#valence haiz

[cenviswasteland]

Promise it to me. (Promise me the sea.)

Written for FreyVay Week 2024!

June 23rd -- Nature || Picnic || Flowers || Apple || Fantasy

Word Count: 5319

Rated: T.

Content warnings: mild fear, near-death experience (drowning).

Synopsis: Frey, pirate on the ship Lovelass, is tossed overboard during a nasty storm. Someone saves him.

[Check out the playlist for today!]

– I –

The seas and sky were clear today. Frey had found a comfortable, out of the way corner on the deck and sat down with the sailing log for the Lovelass. The Captain was usually in charge of it, but he’d been below deck for the past week recovering from something that was probably scurvy, and Frey was the only other sailor that could write decently.

20 June 1717

We are going to dock in New Providence. Standard trade and restock. It was supposed to be Port Royal. The last crew we saw got gutted by the British there. It makes for an added three days on the sea, but our crew is all wanted men. No one wants that kind of a brush. Captain is planning his next move.

Something came down on his head, hard and swift. Frey yelped, and his hand flew up to where he’d been hit.

“Show a leg, boy!”

He sighed as he looked up. “I’m awake, Cornie. I’m awake.”

Cornie pulled his hand away and crossed his arms. “Y’ain’t doin’ anything.”

Frey raised an eyebrow at that. Cornie didn’t do much of anything, either. Two ports ago, he’d “gotten his hands on” a scrap of royal purple fabric��� which was now tied around his waist, stained by dirt and salt. It still made him look a lot more important than he was.

“Is there anything I can be doing?” Frey questioned, glancing around.

“Could be.”

“But,” Frey continued. “we’re on a straight path, the waves and winds are on our side, and Sawyer’s better with the wheel than I’ll ever be.”

“Aye, but–”

“When did you get pushed up the ranks?” he asked, knowing full well that he was poking a bear.

“You–” Cornie spluttered. “You and your damn sea dog book.”

Frey motioned back to his journal, tilting his head slightly. “It’s important work.”

“Maybe for the people that can read,” he shot back, obviously displeased with how little he was getting under Frey’s skin. “Ain’t nobody out here interested in your parchment shapes. Expectin’ to show off our travels to the fishes?”

“Maybe the Kra–”

Cornie waved his arms around wildly, a frustrated surrender. “Don’t you start. Can’t believe Cap filled up yer head with all his Nelson’s folly nothin’s.”

“You’re cranky today,” Frey chuckled.

“You shoulda stayed on land.”

“If only, huh?”

Someone on the other side of the ship yelled for Cornie– Frey couldn’t make out the voice– and he went scampering off with a final glare and a hiss of “Bilge rat.” 

Frey was, all things considered, a fine addition to the crew. He did as he was told when things needed to be done, and he had enough muscle on him to haul crates and bodies when necessary. It was his mouth that got him in trouble. The crew liked to joke– when they weren’t harassing him for being the Captain’s son– that God put an attorney’s soul in a tar’s body. They said if Frey had stayed on land for just a little longer, he probably would have been ordering everyone on the Lovelass to the gallows.

He turned himself back to the log.

I say again– no one is happy about more time on the sea. Rations have been tight for a while. It has only gotten worse. We live off rum and hardtack now. The Captain is trying to keep everyone in high spirits, but most barely have the ‘spirits’ to withstand him.

The wind whistled past, blowing into the sails. A few men let out cries of joy as the ship rocked forwards. Frey dug his heel between two wooden boards to keep from sliding, shutting his book and clutching it close to his chest. The waves had gotten choppy. He wouldn’t be able to keep writing until things calmed down again.

When the sea got like this, Frey always ended up thinking about the stories that the Captain told him. They were tales of the fantastic, things that he’d picked up traveling to London and Paris and Amsterdam. Apparently, those who stayed on land filled their days with the could-be monsters of the seas– the Kraken with its massive octopus body that could drag sailors to their doom, the mermaids that sang so sweetly that they could seduce any man to his demise, the half-fish half-horse that appeared on beaches and coerced a man into getting on its back to drag him into the depths… 

Frey once told the Captain that it seemed like they would fabricate just about anything to keep their men on land. He told Frey to keep his ears covered when the ship went past large rocks.

He knew that the Captain’s stories didn’t hold any weight, but he was the only one that would stay and listen when he told them. The crew thought they were useless stories to scare children away from the sea.The Captain swore his life on every tale. Frey barely believed in the Lord most days– he wasn’t about to go believing in selkies and sirens. The only things that were certain were the things that could be proven. Even so, it was nice to dream. Sometimes, he would sneak out of the barracks in the middle of the night and hope to see something in the dark waters below.

“Frey!”

The loud voice shook him out of his thoughts, and he turned his head towards the bow of the ship. Sawyer was waving for his attention. Frey scrambled to his feet and waved back.

“The winds are changing!” Sawyer called out. “I think a storm’s coming on. Get some more hands– batten it down!”

“Aye!”

It took him a few minutes to gather up enough men. He sent Cornie down to inform the Captain while Flynn and Kasper went with him to get the sails. In just that time, the skies had already started to darken, dark gray clouds rolling over the light blue skies, blanketing it all in gloom.

The Lovelass was never the perfect ship. The masts were a little too big for most to climb comfortably, and the sails couldn’t come down. They had to come fully off every time. It was Frey’s official job to tie and untie the ropes on the top masts. He was the only one with enough strength and flexibility for it– probably because he was the youngest of the crew, barely eighteen.

Kasper helped Frey get his footing on the netting up, and he started his climb as quickly as he could. The sooner he got down, the better in these conditions. Wind whistled past like a melody, rocking the ship into the waves. Frey had to steady himself before continuing.

At the half-way point of his climb, the crew below erupted into shouting and commotion. Frey glanced down to see that the Captain had emerged from his quarters, leaning against his cutlass for support while he barked orders to the crew. In a risky move, Frey waved down to him. He nodded back, and Frey continued his climb.

It took another half-minute to get up onto the masts, and the sky had gone cold and dangerously gray. Frey swung his leg around to anchor himself in a seated position, immediately working on untying the rope knots. He knew them like the back of his hand.

Flynn called up to him, his voice distant. “Alright, lad?”

“I’ll be fine! Get ready to catch!”

Frey pulled the knot loose and pushed the sail down. It fluttered in the wind for a moment before someone pulled it down onto the deck. The waves were dangerous right now. One crashed into the ship and threw Frey forward. He gasped in pain as his chest connected with the mast– but the blow didn’t do much other than knock the air out of him.

In good weather, the view from up here would be gorgeous. Now, with the seas dark and the wind battering him, Frey just wanted down. He couldn’t stand the way the wind was whistling, like a trick against him. He knocked his boot against a few points of the mast, feeling around for the netting again.

That was when he saw it. Between the seafoam and the waves, something in the water was moving. Glittering, almost, despite the darkness. Bright red, like a ruby. He stared at the shape for a moment, trying to make it out. It had to be some kind of fish, but he’d never seen anything like it. It was barely a fathom away, turning and twisting next to the ship as if it was inviting her to dance with it.

“Frey!”

He pulled himself back to reality and waved down to Kasper. “I’m alright!”

“The Hell are you doing? Get down here!”

“Aye!”

His foot slipped into the netting and he started his climb down on the makeshift ladder. Against his better judgment, he kept letting his eyes drift to the sea. The red shape had disappeared into the ocean, and he knew it was a trick of the light, but for some reason he wanted to see one more second of it.

It was his own folly, really. He thought he’d gotten his foot on another rope rung and let go without thinking. A wave crashed into the ship at the same time. The mast hit him at full force and spun. It sent him flying through the air. He stretched out his hand, trying to grasp onto something. He caught nothing.

That melody was still in the wind. In another situation, Frey would have stopped and listened.

But his ears and eyes filled with water, and it all went dark.

– II –

He was falling. He was floating. All the wind had been knocked out of him. Frey had to be dead– if not from drowning, from the cold. There was an arm around his waist. It pushed him and pulled him. He was still breathing. It didn’t make sense. Was he dreaming? It felt like the sun was shining on his face. Something cold– a hand?– was on his cheek. The same feeling was on the back of his head. Someone was singing. He couldn’t make out the language. It was a beautiful melody. It was a familiar melody.

He’d heard it on the sea.

Frey shot forward, every limb making its own spastic movement. His lungs were burning, and he coughed heavily. His fingers dug into warm sand. His clothing clung to him, still wet. He was staring out into the sea. He was on a beach. He was alive. He nearly laughed at the realization, but his head throbbed and he doubled over again. The pain spread into the rest of his body. It felt awful. Melodramatically, he considered if death would be better than whatever he was feeling.

His memories came back to him in pieces as he pulled himself to his feet. He was flung off of the ship and went into the waves. It was a miracle that he washed up on any kind of shore. He pulled in a sharp breath as he stretched, trying to make his body remember how to be human. The obvious questions swam across his mind– Where’s the ship? Where am I? Where’s the crew?– and he turned in place to survey the area.

Half of whatever beach Frey had washed up on was obscured by large rocks. The sand was clean, the tide was high, and the sun was beating down on him. He glanced right– lots of nothing– then left– more nothing broken up by the wreckage of the ship. Frey turned himself to the right and took a few steps before realizing that the ship was on the beach, at which he promptly turned on his heel and bolted towards it.

He finally arrived in front of the Lovelass properly after a few grueling minutes, clutching at his stomach to ward off the pain still rocking through his body. At first glance, he couldn’t see any of the crew. Hopefully they were all looking for each other, or below deck, or something. He kept walking closer. His foot caught on something and he stumbled, falling back against the sand. Fantastic.

Frey picked himself back up and looked down to see what he’d tripped over– a man face-down in the sand. He quickly knelt down and pushed him onto his side. It was the Captain. Frey breathed out a sigh of relief, and then shook the man to try and wake him up.

He stirred after a few seconds, opening his eyes. His expression turned baffled in an instant. “Frey?”

“Captain,” he greeted with a laugh.

“Saw you go flying into the sea,” the Captain returned with a smile, reaching his hand up to ruffle Frey’s salt-dried hair. “Thought you were dead, boy.”

“So did I. Are you alright? Is anything broken?”

“Not from what I can tell,” he replied.

Frey got to his feet, then helped the Captain up. “I suppose you don’t know where the rest of the crew is.”

“Not an inkling,” the Captain said, slowly stretching. “Where are we?”

“I wish I knew. I was trying to search for you all.”

“How ‘bout I take up the search for the crew? You venture through and see if there’s anything we can eat. Bet all our food’s rot now.”

Frey nodded. “Aye. Yell if you need help– I’ll try to stay close.”

“Atta boy.”

With that, Frey was off. He tracked how long he was searching by the sun in the sky, and within a few hours he’d been able to walk the length of the land. It was a small island, the kind of thing that sailors would talk about like a legend. The coastline circled into something that was barely a forest. Some of the trees bore fruit, and they’d be able to catch up some fish assuming any of their rods survived.

The wind continued to whistle away, making that same melody. It was going to drive him mad at some point. The setting sunlight and circumstances had to be playing tricks on him, that was all, but he swore he kept seeing something red swimming around the island. He almost considered following it a few times, just to see if it led anywhere, but decided against it. 

Something called on the breeze. It almost sounded like a name. Frey tried to ignore it, and despite his effort it continued to call. It just got louder. Eventually–

Alexander…?

–Frey heard who it was calling for.

It froze him in his tracks, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He called out: “Who’s there?”

Alexander?

“How do you know that name?”

Alexander!

It sounded further away that time, like a taunt. Frey fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Before he even realized, he was already running towards the voice, shouting questions the whole way.

His feet carried him to the other side of the island, away from the Lovelass and the crew. The coastline wrapped around the island, as it turned out, but this side was more rocks than sand. Frey caught his breath for just a moment before saying again: “Who’s there?”

“Who’s there?” the voice echoed, as if it wasn’t comfortable with its own words.

“My– my name is Frey,” he explained. “I sail on the galleon Lovelass. We got caught in the storm and crashed on the beach. I’m just looking for my crew–”

It was then that a man lifted himself up on the rock, stopping before he showed his waist. His hair was long and blonde– it was wet and it clung to his pale cheeks. He had no tunic on, and for a moment Frey wondered if he didn’t have any clothing at all. His gray eyes were wide, practically boring into Frey with how hard he was staring. He was beautiful.

Frey balked, stumbling over his thoughts. “Who… Who are you?”

He let out a noise, a single note without any word behind it. Frey must have looked surprised, because the man made the same noise and then frowned.

“Are you trapped? Do you need help?” Frey pressed.

The man tilted his head, still staring.

“Can you… not speak English?” Frey asked tentatively.

The man held out his hand as if waiting for something. His fingers were long and slender, and his nails were sharp. Carefully, Frey approached.

“Alexander?” the man asked, his voice almost sounding clumsy.

“That’s my father’s name,” Frey said. “How do you know it?”

There was a splashing sound against the water, and the man grimaced. He extended his hand again, more forcefully this time. Frey knelt down in front of him, and put out his hand in return. The man grabbed it and pulled, as if he was trying to drag Frey into the sea.

Frey yelped and wrenched his hand away. “What was that for?”

The man just kept staring, tilting his head the other way. It was like he was trying to drink in Frey’s image, or like he wasn’t quite sure how to quantify him. Frey started to match his movements, much to the other man’s delight.

After a few seconds, Frey spoke again. “Alright, we’re getting nowhere with this.”

The man frowned at that.

“Do you know what ‘yes’ and ‘no’ mean?” Frey asked, making the appropriate head motions alongside his words.

His face lit up, and he nodded. Yes. 

Frey sat properly on the rock, crossing his legs to hold the man’s stare. “Great, now we can talk.”

It started with normal questions: Do you live here? was answered with a Yes. So were Did you see our ship crash?, Do you know where the crew is?, and Are they safe?

“You can understand English,” Frey started, and that was met with a Yes. “But you can’t speak a lot of it?”

Another yes.

“Well, what do they call you in your language?”

The man made that same little noise again, looking expectantly at the sailor. Frey tried to make the same noise. The man looked disgusted for a moment, then repeated the noise. He, again, tried to repeat it. The response was an immediate shake of his head, the disgust on his face almost turning to horror.

“I guess I didn’t get it right?” Frey chuckled. “Did I say something bad?”

He nodded, then gave Frey another up-and-down glance. He put out his hand again.

“Last time I took your hand, you tried to pull me into the ocean.”

There wasn’t a yes or no answer to that, but he let out another series of vocalizations– a melody in its own right– and it would have been beautiful if not for how angry the man looked. Frey turned his head, trying to understand what was being sung to him.

Frey apologized before continuing his questions. The man wasn’t trying to hurt him or the crew– so he claimed– but there were others that might. He refused to come out of the water. Frey got him to point to where the sun was in the sky when the Lovelass crashed– crawling upwards in the East– and if it had been more than a day. It hadn’t. 

“Have you seen anything red in the water?” he eventually asked.

The man tilted his head, like he didn’t understand.

“The– the color of rubies, and blood, and apples,” Frey clarified after a moment.

His face lit up for a moment in understanding, then fell into a frown. He shook his head.

Frey sighed. “It might have been a trick, but I swear I saw something swimming next to the ship. Brilliant red, fast as an arrow. Could you keep a lookout for it, maybe?”

He tilted his head to each side like he was considering it, then nodded.

“Frey?” called a voice– he recognized it instantly as Sawyer.

The man pulled in a breath, and he hid behind the rock. 

“Wait, wait–” Frey begged. The man peeked out again.

Frey’s voice fell to a whisper. “Will you be here at dawn?”

He nodded.

“Then I’ll be back. I swear it.”

He smiled, and Frey matched it before pulling himself to his feet. He glanced back down to the water, but the man was already gone.

“I’m over here!” he called.

“Frey!”

Sawyer came tumbling out of the foliage, and they both froze for a moment.

“Sweet Jesus, you look like Hell,” Sawyer said, a smile spreading across his face.

“Well, I did get thrown out of the ship from the crow’s nest,” he laughed, stepping forwards to meet him.

Sawyer pulled him into a tight hug, then pulled back. He kept his hands on Frey’s shoulders. “I’m glad you’re alive, mate. The Captain gathered us all up– Flynn got himself a broken arm, but other than that we’ll all be fine by the morning. Come on, let’s get you back.”

“Aye.”

– III –

23 June 1717

The repairs are going well. We finally got enough wood to fix up the rudder before turning in for the night yesterday, and we should have the ship back on the sea in two days. Everyone’s finding his own way through it, as expected, but nobody is complaining about the fresh food. We plan to take some of it with us, maybe fill a barrel with it if we can. The Captain is sending Cornie and Sawyer out foraging when it gets light enough.

That meant that Frey didn’t have much time today. The repairs had been exhausting him physically and mentally, and he’d slept in later than he meant to.

He’d been taking campfire duty every night, claiming The rest of the crew needs more sleep than I do and the like, and he’d been making sure to sleep without covering his eyes, just in service of sneaking away from the group. 

He still hadn’t been able to get the man’s name. It was the worst part of the language barrier. Frey had taken to calling him songbird because of the way his native tongue sounded– the clicks and trills reminded him of a bird. Frey had been showing him the Captain’s log and helping him speak English, but it was still a mess most days. Even so, it was the most fun he’d had in ages. 

This morning, he filled his leather pack with a simple breakfast– he’d pick a few apples on the way– and set off, book in hand. The path to their spot was practically muscle memory at this point.

Frey sat down on the same rock, setting his pack and the book next to him, before knocking on the stone a few times. “Songbird?”

Like clockwork, the man peeked his head out, unsure at first. His eyes lit up for just a moment before his expression settled back into that inquisitive, neutral gaze that Frey had grown so used to.

“…Frey.”

It was his turn to light up, a giddy smile spreading across his face. “You remembered!”

He looked away, but nodded.

Frey turned back to his pack for a moment, then pulled an apple from it. “Are you hungry?”

He eyed the fruit for a moment, and when Frey held it out to him, he took it. Frey watched as he turned it in his hand, inspecting it, before biting into it. His eyes went wide for a moment, and then a slight smile spread over his face.

“Have you never had an apple before?” he teased. His question was met with a shake of the head.

It was when he opened his mouth to take another bite that Frey caught just how sharp his teeth were– each one was a point, as if he was a shark, not a human. He let the other man finish the apple before he asked the question that had been eating away at him for days.

“You’re… not human, are you?”

His eyes widened, and he stared back at Frey. He flushed red like a human, and then shook his head.

“What are you, then?”

He held out his palm again, as if that was an answer.

Frey glanced down, then chuckled. “Fine. Don’t drag me to my death, alright? I like you.”

He took the other man’s hand.

In the next moment, he was pulled back into the cold sea. Instinctively, Frey panicked, but something caught him by his wrist, and the weight stayed even as the man’s hand slipped out of his. Frey pulled in a breath.

And then he paused, floating in the ocean, and realized he’d just breathed. He took another breath as if he was trying to prove it to himself. It felt strange– awful, really– but he was breathing.

“Open your eyes,” said a voice from behind him, beautiful and sweet.

Slowly, he let his eyes flutter open, and the man was in front of him. His hair floated around his head like a halo, and his pale skin blended into scales at his hips– a tail, brilliantly red and shimmering in the water. He was smiling, marveling in the way Frey reacted.

“Can you speak?” he asked.

“I–” Frey tested, every sensation in his body foreign and impossible. “How…?”

“The sea is more fantastic than you realized, Frey of the Lovelass.”

He twisted in the water, swimming a circle around him, before taking him by the wrist. Frey looked down to see a band of shells adorning his tanned skin. He reached for it, and the other man pulled his hand away. “Don’t take that off, you’ll drown in an instant.”

“What– What is it?”

“I think your kind call it magic.” He laughed, and it sounded like the waves.

Frey had to look down at his legs, just to make sure he still had them. He did.

“What’s your name?” Frey asked again.

“Valence,” was the response. “I’ve been trying to tell you for days.”

“Valence,” Frey repeated, testing the word. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know.”

Valence turned again in the water, graceful and fantastic, and appeared again in front of Frey. He took a hold of Frey’s face, turning his head to each side. 

“What are you doing?” Frey asked, almost laughing.

“Observing.”

“And what have you observed?”

“You don’t look all that different from us,” he said. “but your eyes aren’t as bright.”

“Are you the same red thing that was brushing up against the Lovelass before she crashed?” Frey asked.

“What do you think?” Valence asked back, a smile playing at his lips.

“Then why’d you lie?”

“I couldn’t explain it properly.”

Frey couldn’t argue with that.

“I was also the one to drag you out of the ocean,” Valence continued. “In case you wanted to thank me for that.”

He laughed. “Thank you very much for saving my life, songbird.”

Valence gave him a look of exasperation. “Don’t call me that. You know my name now.”

“But it fits you so well!”

He glared, and the fin of his tail flicked in a way that seemed just as angry. Frey took something close to a bow– it was hard when floating in the ocean. “Yes, your Highness.”

“Better,” he said.

“How do you know my father’s name?” Frey pushed.

“I don’t.”

“But you said it a hundred times.”

“I can’t control the songs I sing,” Valence explained. “They’re not meant for my ears.”

“You were trying to pull me to my doom!”

“Maybe, maybe not.” There was a smile playing at his lips. “Either way, you’re far too interesting to drown you now. Consider yourself lucky.”

Frey raised an eyebrow at that. Valence took another half-circle around him, then wrapped his arm around Frey’s waist, pulling him against his bare chest. His free hand went back to Frey’s face, gently turning his head towards him. His fingers traced along Frey’s jawline.

“You’re touchy,” Frey whispered, as if anyone else would be able to hear them.

“When am I going to get a chance like this again?” he asked, just as quietly. His tail bumped against the back of Frey’s knees, and lifted up his legs. Valence leaned over Frey’s shoulder, his eyes fixed on the difference in their anatomies.

“You could have a million of them if you keep following the Lovelass.”

“Are you propositioning me?”

“That’s a big word for a mermaid,” Frey deflected.

“Well, perhaps I will join your little crew,” Valence said. Frey could hear him smile.

He let his fingers drag across Frey’s cheek. Frey leaned into his palm and planted a kiss there. Valence’s skin was soft against his lips, and he let out a tiny gasp.

Frey chuckled, a little sheepish. “Sorry, that was habit.”

“Noted.” His voice was a little quieter, as if he’d gotten bashful too. His grip on Frey’s waist loosened, and he floated backwards. Frey twisted in the water to see him blushing, trying to hide his face with his hair.

“Did I embarrass you?”

“No,” Valence replied, still looking away.

Frey looked up. The sky had changed from a pale pink to a light blue. He sighed. “I bet the crew is starting to wonder where I went.”

“You won’t stay?”

“I do get a choice, right?” Frey asked, a little more seriously than he meant to.

Valence looked like he was considering for a few moments. “I suppose.”

“Then I have to go.”

“You have to promise to come back,” he said, grabbing Frey’s wrist.

Frey leaned in to press their foreheads together. “I swear it.”

Valence guided Frey’s hand up to his cheek, holding it there for a moment.

“How do you say farewell?” Valence said quietly, his gray eyes glittering.

Frey smiled, and then tilted his head to catch Valence’s lips with his. Valence leaned into it immediately, instinctively, and his tail flicked before wrapping itself around Frey’s legs to anchor him against the sailor. Frey moved his other hand up, cupping Valence’s cheeks. It tasted like salt and sea but it was perfect and it was theirs.

Valence was the one to pull away. Frey opened his eyes to see Valence staring down at him with an uncharacteristically giddy smile on his face. “You’ve given me more questions.”

“I’m sure,” Frey replied.

“What was that called?”

“A kiss.”

“Why do you close your eyes during it?”

“To focus on the feeling.”

“Do humans only do it to say farewell?”

“No. They do it for all kinds of reasons.”

“Do they do it to everyone?”

“Only to the people they like.”

“Then why did you do it to me?”

Frey chuckled. “Because I really like you, songbird.”

Valence stammered, then pulled away from Frey. His tail flicked back and forth in the water, like he wasn’t quite sure how to wrap his head around all the information he was just given.

“You will come back,” he demanded. “I’ll drag you back if I have to.”

“I couldn’t just leave you forever,” Frey laughed. “I’m interested in you too.”

He nodded in understanding. “Alright, fine.”

Frey held out his hand. Valence took it, then laced his fingers with Frey’s. “Make sure to breathe out as much as you can. It’ll be easier that way.”

The advice didn’t make returning to the air any less difficult. Frey was sputtering and coughing the moment he inhaled again, his head above the surface. His lungs were burning again, readjusting to the feel of it all. Valence helped him back to land, making those little vocalizations the whole time.

“I can’t understand you anymore,” Frey lamented once he was back on the rock, still soaking wet. “That’s hardly fair.”

Valence grimaced, said something, then motioned to Frey’s wrist. The bracelet was still there.

“Don’t worry, I promise not to take it off,” he said, turning his wrist so he could see it from all angles. “And I promise to come back.”

He nodded, smiling.

“Farewell, Valence,” Frey offered.

Valence chirped back. Farewell.

[cenviswasteland]

Who are Freyvay? You've tagged them in a bunch of your posts and from what I've seen I love their dynamic lol

jesus okay. alright. howdy. hi. my name is juno orion and im a writer. there's like a 90% chance that you, anon, are not real (as in youre one of my friends masquerading as an anon) or you have forgotten that you asked this entirely. i do not care. i am answering this now because im feeling insane.

in the interest of mobile users, im gonna cut this post here. under the cut you will find the ramblings of a fucking madman. cowabunga.

--the cut is here--

howdy again. thanks for clicking a button, let's get into it.

So there's two people involved in FreyVay, as any good ship should be. I'll just yap about them as individuals in name order.

Frey Lovelace

(yes this is my art. no i am not a good artist.)

male, 6'1

black hair blue eyes tanned skin etc

age range: 19 to 27-ish (im not good at math) (also it really depends on the story dont question it too hard)

current job: defense attorney

previous job: college student (this is how he met vay)

going to college for: polisci / history / law (this will make sense in a minute)

fun facts: smokes weed, easy going, has massive bazongas

main color: blue

his dad (alexander lovelace) is a lawyer, frey is basically a born ace attorney [in one universe, he cupped the balls of a statue of the god of law and said god of law was like "hell yeah brother" and blessed him with super-law powers], and also he is the womanizer ever. note the hickeys and bitemarks.

Valence Haiz

(please ignore the part that says "turnabout lawyer". i will explain later)

male, 5'11

blonde hair, gray eyes, pale skin, etc

age range: 18 to 26-ish (again i am not a math guy)

current job: CEO of a medical research monopoly, also politician

previous jobs: prosecutor, and before that, college student

going to college for: polisci / psychology / business / law

fun facts: very academic, stick up his ass, a special flavor of emotionally constipated (grew up rich and pressured)

main color: red

valence was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and he was expected [read: pressured] to do "great things" by his father (David Haiz), make his family proud, etc etc. he was interested in law, decided to go to school for it, all that. he would later inherit his grandfather's (Aldier Kamp) medical research company and pursue a career in politics to be like his father.

--this line is intentionally left blank--

okay, we're gonna do the rest of this like im doing an interview because it's the only way i know how to structure things. let's go!

So, how do these bozos meet?

easy: college. they both attend (fictional) school Pennick University, which offers an accelerated course of study that can make a person a lawyer with just a bachelor's degree.

[note: in case you can't tell, your author is a complete and total Ace Attorney nerd. this is AA logic. just go with it.]

frey and valence end up being random roommates in their first year. by some miracle, they actually go from just "roommates" to "person i tolerate and talk to outside sometimes".

Why ship them?

my sibling in starclan they ship themselves.

after the two of them become friends, talk regularly, etc etc, frey finds himself falling hard. like, head-over-heels ass-over-teakettle hard. while registering for spring classes in his second year, frey quite literally changes his major because valence has helped him realize this talent he has for law and polisci.

i think if anything, this excerpt from my aSiP series bible says it best, at least from frey's POV:

It’s not theory or subtext or conjecture anymore. Frey Lovelace is just… in love with Valence Haiz. Hopelessly. Helplessly. He probably didn't realize it until he was switching his major, too.

He’s in love with Valence. The real Valence.

The Valence that turns his head away when Frey cracks a bad joke. The Valence that stays up late to get work done, only to end up watching reruns of House and Criminal Minds with Frey. The Valence that lets his eyes sparkle when Frey asks about how his psychology research is going.  The Valence that’s a natural at public speaking. The Valence that could pull speeches out of thin air. The Valence that makes elaborate PowerPoints before every presentation.

The Valence that will entertain Frey’s contrarian need to be the opposing side in every debate. The Valence that lights up when he gets Frey backed into a metaphorical corner. The Valence that makes sassy and snarky comments between pages of a novel. The Valence that complains in the margins of his textbooks. The Valence that sends Frey letters over break. The Valence that encloses pictures of the places he visits or the art he’s seen in museums.

The Valence that went to Waffle House at 11 PM with Frey after their last final of the semester. The Valence that takes his coffee with a mountain of creamer and his waffles with chocolate chips and strawberries. The Valence that threw an orange in Frey’s face after Frey came home soaked from the rain. The Valence that made him stand in the hallway until he ate the orange. The Valence that said “I don’t want you getting me sick.” The Valence that cares. The Valence that allows himself to be vulnerable. The Valence that isn’t trying to put up a front.

The Valence that’s real.

-- just... just let that soak in for a sec. i don't have anything to add, just let it marinate. --

God, that's sickeningly sweet, but I'm not into all that sappy stuff.

don't worry, it's not all sunshine and rainbows! in fact, it's a special kind of hell from valence's POV.

because to him, frey is infuriating. while valence had to claw a path to any kind of respect, dignity, or even to have anyone look his way, frey just gets it naturally. from an outsider's perspective, he's damn near perfect at the law practice, he never studies anything, he can go and screw around (literally and figuratively) all day and come back with perfect marks on tests and quizzes, and he's having the time of his life in college.

meanwhile, valence is struggling with multiple flavors of his own sexuality, insane mental health problems, self-image / worth issues, and, again, the strange pressure of having everything at your fingertips but never feeling like you've done enough to deserve it.

please accept another excerpt, this time from my aSiP draft:

[note: contains references to sexual content, alcohol and weed. skip to next bracket to avoid.]

April 10th – 1:43 A.M.

Lovelace operates like an animal. It wouldn’t be an issue if it were simply in his habits, but habits will force themselves into the way one conducts himself in conversation. Lovelace has no manners, poise, or elegance. He says every thought that forms in his brain without pausing to think about the implications or the consequences. I make a point to avoid empty, dull-witted debates, and yet he just keeps pulling me in over and over again. He makes a fine acquaintance, but I would never consider taking it further. He takes far too many partners as it is.

Even so, last night I found myself in a wine-drunk stupor, kissing him like I needed his air more than my own. Lovelace kisses with tongue and teeth, in the same blunt fashion with which he does everything. He tasted like burnt herbs. Neither of us seemed to have the good sense to stop, and so we kept pushing the boundaries. He seemed so intent to stake his claim, to force me into the mattress, to take what he believed was his.

I felt as though I couldn’t take in my own air. There was something horrible in the way his weight felt on top of me. I distinctly remember enjoying myself. I can’t imagine how. I have no interest in being his. I have no interest in his lips. I never did, even when they were against my skin. I know I was drunk. He was drunk, too. He was drunk and high. He was worse than I was. He still had the common sense to ask me if I wanted it. We could have stopped. Even impaired, he would have stopped. We hadn’t lost all our wits.

He asked me if I wanted it. I told him yes. Was I lying? I can’t remember my own tone. Should I be angry? Did he lie to me? There’s no point in anger, is there? I feel ill. Am I fooling myself? Should we have stopped? I didn’t stop him. He didn’t stop me.

I don’t even know if I wanted to stop.

[end warning section. welcome back.]

again, i'm not gonna say anything here. just sit and process.

Okay, so what's aSiP? And Turnabout Lawyer?

they're two sides of the same coin! both are longform FreyVay-centric projects that i'm actively writing.

a study in purple (or aSiP) is a valence POV work that goes through his side of the Pennick University experience. it was originally a piece i wrote for my creative writing class last semester (spring 2024).

Turnabout Lawyer (or TL, or Burden of Proof) is a frey POV work that goes through his side of the PennU experience. it was originally an idea for a visual novel, which i then converted to a screenplay pilot episode for my screenwriting class last semester (spring 2024).

yes, there's intense and serious cognitive dissonance between their experiences. that is on purpose. i will absolutely be providing project updates if this post even gets one (1) note.

Surely it doesn't end after they graduate...?

you bet your shiny boots it doesn't! but i'll be damned if i keep this post going for longer, so for everyone's sanity i have to call it here. i'll make a follow-up post about freyvay after graduation. they go through a lot of changes... but that will have to be for another day.

Wait! I want FreyVay content and I want it now!!

Well, lucky for you, I am the soul owner and participator in FreyVay week, which is happening right the fuck now! No one knew about it other than my bestie westie pesties, and that's perfectly fine to me! I will be posting my silly little FreyVay fics here anyway!!! In fact, I'll be posting the Day One fic immediately after this post, so read away to your heart's content!

The full schedule is here for your perusing pleasure:

---

thank you ever so much for reading all this yappery! i love blah blah blahing about my goofy little guys. please stand by for more freyvay content directly on your timeline as if you are a baby bird.

peace, love, little donuts, etc etc.

[cenviswasteland]

most of the time im normal and then some of the time i agonize over this oc i made years ago (that i still love and cherish and also keep in a milk-filled water bottle in the back of my fridge) that bears such a hauntingly striking resemblance to kristoph gavin its almost disgusting

[cenviswasteland]

do you guys ever write a character and give them a trait that you think is totally fine and normal and Not A Big Deal. and then a few months later you look at that character again and go "oh wait im in this picture"