Intellectual Property Ch 1: Starfucker (Patreon)

Hi everyone! Here is chapter 1 of the Waterparks x Jekua fanfic based on (my interpretation of) the storyline of Intellectual Property, which I kind of espoused on here. If you don't know what the hell Jekua is, it's my latest fantasy novel series. You can buy the first 3 (of 6) books now!

Hopefully we can get one more pod episode in first, but with Awsten embarking on tour soon, I thought I'd try to get a chapter of this written + posted roughly every two weeks (though no guarantees). Also note that these have not gone through my usual revision (or planning) process, this is truly the first draft, but I think it is still good. When it eventually goes up on AO3 at some future unknown date, I'll probably polish it up a bit, but that is a future problem. 

Anyway, here's chapter one! 

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It had been a long trip from Hurrathsa back to Na Tana Island, one spent dallying on the ship’s upper deck shielding his eyes from the sun and increasing the brightness on his linkpad screen so that he could actually see it.

For most of the first day crossing the sea between Hurrathsa and the archipelago, Awsten had been barraged with fans asking him to take photos with them or write words and phrases on pieces of paper that they could get tattooed later. The same thing happened every time he traveled, so while it grated a little bit, he didn’t mind it too much. It came with the territory. Having hair dyed in a swirl of yellow, red, and blue didn’t help him blend in with a crowd either. And, in the end, he did appreciate the fans’ enthusiasm. The fervor died down on the second day, giving him a bit of breathing room, although he did catch people staring every so often. Especially at mealtimes, when he’d be sitting alone with a plate piled high with food, trying and failing to surreptitiously eat without dribbling sauce or grease on his clothes in front of prying eyes.

The third and final day of the trip saw him incessantly checking his linkpad for messages from the label about how the album was doing. There was no real reason to be stressing over the album’s performance now, though. The most important part of the album release cycle was right there in the name—the release—and it had been a full Season since it came out. The tour was over already, so it was time to relax at home.

Well, more accurately, his parents’ home. His former home.

My real home, he sometimes caught himself thinking, though he always tried to banish that thought as quickly as it sprung up, like culling a garden of weeds.

Six years had passed since Awsten left his childhood home on Na Tana Island and moved to the country of Hurrathsa, an ocean away, to pursue his music career and swapping out the U in his name for a W. He planted roots in the city of Aya Toske, what many considered to be the entertainment capital of the world. Since then, he’d released four albums and embarked on multiple sold-out tours, so he had to say that things were going fairly well.

One area of his life that wasn’t going well was the romance department. In truth, that was probably why he kept checking his linkpad over and over again throughout the trip. He was waiting to see if he ever heard back from Ash.

Ash was a guy he’d met on a dating app a few weeks before the album came out. Production had long since finished, but he liked to keep himself involved in every single aspect of the process, no matter how minute it was. As a result, he was still busy from the moment he woke up to the second his head hit his pillow at night. It left little time in the day for dating, but he was confident he could slip a fuck or two in.

They’d hit it off immediately, especially since Ash had no idea who he was, which was always a plus. His music was popular, sure, but his name wasn’t ubiquitous across the world like Zawé’s or Basker Owens’s. Those were two popstars who truly could not go anywhere without a large security detail while being absolutely swarmed by mobs of fans. The mere thought made Awsten’s skin itch. He had enough problems already.

He and Ash had spent a good long while messing around, but like always, it didn’t last long. These relationships never did, if they could even be called relationships. And while it had started out as nothing more than friends with benefits, Awsten found he’d developed deeper feelings for the guy as the weeks wore on. He wasn’t in love with him, not even close, but he enjoyed his company. He could’ve seen it working, if not for the fact he had to leave for tour.

And so it had ended.

Once he was back in town, after traveling across all of Hurrathsa (and select cities in Tollush and Kanojim, his booking agents once again ignoring the entirety of Peliq), he tried to rekindle things between them. Ash had been receptive at first, but it only took about a week for things to devolve into arguments and ignored texts. That same old classic story.

The last real message he’d sent to Ash was a string of accusations that might’ve been more accurately described by his therapist as deflections, but that was not something he wanted to think about right now. About a day after sending that, he’d sent a quick apology that was much more concise than his previous rant. He hoped it’d be enough to garner Ash’s forgiveness, but the message was marked as Read without any response thus far.

Whatever, doesn’t matter, Awsten repeatedly told himself. There would be other guys. There were guys before Ash, and there would be guys after Ash. There always were.

He stepped off the boat, one of the first passengers to disembark—a perk of his status, embarrassingly—and pulled out his linkpad to call up a car to take him across the city.

Still no text from Ash. He swore under his breath and then pocketed the device, deciding a long walk in the sunshine with some fresh air might alleviate his sour mood. He didn’t want to be cranky when he saw his parents for the first time since last Fall. If he came in with a bad attitude, his mother’s flamboyant cheeriness would only exacerbate it.

With a sigh, he took off.

The streets of Makanuele were crowded, as usual. It was a huge, dense city, one of the biggest in all the archipelago and definitely the biggest on Na Tana. The skyline looked ridiculous, with so many towering skyscrapers squished together into one glass-and-metal amalgamation. At the city’s epicenter was a deep crater, which housed Makanuele’s pride and joy: a staggeringly large stadium that housed every type of sporting event imaginable. Soccer, cometball, Jekua battles, anything and everything. Such events were not really Awsten’s thing, but as a kid his father had dragged him to cometball games every so often. At that age, he was more interested in the shitty nacho platters and deep-fried mekki dough than anything concerning the actual sport.

Most of the time, Awsten hated how densely-packed the city was, but it did have its advantages. For one, there was always something to do; if he so desired, there were plenty of movie theaters, stages to watch plays, beautiful parks to stroll through, multiple museums. Not to mention the sporting events, although he still hadn’t ever acquired the taste for them. There was also every type of cuisine imaginable at his fingertips, with a ton of places being open twenty-four hours a day, so he could fulfill a craving at any time. Basically anything from any region of Kanojim was his absolute jam, and one of his favorite spots was a restaurant called Gahnta’s that was only three blocks away from his parents’ house. He was a regular there, everyone on the staff knew him, and they made the spiciest noodle soup he'd ever tasted. That would be his dinner tonight.

It was a beautiful day, the type of day you could really only experience in the Volukho Isles. The sun shone brightly, warming his pale skin, while a gentle breeze blew, rustling the trees. He had opted for taking the longer route home, traipsing through one of the city’s many vibrant parks. There were several people there enjoying the scenery; some couples had laid out plaid blankets and were enjoying picnics, while some solo folks were seated on wrought iron benches, reading novels that Awsten would never in a million years pick up. If a book’s spine was thicker than half an inch, it was not a book for him.

Makanuele’s wildlife found pleasure in the sunny day too. A few Suelus scampered past him on the trail, chasing after each other and clicking their tongues playfully as they scurried up trees. One sent a small lightning bolt blasting at another, but it missed, scorching some tree bark instead. Suelus were one of the most common Jekuas in the world—long, slender rodents with yellowish-orange fur and stubby legs. Every Jekua had a “Type,” a sort of magical energy they could harness, and for Suelus, it was electricity. No one in his family had really pursued Jekua summoning (except for some random cousin named Greg who he very rarely spoke to and who Awsten’s clearest memory of was him throwing up at a theme park), even though it was one of the biggest pastimes in the world. Awsten himself had never maintained more than a mild interest in Jekua imprinting and battling, so he didn’t know all that much about the magical creatures, but everyone knew what a Suelu was. Every time you looked out your window, you could spot one running through grass or sitting up in a tree feasting on an acorn.

Tearing his focus from the mischievous Suelus (who he decided in his mind were a trio of brothers), Awsten took out his linkpad and clicked the screen on.

No notifications.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. He had a text from his manager and an email from his accountant that he swiped away, but nothing from Ash.

“Fuck you,” he muttered, swiping to unlock the screen and opening his messages. He pulled up his conversation with the other man and glared at that tiny, gray word at the bottom of the screen.

Read.

“Fuck you,” he said again, turning the screen off and angrily stuffing the linkpad into his pocket.

Why did he give such a shit? This was what always happened, without fail. Everything would start out peachy keen between him and some guy, then over time, their sex would turn into arguments which would turn into more sex, over and over again until the relationship’s flame guttered out.

And yet it always irked him. No matter how many times he told himself he didn’t care, he did. It was unbelievably aggravating, not being able to detach from these men to the extent that he wanted to.

Maybe it just hurt because he wanted it. Wanted it to work, to turn into something more than it usually did with these guys. But oh well.

Fuck you, he thought, unsure whether he was directing the venomous words toward Ash or himself. Either way, he hadn’t said it aloud this third time, so maybe that was an improvement. Kind of.

It took about half an hour for him to finally reach his destination. Mercifully, only one person had stopped to ask him for a photo, which was a low number considering he’d become something of a hometown hero over the years. Makanuele was a big city, though, and he knew that a big Jekua tournament was coming up in the next few weeks, so there was probably an even greater number of people there than usual.

Awsten took in a deep breath and let it out slow before he approached his parents’ front door.

Hisfront door?

It was all muddled in his head. This was the house where he grew up, and although he hadn’t lived there in years, it was hard to say that his apartment in Aya Toske felt like home. He had barely even decorated this latest place yet aside from the bare minimum furnishings, despite having lived in it for almost two years now. It was nicer than the absolute shithole he'd been living in before, but something about it still hadn’t quite clicked. Maybe someday it would.

Regardless, it was weird to think of this place as his home. He hadn’t lived there in years, and he knew he never would again. Still, something about the small house on the outskirts of the city made his heart swell every time he entered it.

He set his bag on the ground then rapped his knuckles on the door. Immediately, he heard his mother squealing on the other side of it. After hitting a note that he himself couldn’t even sing, she screamed giddily, “He’s here! He’s here!”

Footsteps rapidly approached the door, eliciting a chuckle from Awsten. Then the faded blue door swung open and his short, skinny mother stood before him, her oversized glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose and her mouth stretched in an impossibly wide grin.

“My boy! My baby boy!” she beamed, rushing out to wrap him in a tight hug. Though she was petite in size, she was strong as hell. She planted seven wet kisses on his cheek. At least she didn’t wear lipstick that would smear off on him.

“Hi, Mom,” he greeted her, patting her on the back.

His father trundled into view of the doorway, his gut hanging over his belt, covered by his pale green button-up shirt tucked into some jeans. “Hey there, champ,” his father said softly, waving as he grew nearer.

“Hey,” Awsten said, still trapped in his mother’s vise-grip. Usually this hug lasted for what felt like three hours, until the woman tuckered herself out.

When she finally let go, he was able to give his father a hug as well. “How was the trip?” he asked, taking a step back and sliding his hangs into his pockets.

“Fine,” Awsten replied. “Just boring.” With his short attention span, he hated being stuck on a boat for multiple days while traveling between countries. It used to be that a company called Lakahlo Labs maintained teleporter pads between the Volukho Isles and major cities in Hurrathsa. That had ended eight years ago, however, when there was some malfunction with a teleporter that resulted in the destruction of Pakree Island. Ever since, the company as well as the government were understandably twitchy about the tech and had deactivated every teleporter. Maybe things were safer now, but Awsten did admittedly miss simply scanning a card and instantly zapping over to another city.

“Didn’t bring a good book with you, huh?” said his father cheekily.

“Oooh! I have a few recommendations, if you want them,” said his mother. Both his parents chuckled.

Awsten gave them an exaggerated eye roll. They were both big readers and perpetually gave him a hard time about his lack of interest in the hobby. “I’m good, thanks,” he said. Apparently he would rather stick to checking his linkpad notifications eighty thousand times per day.

“We’re so glad to have you home,” his mother cooed as she led him into the kitchen. “We bought all your favorite snacks. You still like those white cheddar rice crackers, don’t you?”

“Sure,” he said dismissively. They were a snack he’d mentioned liking once about ten years ago and it was a little factoid his mother had clung to ever since. He did like them, yes, but the way his mother obsessed over them would make a person think that was the only thing he ate.

His mother then asked, “How long are you saying this time? I’m so excited you’re here.”

“I don’t know yet,” he answered, which was the truth. Most times he visited, it was with an open-ended ticket. His aim was always to spend several weeks at home, but usually some task back in Aya Toske dragged him back over there. When you were a public figure, you were never truly off the clock, for better or for worse. Once something was finished, there was always something else to be done next. Always. It never ended.

No breaks. No rest. Not really.

It was the thirty-seventh of Summer, and most likely he’d be gone before the Season was done. Realistically, he’d probably be back on a boat to Hurrathsa even before the sixtieth of Summer. It was rare that his visits lasted longer than that, no matter how many times he told himself he deserved a nice, long vacation.

He set his bag down on the kitchen table and joined his parents over by the island in the center of the room. Its top was covered in garish green-and-yellow tiles that his mother had complained about for decades, yet never replaced. His father was too lazy to make himself care about something like that. Awsten thought it was kind of endearing, having this one spot in the house that went completely against the rest of its aesthetic.

His fingernails were overgrown and clack-clack-clacked on the countertop as the three of them stood encircling the island. A cutting board had been left behind, with a large chef’s knife and a half-chopped tomato resting atop, leaking its watery red guts onto the board. His mother picked up the knife and resumed cutting the tomato, the knife’s sharp edge gliding through its tender flesh.

Awsten’s brow furrowed and he asked her, “Were you cutting this before you opened the door for me?”

“Duh.”

He instinctively tried looking over his shoulder, but of course could not see his own back. “Did you get tomato juice all over me?” he asked, irritation tingeing his words. He knew with unflinching certainty that there hadn’t been enough time between him knocking and her answering for her to wash her hands off.

“No, of course not!” she said, waving away his words, wagging the knife in the air. As she said this, his father peered around him to get a look at his back and scoffed.

Awsten did not like the sound of that. “What?” he said.

“Nothing,” his father shrugged.

“No, fuck off. What?” he said.

His father laughed. “There might be a few red fingerprints on your shirt. No big deal.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Awsten repeated. “Are you serious?”

Another laugh was his father’s only response.

Awsten glared at his mother. “Do you realize how expensive this shirt was?”

“It’s a plain white shirt,” said his father.

“It’s not a plain white shirt.” He tugged on the bottom of the shirt, where in the lefthand corner there was a pastel pink brand logo about an inch wide.

His father said, “Oh, there’s a scribble on it. Alright. So I’m guessing…ten dollars? Maybe seven?”

“It was two hundred.”

His mother stopped chopping and stared at him, mouth agape. Meanwhile, his father had erupted in full-on barking laughter. “Son, somebody swindled you,” he said.

“It’s high fashion,” said Awsten. “You wouldn’t get it.”

A shrug from his father. “You Aya Toskans are a different breed.”

Awsten inhaled deeply and sighed loudly. His mother was still staring at him wide-eyed and wide-mouthed. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, then resumed chopping the tomato. “I’ll get it out, don’t worry.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” he said, sighing again. “It’s made out of a special fabric.”

“How special can a fabric be, really?” his father asked. “It’s all just shirts at the end of the day, right?”

He had no intention of explaining the ins and outs of the fashion industry to his bumbling parents today, so he refrained from responding to that comment.

Instead, he asked, “What are these for?” and nodded at the pile of diced tomato.

“Dinner,” his mother replied.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” he felt the need to point out.

“I’m getting an early start. It’s gonna take a while, and anyway, your dad gets hungry early.”

“I eat snacks, but I still get hungry,” his father chimed in.

“Speaking of, grab some almonds for yourself, Bernard,” his mother said. Then, to Awsten, “Do you want some of those rice crackers?”

“No, I’m fine,” Awsten said. Especially if dinner was going to be in, like, two hours. Then he said, “I was actually planning on getting some Gahnta’s for dinner.” That spicy broth was calling to him. If it didn’t feel like his tongue was melting by the time he reached the bottom of the bowl, then it wasn’t spicy enough.

“I really thought you were going to be home for dinner,” his mother said disappointedly.

“Sorry.” He stopped himself from derisively pointing out that he always got Gahnta’s for dinner the first night of every visit, so really she should have known better.

“Who are you going with?” she asked.

Awsten opened his mouth to answer, but was swiftly interrupted. At his mother’s suggestion, her husband was now rummaging through the pantry in search of almonds. “I don’t think we have any almonds,” he said.

“They’re in there somewhere, I just saw the bag this morning.”

“I think we just have pistachios.”

“Maybe that’s what I was thinking of.”

“No almonds, though.”

“So just eat the pistachios, then, Bernard.” She groaned and looked to Awsten then again asked, “Who are you going to Gahnta’s with?”

He said, “No one.” A few friends of his still lived in Makanuele, and he did plan on seeing them, but not tonight. He was absolutely exhausted (and growing more so by the second with this conversation), and the notion of being “on” for several more hours with friends made him want to jump off a roof.

All he wanted was to sit down at Gahnta’s, in his usual booth, all by himself. Listening to quiet jazz playing through the restaurant’s tinny speakers while he ate his soup, completely isolated from the rest of the world.

Except for whatever was on his linkpad, which he would of course be scrolling through while he ate.

“You don’t want to ask Travis or Jawn to go with you?” his mother said.

“Not really, no,” he said, yearning for that precious and oh so rare solitude. He could see the two of them tomorrow. He also didn’t need his mother to know that things had been somewhat awkward and strained between him and Jawn ever since they hooked up during his previous visit.

“Well, okay,” his mother said, sounding like she’d just put her dog down. “I’ll keep some leftovers for you to eat for lunch tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna go put my stuff in my room.”

With that, he grabbed his bag and left his parents to chatter away while his father chomped on pistachios.

Upstairs, his room was exactly as he’d left it six years prior. So was his sister’s, although she wasn’t home. She too had moved to Aya Toske, a few years after he did, to kickstart a career in modeling (a thought which made him shudder). He wasn’t sure if she’d be coming by any time soon, but that was neither here nor there.

The walls of his childhood bedroom were painted a striking blue, and he still had a bunkbed set up in the far corner. Underneath it was not a second bed, but instead housed a writing desk and a couple of shelves where he kept a collection of his favorite CDs that he hadn’t yet transported to his apartment in Aya Toske. Maybe this time he finally would; maybe small touches like that were what kept his place over there from truly feeling like a home. Or maybe they were just CDs.

He tossed his bag carelessly onto the ground, kicked off his shoes, and hoisted himself up the wooden ladder onto his bed. The sheets smelled freshly laundered, and he couldn’t help but wonder how his frail mother had managed to clamber up there and make the bed. His head sunk in to his soft, fluffy pillow, and he inhaled the house’s familiar scent.

Whenever you visited a friend’s home, you could always detect their family’s specific aroma in the space. Usually it wasn’t ever anything bad, but it was distinctly them. It was interesting, because a person could never smell their own home’s scent, just others’.

Awsten, though, could smell this house’s scent now. He spent enough time away from it that it became both familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Unfamiliar enough for him to smell it at all, yet familiar enough for it to make him feel at home. It was a strange juxtaposition that he hated thinking about.

He rolled over and gazed up at the ceiling, his hands tapping on his belly while he wiggled his feet.

Not sure how to occupy his time for the several hours before he made his way over to Gahnta’s, he did what he always did, which was take out his linkpad.

He swiped away another email notification, this time from his booking agent who was inquiring whether he wanted to play some dates in Tollush in Winter of next year, at the end of 2906. Given that it was Summer 2905, he had absolutely no interest in thinking that far ahead right now. He’d probably accept the dates, but he would reply to the message later.

A few more notifications were cast into the void, things that he could either respond to later or not at all. There were still no messages from Ash, though.

“Fuck you,” he grumbled.

He’d said it out loud again. A step back.

Oh well.