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marauderundercover · 3 years

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Taking Chances Ch. 19: Lack of Communication (Wayne Gala)

AO3

The shrill ringing of her phone tugs Marinette from her sewing machine. Glancing at the caller ID, she grins widely.

“Hey Uncle Jagged.” She says, pushing her chair away from her desk. It’d been a couple weeks since she last heard from the man as his tour had really picked up at the end. It was practically back to back concerts, so that didn’t leave a lot of time for phone calls or face times.

“Little Rocker! Glad I caught you. I have an event next week and I was hoping I could drop by the bakery so you could fix a tear in one of my suits.” He says. Marinette winces. That’s what she was supposed to do. Tell Uncle Jagged about...well, everything.

“Yeah, about that…” She trails off, wishing she’d thought to tell him about the whole ‘adopted’ thing the last time she’d seen him in person. “I’m actually not in Paris right now. I’m in Gotham spending the summer with my birth father.” She says, deciding to just rip the bandaid off. There’s silence for a minute. Then two. She looks down at the phone, frowning. Did he hang up?

“You’re in Gotham?” He finally says.

“Yup.” She says, sighing. “I’m really sorry I won’t be able to fix your suit.”

“What, no, this is great! See the event is in Gotham! It’s just a bunch of rich people and- hold on. Penny!” He yells. She catches bits and pieces of their conversation, Penny agreeing wholeheartedly with whatever it is Jagged has suddenly decided. “I have a rocking idea.” He adds.

“Okay? I’m listening.” She says, glancing at the new dress she’d started that was pinned on her dress form. She was having trouble with the shape and was quickly getting frustrated with her struggles.

“You could come with! As MDC, of course. You could wear one of your designs and get known in Gotham. The event is supposed to be highly publicized. Penny thinks it’d be a good way to get known in the US. So, whatdya say?” Jagged asks, and Marinette can just tell that he’s grinning widely, can hear it in his voice. She thinks for a minute, glancing at the dress form with a new sense of determination.

“I’ll have to double check with my dad.” She says, trying to think if they had any plans for next week.

“Of course! Let me know soon, okay? Penny says she wants to start publicizing MDC’s appearance if you’re gonna come.” Jagged says. Marinette agrees before hanging up, thinking. Would her dad let her go alone? Or would he insist on coming with? She knew Gotham was dangerous, it’s why she hadn’t gone anywhere by herself despite being a hero herself. She didn’t want to risk her Miraculous falling into the wrong hands, even if the person didn’t realize what they had. Making up her mind, she sets off to find her dad and ask about the event. She still wasn’t quite sure what it was, just that there would be plenty of big names and plenty of journalists- the perfect opportunity to build up a clientele outside of France. Checking his study first, she’s unsurprised to see he’s not there. Knowing chances were good that he was in the cave, she pulls a domino mask out of her purse. Her dad had asked her a couple days ago to wear one in the cave just in case they had unexpected visitors. Kinda like how her and Chat Noir had shown up unexpectedly that one time. Complete accident. Changing the time on the clock, she presses the button that opens the entrance, sliding in and walking through the passage. Glancing into the cave, she grins when she sees her dad, in costume, sitting at the computer.

“Hey B!” She says, knowing not to call him Dad while he was in the cowl. Something about it making him seem less intimidating, or something.

“Ladybird.” He nods. She frowns, glancing at the computer screen and wincing when she sees Superman on screen.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.” She apologizes, waving awkwardly at the man on the screen. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Hello. Ladybird, was it?” He asks and she nods.

“Er, yeah. Ladybird. Nice to meet you.” She says, rocking back and forth on her heels, eyes darting around the cave. Maybe she should just leave and ask later.

“Is everything alright?” Her dad asks, obviously confused at her presence in the cave. Not that she wasn’t allowed, she just didn’t spend a lot of time there.

“I was just wondering if I could go to an event next week with my Uncle.” She says, trying to stay vague. He’s silent for a moment before nodding.

“We can discuss details later, but that should be fine.” He says. Marinette grins, bouncing up and down in excitement.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cheers, resisting the urge to hug him. “Bye Mr. Superman!” She adds, waving before running back through the passage to work on her dress some more. This was going to be amazing!

---

Penny had picked Marinette up early the morning of the Gala. She still wasn’t sure what it was for, but that didn’t bother her. She was just excited that she had finally finished her newest dress in time for the Gala. Penny had insisted on her coming over early so that she could help Marinette do her hair and makeup, which she was thankful for. Selina apparently had something to do tonight and couldn’t help her, and she would’ve definitely been her first choice. Smiling down at her dress, Marinette looks at Penny with a grin.

“Could you take a picture for me without my face covering so I can show my parents later?” She asks. Penny nods, smiling back.

“That dress is amazing, Marinette. Truly one of your best designs.” She says. Marinette blushes at the compliment before smiling at the camera. She thanks Penny and takes her phone back, sending the picture to her Maman and Papa as well as her dad and Selina. She was extremely proud of the dress and wanted them to see her in it before she added her ‘disguise’ to protect her identity.

“Hey, Aunt Penny?” Marinette says, looking up at the woman. Penny hums, putting on lipstick. “What is the event for? All Jagged said was that it’s a Gala.” She says, Penny huffs.

“Of course that man didn’t give you any other information. Honestly, sometimes- you agreed without knowing what the event was?” She says, eyebrows raised. Marinette shrugs.

“Uncle Jagged said that it’d be fun. I trust him.” She says. Penny sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Remind me to read any contracts before you sign them, okay sweetie?” She says. Marinette nods and Penny smiles. “Good. Anyway, it’s a Wayne Gala. The family hosts several every year to help raise money for the Wayne foundation.” Penny says and Marinette freezes. Wayne Gala? As in, her father? Her family? Were they really having a Gala tonight without telling her? Or inviting her? Were they….were they embarrassed by her?

“Like, Bruce Wayne?” Marinette manages to ask, trying hard to ignore the way her heart breaks when Penny nods. That was why Selina couldn’t help her. She had to get ready for the Gala. And if she had to guess, the rest of her family was also going. What would they have done with her if she hadn’t had plans? Would they have told her then? Or would they have acted like nothing was happening. Where even was the Gala? Oh my god. It was at the Manor, wasn’t it. The thought strikes her and she winces, giving Penny a small, tense smile.

“Are you okay?” She asks, obviously concerned. Marinette nods sharply.

“Yes, one last question. Where is it?” She asks. Penny frowns, obviously not believing that Marinette was okay, but luckily not pushing it.

“Wayne Manor. The Galas are the only time the manor is opened to other celebrities. The family is usually very private.” Penny says. Marinette huffs out a puff of air, working hard to ignore the hurt in her chest. The feeling that she wasn’t enough. That they didn’t need her. Suddenly, she wasn’t excited anymore. She really wished she would have asked Jagged for more details last week, because now she was stuck going. And it was going to suck.

---

Feeling confident in her design and disguise, Marinette walks through the wall of journalists with Penny and Jagged at her sides. She was working hard to push down the intrusive thoughts that were threatening to take over. Instead, she tried to focus on the questions being called out by the journalists.

“Jagged! Jagged Stone, is this really MDC?” One of them asks. Jagged immediately stopping and shooting the reporter a wide smile.

“Of course it is! She designed all three of these outfits.” He says, gesturing between the trio. “Isn’t she rocking!”

“MDC, why did you pick the Wayne gala to make your first public appearance?” Another journalist asks. Marinette turns to Penny, trusting her to answer the question. They’d agreed before leaving the car that it was best if Marinette didn’t speak directly to any journalists. It would make it easier for them to place her age and where she’s from, given her accent.

“She was in the area and Mr. Stone insisted his favorite designer needed a chance to flaunt her skills in America.” Penny says, flashing the journalist a wide smile before gently pushing Marinette along down the line of journalists. Marinette nods to the man who’d asked the question before following Jagged and Penny closely, her stomach churning as they walk up the front steps of the manor. Of the place she’d been living since summer started. Where apparently they didn’t care to tell her about one of the biggest family events of the year. No big deal. She thought they were accepting her, that they were all getting closer. But maybe not. Her dad not telling her didn’t hurt nearly as much as her brothers not telling her. That felt like a knife in her chest. Trying hard to move gracefully instead of tensely, she follows Jagged into the manor and into the ballroom. Her jaw clenches as she spots her family across the room.

“Mr. Stone, I’m Clark Kent. Nice to meet you.” A man with a notebook and camera says, walking over and extending a hand. Marinette narrows her eyes. She thought the journalists were supposed to stay outside. And this man looked oddly familiar….

“Rocking meeting you man! You a journalist?” He asks, his calculating look hidden by a wide grin. Mr. Kent chuckles.

“Yes, sorry for being so forward. Mr. Wayne and I are friends, so he lets my wife and I have an exclusive pass to come inside the Galas.” He says, glancing at Marinette over his glasses. She watches as his eyes widen slightly before he schools his features back into a neutral expression.

“That’s pretty rock n roll of him!” Jagged says, clapping Mr. Kent on the shoulder.

“It is. Pardon me, but are you MDC?” He asks, turning to look at Marinette once again. She glances at Penny, shaking her head to let her know that she’ll speak for herself for this one. As upset as she was with her dad, he obviously trusted this man. So she would as well.

“I am. Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Kent.” She says, extending her hand. He smiles, shaking her hand.

“And you, ma’am. I must say, I was not expecting to see you here. I was under the impression that in person events weren’t your forte.” He says, clearly fishing for something. She knew how journalists worked, she’d seen Alya at work enough times to understand that the man in front of her was looking for a story. One she wouldn’t be giving, no matter how much her father trusted the man.

“I like to occasionally surprise people.” She says, waving her hand in a noncommittal way. “Keep them on their toes.”

“I can respect that. Well, I’ll let you all get back to your evening. Nice to meet you all.” He says. She nods back at him, not missing the way he immediately darts off to her dad. She watches as the two start talking, a surprised look on her dad’s face before he turns and sees her. She knows he recognizes the dress. Knows that he knows as well who is underneath the veil. She turns, deciding to ignore him. He didn’t want her here, fine. She’d make sure she stayed out of his way.

---

Clark Kent was confused. He’d known that Bruce must have another kid, adopted in some way. He didn’t just work with random vigilantes, especially not in his city. So knowing that Gotham had a new vigilante named Ladybird, he put two and two together. Didn’t take the world’s greatest detective. But what was confusing was the fact that no new faces showed up with the Waynes as they walked into the ballroom for the Gala. Making a note to ask him about it later, Clark makes his way around the room, talking to familiar faces and names, writing things down that would help the story he was being forced to write on the Gala. These events were not his favorite to cover, hardly anything ever happened. Until he heard the commotion outside, other journalists calling out to MDC. He blinks in surprise. MDC had never made a public appearance before. This was an odd one to choose. Preparing himself to confront the designer, he’s surprised as she walks in behind Jagged Stone. He’s even more surprised when he realizes she had to be a teenager. He chats with the girl and Jagged, glancing down at her over the top of his glasses, shock immediately flooding him. The girl had injuries. Hundreds of them. Bones fused back together haphazardly. Quickly excusing himself, he rushes over to Bruce.

“Do you know who MDC is? Because that girl is definitely younger than Tim. And she has hundreds of injuries, Bruce. Hundreds.” He says quietly, watching as Bruce turns and glances at the girl, his eyes widening slightly.

“Shit.” He mutters.

“What?” Clark asks, trying to figure out if he should also be concerned. Bruce smiles, but it's tense.

“That is my daughter.” He says. Clark blinks.

“That’s the new one? Why didn’t she show up with the rest of the family?” He asks.

“I knew she had plans for tonight, so I didn’t tell her about the Gala. I was going to warn her about it, if she didn’t have plans. So she knew to stay in her room.” Bruce explains. Clark frowns.

“You were going to keep her locked up?” He asks incredulously. Not even the least social Wayne was kept locked away for the Galas.

“Of course not. It’s just- she hasn’t said she wants to be announced yet. She hasn’t even said anything about being MDC because she hates the spotlight. I couldn’t just throw her to the sharks. I’m just trying to do what’s best for her.” Bruce says, standing up straighter. Clark sighs.

“Did you actually talk to her about it? Or did you just assume?” He asks, Bruce huffs.

“I think I know my daughter a little more than you do, Kent.” He says.

“Really? Because from here it sounds like she’s about two breaths away from a panic attack. And Penny Rolling keeps reassuring her that they don’t have to stay long. Oh- and now she’s apologizing for not telling her it was a Wayne Gala until today, but she’s also clearly confused as to why it’s upsetting her. And now-”

“Okay, I get it.” Bruce snaps, cutting him off. Clark raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure what happened, but you should fix this.” He says with a pointed look before walking away. God knows the Bats all need a push in the right direction every now and again.

---

Jason frowns as he looks around the room for Marinette. He knew that she hadn’t come with the family, B hadn’t explained that one. But he had heard that MDC was there. And he wanted to talk to her, make sure she was doing okay. These things were annoying as hell and he knew he wouldn’t get through it if he didn’t have his brothers (even if they were little shits). He finally spots her near a wall, clearly trying to disappear. He grins widely, walking over and grinning at her.

“Well, MDC, fancy seeing you here.” He teases with a wink. He watches her for some kind of reaction, frowning when he doesn’t get one. “Pix?” He says, softer this time as he looks at his baby sister.

“Oh, that’s right, I wasn’t supposed to be here, was I? Well, sorry to disappoint.” She snaps bitterly. Jason flinches back, surprised at her tone.

“What’re you talking about?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. Why did she sound so hurt? Why did she think they didn’t want her there?

“Clearly I’m not as much of the family as I thought I was.” She hisses under her breath. He starts to deny that, but she cuts him off with a humorless laugh. “Bruce didn’t even tell me that there was a Gala. None of you did either. A Wayne family Gala and I wasn’t told. I should’ve known better.” She says, turning to walk away. He grabs her wrist gently, stopping her.

“I promise you, we want you here. Dick, Damian, Tim, me- we all want you here. I can’t speak for B, I’ll definitely be having words with the son of a bitch later, but we want you here.” He says, frowning as he listens to her sniffle under her veil. “Pixie, we thought you knew. He told us you weren’t ready to come to this. I swear to you, we would have told you if we knew. I swear.” He adds. His heart breaks as he hears a hiccupped sob break free from her. He wants nothing more than to wrap his baby sister in a hug, but he knows he can’t. Media’d have a field day.

“Really?” She asks in a small voice. Jason nods.

“Hell yeah Pix. Tell ya what, I’m gonna go get the others and then we’re all gonna sneak out. Take one of the old man’s cars and get some garbage fast food. Who needs this lameass party anyway.” He says, hoping she’ll agree. He’ll let himself be mad at Bruce later. And boy was he gonna be mad. The old man had really fucked up this time. It was one thing to ask Mari to not go to the Gala, or to think she wasn’t ready for it. It was a completely other thing to not even give her the chance to decide, or tell her at all. Cause now she was hurt and thinking everyone hated her. Well, he wasn’t gonna let that happen. Not on his watch.

“Lemme just go tell Jagged and Penny real quick.” She agrees, scurrying off. The second she walks away Jason lets his smile drop into a scowl. That son of a bitch. Storming over to his brothers, he tugs them over to the wall. Better not to let B get word of where they’re going.

“What is the meaning of this?” Damian asks with a scowl.

“Pixie’s gonna tell her Aunt and Uncle that she’s leaving and then we’re stealing one of B’s cars to go to McDonalds.” He says simply. Tim frowns.

“And we’re doing this because?” He prompts.

“Because B apparently didn’t tell the kid about the Gala. And she assumed we knew, and that we all hate her.” Jason explains with a frown.

“Father said she didn’t want to attend.” Damian says, and Jason huffs.

“Yeah, well apparently he lied. She had no clue that the event she was going to as MDC was a Wayne Gala.” He says.

“I’ll go get the car and pull it up front.” Dick says, a determined look on his face. Sometimes his ‘we’re a family and we stick together’ shit annoyed the hell outta Jason, but he was thankful for it today.

“I’m gonna go grab Selina’s coat for her to put on. I saw her dress, and if any MDC fan sees her leaving with us it’s gonna start a media circus.” Tim says, walking away to the coat room. Jason sighs, watching Marinette from across the room. A cleared throat beside him tugs his attention back to his youngest brother.

“What?” He asks, pushing his frustration down. He’d go shoot something later, but right now he was determined to not take his frustration at Bruce out on his siblings.

“Why would Father intentionally keep her from the Gala? She is far more adept at social interaction than I am.” Damian says with a frown. Jason sighs, shrugging.

“No clue. But I’m not about to let her push herself away from the rest of us just because B fucked up.” He says, watching as she walks over to the wall, almost disappearing in the shadows. He nods towards her, making sure Damian follows. The second Tim has Selina’s coat, their small group is off, sneaking out one of the side doors and walking past the journalists, sprinting to Dick and the waiting car. They all jump in and she tears the veil off her face, making Jason wince slightly at her red, puffy eyes. Dick slams on the gas, eliciting a curse from Jason and a squeal of surprise from Marinette.

“So! We broke out of that stuffy party. Where are we headed?” Dick asks, glancing in the rearview mirror to make eye contact with Jason. Jason grins.

“We go get a shit ton of junk food from McDonalds and eat it in the car. Give it the old, fast food smell that B loves oh so much.” He says. Marinette snorts, and Jason grins at her. He’d give B hell later, but for now, he was going to enjoy spending time with his siblings.

---

Bruce frowns as he glances around the Gala, not seeing his daughter. Or any of his other children. He made a mental note to talk to them later. Perhaps keeping the Gala from Marinette wasn’t his best decision.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 15 - ao3 -

“I thought Sect Leader Wen was above visiting other sects,” Lan Qiren said sullenly, leading Wen Ruohan on a tour through the Cloud Recesses. He had nothing better to do: classes had been temporarily dismissed on account of sect business, what with the teachers all being recruited to receive the Wen sect’s retinue; at this rate, this year’s rogue cultivators wouldn’t learn anything of value, and Lan Qiren had the sneaking suspicion that it was somehow all his fault.

“I can’t imagine why you think that. Don’t I attend every discussion conference without fail?” Wen Ruohan said smoothly even though that wasn’t what Lan Qiren had meant and he knew it.

Wen Ruohan normally treated himself and his clan like the imperium, preferring to summon visitors rather than go to visit. Presumably, in this instance, it was only that his desire to bother Lan Qiren had overcome his vanity, or else perhaps he’d reminded himself that even the Emperor would sometimes summer at the homes of his lackeys, allowing them an unasked-for opportunity to pay homage to him.

Truly a very irritating man. Lan Qiren was almost entirely sure that it wasn’t his adolescent brain speaking, either, though he supposed he couldn’t discount the possibility entirely – he’d been very irritated by Cangse Sanren, too, and they were friends now.

Actually, he was still pretty irritated with her sometimes. Maybe it was just a symptom of adolescence. Or perhaps it was that strange similarity he sometimes found himself observing between them, whether it was their seeming timelessness or their overweening arrogance...

Well, when in doubt, there were always the rules: Do not disrespect your elders.

Also possibly Have affection and gratefulness, though that one had always been hard.

Lan Qiren took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then released it, taking stock of himself: his walking pace was steady, his hands were clasped together so that they didn’t flail, and his appearance was calm. It was just a matter of getting his emotions under control, and he had plenty of experience with that.

“You’re right,” he finally said, releasing his irritation with an effort of willpower. “You do. I was being rude, and it was uncalled for. Is there any particular part of the Cloud Recesses that da-ge would like to see? I doubt the Library Pavilion or the main buildings have varied much since your last visit, but the gardens and wild forest are beautiful this time of year.”

Wen Ruohan was quiet for a while, the two of them walking side by side in silence, and then unexpectedly he said, “Does the Lan sect use well-water or river-water as your main source of drinking water?”

Lan Qiren stared at him in disbelief. “I’m not telling you that. That’s private!”

“Is it?”

“Not everyone’s like the Nightless City, telling everyone that they rely on a half-dozen imported sources for their food and drink and challenging them to try to do something about it,” Lan Qiren said crossly, and tried to remind himself Sneering for no reason is prohibited. “I’m not actually a half-wit, you know.”

“You misunderstand me,” Wen Ruohan said, though his eyes, narrow with satisfaction like a cat, suggested that he would have been more than happy to take advantage of the situation if Lan Qiren had been so foolish. “I only wished to know whether it was the source of water they are drinking that has rendered them all blind to the treasure they hold in their hands.”

“…I’m not showing you our treasury, either.”

Wen Ruohan barked a laugh. “That’s not what I meant, either. Why don’t you show me your Wall of Discipline? I’m sure there are a few new rules since last time.”

There probably were – the rules were like water, both eternal and in a constant state of flux – so Lan Qiren obediently turned his feet in that direction.

“It’s not a work-day,” he warned. “So you’ll miss out on any carving. But the rules are there, and I can answer any questions you have about them, if you like.”

“Any question? A bold claim.”

“Any question I know the answer to,” Lan Qiren clarified. “If I don’t, I can ask one of my teachers, or look at the books in the library.”

They walked in silence a little longer, although a surprisingly comfortable one given their age difference and Wen Ruohan’s general aura of barely restrained bloodthirst. Perhaps Lan Qiren was just getting used to it.

“Have I disturbed your afternoon plans with my visit?” Wen Ruohan eventually asked, gazing at the Wall contemplatively.

“I was going to meditate in the Cold Spring,” Lan Qiren said. “But it’s nothing I can’t do another time.”

“A Cold Spring?” A faint smirk flickered on Wen Ruohan’s face. “That’s useful for the suppression of yang energy.”

“And for cultivation, and for healing, and for encouraging clarity of thought,” Lan Qiren said, and managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “Of course, if da-ge is having some trouble controlling his lascivious thoughts, he is welcome to try it out. Such requests are not uncommon among newlyweds.”

Wen Ruohan was smirking outright now. “Tell me, little Lan, has that sharp tongue of yours ever cut the inside of your mouth? Or is that something you reserve for me?”

Lan Qiren pretended not to hear him and instead pointed out one of the rules on the Wall. “I always rather liked that one.”

Wen Ruohan glanced over and saw Have wins and losses - otherwise known, colloquially, as don’t be a sore loser - and grinned. “Oh, really? I find I’m rather partial to Honor the aged and wise, myself.”

“Really? And here I would have thought someone as humble as da-ge would opt for Do not say one thing and mean another, or maybe the prohibition against praising yourself.”

“Are you saying I do not count as aged, little Lan?”

“I would never question your years,” Lan Qiren said. “But the rule does include two clauses.”

Wen Ruohan was surprised into a snicker. “Sharp and sharper! Is this more of your vaunted Do not tell lies?”

“Be of one mind,” Lan Qiren retorted. “Anyway, you enjoy it, or else you would’ve just pointed out Do not argue with your family.”

“Indeed, I am not Qingheng-jun,” Wen Ruohan said, his smile poisonous, and Lan Qiren, struck dead on by the accurate blow, could only glare at him. “My little brother can argue with me any time he pleases…and does, I find. I told you to come to the Nightless City, and you disobeyed.”

“Learning comes first,” Lan Qiren said. “I had classes. Like I told you!”

“And your father and brother agreed with your prioritization?”

Lan Qiren winced, having not told them of Wen Ruohan’s request for exactly that reason.

Wen Ruohan only smirked, though, and did not call him out on it further. “Perhaps I will take you up on your offer,” he remarked instead, and for a moment Lan Qiren had no idea what he was talking about. “Travel is always so wearying, and I’ve heard fine things about the quality of the Cold Spring in Gusu.”

Right, that.

Lan Qiren was pretty sure he was allowed to make that offer.

“Unless of course you planned to have other company there…?” Wen Ruohan glanced at him and saw his confusion. “Your little immortal’s disciple lover?”

“Certainly not!” Lan Qiren exclaimed. “Men and women do not mix like that. Anyway, she’s not my lover. We’re only friends. She’s agreed.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyebrows went up as if Lan Qiren had revealed more than he’d intended.

“Very well,” he said, sounding almost agreeable. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Lan Qiren eyed him suspiciously.

“I’d still like to meet her.”

Of course he would.

“She might not like you,” Lan Qiren warned, shaking his head. Cangse Sanren was a warm and generous person, but her views were unshakable once set, and she feared nothing; he could only guess at the monstrous clash of egos that was about to take place. “But she should be by the training field at this time of day; we can go there next.”

Wen Ruohan reached out and ran his fingers along the Wall – seemingly at random, hitting Change clothes after taking a bath and No adornments that make sound as he did – and then turned to follow Lan Qiren with a look in his eyes that Lan Qiren did not understand.

“Then let us go,” he said.

As he’d thought, Cangse Sanren was practicing alone in the training field, looking especially fierce with her hair flowing freely in the wind as she danced with blade and horsetail whisk. Lan Qiren waited until she was done with her current set before clearing his throat to announce their presence; when she turned, he pulled out a ribbon from his sleeve – he’d taken to carrying spares – and offered it to her.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” he said to her. “It doesn’t matter how high your cultivation is, it’s still not going to help you in a fight if the wind changes mid-move and you get smacked in the face with your own hair.”

“Maybe,” she sniffed. “But I look amazing.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes.

“This is Cangse Sanren, a disciple of Baoshan Sanren,” he told Wen Ruohan. “She has no personal name, so don’t ask for one. Cangse Sanren, this is Sect Leader Wen.”

Lan Qiren had heard rumors that Wen Ruohan had once had a personal title, but that he hadn’t liked it, and that he’d ensured that no one ever dared to use it to his face. At any rate, Lan Qiren didn’t know it now and could not use it as an introduction.

Not that Cangse Sanren would have cared, of course. She raised her hands in a salute, boldly keeping her head raised and the bow shallow enough to be insolent.

“I’ve heard of you,” she said, her eyes slightly narrowed.

“And I of you,” Wen Ruohan responded. “It’s been a long time since a disciple has descended from the immortal mountain. Tell me, are you planning on joining the Lan sect?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “Are you planning on proposing some alternative you think I might like better?”

“Perhaps I will. You never know what the future might bring.”

“Knowing the present and the past would seem a sufficient guide to me.”

Lan Qiren looked between them in growing alarm as they exchanged seemingly pleasant words in cutting tones. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected this, but perhaps not quite so quickly...

“Could the two of you maybe not do this?” he asked, feeling a little plaintive. He didn’t want to have to explain how a casual tour designed to kill time had escalated into an inter-sect issue. “Cangse Sanren, if my da-ge’s presence bothers you, we can just leave.”

Cangse Sanren broke away from the staring match she’d started with Wen Ruohan to frown at him. “You call him da-ge?”

“Is there any reason he shouldn’t?” Wen Ruohan’s voice was as smooth as the silk used to execute empresses. “He’s my sworn brother, after all.”

“Oh, I know that,” she said. “It’s only that he calls Qingheng-jun ‘xiongzhang’.”

Wen Ruohan seemed a little surprised by that. He glanced at Lan Qiren, who scowled back at him. “So what?” he said, feeling oddly defensive. “You asked to be called ‘da-ge’.”

“I suppose I did,” Wen Ruohan said, and his lips curled upwards in satisfaction.

“Hey, Lan-xiao-gege,” Cangse Sanren suddenly said, and Lan Qiren automatically glared: he didn’t like her calling him that. “Could you get me a ribbon from my room?”

“What? I just gave you –”

“There’s one in particular inside a qiankun pouch on my desk,” she said, barreling on. “You can just bring the whole thing. I need it rather urgently, and for various reasons cannot go myself.”

“But –”

“You shouldn’t deny a lady in need, little Lan,” Wen Ruohan interjected. “Don’t forget that chivalry is one of your rules. Go and return; I will wait for you here.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on him to make sure he does,” Cangse Sanren said, which was horribly rude even if he did somewhat need that reassurance. “Please, Qiren-gege? Would you?”

“…all right,” Lan Qiren said, having the distinct feeling that he was being ganged up on. “I’ll be back right away.”

There was a rule against running, but he’d long ago mastered the art of walking as quickly as he could without breaking any of the rules against haste; he was able to retrieve the pouch and return to the training field within a single ke, which he thought might have broken some sort of record. Even so, by the time he returned with the pouch, Cangse Sanren and Wen Ruohan were standing side-by-side with identical expressions of smug satisfaction that suggested that they’d accomplished whatever it was that they’d so obviously wanted him out of the way for.

Hopefully not a recruitment into the Wen sect. His brother would kill him.

“Ah, Qiren-gege!” Cangse Sanren said, and accepted the pouch. As if purposefully adding insult to injury, she tied it to her waist without even bothering to pretend to root around inside for the ribbon or whatever thing she had so ‘urgently’ needed from it. “You’re the best.”

“And you’re a pest,” he told her, but she only looked pleased with herself. He wasn’t going to get any answers out of her, and he didn’t even bother to hope for one from Wen Ruohan, who was exactly the same. He looked at him regardless: “Da-ge, are you done here? Even though they haven’t sent word, I’m sure the elders have finished preparing to receive you properly, so you can finally do whatever it is that you came to the Cloud Recesses to do.”

Get out of my way maybe, he meant, and not especially subtly, either.

“Uh, Qiren-gege,” Cangse Sanren said, grinning at him. “I’m pretty sure he’s already doing that.”

Lan Qiren refrained from rolling his eyes at her yet again – nobody would gather up their entire retinue to travel halfway across the cultivation world to see him – and turned expectantly to Wen Ruohan.

“I gave my lieutenants orders to begin negotiations without me,” he said, looking disinterested. “Your sect elders will not want me to disturb them until they have reached preliminary agreement on the main points, so as to avoid losing face for either sect in the event we can’t reach an appropriate resolution.”

Lan Qiren hadn’t thought of that. He supposed it made sense.

Irritating, irritating sense.

“We’ve already seen quite a lot of the Cloud Recesses,” Wen Ruohan added. “Why don’t we take some tea in your rooms?”

Lan Qiren thought about his rooms, which were still in a terrible state, and tensed – he’d neatened up as best as he could after his tantrum in the little time he’d had to himself, but removing all the broken things had left the space bare and uninviting. He wasn’t even sure he even had a matching tea set left.

“You should go down to Caiyi Town,” Cangse Sanren announced. “It has a thriving market full of unique goods, and from what I hear you have a new bride, Sect Leader Wen. If you don’t get her something from your trip, she’ll never forgive you.”

Wen Ruohan hummed thoughtfully, and Lan Qiren seized on the excuse to nod fervently and usher Wen Ruohan towards the gates instead of his rooms.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find something to her taste,” he told Wen Ruohan, and for some reason remembered how the man’s long-nailed hand, capable of crushing mountains, had so delicately held the bowl Lan Qiren had painted as he had drunk his wedding toasts, as if he’d been afraid of causing the slightest damage to it. “There’s plenty there.”

“I’m sure there is,” Wen Ruohan said, and to Lan Qiren’s relief they were able to spend the next two shichen wandering slowly through the market. Wen Ruohan seemed to be particularly interested in stalls or shops selling household goods, whether vases or inkstones or paperweights, or else in paintings and other decorations; he solicited Lan Qiren’s thoughts on them all, and insisted on hearing them no matter how much Lan Qiren tried to demur.

“I really don’t know how much it’ll help you to know that I personally prefer my décor to have neutral colors with abstract designs,” he said, rubbing his forehead after one particularly extended discussion with a very enthusiastic shop manager in which they, again, did not make any purchase. “I doubt your new bride shares my excessively particular tastes.”

“What makes them excessive, rather than simply a preference?” Wen Ruohan asked, strolling over to where Lan Qiren was standing and running a finger along the blanket Lan Qiren had been absent-mindedly kneading with his hands out of lack of anything better to do. It was made of multilayer silk, airy as a cloud but trapping enough heat to allow for some warmth, and some clever designer had introduced some sort of subtle pattern to the embroidery that made it feel almost fuzzy. Lan Qiren had liked it at once, although regrettably it was the sort of expensive that was beyond the reach of even his generous allowance, especially since he’d so recently depleted it; it would have required him to rely on sect credit to obtain it.

He was technically entitled to do so, especially as one of the main branch family, but it wasn’t worth the snippy comments about Do not wallow in luxury that he’d invariably get for it. When he was younger, his brother had, in a rare moment of sympathy, told him that he’d be able to do much more and allow himself far more freedom while still avoiding such criticism if only he weren’t so insistent on talking about the rules all the time, but at that age Lan Qiren had struggled tremendously with focusing on other subjects and it had seemed easier to simply give up a few privileges. Later, of course, he’d realized that he didn’t have to give up those rights at all – the rule against luxury was intended to forestall dissipation and waste, the prioritizing of self-indulgence over duty, not occasional purchases designed to make life more comfortable – but his austere habits had remained. It was easier to pretend to have a preference towards asceticism and restraint than to admit that he was just being picky again, that he’d rather no blanket than a scratchy one or that loud colors or busy designs hurt his eyes and distracted him from his studies no matter how beautiful the art.

“I don’t suppose you remember those greens they were serving, the first time we met?” Lan Qiren asked dryly. “The ones I didn’t eat? It’s a bit like that.”

“Mm, I recall,” Wen Ruohan said, which surprised Lan Qiren: the other man’s memory must be prodigious to recall such a small event in such a long life. “You cried when you tried to force yourself.”

“It was a physical reaction,” Lan Qiren said through gritted teeth. How did Wen Ruohan always manage to find the most irritating take on any subject? “I gagged, that’s all. Anyway, all I meant was that I’m picky and particular, set in my ways and preferences, and what I like doesn’t necessarily transfer to other people.”

He wanted to ask Are you planning on getting something here already, but that would be crossing the line from blunt to intolerably rude, given that Wen Ruohan was his guest and his elder. Instead, he waited until it seemed like Wen Ruohan was done talking, and then edged pointedly towards the exit in the hope that the older man would get the hint.

In the end, they returned to the Cloud Recesses just in time for dinner, in which Lan Qiren was seated next to Wen Ruohan but which, per Lan sect rules, was silent, and was happily sidelined for most of the discussions that took place afterwards, which were mostly about sect affairs. The next two days Wen Ruohan spent fully ensconced in negotiations with Lan Qiren’s father and brother, and the day after that he was scheduled to leave – he had made plans to visit the Jin sect next before returning to Qishan, a route that ever so coincidentally would make it convenient for him to unofficially swing by Qinghe on his return as well – and in the end they only had time to take tea a few more times, almost always in the company of others.

Lan Qiren breathed a sigh of relief at having managed at least one successful one-on-one interaction with Wen Ruohan that hadn’t blown up in his face. He obtained belated permission for his invitation to the Cold Spring and mentioned to Wen Ruohan that he could take advantage of it during his next visit, whenever that might be – Wen Ruohan had seemed pleased by the offer – and obediently watched the visitors depart before returning, at long last, to his classes.

There were whispers, of course, but he ignored them with the ease of long practice. His sworn brotherhood was unusual, inevitably drawing attention; that would not change, just as it would not change the existence of it, and so other people would simply have to grow bored of their gossip first.

It wasn’t until later, when classes broke for the day, that he finally went back to his rooms.

His rooms, which –

Did not look like his rooms.

Lan Qiren stared.

What should have been bare walls and a cracked table and a bed with a single sheet had been transformed: there were paintings and vases, each with the subtle designs he favored, the latter filled with flowers emitting a cool and subtle scent; the incense burner had been replaced with one of delicate and intricate copperwork, a perfect match to the copper accents that adorned the new table, made of dark wood, that had replaced the one he’d broken. Even the pillows and blanket had been replaced – and he recognized that blanket, expensive and unnecessary, with clever embroidery and multiple layers of silk –

“His taste’s a bit much, I think,” Cangse Sanren said from behind him, having apparently followed him in at some point when he hadn’t noticed. “But I suppose you can’t fault him for efficiency.”

Lan Qiren turned to stare at her. “You – you knew about this?”

She grinned at him.

“You didn’t say – you didn’t tell – !” Lan Qiren looked around. “He was shopping for me?”

“All your fault,” she said cheerfully. “Apparently you were the one who started it all, giving him a gift –”

“He was getting married!”

“Some men are unreasonably competitive, Qiren-gege. Your sworn brother is one of them.”

“I – a competition – ?!”

“Possibly he also felt bad about getting you drunk and taking advantage of you,” she said. “And wanted to make up for it somehow. Just a thought.”

Lan Qiren flapped his hands in the air, unable to form words for a while – not least because he was pretty sure Wen Ruohan didn’t do emotions like felt bad, and probably maxed out at this made you have feelings which are inconvenient for me – and then finally settled on some: “What did the two of you talk about?!”

Cangse Sanren poked at the new guqin stand in the corner, dark wood and copper as well, embedded with a few dimly glowing night-pearls, and nodded to herself in satisfaction at its balance. “Blind people with no judgment or appreciation, mostly.”

“…what?!”

“I may have also mentioned that your room was looking a bit too ascetic recently…”

“Cangse Sanren!”

She laughed her peculiar laugh, the deep one that came from her belly and made everyone around her want to join in, and took to her heels as if afraid that he might chase her. Lan Qiren seriously considered it for a moment, wanting to scold her and also to extract every detail about how she had almost certainly tried to scold one of the most terrifying men currently living, but he found himself drifting over to the bed instead, putting his hands into the comfortable blanket and already imagining how well he would sleep with it tucked tightly around him.

Fine, he thought, scowling down at it with a glare that was for no one’s benefit, not even himself. Maybe next time he writes inviting me, I’ll even go.

#mdzs #lan qiren #cangse sanren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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kingstylesdaily · 4 years

Text

Playtime With Harry Styles

via vogue.com

THE MEN’S BATHING POND in London’s Hampstead Heath at daybreak on a gloomy September morning seemed such an unlikely locale for my first meeting with Harry Styles, music’s legendarily charm-heavy style czar, that I wondered perhaps if something had been lost in translation.

But then there is Styles, cheerily gung ho, hidden behind a festive yellow bandana mask and a sweatshirt of his own design, surprisingly printed with three portraits of his intellectual pinup, the author Alain de Botton. “I love his writing,” says Styles. “I just think he’s brilliant. I saw him give a talk about the keys to happiness, and how one of the keys is living among friends, and how real friendship stems from being vulnerable with someone.”

In turn, de Botton’s 2016 novel The Course of Love taught Styles that “when it comes to relationships, you just expect yourself to be good at it…[but] being in a real relationship with someone is a skill,” one that Styles himself has often had to hone in the unforgiving klieg light of public attention, and in the company of such high-profile paramours as Taylor Swift and—well, Styles is too much of a gentleman to name names.

That sweatshirt and the Columbia Records tracksuit bottoms are removed in the quaint wooden open-air changing room, with its Swallows and Amazons vibe. A handful of intrepid fellow patrons in various states of undress are blissfully unaware of the 26-year-old supernova in their midst, although I must admit I’m finding it rather difficult to take my eyes off him, try as I might. Styles has been on a six-day juice cleanse in readiness for Vogue’s photographer Tyler Mitchell. He practices Pilates (“I’ve got very tight hamstrings—trying to get those open”) and meditates twice a day. “It has changed my life,” he avers, “but it’s so subtle. It’s helped me just be more present. I feel like I’m able to enjoy the things that are happening right in front of me, even if it’s food or it’s coffee or it’s being with a friend—or a swim in a really cold pond!” Styles also feels that his meditation practices have helped him through the tumult of 2020: “Meditation just brings a stillness that has been really beneficial, I think, for my mental health.”

Styles has been a pescatarian for three years, inspired by the vegan food that several members of his current band prepared on tour. “My body definitely feels better for it,” he says. His shapely torso is prettily inscribed with the tattoos of a Victorian sailor—a rose, a galleon, a mermaid, an anchor, and a palm tree among them, and, straddling his clavicle, the dates 1967 and 1957 (the respective birth years of his mother and father). Frankly, I rather wish I’d packed a beach muumuu.

We take the piratical gangplank that juts into the water and dive in. Let me tell you, this is not the Aegean. The glacial water is a cloudy phlegm green beneath the surface, and clammy reeds slap one’s ankles. Styles, who admits he will try any fad, has recently had a couple of cryotherapy sessions and is evidently less susceptible to the cold. By the time we have swum a full circuit, however, body temperatures have adjusted, and the ice, you might say, has been broken. Duly invigorated, we are ready to face the day. Styles has thoughtfully brought a canister of coffee and some bottles of water in his backpack, and we sit at either end of a park bench for a socially distanced chat.

It seems that he has had a productive year. At the onset of lockdown, Styles found himself in his second home, in the canyons of Los Angeles. After a few days on his own, however, he moved in with a pod of three friends (and subsequently with two band members, Mitch Rowland and Sarah Jones). They “would put names in a hat and plan the week out,” Styles explains. “If you were Monday, you would choose the movie, dinner, and the activity for that day. I like to make soups, and there was a big array of movies; we went all over the board,” from Goodfellas to Clueless. The experience, says Styles, “has been a really good lesson in what makes me happy now. It’s such a good example of living in the moment. I honestly just like being around my friends,” he adds. “That’s been my biggest takeaway. Just being on my own the whole time, I would have been miserable.”

Styles is big on friendship groups and considers his former and legendarily hysteria-inducing boy band, One Direction, to have been one of them. “I think the typical thing is to come out of a band like that and almost feel like you have to apologize for being in it,” says Styles. “But I loved my time in it. It was all new to me, and I was trying to learn as much as I could. I wanted to soak it in…. I think that’s probably why I like traveling now—soaking stuff up.” In a post-COVID future, he is contemplating a temporary move to Tokyo, explaining that “there’s a respect and a stillness, a quietness that I really loved every time I’ve been there.”

In 1D, Styles was making music whenever he could. “After a show you’d go in a hotel room and put down some vocals,” he recalls. As a result, his first solo album, 2017’s Harry Styles, “was when I really fell in love with being in the studio,” he says. “I loved it as much as touring.” Today he favors isolating with his core group of collaborators, “our little bubble”—Rowland, Kid Harpoon (né Tom Hull), and Tyler Johnson. “A safe space,” as he describes it.

In the music he has been working on in 2020, Styles wants to capture the experimental spirit that informed his second album, last year’s Fine Line. With his debut album, “I was very much finding out what my sound was as a solo artist,” he says. “I can see all the places where it almost felt like I was bowling with the bumpers up. I think with the second album I let go of the fear of getting it wrong and…it was really joyous and really free. I think with music it’s so important to evolve—and that extends to clothes and videos and all that stuff. That’s why you look back at David Bowie with Ziggy Stardust or the Beatles and their different eras—that fearlessness is super inspiring.”

The seismic changes of 2020—including the Black Lives Matter uprising around racial justice—has also provided Styles with an opportunity for personal growth. “I think it’s a time for opening up and learning and listening,” he says. “I’ve been trying to read and educate myself so that in 20 years I’m still doing the right things and taking the right steps. I believe in karma, and I think it’s just a time right now where we could use a little more kindness and empathy and patience with people, be a little more prepared to listen and grow.”

Meanwhile, Styles’s euphoric single “Watermelon Sugar” became something of an escapist anthem for this dystopian summer of 2020. The video, featuring Styles (dressed in ’70s-flavored Gucci and Bode) cavorting with a pack of beach-babe girls and boys, was shot in January, before lockdown rules came into play. By the time it was ready to be released in May, a poignant epigraph had been added: “This video is dedicated to touching.”

Styles is looking forward to touring again, when “it’s safe for everyone,” because, as he notes, “being up against people is part of the whole thing. You can’t really re-create it in any way.” But it hasn’t always been so. Early in his career, Styles was so stricken with stage fright that he regularly threw up preperformance. “I just always thought I was going to mess up or something,” he remembers. “But I’ve felt really lucky to have a group of incredibly generous fans. They’re generous emotionally—and when they come to the show, they give so much that it creates this atmosphere that I’ve always found so loving and accepting.”

THIS SUMMER, when it was safe enough to travel, Styles returned to his London home, which is where he suggests we head now, setting off in his modish Primrose Yellow ’73 Jaguar that smells of gasoline and leatherette. “Me and my dad have always bonded over cars,” Styles explains. “I never thought I’d be someone who just went out for a leisurely drive, purely for enjoyment.” On sleepless jet-lagged nights he’ll drive through London’s quiet streets, seeing neighborhoods in a new way. “I find it quite relaxing,” he says.

Over the summer Styles took a road trip with his artist friend Tomo Campbell through France and Italy, setting off at four in the morning and spending the night in Geneva, where they jumped in the lake “to wake ourselves up.” (I see a pattern emerging.) At the end of the trip Styles drove home alone, accompanied by an upbeat playlist that included “Aretha Franklin, Parliament, and a lot of Stevie Wonder. It was really fun for me,” he says. “I don’t travel like that a lot. I’m usually in such a rush, but there was a stillness to it. I love the feeling of nobody knowing where I am, that kind of escape...and freedom.”

GROWING UP in a village in the North of England, Styles thought of London as a world apart: “It truly felt like a different country.” At a wide-eyed 16, he came down to the teeming metropolis after his mother entered him on the U.K. talent-search show The X Factor. “I went to the audition to find out if I could sing,” Styles recalls, “or if my mum was just being nice to me.” Styles was eliminated but subsequently brought back with other contestants—Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson, and Zayn Malik—to form a boy band that was named (on Styles’s suggestion) One Direction. The wily X Factor creator and judge, Simon Cowell, soon signed them to his label Syco Records, and the rest is history: 1D’s first four albums, supported by four world tours from 2011 to 2015, debuted at number one on the U.S. Billboard charts, and the band has sold 70 million records to date. At 18, Styles bought the London house he now calls home. “I was going to do two weeks’ work to it,” he remembers, “but when I came back there was no second floor,” so he moved in with adult friends who lived nearby till the renovation was complete. “Eighteen months,” he deadpans. “I’ve always seen that period as pretty pivotal for me, as there’s that moment at the party where it’s getting late, and half of the people would go upstairs to do drugs, and the other people go home. I was like, ‘I don’t really know this friend’s wife, so I’m not going to get all messy and then go home.’ I had to behave a bit, at a time where everything else about my life felt I didn’t have to behave really. I’ve been lucky to always feel I have this family unit somewhere.”

When Styles’s London renovation was finally done, “I went in for the first time and I cried,” he recalls. “Because I just felt like I had somewhere. L.A. feels like holiday, but this feels like home.”

Behind its pink door, Styles’s house has all the trappings of rock stardom—there’s a man cave filled with guitars, a Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bollocks poster (a moving-in gift from his decorator), a Stevie Nicks album cover. Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” was one of the first songs he knew the words to—“My parents were big fans”—and he and Nicks have formed something of a mutual-admiration society. At the beginning of lockdown, Nicks tweeted to her fans that she was taking inspiration from Fine Line: “Way to go, H,” she wrote. “It is your Rumours.” “She’s always there for you,” said Styles when he inducted Nicks into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2019. “She knows what you need—advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl; she’s got you covered.”

Styles makes us some tea in the light-filled kitchen and then wanders into the convivial living room, where he strikes an insouciant pose on the chesterfield sofa, upholstered in a turquoise velvet that perhaps not entirely coincidentally sets off his eyes. Styles admits that his lockdown lewk was “sweatpants, constantly,” and he is relishing the opportunity to dress up again. He doesn’t have to wait long: The following day, under the eaves of a Victorian mansion in Notting Hill, I arrive in the middle of fittings for Vogue’s shoot and discover Styles in his Y-fronts, patiently waiting to try on looks for fashion editor Camilla Nickerson and photographer Tyler Mitchell. Styles’s personal stylist, Harry Lambert, wearing a pearl necklace and his nails colored in various shades of green varnish, à la Sally Bowles, is providing helpful backup (Britain’s Rule of Six hasn’t yet been imposed).

Styles, who has thoughtfully brought me a copy of de Botton’s 2006 book The Architecture of Happiness, is instinctively and almost quaintly polite, in an old-fashioned, holding-open-doors and not-mentioning-lovers-by-name sort of way. He is astounded to discover that the Atlanta-born Mitchell has yet to experience a traditional British Sunday roast dinner. Assuring him that “it’s basically like Thanksgiving every Sunday,” Styles gives Mitchell the details of his favorite London restaurants in which to enjoy one. “It’s a good thing to be nice,” Mitchell tells me after a morning in Styles’s company.

MITCHELL has Lionel Wendt’s languorously homoerotic 1930s portraits of young Sri Lankan men on his mood board. Nickerson is thinking of Irving Penn’s legendary fall 1950 Paris haute couture collections sitting, where he photographed midcentury supermodels, including his wife, Lisa Fonssagrives, in high-style Dior and Balenciaga creations. Styles is up for all of it, and so, it would seem, is the menswear landscape of 2020: Jonathan Anderson has produced a trapeze coat anchored with a chunky gold martingale; John Galliano at Maison Margiela has fashioned a khaki trench with a portrait neckline in layers of colored tulle; and Harris Reed—a Saint Martins fashion student sleuthed by Lambert who ended up making some looks for Styles’s last tour—has spent a week making a broad-shouldered Smoking jacket with high-waisted, wide-leg pants that have become a Styles signature since he posed for Tim Walker for the cover of Fine Line wearing a Gucci pair—a silhouette that was repeated in the tour wardrobe. (“I liked the idea of having that uniform,” says Styles.) Reed’s version is worn with a hoopskirt draped in festoons of hot-pink satin that somehow suggests Deborah Kerr asking Yul Brynner’s King of Siam, “Shall we dance?”

Styles introduces me to the writer and eyewear designer Gemma Styles, “my sister from the same womb,” he says. She is also here for the fitting: The siblings plan to surprise their mother with the double portrait on these pages.

I ask her whether her brother had always been interested in clothes.

“My mum loved to dress us up,” she remembers. “I always hated it, and Harry was always quite into it. She did some really elaborate papier-mâché outfits: She made a giant mug and then painted an atlas on it, and that was Harry being ‘The World Cup.’ Harry also had a little dalmatian-dog outfit,” she adds, “a hand-me-down from our closest family friends. He would just spend an inordinate amount of time wearing that outfit. But then Mum dressed me up as Cruella de Vil. She was always looking for any opportunity!”

“As a kid I definitely liked fancy dress,” Styles says. There were school plays, the first of which cast him as Barney, a church mouse. “I was really young, and I wore tights for that,” he recalls. “I remember it was crazy to me that I was wearing a pair of tights. And that was maybe where it all kicked off!”

Acting has also remained a fundamental form of expression for Styles. His sister recalls that even on the eve of his life-changing X Factor audition, Styles could sing in public only in an assumed voice. “He used to do quite a good sort of Elvis warble,” she remembers. During the rehearsals in the family home, “he would sing in the bathroom because if it was him singing as himself, he just couldn’t have anyone looking at him! I love his voice now,” she adds. “I’m so glad that he makes music that I actually enjoy listening to.”

Styles’s role-playing continued soon after 1D went on permanent hiatus in 2016, and he was cast in Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk, beating out dozens of professional actors for the role. “The good part was my character was a young soldier who didn’t really know what he was doing,” says Styles modestly. “The scale of the movie was so big that I was a tiny piece of the puzzle. It was definitely humbling. I just loved being outside of my comfort zone.”

His performance caught the eye of Olivia Wilde, who remembers that it “blew me away—the openness and commitment.” In turn, Styles loved Wilde’s directorial debut, Booksmart, and is “very honored” that she cast him in a leading role for her second feature, a thriller titled Don’t Worry Darling, which went into production this fall. Styles will play the husband to Florence Pugh in what Styles describes as “a 1950s utopia in the California desert.”

Wilde’s movie is costumed by Academy Award nominee Arianne Phillips. “She and I did a little victory dance when we heard that we officially had Harry in the film,” notes Wilde, “because we knew that he has a real appreciation for fashion and style. And this movie is incredibly stylistic. It’s very heightened and opulent, and I’m really grateful that he is so enthusiastic about that element of the process—some actors just don’t care.”

“I like playing dress-up in general,” Styles concurs, in a masterpiece of understatement: This is the man, after all, who cohosted the Met’s 2019 “Notes on Camp” gala attired in a nipple-freeing black organza blouse with a lace jabot, and pants so high-waisted that they cupped his pectorals. The ensemble, accessorized with the pearl-drop earring of a dandified Elizabethan courtier, was created for Styles by Gucci’s Alessandro Michele, whom he befriended in 2014. Styles, who has subsequently personified the brand as the face of the Gucci fragrance, finds Michele “fearless with his work and his imagination. It’s really inspiring to be around someone who works like that.”

The two first met in London over a cappuccino. “It was just a kind of PR appointment,” says Michele, “but something magical happened, and Harry is now a friend. He has the aura of an English rock-and-roll star—like a young Greek god with the attitude of James Dean and a little bit of Mick Jagger—but no one is sweeter. He is the image of a new era, of the way that a man can look.”

Styles credits his style transformation—from Jack Wills tracksuit-clad boy-band heartthrob to nonpareil fashionisto—to his meeting the droll young stylist Harry Lambert seven years ago. They hit it off at once and have conspired ever since, enjoying a playfully campy rapport and calling each other Sue and Susan as they parse the niceties of the scarlet lace Gucci man-bra that Michele has made for Vogue’s shoot, for instance, or a pair of Bode pants hand-painted with biographical images (Styles sent Emily Adams Bode images of his family, and a photograph he had found of David Hockney and Joni Mitchell. “The idea of those two being friends, to me, was really beautiful,” Styles explains).

“He just has fun with clothing, and that’s kind of where I’ve got it from,” says Styles of Lambert. “He doesn’t take it too seriously, which means I don’t take it too seriously.” The process has been evolutionary. At his first meeting with Lambert, the stylist proposed “a pair of flares, and I was like, ‘Flares? That’s fucking crazy,’ ” Styles remembers. Now he declares that “you can never be overdressed. There’s no such thing. The people that I looked up to in music—Prince and David Bowie and Elvis and Freddie Mercury and Elton John—they’re such showmen. As a kid it was completely mind-blowing. Now I’ll put on something that feels really flamboyant, and I don’t feel crazy wearing it. I think if you get something that you feel amazing in, it’s like a superhero outfit. Clothes are there to have fun with and experiment with and play with. What’s really exciting is that all of these lines are just kind of crumbling away. When you take away ‘There’s clothes for men and there’s clothes for women,’ once you remove any barriers, obviously you open up the arena in which you can play. I’ll go in shops sometimes, and I just find myself looking at the women’s clothes thinking they’re amazing. It’s like anything—anytime you’re putting barriers up in your own life, you’re just limiting yourself. There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never really thought too much about what it means—it just becomes this extended part of creating something.”

“He’s up for it,” confirms Lambert, who earlier this year, for instance, found a JW Anderson cardigan with the look of a Rubik’s Cube (“on sale at matches.com!”). Styles wore it, accessorized with his own pearl necklace, for a Today rehearsal in February and it went viral: His fans were soon knitting their own versions and posting the results on TikTok. Jonathan Anderson declared himself “so impressed and incredibly humbled by this trend” that he nimbly made the pattern available (complete with a YouTube tutorial) so that Styles’s fans could copy it for free. Meanwhile, London’s storied Victoria & Albert Museum has requested Styles’s original: an emblematic document of how people got creative during the COVID era. “It’s going to be in their permanent collection,” says Lambert exultantly. “Is that not sick? Is that not the most epic thing?”

“To me, he’s very modern,” says Wilde of Styles, “and I hope that this brand of confidence as a male that Harry has—truly devoid of any traces of toxic masculinity—is indicative of his generation and therefore the future of the world. I think he is in many ways championing that, spearheading that. It’s pretty powerful and kind of extraordinary to see someone in his position redefining what it can mean to be a man with confidence.”

“He’s really in touch with his feminine side because it’s something natural,” notes Michele. “And he’s a big inspiration to a younger generation—about how you can be in a totally free playground when you feel comfortable. I think that he’s a revolutionary.”

STYLES’S confidence is on full display the day after the fitting, which finds us all on the beautiful Sussex dales. Over the summit of the hill, with its trees blown horizontal by the fierce winds, lies the English Channel. Even though it’s a two-hour drive from London, the fresh-faced Styles, who went to bed at 9 p.m., has arrived on set early: He is famously early for everything. The team is installed in a traditional flint-stone barn. The giant doors have been replaced by glass and frame a bucolic view of distant grazing sheep. “Look at that field!” says Styles. “How lucky are we? This is our office! Smell the roses!” Lambert starts to sing “Kumbaya, my Lord.”

Hairdresser Malcolm Edwards is setting Styles’s hair in a Victory roll with silver clips, and until it is combed out he resembles Kathryn Grayson with stubble. His fingers are freighted with rings, and “he has a new army of mini purses,” says Lambert, gesturing to an accessory table heaving with examples including a mini sky-blue Gucci Diana bag discreetly monogrammed HS. Michele has also made Styles a dress for the shoot that Tissot might have liked to paint—acres of ice-blue ruffles, black Valenciennes lace, and suivez-moi, jeune homme ribbons. Erelong, Styles is gamely racing up a hill in it, dodging sheep scat, thistles, and shards of chalk, and striking a pose for Mitchell that manages to make ruffles a compelling new masculine proposition, just as Mr. Fish’s frothy white cotton dress—equal parts Romantic poet and Greek presidential guard—did for Mick Jagger when he wore it for The Rolling Stones’ free performance in Hyde Park in 1969, or as the suburban-mom floral housedress did for Kurt Cobain as he defined the iconoclastic grunge aesthetic. Styles is mischievously singing ABBA’s “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)” to himself when Mitchell calls him outside to jump up and down on a trampoline in a Comme des Garçons buttoned wool kilt. “How did it look?” asks his sister when he comes in from the cold. “Divine,” says her brother in playful Lambert-speak.

As the wide sky is washed in pink, orange, and gray, like a Turner sunset, and Mitchell calls it a successful day, Styles is playing “Cherry” from Fine Line on his Fender acoustic on the hilltop. “He does his own stunts,” says his sister, laughing. The impromptu set is greeted with applause. “Thank you, Antwerp!” says Styles playfully, bowing to the crowd. “Thank you, fashion!”

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

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Elysium // Luke Patterson

Summary: The boys of Julie and the Phantoms need a hail Mary to dethrone Downslide from opening for Panic! At the Disco. While Willie is done to help his blue eyed crush and his friends there’s one issue: Willie can’t drive the bus. Moving a bench is one thing but driving an entire tour bus? There’s only one person who can and Willie’s not sure where she is after year of no communication

Warnings: Swearing, angst, talk of death (it’s a ghost show, why is this a warning??), mention of assault, violence, and fluff.

Words: 11.5k

A/N: This is why I haven’t posted much in the last week. I’ve been writing this massive fic that I refused to turn into a series. My god, 11k words. I don’t think I’ll be doing this again. Enjoy and comment if you figured out who Rudy is!

Masterlist

There wasn’t much in the afterlife that you enjoyed after time spent in the limbo between the living and dead. Listening to songs before they were released lost its appeal just as much as dancing on stage with the ballet companies around the world, of being an unseen extra in shows and films being filmed.

Then you found a purpose a couple, well it could be more than a couple, years ago when you found a lost soul. William Young, Willie to his friends, had been sitting on the curb staring at the pavement entirely still as he had for two days.

The time from the last breath you took to walking the streets of Los Angeles was a blur in all honesty. The years bled together as you stayed stationary in a world that kept on spinning and changing, growing up. You had watched your friends hit new milestones you could only daydream about. Friends that graduated college and built new lives on the ashes of memories that included you.

Today’s walk was an attempt to escape your friends’ greying versions standing in front of a once vibrant sculpture. It happened every single year, but this one hurt the most. Listening to your friends recall stories of all the adventures you did together.

From being drunken idiots jumping off cliffs into that one lake the summer of freshman year. Or making a bonfire on the school’s roof with all the entryways blocked, rather stupid with the exits being blocked as well. Sneaking into concerts and stealing that one car that came close to sending you to boarding school.

The rebellion that still lived in you had mellowed in the five individuals with the adult responsibilities of family and work. Martha had removed all piercings but her lobes while Chase quit dying his hair colour. Jordan now had three children and a bought house.

Seeing the group no longer young had made your feet swiftly move from the memorial for a walk. The only thing that stopped you in your tracks was tripping over something in front of you.

“Ouch.” You hissed rolling onto your back with a moan of pain that faded with the sniffles.

Curled into his knees, sitting on the curb was a teenage boy about your age. Long hair curtaining his profile you found your eyes grasping the cracked helmet that spoke for itself abandoned by his side.

“Your kinda a hazard there.” You simply spoke sitting down next to the distraught teenager, “Heads up, I suck at comforting people.”

At his silence, you spoke once more, “I’m digging the tie-dye. Did you do it yourself?”

“This is some kind of stupid coma dream right?” The boy’s voice was husky from crying and disuse, “I’m probably in some kind of hospital with a tube down my throat.”

“I’d say yes, but it would be a blatant lie.” You spoke twirling a loose thread on your jeans while the stranger gazed at a spot on the street.

His dark brown eyes bloodshot as he remembered the car honking mere seconds before he heard the sound of a thud. He recalled struggling to breathe with his broken ribs and his screams being illustrated with bloodstains.

He remembered thinking how he had just bought that board a week ago with his allowance.

“Am I really dead?”

“Yes. We’re are a couple ghosts in a lively city.” You informed him with one handheld in the space between your ethereal forms. The teen hesitantly placed his hand in yours with a firm shake.

“William but call me Willie.” He softly told you, catching sight of the patch on your jean jacket—one of many from both when your grandma owned it and then when you did.

“I’m Y/N. Let’s blow this disappointment. I’m gonna teach you everything you need to know.” Brushing off the invisible dust on your jeans, you held your hand out to him, “We’re about to make the afterlife our bitch.”

A stark contrast to his former hesitance he immediately grasped your hand to tug himself off the curb. The forlorn skater didn’t question the board in your hand or how he could possibly even touch his own board. He didn’t wonder how it wasn’t in pieces like it had been when he first got hit.

That rebellion that ended your life flared again in the presence of your best friend with crashing Justin Bieber’s house. Of rearranging items in classrooms to freak teachers out and sitting in the cars turning the radio on and off. Haunting the living until the friendship fractured under the influence of a powerful ghost.

Caleb Covington had bewitched the skater with promises and extravagant gifts until Willie had taken the offer.

“He’s not like you said he was! I think you should give him a chance!” Willie cried following you around the place you had taken to be home.

“Willie he’s a bad guy! He butters you up until you give him what you want! That’s when you see his true colours. All he wants is your soul to power his magic and spread his reach!”

“I got to talk to my sister!”

“Your sister is five years old! It’s not Covington that gave you the opportunity. She won’t remember the experience as anything other than an invisible friend!”

“There are so many people at the Club that we can talk to. Aren’t you tired of the same routine and people we see?”

Willie’s pleading brought your full attention to the skater avoiding your gaze, “William Young…you took his offer.”

Willie tore his gaze from the art on the wall to find yours blatantly glaring at him with a bucket of random colour in your hand.

“The Club is going to France to tour around the country for a while. I’m dead, so I might as well make the best of it. Besides who gets to skate through the Louvre!” Willie beamed, watching as a small smile, found its way on your face at his excitement, “I’m sure Caleb would let you come to the Club tonight!”

“Willie, you are my best friend, but I’ve already seen the Club. It’s not my style, and I want nothing to do with it.”

That interaction was one of the very few speckled through the years when Caleb discovered who you were. No matter his offers, you never took the deal and when he saw how close you and Willie where he kept the skater busy. The Club didn’t appear in Los Angeles for a long time until Willie’s distance seemed too great to bridge.

“So, you need a way for the slot to be empty?” Willie asked the trio of ghosts all spread around the area.

Unfortunately for Luke, the only person they could get help from was from the very guy that placed them in a predicament. While Alex was the one spearheading the conversation with the long-haired skater Luke was glowering in his direction.

“The Orpheum was the thing we never got to do. We spent hours practising and performing with one goal-“

“Play the Orpheum and get distance from our parents. Well, at the time that streetdog and becoming legendary was my main focus.” Reggie recounted the feeling of suffocating in a house filled with fighting. A home he wished still stood, now dead all he wanted was to see his parents.

“We almost did it too.” Luke pouted relaxing his glare at the skater who openly sent apologetic gazes at Alex’s bandmates.

“So, we need to get rid of the opening band.” Willie nodded to himself, thinking about ways before he caught sight of the abject horror on the band. The skater’s eyebrows raised, “I know I deeply fractured the trust, but I’m not suggesting murder.”

“Okay. Good.” Reggie whistled relaxing his tense posture while Luke grumbled under his breath an insult that in turn got Alex’s arm into the guitarist’s ribs.

“Your best bet would be getting the bus out of LA. The band will probably celebrate the upcoming gig.”

“Could you make the bus disappear?” Alex hesitantly questioned shifting in his now vintage sneakers. The blonde-haired drummer flushed slightly under the endearing smile from the skater. The feelings create a confliction within Alex under Willie’s issue, leading them straight into a madman’s hands.

“I can move a bench, turn sirens on, but a bus is outside my paygrade.” Willie openly admitted showing his hands deep in his pockets, “The only person other than Caleb that has enough power-“

“-is he just as evil?” Luke demanded crossing his arms to glare at the male that had unfortunately caught the interest of Alex.

However, Luke couldn’t blame Alex for falling for this guy because well, Luke saw the teenage ghost’s appeal. Willie was attractive, but he wasn’t the type of person Luke would fall for. Plus he had initially made Alex incredibly happy, and Luke would never blame Alex for that.

“She is as different from Caleb as one can be. She uh…she taught me everything about being a ghost. Actually, found me where I died.” Willie cleared his throat as the guilt and sadness reared its head from deep within him. The guilt of leaving his little sister to grow up without him and the sorrow of not growing up with the girl.

It wasn’t often Willie allowed himself to remember the little girl, barely five when he died, who was always dancing. His little sister adored the colour purple and anything shiny and more than once Willie had let her dress him up. Willie’s greatest regret is that he’d never have that interaction with her. God, she’d be around his age now and in high school.

“Okay, so where is she?” Reggie clapped his hands, bringing the skater out of his thoughts and back into the present.

Luke saw the hesitation in Willie, “There’s a catch, isn’t there?”

“Kinda?” Willie trailed off bouncing on the balls of his feet, “I haven’t seen her in years now. Last time I saw her we fought about the whole joining Caleb thing? I’m not even sure if she’s still in LA.”

“Of fucking course,” Luke grunted shoving both hands in his hair taking a few steps away from the other ghosts.

First, he dies, then he gets caught up in some bullshit revenge plot, then makes a deal with the devil without realizing it, and now their one chance is going up in flames. Luke Patterson was livid with the universe and the shitty hand he had been dealt, but at least he had his friends with him.

“It can’t hurt to look for her?” Reggie innocently offered with a shake of his shoulders, “It’s not like we have any other option.”

“Did we ever even have options?” Luke hissed, causing Willie and Alex each to flinch with the different guilt they carried.

Alex was guilty of going to Willie for help when getting back at Bobby was the biggest thing. Willie was guilty of ignoring his instincts on keeping Alex as far from Caleb as he could be he just wanted to impress the drummer. It’s not like Willie had many options for dating, and well, Alex was the first to get his entire focus.

“Dude. Stop. No one saw it coming.” Reggie bumped his hip against the annoyed guitarist, “Let’s find this ghost and get our shot at playing.”

The quartet of dead guys didn’t have high hopes of finding the girl in question, but it seemed the universe took pity on Luke Patterson. Just two hours into their search on the edges of the city limits an individual was walking.

The person’s stature leaned against a smashed concrete wall of the skeleton of where a building once was. The only thing the group could make out was a faded jean jacket with splotches of colour. Her ankles crossed as her back leaned against the cement, oozed laid back confidence. Coming closer, Luke noticed the sunglasses perched on top of her head and the lips painted dark.

“What do you need Willie? I heard you were looking for me.” The husky voice drew Luke in the most. The lead guitarist of Julie and the Phantoms enamoured with the girl.

“How’d-“Willie’s question was cut off as you simply tapped your right index finger against your temple.

“How do you think you managed to get here?” You inquired pushing off the cement to stride over to the group. To Willie’s surprise, he was tugged into your embrace before swiftly pushed away, “Come on. We should head in before someone catches us.”

In the dark as much as the other three ghosts, Willie dutifully followed you past the pieces of cement littered around the area. Gasps of surprise sounded as the once empty space became filled with buildings. It was not as extravagant as the hotel the Club worked out of, but it was hidden from the living and dead eyes.

“Where did this come from?” Reggie gasped astounded by the people once hidden from his view, moving around the area.

“This is Elysium. Don’t judge the name I lost the right in a poker game with Susie and Rudy. I’m Y/N.” You informed the group leading them to the gate where two people stood stoically guarding it, “Rudy was hellbent on calling it Valhalla.”

“This is Luke, Reggie and Alex.” Willie gestured to the awed trio of musicians only lingering on the blonde. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see the attraction between the skater and the blonde; finding a date in the afterlife was a lot harder than the living.

Nodding a greeting to the two ghosts, you lead the group to a building painted a pretty turquoise blue colour. The sign above the double doors a stark white with calligraphy writing simply stating Elysium Management. It was a building set up like an administrative office of three stories, and you led the group right up to the top floor.

“Just a heads up…Rudy is a little suspicious of people.” You admitted standing outside a door with a nameplate the only descriptor, “He’ll come off a little gruff and rude, but when you get passed that he doesn’t shut up.”

“I can hear you through the door dumbass.” The words were called out from the office door opening.

The man standing in the entry wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His honey-brown eyes lit up with a teasing look before it shuttered at the sight of four strangers behind you. Rudy had valid reasons to not fully trust people after the shitshow in his hometown when he was alive.

“And you’ve brought strangers.” Rudy deadpanned with a sigh concluding his sentence as he stepped back into the office. It appeared like the world repositioned itself on the young man’s shoulders once more.

“I should be done within the hour. We can go over everything.” You informed your business partner and friend. Receiving only a nod from Rudy, you closed the door to his office, cutting off the view from your guests.

“He’s..uh.”

“Standoffish? Rudy keeps his past to himself, all he’s ever revealed is that he’s from a town a few hours away.” You spoke, opening the door to your own office decorated differently from Rudy’s more sterile black and white aesthetic.

Your office had splashes of colour with vintage posters of both music and film framed on the walls—a plush couch in the corner with a basket of blankets next to it. Instead of sitting behind the dark desk, you chose the couch instead. As you settled in the corner, you flicked one finger bringing an extra seat over.

The motion shocking the three boys accompanying Willie who had seen the abilities himself.

“Okay so why did you want to search for me?” You questioned the skater leaning back in the seat.

“When did this all happen?” Willie countered gesturing to the office in a building settled in the middle of a ghost town. A literal ghost town.

“There’s an empty lot in LA that used to house an abandoned apartment building that Rudy and I both called home. Of course, it was torn down, and we kinda knew that there’s wasn’t a place that didn’t have the threat of being annihilated at some point.” The memories of those unknown days trickled into your mind among the more positive ones, “We wanted a home. A place to call our own.”

“A week or so later a skittish pixie of a brunette crashed into us full speed. Susie had a certain ability that Caleb desired to have under his thumb. There are so many ghosts he had manipulated into selling him their soul. Rudy and I both wanted to stop Caleb from having that chance for everyone.” You continued, “Can I show you?”

The moon shone through the light clouds as a duo wandered LA’s streets in different mental states. The only home you had known had been unceremoniously ripped down with no future plans in place. Your entire life had been in that apartment in a building you had once thought only you inhabited. You had been unaware that on a separate floor, Rudy had been dwelling.

The two teens in starkly different clothing grew close with each other through the whole being the dead thing they shared. The mission was to find another place too, use but the feeling of home being ripped away tore at their hearts. The apartment was a place Caleb Covington hadn’t been aware of.

Your thoughts threatened to turn darker as a force knocked you onto your bac—aA short brunette groaning in pain to the left of you. The girl was Gwen, who would become very important to both Rudy and you.

I’ve always been a little different than most people. I can move things short distances, but I developed a specific talent. I can get inside people’s minds to plant, remove or alter memories or simply talk and read their thoughts.

The sound of your voice in their heads freaked them out more than they would like to admit. The intrusive tickle of something in their brains unsettling as you made a more present entry so they could feel it.

“What?”

“This is why I can’t be anywhere near Caleb. The whole reason he gives people stamps and takes their souls is because of me.” You fully admitted clasping your fingers in your lap, “He couldn’t cope with the fear of another ghost leaving so added a stipulation to joining his Club.”

“How did you come to create Elysium?” Alex inquired leaning forward in his seat to rest his elbows on his knees. Luke and Reggie followed his posture as the anticipation built.

“Everyone deserves a safe place. A place as far away from Caleb as possible and we do so for free. No fee is required, and ghosts are free to come and go as they please. They are welcome as long as their unfinished business keeps them in this plane.”

It sounded like a sweet deal to the group of teens, but they had other commitments, “You can tell us more, but we need your help.”

The pleading in the messy-haired brunette tore at your heartstrings like the one time Willie brought you to his house. It had been shortly before your friendship fractured, a few years ago. He had brought you to a suburb for low-income families and straight to the backyard where a twelve-year-old year danced.

The dead skater boy and the rebel sat in the patio chair on the tiny porch nestled in the postmark sized backyard. A quintet of pre-pubescent girls danced on the lawn to some bubblegum pop song. The Young girl was submissive to a more confident girl even when the venue was the Young girl’s home.

“The girl to the left is my little sister Kayla. She’s twelve now, it’s been seven years since I died.” Willie’s brown eyes saddened at the dancer who had a spark of maturity in her eyes, “I check in every once in a while. These are Kayla’s friends. The bossy girl is Carrie, and while the band is a group, she is the unofficial leader of the band Carrie’s Constellations.”

“She looks happy.”

“Kayla’s always been bubbly in personality, but she had questionable friends.” Willie outright admitted keeping his eyes pinned to the girl that had grown up in a blink of an eye. Her dark hair concealed by the gaudy purple wig; the colour assigned to the teenager.

“It’s nice that she still enjoys dance.” Willie finished reaching out to grab your hand in his and just like that Willie transitioned back into carefree, “I found this really cool skatepark I think you’d like.”

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Alex winced as the three musicians flinched as a sudden purple spark of colour lit up their midsections.

Like a tentacle, your mind reached into the quiet raven-haired boy with the leather jacket. Beyond the imagery of docile golden retrievers and steaming plates of food, you found the regret and fear in the boy. Stepping into a recent memory, you watched their experience at the Hollywood Ghost Club.

“You’ve met Caleb.” You sighed roughly pushing your index finger between your brows feeling the familiar ache.

“It was a stupid decision,” Luke spoke up, tearing his focus from the mysterious girl that ultimately had the power in her hands. The entire plan was weighing on the decision you would give, “Either we join his house band, or we don’t exist.”

“Hm.” You spoke as the kaleidoscope of colours in Luke’s eyes glittered under the sterile lights of the room. It was difficult to look away from the enthralling teenage ghost, but the emotion wafting off Willie was concerning.

“They died before they could perform at the Orpheum. We’re banking that getting the opening slot with giving them the push into crossing over.” The long-haired skater leaned closer, “I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I can’t do much.”

“So, you want to pull ’09 incident again?” You completely ignored the trio on the couch staring directly at the sheepish skater with raised eyebrows, “Only this time without the train?”

“Train?” Alex whispered, looking between the two long-time friends with interest and then next thing he knew Alex was in the backseat of a van crushed between Reggie and Luke equally confused.

Chicago, Illinois 2009

William Young and Y/N Y/L/N were complete hellions in the ghost world, creating havoc that fascinated the living population. The recent event being the highjacking of a van filled with drunk teenage boys. These boys had been the sole reason a young girl was recovering in a hospital with life-threatening injuries. The scene changed to a hospital room with Willie and Y/N watching a girl with massive bruising laid.

It had hit both Willie and Y/N hard catching the tail end of the new report, Willie thinking of how that could have been his sister. Even if Kayla was only five years old, having a sister set things more in perspective. For you it was a flashback to when you were alive and thus led you to the ICU room for the girl.

Slipping into her unconscious mind was easy but while the injured teen appeared peaceful to the hospital staff, she was anything but. The poor girl’s mind replayed the traumatic incident over and over like a movie; keeping in the shadows, you gently repainted the portrait with lighter and brighter images.

For Willie, he watched as you wavered on your ghostly feet and smoothed out the features of the girl. The heart monitor subtly changing as the injured girl relaxed, and suddenly your interference heightened her chances of survival.

“I got it.” You spoke to Willie with a heated glare on your features and when the ghostly musician trio blinked they were back in the van.

Your hands gripped the van’s steering wheel with Willie turned in the passenger seat to watch a group of living boys scream. To the living eyes in the van, no one was in the front seats but whispered words spoke into their minds.

You’re going to go straight to the police and tell them what you did. You’ll hand over the photographic evidence and demand the worst punishment. You’ll leave the girl alone, or we’ll come back to finish our job. You will pay for the hospital bills if the family agrees.

The boys trembled with the putrid scent of urine permeating the enclosed vehicle. The distant sound of a train echoed in the distance as the van stopped on the tracks. No matter how much the living boys moved the doors refused to open, and the windows remained unbreakable.

“WE promise!” The ringleader cried, slamming his shoulder against the door with the train’s bright lights illuminating the van.

“Let us go!” The other screamed, slamming his bruising hands on the window.

Alex was flinching at each slam of fists on the glass, leaving smears of blood. Knuckles broke from the window. At the very last second, your foot slammed the gas pedal taking the van millimetres from the train screeching on the tracks.

You and Willie stared at the stationary train lit up from the van’s headlights with the rhythmic flashes of the red and blue police lights. The van’s seat arrangement was different with the ringleader in the driver’s seat.

The three ghost musicians standing unseen behind the duo but in the real world out of the dreamlike memory you knew.

Elysium, Present Day

“Holy fucking shit.” Alex cussed out of breath, leaning back on the couch with shaking limbs and fear in his bloodless veins.

Luke’s eyes blinked owlishly at the boy that he had once thought could never do something as terrifying and torturous. He was afraid to even ask the outcome of the life-threatening incident you did on the assailants.

“That is the reason for the train.” You barely glanced at the shaken trio to stare at who had once been your partner in crime, “Willie, I have responsibilities here. We just opened a new division for the children we house here.”

“It would take a few hours.” Willie pleaded, positioning his hands into a pleading position turning on his charm. The puppy eyes you had always struggled to say no to as if you weren’t the type of person easily capable of staying strong.

“We’ll do anything.” Luke pleaded just as much recalling the countless times he had charmed himself out of situations, “Please help us.”

“I’ll have to make arrangements with Rudy and Susie, but I might be able to pull some strings. I’m really sorry Willie, but I’m gonna need to erase your knowledge of this place. There are too many people depending on this setup.”

Outside the Orpheum

Outside the legendary venue, three out of four band members for Julie and the Phantoms walked up to the marquee. Hopefully, the letters for Downslide would be changed into their band name just under the main act. Everything was riding on Willie and Y/N’s capabilities. Trusting the skater was challenging to do and more so someone they didn’t fully know.

“Look, don’t worry, guys. Willie said he’d get us on that marquee.” Alex soothed his friends on each side of him. All three wearing concerned expressions at the place that hopefully was their last stop before crossing over.

“This is gonna work, right?” Reggie questioned with his hand confidently sliding into the pockets of his black jeans. The relaxed posture a juxtaposition to the anxiety and nerves on his flushed face.

“It has to.” Luke’s lips pursed into a pout with his words tinged with a dialect different from his best friends. The faint souvenir from the place he spent a few years growing up before moving to LA.

Luke’s words were highlighted by the groans of pain as that flash of purple courtesy of Caleb’s death stamp appeared. All three hunched over clutched their chests breathing through the pain; Luke was the first to unfurl his form.

“Whoa!” You gasped flashing underneath the marquee beside Willie. Rushing to give Luke support without even a second thought.

When the aftershock faded, the guitarist stood straight up with a thankful smile that boarded on adoration.

“Are you guys, okay?” Willie asked, keeping back with the swell of guilt that happened, seeing the familiar symptoms of post-shock. He had felt them a time or two in the time he had sold his soul to his unfortunate boss.

“Yeah, it’s nothing we haven’t felt before,” Alex replied, rubbing his hand over the baby blue shirt he had chosen today. His blue eyes doing their best to avoid looking into the puppy-like ones of the skater, “How’d it go?”

“Well, when that opening band wakes up, they’re gonna find their bus 200 miles outside of Vegas.” Willie proudly announcing turning on his heel to show off the Downslide jacket he took from the lead singer. His fist extending to bump yours instinctively before he did so with Luke.

“With no chance of getting back in time.” You snickered in response living on the adrenaline and nostalgia of the rebellion. With Elysium, you had turned around your life, “Meaning-“

“-there’s probably a promoter upstairs right about now freakin’ out.”

“Nah. This is Hollywood, man.” Willie scoffed with a wave of his hand matching the one you supplied, “I’m sure he’s being very professional.”

As Willie finished his sentence up in the promotor’s office out of earshot of the ghosts stood a very pissed adult. His finger-wagging his finger with teeth clenched, his flushed skin a juxtaposition to the cheery blue Hawaiian style shirt. Frank Wolfe couldn’t believe how stupid his once opening band was.

“What do you mean the bus drove itself into the middle of the desert?” Frank questioned progressively growing more and more frustrated. His assistant Tasha casting concerned looks to her typically collected boss, “BUSES DON’T DRIVE THEMSELVES!”

Tasha flinched at the sudden loud growl of the sentence but more so as Wolfe starting slamming the phone into the cradle. Her fingers halting on her keyboard, going over the list of frequent acts. Unfortunately, the five acts had other commitments causing Tasha to fear tonight. The blonde lady was worried Wolfe could have a breakdown once more.

While Willie snickered to his own words, your eyes, not your mind, could read that Alex wanted to talk to the skater. With only a teasing jab of your elbow in Willie’s ribs you shuffled around the drummer to join Reggie and Luke away from the ‘will they won’t they’ couple.

“So, can you do me a favour?” Luke hesitantly questioned you with his inquisitive eyes a greener colour in the sunlight. His attractive eyes took your full attention with a simple tilt of your head, “Julie’s family means a lot to us, and could you keep an eye on them?”

“And Carlos,” Reggie interjected rocking on his polished pleather boots he had spent ages on finding for his rocker aesthetic back in the ’90s.

“-Julie’s little brother.” Luke supplied at the confusion painted clearly on your pretty features. His green eyes scoured your face as he always did that flushed both his and your faces red.

“Yeah, of course, I can.” You firmly told the two dead boys each standing tense in front of you.

You could easily see the love they held for the living family that had come to mean so much in such a short amount of time. Since first meeting them you had always gotten the feeling that their living years weren’t the best. For Alex, it was living in the ’90s as a young gay teenager during a terrifying time for the LGBTQ+ community. Reggie flinched at the raised voices, and Luke had longingly stared after the happy families milling around the Elysium.

“Did you ever find out what your unfinished business was?” Reggie inquired fixing a strand of his dark hair that had fallen onto his blemish-free skin. Your smile faltered at his question; nonetheless, you answered.

“I did.” The two words carried a sense of pain with them. Your eyes unfocused recalling the euphoric feeling of seeing the breathtaking white light of the peace exuding from the beyond and the agony of denying crossing over.

“How-“

“Hey! Y/N!” Willie called out to the young denim wearing ghost with his beaming grin, “Don’t go stealing buses without me!”

Luke swore he could see your laughter in the air, just as endearing as the smoky quality your voice carried.

“Don’t go glitter bombing criminals.” You returned as your best friend dropped his board to skate off to wherever he was needed. It was bittersweet to reconnect with him knowing that it could be the last time.

When Caleb found out, not an if but a when Willie had a hand in helping his desired band it was high chance Willie would be gone. Caleb was all too powerful, and when he was betrayed, it never ended well.

“I need to get back to Elysium. Susie’s arrival is tonight. Good luck with tonight.” Your words were accompanied by a hug for each of the boys. The one with Luke lingering the most, “I wish you could play for the kids.”

“Yeah. Me too.” The brunette, messy-haired boy’s words carried a hidden desire simply to be in your space more. The teenage ghost helps those in limbo while wearing a jean jacket with patches from many decades. The jacket creating an unknown time you had lived.

“Goodbye, boys.” You told the trio before you poofed away from the busy streets of Hollywood where the band had come full circle in death.

“Are you guys, okay?” Reggie inquired his best friends, forgoing his casual personality for the layers underneath. His blue-green eyes filled with only concern.

Alex and Luke shared a lingering look, “Yeah. We’re okay.”

The dining hall was filled with long tables and chairs populated by the ghostly forms of everyone currently living at Elysium. It was reminiscent of a British book turned film series of youth with magic abilities. The series had been a favourite of a former resident.

“Incredible.” Susie breathed staring at the joyful people having a place to call home. Making the limbo between life and death more bearable.

“We’ve done well. You smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist, “It’s so nice to have you back.”

Elysium was so much more than you could ever hope for. It kept growing and growing with more ghosts. Since the founding of the haven, new developments continuously happened with one resident’s unique ability.

Harvey had joined the haven a year into the founding bringing the ability to gift the residents with the capacity to eat. During his life, Harvey had been a renowned chef and the dream to make food it carried into his death. As long as Harvey cooked the food with his volunteer staff ghosts were able to eat it.

“Harvey has outdone himself again,” Rudy announced his arrival at your side with his arms crossed, displaying his corded muscles. The constellation of moles on his face standing on his pale creamy skin.

“Rudy!” Susie squealed, throwing herself into his arms with the same glee that came each time. Susie and Rudy since their first meeting had a special bond as chosen siblings who bonded over heartache.

Rudy had died, leaving his best friend and his strawberry blonde girlfriend in the living world back in their dark hometown. It was just one tidbit he had revealed throughout your friendship. The only physical connection to his living friends was the three picture on his desk of a group of people.

The first picture had a lean version of Rudy with his arms thrown over a Hispanic boy with a crooked jaw and glimmering brown eyes. The Hispanic boy had his arm around a pretty brunette girl with deep dimples and wavy brown hair. The two boys wore a sports uniform of some kind holding lacrosse sticks.

The second picture had Rudy and the Hispanic teen again but with a beautiful petite strawberry blonde. Along with them was a brunette with blunt chin-length hair and hardened features besides a shorter blonde male with blue eyes.

The last picture was of Rudy with the same Hispanic boy wearing graduation caps and gowns with two beaming adults. The male adult wore a tan shirt adorned with a star on his left pec and dark brown pants. He had to be Rudy’s father with similar features. The woman was of Hispanic descent with laugh lines, and thick dark curly hair pulled into a half do; obviously the Hispanic teen’s mother.

The pain in Rudy’s face each time he saw the pictures closed off a desire to ask him about the people.

“Hello, Susie.” Rudy chuckled, wrapping his arms around her small stature, “How was Europe?”

“Why don’t you ask the five newcomers I found before Caleb?” Susie teased gesturing to the ragtag of new ghosts immersed in conversations.

“Family?”

“A boarding school had a fire. Those five were in the fire when it happened and the only victims out of seven that didn’t cross over.” Susie’s tone faded into a melancholy tone with her small arms wrapping around her middle. Faded brown eyes staring at the younger of the five seeing herself in them.

“That’s terrible.” You whispered, staring at the table with one finger picking the patch of a band from the ’70s, “I can’t imagine how scary that could have been.”

“Yeah.” Susie softly spoke, pushing a strand of her hair off her temple just as equally sad for the way that death had no qualms of how it took.

The youngest ghost in Elysium had been a three-year-old toddler who passed over quickly when he was found by the deceased mother. The two had been separated at death and luckily shared the same unfinished business of finding each other.

“Miss Reynold’s has twelve spirits that finished their business.” Rudy softly informed his two partners. Soft smiles formed on their faces at the happy news of Elysium’s goal being accomplished again.

“May they find everlasting peace and serenity.” Your words intertwined with Susie in perfect sync of the motto coined after the first crossover, “I suppose the Serenity will begin planning?”

“Have the Serenity ever not performed their duty?” Rudy raised one dark eyebrow with a rhetorical question. E/c and faded brown met recalling the countless times Elysium had hosted a celebration for those who found their unfinished business.

“That is-whoa.” You gasped stumbling at the scream echoing in your mind accessorized with the vintage sound of a band.

Calloused hands grasped your shaking form from collapsing onto the ground from a proverbial psionic shove. Agony slammed your brain flickering into an old fashioned club filled with people in both colour or black and white attire. You caught sight of baby pink, deep royal blue and bright red suits. The pained screams of a skater in a dark room overtaking the music in the Club.

“No.” You whispered clenching your hands on your head, feeling the dread building in the pit of your stomach.

The joyful voices in the hall muted while your body flickered with the deep instinct to leave the haven for the one place that utterly terrified you. It was the familiar touch of Susie and Rudy that kept you from finding the one person that meant the world. Willie’s soul was on the cutting board, and Caleb obsession with performing was the only reason Willie still existed.

“Willie.” You whimpered tears rolling down your flushed cheeks, feeling the panic in the skater’s mind.

“Susie help me.” Rudy stonily spoke ushering the distraught girl from the busy hall into an empty room.

Your shaking body finding purchase on the plush sofa with Susie holding one hand in hers and Rudy brushing the sweaty hair from your forehead. It wasn’t often your psionic abilities left you in such a state, but the distance proved difficult.

“Shit.” Rudy grumbled frowning, “This is bad. Y/N, we need to get you to Willie. You’re flickering, and the distance isn’t helping.”

“You want to take one of Elysium’s strongest ghosts straight into Caleb’s domain? You know how much he wants her in his Club.” Susie hissed to the co-founder of the haven they had to take extraordinary measures to protect, “It won’t work! You’re throwing her to the dogs!”

“Susanne I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t necessary. Besides, we always have a plan.” Rudy retorted narrowing his whiskey eyes at the younger girl, “I’ll take her to get Willie, but you need to stay here to make sure everything runs smooth.”

“Are you sure you can-“Susie cut herself off with a nod as Rudy displayed the reason he could do it, “Okay, yep, you can do it.”

Rudy came back into her vision in his signature position with one eyebrow raised, and his arms crossed. The reason why Elysium worked so well was Rudy’s ability to erase an object from the view of anyone. He could make himself invisible to anyone and in practice, developed it to hide items and location. With his ability, Elysium was permanently hidden to anyone outside of his power. Illusions were his unique ability.

“You aren’t the first person to doubt my capability.” Rudy informed the other ghost reaching one hand out. With his fingers caressing your temple, he snapped his fingers, transporting you and him away from Elysium.

The empty room of Elysium’s dining hall was exchanged for the business streets of Los Angeles, bringing an improvement in your body. Pushing away from Rudy, your eyes frantically scoured the unfamiliar area for any hint of Willie.

“He’s close.” You exclaimed closing your e/c eyes to focus solely on your sixth sense kicking in. Rudy’s gasp snapped your eyes open to see his eyes pinned on your feet where a glowing neon purple smoke wisped.

“What is that?” Rudy demanded crouching to touch it, but it was like nothing was there. His whiskey brown eyes meeting your confused gaze.

“I have no clue, but I feel like I have to follow it.” Robotically your feet started walking following the smoke through the streets.

Rudy was silent as you came upon a park swallowed by the darkness of the night with the moon barely showing through the clouds. The odd purple smoke the only offering of light so far from the path with street lights.

“Of course we have to go through a park.” Rudy grumbled, “Nothing good ever happens in wooded areas at night.”

Lifting your eyes from the smoke, you looked at a deeply unsettled Rudy lost in the past only he knew. His mind recalling traipsing through the forest with his asthmatic best friend in the middle of the night. The last night before the unknown took over his life. Oddly enough dying and returning as a ghost was the most normal with everything that happened with his friends alive.

“You can go ba-“

“We’re not splitting up,” Rudy growled plainly scowling at your hesitant features. Rudy’s slammed the door closed on his past life.

Sensing unease Rudy’s calloused hand reached over to slide into yours in platonic support. You continued your mission, unaware that three certain ghosts in breathtaking suits were searching for you.

Alex, Reggie, and Luke, affected by the purple jolts, failed to find the one place where their plan B could work. What Julie hadn’t known was that the guys had a plan just in case the Orpheum wasn’t their unfinished business. The three would go to Elysium to accept their fate and ensure Julie believed they crossed over.

With no Elysium in sight, the boys returned to the Molina garage hoping that one thing would go their way: Julie would go straight to bed.

The glow purple smoke trailed through the city park into an older part of Los Angeles before it stopped. Where the smoke stopped was a vast empty space surrounded by trees.

“Well, that’s a little anticlimactic.” You grumbled crossing your arms, “Willie’s somewhere here. Do you think Caleb has an underground lair?”

Rudy cast an unamused expression at you, “From past experience. No, that’s not likely. He probably has an apartment downtown. An underground network of caves in the woods is more shapeshifter style but still not true.”

“One: You’re rambling. Two: What the hell kind of life did you have?” You questioned furrowing your eyebrows at his rather odd piece of information.

“An old one.” Rudy spoke, staring ahead, “Besides, I think we should check out whatever building is hidden from our sight.”

“Hid-“Your mouth halted when Rudy roughly gripped your shoulders to twist you to face the empty space.

“Close your eyes. Trust your senses.” Rudy spoke softly, “Or pay attention to the slab of concrete in the middle of an empty space with well-kempt grass.”

Your palm slammed your forehead with a resounding thump in the night with distance lights from surrounding buildings. Rudy squeezed your shoulders as he stepped to the side once more in turn, closing his eyes.

“Walk in my mind.” Rudy stated for the first time in your friendship, allowing you to look in his mind. Your hesitance was met with another squeeze of comfort in his calloused grip.

Your tired eyes closed as your mind timidly stepped into the rather breathtaking mind of Rudy, who felt guilt the most. While Susie’s mind was like a summer day spent at a lake with brightness and gorgeous field of flowers, Rudy’s mind was different.

It was dark in Rudy’s mind but not as if evil, but as if he had been touched by the darkness and painted permanently. There’s was the odd whisper of childlike laughter intermingled with the full adult laugh of a woman; the laughter overshadowed with the sound of funeral music. You felt the lose near that memory. Rudy’s mind was painful to be in and drowning in the feelings he had.

Your breath caught seeing a door you assumed was of his childhood room with a name you couldn’t pronounce for the life of you.

“My parents named me after my mom’s dad.” Rudy spoke through his mind with a soft smile on his face, “I couldn’t say it, so I called myself Mischief. I stopped using it when my mom died, and I went by a shortened version of my last name.”

Your eyes watched as the door disappeared, and the reason you were in his mind came back to the forefront. Your eyes watched the image forming of a vintage hotel rippling in the air before it solidified. The size reminded you of a castle, and it felt like you were storming it.

Without any more mental interaction, you stepped out of Rudy’s mind back into the real world. The very same hotel in plain sight to both Rudy and your surprised elation.

“Honestly didn’t think that would work.” Rudy breathlessly laughed, staring at the hotel once hidden to them. A dark comparison to Elysium.

“How do we play this, Rudy?” You inquired looking over at him, “This is very different from stealing cars and scaring teens.”

“Easy. We blend in.” Rudy responded, holding one hand out to grasp yours in which you noticed your attire had changed, “Perks of illusion? I can alter our own perception of ourselves.”

“Oh, wow. That looks expensive.” You replied, staring at the diamond bracelet on your wrist matching the necklace you wore.

Rudy’s attire had changed from his normal button-up with the sleeves rolled to be layered under a charcoal grey vest and jacket. Sleek matching pants to his coat and the dark black-tie matching the elegant black dress you wore. He had taken pity on your footwear to fit your ability to walk and for the fancy place.

He even had diamond cufflinks that matched you, but the wedding rings on your fingers took you aback. Your widened eyes staring at him.

“Tonight we’re Mr and Mrs Martin,” Rudy spoke choking on the last name he gave as it was the upscale name toppled from his lips.

“Okay. This is a test of our abilities.”

“This is if our plan A of being invisible doesn’t work. The one thing we know for sure is that Caleb has never seen either one of us.” Rudy soothed your nerves with a half-smile,” Let’s get Willie out.”

Your arm slipped into the crook of his to walk to the front door, “I feel like a spy. I feel like that Naomi Roma-“

“It’s Natasha Romanoff. Have you ever seen one of the marvel movies?” Rudy demanded walking up the entrance with a pained smile, “You’re like my best friend and when he wouldn’t watch Star Wars! Never caught one of my references!”

“Okay! Sorry, we can watch the movies when this over.” You grumbled as your heels clicked in the foyer of the hotel. The inside made you feel like you were sent back in time to the roaring ’20s.

“Oh damn, this is nice,” Rudy whispered, staring at the chandelier in the extravagant lobby of the last place you wanted to be.

While on the outside the two ghosts appeared cool, calm and collected they were anything but. Both a wreck inside from the perilous errand they had done that could very well be the ending of Elysium. Rudy nudged you to begin finding Willie with your mind, but you didn’t need to.

That same glowing mist was on the ground pulling you in the direction of a dark hall away from the route to the Club. Rudy kept his eye out, a characteristic carried into the afterlife from his time with the FBI, as you followed the mist. The hall continued to get more and more dark as the walk continued.

Finally at the end was a blood-red door.

“I swear to god if he kills his Club members, I’ll lose it.” You hissed to your arm candy, “What if he’s really H. H. Holmes disguised as a former magician? His door is blood red!”

“Have you been using your serial killer colouring book again?” Rudy demanded stuttering his steps to place his whiskey brown eyes on you. The sheepish expression on your face was enough of a response to gain the look of disbelief could have sent you into hysterics had the time not been too serious.

With a grin belying the situation, you twisted your wrist to open the door to hopefully where Willie was being held.

“What a cliché. He’s keeping Willie in the basement?”

“Will you shut up!” Rudy hissed right back with a clenched jaw entering the somewhat unfinished basement. It was cold even to your dead standards where the cold didn’t bother that much.

At the bottom in front of a desk with only a small lamp as illumination sat a vacant-eyed Willie painstakingly detailing a fabric. The lush purple velvet fabric was bougie, to say the least, and rather outlandish for the skater.

“Willie.” You softly coaxed the teen to glance up from the fabric you found to be something Caleb would wear. Willie’s brown eyes barely met yours before they returned to the sewing needle in his hand and the tiny beads in the bowl.

“Caleb is actually forcing him to be his personal seamstress?” Rudy scoffed,d stepping right up by your side to look at the work.

Both trying unsuccessfully to coaxed Willie out of the stupor he was engaged in the sudden poofing wasn’t heard.

“Mrs. Young taught both Willie and Kayla how to sew. She’s quite the seamstress, reminds me of my old one.” Caleb wistfully responded with a smarmy smile on his face, “Well if it isn’t little Y/N and whoever she brought. Nice threads.”

“Let him go.”

Caleb’s index finger caressed the corner of his mouth so gently to ensure the stage makeup didn’t budge. His clear ocean blue eyes turning thunderstorm navy as his lips parted in such a bone-chilling sinister grin.

“Let him go? He tried to take my new house band from me. He thinks that those boys not crossing over is his punishment. I think that adorable but so very wrong.” Caleb shrugged, dragging his finger down the bicep of his puppet.

“What can we do to- “

“You see after he’s done fixing the tuxedo jacket I’m going to tie him up on the table and slowly strip away his soul piece by piece. No, Willie won’t get the quick and easy zap erasing him. I’ll personally see it’s the most painful thing he experiences and I’ll do so happily.”

“Willie! Wake up!” Rudy shouted, shaking the skater’s shoulder frantically with his focus never entirely leaving the mad man. The whiskey brown eyes panicking at the odd displaced feeling of reliving his living life.

“That won’t work.” Caleb chuckled crossing his arms, “It’s rather amusing you think you can beat me. I’m Caleb Covington! I’m persuasive enough for hundred of memberships to financially benefit the Club.”

“And I’m Y/N Y/L/N bitch.” You snarled viciously throwing your mind into the nefarious narcissistic mind of the washed-up magician.

Caleb Convington had started to bore his audience with the same tricks at every previous show. The lack of interest depleting the attendance numbers and severely hurting the financials. So Caleb decided to broaden his talent by copying the likes of Harry Houdini.

He had a knack for both the dramatics and swindling his audience to be tricked by the illusions he created. The heightened popularity increased Caleb’s thirst for status and fame, so he overestimated himself.

Surrounded by adoring fans and journalists, Caleb had his assistant lock him in a safe with no key, to the audience’s knowledge, and push the safe into the river. Unfortunately from the infamous magician and escape artist the safe warped due to the material it as made out of. Caleb Covington died drowning in a safe at the bottom of the river.

You flinched feeling the emotion at the time Caleb had died and the feeling of disappointment at not leaving a legacy. Your continued your trek in the struggling mind of a man who viewed himself as invincible. You caught glimpses of a young Caleb with his family and the moments of tragedy that shaped him.

You saw his first taste of power in death and the content since the first time he erased a ghost from existence. It sickened you more as you reached the point where Willie came into Caleb’s path.

I’m unique, Caleb. Unlike you with the illusions and empty promises, I have real power that you could only dream of. Hearing your thoughts and planting my own words is just the tip of the iceberg.

Caleb screamed in response holding his aching head as you cruelly ripped every memory of Willie from his mind. The screams echoed not only in the basement but through the hotel the Club worked out of.

“Stop!” Caleb pleaded, shaking his head back and forth. The anguish was un-fazing to both the lucid people in the room. Rudy too busy trying to wake your best friend from the trance he had been placed in.

“I can alter memories. Remove them and even plant memories of my own design. You may take from people, but I give to people. I refused to give you anything.” You circled the man seeing double from outside and inside his mind.

I’m everything you wish you could be.

Your last action in his mind was searing a burn that flashed across his entire body from a nerve stroked. With the heat equivalent to magma in his veins, you burrowed to where Caleb controlled the souls. With a smear of your fingers, Willie’s soul was released from Caleb clutches.

“C’mon. Get Willie.” You told Rudy sending Caleb into an empty trance as if he was no more than a wax figure. Rudy eased the skater up from the desk while you exchanged Caleb to sit on the chair holding the needle, “We need to leave. I’ll get rid of any speck of Willie in memories.”

“I didn’t even get to punch the guy.” Rudy pouted, dragging his feet up the stairs away from the magician.

“That’s a good thing. I’m sure Caleb would be more pissed about his nose being damaged than losing Willie.” You scoffed helping the man urge Willie to walk up the stairs and then down the hallway to the entrance.

As you walked you brushed the minds of every individual in the building, all members in attendance, you gently removed all traces of Willie. By the time you reached the edge of the park, you had relaxed.

“We should get him to Alex, they didn’t crossover. I can still feel their imprint.”

“He’d be safer at Elysium to lay low.” Rudy replied, keeping on eye on the skater and on anyone he could see.

With only a nod, you ushered the ghost to teleport both the skater and himself back to the safe walls of Elysium. As he did so, you reached out with your mind to the blonde-haired sweet male in adoration with your best friend.

Clicking his place was easy enough for your draining power after the taxing bond with Willie’s absent presence. Instead of walking as you would generally choose you poofed on the cement pad in the backyard of a home. The surrounding skirt of the backyard encased with plants and flowers.

“Hello?” You called out in the darkness. The soft, mumbled words had your feet moving in the direction.

Standing in a circle mesmerized at the purple tattoos lifting off their skin was the boys of Julie and the Phantoms. The teenage beautiful Puerto Rican girl stood across from Luke with Reggie and Alex on each side.

“Alex?” You called out to the boy wearing a baby pink vintage tuxedo that complimented his skin and hair exquisitely. The outfit definitely screamed that Caleb had something to do with it, especially with the missing fanny pack.

“Y/N?” Luke gasped turning to see you in incredibly fancy attire matching his gorgeous blue suit modified to having no sleeves. The anticipation of eating at you to find Reggie rocking a red suit with butterflies on the fabric.

“I’m sorry you didn’t crossover.” Your words soothed the sad teenagers that had accepted their fate only to have no control again. An introduction was brought between you and Julie when the living girl elbowed Alex.

“Not that we mind but what are you doing here? How did you get here, and why are you dressed up?” Luke inquired, pushing his hands into his suit pockets, engrossed with your gorgeous appearance.

“Well when you crash a fancy Club with a narcissistic founder…any means to blend in is necessary.” You responded, “As for your second question.”

Your finger tapped your temple before continuing to speak, “I’m here because Alex deserves to know. You all do.”

The boy in baby pink frantically stepped forward, “What happened?”

“Maybe it’s best, I just show you?” Your brows furrowed to your own question accompanied by your lower lip being bitten by your teeth. The red lipstick not budging as it was an illusion as well.

“Hu-“Reggie grunted as he spiralled with his two dead bandmates into the scene that had sent you on your determined mission.

The rough action of being drawn into your memories as jarring as the first time and just as scary. The maniacal magician pacing the dark basement simply to heighten his dramatic speech. Alex’s heart clenched at the vacant look in the skater’s eyes with the faintest tinge of purple in the gorgeous brown.

“I feel like I got carsick.” Reggie moaned leaning over to clutch his midsection once you released the ghostly trio. Reggie would often gain a look of disbelief and horror from the blonde drummer, but his entire brain was centred on Willie.

“Rudy took Willie back to Elysium where he’ll be safe. If you want, you can join us.” The words were offered to both the dead and living currently in the room.

Opting out, Julie retired to her bedroom to calm down from the rush of performing at the Orpheum of all places. Besides she felt like going to Elysium was best for the three boys, and maybe they would move there. Julie would miss them, but she knew they’d always come back.

Susie was quick to hug you tightly as you stepped through the gates with the dead members of Julie’s band. The boys changed out of the tuxedos they had dropped off at a donation centre, Reggie had wanted to burn them. After living on the streets for a short while, Luke understood the need for clothing, so the clothing was taken to shelters.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. Rudy told me you overexerted yourself again.” Susie spoke with a deeply furrowed brow oblivious to the puppy dog look from the bassist in red flannel.

“If I didn’t, Willie would be gone.”

“You’re pale yet flushed cheeks. I can see you have a fever. You need to rest.”

“I need to soothe Willie out of the trance that psychotic prick put him in.” You scoffed shaking Susie’s hand off your shoulder to sidestep her, “I’ll rest when he’s fine.”

“I-“

“At least gab something from the cafeteria for energy.” Susie’s brown eyes dimmed at your typical brush off. The same routine of overusing your powers and not recharging correctly, “He’s in Cottage A!”

The boys were on your heels as you power-walked through the streets of the ghost city with one location in mind. The living streets with homes of all style and colours appeared passed the bakery, the school and the clothing stores.

“You can eat?” Reggie whispered as a little ghost girl licked an ice cream cone walked by.

“Harvey adored cooking for people when he living, so he continued in death. Harvey can make food for ghosts, and so can his staff if they work in his kitchen. His pastry chef provides baked goods to Flora’s Bakery and makes the best ice cream.”

“Oh my god.” Reggie practically squealed wholly flabbergasted by the almost perfect place you created, “How do you pay for things?”

“We don’t. What Harvey doesn’t grow in his garden, he can make ingredients out of thin air. We all have some kind of job we do. Everyone has a role in fulfilling to keep Elysium running.” You simply spoke keeping your eyes on the cottage with the robin’s egg blue door.

As if he knew Rudy flung the door open elated to see you standing there. Both of you still wearing the illusioned attire. IN milliseconds he wiped the illusion away, returning you back into your street clothes.

“How is he?”

“No change.” Rudy replied, following your steps in the living room. The skater was staring blankly at the wall.

“Willie!” Alex cried, rushing over to kneel beside the boy that had so swiftly stolen his heart without him realizing. The emotion in his word didn’t get a microscopic flinch from the formerly so-called enemy.

“Everyone be quiet.” You demanded forcibly staring each person in the room down for a mere second. With the desired silence continued, you ignored the headache forming in your head to step into the skater’s mind.

William Young was screaming to be released by the prison of his own mind Caleb had forced him into. He had felt the restriction on his soul lifted and the mist of purple leaving his brain, but he was still stuck.

He could barely breathe with the weight on his chest. Willie didn’t like feeling stuck in one place as he was a wanderer at heart. It was a reason why he had joined the Hollywood Ghost Club with the promise of travel.

Willie come back

In his mind, the sound of your voice firstly grounded the young man as a mirage of your form flickered. Your eyes screamed worry while the smile was one of relief.

Caleb can’t hurt you anymore. Come home.

The spectators watching see your flinching wavering expression and the tensing of Willie’s facial muscles. Everyone sat on the edge of their seat as the two pairs eyes opened in synch of the yells of hurt.

What they didn’t expect was your eyes to roll into the back of your skull and you to collapse onto the floor.

“Y/N!” Willie cried, stumbling off the couch onto the cold floor where your body lay prone, “Wake up!”

It seemed everyone forgot the little detail of being dead.

“She’s fine.” Rudy remarked, shaking your arm with such gentle care matching the four guys’ care in the room.

Your eyelids fluttered open under the bright lights of the unused cottage still waiting for an owner.

“Susie was right.” You grumbled allowing Willie to help you sit up against the blue velvet couch. Your mussed hair adorable in the eyes of the guitarist utterly enamoured with everything about you.

“She usually is.” Rudy mused, thinking of the many times she had proven everyone wrong, “She punched me for not bringing you home.”

“Gotta love her.” You snorted turning to face the four ghosts awkwardly gazing around the room. It was barren of personality with the lack of inhabitants. The yearning quickly found in the boys’ eyes, “You know this isn’t the only cottage in need of people.”

“What do-“

“You’re welcome to live here. I know you three live in that studio, but here you can have a real bed. You can eat and having your own place. You can come and go as you please.” You offered without looking, Rudy.

“I don’-“

“If you don’t want to live here, it’s okay, but the option is always there. Willie, we make plans for a skatepark-“

“Oh, you had me from the start.” Willie beamed tugging you into his arms, “I missed this. I missed you.”

“Me too.” You murmured into his warm embrace equally relaxed at knowing he was safe again. Your eyes clashing with the soft blue had Ideas songwriting already filled with lyrics of a pretty girl wearing a jean jacket with patches.

The lyrics turned into songs both in the studio and the cottage that Luke, Reggie and Alex accepted in Elysium. It had been a spirited discussion with Julie on moving to Elysium, but the boys were always there when she wasn’t in school. Often Elysium hosted a concert for the residents with the visitation of Julie.

Your reciprocated attraction with the messy-haired hazel-eyed guitarist flourished into a serious relationship. Luke took on the role of teaching how to play the guitar and songwriting. Alex took of mediation while Reggie worked with Harvey.

Willie quickly took on designing the skatepark he taught at while also taking a position at the ghost school.

“Morning.” The soft whisper roused your sleep into the golden glow of the morning light and chirping birds.

The growling aspect of his voice coming from only just waking up. The sight of Luke’s bleary eyes was heartwarming.

A year into moving into Elysium, Luke had asked if you’d like to move in as he was the only one in the original house. Alex had moved into the little cottage with Willie three months into the relationship while Reggie was going back and forth between Susie’s room and his own place.

“Morning.” You hummed leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

“You know I thought my life ended when I died. That I could never find someone and have a family. That I couldn’t share my music with the world. I was wrong.” Luke murmured as he cupped your cheek in his hand, “The band is growing more and more each day. I found the love of my life, and we have a family with everyone. I haven’t felt like I had had home for so long, but I get it now. You’re my home. I love you.”

Your cheeks warmed up at the adoration Luke displayed in his expressive hazel green gaze just as it had since day one. The awe fell from his lips before you pressed a kiss to his lips, only one of the many in the eons to come.

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#luke patterson imagines #luke patterson x reader #julie and the phantoms imagines #luke patterson x y/n #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson #alex mercer x willie #jatp fanfic #jatp luke #charlie gillespie imagines #sunset curve #jatp au #caitsy and ash productions

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thatonecitykid · 3 years

Text

I bet on Losing

Hey everyone! Sorry this is so sad.. was already crying so might as well make everyone else cry.This takes place after Endgame but during the same time as Far From Home. Listen to "I Bet on Losing Dogs" by Mitski for the full experience. Word Count: 2517. Have fun angels :)

Peter had finally left for his class trip, Pepper and Morgan had gone to spend their summer in Malibu, the remaining avengers were either in space or had completely disappeared from your life. Here you were after five years of your life had evaporated, and after all this time you had to play your fathers role for all the remaining avengers. You hadn't had the opportunity to cry when you first learned about what had happened. You couldn't cry at the funeral, not because you did not want to, but because you felt as if your father wouldn't want to see it. No one wanted to leave you alone, but after months of trying to dig some type of emotion out of you they had assumed that the death and slow disappearance of your makeshift avenger family had unaffected you.

You finally had the opportunity to exist alone. You had also finally mustered up the strength to visit secluded cabin your father had lived in for the last five years of his life. Although you had been given the keys immediately after the funeral, something about visiting the area made you feel uneasy. Not necessarily creeped out but just as if you did not belong, after all it was something your father invested in after you had already blipped away for several months.

You drove up to the cabin alone, slowly unlocking the door as if to not start or whoever may be inside. Before even entering the cabin, it looks clean, you assume that Pepper has had people cleaning constantly to maintain the cabin. It made sense, it was something she's cherished. You stepped into the cabin slowly and began to look around. The walls were lined with framed pictures of Morgan, family pictures of Pepper, your dad, and Morgan, and random posters and vintage albums. Although you were not the one to complain about it, having no evidence of your existence in the main areas of the home caused your heart dropped. As you wandered through the kitchen and the main family room, there is no evidence of Tony's life prior to the blip, just a somewhat normal family of three.

You decide to wander to the basement area, leaving the office and bedroom spaces upstairs for later. There was a large sitting area that you assumed they watched movies in. There was also a playroom painted pink featuring all sorts of gadgets very similar to those you grew up with that Tony had made for you. Towards the back hall of the basement, it was a glass door to your father's workshop area. You open the door gently and made your way in.

Despite looking like somewhat of a mess, you knew that behind the madness there was a method. You could tell that although your dad left in a hurry, things were placed in specific spots very similarly to how he did in every other one of his workshops. You walked towards his swiveling chair, noticing a metal box with a button on the worktable. You press the button and jump back as a life-size hologram of your father appeared in the room. He began

"Hi Pepper. My love, my muse, my boss. If you are listening to this then I did the one thing you have always told me not to do. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the worry I've put you through, and I am sorry for taking myself away from you. I was a gift wasn't I. You've already seen another version of this message, but it never hurts to see your face again my darling."

The tears in your eyes begin to form, not because you had not expected to see your father. At this point you had already seen the message he had left after the funeral; It was only really meant for Pepper and Morgan, never addressing you.. At the funeral you refused to enter the cabin but as you watched the message while standing outside, Happy looked over at you with remorse but you kept a straight face again. Who were you to complain at your dead dad's funeral? Yet this message radiated the same energy.

As the second portion of the message began to play tears began to fall faster. It almost feels like an out of body, sure your dad had taken up different kids during your time growing up, but this message made you feel as If you had been completely replaced. Although it felt like a dumb theory there was no evidence as to your existence prior to Morgan.

"Hello my little scientist. How's my favorite person. Daddy is really sorry I can't be there right now. Be a trooper and hug you mom for me real quick. Now you must be surprised because I'm supposed to be the strongest dad in the world but let me tell you kid, sometimes crazy things happen when put on the ironman helmet. My little minion I love you 3000. My love for you is infinite. You have been and will forever be daddy's best friend."

Here you were crying over a child who had also lost her father, filled with jealousy over the fact that you father had chosen her and failed to consider your return but had prepared for Peter's return, still had projects waiting for Harley, and had in fact set up a stable plan for Morgan's future. At this point you were sobbing, what had all felt like a bad nightmare and jumping to conclusions had started to feel way too real. This emotion was even stronger than when you watched footage from your father suit as the snap happened, this emotion felt like a stab in the back.

Maybe he never loved me.

You tried to collect yourself but were still sobbing when the holographic figure of you father disappeared. You might as well finish the house tour before leaving. The upstairs portion of the house featured Tony and Pepper's room, Morgan's room and two other doors. The main bedroom was tidy and organized, with a closet full of clothes that both Pepper and your dad had left. You walked into Morgan's room and did a quick look around, not wanting to invade child space. Returning to the hallway you opened the door to your father's office. Inside there was a rather simple with a desk, a leather chair, and two matching chairs. The plants in the room were growing well, meaning someone still came to water them. There were a few pictures on the wall, including Peter's Stark internship picture, and a random picture you took of the original Avengers after their first New York battle. On the desk there was another metal box similar to that in the workpace. You argued whether or not you wanted to potentially break your heart more before giving in, siting in the leather seat and pressing the button.

A slim beam of light scanned over your face, confirming your identity, and the box began to play. To say you were shocked is an understatement, as your father's hologram appeared across the desk sitting in one of the matching chairs.

"Hello Munchkin. If you've found this box, then I just going to have to accept that I've failed you. You've been gone for five years and regret every moment leading up to when you snapped away. You really did want to come to space with me, and honestly you would have been helpful, but I don't think I could see you Blip away and have the will to continue. That being said because I am already admitting I was wrong, I should not have had your suit take you to the bunker room, where you eventually snapped away alone. I regret that decision y constantly. On another note, I'm sorry I didn't hug you as soon as you got back, I clearly I cannot really hug anyone."

You had finally given up on holding in their tears. You didn't have to be strong in front of your dad. He had always held you when you cried and this time he couldn't. You tried to wrap your arms around yourself, but nothing felt the same.

"I hope you are crying, because if I'm crying alone during this part, I'll be embarrassed, his image continued as it stood up and leaned against the back of the chair. Munch I know you've probably walked around this house and have found no evidence of yourself. You've probably beat yourself up about how much I love Morgan, but think about it. The amount of time I've spent these last 5 years essentially idolizing you would not have been good for her to experience. "

You rose quickly from the chair. Not even one damn picture?

"Now I know you're wondering not even a single picture. Pick up the projector box and follow me ."

You did as the digital version of your father told you and followed it back into the hallway.

"Put the box down and put your hand on the center of the door. "

This activated a scanner which opened up the door to the room. As you walked in you recognized that this was an exact replica of your room back in the Malibu house. You were still a kid when the original house was blown to pieces but somehow everything was exactly as you remembered it. As you walked further into the room you noticed the large screens, placed like picture frames, which played videos and pictures of you and your dad throughout the years.

Your father walked towards the center of the room, bounded by how far the projector was.

"You see kid, me and you have somewhat the same grieving styles. I have a feeling you didn't cry at the funeral. I have a feeling you haven't cried, at least in a way that someone else could have noticed. You take after me in that sense."

The hologram started to sniffle, your dad had actually started crying when recording this. You really wanted to hug him, the reality of his death hurt even more. You had finally allowed yourself to start grieving.

"Look, I know you used to listen to the song about betting on losing dogs when you wanted to cry, but that does not apply to you at all. You may have gotten a more complicated stick of life, but I can tell ya, this does not need to be your villain origin story. From the first day I took you home I could tell you were a fighter, but I need you to feel as if its ok to cry. I've spent hours on this floor in shambles wishing you were here. The small things that Morgan does that remind me of you throw me into sadness pools constantly. You are my motivating force. I really hope you allow yourself to cry about it so that you can continue in life. I don't think I can stand in this room for any longer before I cannot speak at all, so please take the projector back to my office. "

As you lifted the projector you thought about how much this must have hurt your father to record. Maybe he didn't want anyone to encounter this box except for you. As you placed the box on the desk, you sat back into the leather chair as your father's holograph sat across from you.

"On a different note, you are probably wondering why I seemed to set up a game plan for everyone but you. With Morgan I just made sure she had a comfortable, who am I kidding, lavish funding behind her. I can't dictate what a five-year-old should do. For Harley you know that I've always looked out for him, a position in Stark industries honestly should not have surprised you. Peter is what I feel most conflicted about. I'm not setting him up to become the next Ironman, I'm setting him up to become the greatest version of Spiderman he can be. Well, I know the media is probably going to take it and run having known that Spiderman and Ironman we're friends at some point, but I'm really giving you the biggest responsibility. I don't expect you to live in my shadow, I want you to outgrow it. I think you might be surprised to see everything that I left you, besides Stark industries itself. That's a conversation for another day."

"I know I've been speaking for quite a while, but my baby, my baby yes I called you that. I know how much this has all affected you, and I'm sorry, I am completely sorry and do take full fault for it all. But now because we cannot change the past, let's focus on the present. I want you to know that I loved you with my entire being. I'm not sure how to emphasize this enough but I do want you to know you were cared for, you were loved, and you were thought about for every minute. If you don't get to see this message, and I'm already gone, that means this message will never have to play for anyone. Either I found you and I've given you a new message, or I'm rolling in my grave. Either way my darling I cannot emphasize how much I love you. I do hope for the best for. Before I have to go, I want to see you smile. Sure, I can't physically see it right now, but I can imagine it."

As the recording choked out that last sentence, you flashed a weak smile. A face sticky with all the tears that you have been crying.

Now I know you need to get back home, but when you get back to the city, stop by the shawarma place and get something to eat. you gotta eat Darling. Also don't act like you don't like Peter, you two idiots keep pushing each other away in cannot take it. Now I'm gonna say goodbye mini me. Watch over Pepper and Morgan for me, okay? I love you."

You took one final sweep of the house before heading back to your car. You had cried so much that your eyes physical hurt. You almost felt a sense of comfort having finally released some of the pent-up emotion. As you drove towards the city and towards the Shawarma place you almost felt kind of sad, knowing that all of your friends were in a foreign country. Yet you still felt as if your best friend, your Dad was watching over you. And in all reality that felt as if it was the only thing that mattered.

#stark reader #stark!reader #irondad #tony stark x reader #peter parker #peter parker x stark!reader

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woodstockbtswriter · 4 years

Text

Alone

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (Female)

Word Count: 1.23K

Summary: You and Yoongi just want to be left alone.

Warning(s): Things get mildly suggestive near the end, if you squint.

Author’s Note: This story is based on a dream I had, but it didn’t go where I expected, and my only excuse is that my Yoongi thirst has been real lately. 😆 Anyway, hope you enjoy! 💕

Requested by @yvemoon

Alone

You adjusted your head on Yoongi’s chest just as lightning streaked across the night sky, momentarily illuminating the scene outside the hotel window. The city skyline was just barely visible through the water sheeting down the glass. Inside the room was nearly as dark, lit only by the blue glow of the flatscreen television. The volume of the TV was low, turned up just enough to be heard over the pounding of raindrops and the occasional cracks of thunder.

It had been a warm summer evening, but the temperature had dropped with the rain, prompting you to pull on Yoongi’s hoodie before curling up next to him on one of the two hotel room beds. The sounds of the storm outside lulled you as you lay together, and you were both able to relax completely in each other’s arms.

The rest of the boys were huddled in the room, too. Jungkook was sprawled out on the end of the mattress, keeping your feet warm by lying on them, while Jin, Namjoon, and Hoseok sat on the floor at the foot of the bed. Jimin and Taehyung shared the other double bed, both lying on their stomachs, propped up on their elbows with the light of the television reflecting off their rapt faces.

Everyone - except you - was thoroughly engrossed by the images flashing across the screen, uncharacteristically quiet as they watched a movie none of you had seen. Though the film definitely interested you, you were having a hard time focusing - and it was all Yoongi’s fault.

He wasn’t doing anything in particular to distract you; just being in his arms was distracting enough. The way his chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, the feel of his muscles through the fabric of his t-shirt, the warm tickle of his breath on the back of your neck, the heady, musky scent of his skin… Not to mention the way he was lazily stretching strand after strand of your hair down your back… It was all too much to allow you to concentrate on anything else. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You nuzzled your face against Yoongi’s side, attempting to breathe him in - to drink in the moment and savor it. You felt him crane his neck to look down at you, and you lifted your face, meeting his gaze.

“I wish every night could be like this.” You sighed, your chin resting atop your hand. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

The unexpected downpour had forced the evening’s concert to end early, and afforded the rare opportunity for this impromptu movie night. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d all been able to watch something together; the boys had been on tour for months, and though you met up with them every chance you got, there was never much time to hang out. It felt so good to just relax with your boyfriend, surrounded by your mutual friends. You’d missed this - and them - more than you could explain.

Yoongi hummed in agreement, then bent to place his mouth next to your ear.

“Maybe not forever, though.” He breathed, his voice deep. “I was hoping for some time alone with you, too.”

As Yoongi leaned back, you discerned a faint smirk on his lips, and your pulse quickened.

“Aren’t you tired?” You teased him, speaking quietly so only he could hear. “You’re usually so exhausted after a concert you can barely move.”

“We didn’t finish the concert.” He reminded you, biting his bottom lip. “I have energy to spare.”

Your stomach tightened in anticipation. Only moments before, you had been perfectly content to have all seven Bangtan boys crowded in the room. Now, you only wanted one there.

“Do you think if we pretend to be asleep, they’ll leave?” You whispered conspiratorially.

Yoongi huffed.

“Subtlety is lost on them. We’ll have to be more direct.” He replied, displaying the TV remote in his left hand.

You smiled in understanding, then pulled your toes out from beneath Jungkook’s body before giving his back a shove with both feet. Jungkook’s head popped up, his eyes wide with innocent confusion, just as Yoongi pressed a button on the remote, pausing the movie mid-scene.

The remaining five boys turned their heads simultaneously, their expressions the same as Jungkook’s.

“Show’s over.” Yoongi declared, waving towards the door. “Everybody out.”

“Hyung!” Jungkook complained.

You gave him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, JK, but we’re too tired.” You fibbed. “We’ll finish the movie later, okay?”

“But it was just getting good!” Jungkook whined.

The other boys were slowly getting up, some grumbling, some chuckling to themselves, and Namjoon put a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, Jungkook-ah,” He urged, “We can watch in my room.”

Jungkook stood up off the bed at Namjoon’s words, but he still seemed confused.

“But I thought you said you were dying to see it, noona.” He looked to you with raised eyebrows as the other boys filed out the door.

“Come on, JK.” Namjoon attempted to nudge Jungkook along. “Can’t you see they want to be alone?” He added, giving you and Yoongi an obvious grin.

“Yah,” Yoongi groaned reprimandingly, waving them towards the door again, “Go! Just go. Now.”

Jungkook and Namjoon hurried after the others at that, hastily bidding you and Yoongi goodnight as they pulled the door shut behind them. As soon as the latch clicked, you laughed, your face again buried in Yoongi’s shirt.

But you quickly swallowed your laughter when Yoongi rolled to face you, and you gasped softly when he grabbed the back of your thigh, hitching your leg over his hip and around his waist.

“I’ve missed you, jagi.” He exhaled, his breath hot on your lips, his fingers digging into your skin.

“I’d say I missed you, too,” You responded, attempting to search his dark eyes in the dim light, “But I’m not sure who you are right now. My boyfriend Min Yoongi never acts like this.”

Yoongi pouted.

“You don’t like it?” He loosened his grip on you, but you immediately clutched his hand, stopping it from slipping off your thigh. Yoongi’s gaze fell on your lips as the corner of your mouth lifted.

“I didn’t say that.” You corrected, and Yoongi’s smirk returned, growing to match your own.

“Then let me show you how much I’ve missed you,” He purred, the sound rumbling in his throat, “and why I wanted to be alone with you.”

You grinned fully, nodding, and Yoongi closed the distance between you, capturing your mouth with his.

Yoongi’s kiss was urgent, and needy, but still careful and deliberate. His lips moved against your lips and his tongue met yours with surprising tenderness - though his hands gripped you roughly. You could tell he’d missed you a lot, more than mere words could convey. Fueled by the fire his touch ignited in you, you kissed him back with all the same passion.

Eventually, while you and Yoongi were too wrapped-up in each other to notice, the still-paused movie on the TV timed out. The display automatically returned to the black home screen, deeping the darkness in the room, but the frequent lightning flashes were sufficiently bright enough for your needs. You didn’t need to see anything right now. You just needed to feel.

And when you were alone with Yoongi… you loved the way he made you feel.

#bts fanfiction #min yoongi #request #suganetwork #hyunglinenetwork #yoongi x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts suga #bts fluff #bts imagines suga #bts drabble #bts one shot #bts fics #bts fic

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writingsbychelle · 4 years

Text

I Quit

Summary: While touring with 5 Seconds of Summer, you suddenly have a bad asthma attack, causing things to shift between you and Calum.

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader

Request: /

Warnings: description of an asthma attack and uh,,,,smoking?

Word Count: 2.019

(A/N: actually really like this fic! thanks to Amy for proofreading this and helping me❤️)

“Do you mind?” Calum asked, holding up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter as you both leaned against the tour bus, waiting for Luke, Ashton and Michael to finish packing up so you could head to the next destination of the tour.

“Not at all,” you smiled at him and tucked your phone into your back pocket before turning to look at him.

You were currently touring with 5 Seconds of Summer as their opening act, and you guys were close to finishing the tour. After almost four months on the road, it was safe to say that you were ready to return back home and get some well-deserved rest. However, as much as you were longing to curl up in your bed and binge-watch Netflix for the rest of your life, you also never wanted this to end. The shows, the audience, spending time with the guys to whom you had grown incredibly close to over these past few weeks and overall the atmosphere of being on the bus with the band.

But most of all, you were going to miss your late-night talks with Calum.

Generally just being with Calum.

You had already been friends before going on tour. But ever since it had become your routine to talk outside the bus during stops, Calum usually lighting a cigarette while you took sips from your bottle of water until it was time to step back into the bus and turn in for the night. You felt even closer to him than ever before.

That was probably going to be the thing you’d miss the most: your bus stop routine with Calum.

The way his eyes shone in the streetlights, the smoke leaving his lungs in long breaths, him asking if it’s okay for him to smoke next to you despite already knowing your answer, his teasing eye-rolling whenever you’d say, “that’s gonna kill you one day,” while pointing at the cigarette resting between his plump lips.

Him.

You were going to miss him.

Logically you knew you’d still be able to see him, especially since you only lived about 20 minutes away from him. Still, the thought of not hearing his soft snores every night and having deep conversations at random rest stops in the middle of the night ate you up on the inside. It was pretty obvious what you felt for the bassist, but admitting it was something you didn’t even dare to dream of. Especially while you were still on tour and it could create unnecessary tensions between you, him and the band. Still, you couldn’t help but wish for things to be easier, for the tour life to go on forever and for you to spend the rest of your life with the man leaning against the bus next to you.

“What are you thinking about?” Calum ripped you out of your thoughts.

Shrugging your shoulders, you replied, “I’m gonna miss this.”

“Me too,” he took another drag of his cigarette, “touring is always so much fun; it’s hard to believe it’s almost over.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you mumbled, hoping he wouldn’t hear you.

No such luck, Calum raised his eyebrows, silently asking you what you were hinting at. Before you had the opportunity to embarrass yourself, you heard loud voices coming towards you, Luke and Michael arguing about God knows what while Ashton was following his bandmates, typing something into his phone before tucking it away when he saw Calum and you leaning against the tour bus.

“We’re all packed up and ready to go,” Ashton informed you after Luke and Michael had already disappeared into the bus.

“We’ll join you in a minute,” Calum answered, holding up his cigarette for Ashton to see.

“No rush,” he teasingly winked in your direction as he walked up the few steps into the bus.

Ashton was the only one out of the four guys that knew about your crush on Calum. He had figured it out some time ago while you were touring in Europe and since he had become like a brother to you, you had approached him and asked for advice. The drummer had told you just to follow your gut feeling, which at first sounded like shit advice to you but the more you thought about it, the gladder you were for his ‘words of wisdom’.

Before you managed to get lost in thought once again, Calum exhaled one last smoke cloud, putting out his cigarette before asking, “Ready to head inside?”

Just as you opened your mouth to answer him, you were hit with the smoke he had blown out just a few seconds before. The moment you breathed in the smoke, you felt your throat closing in and began coughing violently.

“(Y/N)? Is everything alright?” Calum asked, but you weren’t able to answer him, your chest tightening and you gasped for breath, feeling almost like someone was squeezing all the air out of you.

“I-,” you tried taking a deep breath, which just ended in another coughing attack, “c-can’t...breathe.”

Black dots started dancing in front of your eyes, vision blurring as you continued to gasp for breath. Calum helped you sit down, opening your water bottle for you and urging you to take a sip while yelling for someone to call an ambulance. All of this you didn’t notice, too busy trying to get at least some oxygen into your lungs. The water helped slightly, but you were still wheezing, coughing and gasping for breath. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Luke rush out of the tour bus, phone pressed against his ear. Your throat felt tighter and tighter with every passing second, and the last thing you saw before passing out, was Calum looking at you, eyes full of fear.

That night the ambulance had taken you to the nearest hospital. The second they arrived, the paramedic had pressed an oxygen mask against your face, helping you breathe as you were loaded into the vehicle. You had woken up after a few moments of being unconscious, still barely able to breathe. Calum sat right next to you, your head in his lap, him holding onto your hands and speaking reassuring words to you. You didn’t really understand any of them, but the sound of his voice and his presence were enough to help you calm down a little bit. Once you were on the stretcher, you had asked if Calum could come with you, and apparently, the paramedics decided to make an exception and let him ride with you in the ambulance, holding your hand the entire time until you were wheeled into the examination room.

After a few tests, you finally got a result: asthma. The smoke from Calum’s cigarette had caused quite a bad asthma attack, but luckily the doctor had told you if you kept an inhaler at you at all times, the chances of having another attack that bad were pretty slim. With the diagnosis, and the advice to take it a bit slow the next few days, you were released. All four guys of 5 Seconds of Summer were waiting for you and crowded around you once they saw you walk into the waiting room.

“So…I have asthma apparently,” you shrugged, holding up the inhaler you were given.

“You’ll be alright, though, right?” Ashton asked.

Nodding your head, you replied, “Yeah. The doctor said to take it easy, and if I feel like my throat is closing in again, I’ll just have to use the inhaler, and it should be fine. She also said that I could finish the tour, so that’s good news too.”

“Thank god,” you heard Calum mumble as the others cheered, pulling into a group hug.

Only two weeks later, the tour had officially come to an end.

To celebrate the great success of it, you gathered at Michael’s house together with the people that had helped make the tour possible. You had been wandering around the house for some time now, trying to find a certain bassist, but so far you had no success. After feeling like you had checked every inch of the house, you decided to go into the backyard, wanting to catch some fresh air and hoping to find Calum out there, maybe having a smoke and trying to get a few moments away from everyone himself.

Calum had felt distant lately.

Ever since your little hospital scare, he hadn’t really been spending time with you. No more late-night talks outside of the tour bus while waiting for the guys to finish up or while the bus needed to refuel. You were scared you had done or said something wrong, and after going over it with Ashton, you finally got the courage to confront him and ask him what was going on. Opening the door, you took a step outside, inhaling the chilly night air and letting out a sigh—finally some fresh air. You let your eyes drift around the backyard until you finally spotted Calum sitting underneath a tree that was decorated with some fairy lights.

“No cigarette?” you asked as you approached him.

His head shot up upon hearing your voice, obviously ripping him from his thoughts.

“No...I’m...I quit.”

“You quit? Smoking?” you sat down next to him, his body visibly tensing as you did.

“Cal...what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

You sighed, “I mean, that you’ve been avoiding me since my asthma attack two weeks ago. And now you apparently quit smoking? What’s going on, Cal? Did I-did I do something wrong?”

Tears were rising in your eyes, afraid that something you did, something you were unaware of, had ruined your friendship with the bassist.

“(Y/N), no. No. You did nothing wrong. It’s just-fuck,” he ran a hand over his buzzcut in frustration and whispered, “I’m the reason for your asthma attack.”

“Cal…it wasn’t your fau-”

“Yes, it was! I was smoking next to you and the smoke caused your attack.”

��The smoke might’ve been the reason for the asthma attack but I had asthma before! If anything, I should be thanking you right now because if it hadn’t been for you and your smoking I probably never would’ve known I have asthma and would’ve kept wondering why I’m always coughing at night and running out of breath after singing on stage.”

“(Y/N),” he took your face in his hands to force you to look into his eyes, “it is my fault. Whether you like it or not. I quit because I never want to see you like that, lying on the floor, gasping for breath. You-you looked like you were going to die, (Y/N). I can’t risk seeing you like that ever again, do you understand?”

“You quit for me?” you whispered, not quite believing your ears.

“Yeah, I did.”

“You know you didn’t have to.”

“I know. I wanted to. For you. And obviously also for my health,” he chuckled slightly, face slowly moving closer to yours.

“Cal, I-”

“Shh,” he gently shushed you before placing his lips on yours.

His lips were warm and soft, tasting slightly of the alcoholic drink he had earlier that evening. Your hands, almost instantly and instinctively moved to the back of his neck, your nails slightly scratching his scalp in the process, causing him to let out a low groan. His lips parted slightly, his tongue slowly tracing your bottom lips, slipping inside your mouth once you parted yours. Roughly his hands grabbed onto your hips and pulled you into his lap before wrapping around your body and pulling you impossibly close.

A loud cheer from inside the house broke you apart, your head flipping around, afraid you had been caught, just to see everyone still busy drinking and partying inside Michael’s house.

“You wanna go back inside?”

Calum’s voice sounded hoarse and lower than usual.

Shaking your head you replied, “How about we get back to my place?”

To make your point clear, you rolled your hips, grinding against him and causing a moan to slip from Calum’s lips.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Masterlist and ways to support me are in my bio, please check them out❤️

#calum hood x reader #calum hood #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos x reader #calum hood imagine #5sos imagine #*writing

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lost-in-the-80s · 3 years

Text

You Don’t Want My Love - Chapter 5

Pairing: Duff McKagan x reader

Words: 3,115k

Summary: Guns n Roses hires a new tour assistant, but nobody thought that Duff would fall for her.

In this Chapter: Y/N is back on the road with Guns n Roses. Will things with Duff remain awkward?

A/N: Hello, my friends! This chapter is very cute. I have a little spoiler about the next chapter: It’s going to be Duff's pov. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it!

Tag list: @roger-taylors-car @ladieswttda @teasid @metalheartofgold @slashscowboyboots @ginny-rose-sixx @rumoured-whispers @vinylvintage add yourself to my tag list :)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It was a bright sunny day in Los Angeles when Y/N got inside a taxi to go back on tour with Guns n Roses.

The so-called one-month pause became two as soon as Nikki Sixx, the bassist of Mötley Crüe, overdosed and the whole band had to go to rehab, leaving Guns hanging without a band to open for.

She still remembered when Tom called her telling her that they had lost the contract and that the band was feeling very down. However, Aerosmith showed up with a golden opportunity, they wanted Guns to open for them on the European leg of the tour.

So here she was, on her way to the airport to meet with five crazy rockers who, as much as she disliked to admit, she had missed a lot.

These two months out of the road were great for her. She spent the holidays with her family in North Dakota and visited her friends in L. A and finally helped Rose with a part of the rent for the apartment.

She also enjoyed her time doing one of the things she loved the most: go to the beach and get a good old suntan. That was the best part about living in L.A in her opinion, the whole year felt like summer, completely different from the snowy and cold winter in North Dakota.

One week before going back on tour she attended an appointment at her favorite hairstylist, renovating its locks that were now quite long. Giving herself a spa day before going back to the bus’ couch, as Tom would go with them on tour again.

These two months also allowed her to think a lot about Duff. In the first days she was feeling blue, the way he spoke to her during that afternoon and how he didn’t talk to her after that hurt. He even switched places with Steven on the plane back to L.A, just so he didn’t need to sit beside her.

During December she questioned herself about what had she done that could’ve let him so angry at her, but after spending two weeks away from Los Angeles, she got to focus on other things, and following her mom’s advice she decided to give time to time and see how things would.

Izzy helped her with that process too, they crossed paths one day at a park, she went there with her friend’s nephew as she was babysitting and he was skating there. The two of them talked for a few hours and he told her that Duff was just in a bad week, that she shouldn’t take it personally, which made her lose that guilty feeling she was having.

Guilty and Sad, that’s how she was feeling in the beginning. But now she had convinced herself that whatever she had felt for Duff was over. She told herself plenty of times she just felt like that because she was feeling lonely and he had been nice to her.

So now, arriving at the airport, she was 100% sure that she’d look at Duff and her heart wouldn’t skip a bit. They’d talk and she wouldn’t stutter or blush and things would go as they were meant to be.

Walking through the crowd of people inside the airport she finally spotted a tall fuzzy blonde head. Duff. They were just a few meters away from her, making a smile appear on her face.

“Y/N!” Steven shouted waving, not sure if she had seen them.

She raised her hand waving back at him.

“Hello, fellas.” She placed her bags on the ground stopping in front of them.

“Wow, look at you, all tanned!” Slash exclaimed, opening his arms and walking towards the girl to get a hug.

“You know, every time I was about to put a shirt on, I listened to your voice saying that they were the biggest expression of my bad taste.” He said when they let go of each other, smiling at her.

“So you stopped wearing them?” She tilted her head while smiling.

“Nope.” He turned around showing the back of this t-shirt, where “Fuck off I’m out” could be read.

She shook her head, giggling a little.

“I want a hug too!” Steven popped up beside her, involving her in a bear hug, lifting off the ground. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Stevie.” She giggled.

“Do you want a hug too?” She looked at Izzy, smirking.

“No.” He said and the two of them laughed.

“Well, I want one.” Duff showed up in front of her, opening his arms.

She hesitated for a second, but moved forward and wrapped her arms around his body.

When he involved her, a certain electricity ran through her body and she wanted to never let go of him. He smelled of cigarettes and cologne though she could smell a small hint of vodka, as if it had stayed in his jacket after he washed it.

He lowered his head to hers and said close to her left ear. “I’m sorry for being an asshole with you.” His voice was low, as if he was sharing a secret that only she could know about.

The sound caused goosebumps on her body, as she answered in almost a whisper. “It’s okay.”

They let go of each other and suddenly she realized that they had been hugging each other for quite a while, since Tom had arrived and they didn’t even notice.

Duff moved away rubbing the back of his neck, starting some conversation with Slash.

“Hey, Tom! How were your holidays?” She gave him a quick embrace before stopping beside Steven, who hugged her from beside and rested his face on her shoulder.

“It was good, I was missing the kids already.” He smiled tenderly.

“You have kids? I didn’t know that.” She moved one arm away from Steven's grip so she could hug him back.

She looked down and thought that he looked just like a child when they’re bored and start to get sleepy.

“Yes, I do. Here,” He took his wallet out of the blazer’s pocket, showing her some small pictures he had in it. “this is Jenna, she’s 10,” He pointed to a ginger girl with lots of freckles. “and this is Brian, he’s 6.” He showed a boy wearing a baseball hat.

“They’re adorable, Tom! I can’t even imagine how hard it must be for you to be away from them all the time.” Y/N smiled at him seeing that he truly loved the kids.

“Yeah, it’s difficult, but it’s a part of the job. It’s thanks to my absence that they’ll be able to go to college.” He put his wallet back in the pocket and adjusted his glasses.

“You’re a good father, Tom.”

He grinned at her words.

“You really are. Can I meet the kids someday?” Steven asked, lifting his head off of her shoulder.

“When the tour is over, let’s have dinner together. I’ll take them and Martha along.” He grabbed his bags from the ground.

“Sure! That’d be cool.” Steven smiled, letting go of Y/N.

“Anyway. Where’s Axl? We need to be on the plane line in 15 minutes.”

“He’s late.” Izzy showed up lighting up a cigarette.

“Not so late,” Duff said, pointing towards the other side of the airport.

Y/N looked and at first, she couldn’t see anything, but then some ginger locks in a flannel shirt showed up.

“You’re late.” Tom said, starting to walk towards the line.

“Sorry, Erin was keeping me busy… if you know what I mean.” He smirked.

“Jesus.” Y/N made a disgusted face while following Tom.

Inside the plane, she found herself in a seat between Steven and Slash. Duff, Izzy and Axl on the other side of the corridor while Tom was sitting one line ahead, beside an old lady.

“Oh man, I wish I could bring Ana with me.” Slash complained.

“Who’s Ana?” Y/N asked smirking.

“My python. I bought her last month.” He smiled turning towards her.

“You mean a snake?” She widened her eyes.

He nodded.

“You have a snake as a pet?” She shivered under the thought, she was terrified of snakes.

“Yes, they are lovely creatures.”

“I’m scared to death of them.”

“No way! But they’re nice!” He turned his body towards her a little, ready to start an argumentation.

“I grew up on a farm, Slash. One of them passed right in front of my feet when we were plowing the land.”

“Did it bite you?” He moved his hair away from his face, lifting an eyebrow at her.

“Well...no.”

“Then why are you scared? They aren’t violent animals. They just attack if you scare them. Dogs kill more people per year than snakes.”

She paused for a second. “Yeah, you’re right. But still, I don’t think I’ll ever visit your house now.”

He giggled. “Do you have any pets?”

“We always had lots of dogs. They’re easy to train and help you with some chores.” He nodded at her. “I have a cat. Though I don’t know if I could call him mine yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“I left him in ND when I moved to L.A. I just see him when I visit my parents now.”

“What’s his name?”

“Thomas.”

Slash laughed.

“What?”

“Thomas, you know?” He laughed harder.

Y/N frowned at him, not understanding.

Then Slash pointed to the seat in front of him, where Tom was sitting.

She looked at Tom, then at Slash, then at Tom again and finally understood. Her cat had the same name as Tom.

Y/N laughed, she had never stopped to realize that until now.

Out in the distance, she didn’t see Duff looking at her and smiling when she laughed.

----

Arriving in London, they followed up with their normal activities. Did the soundcheck, had an interview and went backstage to get ready.

“Do you think I should tease my hair?” Axl asked Izzy who simply shook his head as a response.

“God, I’m nervous,” Duff said walking back and forth inside the room. “I need more vodka.”

“No more drinking, you need to calm down.” Y/N pointed at him, then pointing to a black couch at the end of the room, meaning that he should sit down.

“That’s why I need vodka, love.” He walked past her, going after more booze.

The nickname made her cheeks burn and she tried her best not to smile.

“Fuck, I’m nervous too.” Slash said.

“Why are you guys so nervous? You’ve done lots of gigs like this before.” She asked, frowning.

“No, we haven’t, Y/N,” Izzy said, sitting on the couch while looking for his cigarettes. “We’re in another country, a whole different crowd.”

“It’s our first time outside from home.” Duff said, reappearing in the room and sitting beside Izzy.

“Plus, It’s Aerosmith, fuck! We can’t fuck this up.” Steven added, while trying to choose a t-shirt. “Y/N. The black or the white one?” He showed her the two blouses.

“The black one.” She pointed with her pen. “You guys just need to breathe, everything will go fine. I’m sure about it.” She smiled at them, trying to calm their nerves.

“Shit, I think I’m gonna freak out.” Duff exclaimed, drinking almost half the bottle down.

“Not now. I need you good okay?” Axl crouched in front of him. “Just take long breaths, it’s no big deal.”

Axl started breathing slowly, soon being followed by Duff, that seemed to get calmer.

“Guys, you have to go. You’re in in five minutes.” She said looking at her wristwatch.

“Fuck! I’m not ready yet!” Axl complained, rushing towards their bags looking for his clothes as he was still in his travel clothing.

“Oh, God, not today!” Izzy rolled his eyes, starting to smoke the third cigarette.

“What do you want to wear tonight?” She asked, sitting on the floor beside him.

“My leather pants and the leather waistcoat.” He looked at her. “Find them and I’ll find the shoes and my bandana.”

Moving to Axl’s second bag she started looking inside, throwing some of the clothes on the ground. “Got the pants!” She yelled, throwing them in his direction.

“Not this one! I want the cowboy leather pants.” Axl complained.

“Axl!” Izzy interjected.

“Fine, fine!” He lifted his hands in surrender.

After a few minutes, he was ready, running down the corridors while putting his sneakers on.

“You should watch the gig,” Steven said. “You’ve never watched one.”

“That’s because I always have to organize your mess.” She giggled a little.

“No, seriously, I think you’d like it.”

Thinking for a second she answered shrugging. “Why not?”

“Yeas!” He smiled before getting onstage.

Finding some equipment boxes on the side-door of the stage, she climbed on a big one, sitting on it and placing her agenda on her side.

The gig started and she understood why everybody was getting crazy about them.

Axl moved around as if he had eaten batteries for breakfast, jumping, running, screaming and singing. His voice was incredible and he was fierce, just what you need for a frontman.

Slash had lost all his shyness. Dancing, jumping and playing like a god. Every note that left his guitar sounded magical, precisely right. And even though she couldn’t see his face, she could tell that he loved doing that.

Izzy was like a black cat in the night, that you just notice if you pay attention. He moved around calmly, playing his guitar and singing the backing vocals so peacefully, as if he was born to do that.

Steven, well, now she understood why they called him popcorn. His hair bounced up and down as his head accompanied the drums he was playing. He smiled and sang along and if he could, she was sure he’d get up and dance to the songs.

But nobody caught her eyes like Duff did. The velocity with which he moved his fingers, the way his head kept up with the beat of the song. The way he walked so majestically with his long legs crossing the stage in a few seconds.

He was beautiful, a masterpiece in her opinion. And she knew that there was no use in trying to fight, she was already in love with him.

----

After the gig, they did the check-in in the hotel, taking a quick shower before stopping in a restaurant for dinner.

Joining two tables together, they sat down. Tom and Izzy taking the borders, Axl, Slash and Steven taking one side while Y/N and Duff took the other.

It was a simple restaurant, nothing fancy, and as they talked and ate Y/N couldn’t help but feeling like she was having dinner with old friends of hers.

“So I get home and grandma is complaining that Axl was sleeping on her couch and that she wants him out of the house.” Slash was telling a story about when Axl used to sleep in his basement.

“I go downstairs and say ‘Axl, you have to find somewhere else to stay, bro’ and he’s like furiously throwing his things inside this backpack while giving me an angry look.”

Axl was laughing at this point.

“We got in my mom’s car and I started driving him towards the place where Izzy was crashing and I was like ‘Why did you sleep on her couch, dude? I had told you not to do that!’ and he looks at me with that ‘I’m gonna kill you look’, he opens the door and jumps out of the car!”

“What?” Y/N asked.

They were all laughing.

“I was pissed.” Axl answered.

“Pissed? None of us saw you for three days!” Slash added while Duff wiped some tears away from his eyes.

“I needed time to calm down.” Axl replied calmly, still smiling as he lifted his glass to drink from it.

“This is the best story you guys ever told me!” She said after she stopped laughing.

----

Leaving the restaurant they started walking towards the hotel, they all went in front, leaving Duff and her behind.

It was a cold night in London and Y/N had definitely forgotten that their winter was actually cold.

A cold breeze got her when she turned a corner and she shivered, hugging herself. Her sweater was definitely not enough for a night like that.

“Here.” She looked to her side and saw Duff taking off his leather jacket and handing it to her.

“You don’t have to.”

“Y/N. Take the jacket.” He smiled at her.

She took it, her cold fingers touching his warm hand slightly.

Putting the jacket on she realized it was big on her, the smell of his cologne mixed with Marlboro hit her nostrils and she hugged the jacket closer to her body, wishing that it was him who was involving her.

A few minutes passed by and they finally reached the hotel. Entering the lobby the warmth welcomed them in and she smiled.

“On which floor are you?” Duff asked.

“Fourth.” She started to take the jacket off.

“I’m on the sixth.”

“Yeah, I know.” She smiled. “Thanks for the jacket, Duff.”

“It’s ok.”

They stopped for a second, looking at each other almost as if they were in trance.

Duff put a lock of her hair behind her ear and licked his lips.

“Y/N.” Tom’s voice cut the atmosphere, making her jump slightly and look in his direction. “Are you coming?” He pointed to the elevator.

“Yeah, just a sec.”

Looking at Duff again, she gave him a small smile. “Good night, Duff.”

He leaned down, lightly kissing her cheek. “Good night, Y/N.”

Getting in her room she quickly changed into some comfy pajamas. She stopped in front of the bathroom mirror when brushing her teeth and soon realized that she was smiling.

Her face seemed to be tickling where his fingers had brushed ever so delicately over. And she could still feel the warmth of his lips against her skin.

“Oh, Y/N. You are so fucked now.” She said to herself, walking towards the bed and jumping on it.

She laid there, but she couldn’t sleep, his face and voice filling her mind along with the memories of him playing onstage.

Her hair, which had stayed inside the jacket during the walk to the hotel, was smelling like him.

She turned around, facing the illuminated building in front of the hotel while smiling.

Yes, she was fucked. But she was feeling so happy that she couldn’t even get mad at herself for feeling like this.

#harley writes #you don't want my love #duff mckagan #duff mckagan fic #duff mckagan fanfic #duff mckagan imagine #duff mckagan x reader #guns n roses #guns n roses fanfic #guns n roses fic #guns n roses imagine #guns n roses x reader #gnr #gnr imagine

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kyoonqs · 4 years

Text

iluso amor ; second part.

↬ summary: Cora has always considered herself elusive, easy to bore and adventurous to the last fiber of her body. One day for no apparent reason, she appears in front of the manager of a globetrotting circus passing through the city where she is temporarily staying to fill her life with magic. Baekhyun, as serious as he is handsome, has no intention of playing a role other than on the main canvas of the circus. He decides to separate Cora from her life of fantasies created by her travels and sets out to show her reality as raw and cruel as he knows it. Or so he believes.

Will time run out too quickly before love and passion devour him and he decides to risk everything for a love that lasts… Forever?

↬ pairing: baekhyun x cora fem!reader.

↬ circus!au ; illusionist!baek x hitchhiker!oc ; strangers to lovers au!

↬ genre: fluff ; romance ; angst ; drama.

↬ length: 3.6 k words.

↬ tag list: @changshapatrol @spacebyuns @fluffyhunnie @soos-goddess @hoho-cham @shadoukiti @sunbyun21 @mangobaek @suhotly @pororodks @bbhbae @blahblahblah-boo

If you’d like to be tagged for future chapters, please let me know!

↬ masterlist.

Baekhyun was giving orders, simultaneously lending a hand to the circus men and Cora noticed the tense muscles in his arms as he loaded seats into the forklift and pulled the rope. At that moment she remembered that when he had left her alone, she had roamed the caravan from start to finish, only to find one of his whips on the bed. Despite seeing his conduct at the show, she couldn't help but feel threatened. It was then that she realized she had no courage to sleep in the trailer, not even on the couch.

–“Come on, let's go to bed.” The last vestiges of the dream vanished and Cora was immediately on guard. The darkness was absolute, she couldn't see anything. Most of the trucks were gone and the workers with them.

–“I have decided to sleep here.”

–“Outside? I don’t think so. In case you haven't noticed, you're shivering.” He was right. It wasn't cold when she had first stepped outside, but the temperature had dropped since then.

–“Take this as a friendly warning. I've barely slept in three days. First we had a storm and we almost lost the circus cover, then I had to make two trips. I’m not an easygoing person in the best of circumstances, but I’m even worse when I don’t sleep.” He raised the arm at her side and she hissed in alarm when she saw a whip twisted into his hand. Cora gasped when Baekhyun grabbed her arm and pulled Cora to her feet without putting up much resistance. He opened the door to the trailer and turned on the light, gently nudging her elbow to enter. Was it just Cora's imagination or had the inside of the trailer shrunk since she'd first seen it?

–“Please don't touch me again.”

–“I'm too tired to think of anything you imagine I can do to you, if that's what you're concerned about.” His words did not reassure her.

–“Why do you carry the whip everywhere? Are you threatening me?”

He muttered something under his breath, closed the door and walked over to the bed to sit down. He dropped the whip to the ground, but the handle still rested on his knee. She looked at him apprehensively.

On one hand, Cora had promised to continue her journey, he hadn't hurt her or anyone else but on the other, there was no doubt that he scared her. She wasn't very skilled at fighting, but she knew what to do when the time came necessary. She steeled herself.

–“I think we should clear things up. I want you to know that I will not be able to live with you if you keep intimidated me in this way.”

–“Intimidating you? What are you talking about?”. Her nervousness increased, but she forced herself to continue.

–“I guess you can't help it. It's probably because of the way you grew up, although it's not that I believed that story you told onstage. Your lack of sanity?” She paused. “Because it's fake, right?”.

He looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

–“Yes, of course it is,” she hastened to say.

–“What I mean by intimidating, I mean your attitude and …” she took a deep breath, “that whip.”

–“What's the matter with it?”. Cora shut her eyes. With a wrinkle of her nose she bit her lip and took a deep breath before starting again.

–“If you have that kind of inclination, I would appreciate you telling me now instead of giving hints.”

–“What are you talking about?”. He continued to stare blankly at her, until she screamed in frustration.

–“For the love of God! If you intend to hit me for pleasure, tell me. Hey, Cora, I like to whip people for pleasure, and you're next on the list. At least I would know what's on your mind”.

His eyebrows raised, “Would that make you feel better?”

She nodded.

–“As you wish.” Baekhyun looked at her with sparkling eyes and repeated the same phrase she tried to dictate to him seconds ago. He excused himself saying he was going to shower, went into the bathroom and closed the door. Cora nibbled on her lower lip. That hadn't exactly gone as planned.

Baekhyun chuckled as the shower water poured onto his body. Cora had given him more fun in the past ten hours than he'd gotten in the entire year before. Or maybe even more. His life was normally a very serious matter. Laughter was a luxury he hadn't been able to afford very often. But it was only natural when he had spent his whole life chasing something.

He remembered her comment about a fetish...maybe? But it would have spoiled the fun if he had explained that he always carried a whip when he knew the workers had been drinking.

Traveling circuses were like a war zone when it came to solving problems –they had to be prevented before they arose– and the sight of the whip was a very dissuasive measure to alleviate the temper of some.

Despite how much the last confrontation with the girl had amused him, he had a feeling that the fun would not last long. This year he was putting him to the test, first a promise made to the circus owner on his deathbed: to do one last tour with the circus, and second the challenges that came with navigating one, including Cora.

As he let the water run off the shampoo, he thought about his past. Baekhyun had known the circus since he was eight years old and one of them spent the summer touring the towns of the Spanish coast. He would never forget that afternoon when he had accompanied his father to make the profit tally of imported products to Korea and the noise of a crowd gathered on the avenue caught his attention.

He remembered how after begging his mother to convince his father to take him to a show – it had become his absolute dream to become a circus performer. This dream would seemingly collapse at 18 when his father gave him maturity lessons during summer vacation. After that he’d traveled with the circus to earn money, and then much later, in adulthood, when every few years he left his life behind and spent a few months on the road.

Baekhyun's character had been shaped by his father's wise sermons and his always astute observations about the world and how hard it was for a man to survive. A man had to work hard, take care of himself, and maintain his pride.

Circumstances had made him that way, a tough and stubborn man who lived by his own code with no illusions about himself. And Cora... she lived in a dream world created from travel and tourist places.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed another to dry his hair, and opened the bathroom door. Cora gulped when the bathroom door opened and he stepped out. While he dried his head with the towel, she took the opportunity to look carefully at what seemed a perfect body, with well-defined but not excessively toned muscles. Baekhyun possessed a broad chest and shoulders, hips considerably narrower than said shoulders and his abdomen was flat, hard. Her gaze followed the arrow of hair that started at the navel and continued under the towel. Suddenly, she felt heated as she wondered what it would be like below.

–“I'll drop the towel in five seconds.” He deprived her of the vision of his chest when he turned his back on her and headed for the bed.

She quickly grabbed some clean underwear and a faded Kyung Hee University t-shirt that she had found on the same couch, surely belonging to Baekhyun – and dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Twenty minutes later, she came out of the shower fresh with his shirt on. She had decided that it was preferable to wear this over the only nightgown she had, a tiny pink silk babydoll with lots of lace that her aunt had given her in case she "conquered" European men.

He slept on his back, the sheet covering his bare hips. It wasn’t right to look at a person while they were sleeping, but she couldn't stop doing it. She walked to the foot of the bed and watched him, looking up from his abdomen to his chest to admire the perfect symmetry of the male torso. Asleep, he didn't look the same.

Cora's hands tingled with the urge to caress his cheeks and comb his hair. She didn't understand how it was the same man who had scared her to the point of wanting to bolt out of there, she wanted to understand what was going through his mind, she wanted to approach him and tell him that she wasn’t as dumb as she seemed.

She stared at him for a few minutes more, swearing to herself that she would do her best to figure out and ease the weight on his shoulders. She lay back on the sofa and tried to fall asleep as soon as possible. Starting tomorrow, a new chapter of her life will begin.

–“Wake up, dulzura. We have a long day ahead of us.”

She rolled onto her stomach. He tugged on the sheet and Cora felt the cool air brush against the back of her bare thighs. She refused to move. If she did, she would have to face a new day. She buried her face deeper into the pillow. She felt a soft and warm hand rest in her hair, curling it back softly, clearing her face so that the Sun –which was barely peeking out– would illuminate her face. She rejoiced in the caress. Baekhyun was grinning widely but she missed it by putting up resistance to getting up.

Only when he pulled his hand away did she slowly open her eyes to see that he was already dressed and shaved at that unholy hour. Baekhyun glanced at her body, reminding her that she was actually practically naked under the sheet, just dressed in an old t-shirt of his and some rather compromising panties. When she realized it, she rolled onto her back and pulled the sheet up to cover herself with it.

–“We have almost three hours of travel ahead of us and we will be leaving in ten minutes. Get dressed and do something useful.” He turned away from her and went to the sink.

–“It's still night.” Cora and squinted at the gray morning light streaming through the dirty little windows.

–“It's almost six o'clock.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and raised the mug to his lips.

–“I'll stay in here while you drive.”

–“It’s illegal.” Baekhyun set the coffee cup on the table, then reached down to quickly pick up the clothes from the floor. He examined her critically and handed her a pair of jeans that had been hanging over the armrest of the chair.

Cora wanted to say something funny but was sure he would not be amused, so she reluctantly went to the bathroom. Ten minutes later she came out dressed and noticed that he was in front of the open kitchen cupboard, somewhat indecisive and it could even be said that a certain sadness claimed his face. She noticed that on the sink was an apple, a packaged cupcake, the last of the oatmeal frosts from the jar that contained them, and a recyclable bottle of what looked like yogurt.

–“Um... this morning you can eat whatever you want, you don't have many options but I know you can satisfy your stomach with this. From the next purchase we’ll have to divide the food between us. The circus is beautiful but it doesn’t leave much profit.” It was the first time she had heard him so dejected, almost regretful and that confirmed Cora's suspicion: his gruff behavior possessed a reason so she would try her best to not be another burden. She just hoped that Baekhyun would build the confidence to share his troubles.

She murmured a "thank you" as soft and delicate as she could when he stepped past her, scratching the back of his neck as if the situation had made him more uncomfortable than it should. She decided that from now on, she would try not to feel scared in front of him and that she would be the strong woman her mother had instilled in her to be.

They barely spoke during the first hour of travel. Since he hadn't given her enough time to get ready, Cora had to finish “putting on makeup” –she was only able to apply lip balm and blush– in the truck and comb her hair as best she could despite the bumps on the road, holding her hair in a high ponytail which she braided first then decorated at the end with a patterned fabric bow. Baekhyun observed her as much as he could from the corner of his eye, avoiding a smile that would give him away and enjoying how her hair twisted when she moved her fingers from side to side. He thought that with her washed face she looked prettier than the day before. The shadows in her eyes distracted from the color and spark they possessed and the lipstick widened her lips to the point that they appeared be swollen.

Around mid-morning, Baekhyun bought orange juice, some cereal bars and two packaged sandwiches. He stopped the truck in a place decorated with flags and logs cut to a length that suggested they were to be used for seating. After eating, Cora went to the bathroom and tried to find money with which she could return the favor to Baekhyun, but she only found some coupons from a previous job and some tokens for the spreading machine.

When she came out she realized two things: one, an attractive waitress was flirting with Baekhyun and two, he was doing absolutely nothing to discourage her.

Cora watched him tilt his head and smile at something the girl had said. She experienced a twinge of jealousy as he seemed to be enjoying the waitress's company more than her own. She made up her mind to ignore what was happening but then it came to her recollection she’d never explicitly let on to having feelings for Baekhyun. Cora feared that if she came on too strongly, crossed barriers he wasn’t ready to do away with just yet, she’d never have the opportunity to get closer. Though he had been fairly hospitable, there was always an air of reluctance that clouded his every interaction with her, a sort of underlying anxiety she couldn’t quite place. With resignation, she straightened her shoulders and approached the table where she gave the clerk her most radiant smile.

–“Thank you very much for keeping this dulzura company. Most of the time, he doesn’t like talking.” The waitress seemed somewhat surprised by Cora's friendly demeanor. She then lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “It was very kind of her, wasn't it, mi amor?”.

Baekhyun choked on his coffee. She leaned in to pat him on the back while giving the girl a beaming smile.

Controlling his cough, he stood up from the table with an expression even angrier than was usual for him. Before he had a chance to open his mouth, Cora reached out and brought it to her lips so he wouldn't say anything. He looked at her like he was going to strangle her, but he just tossed several bills on the table and shoved her out of the restaurant.

–“Are you going to get mad about a little joke? Haven't you gotten used to clowns yet?” Cora's shoes slipped on the gravel as he dragged her toward the truck and the ugly trailer.

–“I already told you, you’re the grumpiest man I have ever met. And it doesn't suit you, not at all, Baekhyun. Let me tell you something, I was right, you look much more handsome smiling.”

He halted in his tracks and although she hoped he would say something to her, perhaps return the compliment, he continued his accelerated march to the truck. Disappointed, she grabbed the door handle, pulled and seated herself on the passenger side. Moments later they were back on the road.

The morning was sunny. The warm air coming in through the ajar window was not yet suffocating. Cora couldn't find any reason for him to sulk on such a perfect and beautiful morning, so she finally broke the silence.

So far Baekhyun had been cooperative, he had commented that they were going to Fraga, they would spend two nights there and then they would continue traveling through the rest of Huesca. They had 4 months ahead of it, a life of trips and tours that were only missed once the season was over, exhausting but full of colors and renewed illusions in the face of each person who made up the audience during their performances. She wished they’d already given a place in the show. She still had little clue as to what she would have to go through first.

–“This will be the last season of the circus. So we will put in our best efforts. The owner passed away at the beginning of the year and his wife, Algeria, has inherited the circus and has put it up for sale.” He said, pressing his lips together almost imperceptibly. Cora noticed anyway.

–“Have you been at the circus a long time?” she asked, determined to find out more about him.

–“I go and come. I traveled with the circus from my teenage years until I was twenty. Since then I’ve come and gone.” She took the time to appreciate him better than she could the night before, surprised that he was speaking so "openly" and that he wasn't growling in the middle of her questioning.

The questions didn’t stop there, Cora would take her time asking him as much as she could but she had been somewhat disappointed when he didn't ask her any in return. Suddenly she remembered that she was there for work and decided to inform Baekhyun that she had never set foot in a job as artistic as the circus.

–“I just wanted to say that I don't know anything about the circus world.”

–“You'll learn. Gael, the guy who normally runs the locker, has to be away for a couple of days. You’ll be taking his place until he returns, and then you can join the show. We open the function with the parade presentation. Later we can look for the act you’ll be joining.”

She only made an approving sound. For now she was only counting the moles that were spread evenly and in isolation from his face to his ears and even fingers.

They continued traveling several miles in silence while she pondered what he had told her. But it was what he hadn’t said that worried her the most. Unknown to her, the word "love" –amor as she had called him in front of the waitress– had been bouncing around inside his skull. Baekhyun had been thinking that perhaps Cora wasn’t as empty-headed as he initially believed and perhaps he liked the nickname more than he expected.

↬ author’s note: today's chapter has been a little longer, hope you enjoy it! as you know, any feedback is welcome ♡ and must tell you something important, pay attention to the small details, they will play an important role in the plot! last but not least, thanks to Oliv for her help and time invested in helping me get each part correctly narrated.

#baekhyun fluff #baekhyun smut #baekhyun angst #baekhyun x oc #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x you #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun scenarios #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun drabble #baekhyun drabbles #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #circus au #iluso amor

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sockablock · 4 years

Text

in light of the truly heartwarming response I got to part one of this story, please enjoy: How To Build a Magic School, Chapter 2

—

It took a special kind of mind to follow the Mighty Nein’s conversations once they really got heated. It helped, at least, that they were seated in close proximity, sprawled across a ring of crates in the main tent, but the fact of the matter was that trying to pay attention to seven people all chiming in at once was already giving Essek a mild headache. And minor neck pain.

“—kind of disguise,” Veth was saying. “I know it’s been a couple years, but folks here…they might not be happy to see a…a...”

“A foreigner,” Fjord said, diplomatically.

“A Xhorhastian,” Yasha tried.

“A drow,” Essek came to their rescue. “No, she is right.”

There was a sharp and semi-affronted exhale from Jester. “Did you get any funny looks when you arrived? Did anyone say anything to you?”

“And do you remember which ones they were?” Caleb added quietly.

Essek hesitated, trying to remember, but through the bright haze of sunlight and hot summer, the furious clamor of construction outside—

“I…do not think anyone saw my arrival.”

“You’re wearing full black and carrying a pink umbrella,” Beau grunted. “Are you sure?”

He hesitated again. “Ah…no.”

“All sorts of interesting people have visited us since the school project started,” Caduceus said. In line with the conventions of his personal narrative, he was attempting to make tea over a tiny, portable burner. “You probably won’t be the strangest thing they’ve seen or will see, working here.”

“They’ve already seen Fjord—”

“Hey! That—why—”

“The people of Felderwin can be touchy though,” Veth continued, smugly ignoring Fjord. “I don’t really think you can blame them, either. If it wasn’t the goblin attacks for years before that, it was the, well, the huge invasion where a purple worm ate the ground and half the town caught on fire.”

She maintained eye contact with Essek as she said this. Her gaze intensified when he shrugged.

“That is…fair enough,” Caleb cut in. “But I would feel…ill at ease to force you, Essek, to hide if you did, ah, did not wish to…”

Essek gestured vaguely at his appearance. “Actually, I had assumed I would be needing to disguise myself. I have masqueraded as a high elf before, and it would not be difficult to do so again.”

“Isn’t that a lot of spells wasted?” Fjord asked. “Won’t it be annoying to have to keep that up?”

“It’s not that hard,” said Veth, under her breath.

“Oh, oh, I could Polymorph you!” Jester clapped her hands together, enthused. “I can make you anything! You could be an elf, or a tiefling, or a firbolg or a—”

“I appreciate the offer,” Essek said smoothly, “but I do have a few resources at hand. A simple ring of illusion would do the trick.”

“What are we gonna say about you, though?” Beauregard asked. All heads turned toward her. “If the court wants to know about you, a random mage and one of the first hires of the magic school, what are we supposed to tell them?”

They considered this.

“He’s a…family friend?”

“Whose family?”

“Well, I’d like to think of us as a family—”

“Why don’t we say he’s from Nicodranas?” Jester suggested. “We could say he’s, um…oh! That he was recommended by Yussa!”

“Yussa?” Essek echoed.

“Actually…that doesn’t sound half-bad,” Fjord mused. “Master Yussa is a mage that the king recognizes, yes?”

“Ah, he is a mage?”

“He’s a friend of ours!” Jester beamed. “A super powerful wizard that lives in the Open Quay. He’s pretty powerful, Essek. Maybe even more powerful than you!”

This was delivered with a winning smile. Caleb sighed. “From what I gather, Master Yussa is much older, and has had quite a few lifetimes’ worth of practice. He is also…quite reclusive, and therefore not exactly what we had in mind for this school.

“And he said no,” Beauregard muttered.

“Yes, danke, and he also turned us down. The point is, we can pretend you are acquainted with him. That should be enough to assuage the court.”

“Will this…Master Yussa agree to such a thing?” Essek asked.

Caleb answer with a faint grin. “He is a wizard who feels he is…not so beholden to court pressures. Also, he owes us a favor, as is.”

Essek couldn’t help but match Caleb’s expression. “Is that so? Then I find I quite admire this man.”

“We saved him from the Happy Fun Ball,” Yasha supplied, a collection of syllables that no betting man would have ever predicted to come from her. “He likes us.”

“He loves us,” Jester corrected. “He has our Little Willi and his assistant Wensforth practically worships us and everything!”

After the pertinent information had been properly located, Essek nodded. “That is, er, lovely. I owe him my thanks.”

“Now we just gave to give you a new name,” said Veth. “I don’t think we can keep calling you ‘Thelyss,’ unless we want the idiots on the Committee getting suspicious.”

“The…excuse me?”

“The Arcane Restoration Supervisory Committee,” Caleb sighed, “is a group of concerned officials—”

“—nosy dillweeds—"

“—that was formed to manage—”

“—micromanage—”

“—to oversee our current rebuilding efforts. It is very likely,” he continued, giving Beau a look, “that this is the court’s way of reconciling with the fact that an unknown quantity has been handed the reigns of the Dwendalian Empire’s arcane future.”

“I know that,” Beau countered, “I just don’t like them.”

“Caleb is the unknown quantity,” Caduceus added.

“…I see,” said Essek, eventually. “Should I, ah, be concerned about them?”

“Probably not,” Beau said. “They’re just a bunch of nobles who think they understand the first thing about magic.”

“You being an expert on the subject, of course,” was what Essek did not say, because self-preservation interrupted just in time. Instead, what left his mouth was:

“I had also anticipated concern about my involvement—that is, Shadowhand Essek Thelyss’s involvement—in this matter. If necessary, I can masquerade as someone else. I, ah, will still need an umbrella during the daylight hours, though. Or perhaps a large hat?”

The elongated squeal from Jester atop the milk crate filled him with regret.

“What was the name you used last time?” Fjord asked. “Desden…Desbin…”

“‘Dezran Thain,’” Essek supplied. “Actually, I could employ that title again.”

“Uh…is that a good idea?” Veth asked. “Wasn’t Dezran a friend of the Assembly’s?”

Essek shook his head. “Strictly speaking, Thain was just a very minor lord that lived in Nicodranas. When the peace talks began, he was called upon by Da’leth to play tour guide and host due to his interest in magic and local familiarity. Only he, de Rogna, and Tversky knew who I really was.”

“It is…not bad, as far as our plans go,” Caleb said after a while. “It aligns with the story that you are Nicodranian, and it might actually sit well with the court members that had favored the Assembly. As for those who supported us against them…”

Beau rolled her eyes when Caleb’s gaze fell on her. “Yeah, yeah, an Expositor will vouch for him.”

“An Expositor?”

“Gods, fine, this Expositor.”

“Thank you.” Then he gave Essek a nod. “That about covers it then, ja? This story, we can tell the court, and then—"

“Wait, hang on—” And this was Beauregard again, leaning forward, staring directly at Essek.

“Yes?” he said.

“What did you tell your court?” she asked.

—

Mother had spoken to the Bright Queen alone. This was not technically out of the ordinary, as the Umavis of Rosohna frequently met to discuss state matters too selective for anyone else. But Essek was unused to being considered “anyone else,” which was why the situation still rankled, in his mind.

“Tell me again,” he turned to face his mother, floating clothes and books drifting past his head. “Is that all you said?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

At his still-annoyed expression, his mother sighed. “Yes, dear. I just told Leylas that this was a unique opportunity for you to integrate yourself within the Empire and gain ample information that would otherwise be inaccessible. We all saw how abruptly the war ended, and how quickly the Assembly seemed to fall afterwards. No one can blame her for being curious.”

A small inkwell drifted across the room as Essek resumed packing. “And then?” he prompted.

His mother sighed again.

“And then I reassured her Majesty that there were plenty of souls that could temporarily come together to fill the void you would leave behind—”

No doubt all from Den Thelyss, Essek thought.

“—and that even in absentia, you would still be serving as a valuable font of information for the Dynasty. Which, after all, is what the Shadowhand is meant to do. And of course, should it ever be required, you could always be called home.”

“…indeed.”

“Indeed,” his mother smiled. “Though, of course, this is all under the assumption that aside from your prospective employer, nobody else will know who you truly are.”

Essek gave this due consideration.

“I have a feeling that the rest of the Mighty Nein will be told, Mother.”

The Umavi of Den Thelyss was not an easy woman to read. Her expression gave nothing away as she said, “I see.”

“But,” Essek added, because he felt he needed to, “I don’t think anyone else has to know.”

She reached out slowly and plucked a mirror from the air.

“I have more faith in you than that, my dear. I am confident you will ensure it is so.”

—

“—temporary leave of absence,” said Essek, now, to the Mighty Nein. “I have been the Shadowhand for most of my life, and a diligent scholar of the nation before that. I was owed some vacation days.”

“Vacation days—” began Fjord.

“But how temporary?” asked Beau, cutting him off. “I thought it’d be hard for you—you know, as you said, the Shadowhand—to just up and leave, after all. How long can you stay here?”

Essek gave her a wry smile. “Fortunately, I expect my definition of ‘temporary’ is somewhat different than yours.”

“Longer,” said Caduceus.

“Longer,” he agreed. “It is very safe to assume that I can stay for at least a decade, if I wish.”

“And I certainly hope you do wish,” said Caleb quickly. “There are many things we will need to accomplish, after all, not just today during construction, but in the future. And, ah,” he added, a little more pointedly, “I do feel as if I should thank you again. For everything you have done for us, and now today in volunteering your expertise.”

“Man, we’re really going to need it,” Jester groaned, throwing herself back across the milk crate. “The Committee keeps telling us to go faster, hire this person, that person, build the school different—everything.”

“Really?”

Caleb chuckled. “Yes, but that all can be explained tomorrow,” he said. “For now, though,” and he stood, crouching to avoid the ceiling of the tent, “let me show you to where we are staying. I expect you must be tired, ja? If not by the travel, then at least the time difference.”

For just a moment, Essek thought about saying otherwise. But there was something in Caleb’s hopeful expression that made him pause.

He yawned very minutely, and smiled. “It would be nice to put my things away,” he admitted. “And, ah, perhaps have a short rest.”

“Of course, of course,” Caleb gestured to the door, but did stop to address the group at large. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon,” he added, “but if anyone needs me…Jester?”

She saluted cheerfully, for the spirit of it. “Got it!”

“And of course, Veth, you are the Professor in charge.”

This was answered with an expansive wave, and a grin.

“Of course, Headmaster! Leave everything to us!”

—

“So…Headmaster, eh?” One pair of footsteps—and then sheepishly, another—began to crunch through the freshly-dewed grass. All around them, spanning the entirety of the field, a legion of masons and stonecutters and workmen cut, sawed, hammered, and hefted the thick wooden frame of an enormous building in its first stages. A group of surveyors stood at the center, arguing as more lumber was lugged into view, directing the flow of Construction and Progress.

“Apparently so,” Caleb said, “though I have to admit, I am not quite used to that title yet.”

Something enormous soared overhead, momentarily blotting out the sun.

“Would you prefer Professor Widogast?”

Caleb sighed as the shadow vanished.

“I prefer ‘Caleb,’ to be truly honest.”

Essek chuckled. “Then for now at least, I will oblige.”

He glanced up as the next shadow approached, squinting to see in the bright morning light. After rubbing his eyes and blinking a few times, he could make out the shape of a massive carpet, carrying sacks of sand and brick.

“Spoils from the remnants of Soltryce,” Caleb explained, before Essek could ask. “We found quite a number of things in the basement of that school, some…well.” His expression went dark, and not just because of the shadow overhead. “Many of those things we managed to release. Some, ultimately, had to be destroyed.” But then he gestured to the enormous architectural undertaking around them and added in a lighter tone, “Some things, though, ended up being rather useful. Like the, ah, look, over there—”

Essek blinked again, and this time spotted what appeared to be twelve hulking stone statues, moving slowly between a line of workers. Each had gait like rock grinding on steel, and were lifting whole logs like they weighed nothing.

“Guardian constructs,” Caleb said. “They were a nuisance to battle, but once de Rogna was gone, they went dormant and stopped fighting. We figured out how to pilot them later.”

Essek looked suitably impressed by this. He shifted his umbrella into his other hand.

“Really?” he said. “And are you now their master?”

“Oh no, nein,” Caleb quickly shook his head. “Honestly, it was suggested, but I…there was something that bothered me about the idea of having control of them. And not just I, but…it felt wrong to let any single person control a fleet of sleepless warriors. So Beauregard got creative.”

“Indeed?”

Caleb pointed to a wooden sign that was nailed into the ground a few feet from their path. A handful of workers was crouching next to it, carefully reciting what was scrawled across its surface. After a moment, to Essek’s genuine surprise, he realized they were practicing an arcane incantation.

“How do—”

“A pronunciation guide,” Caleb said. He was—yes, he was smiling about this. “We managed to translate enough verbal commands to make them usable for anyone who can read Common.”

“But…but…that’s everyone,” Essek said, hurrying a bit to catch back up. It took him some effort to tear his gaze from the sign. “Are you not…are you not concerned about this information falling into the wrong hands?”

“Ah, but if anyone can use them, then there is no problem. The playing field, as they say, has evened out. That was Beauregard’s idea, anyhow.” At the silence that followed, Caleb tilted his head and said, “Think of it this way, ja? A magic sword controlled by an evil person is not so dangerous if even a peasant can tell it to stop. What is the use of a weapon of war that listens to everyone’s commands?”

“Yes, but…” Essek struggled to find the right words. “Now…now…right, but now the sword is a, a, a butter knife! What would be the point of that?”

Caleb was quiet for a moment. Then he managed a trying smile. “That…depends on what you need though, no? Right now, what we are looking for is not war. It is toast. Er…that is, a metaphorical toast.”

“But…still, if that is the case, anyone could steal your constructs,” Essek said, somewhat subdued. “Should they not be guarded? As you would protect a prized tool?”

Caleb actually snorted at this. “If anybody attempted to do so,” he said, “they would receive quite an earful from the Chief Surveyor. They would not dare.”

And then Caleb turned, met Essek’s gaze, and it looked like he was waiting for cheerful agreement.

Neither response felt appropriate. Something about this still bothered Essek, almost like trying an ill-fitting sock.

“I think, ah, that I prefer jam,” he managed eventually. “On my toast, that is. And perhaps, a cup of tea?”

Blessedly, this elicited a chuckle from Caleb. “Of course, of course. That I can provide. We are quite close to the tavern, as is.”

And indeed, after only a few more minutes, they passed through a thin line of trees and arrived at the edge of a small, but bustling town.

“Welcome—well, welcome back to Feldwerin,” Caleb corrected. “Though this time, I expect, you will be staying longer.”

—

When the war ended, Felderwin Tillage had been left in a state of utter chaos. Purple worms had torn apart acres of land, fields had been razed by advancing soldiers, and scores of houses, stables, and shops had been burned to the ground when the invasion began.

And then, the Cerberus Assembly had fallen, and more information flooded the populous. They’d been told, virtually overnight, that the Archmages had been secretly using this town as a testing ground. They’d unleashed uncontrolled magic here for generations, tricking and abusing the townsfolk for their experiments, forcing a local lad—the widower—to work for them, and when people fell ill, they’d blamed it all on molded fruit.

Suddenly, the villagers felt quite foolish. And then, they’d started to get angry.

So it came as a genuine shock to Caleb that when the time came to build their campus, Veth had stepped forward and said it should be in Felderwin.

“But…they’d never agree,” he’d said. “Why should they?”

But she’d shaken her head. “They will.”

And so, the next morning, Veth marched through the village center with Luc and Yeza following behind, the Mighty Nein scrambling to keep up. She’d stormed up the stairs of the Town Hall, looked the Starosta dead in his eye, and informed him that everything was about to change.

All they’d need, she said, was a swath of land outside town, far enough away that it wouldn’t interfere with the calm that this village had been so denied, but close enough that it was still in the tillage. She’d told him, when he’d protested, that yes, there would be mages, but there would also be student mages, young, burgeoning minds that would spend quite a long time at the school. They’d be trained there, fed and housed and cared for, and eventually, once they grew up and graduated, when they looked back fondly on their younger years, it’d be in Felderwin.

Besides, she’d added, tapping the side of her nose, now the King would have to protect this place. After all, it’d be right next to the Empire’s arcane center, and wouldn’t it be nice to finally have some proper defenses? Not to mention, if you needed to borrow any of the bright young masons and stonecutters we’d hired, well. That could be arranged, easy.

Sometimes, she’d said, it doesn’t hurt to be on the map. Because then the world pays attention to what happens to you.

And then the mayor had said, Aren’t you dead?

And then Veth had informed him, I got better.

And so it was now, a few months later, that Caleb led Essek past the newly-rebuilt Brenatto Apothecary, toward the Glassy Grass Inn. It had become the go-to tavern for the Mighty Nein, not because they were unwelcome in Veth’s house, per say, but more due to a gentle conversation that Yeza had had with his wife about work-life balance after Caduceus had walked into the center of the shop during its busiest hours in nothing but a towel and a toothbrush.

After that, they agreed to at least sleep next door.

The bell overhead rang as they entered, though the sound was lost in the din of voices. Essek had barely shut his parasol before a burly man in an apron rushed past, carrying tray upon tray of drink and food.

“It’s gotten rather busy since we moved in,” Caleb explained. “Word got around, and apparently people quite like staying in the same pub as us. That, and old Littlebottle agreed to let our workers take meals and rooms at a discount. The barkeep.”

“Really?” Essek raised an eyebrow. “How generous of him.”

“Well, apparently he is grateful for the business. And, I expect, grateful that our project has kept his neighbor preoccupied. Apparently Veth and Yeza were responsible for quite a number of the scorch marks at the edge of his lawn.”

“Is that so?” Essek chuckled. “I find it easy to believe.” Then he added, as he watched Caleb wave to a face in the crowd, “It seems you have taken well to your new assignment. And life in this town.”

He was caught off-guard when he noticed the faintest coloring of Caleb’s ear.

“Oh, er…is that so? Have I?”

“Well, I…just meant it seems you have made friends with the locals. And you, ah, move through the village with purpose, and had quite a lot to say about your endeavor.”

“Is that—scheisse, was I annoy—”

“Oh! No, no, not at all. I just, er…”

They stopped in the doorway leading up to the second floor, laughter and conversation winding slowly all around them.

“I just meant, ah…it is nice to see you so relaxed,” Essek finished lamely. “Retirement from adventuring seems to suit you.”

Caleb seemed to relax. “Well,” he murmured, “I am glad you think so. Though I must say, my retirement has certainly been eventful.”

“Better still than the typical hero’s retirement, no?”

“Ha! Lucky for me, eh?”

They stood there for a moment longer, as if neither were sure who should go first. But after a short pause, Caleb stepped back and began rummaging through his pockets. “Here, ah, here, take this,” he said, and pressed a small silver key into Essek’s hand. “It leads to my bedroom, but you can rest there while I see about getting you a room. And some tea.”

Eseek turned it over, looped a finger through the cord. “Oh, but I can’t just leave you to—”

“No, nein, I insist,” said Caleb. “I do not mind—”

“Are you sure—”

“Of course.” And with the air of someone playing a trump card in a social encounter, he added, “After all, you have travelled quite a distance, my friend. Please. I will join you in a moment.”

—

The Mighty Nein ate their sandwiches peacefully in the meadow outside their tent.

Then:

“I thought he’d be wearing different clothes.”

“What?”

“I dunno. I just thought he’d look…less shadowy.”

“Like he wouldn’t be wearing that creepy mantle, or something?”

“Yeah! Like I thought he’d be in, like, summery clothes! Like a flowy shirt and regular pants and short sleeves and straw sandals. He is taking a break from being a spymaster, after all.”

There a pause as they pondered the likelihood of this.

“He…could be wearing that under the mantle,” Caduceus said.

“Sandals? Really?” said Fjord.

“But his skin, he probably could not wear those if he wanted to,” Yasha said.

“Hmm…that is a good point,” Jester conceded. “But still, all black? In the summer? That’s

“Not if he’s got, I dunno, ice under there,” said Veth. “What if he has a bunch of ice strapped to his chest?”

“Ice? Now, really…” said Fjord, but everyone else had started to ruminate on this.

“No stains,” said Beau eventually.

“What?”

“No stains,” she repeated “If there was ice, there’d be stains. From it melting, right?”

“Or he’d be—ugh, gross—he’d be leaking,” said Veth. “Like there’d be puddles underneath him and stuff.”

Three of them snickered delightedly at this. Then Caduceus passed around more juice, and more sandwiches.

—

There was a cat on the bed when Essek walked in, sprawled out as if it owned the place.

Disguised drow and disguised fey regarded each other for a moment. Then Frumpkin stretched lazily, and yawned.

It occurred to Essek, as he continued to stand in the doorway, that this might be some kind of test. Minutes passed as he struggled to find the right thing to say—this was a familiar, was it not? And then he realized that anything he did end up saying would probably come across as rather silly. He decided to err on caution and simply nodded to the cat before sitting down on a worn wooden chair.

It ignored him completely. Essek twisted at his sleeve.

And finally, by the Grace of the Luxon, there was a polite knock at the door.

“Come in, come i—Caleb, that is much too much food.”

“Nonsense,” said Caleb, who had closed the door behind him rather inelegantly with a foot. Carefully balanced across his arms were two wooden trays absolutely laden with breads, cheeses, sliced meats and fruits that Essek at a first glance couldn’t name. A third tray floated behind Caleb, supported by a faintly-shimmering Unseen Servant, carrying drinks and utensils.

Not to be outdone, Essek gave a faint smile and flicked his wrist with a flourish. The trays rose out of Caleb’s grasp and drifted toward the table.

“I had it,” but his former student was now smiling as well. “Though I have missed seeing an esteemed Gravaturgist at work.”

The food came to a gentle rest between them. “I have also missed showing off,” Essek said wryly. “It is hard to find someone in the Dynasty unfamiliar enough with Dunamancy to appreciate my skills quite as much as you d—you alldid.”

“We did make you teleport us around quite a bit,” Caleb chuckled. He picked up a small piece of bread and split it in two, offering half to Essek. “I do not think we ever repaid you properly, either.”

Essek examined the bread in his hands. “Well, if I remember the contents of your letter correctly, it is the world that should be trying to repay you. The Chained Oblivion? Really, Caleb?”

“Oh, ah…” The man actually had the nerve to sound bashful. “That was mostly an accident, as it were.”

“You…sorry, you accidentally defeated the Chained God? Is that what you are telling me?”

“Well, er, no, not exactly.” He picked up one of the small round fruits and held it between his fingers. “It was sort of an accident that we found it…or rather, we did not know what we were looking for.”

This sounded like the Mighty Nein that Essek knew. He motioned for Caleb to go on.

“We had been…following a dream of Yasha’s,” Caleb said. “She had received it from the Storm Lord ages ago, but with one thing and another, we had never had time to pursue this. There was…a place, an island in the sea, she had felt it was a place of great importance. We weren’t sure why, until we arrived and found…”

A place of starlight and iron chains, buried in the heart of a dead volcano. A chamber, a ritual-site, fading incense and chalk, ensnaring an obelisk and a shattered crystal and at its center, a pulsating, churning darkness—

A hole in reality, Essek would remember, lying awake that night. The bastards had found a hole in reality and then they’d jumped in—

And found themselves standing in a pocket dimension…or at least, that’s what they’d thought. The air swirled with dark mist, the sky alive and churning. The walls of the world seemed to lurch and expand and it was Caduceus who realized that the whole plane was breathing. Jester shifted them out, returning them to the chamber, and they began to pour through the notes left behind. They realized that someone had found a Divine Shackle, then turned it in on itself, re-directed the ritual, created a bridge that would grant them access to the very being of Tharizdun, the most ancient and chaotic of forces—

“But who?” Essek breathed. He held a gooseberry, though he didn’t know it yet. “Who was responsible?”

Caleb scowled. “They left their notes behind. Who else would it be?”

As far as the Cobalt Soul could tell, the archmages themselves had not originally been involved in any actual cult. But after Vence’s capture, and Tasithar’s transfer, a spark of interest had been ignited in the minds of some of the nation’s brightest.

“It is like your metaphor,” Caleb said. “Before, they were simply sailing on a boat—"

Essek hesitated. The horrible sourness of the fruit might’ve been muddying his concentration. “It is what?”

“Like they were sailing,” Caleb repeated. “And every so often, they could lean over the edge and skim the sea for knowledge from relative safety. But capturing the cultists had…inspired the Academy to instead, go for a dive. And so they dove, down into the deeps, plumbing the darkest tides for secrets. And of course, they ultimately encountered the monster of all monsters…”

From there, it had been a matter of getting the proof—about this, about everything else they’d done—into the hands of Cobalt Soul. But word got out, and whispers travelled, and more people than the Nein could ever have imagined rose up, demanded justice and retribution—

Essek remembered the reports he’d received on the morning of the fall of the Cerberus Assembly. The casualties had been extreme, but what happened afterwards, even more so.

“You arrested them,” he murmured. “The ones that survived, anyway.”

“And still, quite a few of them escaped,” Caleb sighed. “That is of course not even including the fact that not all of them were guilty enough to fully imprison to start with. As I understand, Hass has left to see the world, and Lord Uludan is still a diplomat for the king.”

Essek glanced at a slice of cured ham. He wondered if it would be enough to counter the taste in his mouth.

“With the…Assembly gone,” he said carefully, “there will not be a council of mages to balance the rule of the king, anymore. The nation has lost a powerful governing body and a source of great strength. What do you suppose this means for Dwendal?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow at Essek. “I certainly do not think the Assembly was doing much balancing to begin with,” he said, almost as slowly. “As for the King, well…the man is quite old, and very paranoid. He will be tricky to manage, and yet there are a number of good people surrounding him. In fact, the elimination of the Assembly could allow them to finally step up. That, and this nation has now witnessed a historic uprising of the people. For the first time in a long time, citizens are trying to make their voices heard. And unless the royal court wants more chaos, or to fall in the way that the Assembly did, for once, I think they will have to listen.”

Essek lowered his hand. He stared at Caleb. “But…they are just people,” he said, astonished. “How could they know what is best for the nation?”

Caleb’s expression changed, slightly. He was silent for quite a long stretch of time.

“My dear friend…they are the nation.”

—

“No,” said Fjord.

“But—”

“No, Jester. I will not let you tape ice cubes to my armpit.”

There was a pause. Then a huff.

“Fine, I’ll ask Beau.”

—

After lunch, Essek was shown to a room slightly farther down the hall.

“It will likely be some time before we will be able to move into the school grounds,” Caleb said, “so I recommend you make yourself comfortable here.”

Essek was given another small key, tied to a leather cord.

He felt like something needed to be said. Gods, if he could just figure out what.

“I, ah…thank you,” he tried. “For…lunch, for everything, the room, and, ah, if you need gold—"

Caleb shook his hand. “Nein, please, no. It is, as they say, on the house. More accurately, on the dime of the royal treasury.”

There was another hesitation. Essek sought desperately for a solution, but when nothing came, he sighed. And gave up.

“I, um…am sorry,” he said. “If I…made a statement that was…incorrect.”

Caleb studied his expression. Then, he seemed to sigh as well.

“A school is for learning, is it not? Maybe we will be surprised by who teaches.”

“Er…”

“I just mean,” Caleb murmured, “that we do truly come from different worlds. That are, in many odd ways, rather the same. I just hope it will not be too much.”

Essek was not a stupid man. He opened his mouth again, to protest, but stopped when a hand brushed against his arm.

“You should get some rest,” Caleb said. “Unpack, adjust to our time zone, relax. Then tomorrow,” and here there was the faintest hint of smile, “I will give you a real tour of the school. You should have a voice in some of our plans, too, for the curriculum and into the future. And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “it will be better to have everyone around when we finish the story. Yasha does very good sound effects for the Chained Oblivion.”

There was another pause. Not nearly as tense, but still quite bewildered.

“She does…what?”

“You did not think that was the end of the story, did you?” Caleb grinned. “That we toppled the Assembly and the Maw that Devours just vanished?”

Essek recalled the other reports.

“Ah,” he said. “More the fool I.”

Caleb gave him a friendly pat. “Once a bridge is built, it goes both ways,” he said. “It is funny how often we wizards forget that.”

Then, in the warmth of the hallway, he nodded.

“Have a rest, Essek Thelyss. I will be down the hall. Let me know if you need anything.”

Then he nodded, and turned around, and left.

—

“Jester, I—oh gods, that’s cold.”

“Hold still, silly! You have to hold still.”

“But I—ah—oh, oh gods.”

—

And later that evening, alone in his room, Essek summoned an exquisite onyx chest. He popped it open, and slowly all his worldly possessions began to drift out. Clothes, papers, books and components slowly floated across the room, settling into the proper drawers or hanging themselves in the closet.

And then, Essek collapsed into bed. With a wave of his hand, a small mirror appeared.

It was black, made from polished volcanic glass and set into a twisted metal frame. It had been a gift, and as far as mirrors went, it was rather lacking, but—

He sighed.

It would get the job done.

—

[Part 1] - [Writing Tag] - [The Bail Project] - [National Bail Fund Network]

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