I had the honour of participating in the @grishaversebigbang ebigbang event for the second year in a row! This year I drew a piece based off of @rimel02 ‘s fic “And we all Fall Down.” (link here)
My third @grishaversebigbang piece is for @wafflesandkruge and @reapersbarge ‘s fic Solstice! It can be found on Tumblr here and Ao3 here :D
The amazing Materalki who also made art for this fic are @reilynbears (x) @obligatorychinchillas (x) @chaotic-art-druid (x) @kavinskysdick (x) @inkingnothing (x) and @bubble–berry (x) - go show them some love :)
I had the pleasure of also writing a fic for the @grishaversebigbang! Please go check out the other wonderful fics written by my fellow Etherealki. 💙
Thank you to my Corporalki @jdobrski and my sensitivity readers @niecity, @nekonamicosplay, and @wybiegowritey
And my talented Materialki (please check their pieces out and show them some love):
@ninaaswaffles x
@artzy-lia-art x
@dingy-doodles x
@protec-kuwei-yul-bo x
Summary: When his father kicks him out of America in disgrace, Wylan leaves for London looking for opportunity. He loves telling stories and sharing knowledge, so when the publishing company Crows Publishing accepts his application as a writer, he is overjoyed. There’s only one problem- Wylan can’t physically write. The solution to this stumbles into his life as Jesper Fahey, the anonymous author of popular war-time novels and coworker. They quickly enter a co-writer relationship, but maybe Wylan wants it to be more. The pair starts to get closer, but it isn’t long before Wylan gets caught up in the secret goings of the Crows Publishing company.
“Mister Van Eck, I simply must inform you that you are not qualified for this job,” said the man. Wylan sighed and glared at the stout man sitting before him.
“Mr. Rollins, I really need this job. I don’t have anywhere to go, and I-” Wylan started but was quickly cut off.
“Van Eck, I couldn’t give a damn. Now, please see yourself out of my office,” Mr. Rollins said, spit flying out of his mouth. He didn’t give Wylan another look, proceeding to make a ‘shooing’ gesture and turned back to his records. Wylan grimaced and wiped his face with his sleeve.
Wylan stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in his tweed blazer. He grabbed the strap of his leather bag as Mr. Rollins lit a cigar. The beady gaze of the older man followed Wylan out of the office, and as Wylan stepped outside into the cool autumn breeze, the noisy bustle of London streets overwhelmed him. Wylan resisted the urge to plug his ears, which were not accustomed to the din. The countryside was never this loud. He missed the scent of the rolling fields, the clean autumn breezes, and the subtle hints of life on the farms nearby. He sighed disdainfully and stepped into the chaotic streets of London.
The intricately built buildings arched high above Wylan, seemingly watching his every move. What am I supposed to do now? His bag thumped against his side as he strolled the uneven cobblestone, dodging other pedestrians in long coats and large skirts. He was alone in this damn city with no steady source of income. If only my dad could see me now, Wylan thought, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth. He walked down Fleet Street, a sour expression stuck on his pale face. He strolled past the brightly lit shops of 36th street, the warm smells of the bakery wafting towards him. He stopped in front of the shop, observing the buttery pastries and golden rolls in the shop window. The soft light emanating from the bakery illuminated workers bustling around inside, putting more dough in the oven and piping thick jam on top of fluffy cakes. His mouth watered at the sight of flakey scones and he longed to taste at least one warm confectionery but tore himself away from the shop, turning back to the crowded streets. He certainly didn’t have the money for those types of luxuries yet.
He continued down the street, avoiding the large skirt of a beautiful fair-skinned brunette who strutted as if she owned the town. Her red dress flaunted her generous, soft body. She was fairly plump, and Wylan could tell her corset was laced far larger than customary. He stared as she bounced down the street, entering the bakery with a wide grin on her face. The other patrons stared after her, their expressions a mix of disgust and confusion. Wylan grinned to himself.
Loose pebbles skittered down the path as Wylan continued to make his way down to the run-down hotel that he called home for the time being. He’d managed to make enough money doing odd jobs between university classes to keep himself out of the streets, but if Wylan didn’t find steady work soon, he’d surely be down on his luck. He hurried down the cobblestone streets until he reached the hotel. The front needed a new paint job and windows were in a serious need of cleaning, but the rooms were in good enough condition. He stepped inside the lobby, which was empty save for a Suli family who waited on the moth-eaten couch and a tall, well-dressed man speaking quietly with the concierge. Trudging up the stairs, Wylan searched for his room number, turning right and then forward. He slid his key into the lock, taking off his jacket as he stepped into his hotel room.
He examined his belongings, anxiously making sure nothing was missing. Earlier in the week, he had experienced a run-in with a maid who had taken a liking to rifle through his belongings, looking through his music notebooks and pockets for spare change. He sighed in relief as he realized none of his belongings were swiped.
Wylan could hear horses trotting along the street below him, barkers shouting at passerby and the mumble of conversations over watered-down tea and lumpy rice pudding. He still couldn’t believe he was in London. It felt a lot bigger, even though it was barely big enough to fit a fraction of America. He sat down at the tiny desk in the corner of the room, lit by the setting sun. Sunlight streamed through the dusty window, illuminating his fiery copper-red hair. Setting his head in his hands, he rubbed his temples, willing the stress of the day to disappear.
He had no idea how he was going to sustain himself for much longer. The funds that his dad had sent him off with were running low, and it would only be a few more weeks until he would be kicked to the streets with only the clothes off his back and a university scholarship, forced to feed himself and fend off the rats and pests that lurked in the dark alleys. According to his calculations, he would be able to afford his room for three weeks if he cut back on his food budget and skipped meals. He groaned as he pushed himself out of the creaky wood chair, the moth-eaten upholstered cushion leaving dust on his nice black pants. Brushing himself off, he collected his school work from his leather bag. Thick leather-bound books and spare pieces of paper stared up at mockingly, the neat font gleaming under the setting sun. Rubbing his eyes, Wylan attempted to make out the words written on the crisp pieces of parchment but gave up after a few tedious moments.
Mind still preoccupied, Wylan grabbed his flute. The cool metal was familiar to his smooth hands, the brass instantly calming his nerves. Grabbing a few sets of sheet music that he had already memorized, he brought his flute to his mouth and began to play.
As the stars twinkled in the midnight blue sky outside his window, Wylan fought to ignore the rumble of his stomach. He had played for hours, taking breaks to try to read the work he was assigned but he quickly gave up; the frustration consumed him as simple words mocked him. He craved a flakey pastry from the bakery he’d passed earlier, but the almost non-existent weight of the money in his pocket reminded him that indulging in such luxuries would not suit him well. He fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, wondering if he could afford to buy potatoes at the grocer. Deciding to go food shopping tomorrow, Wylan got himself ready for bed, humming under his breath as the crows chirped in the distance.
***
The streets of London were never quiet at night, Wylan had soon realized after his first night at the hotel. The drunken steps of men stumbling out of bars and their loud, slurred voices filled the streets night after night near the gambling halls and pubs while the sound of horses trotting through the cobblestone alleys mixed with quiet sighs of private theatricals. Tonight, Wylan caught wind of a few conversations, most of them noisy neighbors complaining about the prices of tea and whatever was in the paper that morning. Curling up on the window sill, he felt the cool London air blow into his room.
“Brekker said he would be here by now,” mumbled a gruff voice. The voice was coming from a stocky man, leaning against a building with a few companions by his side. The man to his right drawled in a kaelish accent, “Damn that kid. I can’t stand him.”
“Did you hear what happened to Thomas today?” a blond man asked, rolling his neck.
Fiddling with the pistols at his hips, a Zemini man replied, “Did Brekker con him?”
The blond man nodded and replied, “Got ‘em good, too. I heard he got all of Thomas’ inheritance. Didn’t even see it coming.” The group of men continued to converse, loudly complaining about “Brekker”.
Wylan tuned out the rest of the conversation, opting to watch the early morning carriages drive across the roads. He watched rats scour the streets below, rotten apple cores littering the darkest corners of the alleyway. A young couple took a stroll along the other side of the street, speaking to each other in earnest. Wylan wondered what that was like. To have someone to tell everything to. Try as he might, Wylan’s father never could seem to get Wylan interested in the town girls. He just didn’t fancy any old girl, right? That had to have been the explanation for his blunt taste in women. They were just so peculiar. He often felt as if he never really liked any of them.
“Damn Brekker, can’t seem to keep his nose outta people’s business,” complained the man with the kaelish accent, snapping Wylan out of his daydreaming, “Do you reckon
The Dregs will write something about Thomas?” Wylan knew that The Dregs was a popular newspaper in London, published by Crows Publishing.
The Zemini man snorted and replied, “It’s a newspaper and publishing company.”
“So? They can’t possibly know everything.”
“You would be surprised, and I don’t read their shit. You’re the one reading penny bloods from Crows Publishing.”
Wylan knew about the penny bloods that were taking the country up by a storm. His neighbors often gossiped about them with their friends and family, and his classmates read them at school. They formed clubs where they would read them aloud and catch up on the latest episode. Wylan joined a few of those clubs, enjoying the way the writing sounded and taking note of the masterful ways they were written. The most popular penny bloods were written by a man named Kit Young starring a plot of war- novels and by the sounds of it, they were almost the most popular penny bloods in London, second only to a series of detective penny bloods published by the Dime Lions publishing company. Wylan heard that they told tales of crime and detection in America, but he didn’t find the descriptions as intriguing as the bloods written by Kit Young. Wylan participated in one of the clubs for Mr. Young’s stories and he latched on to every one of his words, but he had to stop going to the clubs as he needed to find work more than participate in leisure. He laughed bitterly as he thought about the war bloods and continued to ponder the on-goings of Crows Publishing.
Wylan had dared to hope that he could potentially be hired at the publishing company. He imagined conversing with his coworkers, and hopefully friends, about the latest stories and articles looking to be published. He imagined laughter spilling out of him and his coworkers and them sharing a mutual love for stories, him hopefully writing successful penny bloods that took the country by a storm. He wondered what he would do if he met Kit Young, and how he would praise the man for writing the stories that kept almost all of London intrigued. He let his imagination roam free until the sun rose over the gray city.
***
Though he was drowsy from his lack of sleep, Wylan tried to pay attention to the lesson his English professor was droning on about. He had yet to read the book assigned and he tried to understand what Professor Williams was saying about the metaphors in the book, but the encounter he witnessed from last night had been playing on repeat. The name “Crows Publishing” stuck out to him and kept nagging in the back of his mind. Wylan got chills down his spine each time he thought about how “Brekker” worked the gang and how disturbingly good he was at getting what he wanted. Doodling on the piece of paper in front of him, Wylan continued to ponder the mystery of Crows Publishing. Professor Williams announced that he would be calling on students, effectively breaking Wylan out of his stupor. Wylan silently prayed that he wouldn’t be called on as his professor scanned the room for participants. Though of course, Professor Williams decided it would be the perfect time to call on him.
Locking eyes with Wylan, his professor said, “Mr. Van Eck, what did you think about the relationship between Victor and his monster?”
Wylan gulped nervously, the room feeling awfully hot and stuffy. “I found their relationship, uh, quite intriguing.”
Professor Williams raised his eyebrow in expectation, “Anything else, Mr. Van Eck?”
“Uh, I thought that Victor treated the monster unfairly and that maybe the author was commenting on the times,” Wylan said, balling his hands into fists. He thanked the lord that Mary Shelley’s work was popular enough for him to have known the plot. His breathing began to get shallow, and he focused on simply breathing in and out to avoid getting too worked up.
Professor Williams sighed, nodded, and called on another student. Wylan felt the eyes of his classmates burning holes into the back of his head. Wylan shifted uncomfortably, digging his fingernails into his sweaty palms. He focused intently on the paper in front of him, fighting the blush creeping up his neck and heating his ears. He silently wished for the floor to open up and devour him; anything would be better than sitting here embarrassed.
As the class ended and students were packing up their belongings, Wylan felt a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him from exiting the classroom.
“Van Eck. Hold on,” said Professor Williams. A few moments after all the students had sifted through the door, he leaned against his oak desk, crossing his ankles and watching Wylan intently. Wylan gulped and settled his hands on the strap of his leather bag. “You wanted to see me, Professor?” Wylan said, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. “In fact, yes, Mr. Van Eck. Your performance in my class has been… less than satisfactory. I am quite aware of your, ahem,” Professor Williams cleared his throat, “difficulties with reading and writing, and I would like to help you.” Wylan looked towards the ground, “I’m sorry, Professor.” “I have a tutor willing to help you. I hope you accept this offer, as I truly think it would help you.” Wylan nodded, “I accept. Thanks.” Professor Williams smiled slightly. “Let me know when you’re available and I will let your tutor know. Don’t worry about the finances, I have it handled.” Wylan walked out the classroom, cheeks hot. His professor was paying for his tutoring sessions, and Wylan couldn’t help feeling useless. He wanted to think that the tutor could help him, but he was too overwhelmed by the fact that another human being had to know about his inability to read and write. Wylan silently decided to somehow find a way to pay his professor back; his search for a job becoming his top priority.
***
Professor Williams had found Wylan a tutor, all right. He was a 19-year-old boy with hints of patchy peach fuzz along his upper lip. His blonde hair was gelled back and he wrote a purple bowtie, rather than the standard university’s blue.
Wylan sat down at the library table his tutor, Joost, had found. Joost pulled out an intimidating stack of books and Wylan eyed the stack nervously.
“I think we should start with the book Professor Williams assigned to us. Do you have a copy?” Joost asked with a pretentious air in his voice. Wylan smiled, narrowing his eyes. He already disliked Joost.
“I do. It’s required, you know,” he said, the fake smile slathered on his face. If his jab affected Joost in any way, he didn’t show it. Joost eyed Wylan up and down, waiting for him to pull out his book. Wylan gritted his teeth and grabbed it out of his bag.
Joost smiled and opened his heavily- dog eared copy. “Let’s start with chapter one. Do you know what happens?”
Wylan bit his tongue to stop himself from lashing out at the blonde boy. “I don’t remember.”
Joost cleared his throat arrogantly. “Then open your book to chapter one.”
Wylan groaned internally as he began his slow descent into hell. He tried to read the words printed on the smooth sheets of paper, attempting to keep up with Joost’s monotone droning. After ‘reading’ the first chapter, Joost looked at Wylan expectantly.
“Now, can you finally tell me what happens in this chapter?” Joost looked at Wylan intently, and Wylan dropped his head into his hands, pulling on the strands of his hair. This was clearly not going to work.
***
No matter how well-intending Joost was, he was not the tutor for Wylan. Wylan endured two grueling weeks of his pretentious personality and he couldn’t stand how Joost treated him like the scum under his shoe. Wylan sagged in his seat, pretending to read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein as Professor Williams directed them to a certain part of the book. He glanced at the pages, scanning the words printed on the cream pages. As the rest of the class went on, Wylan avoided eye-contact with Professor Williams and Joost. He couldn’t stand the way Joost kept glancing at him. Wylan silently hoped that the class would be dismissed quickly.
Professor Williams held Wylan back at the end of class, grabbing his shoulder as he tried walking out of the door.
“I take that tutoring with Mr. Van Poel didn’t go well,” his professor said after the students cleared out of the room.
Wylan internally rolled his eyes, heat crawling up the back of his neck, “Joost was… fine.”
Professor Williams pursed his lips. “I’ll find you another tutor, Wylan.”
Wylan nodded, embarrassed of his additional request, and quickly thanked him and sprinted out of the room. As he rushed down the hallway, he felt his spirits deflate. Wylan couldn’t believe he’d already needed a new tutor. He already felt bad enough that his professor was paying for it, and now he’d complained about his old one? In times like these, he thought that maybe it was a good thing he could no longer disgrace the family name.
***
The library he’d agreed to meet up at was on campus, and it stretched a sizable distance. It had a big, arching front doorway and, once inside, beautiful oak shelves lining up the tall ceilings all the way to the back. Wylan held down a shaky breath thinking about the words lining those pages, words that he couldn’t read. It was almost suffocating.
There were about fifteen people spread around the library’s common area, including a plump, whiskery little man sitting at the front desk. Wylan shuffled his way over.
“Hi, sorry, I’m looking for a- um,” he glanced at the slip with the address and his tutor’s name, a name that he already memorized but he looked at the slip nonetheless, “Jesper Fahey?”
“Always great to meet a fan,” called a rich, deep voice behind Wylan. He spun on his heel, coming face to face with a tall man with a rich-umber complexion. The confident expression on his handsome face made Wylan’s heartbeat quicken.
“Hi, I’m uh- Wylan Eck Van. Uh- sorry, Wylan Van Eck. I’m assuming you’re Jesper Fahey?” Wylan said, stumbling over his words.
“That’s my name,” the stranger said, raising his eyebrows in amusement, “And nice to meet you, Wylan.” Wylan reached his hand out for a handshake, but Jesper started down the hallway, looking for a table to sit at. The whiskery man stared at Jesper and went back to reading, smoking his cigarette when Wylan turned back to him.
“Uh- wait up!” Wylan called, dashing to catch up with Jesper.
Finding an unoccupied desk in the middle of the library, Jesper sat down, pulling out various books from his worn messenger bag. Wylan sat down, mimicking Jesper’s actions.
“So…” Wylan started, glancing around the musty library, “What subject should we start with today?” Jesper looked up from his bag, pulling a textbook out.
“I was thinking we could do English. Professor Williams told me you were struggling with the reading assignment?” Jesper confirmed, and Wylan glanced down at his hands, heat flushing his cheeks.
Clearing his throat, Wylan replied, “Yeah. Something like that.”
Jesper gave him a wide smile and said, “It’s fine, Mr. Van Eck. So, how far are you into the book?”
“I haven’t- um, I haven’t started it,” Wylan clenched his fists tight, “I can’t read… it. I can’t read.” Jesper’s playful smile dropped just enough for Wylan to feel embarrassment flood over him.
“Oh,” Jesper simply said, scrunching his eyebrows, “Well, we can either read it together or I could give you a brief summary. Williams said that we should be at chapter four by now so I highly recommend the summary.” Jesper winked.
Wylan took a deep breath and felt the tension leave his body. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
Here’s my piece for the Grishaverse Big Bang! The piece is Prose and Cons (here) by @angelawongart, beta’d by @jdobrski, and my fellow artists are @protec-kuwei-yul-bo (artwork here), @dingy-doodles, and @artzy-lia-art (artwork here)! @grishaversebigbang
GVBB is here!! ok y’all here’s my piece for Prose and Cons, a fic about wylan, jesper, and a certain gang of crows + a publishing company. yes, i know you are DYING to read it (#relatable) so here’s the link: Prose and Cons
this fic is written by the ever so talented @angelawongart and beta’d by @jdobrski
other materialki that you must check out: @artzy-lia-art (@/artzy-lia on insta) {click me}, @ninaaswaffles {and me} , @protec-kuwei-yul-bo {and me!}
Recently I joined the event called “Grishaverse Big Bang” (@grishaversebigbang) where I got an opportunity to work with incredible and talented people from all around the world. This piece is an illustration to fanfiction called “Solstice” written by @reapersbarge and @wafflesandkruge.
You can read the story on AO3 and you really should do that! It’s well-written, funny and intriguing. Grisha, Fae and 20s, I was in from the very beginning
By the amazing Etherealnik (writers): @reapersbarge and @wafflesandkruge
Here's my GVBB pieces for the intriguing tale of mystery, fantastical creatures, and kidnapping involving our favorite Crows! Go read the story on AO3 for some "Fae" Nik, werewolf Mathias, Inej as a Wraith and more!! Check out the other amazing art for this gang as well:
