “Shitha!” Get up, Ayuvah said in the soft-nasal language of the Neanderthal, or Pwi, as they called themselves. “Tchima-zho, sepala-pi fe.” I finish gladly, and take joy in my coming sleep.

Tull looked up into Ayuvah’s face and blinked to clear his vision. The great moon Thor was up, a green-blue monstrosity in the sky, and though it was only a quarter full, Tull could see the young Neanderthal man well in its surface.

The warm night air around camp smelled thick with the scent of leatherwood honey. Tree frogs whistled in the darkness beyond the edge of the Neanderthals’ little wooden fortress. Out across the plains, two male blue-crested hadrosaurs, with their long necks and duckbills, bellowed challenges to one another as they vied for a mate. The dinosaurs had been going at it solid for three days now in the valley below.

It must have been their calls that disturbed my sleep, Tull thought, and made me dream of predators. He felt glad that the honey harvest was almost finished. The hadrosaurs’ mating challenges had drawn a tyrannosaur into the valley earlier in the day. Ayuvah had killed it with his spear, but more would follow. Soon they would hike to the ship and sail back home to Smilodon Bay.

Tull pulled off his blanket and stretched. Ayuvah handed him the telescope, along with a war horn made from the horn of an aurochs, then went to pick at the stew beside the fire.

“Adja, I fear,” Ayuvah warned quietly. Because he did not say how much he feared, he meant that he was afraid of something unspecific. Seven other Pwi slept quietly around the camp, none of them snoring. The fire had burned down to red coals that glowed like malevolent eyes.

“What do you fear?” Tull asked softly.

“There is much movement in the valley tonight. The hadrosaurs are mating, and I saw two sailfin carnosaurs come up from the swamp. Many smaller dinosaurs are milling about, creatures that have been flushed from the woods. And I saw something else, I think,” Ayuvah said, thoughtfully. “I believe I saw a lantern shining down by the wide spot in the river. But it was far away—and after a minute it went out.”

“Perhaps it was only a will-o-wisp,” Tull said hopefully. The swamp gases along the river sometimes vented at night.

Ayuvah shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Egg raiders?” Tull asked.

Only humans or Neanderthals would make fire, and few dared travel in this part of the world. Many young Pwi crossed the ocean at one time or another to steal dinosaur eggs in Hotland. Back on their home continent of Calla, the sailors paid well for the eggs, then sold them in distant ports to those who were foolish enough to hatch them just to see what kind of monster came out.

Ayuvah shook his head. “It is too late for egg raiders. Autumn will soon be here. I do not think that they would be Pwi. My kin will be going home to take in the harvest.”

The Neanderthal was right. Only Scandal the Gourmet, with his love for leatherwood honey, paid men well enough to work in Hotland in this season.

“Besides,” Ayuvah said. “Egg raiders would not hunt at night.”

Tull hesitated to say his next word. “Slavers?”

“Maybe,” Ayuvah said, nodding. “Twenty Pwi down from Wellen’s Eyes went out on egg raid last spring—and none returned. Slavers could have captured them.”

“I’ve never heard of slavers coming to Hotland,” Tull said, but he wondered. Over the past several years, the predations of the Craal slavers had increased. Some Pwi even said that it was time to flee Calla to make a new home in Hotland, where the slavers would hesitate to follow.

Because Ayuvah’s words made him nervous, Tull put on his war gear. He pulled a lacquered leather vest made of iguanodon hide over his naked chest, and sheathed his kutow, a double-headed battle ax, at his belt. He took his wooden spear and war shield, and slung the aurochs horn around his neck.

The fortress here was hidden. It was little more than rocks and a few poles bound together among some trees near the edge of a small pool.

His guard post was halfway up a large dead leatherwood tree, its ancient branches just high enough so that a man, resting in their gnarled crook, could survey the valley.

From the tree, Tull could see the plains all around. Though vegetation was trampled and sparse, a herd of two hundred triceratopses, each forty feet long, fed on shrubs in the dark grassland to the north. Leatherwood forests covered a row of hills to the east, and upon one hill two miles away, a small fire burned in a tree at the edge of the deep woods. Tull pulled the telescope from its case and studied the tree.

Denni and Tchar, two fourteen-year-old Neanderthals camped by the hollow leatherwood, smoking the honey bees into a stupor. A brazier hung beneath a hive by a chain. In the firelight, Tull could see blond-haired Denni coaxing the fire while Tchar slept. Good boy, Tull thought, to be so diligent. I’ll have to remember to congratulate him in the morning.

Iguanodons, huge and gray in the moonlight, feasted near the boys on the last of summer’s leaves. They were herd animals, large enough to scare off most smaller predators, alert enough to warn if something truly dangerous approached.

Good, Tull thought. The boys will be safe so long as the iguanodons stay near. Tull turned his spyglass off to the west, down to the wide spot in the river. Ayuvah was right. The brush was thick with movement. Too many dinosaurs were out, and they milled nervously through the brush, spooking at the smallest sound.

Tull studied the area. If someone had been down at the river carrying a lantern, then he might have seen the boys’ fire burning in the leatherwood tree when he came round the river’s bend. If the man were a slaver, he would then douse his lantern and sneak along the brush line like a wolf in the dark.

Tull wondered: if a dozen men crept through the brush by the river in the moonlight, would they scare the dinosaurs this much?

He wasn’t sure. A dozen allosaurs on the prowl, that would certainly scare the smaller animals into the open. If passing men made a lot of noise, they might scare the smaller animals, too. Tull turned a full circle, studied the plains carefully. In the moonlight, with his telescope, he could see well enough to feel secure.

A dozen small oviraptors broke into the open, scurrying from the brush near the hills. He focused on the spot, but could see nothing in the trees.

Tull hissed through his teeth, fingered his war horn. Whatever had frightened them was close to the boys. Tchar and Denni were young, and if they got into trouble, they might not have the presence of mind to get themselves out. Yet Tull could not blow the war horn without revealing his position.

Should I warn them, he wondered, about something that might be nothing? Anything could have scared the oviraptors.

Below him at the pond, the tree frogs abruptly quit whistling as someone stepped into the water. Tull flinched, looked down. Ayuvah’s younger sister, Fava, stood in the moonlight not eighty feet outside the fortress wall.

Fava was pretty, with sandy red hair. Her green eyes, uncommon among the Pwi, were set shallowly beneath her brows, which made her look more human than most deep-browed Neanderthals. Fava was a rarity, a purebred Pwi, not of mixed blood, like Tull.

Fava’s bare legs were decorated with colored ribbons, symbolizing that she was still a maiden. Bending over, she untied the ribbons, as if she would bathe.

Tull’s heart pounded, and he looked away as she began to strip off her summer tunic. He wondered if she knew that he was in the tree. How could she not know? he wondered. We always have a guard.

Fava gasped as she splashed into the pond. The water felt deliciously cool against her skin. Distilling honey was hot, sticky work, and Fava relished the thought of feeling clean again, clean like the night sky that caressed the moon’s cheek.

Fava dunked her head beneath the water’s surface to soak the honey smoke out of her hair. She rolled her head from side to side, letting the current ripple like fingers through her tresses. Fingers, she thought. Would that they were Tull’s fingers instead of the river’s.

He watches, up there in his tree, she thought. She pushed off against the rocks and silt of the pond’s bottom and took in a breath before she stretched out to float on her back under Thor’s blue-green light.

Fava shared her smile with the moon. Let him watch, she whispered to Thor. If Tull watched, perhaps he would see that she was a woman grown, a woman who offered potho ha-chima, the love that opens like a rosebud, instead of the simpler friendship of a childhood playmate.

For Fava was a girl no longer. Her goals and desires had evolved from the toys and games of a child into the larger world of kin, village and hearth. Like all Pwi women, she would take a mate once and forever, joining her spirit with his the way bark is bound to pith.

The water lapping against the shore offered a soft chuckle in response to Fava’s thoughts, so she splashed.

What if Tull didn’t want her? What if his heart yearned after some human woman, just as hers yearned after him? Tull’s father was human, so perhaps Tull aspired to a human life, a human wife. The thought unsettled Fava, so she dove beneath the surface again to wash the thought loose.

Surely, Tull could see that a strong Pwi woman like herself was better than the wilting flower of a human girl he’d chased after as a boy. Well, if he couldn’t, Fava would do her best to make him see.

She rose to the surface and stole a glance at Tull’s guard post over her bare shoulder.

Tull dared a glimpse toward the pond. He could see little. Fava’s pale flesh shone softly in the blue moonlight, and she swam with the grace of an otter. “Fava,” he whispered, “what are you doing?”

“Bathing,” she said. Fava was a sweet girl who seemed mystified by the world and always spoke with a strangely intense inflection, as if trying to convey how odd everything was.

Tull’s face burned with embarrassment.

“Mmmmm,” she sighed, splashing water. “I’ve been boiling honey for three days. My clothes are sticky, and they smell like leatherwood. Tell,” she said, speaking Tull’s name as well as her Neanderthal lips would allow, Even my skin smells-fondly of honey.”“

Tull blushed and looked away. Fava teased him from time to time, yet it seemed like a game. Tull was not sure if she really wanted to catch him. For Neanderthals, all objects, all people, all places held kwea, the emotional weight of past associations. Tull felt drawn to Fava, but she’d always been like a little sister to him. The kwea he felt for her was friendly, the kwea built up from good times spent together.

He could not think of her as anything but the little girl she had been, someone to protect. But lately, the kwea was changing. She teased him often, and he felt a craving for her—the desire to treat her as a lover.

Yet he didn’t dare make such a move, afraid it would spoil their long friendship.

Besides, why would she want me, a halfbreed? Tull wondered. Not many women would want a half-human, half-Neanderthal for a husband. Fava could surely do better. No, she is just trying to embarrass me.

Tull breathed slowly and forced himself to watch the grasslands, but he could not concentrate on them with Fava swimming in the pool, the sinuous waves rippling away from her like silver ribbons untwining from her legs. She kept at it for half an hour, then climbed out to dry herself in the warm night air, shaking out her long, red hair with her fingers.

Tull struggled to keep his eyes averted. Several small dinosaurs had gathered in the valley to scavenge the carcass of the tyrannosaur Ayuvah had killed earlier in the day. Perhaps that was what had so many of the smaller dinosaurs, kavas, as the Pwi called them, on edge. The smell of a tyrannosaur, mingled with blood and offal, was sure to cause some alarm.

Once Fava had dressed, she entered the fortress, shinnied up the tree, and stood on the gnarled old branch beside Tull, one hand resting on the trunk of the tree.

She was tall for a Neanderthal, yet Tull looked down on her, for like many halfbreeds, he was taller than most Neanderthals, and broader of chest than any human.

“Tull, will you comb my hair?” she asked, standing precariously.

“I’m on guard,” he said.

“Everyone else is asleep!” Fava insisted.

Tull took the ivory comb she proffered. She turned her back and leaned against his thigh while he brushed her long, wet hair.

“I’m eager to get back home,” Tull said as he combed.

“Why?” Fava asked. “I thought you were happy to come on this trip. You said you were bored with picking fruit and hauling hay.”

“I fear,” Tull answered, and he told her about Ayuvah seeing a lantern.

“It would be a shame if the slavers come here,” she said. “Tsavathar’shi.” This place, too beautiful. She stood gazing out at the moonlight over plains. It was still an hour before dawn, and a quetzalcoatlus with a fifty-foot wingspan soared overhead, hunting for carrion. As Tull and Fava watched, it began to circle the dead tyrannosaur down in the valley.

Tull finished combing Fava’s hair, then tied it into a ponytail and patted her shoulder.

“Did I get the honey off?” she asked matter-of-factly, playing the part of a little sister again.

Tull leaned in. Her hair smelled of mountain spring water. “I think so, Friend.”

Fava turned and looked up at him smiling. Tull could not read her expression: Anger, desire, mockery?

“Friend?” she said, “are you sure that is all I am?” She leaned her head back.

Tull breathed the sweet scent of her neck. Her clothes still held the fruity, flowery scent of leatherwood honey, and somehow it made him dizzy.

Tull felt unsure how to answer, for if he told her the truth, she might go down and bathe again.

Suddenly he stopped worrying about it: on the hill far away, he saw a torch swinging in the darkness. Tull pulled out his telescope, gaze riveted on the honey tree: Two miles across the plain, Denni was swinging the brazier.

For a moment, Tull noticed nothing else, then he spotted men dressed in black boiling out of the brush. Denni was trying to drive them off with the brazier. Swords flashed in the moonlight.

“What’s happening?” Fava asked.

“Slavers!” Tull said. “Pirates from Bashevgo, I think—at least they are dressed in black. Denni is holding them back.”

“How many?” Fava asked. Tull heard fear and bewilderment in her little-girl voice.

He counted. “Ten or twelve that I can see.”

“Denni can’t fight so many. He is swinging the brazier to warn us!” Fava said. She grabbed the war horn from Tull’s neck, pulling it so hard that the leather string broke.

“No,” Tull said, “you’ll warn the slavers that we’re here.”

Fava put the horn to her lips and blew, letting the deep bellow add to the mating cries of the blue-crested hadrosaurs on the plain below.

Tull watched through the glass as slavers turned as one toward the sounding war horn.

Fava’s little-girl voice turned hard. “Now Denni and Tchar know we are coming. And the pirates know they have a fight on their hands!”

#writingtip

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ask-de-writer · 6 years

Text

GONE TO SEA : World of Sea : Science Fiction : Part 9

GONE TO SEA

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

WORK IN PROGRESS (Word count unknown at this time)

Writing started 2005

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Chapter 05. School On Dock C

Pele stood on the auditorium stage and looked at the small sea of children's heads all watching her. She grinned somewhat nervously at them all and said, “Well, kids, this is what I get for opening my mouth at the wrong time. Cora's Crowd came up with a really great boat project. It was big enough to need a supervisor, so I pitched their idea to the Executive Committee. I thought that that it could be a useful part of your schooling. A project like this will teach you guys why the stuff that you learn in the classrooms is important.”

Warming to her topic, Pele came out from behind the lectern and began to gesture freely. She had the screen lowered and the lights dimmed. “This is what you guys came up with! No grown up, not even me, thought of something like this! Now that we live here on Sea, that is where everything in this project will come from!” The screen lit up with a projected image of Mala'klea's sketch.

Pele stood proudly to one side and let the assorted children get a good look at the picture. “We will have a whole lot of things to figure out to get the first ship built. Almost all of you have been basically told to go and play while the station's scientists and engineers look for IMPORTANT STUFF.”

Pele laughed. “None of them are looking at these kinds of things. This whole idea grew out of wanting to make a Frisbee to play with! You did that too! You have the chance to not only learn - - Stop groaning out there! You have the chance to build a small ship and get it into use before the station gets theirs done!”

Pele took a deep breath and faced her audience squarely as she said, “The Station's Council agreed that the project could be valuable as an educational tool. Then they appointed me to run all of your schooling along with the boat project. I get to both teach you and learn from you at the same time that we build this thing.

“Luckily, the Council didn't realize how much fun we are all going to have or they would have figured out some way to suck the joy out of it for all of us. For some reason, lots of grown people, who should know better, think that learning should be dull. I can promise you this, the project may not be easy but it will not be dull.”

“I called this assembly to lay down some ground rules. We can't have a job this big without some rules. You kids have already chosen the first one. This is it.

“If it does not come from this world of Sea, we don't use it. Our brains and ourselves are the only exceptions.

“The next rule is equally simple. Before we build, we think, we plan and we test. We do not want to wind up putting a lot of effort into something that doesn't work.

“Another simple rule is learn to speak, write and calculate clearly. If you have a good idea, the rest of us can't use it if we can't understand what you mean.

“A vital rule that you have all heard too many times before is NO horse-play in the work areas. Tricks played there can hurt people or damage our boats. Yes, boats, plural. Part of building the big boat will be smaller ones to test ideas and catch or gather the many things that we will need.

“Finally, I do not know how many of you know this or care, but Mister Angerson has been put to work directing the building of the first of the Station's big twenty meter ships because he has an engineering background. Why is this important to you?

“I will be blunt. I don't like him at all. He beat and belittled the lot of you and that is simply wrong. How many of you would like to return the favor by kicking Mister Angerson's feet right out from under him by making a better and faster ship than his? I see hands up all over this room! Good for you! Any questions?”

////////////////////

Pele was seriously examining a smooth pale tan fish skin. It still had small holes around the edges where it had been stretched to dry. Looking up at the committee of children who had produced the skin, she smiled and asked, “How did you get this hide to be so smooth and supple? You are right, it looks like a good candidate for a parchment type of writing material.

“Any ideas for an ink? Have you tested the ink and parchment together?”

Confidently, seventeen year old Jessie Lim, the leader of the student committee on writing materials, replied, “Cora's Crowd made the skins. She can tell you all about them. We have several candidates for ink. They are all from different species of the Haggers ammonite. Pearl's Divers caught them for us to test.

“The smaller ones with the shells all make ink, a lot like an octopus from Earth. The schools of free swimming ones are hard to catch but the bottom crawlers are easy to get.

“We can prepare the ink several ways. Here are some samples of writing that we tried. I like this one here. We just cut the raw ammonite ink about ten to one with distilled water. Once it dries, it is waterproof.” He handed Pele a sheet of the same parchment-like skin with several lines of writing on it. Each line explained how the ink that it was written in was mixed from the raw ink.

Cora Halyn handed Pele a thick stack of the parchments. She proudly said, “We made a hundred of these sheets in one afternoon. Jase and a couple of other kids went out in one of our small boats and netted a bunch of those parrot fish that are such a nuisance. We made a lot of the stretcher frames. The fish don't have scales and they are really easy to skin. All that we need to do is work the drying skins with this smooth bone polisher and they come out flexible like that after about four hours of sun drying.” She proudly held out a wide, polished piece of bone, equipped with a working handle of glued Strong's shark skin. “Mikal Novotony figured out how to make the stretcher frames and he made the polishing tools for us.”

Pele encompassed all of the writing materials committee with a big smile and said, “This is excellent work, all of you! The working materials group got something good that you might find useful. They rendered that tallow-like stuff from the Goo fish to get as much of the oil out of it as possible. That left this.” She dropped a block of firm tan colored material on her table, in front of her students.

Mikal Novotnoy picked the block up and tried to scratch it with a knife made of Strong's shark tooth. The fang easily made a deep cut. He took the butt end of the knife and rubbed the material back together and made other lighter marks and rubbed them out the same way. Pele noticed that the others were watching him with concentration.

Mikal looked up at the others and said, “We could melt this into shallow trays and use a scribe or stylus made out of almost any hard bone to write with. Let's go over to the shop area and see what we can come up with.” He took the time to say, “Thanks, Pele. Looks like we will be out of your hair for the next few hours.”

Pele promptly retorted, “You are supposed to get into my hair! That's why I'm here!”

Her next group was the Math committee. It was headed up by an older girl, nearly seventeen. Kala Marks said, “We have been looking for a way to make a good general use calculator. Lee Shin showed us an abacus and some of how to use it. She said that you suggested that we ought to look into it. It is really handy but it has some limits for what we wanted.

“We were also studying those logarithm tables that you had printed out for us. Multiplying and dividing is done by just adding and subtracting the the logarithms of the numbers in the tables. We checked that out pretty carefully because it almost seemed too simple.

“Mark was having some trouble with manual adding and subtracting by hand because sometimes he forgets to carry. He figured out that if he just set two rulers next to each other, sliding them back and forth would do the adding and subtracting for him. That gave us an idea that we wanted to ask you about. Can we make rulers with these logarithms instead of centimeters? That way we could add and subtract them really fast, if it will work.”

Pele gave them a delighted grin and said, “That certainly will work! The idea extends to trigonometric functions too. We can add them into the basic the device later. I am not going to tell you how to make it. This is your project. Now go start figuring out what you need to do and when you have a plan, hit the shop area to make up a test unit, OK?”

The whole Math committee gathered around Kala and said, “Way to go! You were right, Kay! Let's get on it!”

A shadow fell over Pele's work table where she was making notes on particular students in her records. She looked up. Mister Makle stood there, watching her. When he noticed that he had Pele's attention, he said, “A lot of parents, me included, were worried when the first thing that you did was get rid of age related classes. I've been watching the school pretty closely because of that.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

#GONE TO SEA #World of Sea #Science Fiction #written by Glen TenEyck #Part 9

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wamawamachihuahuamama · 3 years

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1. Favorite place to write.

On break during school or work.

2. Favorite part of writing.

The exciting, vibrant, fuzzy feeling I get when something comes out really good.

3. Least favorite part of writing.

Writer's block.

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals?

Not writing but still holding onto the someday mantra.

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most.

I don't really know, I read a lot. Like A LOT a lot.

6. Favorite character you ever created.

Justin Gabe Leon of The Consequences of Beth. He is supposed to be like the good guy, but he is way worse than anyone realizes.

7. Favorite author.

Stephen King.

8. Favorite trope to write.

Hurt/Comfort.

9. Least favorite trope to write.

Anything with a bad ending.

10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about.

l'd write a story with my middle school best friend that shall not be named. Likely a romance because we both are reluctantly prone to writing them.

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

I write like crazy and professionally for like a week and then I get busy with something else and the inspiration disperses and I only write sometimes. Like only when I get an idea or something. A lot of fanfictions to be honest.

12. How do you deal with self-doubts?

I tell myself it is in my head. Most everyone who had read my stuff thinks it has a lot of potential.

13. How do you deal with writers block?

I try to write through it. If I'm really stuck, I rewind and rewrite already written scenes until I get a further idea of what to do with it.

14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book?

Probably when I wrote a fanfiction of Soul Eater and I needed some information about some secondray characters. Most of the time i go by a write what you know mantra.

15. Where does your inspiration come from?

My inspiration comes from other writers works.

16. Where do you take your motivation from?

My motivation comes from nothing except random feelings of "what the hell am I doing with my life."

17. On average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

On average, I write very little. It's mostly whatever I have to write for class.

18. What’s your revision or rewriting process like?

I rewrite as I go. Then again at the end. Then repeat. It just keeps going.

19. First line of a WIP you’re working on.

“I was woken by the gunshots.”

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

Amidst a dreary fog, a young woman finds herself disoriented by looming lights, becoming closer and larger by the second. Her vision glares and the few paces she could see in front of herself fade away. She blindly throws her arms out to keep upright as she continues towards her destination and, more importantly, away from the glowing orbs behind her. Just as her vision begins to return, it is enveloped in darkness again. Had the lights dispersed? She glances over her shoulder for a moment. They are still there, but smaller, and concealed by the trees. She sighs relievedly and turns back around. A cold chill rushes past her. Annoyedly, she tugs at the strings of her hoodie. The thick fabric falls over her eyes. Before she can even reach up to move it out of her view, she kicks herself in the heel. Flailing about wildly, she stumbles forward. Long blades of grass grab at her ankles.

A strangled yelp escapes her as she finally hits the ground. Her palms burn, sending worse tingling sensations up her arms until they give out completely. She fights to sit up again, flailing backward and landing on her butt. Cold rainwater soaks through her jeans. She grimaces.

Then, she gasps. Little shards of rocks cover her palms, trapped in tiny cuts. She brushes them away the best she can. Most of the pebbles fall onto her lap while others remain deeply embedded. Cursing to herself, she looks around for something to work them out with. More of the same tiny rocks surround her. They stretch far in front of her and even farther to her left. It’s a driveway.

Scrambling to her feet, she begins to dash down the road. Nothing appears in front of her or changes around her. She slows to a stop, breathing heavily. It’s too dark to tell if she is heading in the right direction. Everything is either black, gray, or disguised by scattered, glittery orbs. The lights begin to form into one, brightening the path in front of her. Not too far away is a house.

Despite how long she has been looking for it, it’s nothing extravagant. A simple trailer hidden by trees and lined by bushes. It’s hardly visible at all in fact. As she gets closer though, she notices good elements to the structure. A small porch leads up to the door, beside it is a bush, and between the two is just enough space for her to slip between.

Crouching down, she pulls dead leaves and other muck over her like a blanket. Another sickening feeling moves through her as the moist goo makes contact with her bare skin. Or maybe the twists through her gut are caused by the sound of gravel crunching under the wheels of a car. The vehicle stops and the lights go out.

A door flies open and someone steps out. He wanders cautiously towards her without shutting the door. Of course he saw her and of course he is going to be smart about confrontation. She closes her eyes and listens to him walk. Each stomp is closer than the last. Then it stops again and her eyelids turn orange.

The yellow circle from a flashlight luminates the siding above her head. It rests there for a moment before dashing across the house. It reaches the woods and turns around again, following the same path before landing on her. Their eyes meet and he drops the flashlight.

A minute passes and neither makes an effort to retrieve it. It’s all so overwhelming. He anticipated a startled racoon; or even a deer; not the cowering eyes of his highschool sweetheart. Her name and everything else he wants to say attempts to seep between his lips, but he bites down before his thoughts become verbalized. If he allows himself to say, or do anything for that matter, he’s terrified of what he would do.

The light was on them for merely a second, but that's all it took for him to recognize her and hear him. Six years should have been more than enough time for them to become strangers, but with her expression it is obvious she had no trouble identifying him as well. Picking up the flashlight and redirecting it to her, he takes in her aged form. Her hair is the same length and she bares the same expressions. Her name fights at the tip of his tongue again, the only thing he can think to say. “Beth?”

21. Post the last sentence you wrote in one of your WIP’s.

Not again, not again.

22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you?

Yeah, haven’t figured that out yet.

23. Single or multi POV, and why?

Single, definitely single. It can get confusing and I find it to be a bit of lazy writing... don’t come after me.

24. Poetry or prose, and why?

Definitely poetry. I write a lot of it to decipher my feelings and it just sorta sounds cool.

25. Linear or non-linear, and why?

It depends on the story. I definitely have a habit of writing non-linear. I’m not the type to start with a whole bunch of background, you learn as you go just like when you meet someone.

26. Standalone or series, and why?

Standalone. I don’t like it as a reader because I want the conclusion within reach and I have a feeling a lot of my readers feel the same way. I can live with torturing with a dead character or two but I cannot make them die of anticipation.

27. Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished? 28. And who do you share them with?

I used to share rough drafts with people, but now I don’t even share polished stories. I don’t want to upset people or make them worry about me or get a bad review or to have my ideas stolen and done better... yeah, they are kinda for my eyes alone.

29. Who do you write for?

I write for my future readers and for my own enjoyment.

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

My favorite line I have ever written has to be “Don’t let the probable be more important than the definite.”

31. Hardest character to write.

The hardest character to write is someone very positive.

32. Easiest character to write.

The easiest character to write is Madeline from The Locket.

33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing?

Sometimes. It depends on where I am when I am writing.

34. Handwritten notes or typed notes?

Handwritten. It’s more memorable based on some studies I’ve read on studying and I have an addiction to notebooks.

35. Tell some backstory details about one of your characters in your story

Bethany is the accidental baby of a successful business women who abandoned her and an abusive, alcoholic father. She pushes people away to avoid being hurt and doesn’t really want anyone around anyways. Then she befriended the new boy at school and kissed him during a spur of a moment, last minute spiteful action against her late father. An orphan, she must trust the one person who doesn’t let her push him away.

36. A spoiler for story

Peter dies at the end.

37. Most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you.

“It’s not the absense of fear, it’s over coming it.” - Emma Watson.

38. Have you shared your outline of your story ________ with someone? If so, what did they think of it?

No, I’ve never shared an outline. I shared verbal ideas with my friends in middle school and “finished” stories with friends in elementary school.

39. Do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one.

No, I don’t base my characters off of real people. I think it is wrong. It is a way to deal I’m sure, but it is also hurtful.

40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why?

Both. I write fanfiction for practice and fiction as the “real deal”.

41. How many stories do you work on at one time?

I work on one and will do random little prompts in between.

42. How do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc.

My characters are the first thing that comes to me. I don’t really know how I think of them, they mostly come from my dreams.

43. Are you an avid reader?

Yes, I read and read and read and read some more.

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

The best piece of feedback I’ve ever gotten was from my 5th grade teacher after just I started writing and finished my 1st “novel”. I still have the sticky note hanging on my wall she stuck on the inside of my notebook.

45. Worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

The worst piece feedback I’ve gotten is when my media teacher (I write articles) told me I’d make a good librarian because I’m organized, punctual, and love to read... but wouldn’t make it as a writer.

46. What would your story look like as a tv show or movie?

My story would definitely be a movie. It would have a cloudy, depressing filter on it like in Tim Burton films, but be live action and happy in parts.

47. Do you start with characters or plot when working on a new story?

I start with the characters. I get attached and I form the world around them.

48. Favorite genre to write in.

Realistic fiction.

49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end?

The middle of the story is the hardest to write. When I begin I know how I want to start and end and am “faking it till I make it” in the middle.

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

The weirdest story idea I’ve ever had was definitely based on some dream I’ve had. There has been a lot of odd ones, but the one I actually made into a book idea was about a dystopian family with a father who is a part of a cult who kidnaps children and chemically manipulate the brains so they appear different then they really are. Or feed them to a giant, invisible man to keep them from killing the entire cult.

51. Describe the aesthetic of your story in 5 sentences or words.

My stories are dark with a sarcastic overtone.

52. How did writing change you?

Writing has made me more sensible to myself. Like, I understand me more.

53. What does writing mean to you?

Writing is a way of living and of communication.

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

To just do it. You don’t have to do it now or for the next twenty years. Having a colorful language and huge imagination is what makes you one, not how many words you have written.

0 notes

flyingsassysaddles · 6 years

Text

The Pirate’s Mermaid

Notes: Finally done! It took me a long while (writer’s block’s a pain in the butt) but I managed to write the creepy mermaid spuk fic you’ve always wanted! Requested by @ask-aph-cupcakes (sorry it took me so long ;-;)

Summary: The Verde Esmerelda has docked upon the pirate-infested Granger City and the esteemed pirates Antonio and Ludwig have set off to the Blushing Raven, a familiar tavern where they meet up with an old friend, Francis. However, Ludwig tells the group that he had received a mysterious offer from a Dutch smuggler he knows, something to do with magic. Said smuggler soon shows up and drags them over to their shop, and the sight that greets them is something they would never have imagined in their wildest dreams. Pirate/Creepy Mermaid AU, most likely a one shot. Request.

___

The ship rocked back and forth in the rotten bay, sulking away from the crumbling docks and filthy men who gazed at it in wonder. The Verde Esmeralda, in all of its royal glory, shimmered in the musky water of Granger Bay, its graceful bow glaring down at the greasy sea rats that walked beneath it, flapping its elegant sails in protest of sitting in the disheveled bay that the nest of pirates offered.

A plank was lowered with a thud, and a gaggle of men skipped of the grumpy ship in favor of the barrels of wine that awaited them in the underground bars of Granger City. An elegantly dressed man waited behind them, still gazing at the city of filth that festered below him, shifting his chestnut hair behind his ears every once in awhile and pulling his drab hat down to shield his olive eyes from the setting sun. The lone pirate sat there in silence for a couple moments before a blond haired man marched up beside him and rolled his eyes at the daydreaming young man before him.

“Antonio, you have to stop gazing into the sunset every time we come to this godforsaken city. You’ll go blind and then I’ll have to deal with the captain alone.” He furrowed his brows further as Antonio continued to study the city below them and ignoring his blond friend. “Antonio, I know you can hear me.”

“Ludwig, you’re no fun,” declared the elegant pirate as he pushed himself off the rail and strutted down the plank, apparently finished with the deep thoughts he had tossed around and choosing to join the rest of the crew down at the bars. Ludwig hurried after him, shifting his long sword out of the way as he jogged down the Verde Esmeralda and joined his friend down at the rotting planks that led the way to the stone city.

“Why do they never fix these stupid planks!” Ludwig roared, lurching out of a hole his boot had smashed into the wooden dock. “This is a pirate town for God’s sake, why is it always so rundown?!”

“I think the town is too lazy to fix it, especially since this is the back end,” Antonio mused, skipping over the gaping holes and happily jumping on the solid ground. Ludwig grumbled after him, sneaking one last look at the lonely Verde Esmeralda and heading instinctively towards the bar the crew always went to when they stopped by Granger City. The duo absent-mindedly walked down twisting streets and moldy alleys, feet only speeding up when passing particularly rowdy buildings and silent men who walked with the pace of death in their eyes. They were almost halfway to the Blushing Raven, the tiny inn that always hosted their smashing parties and drunk tears, when Ludwig broke the silence that dominated the narrow dirt ridden street they were strolling through.

“You know the smuggler I was telling you about?” he asked, continuing after catching a glimpse of Antonio’s nodding head. “He got new goods, or as I believed he said, a ‘catch’ this time. Said it’d be something I’m interested in.”

“Well? What is it?” Antonio puzzled, hopping over a greasy puddle and dusting down his now dirty clothing with a sigh.

“That’s what’s odd about it. He didn’t say. Said I should meet him at the Blushing Raven and then he’d show me.”

“Sounds like a scam,” the brown-haired man advised, then looking in confusion as Ludwig shook his head.

“The way he wrote the letter it didn’t seem like he was trying to scam me. He seemed awfully serious about it. You know how the Dutchman is, always trying to sell people things. But it really sounded like he got a real deal. Besides, I’ve known Govert forever, he would never cheat me, well, not for a low price,” he added.

“What nice friends you have.” Antonio rolled his eyes, before perking up at the sight of the Blushing Raven that glimmered like a safe haven in front of them, already filled with the cheers of drunk sailors. The two raced into the tavern, the warm light beaming warmly into their empty stomachs as they bursted into the building to gulp down barrels of sour liquor. They quickly joined their usual table, and Antonio lit up when he caught sight of one of his more friendly acquaintances.

“Mon cher, you must sit,” the Frenchmen worried, pulling Antonio down onto a creaky chair and signaling a begrudging waitress to come over to their table.

“Helpful as always, Francis,” Ludwig grunted, kicking out his own chair as Francis continued fussing over Antonio.

“Oh you poor thing, you are filthy! Let me buy you a drink, Bella, some give my friend Antoine some rum, won’t you dear?” He motioned the blond waitress closer, and the woman came towards them with a sigh, no longer being able to avoid the Frenchmen who have given her nothing but trouble during the weeks he had stayed in the tavern.

“What is it this time Francis?” Bella snapped, already mentally rubbing her temples as she slammed the bottles of liquor on the table and shot an annoyed frown at the unaffected Frenchman, who eagerly grabbed another bottle and shot a wink at the irritated waitress. “I have at least 13 hungry and drunk sailors to feed, I don’t have time for your games.”

“Bella, my sweet giver of love, mon cher-”

“No more free drinks Francis.”

“Oh, why must you be so cruel?”

“I gotta quota is why. Oh, Antonio, I didn’t see you there!” Bella finally acknowledged the other two pirates at the table, one snickering, another jabbing an elbow into his companion's side. “Oh, and Ludwig too! You’ve finally come back to Granger City, I see. Welcome home boys!” She patted Antonio on the back and nodded to Ludwig, before picking up her tray and giving another glowing smile to her new customers. “Feel free to order anything you like! For you, it’s on the house!” Francis perked up and opened his mouth to ask a question when Bella added dryly, “And only for Antonio and Ludwig, Francis. No more free drinks for you.”

“Oh, how cruel you are! When you fall for me, I will make sure to use this as a shield from your attempts, you enchanting-”

“I mean it, Francis. You can’t flatter me like last time,” the Belgian said, though Antonio noted with a smile that there was a hint of red in her cheeks and a certain lightness to her step as she stomped away to serve more of his fellow pirates that howled and jeered in the humble inn.

Francis sighed and turned to Antonio, saying, “Well old friend, what brings you to Granger City? You don’t usually stop by.”

“I could say the same,” Ludwig said with raised eyebrows. “Why are you in Granger City, Francis? Shouldn’t you be in that port city you like so much? I thought you quit pirating.”

“Well, you know how it is, once you have the Royal Guard on your tail, they never let you go. Those men kept following me around,” Francis waved his hand in the air, “And then they caught me, we had a, how do you say, a conversation of sorts, and now I steal for them again.”

“Tale as old as time,” Antonio muttered dryly, sipping the low-quality rum in front of him and grimacing. “How’d they catch you?”

Francis was dead silent for a minute, staring at his glass almost unseeing and jolting out of his daze when Ludwig silently nudged him a bit. “Oh, you know. The way they usually do. Let us change the topic, non?”

Ludwig jumped at the chance to liberate the depressed Frenchmen from the gruesome topic and leaned into the table, pausing for a moment as the two men focused on the German and his serious face. “Francis, you know of Govert Achter, ja?”

Francis nodded, furrowing his brows in confusion as Ludwig leaned in even more to shield their conversation from the drunk men around them. “Oui, I know of him. He is the Dutch smuggler, non?”

“Ja. Have you seen him recently?”

“Yes, actually. He has been wandering around town selling his wares like he usually is. Why?”

“Well, he has an item he thinks I should have,” the German whispered, and Francis furrowed his brows even more. “AND! He said it had something to do with...magic!”

“Magic?” Francis leaned in, glancing around them to see if anyone was listening. “Are you sure? The crown has made that illegal years ago.”

“Yes I’m sure,” Ludwig nodded proudly, apparently satisfied that he had told his big secret, leaning back a shooting a rare smile. “And he said that-”

“Excuse me, Ludwig,” a cheerful voice chirped, and the trio whipped around to find Bella smiling back at them, tray in hand and placing bottles of rum on the loud table next to them. “Someone is calling for you in the front!”

Ludwig shot Antonio a look as if asking for his old friend to come with him with a simple flick of his eyebrows, and receiving a nod in return as they both stood up. The German shot Francis the same look but got a shrug in return as he said, “Sorry Ludwig, I simply cannot afford that kind of trouble right now. I’m barely passing by the Royal guard now, and I imagine they will not be too keen to see me deal with magic.”

The German nodded his understanding and patted him on the back as he passed, and Antonio whispered to the Frenchman as he walked past, “I’ll make sure to get you some magic potions if I see any.”

“You do that Antoine,” Francis chuckled before giving a half-hearted wave and going back to his drink as the two of them disappeared under the jeers and howls of the drunken sailors and their dancing forms.

The two pirates dodged their way to the front desk, ducking overthrown buckets of food and jumping over passed out sailors with all the wealth on their bones already stripped off their sleeping forms. As they passed the last table to the front, both men caught sight of the harsh frowning man in front of them, fingers impatiently tapping the desk as the Dutchman ran his left hand through his long hair. His green eyes lit up when he saw the approaching pirates before twisting into irritation as the two walked slowly over. The scars on the man’s face exaggerated themselves as the man scowled deeper, grabbing Ludwig by the arm and dragging him out of the Blushing Raven, ignoring both Antonio’s and Ludwig’s cries of alarm. Govert finally let the German go when they passed a dark alley near the inn and looked at them dully as they expressed how exactly pissed off they were.

“What the snoggers is wrong with you?!” Antonio spat as he rushed over to Ludwig, who was brushing off his pants that were filthy from being dragged from the tavern. The Dutchman rolled his eyes and motioned them into a squatted and pressed store to their right, huddled in between a pawn shop and a whore house. The duo grumpily followed him into the shop, dragging their feet and shooting nervous looks at one another. Was this really such a good idea after all?

Govert opened the door and walked into his small shop, and both pirates stopped dead at the array of trinkets, gadgets, charms, and an infinite amount of other items Antonio couldn’t describe if he had a million years. The roof had displayed thousands upon thousands of stars, galaxies, and specks of light that shimmered with the movement of a being so ancient one couldn’t count their age with the breath still left in on their tongue. It seemed to move, with planets and supernovas slowly shifting around, and as the dark sapphire of the blue abyss stared back at him, Ludwig nudged his attention to the left wall, where a rack of cold, empty weapons glared in the soft light emanating from various orbs around the room. Daggers and swords and slingshots and bows and axes and maces and whips and-

“Hey, you all done admiring my stuff?” Govert grunted, tearing both of their eyes from the particular and foreign objects that littered the room and forcing them back on his harsh face. “I don’t have all day, and I got an item to sell.”

“Alright, Govert, what is it?” Ludwig sighed, and they walked past the empty-looking tank to their right and watched Govert slowly walk behind the counter and pull something out. A small match sprung to life as a newly lit lavender fire burned happily in front of them and the Dutchman moved past the duo and cautiously stepped to the tank they had thought was empty.

Govert was about to put the lavender fire near the tank before he jerked his head over to the pirates and scowled, “I want you to know, I ain’t accepting anything less than 5 golds for these things. Very hard to get, very expensive. I’ll give you a break, Ludwig, as we have been, how do you say, acquaintances for a while, but I want my money’s worth on these two.”

“These...two?” Antonio cocked his head in slight confusion before it was shoved aside as the Dutchman threw the match into the tank and jerked back to where they stood. The weirdest thing Antonio had ever seen was starting to take place in that tank, as the happy purple flame the smuggler had put in there continued to burn in whatever pitch black liquid was in that thing, only that the edges of the liquid that touched the flame turned white and started to peel back, becoming colorless and allowing the duo to see the rocks and storage traps that had been placed inside. Soon enough, all of the black liquid was gone, and the flame gleefully poofed out of existence, the match falling to the bottom and disintegrating. The men didn’t even take note of this, however, because their eyes were stuck on two creatures that were slowly starting to wake up in the tank. There, in Govert’s smuggling shop, in his tank, were two mermaids.

Well mermen, specifically. And they didn’t look like any of the mermen Antonio had ever heard of. The mermen of fantasies and legends spoke of huge, handsome beasts, humming with magic and drowning all those in their domain. The reality was a lot less, impressive, to say the least. For starters, the two things that were in there were extremely small, measuring about two of Antonio’s hand spans maybe, and that was being a bit generous. Long teeth hung from their lips, like one of those tusks he had seen so long ago during Market Day, and more razors could be seen slicing remains of food when they opened their scaled mouths, imitating the mythical beast of old in their snarls and rings of sound that resonated through the air when those teeth clashed. Fish scales dug into their bodies, and instead of arms, frog-like hands and webby skeleton limbs sticking out of their body awkwardly like they weren’t used to staying still like they were now as they were waking up. The tails were surprisingly delicate though, at least on the smaller one, with different shades and tones flashing among every strand and scale in the feathery limb, giving only a glimpse of the strong, unbreakable tail underneath. The taller one was more plain and green, but the smaller one sparkled every bright color known to mankind, and then some, painstaking attention to detail written on its scales.

The mermen started to wake up more rapidly, jerking their odd fins and flapping their tails almost groggily and the plain green one looked the brown-haired pirate in the eye, and it was only then that Antonio found out their strangest trait. They had no eyes. They were bleak and colorless, the only change in shade being the darkness wound the frame of their pasty eyelids and the soulless dot in the middle that stared emptily at the two humans, and Antonio could have sworn that he saw those obsidian eyes twist into an expression of anger on that strange, scowling green one.

They immediately found each other, the rainbow one bolting over to the side of the tank that hosted the green creature, which seemed to grow more irritated by the second. As the smaller merman his behind his courageous counterpart, the merman he was hiding against opened its mouth as if to say something, and a high pitched noise shattered the air, shaking the glass orbs on the walls and the strange trinkets on the floor. Ludwig and Govert covered their ears and groaned in pain at the high pitch, but Antonio sat there entranced, finding that high frequency rumbling to be strangely beautiful.

“Stop that racket, you stupid fish!” Govert roared, stomping over to the tank and slapping the glass, making the mermen dash over to the corner behind one of the rocks and hiding them from sight as the humans started to recover from their shock and that blasted scream.

“What was that?” Ludwig breathed, staring at the tank unbelievingly and ignoring Govert’s rolled eyes.

“Those are mermen, in the flesh. A bit underwhelming at first, but they have a hell of a bite. I think they can talk too, but not in any language I can understand,” Govert responded, brushing off his pants with cleverly hidden shaking hands and walking over to the counter. “The black stuff is to keep ‘em asleep, cause when they’re awake, all they do is scream and break stuff with some kind of magic. Special fire activates the black stuff, and boom, screaming mermen. Found ‘em off the coast of one of the Skull islands. Got caught by a fisherman who didn’t know any better, and now they’re mine, though maybe not for much longer.” Govert studied them with a calculating eye, before saying, “So boys, what’ll it be?”

Ludwig was still staring at the tank, not listening what so ever. He turned over to Govert and said, “What?”

“How much are you going to pay for ‘em? I have a heck of a long list of potential buyers, but I let you take the first look at the goods, Ludwig, so keep it short and simple.”

Antonio stepped closer to the glass, blocking out the banter that immediately started going on between the two blondes and lightly tapping the glass with a single finger. He waited for something to happen, and soon enough, the green merman hobbled out from behind the rock and stared at the pirate with those strange eyes. It swam closer as Antonio stood as still as he could, before finally floating in front of the Spaniard and reflecting the same fascinated look the human was giving it. The man mouthed a “Hello,” at the creature, and it stared at him for a while before mimicking the action, scaled face twisting into an emotion Antonio couldn’t read. He held his breath as it slowly moved its webbed claws towards him before the two creatures almost seemed to touch hands, and this time an emotion the Spaniard could read was on its face. Help me.

“How about 50 dinak for them? I’ll throw in a free raid if I can convince the captain.” Ludwig’s voice finally broke through the trance Antonio found himself before he jerked around to the Dutchman with an erratic look in his eyes.

“I’ll buy him.”

“What?” Govert stared at him in confusion and looked over at the German, who shrugged. “What do you mean you’ll buy them.”

“I’ll buy him. Both of them. With my own money. Here, I have it right now.” The Spaniard lurched his hands into his pockets and brought out a sagging, moth-eaten looking pouch, only for gold light to glint out as he spilled the pouch contents on the table. “I have 30 dinak with me right now, and I have more on the ship. That’s enough for them, right?”

Govert stared in shock at the gold in the counter before he ripped that expression off his face and settled comfortably into business mode. “Each of ‘em cost 25 dinak or no deal.”

Antonio’s jaw dropped before he snapped it shut again and the crazy glint in his eyes outshone the feeling of caution his brain was screaming at him. “Alright, 25 dinak for the green one.”

Now it was Govert’s time to gape as the Spaniard started counting his gold and handing 25 pieces near the Dutchman’s hand. Wasn't he even going to barter? He cast a look to Ludwig who just shrugged and took out his own money. “Um, alright then.”

The green mermaid watched with his pale eyes as money exchanged hands, flicking his decorated tail closer to the strange barrier and letting his teeth slide further down as he stared at the brown-haired man. His magic crackled through his body, and he was waiting for something, anything, to happen. One mistake, and he could drown all these disgusting things that had taken him away from his home. He watched the one who had trapped him step closer to the tank with a strange metal glowing in his hands. Odd.

Govert knocked on the cage, letting the 50 dinaks slide into his pocket as he threw another flame into the tank, this one happily burning a bright blue, and jumped back as the water twisted and curled back into a gruesome black. After a few moments, he walked over and grabbed a net. “You sure you want both of ‘em?”

Ludwig nodded, his pouch of money feeling strange after paying his 25 dinak, and watched as Govert reached into the inky tank, wading his hand through the nasty stuff until it felt the hard scales of the mermen. The rainbow monster was pulled out first, luxurious scales looking dull in the soft light the magic items around the dim shop glowed, and the feather-like tail now was now a tired mop of mush in the cold air. It was asleep, barely breathing in the foreign air and faintly sighing in relief when it was gently placed in a sphere bowl. “One down, one to go,” Govert grunted, and he reached down in the tank, trying to brush up against the light feathered tail or jagged scales of the merman when his hand jolted to a stop. A green whiff of magic snaked out of the water and drifted towards the Dutchman, who stood there frozen in fear and another alluring emotion he couldn't name. The green smoke grew, and the inky black water turned the darkest emerald and twisted away so a glowing creature could be seen in the dark. It floated up, reaching for the Dutchman and teeth flashing in the light when its prey was shoved away from the tank.

Ludwig slammed the man on the floor, and the trance that had taken hold of the cold smuggler shattered, to the frustration of the magical creature in the corner and to the relief of the pirates in the room.

“You okay?” Ludwig breathed, and Govert nodded numbly, still staring at the green light and mouth slightly open. “I think the rainbow one is just fine.”

“No, let me try.” Antonio confidently walked over to the tank, hand on his sword out of reflex and staring the jade mermaid in its pearly eyes. The two other men gaped at him, Govert’s eyes stilled glazed with shock and Ludwig’s dumbfounded face growing even more extreme as the man stood a mere foot from the tank.

Before any of his companions could shout out, he plunged his arm into the water, breath-stopping and a shallow gasp being drawn out of him when the frigid water made its pinpricks of cold known. He waded his arm through the water, searching for that glowing demon, and his hand brushed against a smooth scale. It was gone before Antonio's mind could register the delicate touch and he waded his arm around again, and this time, a sharp surface dug into his skin and he jerked his hand out of the water, before shakily lowering it back in and holding his breath again. A green smoke was still floating around the tank, and it seemed to mix with the water until Antonio could see two bright eyes staring back at him, not the pitless white of the mermen, but two emerald eyes, human eyes, that glared at him with suspicion and demanded an answer for this treatment. Antonio stared entranced, before a small, soft portion of his mind spoke back to those green eyes in the smoke, saying that he meant no harm, he was trying to free them, they could trust him, and the green eyes blinked in response, studying the human and picking apart his thoughts bit by bit, before a desperate look flooded over them and the emerald eyes disappeared, though not before blinking at the man in acceptance one final time. The green smoke flooded his vision, and the world swayed beneath his feet as he stumbled back, hand somehow gone from the water, and tripped over his feet and slammed onto the floor. His head hit a hard surface, some sort of trinket of Govert’s, he remembered thinking, before the world faded to black.

Ludwig and Govert were still gaping at the Spaniard, looking from the hazing green smoke to the now unconscious man on the floor.

“What the living devil below was that?!” Ludwig raised his eyebrows in surprise at Govert’s unusual use of strong language, before shrugging and dragging the man up.

“I think he was talking to it.”

“What the snogger was there to talk to?! It’s a FISH! What was with that hocus pocus magic green smoke shit?!” Govert exploded, snarling at the tank and throwing his hand in the air in defeat, apparently recovered from his touch with the hand of death. “How am I supposed to sell these things when they can make glowing smoke pop out of nowhere and scream to kingdom come?! The crazy magician market is only so deep!” Govert stormed over to the desk and scowled, digging through a metal plated cabinet in behind the worn desk and plopping down a huge pile of papers. He then proceeded to dig into them, before dragging out a short piece of blue paper and turning his frow even harsher.

“Why are you so upset, Govert? Don’t they usually do that?” Ludwig asked as he knelt down to study his fellow pirate, rolling his eyes when he saw the knocked out man and throwing him hastily over his shoulder.

“No that’s not what they ‘usually’ do! The fishermen and the mermaid-hunters said they were complacent! Stupid! Almost magicless unless a special procedure is applied to their scales! Not some weird smoke thing popping out from their freakish eyes! I got scammed! Scammed I say!” The smuggler was absolutely livid, shoving aside his pile of papers and flipping through an old book that seemed to have popped out of nowhere. “SEE! Says they’re stupid and harmless creatures who can sell for a rich cost because of their rarity! Not whatever THOSE things are! I’m going to track down the Portuguese bastard and throw him to the fishes along with the rest of his stubborn crew!” The enraged smuggler carried on with his rant, using his explosive anger to hide his shaking hands that were still cowering from that, that thing, and slammed the book closed.

“Govert, if you want, we can give them back for study-” Ludwig started to offer hesitantly before being violently interrupted by a furious and shaking Govert.

“NO! No, I refuse to have those MONSTERS in my shop! I can sell anything, but I refuse to sell things that almost killed me!” the wild man screamed, a crazy glint in his eye as he shoved them out of his shop. “GO! Go and take those demons with you! That thing almost killed me, and I will NOT have it in my sight anymore!” He bolted over to his desk, grabbed the bowl where he had put the first merman, and almost threw it at the stunned German. He then threw another match into the tank, this one yellow, which shattered the glass with a crackling boom and poured the water all over the floor. The green merman quickly woke up, gasping for breath in the open air and eyes glassy as the Dutchmen yanked it off the floor by the tail and threw it into the bowl as well.

“G-Govert, your shop-”

“I don’t give a damn about whatever that magic voodoo will do to my floors, just GET OUT!” The shaking Dutchman shoved him out of the squat shop and slam the door so hard the walls rattled, leaving a shocked German in the cold, covered in magic water vapor, an unconscious pirate slung over the other’s shoulder, and two extremely confused mermaids swimming in a small glass bowl that was already starting to shake with the combined power of their magic.

“Well, that went well,” Ludwig remarked dryly to open air, shifting Antonio on his shoulder and starting down the narrow alleyway back to the Blushing Raven. On second thought, the German concluded, perhaps taking two extremely magical and confused creatures into a confined space with tons of other humans around was not the best idea. He shifted his course and headed back to the ship, taking a left here and jumping over a small, sort of pointless fence there, before ending up on the slippery dark stones of the dock.

The waves rumbled into the rotten docks, causing a crunch here or there, though Ludwig tried to block the murmurs of disrepair below him as he took a deep breath and stepped out onto the sinking wood, pirate over the shoulder and all. He hastily jogged over the sagging planks and stopped desperately next to the place a plank was usually lowered when they docked, the tide causing the wood to shudder and quake beneath him.

“AYE, ANYBODY UP THERE?!” Ludwig listened hard in the cold night air for a reply, before a squeaky voice answered him.

“I’m here, yes I am, and I’m guarding the ship, like the captain said I should, yes sir!” A bundle of blond hair poking out of the side of the railway and light blue eyes along with the most hideous eyebrows stared back at him in wonder. “Aye, why you out so late, old Kraut?”

“Peter, lower the planks!”

“Why?”

“Because I need to get on!”

“Why?”

“To not beat your head in, that’s why! Let me in!”

“Alright fine, no need to be all shouty,” the cabin boy pouted, and Ludwig swore to himself that he would make the captain throw the brat overboard at the nearest opportunity. “Why is the Spaniard on ya shoulder, old Kraut!”

“LET ME IN!”

“Alright, alright!” Peter pushed one of the buttons that activated the magic plank, lowering it and making it thud on the rotten wood. Ludwig jumped onto it, running back onto the ship and sighing in relief to have the ocean under his feet again. There we go, safe and sound, he sighed internally, and walked over to his cabin, adjusting the falling Spaniard on his shoulder every couple of seconds and bursting the door open with his foot.

“There we go, home sweet home, Antonio,” the German grunted before plopping the man off his shoulder and onto the bottom bunk where he slept. “I think the bed bugs missed you!”

The pirate groaned in response, slowly crawling his way out of the pit of unconsciousness, and Ludwig threw himself down on the creaky chair in the corner, grimly looking around the cramped room and sighing.

“Well Antonio, we messed up yet again. We are 50 dinak poorer, Francis most likely thinks we’re dead, Govert will never talk to me again, and now we have to mermen who hate our guts and cause magic smoke that helps them eat people. What a great day, don’t you think?”

Antonio groaned again, burying his head underneath his arms and croaking, “I think I have brain damage.”

“I know you have brain damage,” Ludwig snorted back. “What are we going to do with these magical fish?”

“Keep ‘em?”

“Throw them overboard more likely. What did that smoke do to you anyway?”

“I saw a pair of beautiful eyes that could read my brain.”

“Alright, you’re staying on the bed for at least 3 more days,” Ludwig sighed, placing the bowl on the nailed-down table and studying the half petrified-half furious magical creatures in the corner. Silence reigned between them as the ship creaking, rocking back in forth in the filthy bay and groaning her wooden walls in protest, when Antonio spoke, a dazed look in his eyes and his voice filled with the still moment of disbelief.

“Should we name ‘em?”

“Not yet,” Ludwig replied tiredly.

“Oh. I thought we could name the green one Arthur.”

“Like I said, a little too early for that.”

“And the rainbow one Feliciano,” he added.

“You are getting way too attached to these all-powerful fish of the deep caught by one of your Portuguese enemies.”

“I thought he got them from a fisherman?”

“Me too, but that’s what he said. Lied to us, maybe.”

“Ugh, this conversation hurts my brain. Talk to you in the morning, Ludwig.” Antonio turned over on his cot so his backed face the German, who sighed and stared at the mermen some more. The rainbow merman almost seemed to give him a hesitant wave, before the small creature was slapped down by the green one. Ludwig gave a rare smile in response and looked at the ceiling with a sigh. Tomorrow they had to come up with a plan on what to do with these bastards, though they haven’t done anything destructive yet, strangely. At least they had that going for them. The German sat up and walked over to his own cot, giving one last look to the eyeless small mermen, before lying down and praying they didn’t try to blow anything up while he was asleep.

Yes, tomorrow really was going to be an interesting day, wasn’t it?

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