#third times the charm (my signal has been terrible for the past three days. i love thunderstorms)

[gophergal]

Oh, your heart Aortic work of art My love, my knife To carve it out, your life

[glxssylaufey]

Mischief Maker - Chapter 2

a/n: i’m sorry this is a bit longer than usual ahh! i also apologize if the writing is a little bad or if there’s any mistakes, i tried my best :) also i apologize if you’re not on the taglist, it didn’t let me tag some of you. anyways, enjoy!

summary: loki x reader ; The time has come to attend Stark’s party. How will the reader handle Loki’s mischief?

word count: 5,156

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of bullying, language, slightly spicy hehe

taglist: @alex-sulli @delightfulheartdream @mademoiselledubois @destructivebliss @kingtwhiddleston @madcrazy50 @rachel-voychuk

It was no secret that Tony Stark loved to make a grand entrance to everything he does. This morning was no exception. The time was around 8:15 when Tony practically kicked your door down to rip your blinds open. Sometimes you almost felt as if he was just another father figure in your life.

“Rise and shine!” he announced, forcing sunlight into your room. “We have a big day today, Y/N, c’mon!” he spoke as he continued to shake you awake. You lazily blinked open your eyes, groaning when Tony ripped your blankets from you. You already knew what he was here for.

“Alright, whatcha got for me?” Tony asked as he looked for the paintings he had requested the night before. You sighed.

“A headache, that’s what I have for you.” you replied, shoving your face back into your pillow.

“No, you’re not allowed to have a headache.” he simply stated. “Let me guess, you don’t have any paintings picked out?” You sat up on your bed, rolling your eyes when you saw Tony standing in the middle of your room with his arms crossed like a child.

“I can pick some out in literally five minutes, Tony, just let me wake up.” you said waving your hand at him, hoping he’d be satisfied with your answer.

“Yeah? Well make it quick, I don’t have all day.” he argued, walking towards your door. “By the way, breakfast is ready.” Tony said in a sing-song voice before leaving your room. You simply hummed in response, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Today was going to be difficult, you already knew. Even though you were agreeing to spend your time with bidding paintings at the party, you still had your heart set on sneaking Loki in somehow. You were just stumped on how you would get that to happen.

~

After a morning of much needed breakfast, you got ready to face the day. Tony had asked both you and Natasha to go to the store to pick up a long list of supplies for the party. So there you stood, scanning the store’s large selection of alcohol bottles, not knowing which one Tony would want.

“What does he have on the list?” you ask, turning to Nat. She quickly scanned through the dramatically large catalog and shrugged.

“Just whatever looks good, I guess.” she replied before looking back to the shelves. Without another word, Natasha settled for three huge bottles of vodka. You don’t argue, seeing as you were just as clueless as to what Tony would want. “So tell me, what’s been going on with you?” she asks suddenly. You both proceeded to explore the store for whatever else the list requested.

“Oh, you know.” you paused. “The usual.” What ‘the usual’ was, you had no idea. Your life hasn’t exactly been normal since Thor had brought Loki into the Avengers Tower.

“Like what, painting pretty pictures and babysitting gods?” Nat laughed, plopping a case of Coca-Cola into the shopping cart. You were about to protest against her teasing when you realized that truly was what you have been doing for the past two days.

“Yeah, pretty much.” you admitted with a sigh. Natasha chuckled, before a moment of silence.

“How’s Loki?” she asked suddenly. The question made you tense up. It wasn’t that you hated talking about Loki, just something about him made your mind go blank.

“He’s fine.” you replied plainly. You then noticed Nat raise an eyebrow at you as if she knew that you were hiding something. Which she did, of course. You opted to continue, not seeing a point in lying to your friend or yourself. “He’s not as awful as everyone claims him to be. I think he’s just misunderstood.” you persuaded. Natasha nodded, listening intently.

“What makes you think that?” she questioned. That’s when you realized Natasha only knew the Loki that had invaded New York city, much like everyone else. She only saw the villain of the story and not the god that you saw up on the hill. That’s when you began to pour your heart out.

“Yesterday when I took him outside, I saw a side of him that I don’t think anyone else has seen before. He told me stories about Asgard and it sounded like so much more than just some ancient legend. It seemed so normal. He seemed so normal.” you explained, almost passionately. “I don’t know, Nat. I think he’s actually really sweet.” you admitted. Natasha’s eyes went wide.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you like him!” she gasped. Your heart practically stopped at her accusation. There’s no way that you had feelings for the God of Mischief.

“Oh my- absolutely not!” you stammered. “I’m just simply being kind!” you insisted. You could feel your face burning, undoubtedly displaying your embarrassment.

“Y/N, you cannot like Loki, that’s insane!” Nat declared. You could practically feel the stares from the other people in the store, considering how loud the two of you were being.

“I just said I don’t!” you corrected her.

“But you most certainly are lying!” Natasha accused, halting the shopping cart.

“I’m not.”

“Say that to me with a straight face then.”

“Nat, PUSH. THE. CART.”

“HA! I knew it!”

You both continued to bicker and squabble for the rest of the shopping trip. It wasn’t until you and Natasha reached the checkout line that the childlike arguing returned back to its normal conversational tone.

“Oh god, what will Tony think?” Natasha said with a gasp. You groaned, covering your face with your hands. The longer you listened to her babble on about Loki, the more you realized she could be right. You admit, Loki was a fairly attractive person. Plus his gentlemanly charm didn’t help your case much. Oh, who were you kidding? Loki was downright gorgeous and you knew it. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you knew that you were slowly catching feelings for the god.

“Tony can’t know, he’d have a fit.” you spoke almost in a whisper, as if Tony was listening to your conversation.

“Oh, so you admit it? You do have a crush on Loki?” Natasha asked eagerly.

“N-no! Well, yes, but you can’t say a word about it!” you pleaded almost in disbelief at what you had just admitted. You had a crush on the almighty Loki and there was no denying it. Natasha simply giggled like a school girl.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” she assured you. Except the way she continued to smile about it the whole car ride home showed that she was going to have a difficult time keeping your secret.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Romanoff, nobody can know!” you suddenly said as she drove the two of you back to the Avengers Tower.

“I’m sorry, I just have to say it.” she started. You shook your head, knowing this conversation wouldn’t end anytime soon. “You should try to make a move tonight.” she suggested, giving you a smug smirk.

“Oh c’mon, you know he’s not allowed at the party.” you claimed. “But I have been thinking about ways to sneak him in tonight.” Natasha mocked a gasp.

“Y/N, how scandalous of you.” she poked fun at you, causing you to giggle. “I must say though, I think you can absolutely do better.” she suddenly stated, making your jaw drop slightly.

“What do you mean?” you asked, slightly put out.

“Loki is a mass murderer!” Natasha indicated. “Not to mention he’s tortured our friends and acts like a complete asshole.” she continued. You wave your hand at her in an attempt to silence her.

“Like I said, he’s changed.” you defended. Natasha didn’t respond, leaving you two in silence. After some time, you thought of your task to sell your paintings at the party. You decided that it could be best if you were to just leave Loki in his room. Plus, it’s not like everything Natasha had said wasn’t true. Perhaps it's for the best that you don’t get too close with the terrorist of New York.

~

Third Person POV:

Loki watched his brother pace the floor as he sat on the bed, pondering ways to sneak himself into the party. The longer they allowed time to pass by, the more hopeless Loki began to feel.

“We’re short on time brother, this won’t work.” Loki sighed. “I say we just go with my idea.” he suggested. Thor gave him a stern look and crossed his arms.

“Loki, we are not going to tie up one of the party members to disguise yourself as them.” Thor lectured his brother. Loki scoffed at Thor’s statement. After a bit more pacing, Thor snapped his fingers as a scheme formed in his mind.

“But perhaps disguises are not such a terrible idea after all!” Thor quipped with a large grin. Loki raised his eyebrow at Thor, signaling him to continue with his thought. “Think back to when we were children. That trick you always played on me when you would transform yourself into a snake just to stab me.” Thor explained with slight annoyance in his voice, remembering those times of his childhood.

“If you’re suggesting I slither into the event as a snake, I don’t think the midgardians would be too pleased with serpents being let loose in the building.” Loki glared at Thor, thinking it was a poor idea.

“Yes, but that’s only if you are caught.” Thor urged with a devious smile. He knew his younger brother was always up for a challenge and this task seemed perfect for him. Loki gave the thought a second chance before chuckling to himself.

“Excuse me, brother.” Loki sighed, standing up from the bed. “I have a party to attend.”

~

Stark’s party was full to the brim with people. You had already known ahead of time that the event would be completely packed, yet the amount of people still managed to astonish you. So there you were, greeting people as they walked in. You gave warm smiles and shook hands with the ones who offered it. After some friendly greetings, you were approached by Tony who had ushered you away from the entrance. You expected nothing less from him.

“Alright Y/N, this is your deadline. Where’s the paintings?” he asked, feigning impatience.

“Relax, Tony, I’ve got everything set up by the bar.” you advised him, gesturing towards your stand which displayed the art.

“Oh good, because I’ve already promised like four people that I had museum quality shit here.” he shared quickly, walking towards your platform. You roll your eyes and dramatically sigh at Tony.

“Of course you have.” you said, following him. “Well I suppose I should get to work then.” you said, observing the line of people in front of the small stage.

“Good thinking. Thanks again, Picasso.” Tony thanked you, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder before sauntering over to a large group of people. You took a step onto the platform and strolled over to the small microphone displayed on a stand for you. Everyone took note of your presence and gave their full attention to you. You looked out to the crowd before sighing. As much as you weren’t in the mood to converse with a large amount of people, you always had an open heart for Tony.

“Hello, everyone!” you greeted into the microphone. “My name is Y/N and I am the creator of these paintings presented before you today. Let’s just start with a little bit of browsing, shall we?” you suggested, hoping the crowd would see eye to eye with your proposal. Much to your relief, they did, nodding their heads with agreement. “Great! Bidding will start in ten minutes.” you announced before turning the microphone off. You sighed in relief, happy you had extra time for yourself. In all honesty, you just needed time to get a drink. You were convinced you could never survive a Stark party without some sort of alcohol to give you an extra confidence boost. As you made your way to the bar, you were halted by no other than your friend Thor. He was dressed quite dapper, yet casual enough to give him easy mobility.

“Ah, Y/N! So lovely to see you.” he greeted, with a beer bottle in his hand.

“Thor, it’s great to see you too.” you nodded at him with a cordial smile. “You look striking tonight.” you complimented.

“Oh, you’re too kind. You look very well put together yourself.” Thor chuckled, giving you a friendly wink. You were wearing a nicely fitted red dress that fell right above your knees with lace to give it alluring details. You also wore black heels to give you an extra two or so inches.

“Thank you very much.” you blushed, giving him a curt nod. You began to walk away to retrieve a drink from the bar, but it seemed Thor had different plans. He quickly stepped in front of you, halting you in your tracks.

“One more thing!” Thor announced. “I believe my drink requires a refill.” he explained waving his empty bottle almost nervously. You chuckle lightly, wondering why he was telling you this.

“Are you asking me to get you another beer, Odinson?” you snicker. Thor’s eyes widen as he begins to stammer for the right words.

“No, no! My apologies, I’m perfectly capable of getting my own drink. I’d just like for you to join me.” he specified, gesturing towards the bar, awkwardly smiling.

“Oh!” you exclaimed in delight. You felt having your friend to accompany you would help ease your mind. “I’d like that, thank you.” you said as you started to walk. Thor followed closely next to you with a beaming smile.

Everything was going perfectly.

Once you reached the bar you took a seat on one of the tall bar stools. You were scanning the menu when Thor set his empty bottle on the counter before taking a step away from the bar.

“Please excuse me, Lady Y/N. I believe Stark has called for me.” Thor stated quickly. Confused, you turned to look at the large mass of people Tony was talking to. You could’ve sworn Tony hadn’t even paid attention to anything but his guests. Before you could question anything, Thor had already quickly turned to walk the opposite direction. You sighed, turning back towards the bar when you realized there wasn’t even a bartender to tend to you.

“Well this was useless.” you muttered to yourself. As you were about to stand from your seat, Thor’s beer bottle began to shake. You froze, thinking your eyes were just playing tricks on you. Suddenly, a small snake began to crawl out of the bottle and onto the counter. You gasped, jumping from your seat in shock. Surely you were imagining things. The green scaly creature paused to curiously look up at you then turned to slowly slither down the opposite side of the bar. You approached the bar once more, peeking over the top of the counter to search for the snake. Then with a green glow, the snake quickly transformed into the one and only Loki Laufeyson. He simply sighed, brushing off his gorgeously tailored black suit and looked up at you.

“Good evening.” he greeted casually. Your mouth hung open, completely caught off guard at what you had just witnessed.

“Loki, you- how- you aren't supposed to be here!” you stumbled your words in confusion.

“Yes, but was it not you who said I shouldn’t be cooped up in my chambers all day?” Loki snorted playfully. You had no possible way to protest. Instead you resorted to looking around to make sure nobody was looking in your direction. This earned a barely audible groan from Loki. “I presume you wish for me to change back and slither my way back to my room then?” he questioned.

“No!” you declared maybe a little too quickly. “It’s okay, you can stay.” you said trying to remain calm. Loki smiled at how flustered you were, finding it almost amusing.

“Verywell.” he settled calmly. “Now, my lady, may I offer you a drink?” he suggested with a tone that gave you uncontrollable butterflies. You blushed at his offer with a nervous smile.

“I think a red wine will suffice, thank you.” you replied as naturally as you possibly could. Though of course it was a difficult task trying to keep calm. Loki just nodded and turned to prepare your glass. You couldn’t help but look over your shoulder to be sure nobody was watching you. You knew that Stark practically had eyes everywhere, not to mention anybody could easily take a glance at Loki and recognize him from New York. Because of this, you spoke the first thing that came to your mind.

“Loki, we have to get out of here.” you uttered straightforward. He paused pouring your glass of wine to give you a puzzled look. “Tony is bound to realize that you’re here. Plus the bartender could come back at any moment.” you told him, quickly standing to your feet. Loki just nodded before setting the wine bottle down with a slightly disappointed sigh.

“Lead the way then.” Loki said almost in a testing tone. Without another word, the same green glow from earlier masked over his body and changed him back into his serpent form. Loki snaked back into the beer bottle that he had once emerged from, hinting for you to carry him as Thor did. You grabbed the bottle from the counter and turned to walk from the bar. Where you were headed was beyond you. At this point, you were simply just trying to get away from the crowd of people. As you walked, you looked down at the empty beer bottle to be sure Loki sat comfortably in his glass container. He simply looked up at you and poked his tongue out at you in response. As a result of not watching where you were walking, you ended up walking right into a woman’s body, nearly knocking her over. You gasp, taking a step back from the mystery person.

“I am so sorry!” you exclaimed before quickly looking down into the beer bottle to affirm Loki was okay. Though what you were not expecting was a familiar voice to respond to your apologies.

“Well would you look at who it is.” the woman spoke with a chuckle. “You were always quite a clumsy girl.” she remarked. When you looked up to identify the woman, you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your mouth.

“Alice Weaver!” you exclaimed. You didn’t know who to expect the woman to be, but it certainly wasn’t her. Alice was a girl you had met back in highschool. She had insisted on devoting her teenage years to making yours miserable. It had started when her boyfriend at the time had broken up with her and he attempted to use you as a rebound. Her jealousy for you has been undying ever since.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Y/N!” she grinned, her shrill voice dripping with sarcasm. “How have you been?” she asked.

“I’ve been fine, thanks.” you said, shifting from side to side. You made an attempt to walk past her, but of course she quickly stepped in front of you before you could make any distance.

“Oh good!” she quipped as she looked you up and down. She then caught sight of the beer bottle in your hand. “I never took you for a beer drinker, though.” you panicked a little, hoping she wouldn’t see the small snake hiding inside of it.

“It’s for a friend.” you quickly whipped up an answer. Alice scoffed.

“That’s what they all say, isn’t it?” she questioned, keeping her seemingly sweet smile on display. You gritted your teeth. In all honesty, you were still in shock that she was even here in the first place. “Anyways, I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to hear that I’m actually staying at the compound until tomorrow. I’m here to assist Stark on research.” she went on. You listened in disbelief.

“Research?” you asked plainly, your throat running dry.

“Yes of course, I’m studying engineering and physics.” Alice gushed.

“Wonderful.” you spat as friendly as you could possibly muster. You went to take a step and she walked in front of you yet again.

“Oh, Y/N, shouldn’t you be over there bidding those… pictures?” she said, pointing over towards your stand. “Here, I’ll hold this for you!” she said quickly snatching the beer bottle. You gasped trying your best to grab it back.

“Wait, no! Alice, I need that!” you yelped, struggling to grab the bottle back. You were suddenly pulled back from her, leaving you empty handed.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing?!” Tony whisper-screamed to you, retracting you from Alice. “I have a group of very unhappy people waiting for you. Now stop bugging my student and do your job.” he exclaimed before softly shoving you towards the small stage. Now you were panicking. Tony Stark and your high school nemesis were in possession of Loki and you couldn’t do a single thing about it. So there you were, nervously walking up onto the stage and turning the microphone on.

“I am so sorry for the delay everyone, I ran into some issues.” you spoke to the crowd nervously. “I suppose I’ve kept you all waiting long enough, let’s get started.” you clapped your hands together, trying to seem as normal as possible. As you continued to speak out towards the crowd, you watched from afar as Tony and Alice continued to talk. You could tell by the way the two kept glancing over at you, they were certainly speaking of your behavior. You shakily sighed, going to grab a painting to exhibit it on the easel. Once you were back in front of the microphone you opened your mouth to speak but was abruptly interrupted when you felt something crawl down the back of your neck, causing you to squeak. This earned a suspicious reaction from the people in the crowd. You quickly recomposed yourself when you heard little snake hisses behind your ear. Loki. You were immensely relieved that he managed to sneak out of the bottle. He must have quickly slithered up your arm and up your back when Alice had grabbed the bottle from you. Although you were beyond grateful for his escape, feeling his cold scales on your bare skin made you shutter. You quickly cleared your throat.

“Excuse me, I just am not myself tonight.” you managed to squeak out. “A-anyways, do we have any takers for this piece?” you stuttered out. As you continued to make biddings for your painting, you could feel Loki leisurely slither down your neck and into the back of your dress. You slightly jumped at feeling Loki enter the back of your dress, making your heart race. “Sold!” you nearly barked out, hoping it would get Loki to cease his crawling. It didn’t. He continued down your dress until he rested over the back of your bra. You began to walk as casual as possible to your next art piece. As you bent down to pick it up you felt Loki crawl to the side of your dress towards the cup of your bra. After picking it up, you subtly brushed your bicep over your side, hoping to halt Loki’s movement. With your luck, this seemed to only spur him on. Loki then made haste to sneak into the cup of your bra, causing you to gasp.

“Can we hurry it up, please?” a very impatient man nagged from the audience. You groaned in response, not entirely sure if it was from the man’s remark or Loki.

“M-my apologies, sir.” you apologized, clearly annoyed yourself. “I guess I just have a chill I can’t seem to shake.” you admitted to the audience, but mostly directed towards the small snake currently resting in your bra. You felt him nestled comfortably against your skin, finally stopping to rest. “Next up is one of my personal favorites. Do we have any takers?” you spoke out to the crowd. You continued the bidding, trying the best you could to ignore the fact that Loki Laufeyson, the God of Mischief was presently relaxed in the cup of your bra as a snake. As you continued speaking, you felt him hiss from time to time causing his small forked tongue to brush the skin of your sternum. You swore it made your breath hitch everytime. This continued until every single piece was presented to its new owner. By the end of the night, you ended up with a large amount of cash though you didn’t seem to care much about that. While you granted the very last person your last painting, Stark approached with a drink in his hand. You whined to yourself upon seeing him. You were far too flustered to even deal with his snarky remarks.

“Congrats, Y/N! You got the job done.” Tony joked. You leered at him, walking off the stage.

“Tony, not now.” you said, trying to walk away.

“Oh don’t be such a sour puss, you got loads of cash.” he continued to provoke. “Hold on, I got one more thing for you.” You felt your body stiffen. You sigh, turning on your heels to face Tony.

“What?” you asked plainly. Tony flashed you a smile as he handed you the drink he had come to you with. Whiskey on ice.

“For you, it’s on the house. Just a ‘thank you’ for tonight.” he said, sounding truly genuine. You couldn’t possibly stay mad at him, even if it was Tony Stark. You took the glass from him and returned the smile.

“You’re welcome.” you smiled. Just as you were about to take a sip of your much deserved reward, you felt Loki abruptly start to move again. He began to creep his way out the side of the cup of your bra, passing into the opposite one. This resulted in a yelp that had been caught in your throat all night, startling Tony.

“Y/N, are you-”

“Loki!”

“What?”

“I have to check on Loki!” you quickly shouted setting the drink down. “H-he’s been in his room all night!” you swiftly made an excuse. Thankfully, your excuse was adequate enough for you to get out of there. You swiftly speed walked to the nearest bathroom avoiding any more interruptions. The quicker you moved, the more agitated you could feel Loki getting. As you made your way to the bathroom you could feel him continue to slither around your bra. Once you finally reached the bathroom you slammed the door shut and pulled the hem of your dress away from your chest.

“OUT!” you screamed. Loki listened, crawling out of your bra and down your leg. Once he reached the floor, his magic glow covered him once more, turning him back into his godly self.

“Well…” he panted, clearly shaken up from how speedy you walked. “Could you have moved any faster?” he nearly growled. You could feel your anger rise and your patience snap.

“How is any of this my fault?!” you shouted at him. “What in the hell were you doing, going into my bra like that?” you asked. Loki rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Oh my apologies, in case you didn’t notice, I had nowhere else to go!” he snapped back. You loudly groaned as you covered your face with your hands.

“Tonight was a disaster, all thanks to you!” you argued, pointing a finger at him.

“Me?!” he barked, causing his voice to echo throughout the bathroom. You jumped at his sudden loudness. “I put all my efforts in sneaking into this awful party just so I could simply serve you a drink to thank you for your generosity from yesterday.” he spoke loudly, slowly approaching you. His words shocked you. You hadn’t realized that Loki only wanted to attend the event just so he could show you some kindness. Your face fell, almost feeling sorry.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” you said in a softer tone. Loki remained irritated, taking another big step towards you so there was almost no more space between the two of you. Your breath became ragged.

“Perhaps next time, at least make an attempt to stay calm and keep yourself from squirming.” he requested bitterly.

“You want to speak about squirming?!” your voice raised again. “How about next time, you don’t go into my bra!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Loki rolled his eyes. “Your breath betrays you, Midgardian. If I didn’t know any better, the hitch in your throat would tell me that you rather enjoyed it.” he mocked. You could feel your face burn a bright red, embarrassment flooding your emotions.

“Y-you disgust me!” you spat out. Loki snickered almost as if he was purposely trying to provoke you.

“There it is again.” he pointed out. “You get flustered so easily, it’s almost pitiful.” You remained silent, stunned by his remark. He continued to stare at you, his face dangerously close to yours.

“I hate you.” you whispered. What happened next was completely out of your control. Instead of getting anger out of Loki, your statement sparked something uncontrollable. He swiftly grabbed your hips and crashed his lips upon yours, sealing you both in a passionate kiss. Before your mind had time to register what was happening, he pulled away, removing his hands from you completely. He examined your face, searching for any sort of restraint. Realizing what he had just done, he became worrisome.

“My most sincere apologies, I-” you quickly cut him off, pulling him back into yet another searing kiss. Your heart was pounding out of your chest as the kiss grew hungrier. His hands traveled up to your face to pull you in closer, making your breath quicken. Your mind was racing with all sorts of emotions, but you knew one thing was for sure: you didn’t want this moment to ever end. But it did. You both quickly pulled away from each other when the door to the bathroom swung open. Your head snapped to look at whoever entered the bathroom and your heart sank when you realized who it was. Alice Weaver stood at the door, looking both you and Loki up and down. She laughed in disbelief at what she saw in front of her.

“Am I interrupting something?”

[mwolf0epsilon]

“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.

[wilwywaylan]

Drink me, and the bromos!

Okay that wasn’t really what you asked for, but I had an idea, so…. enjoy :D

Also on AO3 !

Feuilly turned another page of his book, and winced. He’d been studying for so long that his neck was stiff, his fingers were frozen, and according to the low rumbling in his stomach, he had once again forgotten to eat. With a sigh, he stretched, groaning when his shoulders gave a series of painful snaps. His eyes landed on the clock at his left. Quarter past… He blinked. And again. Rubbed his eyes to get rid of the sleep clouding his sight. But no. It really was quarter past two. He had been sitting there at his desk reading for four hours, barely moving, except to turn his pages. No wonder he was stiff as a board and his elbows were hurting.

He got up, trying to ignore the low burning feeling in his thighs. Maybe there would be something to eat in the fridge that he could quickly gobble before going to bed. Or at least lie down and tackle a few more pages. He opened the door, careful not to be heard. Bahorel must have gone to bed now. Except that, he suddenly realized, he hadn’t heard him come home. Usually, it was quite hard to miss. Bahorel signaled his presence by a series of loud noises : bag hitting the ground, shoes against the wall, grunts, opening and closing the fridge, loud singing, doors banging… A whole concerto.

That had been suspiciously absent that night. It wasn’t worrying, of course, it wouldn’t have been the first time that Bahorel had come home at the small hours of the morning, or even not at all. He was an adult, and didn’t need permission from anyone to party as much as he wanted to. And Feuilly didn’t frown at this, even when he learnt later that it included drinking his own weight in beer, getting into dangerous shenanigans with Courfeyrac (often fire-based), Jehan (in very strange places around Paris) or Grantaire (both). Or all three of them, usually ending in chaos, street fights and various acts of mischief. Three times this year already, Feuilly had had to go and bail them out. He’d been welcomed by four idiots way too cheerful for the situation or that time of the night, and he’d taken greatest delight in bringing those smiles down a notch by threatening to rat them out to Combeferre. All in all, there was no worry to have about Bahorel’s whereabouts. He’d be home in the morning for breakfast as if nothing had happened, with only a bruise or two more.

Feuilly walked down the hallway, trying to remember what was left in the fridge that he wouldn’t need for his lunch the next day, when he suddenly noticed that the light was on in the living room. Did he forget to turn it off when he left earlier ? He mentally slapped himself. Ecology and sparing ressources were huge talking points during the ABC meetings, and here he was, wasting electricity because he was too absorbed in whatever was currently piquing his interest.

He walked to the couch, and it was then that he realized that someone was lying on it. Someone whose huge feet were clad in Bahorel’s favourite neon socks. Feuilly was absolutly convinced that no one else owned such an abomination and his friend was the proud possessor of the only pair ever made. So the body lying on the couch was probably his. Now, why he had crashed there instead of his bed, Feuilly didn’t know. From the soft snores that he could hear, it was probably due to an alcohol-related balance impairment.

Since he was now assured that Bahorel was alive, Feuilly focused on his prime objective. A look in the fridge gave him some lunch meat and a bit of cheese that he stuck between two slices of bread. Now provided with a snack, he wandered back to the living-room, wondering if he should wake Bahorel up and kick him out of the couch to preserve his back, or he would be in for a world of pain the next day, and complain Feuilly’s ear off. But he looked so comfy, laying like that, a furry pillow held tightly against his chest, that he didn’t feel like…

Wait. A furry pillow ? Since when did they have furry pillows ? Feuilly hated those things, the touch was always off, like something that tried to pass as something alive but wasn’t, an abomination in the shape of a square. So what was one now doing in their flat ? All good will Feuilly could have mustered disappeared in light of this treason, and he poked Bahorel in the leg sharply. This was enough to wake him up. The eyes that landed on Feuilly after a few owlish blinks were softer than usual, probably due to the certainly incredible alcohol quantities drunk during the evening.

- Hello, squirrel, Bahorel managed to say with a huge grin.

Judging by the way his words were just a little slurred, he wasn’t drunk off his ass. Good. As much as he loved him, Feuilly couldn’t have lifted him even an inch off the couch.

- Did you have fun ? he asked instead.

- Yeah ! We went to that pub, y'know the one, the one with the weird key hanging on the wall, they have that awesome beer you like. (Feuilly nodded.) They have trivia night so Jehan wanted to play. A bunch of asses made fun of them, y'know, “girly stuff”, sissy, blah blah blah (he made a mouth gesture with his hand.) Jehan handed the whole of them their asses off at trivia. One of them even accused him to cheat. So they handed them their asses off again, but with fists. Of course, R had to intervene. And I did too.

- That may explain the bruises.

Bahorel lifted his hand to his eye, where the skin was an interesting shade of purple.

- Yeah. But we did good. Could have been better if the owner didn’t throw everyone out.

- So ? You decided to call it a night ?

Bahorel barked a laugh.

- Certainly not ! We found another bar, and since we still had some energy to spend, we got into an arm-wrestling contest. Kicked everyone’s butts. Or arms. Dunno.

Feuilly tried to picture built-as-a-stick Jehan in an arm-wrestling contest, pinning arms right and left. Not hard to believe, in fact. Never trust their frame, they were a powerhouse.

- And so,  I won that one, Bahorel annouced, gesturing to the pillow on his stomach.

- You won a furry pillow.

Bahorel frowned, seemingly confused by the distaste in his voice.

- No furry pillow here, squirrel. You hate them.

Feuilly was kind of charmed that Bahorel remembered, even in his inebriated state. But that wouldn’t save him, certainly not ! He crossed his arms, and looked pointedly at the furry not-pillow-but-still-weird-thing on Bahorel’s chest. The man followed his glance. A large grin spread on his face.

- This ? This is not a pillow ! he claimed, poking the thing.

Said thing gave a low groan and… stretched, emitting a strange “mrep” sound. It now had a head, two triangular ears, and large paws that kneaded Bahorel’s shirt. Or rather ripped it to shreds.

- What the…? Feuilly blurted. Is that…?

- It is ! Bahorel announced proudly, like he was giving him the secret of the universe. It is a cat !

Feuilly thought really hard about facepalming. Then he realized that the situation really deserved a facepalm. Count on Bahorel to always manage to spin his expectations on their heads and exceed them in every possible way. He glared at the other man, who was rambling on happily as if someone wasn’t trying to melt him by the sheer force of his look.

- I won him. Dude seemed very happy to get rid of him. Couldn’t free him in the street. Jehan couldn’t take him in because of the Montparnasses, Courf is not a cat person, and R thinks he can’t take one in because he’s not able take care of one.

The cat and Bahorel both looked at Feuilly with huge, pleading eyes, and he could feel his resolve melt. Count on his friend to always know how to sway him ! Of course he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving a defenseless cat outside, alone, in the cold. And Bahorel was very aware of that fact. And of course, he was using it against him.

- Defenseless, really ? he tried, arms crossed and brow furrowed, the perfect imaage of reprobation. That cat could rip you in two.

He wasn’t just grasping at straws. The paws kneading Bahorel’s shirt - and stomach under - were huge, with impressive claws, and the cat was of way more than average built. In fact, it looked more like a small lynx that a cat.

- He’s a Norwegian Forest Cat, Bahorel announced proudly. Well, not a pure breed, or the guy would probably have asked for my liver as payement. But he’s more than half. Did you know that those cats fight bears in their natural habitat ?

- You’re really made for each other. Do you even know how to keep a cat ?

- Of course I do ! And if I don’t, I can always ask Jehan, or Enjolras, or Bossuet, or Joly. They wil be more than happy to help me dote on that sweet guy here.

Said sweet guy was now sprawled on Bahorel’s stomach, paws in the air, and was purring up a storm. Feuilly came to sit on the couch, or rather on Bahorel’s legs that were on the couch, and offered a hand to the cat, who caught it between his paws, bit lightly on his fingers, then rubbed his head against it. Feuilly could feel his heart melt.

- I’ve always wanted a cat, he mused. Or a dog. A pet. But you know…

Bahorel nodded. Feuilly had filled him and the others on all the details of his life in the orphanage when he spoke on budget cuts for all foster care services, and they had discussed at length later, during the small hours of the morning where alcohol and lack of sleep tend to lower one’s defenses.

- Does this guy has a name, at least ? he asked.

Bahorel caught the cat in his arms, sat up straight and deposited the ball of fur on Feuilly’s lap.

- Squirrel, let me introduce you to Fluffy the Terrible. Third.

Feuilly was torn between laughing and facepalming a second time.

- Don’t you think it lacks something ? he said, playing with the fuzzy tail. I mean, that cat is regal enough, we could add something at the end, like, I don’t know… Doctor ? PhD ?

- Esquire ! Fluffy the Terrible III, Esquire. What do you think ?

Feuilly looked at the cat sprawled on his lap, took one of the large paws in his hand, and shook it.

- Pleased to meet you, Fluffy the Terrible III, Esquire.

The cat batted at his hand playfully, then curled up on himself and promptly went to sleep. Which was honestly very tempting. Feuilly was very aware that he should be sleeping by now, or at least on his way. Instead, he was sitting on the couch, a big beast pinning him in place. A big, plushy, friendly beast. He thought about spending the night there, scratching the cat, letting him keep him warm. Very tempting too. But it pained him to admit, his ass was starting to hurt. And his boss would probably not be very happy to see him crawl to work the next morning.

- Hey dork, he called.

Bahorel, who was patting the ground to find the remote, looked up at him.

- Get your monster back, I need to go to bed.

Bahorel grabbed the cat again. The beast seemed to be quite annoyed at being manhandled like that, and stuck his claws in Feuilly’s leg to keep himself at the right place. When it wasn’t enough, he opted for scratching Bahorel’s arms. His owner didn’t seem to mind, and soon, they were comfortably settled as they were before, despite the red lines now on Bahorel’s arms. Well, they didn’t stand out with the bruises already there.

Feuilly got up, shaking his legs slightly to get his feeling back. He patted Bahorel on the thigh, scratched the cat behind the ears, starting the purring storm again, and retreated to his room for his much needed sleep. Tomorrow, they would have to get everything they needed for Fluffy. Feuilly wasn’t sure they could afford it (well he couldn’t, Bahorel probably could), but it didn’t really matter. He had dreamed of having a cat for so long, he couldn’t blame him. Already, he could see himself sit in the couch and read with Fluffy on his lap. That would certainly better his reading sessions. Maybe he could Bahorel something to thank him ? Maybe something cat-related. He would certainly love that.

(He almost went back on every positive advice he had when Fluffy came to wake him up at five in the morning to  be fed. Feuilly was very glad to free him in Bahorel’s room and close the door.)

[wistfulcynic]

Another Brick In The Wall, Chapter 5

a/n: No secret quite yet, but more clues! Plus Brothers Jones and Emma. I have to give special thanks to @darkcolinodonorgasm for giving me a new perspective on Liam, who I’ve never particularly liked as a character. I hope you like him here! 

New, serious-this-time-summary: Emma Swan, sheriff’s daughter, mayor’s niece, quarterback’s girlfriend, is the undisputed princess of Storybrooke High. She is smart and confident and used to getting what she wants. What she wants is Killian Jones, the new boy in school. But Killian is not easily manipulated, and reluctant to allow the dark secrets in his past to touch the girl he is rapidly falling in love with.

Rating: T+

Read it on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Tags for: @jennjenn615 and @resident-of-storybrooke

Chapter 5: 

It was astounding and rather disturbing to Killian how different his life at Storybrooke High became after Emma’s party. Where before he had been largely able to repel his classmates by hiding behind his laptop and headphones, turning Neal’s attempted frame job around on him seemed to have garnered Killian something of a reputation. Suddenly everyone was interested in knowing him better. People he didn’t think he’d ever even seen before were now greeting him by name in the halls, and the giggling girls who were so fascinated by hearing him pronounce simple words had unaccountably multiplied. He took to hiding out in a quiet corner of the library at lunchtime, just to get some peace. Fortunately the library was a bridge too far for most of his newfound fans, and only Emma managed to hunt him down there. 

He didn’t mind that so much. 

“I was worried people would be mad when Neal got suspended from the football team and blame you,” Emma confessed to him one Friday lunchtime in November, about three weeks after her party. “But it turns out everyone pretty much hated him and only put up with his crap because he won football games. And it helps that August has really come through. He’s a junior, and never had much chance to play until now because Neal hogged all the game time, but I really think he’s got more talent than Neal. He’s better at calling plays and doesn’t throw so many dumb interceptions because he’s trying to make a big play to make himself look good. And our running game has gotten way better because Neal always wanted to run passing plays, even on third and short yardage. It was seriously annoying sometimes.”

“Swan,” said Killian in exasperation, “You do know that I only understand about one out of every three of those words, and no one has yet been able satisfactorily to explain to me why a you call this game ‘football’ when only one player’s foot ever even touches the ball. Can we talk about something else, please?”

Emma laughed. “Sure. You doing anything this weekend?”

Killian flushed pink. “I’m going sailing with my brother, then we’re cooking dinner together.” 

“That sounds great,” said Emma, wondering why he looked so embarrassed. “Any special occasion?”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “It’s my birthday,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly. 

“What?!” 

“It’s my birthday, okay? Today, actually. But of course I have school and Liam has work, so we’re celebrating tomorrow.” He noted with alarm her wide eyes and excited face. “Emma, no,” he begged. “Please don’t make a big deal about this.”

“But it’s your birthday!” 

“And I just want it to be a low-key day, no big celebration, no stress.” 

She tried not to feel deflated. “Just you and your brother.” 

“Unless you’d care to come along?” Killian tried not to sound too hopeful, tried not to be too hopeful, though the idea of spending a whole Saturday with Emma, even with Liam along as well, was just about the best birthday gift he could imagine. 

“Could I?” asked Emma, not troubling to hide her own hopefulness. 

“Um, do you want to?”

“Well… yeah, actually. It sounds really fun. I haven’t been sailing in ages, and I’d kinda like to meet your brother. You talk about him so much I feel like I know him already.” 

“Funny, he says the same about you,” said Killian without thinking. 

“You talk to your brother about me?”

She had that look in her eyes again, the one she’d had at her party right before she kissed him. The one that said she wanted to kiss him again. The one that made him want to let her. Killian gave himself a mental slap. Damn it, no! “Well, you are basically my only friend, Swan, who else would I talk about?” he said, attempting to cover his slip. 

“Maybe I was your only friend, but you seem to have acquired quite a few little admirers lately.” She sounded disgruntled, and he felt absurdly pleased. 

“You’re still my only friend,” he assured her. “And I would be honoured to have you accompany Liam and me on my birthday sailing trip. And to dinner too, if you like.” 

“Didn’t you say you’re cooking together?” she said hesitantly. “I’m not much of a cook.” 

“No, nor I, but Liam is a master of the barbecue, so we’re going to do steaks.” 

“What, outside?” He nodded. “In November? In Maine?”

“We’re from England, love, if we let a little miserable weather deter us from barbecuing we’d never get steak.”

“All right,” she laughed. In that case, I’d love to.” 

His answering smile was radiant, sending the familiar butterflies dancing through her belly, this time in a sophisticated cha-cha-cha. She wanted to kiss him so badly when he looked like this that resisting the urge took a physical effort. 

“We’re scheduled to cast off at ten, so why don’t you meet us at the marina at nine forty-five?” he said. 

“Okay,” she agreed, just as the bell rang signalling the end of lunchtime. They gathered their things and walked to their history class together, not holding hands but both definitely thinking about it, wishing they could, their arms hanging loose at their sides, hands as close as they could get without actually touching. Upon arrival they went to their desks at opposite sides of the classroom, their history teacher having assigned seats at the beginning of the semester. Emma scowled slightly as she watched Killian take his seat between Aurora and Tina, two juniors who had always giggled to each other over him but whose flirting had reached new hights of coquetry In the weeks since the party. She watched as they peppered him with questions and he smiled and charmed them with his replies, and she couldn’t believe they didn’t see how tense he was beneath the charm and how he visibly relaxed when the teacher stood up and started the class, drawing their attention away from him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So what time is your girlfriend getting here?” shouted Liam, loud enough to wake the dead. 

Killian sighed. He knew that Liam was just trying to lighten the mood with his teasing but really wished he wouldn’t. His brother knew perfectly well that Emma wasn’t Killian’s girlfriend. What he didn’t know is how the knowledge that she could be tormented Killian, and how any teasing on that point just drove the knife point deeper into his heart. Knowing that he could have her, her smiles and her kisses and her hand in his as they walked through the halls at school, that all that and more was within his reach if he could only forget about all the reasons why he couldn’t take it ate away at him. If he could just bring himself not to care about the consequences, to be a heartless bastard who didn’t give a damn about anyone else, then he could have what he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything before in his life. 

But he couldn’t. No matter how much he longed for Emma, he couldn’t do it. 

Liam was thrilled he’d made a friend, and that the friend was a girl. He thought it meant that Killian was forgetting, moving on, and that Emma actually becoming his girlfriend was only a matter of time. 

But Liam didn’t know the worst of it, the full weight of the burden Killian carried, bearing it alone because he didn’t dare share it. As much as he wished to tell Liam or Dr Hopper or Emma or anyone —really, anyone, as long as it wouldn’t be his alone to carry anymore— he was too scared of what they might do, of the potential consequences of people bumbling in trying to fix what they didn’t understand. He would fix it, when he got back to England. It had to be him. 

It had been four months. Another five to go. Nearly eight until the AP exam results would be released. Killian felt panic rising in him at the thought of that three month gap, but he swallowed it back. It would be okay. He forced himself to breathe deeply, calmly. It would be okay. He would fix it. 

Before he could answer Liam’s question, Emma’s yellow bug swung into a parking space right near where their boat was moored. She hopped out, smiling brightly, and Killian’s heart leapt and tumbled in his chest. She was so impossibly beautiful, he thought, so beautiful and bright and pure and good, and just everything he could ever wish for in a girl. Everything he could have had if he hadn’t made made such terrible mistakes, hadn’t completely fucked up his life before it had even really begun. But he pushed those thoughts away. She was here now, to celebrate his birthday with him, and he intended to enjoy what time he had with her. He grinned foolishly as she approached, keeping his hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets to stop himself reaching for her. 

She was dressed in chinos and deck shoes and a bright red woollen coat, with a beanie on her head and a large scarf wrapped around her neck. She laughed. “It’s freaking freezing out here, Jones,” she said. “And it’ll be even colder on the water. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“It’s not cold, Swan, it’s bracing,” he said firmly, and she laughed again. He was so caught up in the delightful sound of it that he didn’t notice Liam appearing at his elbow until his brother loudly cleared his throat. Killian glanced over, grimacing at Liam’s appraising look and raised eyebrow. 

“Um, Emma, this is my brother Liam,” he said grudgingly.  

“Mr Jones,” said Emma, flushing slightly and looking suddenly nervous. 

Liam’s smile widened. “Call me Liam, I beg you,” he said. “There must be no undue formality between the only two people in the world able to stomach the company of my little brother.” 

He elbowed Killian, who rolled his eyes. “Younger brother,” he muttered, not quite under his breath. 

Liam chuckled and gestured for Emma to follow him onto the boat. “So, Emma, what sort of sailing experience do you have?”

“Well, my dad has a boat.” 

“Ah, yes, Sheriff Swan. He’s been down here a few times.” 

“Yeah, when I was little we used to go sailing quite a lot, but for the past couple of years it seems like we never have the time.” 

“Your father mentioned you were busy with cheerleading and college applications.”

“Yeah, that’s mostly it.” 

“Where are you planning to study?”

“I’m hoping for Columbia, or else NYU or Boston University.” 

“Any ideas about your major?”

Killian scowled as his brother drew Emma away, busying her with pre-sailing tasks as they chatted. How the hell did Liam know so much about American universities all of a sudden, he wondered crossly. He’d only just learned what a major was himself. 

“I’d like to do psychology, maybe with a criminal justice minor. I’m thinking of being a forensic psychologist.” 

Killian’s scowl deepened. She’d never told him that. Of course, they’d never really discussed their plans for the future aside from his intention to return to England. Suddenly he felt desperately sad, realising that he’d likely never know if Emma achieved her goals. 

Though he had little doubt that she would. She was brilliant and determined, there wouldn’t be much she couldn’t do. If only he could be there to see her succeed. 

“Ahoy there, Killian, don’t just stand there like a lump!” shouted Liam. “Come and help us prepare to set sail. You check the sheets while Emma tells us what exactly a forensic psychologist does.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They sailed out to the edge of Storybrooke’s cape then around the harbour before heading back to their mooring. It was just as cold as Emma had feared, the icy wind whipping her hair into a frenzy and turning the tips of Killian’s ears so red that she worried he’d get frostbite. Pulling her beanie off her head, she thrust it at him. “Put this on,” she commanded. 

“What?”

“Put the hat on, idiot, before your ears fall off.” 

“And what about your ears, Swan?”

“I’ve got my scarf. See?” She wrapped the scarf over her head and around her neck, securing it underneath the collar of her coat. “It’s actually better like this because it holds my hair down. Now put on the damn hat.” 

“Such language, princess,” he teased, pulling the hat on over his ears, where it looked just ridiculously cute. “I’ve never heard you curse so fluently. Is it the influence of us rough seamen?” He waggled his eyebrows and she laughed, throwing back her head and shoving him playfully in the chest. 

Liam watched their byplay, not bothering to hide his delighted grin. It warmed his heart to see his brother smiling like that again, and after meeting Emma he had no qualms about encouraging their relationship. They were both so obviously smitten, the looks they gave each other so positively brimming with teenage angst and longing that Liam felt it could only be a matter of time before Killian finally gave in and asked her out properly. He had clung far longer than Liam had expected to this obligation he seemed to feel towards Milah Gold, but that was firmly in the past now, and Liam had no intention of letting his brother stumble down a similar path ever again. Killian was seeing Dr Hopper regularly and making good progress, according to the psychiatrist’s reports. He was getting good marks in school, seemed to enjoy playing his music again, and now he had a pretty girl his age who was clearly crazy about him. The tight knot of anxiety that had taken up residence in Liam’s chest the previous summer and had been his constant companion ever since eased slightly. The decision to move Killian to America despite his vehement protests had been the right one, Liam was more sure of that now than ever. His little brother was healing, slowly, but he would get there. Soon he would be his old self again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was well past eleven when Emma finally dragged herself away from the Jones house after one of the single best days she could remember, sailing and grilling and eating steak and loaded baked potatoes and birthday cake until she couldn’t eat any more. Killian had played his guitar and Liam had sung along; even she had joined in after considerable coaxing and teasing from both of them. She didn’t think she’d ever laughed so hard in her life. Resolutely, she ignored the plaintive voice in her head urging her to stay just a few minutes longer, knowing that she needed time to drive slowly through the icy streets in order to make it home for her midnight curfew. 

Killian walked her to her car. “Thanks for coming today, Emma,” he said softly, taking the beanie from his pocket and pulling it down onto her head, letting his fingertips brush through her hair as he did. “It was the best birthday I’ve had in a while.” 

“I had a great time,” she replied. He dropped his hands from her hair but she caught them and placed them on her hips, stepping closer and leaning her head against his shoulder, smiling as she heard him catch his breath. She let go of his hands and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding her own breath for an anxious few seconds until he finally pulled her close, his arms enclosing her tightly. Sighing, she melted into the hug. “Happy birthday, Killian,” she whispered.  

They stood like that for as long as Emma dared, until finally she knew she had to get going. As she started to pull back Killian’s arms tightened around her almost reflexively, as if not wishing to let her go. She looked up at him, their faces so close there was barely a breath between them, and willed him to kiss her. 

She knew it had to be his move. She’d made the last one, now it was up to him. 

He swayed towards her, his eyes fixed on her lips as his own parted slightly, and she fisted her hands in his coat, forcing herself to wait. She could almost feel the conflict within him as he struggled against his attraction to her, and against whatever he was holding inside that wouldn’t allow him to act on it. The tension stretched her nerves tight and the butterflies performed an energetic jitterbug in her belly until Killian seemed to pull himself out of a trance, blinking rapidly and shaking himself and then abruptly his arms were gone and he was stepping away. 

“Drive safely, love,” he said hoarsely. 

Emma hid her disappointment behind a bright smile. “See you at fencing club tomorrow?” she asked, her own voice lower than normal. 

“I’ll be there.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outside the door of Dr Hopper’s office, Neal waited. This time of year darkness fell quite early in Maine, and the sun had long since set by the time the psychiatrist went home for the day, whistling as he went. The office door closed behind him with a decisive click and he followed an eager Pongo to the exit, not noticing the boy hidden in the deep shadows of the darkened hallway. 

Once he was sure he was alone Neal knelt in front of the door, withdrawing a set of lock picks from his pocket and quickly jimmying the door open. No security at all, he thought scornfully. You’d think the man guarding Storybrooke’s darkest secrets would have a sturdier lock. He hurried to the filing cabinet, picking that lock just as easily, and soon he had in his hands the thick manila file bearing the name of Killian Jones. Placing it on the coffee table, he made himself comfortable on the sofa and flipped the file open, illuminating its contents with the flashlight from his phone. 

Several minutes later he sat back, feeling gleeful and exhilarated, and thoroughly pleased with himself. This was fucking huge and with it he could annihilate Killian, not just at school but also with Emma. There was no way she would forgive him. Not a prissy little prude like her. Not for this. 

Grinning smugly, he snapped a few pictures with his phone then returned the file to the cabinet and locked everything behind him as he left. For the first time in his life, he couldn't wait to get back to school

(We’ll get the secret in the next chapter, I promise!)