#green hair. ‘freed’. freed from what? an impending fear of having to be responsible for a whole ass country one day?

[robotsdeservebetter]

Do you ever just wake up and headcanon Freed Justine as Hisui E. Fiore’s lost brother?

[taeyongtime]

silver cufflinks

genre: escape artist!taeyong | circus!au

featuring: NCT’s Taeyong

word count: 7,467 words

a/n: an idea of old that i finally managed to execute after 3 years and a culmination of 14 handwritten pages :) 

“Have you heard? Neon Lights is in town!”

You shake your head, never heard the name before.

“You’ve never heard of the Neon Lights Circus?” Your friend’s jaw drops in awe, unbelieving of such a thing. “It’s only the best circus in all of Asia!

“Surely your father has heard of them? Didn't you say he used to perform with a circus?”

“That was a long time ago,” you ponder, recalling all the wild stories from your father’s travels with a wandering circus. “Isn’t this Neon Lights relatively new?”

“Twenty years is hardly new.”

Urged to ask about Neon Lights, you give in and promise to ask your father once you return home. However, the question goes unasked when you see the circle of family surrounding the door to your parents’ bedroom, the upcoming announcement completely unexpected.

“Your father… he’s gone, dear.”

—

You clutch the locked leather-bound volume in hand, following the person in front closely as the line moves slowly towards the ticket booth of the Neon Lights circus. The hype not to be underestimated, what looked to be fifty people are already lined up once the circus’ nighttime hours had been announced one hour prior. Some were new faces who wanted to get a taste of what the acclaimed circus had to offer, others familiar patrons who couldn’t wait to see what was new in store compared to previous shows. All in all, the anticipation for entry is palpable, tingling excitement dancing in the air while the line inched its way up.

Finally, you make it to the booth, handing over the correct amount of money in exchange for an admissions ticket. Green-and-black striped tents greet you once you pass the iron gates, neon lights fitting of the circus’ name dotting the main path. Elaborate signs boasting of acts and other surprises do little to catch your attention, only one goal in mind today as you pass each tent that isn’t the one you wanted. However, you can’t seem to find the tent in question, opting to pop into the next one you see to ask for directions.

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble, bumping paths with the figure dressed in black before the fire breathers’ tent. “I didn’t see you there.”

“No problem,” he dismisses, brushing the sleeves of his black blazer, “You’re good.”

“By the way, do you know where I can find the escape artist?”

He arches an eyebrow. “The escape artist?”

“…Never mind.”

Lifting the curtains, you pass him and enter the tent. Three fire breathers are still in uniform, skipping around the stage with flaming torches in their hands.

“Hey,” you yell at the top of your lungs. “Do any of you know where the escape artist is?”

“Can’t hear you,” hollers the one juggling three torches at once. “Come closer!”

You climb over the rope separating the audience seats from the performers, already halfway up the stage until you feel yourself pulled back down.

“You could’ve died standing so close to the fire breather,” hisses the man you’d bumped into outside, “Follow me.”

“Why should I?”

“I didn’t know you were so desperate to meet me that you’d stick your face into blazing fire to ask my whereabouts.”

“Wait, you’re the escape artist?”

◇

The escape artist’s tent is smaller than expected, a ring of thirty chairs circling the performing space that provides no covers for any sleight of hand. He gestures for you to sit in any of the open chairs and you let out a cry of surprise at hearing the shrill caw overhead.

“My raven won’t bite,” he reassures, reaching a hand to pet the bird that lands on his left arm. “Henry is quite friendly.”

You take a seat and remember the locked journal, extending it to him.

“My father left this for you.”

“Who’s your father?”

“Have you heard of the magician Eriol Kim? That’s my father’s stage name.”

He must know, the downcast glance and dipped head obvious signs that he was familiar with your father.

“Can you open the journal?” you ask, offering the locked volume again. “No one in the family’s been able to open it even though we were left with the key.”

“Let me see.”

He takes the journal and studies the lock, turning the book in his hands before reaching behind his ear and pulling out a bobby pin. Twisting the pin, he sticks the gadget into the lock, fiddling with it a few times before hearing the satisfactory click.

“Old man probably left you guys with a fake key,” he reasons, flipping through the pages. “Had to quench your thirst for answers but still keep his secrets a secret.”

“What kind of secrets?”

The escape artist smiles, placing the lock back in place.

“Secrets.”

Unsatisfied with his answer, you pester him some more but he zips his lips.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for tonight’s show.”

“Hey, you can’t just kick me out, you weirdo!”

“The name’s Taeyong,” he drawls, waving his fingers in a cheery goodbye. “Maybe we can talk more when you come by again tomorrow.”

—

You end up going back to the circus tomorrow and the day after, each night determined to convince Taeyong to let you see your father’s journal. Not once does the escape artist comply, even giggling playfully when he decides he wants your assistance in a performance. Under the pressure of the audience, you find yourself obliging, soon earning yourself an assistant title to the regulars that stop by every night to watch him perform.

“And now my lovely assistant will set fire to the barrel!”

You get up at hearing the cue and extract the lighter from your pocket, eyeing the barrel warily. The speakers overhead crackle, Taeyong assuring the audience he is unable to push open the barrel’s lid.

“If my assistant can prepare—”

Caught off guard by the utterance, you drop the lighter before he can finish, a quick flame growing at the base of the barrel. The prepared sticks of firewood and gasoline catches almost immediately, fear and excitement mixed into the audience’s response.

“Fire, fire…”

Hushed murmurs of fire echo across the circle, and the only thing on your mind is the fire extinguisher—which you run towards and focus the nozzle on the flaming barrel. Puffs of white envelop the on looking audience, your heart thumping erratically as the flames die out. Timing key in pulling off a successful act, you knew full well one mishap like that can shift the entire performance towards failure and ultimately an untimely death.

Please don’t be in there, please tell me you freed yourself before…before…

“Well, that was a close one.”

Taeyong steps out from the cloud, hair tinged white as he brushes his blazer and pants dry with his hands. Everyone cheers, already forgetting the impending risk of his death from the barrel that had been set aflame earlier than arranged.

“Thank you,” he bows, shooting a quick smirk at the crowd. “It is my honor to perform for you tonight!”

Once tonight’s audience leaves his tent, you run towards him and grab him by the shoulders, checking to see if he is still in one piece.

Taeyong laughs at your antics. “What are you doing?”

“You… You’re not dead.”

He scoffs. “Of course not.”

“…Thank goodness, I...” 

Slumping to the ground, you shake your head as you process the prior events once more. Thankfully nothing had gone awry and Taeyong had made it out before the barrel burned to bits and pieces, your mistake passed off as an added measure of suspense for his escape. 

“I have something for you.”

Looking up, your eyes land on the slip of green paper in his hands, bordered in metallic ebony with emerald lettering at the center.

“What is this?”

“Unlimited access pass,” he explains, “So you don’t have to pay to get in.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll come back after nearly killing you tonight.”

He grins, cheekiness rolling off his shoulders. “You’re not going to leave when you still don’t know what your father wrote in his journal.”

You let out a chuckle. “I don’t care about that anymore.”

Now it is his turn to sit down, crossing his legs as he rocks to and fro. 

“You don’t want to know your father’s secrets?”

“Secrets are called secrets for a reason,” you begin, still holding tight to the unlimited access pass. “These things weren’t mine to begin with and I should respect that.”

Taeyong nods, silver earrings glistening in the lamp light. “I respect you for it, Y/N.”

You startle, staring at him wide-eyed. “How do you know my name?”

“Did some research of my own after you told me Eriol was your father. He said he’ll introduce me to you someday when I first started studying under him.”

“Really? He’s never mentioned you to me before.”

A dry laugh tickles his throat. “Probably didn’t bother anymore after I left without telling him.”

You sense there is a deeper story behind the relationship Taeyong had with your father, but don’t bother to ask.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he concludes, extending a hand to help you up after hopping back on his feet. “Come on, I’ll show you around the rest of the circus.”

You take the offered hand and pull yourself up, scowling. “I don’t need you when I’ve been around the rest of the circus before.”

“Have you seen the white tigers in the Wild Cats tent?”

“There’s a separate tent for tigers?”

The disgusted look on his face says it all. “Clearly you still haven’t been to the best tents around here.”

—

The call at 4pm is unexpected, much less the name that appears on caller ID.

Not sure when Taeyong had inputted his phone number into your device or when he had gotten hold of your contact information, you ignore the ringtone and return to enjoying the fresh cup of oolong tea and just baked sugar cookies for the midday snack. Barely having two sips of tea, you grumble when the phone rings again, this time answering and ready to tell him off for interrupting your teatime.

“What do you want, weirdo?”

“Hello, is this Y/N? Mister Lee Taeyong is currently at the police station; he said this is a good number to reach you, his friend?”

“Excuse me?”

You arrive at the police station thirty minutes later, eyes widened at seeing the limp figure slumped over the table.

“Taeyong?”

Taeyong lifts his head up at hearing his name, the officers standing next to him following closely behind.

“What the…”

He giggles, face flushed as he proudly holds up his hands, an officer cuffed to each wrist.

“Mister Lee claims he misplaced the key,” the office on the right begins calmly, “He gave us your name and contact information when we asked if there is anyone else who may know how to unlock his handcuffs.”

“Um… I can try.”

You kneel to meet Taeyong at eye level, doing your best to not get distracted by the puppy-dog eyes and giggly expression on his face. You smell a faint hint of alcohol; how much had he drank to reach such a wasted state that he had managed to handcuff two well-trained police officers to him?

“Weirdo, how much did you drink? Where is your key?”

“Dunno,” he slurs, letting out a hiccup. “Had one bottle, two?”

“Not even that much,” you mutter, reaching your hands into his jacket pockets and coming up empty. “Lightweight.”

“I cuffed two officers, Y/N. You’re under arrest, officers!”

Ignoring the grumbles and displeasure at being cuffed by a mere civilian, you suddenly remember his bobby pin trick. Reaching by his ear, your fingers grab hold of the pin tucked in his hair, easing it out and fiddling it into each cuff.

The officers wring out their hands once freed, and you quickly help a dizzy Taeyong up.

“Sorry for all the trouble,” you apologize on his behalf, “It won’t happen again.”

◇

Taeyong opens his eyes to find himself in a home that isn’t his tent, the surroundings completely unfamiliar until he sees the photo frame on the nightstand by the bed. 

A family photo. He spots his mentor immediately, as stoic as ever posing tight-lipped before the camera.

“I’m sorry for running away, Teacher.”

Sitting up, he eases off the bed and makes a lap around the apartment, taking note of where your things are placed. Not too shabby for someone raised by a magician, although his mentor had also been one to keep a messy desk once he sees the haphazardly scattered papers and uncapped pens on your work table. He starts to reorganize, but pauses midway when he spots the clipped newspaper article.

Impossible. How could he have not realized that was why you’d suddenly appeared in his life?

“Hey, you’re awake.”

He turns at hearing your voice, staring you down.

“Why didn’t you tell me Eriol is dead?”

You manage a soft smile, taking off your sneakers and easing into a pair of purple slippers. “I thought you already knew the moment I gave you his journal.”

“How could I…”

He slams a hand on the table, ignoring the shrill screech at his fingers crushing the small porcelain cup just below his fist. Blood starts to trickle from the shards embedded in his skin, and you hurriedly sit him down before rushing to grab the first-aid kit.

“Idiot... This might hurt, can you withstand it?”

“It’s fine,” he insists, the wince at the first pluck betraying him already. “Don’t… Don’t bother.”

“You owe me a new tea set,” you mutter, plucking out a second and third shard of porcelain. “I’m going to make you buy me an expensive one to make up for it.”

The ramble about tea sets does its job to distract him from the pain. Soon, his hand is porcelain-free and bandaged all the way around, much to his dismay as he twists his wrist and scowls at seeing the mummified right hand.

“This is my good hand you bandaged up.”

“Then don’t perform tonight,” you point out, “You should be resting if you sustained an injury.”

—

He surprisingly follows your lead, not returning to the circus later in the evening. Social media explodes with posts regarding his no-show, but he is not bothered at all. It is rare for him to have a chance to spend time away from the circus, let alone do things other than perform escape tricks.

Tonight, he can live as Lee Taeyong the regular civilian, not Taeyong the escape artist of the Neon Lights circus.

“What is this?”

“A claw machine,” you explain, pointing at the assortment of plush toys kept contained in the red box. “You’ve never played one before?”

“…No.”

Without another word, you pull him inside the arcade. Bright lights and jingling game music greets your ears, the splash of colors across the perimeters enough to send your head spinning with indecision on which machine to play. Not many people besides you and Taeyong, luckily no one recognizes him as a member of the circus.

“Can you get me that one?” you ask, pointing at a pink bunny tucked in the back corner.

“You actually want a toy from here?” he quips, arching an eyebrow. “And me to get it for you?”

“Please,” you pout, batting your eyelashes. “You’re so good with your hands!”

He holds up the bandaged right hand and you gulp.

“I forgot about that.”

“Hmm,” he grumbles, “Step aside and I’ll see what I can do.”

You insert a coin into the slot and he grabs hold of the joystick, angling the claws directly above the bunny. Pushing the button to lower the claw, the prongs are dropped low, opening and closing into empty air before makings its way up again.

“Another one,” Taeyong mutters, eyes fixed on the toy. “We’re not leaving until I get you that bunny.”

It takes him a good two hours and an entire basket of coins to become familiar with the machine, finally maneuvering the claws deftly to pick up the bunny and drop it out. Your excited squeal brings a rare smile to his face, the first of the night. Refusing to take a stab at a different machine, Taeyong pulls you after him to play a shooting game, proving his skill once again when he secures the most kills in all three rounds of killing zombies. Darts, basketball hoops, even a coin toss is easy.

You raise the white flag after he changes his mind about the claw machine, securing almost five more stuffed plush toys under his belt before calling it quits.

“I didn’t think I’d have so much fun,” he admits after stepping out of the arcade under close watch from arcade staff. “The claw is actually not that hard to operate.”

“They were ready to pull you aside for questioning,” you laugh, swinging your stuffed bunny by its ear. “It took you only twenty minutes to get even their bigger toys out of the machines.”

“I gave all those back,” Taeyong drawls, rolling up the cuffs of his sleeves. “I was only trying hard for the bunny.”

“Thank you,” you grin, waving the bunny’s left paw in thanks. “Bunny is happy to go to her new home.”

“Sure.”

He makes an extra point to escort you home at such a late hour, his mere presence reassuring while you turn the corner and spot your apartment complex amid the single alit streetlight.

“This is it,” you begin, turning to him with a soft smile. “Thank you again for tonight.”

Taeyong returns the smile with an even rarer toothy grin. “I should be thanking you for showing me how fun claw machines are.”

“You must have had a lot on your mind tonight. Drinking and not wanting to perform.”

Your words catch him off guard, hitting a little too close to home. 

“Yeah.”

Conversation quickly slows, neither knowing what to say until he breaks the silence.

“Good night, Y/N. I’d better go before it gets too late.”

“Wait,” you blurt out, “When can I see you again?”

He replies immediately. “Tomorrow morning. You don’t want to miss tomorrow morning’s show.”

The anticipation already has you excited for tomorrow, so much so that you end up taking a quick shower and turning into bed early for the so-called surprise.

—

You wait until the rest of the crowd is gone, running towards Taeyong and cupping his face in your hands.

“Is your mouth okay?”

“Never better,” Taeyong answers, opening and closing his mouth to prove it. “Why?”

“The threaded needles… how did you swallow all of that with just a drink of water?”

His eyes twinkle with a knowing glint that he knew more than he was letting on.

“Practice.”

Not satisfied with his answer, you proceed to snake your hands into his blazer, empty-handed and needle-less once you finish the pat down.

“Where are the needles?”

“I knew you’d search me, so I already put them away.”

The cheeky smile on his face said it all; you punch him lightly in teasing and he pretends to wince from pain. The gesture is feigned, but you stop, concern replacing the playfulness in your eyes.

“Did I hurt you?” you blubber, unable to stop the tremble in your voice. “I… I didn’t mean…”

“I’m fine,” he laughs, tilting his head in confusion. “Just playing with you.”

“O…Oh.”

He picks up on your sudden retreat, taking a step forward and intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Sorry,” he whispers, the soft murmur so unlike the playful and confident persona he possessed on stage. “I won’t do that again.”

Unsure how to react, you quickly look away and wiggle out of his grip. His hand lingers midair before dropping against his sides, equally as awkward after the intimate touch.

“So… amazing show as usual,” you speak up, easing into a new topic. “There’s always something new every night.”

“Thanks.” The response is a heavy one, loaded with more weight than called for. “I appreciate it.”

“You don’t sound happy at the compliment.”  

He sighs, taking a seat on the ground. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I… I’ve been wanting to leave the circus.”

“Leave?” you echo. “And go where?”

“I don’t know. I’ve wanted to leave for a long time now; I feel that there’s more to the world than these green-and-black striped tents.”

“Then go.”

“There’s no way I can leave this circus. There’s a special clause in the contract I signed with the ringmaster:

“Undying loyalty is the price you must pay

“for Death to take a step back on your few remaining days.”

You frown at the cryptic words. “I don’t understand, Taeyong.”

He proceeds to take off his blazer, bare torso and chest decked with scars of multiple lengths. Varying in depth as well, you can see where fatality may have struck if the wound had sunk just a little deeper, been inflicted a few centimeters in one direction or the next. Multiple close calls with Death’s door right in front of your face.

“Don’t cry,” Taeyong groans, tremors underlying the toughness in his tone as he puts the garment back on. “Don’t… Don’t make me feel like shit for making you cry.”

The sniffles and tears are unstoppable. “Did they do that to you? For wanting to leave?”

“No. These were all from natural causes that happened to me after I made clear I wanted to leave.”

He gestures to the left collarbone area, just short of the neck. “I have two here from the knife thrower’s misses, even though their knives never miss.” The guiding finger moves down to the right side of his waist. “Burns from the fire breathers, bites from the wild cats that are usually so docile in front of their trainers, the list goes on.”

You don’t want to hear any more. “I… I can try to put in a good word. Maybe I can use my father’s name to—”

Taeyong shakes his head. “It’s no use. The contract is binding.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“It is what it is.” He reaches a hand forward. “Come on, I’ll show you the tents you haven’t been to yet.”  

You slap his hand away. “Don’t try to shift the conversation.”

Any remaining excuses cease, the morning soiled. Without waiting for a response, you exit his tent and start to inquire about the ringmaster and each performer’s contract with the circus, determined to help him gain his freedom from the circus that kept him bound to its paper chains.

—

The impending mention of Neon Lights’ departure to America brings little to be disappointed about, especially when you hadn’t gotten anywhere in discovering how to nullify Taeyong’s contract with the circus. 

No form of records existed besides old articles praising the astounding performances. The lineup hadn’t changed since the founding of the circus: acrobats, magicians, clowns, wild cat tamers, knife throwers, fire breathers, and the escape artist. Your head spun in circles during those weeks of research, frustrated at the inability to find the link that connected these broken pieces of Taeyong’s vague narrative.

“Have you packed all your things?”

Your turn at the sound of your mother’s voice, shaking your head. “Not quite.”

She steps over the opened suitcase on the floor and takes a seat on the bed.

“Are you sure you want to go with me to Hong Kong?”

“Yup. I just need to decide what remaining clothes I want to bring over.”

Not convinced, she takes your hand and squeezes, the touch simultaneously comforting and freezing you in place. You open your mouth, but fail to form words into a cohesive sentence. How were you supposed to tell her about Taeyong? How were you supposed to tell her the reason you readily accepted to leave was to avoid a man who had somehow snaked his way into your heart without you knowing it? 

“If there’s someone you want to stay here for, you can.”

“Mom, I…”

“You’ve been leafing through your father’s things,” she interjects, “I see the name ‘Taeyong’ in your notes often and found that name in one of your father’s pictures with his students.”

“Do you know him?” you ask curiously. 

“Not well,” she admits with a sigh, “Your father was always very excited whenever he mentioned that boy. Said he had finally found an appropriate successor to his work, but then…”

“But then?”

“Taeyong disappeared one day. No note, just gone. Your father was so shocked he wouldn’t leave his study for an entire month.”

“Oh.”

“Have you seen him lately?”

You nod. “Taeyong’s a member of the Neon Lights circus that’s currently in town.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Biting back a snappy retort, you return to packing and soon fill in the remaining space in your suitcase.

“Do you need to say goodbye?” she asks, getting up from the bed and zipping shut the suitcase. “We won’t be back for quite some time.”

“The circus is leaving for America next,” you mumble, “I haven’t spoken to him since he told me they were leaving.”

She doesn’t pry further, excusing herself and leaving to your own devices. The lingering thought of Taeyong is stifling, plaguing both your head and heart about the indecision between letting him know of your departure or not.

“Damn it, that idiot is getting in my head.”

◇

Taeyong sits before the mirror with a scowl on his face, thoughts muddled on why you haven’t shown up since he told you about tonight’s final show in the city before leaving for America. The grand finale performance already halfway in session, it will not be long before it is his turn to go on.

“Taeyong, you’re up!”

Gritting his teeth, he abandons his spot backstage and makes his way onto the main stage, basking in the spotlight and roaring applause at his entrance. One low bow and he frowns, feigning surprise at his already cuffed hands. Two fire breathers juggle torches around him, eventually escorting the escape artist as planned off to the side and into a large box. He listens for the cue to start once another lock is inserted into the hatch, preventing an escape from a mere push from the inside. The handcuff key already extracted from the secret pocket sewn into his blazer, his thoughts return to you and he begins to ponder on why you haven’t answered any of his calls or messages. Had he offended you the night he told you about his contract with the circus?

“Presenting now, the tank!”

The box suddenly lifts into the air, shifting him off balance at the abrupt movement. His fingers lose hold of the key; it is too narrow of a space to kneel to try and retrieve it.

Fuck, there better not be—

His ears pick up the sound of gushing water, confirming his fears once he is set down on a flat surface, presumably the springboard directly above the open tank. Prior rehearsals hadn’t consisted of a filled water tank, much less being encased in a box when the original execution of the trick only required locks by the feet.

“Can Taeyong escape from the locked box while cuffed and submerged in water?” the announce asks the audience.

“Yes!”

No. No, I can’t.

“Do you believe in him?”

No! This wasn’t in the original trick that I had practiced for!

“Yes!!”

The box is pushed off the platform, and Taeyong’s mind goes blank upon spotting the water that starts to seep in while his hands are still locked in cuffs.

—

[four months later, Hong Kong]

Fate catches you off guard when you least expect it, the subway ads for the Neon Lights circus a sight for sore eyes. Not even six months into the stay in Hong Kong and the circus is already snaking its way back into your life, bringing along memories of the escape artist who’d had such close ties to you even before your initial meeting. You had ultimately decided not to tell Taeyong about leaving for Hong Kong, flight of departure coincidentally on the same day as the circus’ finale show before leaving for America. Now, upon seeing the ad, you wonder if you should stop to say hello for old time’s sake. 

Of course, that is assuming he is still performing with them and not…

You hand rummage through your bag, taking out the black wallet and the green slip is still inside as expected. One unlimited access pass granting free admission into the Neon Lights circus with no mention of an expiration date.

“Opening night at 6pm… Surprises galore…”

—

The line outside the circus is twists around two entire blocks, popular no matter where it goes. Clutching the access pass in hand, you take a step forward but pause in your tracks. Were you ready to see Taeyong again? Would he be mad at seeing you here when he’d taken extra care to inform you about the last show in your city? 

What was he to you, even? A friend? Or perhaps something more?

“You’re not going in?”

The masked figure tilts his head in confusion, a gesture you recognize immediately upon hearing his voice.

“Isn’t that the unlimited access pass I gave you? Did it expire?”

“No… It still works, Taeyong.”

He quickly grabs your hand and pulls you aside, away from the turning heads that had heard the escape artist’s name.

“I didn’t tell anyone I’m skipping opening night,” he hisses, “Don’t be so loud next time.”

“Me, loud?” you echo, shaking his head away. “You’re the one who snuck out!”

“Why didn’t you show up during the finale show?”

As expected, he gets straight to the point.

“Family emergency,” you answer. “I had a flight to catch.”

He narrows his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“Relative on my mom’s side. She’s getting better, but we're staying longer just to make sure.

“Did America treat you well?”

“I was recuperating during the American portion of our travels.”

Concern flickers in your eyes. “H-How did you get hurt?”

He spits bitterly at recalling the incident. “Unexpected variables during one of my escapes. Nearly drowned to death if one of the clowns hadn’t noticed things were too still up on stage.”  

“But you never slip up, not even during the most pressuring circumstances.”

“I was preoccupied in my thoughts.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“…You.”

His answer is not one you’d predicted; you laugh it off and wave a hand over your face in dismissal.

“I’m serious, Y/N.”

“...Oh.”

“Are you going in?” he asks again. “I can get us to the front of the line in a matter of seconds.”

“Do you… Do you actually have some time to grab dinner?”

“Sure.”

An hour of catching up at a local diner later, you exit the establishment with a cup of hot milk tea in hand, Taeyong holding open the door for you since your hands were full. Outside, the night is still young, streets teeming with people and signs brightly alit from cafes, boutiques, and more.

“Can I escort you home?” he asks, rubbing his hands together in the chilly air. “I don’t want to go back to the circus just yet.”

You take in the thin blazer and ripped jeans adorned on his lithe body. “Care for a coffee at my place to warm up before you go?”

“I’d love that.”

Upon arriving at your apartment, you note the blue slippers by the shoe cabinet, your mother still out as scheduled with her friends.

“Take a seat. Coffee will be ready in a bit.”

He follows you to the kitchen instead and snorts at seeing the stick of instant coffee powder in the black mug.

“What,” you grumble, “We don’t have an espresso machine or anything fancy like that here.”

“Instant coffee is fast,” he smiles, holding back a snicker. “I look forward to it.”

It doesn’t even take two minutes to prepare the coffee, but Taeyong takes his time with the drink, so slow that you wonder if he’s stalling to not leave so early.

“Is the coffee not to your liking?” you speak up. “You barely touched it.”

“Oh, it’s great.” He takes a larger sip, giving you thumbs up. “I just wanted to savor it.”

“There’s two more packs in the pantry if you want it.”

“Yes, please.”

You hear the door open by the time you hand off the second cup of coffee, your mother surprised at seeing Taeyong by the sofa.

“You are…?”

He bows low, careful to not drop the mug. “Hello, Ma’am.”

“Mom, this is Taeyong,” you begin, hurrying over to help her with her bags. “Taeyong, this is my mother.”

He nods again when she greets him and you pick to sit next to him, leaving a space for your mother on the other side.

“Have you had dinner?” she asks, addressing both of you.

“Yes,” he speaks up, beating you to it. “Y/N was kind enough to offer coffee since it’s so cold outside.”

“I wonder why,” you mutter under your breath, eyeing the large rips on his black jeans.

You tune out the small talk between your mother and Taeyong, not once taking your eyes off the latter. He seemingly notices, subtly shifting closer until the gap is closed and your shoulders are touching ever so slightly.

“Have you shown him your father’s things, dear? He’d probably like to see them.”

You stand up, shaking your head. “Want to see?”

Taeyong nods, following closely as you show him the way to your father’s study. Once inside, you step back and he approaches the desk first, leafing through the ample notebooks and eyes shifting to and fro at all the new information. None of it had made sense to you, but maybe it was more appropriate to have the right person see it, notably one who also followed the school of magic tricks and the escape arts.

“This is what I was practicing,” he gushes excitedly, beckoning you over. “I didn’t practice with water, but if I start to practice holding my breath...”

You peek over his shoulder, lips turned to a frown. “That looks dangerous.”

“Not if you have the proper equipment.” He continues to scroll past each page, eyes glowing like a child who’s been told Christmas had come early this year. The excitement palpable to grasp, you find your lips widening to a grin each time he makes a noise of delight on a new page, just as happy as he is about your father’s old notes.

The bubble of joy pops, however, with the sound of rain pitter-pattering against the windows, quickly growing into steady sheets of rainwater that pound hard on the glass.

“Have him stay for the night,” your mother’s voice echoes down the hall. “It’s late and raining too hard.”

“You heard her,” you begin, turning to Taeyong with your hands thrown up in defeat. “You’re staying the night.”

A mischievous smirk dances across his lips, briefly before he turns his back on you. “I’m good in here.”

“Are you sure? It’s more comfortable for you to sleep on the couch outside.”

“Who says I’ll be sleeping tonight?”

—

Thunder roars into the night, startling you awake. The clock on the nightstand reads 3am, hardly an hour for a sane person to be alert. You let out a yawn and shuffle out of bed, heading to the kitchen for a drink of water before turning in again.

On your way, you pass your father’s study and notice the slight crack in the door. Pushing it open, you feel your eyes widening at the sight of the empty desk. All your father’s notes and papers recording his life’s work in the escape arts gone, what hits the nail on the head is the absence of the man who had been so excited to see his teacher’s remaining research, gone without a trace.

“Taeyong?”

No words. The only sounds you hear are the rain and the clink of metal against the floorboards, the fallen handcuffs sending chills down your tired back.

—

You wonder why Taeyong is always on your mind, the man nothing more than one of your father’s former students.

Since his uncanny disappearance that one rainy night, you’d been unconsciously keeping an extra eye out whenever you pass by the circus. Fans of the escape artist were just as worried, not hearing any news of him for almost two full weeks now. Circus staff also had surprisingly nothing to say on the matter, sparking outrage at the supposed negligence for the performer’s health and wellbeing. All this hubbub over a man who had simply gone off the grid entirely… a small part of you had considered the possibility that he had planned this all along to hype up whatever trick he had tucked up his sleeves.

“Any news on Taeyong?”

The staff running the ticket booth shakes her head. “We’re trying our best to get more information from the administrators as well.”

Nodding in thanks, you cast an eye to the crowd waiting anxiously on the side and shake your head. Collective sighs echo across the group, but are soon replaced by curious murmurs at the string of ringtones and vibrations simultaneously emitted from everyone’s mobile devices. Your own included, you open the notification and find yourself automatically redirected to what looked to be a stage. The curtains part, revealing a dark-haired Taeyong in his signature fitted black blazer and ripped jeans.

“It’s Taeyong!”

“He’s alive, that’s really him!”

“Welcome!” the escape artist says warmly to the camera, “Thank you for tuning in to my broadcast!”

Why is this idiot livestreaming when he has an entire stage at the circus?

“Today I have a very special trick prepared,” he continues, “So special that I decided to broadcast my performance for everyone in the world to see!”

You immediately rush towards the ticket booth, the other twenty people thinking the same as bodies clamor to reach the entryway and get in to view the escape in person.

◇

The raven perched atop the wooden barrel lets out a shrill caw at seeing its master lock himself in a pair of handcuffs. Spooked by the abrupt noise, the young clown acting as Taeyong’s assistant shuffles backwards, nearly knocking over the stack of books on the table.

“Why are you so scared, little clown? Henry is a very nice bird.”

“A-Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, checking that the camera isn’t recording before continuing. “I-I don’t want to get in trouble if… if…”

Taeyong lets out a laugh, the raven flapping its wings in unison. “You don’t believe I’ll succeed?”

“It’s not that,” the clown replies hastily, “It’s just—”

“I did not spend all this time preparing away from prying eyes for nothing.” He smiles; it is a dangerous gesture that strikes fear in the youth. “This is my ticket to freedom from the shackles that is this stupid circus, you see.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Plus, you know what to do if you think something’s gone wrong.” 

He casts a glance at the sealed envelope at the center of the notes he took from your father’s study, a trace of longing flickering in his dark eyes. “Make sure you deliver that envelope to who it’s addressed for should anything happen to me.”

◇

Taeyong’s tent is empty once you enter the circus, leaving you stumped on his location when you see the water tank entering the frame. The setup for his trick resembled the diagram in your father’s notes: the stick figure hanging upside down into a tank of water, feet locked while in suspension. Not even your father could perform such a trick to an audience, the skill necessary to pull it off beyond his aptitude at his prime.

You’d always known Taeyong loved to push his performances to the limit, but this time it felt like a direct knock on Death’s door rather than a test of his skill in the art of escape.

Not finding him anywhere in the circus, you take a seat on the bench by the acrobats’ tent and reopen the online broadcast, your only link to Taeyong’s whereabouts. The camera pans out on the water tank placed center stage, filled to the brim and Taeyong already handing upside down above it.

You idiot…

“My assistants will begin to count down the seconds before I start,” he announces, grinning while inverted. “10!”

The two clowns below count down the remaining ten seconds, letting go after lowering him into the filled tank. Air bubbles already start to float to the surface, the footage rendering you immobile while gripping the phone with all your strength.

He’ll succeed. He… He has to succeed.

Handcuffs unlocked at last, he shows his freed hands to the front and the curtains draw together, obscuring the view of the tank. Everything is still and seemingly on the projected track for success—at least it is until your ears pick up the faint sound of a strangled cry behind the curtains.

The two clowns pick up on the mishap, rushing to check in on Taeyong. You scoot forward on the bench, heart in your hands while waiting for something—anything—to happen behind the screen. Comments start pouring in, everyone tuned in demanding to see what had happened and if the escape had been successful.

Finally, the curtains pull back, and you nearly faint from shock at seeing the broken tank. Puddles of water and broken shards of glass litter the stage, the clowns slumped unconscious off the side. They come to in the next thirty seconds, shaking their heads and equally as shocked once they spot the remains of the water tank. None of them knew what had happened, the single black feather in the middle of the stage sending a more ominous warning to the audience than cheers for unprecedented success.

“Taeyong, he… he’s gone.”

—

“Are you Y/N?”

You look up, greeted by the darkened sky and curious gaze of a clown half in makeup, a black raven perched on his left shoulder.

“Y..Yes, that's me.”

“Taeyong said to give this to you if anything happens to him.”

He hands over a sealed envelope, bulky in size. The raven takes off from its perch, briefly circling overhead before flying away into the night. Unsure on the purpose behind the delivery, you thank the clown and he bids a quick goodbye, leaving you on your own within the circus.

Taking a deep breath, you tear through the seal and a pair of handcuffs fall out of the envelope, followed by two slips of paper. The first piece is another unlimited access pass to the circus, while the second is ink-stained with scribbles scrawled messily along the lines. You set the handcuffs aside and pick up the second piece of paper, unable to stop the tears flowing down your face upon reading the handwritten letter from the escape artist himself.

◇

If you’re reading this letter, it means I either succeeded in my water chamber escape or died trying. I’m not going to tell you which because a magician never reveals his secrets.

Please forgive me for disappearing without letting you know what I’ve been doing. I wanted to do something no escape artist has ever done before, and I knew this was the greatest challenge yet when I saw the blueprint in your father’s notes. You’ll understand, right? Even if you don’t, even if you hate me for pushing myself to the limit for an escape trick, I’m content that I could perform and leave behind my name as one of the greatest escape artists in the renowned Neon Lights circus.

Are you angry at me for leaving things so messy like this? Don’t be. It’s not pretty when your eyes darken and lips purse into that familiar scowl of yours. I want you to remember me as someone who was very happy to have met you, even during all the times I annoyed you and used your father’s name to get you to come back to the circus to see me.

Now that I’m free, I’ll even tell you something else you’ll likely hate me for—I think I started to like you when I saw you worry about me after the fire extinguisher incident. I should’ve been mad at you for dropping the lighter early, but I couldn’t find it in me to do that. My apologies for not telling you sooner.

Yours, Taeyong.

◇

“Idiot,” you hiss, biting your lips hard enough to draw blood, “You’re an absolute idiot.”

[bold-writing]

The One With Silver Scars || 7|| Sheepskin

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of abuse, violence, BPD.

Words: 2500+

Previous || Next

~7~

Without a way to tell time, her attempts at knowing how long she lingered there were futile. Eventually, he had started to gently card his fingers through her hair, relieving any tangles he encountered with the same gentleness he had used to draw her in against him. When he had shifted to stroke her hair, he had also freed up on of her arms—now she considered returning his embrace. It was easy to see his need for control; imposing her touch on him might be taken as her trying to force some of that control away.

Her silent debates were cast aside when the hand stroking her hair stopped and abandoned the soft strands. Momentary worry seized her, wondering if this was when he left her and ordered her back into the room with the other girls.

 I don’t want to go back!

 Instead, he only shifted his touch down to grab her wrist for a second time—much gentler than before. Using that hold to guide her, he shifted her arm forward and around his side. She took the hint and moved on her own, wrapping her arm around him in return until her hand rested in the small of his back. Once there, she made sure to hold it in place.

 He was so warm beneath her hand, pressed in against her front. It chased any cold from her limbs at the loss of her sweater.

 The steady strokes through her hair resumed.

 Don’t let go. Please, don’t let me go.

 His hold around her tightened so suddenly, it was as if he could hear her silent plea. Her arm constricted around him in response, pulling them in so close together she could feel the digging press of the keys in his front pocket. She almost wanted to clutch her fingers into his shirt but remembering the neat and pressed appearance halted her.

 It has to be perfect; nothing out of place.

 Breath hitching in her lungs, she was sure he could feel the abrupt jolt against his chest.

 “You’re not cold?” he asked in his quiet baritone. The rumble could be felt through his chest into hers.

 Inhaling deeply, the strong scent of laundry detergent and peppermint filled her senses. “No,” she breathed out. “I’m finally warm.”

 It was true. No matter the layers she piled on, there was a chill in her bones that refused to warm. No number of hot showers or hours of manual labor relieved the painful cold at her core. Yet it took only this man’s embrace to, finally, reach deep—where nothing else could. Perhaps she had hardened herself against the hatred and abuse of her parents, unknowingly freezing against possible pain.

 His gentle stroking stilled again at the base of her skull. A gentle tug against her hair had her head tipping back, lifting up from his shoulder as he did the same. The worry about his impending anger returned. However, the softness she had seen on his face before was back and gave him a younger, lonely appearance.

 “What’s your name?” she asked quietly, then almost choked on her own tongue. Why had she done that? Speaking out of turn was the reason she was still recovering from belt marks on her thighs and buttocks.

 There must have been a visible change in her complexion as the blood fled from her face. His expression firmed again, but it wasn’t nearly as stiff as the rest of the times she had seen him. “Dennis.”

 No punishment.

 Having spoken so out of turn should have left her at the very least badly bruised, but he showed barely a reaction and answered her all the same. “Dennis,” she repeated quietly. He maintained a steadying grip on her hair, keeping her face turned up toward his. Some of her colour gradually returned, removing the sickly appearance that he knew well. The rush of fear that came upon someone with such force that it chased out every once of blood. It was half expected for her to sway in place.

 Apart from when he had grabbed her wrist to stop her from taking the pail, she had not actually shown much in the way of fear. Instead, she was a carefully blank slate. Malleable and pliable like soft clay. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism; it’s difficult to bring someone’s anger down on you when you did everything asked.

 He told her to be walk, she walked. He told her to come, she came. He told her-

 “Close your eyes,” he ordered.

 She closed her eyes.

 Releasing her hair, he framed her face with his hands. So small, her thin cheeks and sharp jaw looked like they were being dwarfed between his palms. He himself was pale, but the stark white of her flesh made it seem as though she never saw of day throughout her entire life. The smallest collection of freckles painted across her nose and cheeks, but his attention was diverted in favour of the shadows beneath her eyes.

 Warm breath fanned her face, shifting the strands of shorter, loose hair that naturally fell across her cheeks.

 He remembered seeing her in the parking lot, straightening up as she turned to see where the man had fallen. The faintest hint of the shadows had been visible then, lurking beneath the pale makeup that she used to cover them. Even then, she had been carefully blank. What caused those shadows?

 He hadn’t accounted for her. Or the other girl, wrapped in the layers of sweaters and curtains of brunette hair. But he could not delay or start his planning over from the beginning. Four was more of a risk, but it was one he had to take. However, at every turn the green eyed one—Adelais—had acted against his expectations. The screaming, crying, and fighting was something he had been ready for. Not so for her quiet, patient, submission.

 It was beautiful.

 But she was not for him. She was for the Beast.

 Releasing her, Dennis stepped back. Her arm dropped to her side, limp, and she kept her eyes closed in wait. Rather than telling her to open them, he moved in behind her—just as he had when he hauled her, gasping, from the trunk—and crossed her arms across her chest with his hands shackling her wrists.

 Turning together, he walked them toward the room where the other three remained. Even when he released her wrist, she kept it at her chest. So dutifully obedient. He almost wished to find some fight in her this time, a reason to hold her tighter. No, she was pliant and patient, waiting either for a command or a strike.

 Unlocking the door, he let it swing open and nudged her forward with more force than necessary. Falling into the room at a stumble, she regained her footing quickly. Barely clear of the door and he had swung it shut behind her. The resounding click of the lock signified her return to imprisonment.

 Opening her eyes, the girls were all standing several paces back with matching looks of unease and confusion. Glancing to the left, the pail and cleaning supplies were exactly as she had last seen them before following Dennis from the room.

 They were watching.

 The familiar seething anger started to heat under her skin again.

 Ignoring them, she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Picking up the cloth and the pink bottle for the ceramics, Adelais allowed herself to fall into the familiar routine of cleaning. Cleaning was something she did well. It had been beaten into her since she was old enough to carry a rag. Colour coding was her mother’s specialty; there was no excuse for using the wrong cleaner when they were so easily marked. Even the sponges and rags had a specific colour for each purpose.

 At least the other three were smart enough to leave her alone. No one tried to knock or talk through the door. She could hear them speaking amongst themselves, yes, but they left her out of it.

 Since she finally had the necessary cleaning supplies, Adelais fixed up the bathroom from top to bottom. The shower and sink were back to pristine, the mirror was wiped down of fingerprints, the facet and taps shined, and the hair that had collected on the floor from so many girls tracking in and out was wiped up and flushed away. It gave her at least an hour of peace—much longer than she had ever taken before, but she doubted Dennis was outside the door with a stopwatch like her mother.

 Time was even taken to straighten unused towels.

 Everything was returned to the pail, draping the rags over the lip since she had nowhere else to put them to dry, then stashing the bucket under the sink. It would have worked better if the sink wasn’t a stand-alone so she could hide it behind cabinet doors, but the size of the room didn’t provide much option.

 I want that room spotless by the time we get back. Am I clear?

 Spotless. Spotless. Spotless.

 Swallowing down the scream that wanted to break free from her chest, Adelais leaned her hands forward on the sink as she took several deep breaths. The scent of the cleaning products was still thick in the air, but that was nothing new for her.

 Neatly folded towels. Not a speck in sight. No water droplets in the shower. Mirror perfectly clear.

 “Adelais?” Marcia’s voice called through the door, breaking her from her moment so suddenly a shudder ran rampant up her spine. In case her voice was not heard, a soft knock followed. “I need to pee.”

 So much for a clean bathroom.

 Deliberately avoiding her reflection, the oldest of the group finally left the bathroom behind—as pristine as it had been when they arrived, aside from the used towels hanging on their hooks. Marcia gave her a hesitant nod as they passed one another but refused to meet her eyes. Casey was sitting on the same bed as before, Claire occupying her usual place.

 Normally, Adelais would take her spot at the head of the bed she shared with Casey, but the thought of being so close to people made her skin itch under her covering clothes. Sitting down next to the door was her other option. Resting her forearms on her knees, she dropped her head until her face was obscured by her arms and her hair. She could feel Claire staring at her. What would her cousin have to say this time? Perhaps she could accuse her of working with Dennis—that’s why he kept taking her from the room.

 “You let him hold you.”

 Predicable.

 “I can’t explain to you enough how stupid it is to anger the person with the metaphorical knife to your throat.”

 Her voice sounded so rough, as though she had given into that earlier desire and screamed until her throat was raw.

 “The other door is locked, he’s stronger than me. Would you have rather I tried to fight him, gotten myself hurt or killed when he retaliated? I wouldn’t even have gotten a hold of the key before he stopped me.”

 “You didn’t even-”

 Casey’s voice cut through Claire’s hiss of anger. “Shut up. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

 “She was hugging him!”

 “He made her.”

 “That would’ve been a good time to knee him in the balls, but instead she’s cuddled up to the guy that’s probably going to kill us. Is this Stockholm Syndrome? Falling for your captor or some crap? Seriously?”

 Marcia returned from the bathroom, frowning at the apparent argument that was going on inside the main room. “Claire?”

 “She’s fucking crazy!” Claire exploded, standing up and motioning wildly in Adelais’s direction. She continued to shout, even as Casey and Marcia tried to quiet her down. The older blonde didn’t try to defend herself—she was not entirely wrong, anyway. There was something wrong with her. None of it was her own doing, though. Abusive parents, being abducted, whatever issues she had with her memory—she asked for none of it.

 They were the unfortunate cards she had been dealt.

 Unlike Claire’s perfect hand, a card for everything she could ever want for her in her grasp. Adelais’s fingernails bit into her palms as the rage steadily returned. The time she had spent in the bathroom was nor naught.

 “Shut up!”

 Casey watched from across the room, falling to sit on the cot as Adelais surged to her feet much faster than should have been possible for someone so long-limbed. Claire flinched back as her cousin rushed forward like an enraged bull, grabbing her upper arms with a strength that did not match the thinness of her hands. Marcia wisely stayed still and silent outside the bathroom door.

 Claire was given a shake so rough that her head snapped back. “You can question me all you want. Call me crazy. Accuse me of whatever you think is going on between me and that man. I don’t care. No matter the blood we share, you are never going to be more important than my own safety.” Shoving Claire roughly, the younger blonde hit the cot with a surprised grunt. How was someone so thin able to toss her as though she weighed little more than a feather?

 Shoulders shaking with her anger, Adelais looked like she was barely keeping herself from hauling off and physically maiming her. Even the anger and disgust on the man’s face as she threw Marcia back into the room hadn’t come close to the expression her cousin was now wearing.

 Casey curled herself into her familiar ball on the opposite cot. The aggressive stance was so similar to the one that had manifested the last time she had lost her temper on the teen. She stayed close, leaning over Claire and dominating everything about her. Claire seemed to understand on some instinctual level, since she stayed reclined back on her elbows where she had been shoved.

 “The time will come when it’s just you and him. Maybe you’ll have finally pissed him off, maybe he’ll come in here and cart you off next—but I can assure you right now, when that time comes you will do exactly what he tells you. The thought of attacking won’t even cross your mind. Until then, I don’t want to hear another word about me and how I chose to keep myself from dying in this goddamned basement.”

 Adelais’s voice was almost a growl, gravel rolling in her chest, by the time she finished. Her cousin was too fearful to meet her gaze, otherwise she would have noticed the lightening of the green eyes to a sharp, chilling hazel.

 Claire nodded her head in sharp, jerking movements.

 She lingered a moment longer, pinning Claire with her stare, until she resumed her place on the floor beside their only exit.

 Suddenly, the safety that came with it being only the four of them wasn’t as welcoming as before. It was beginning to feel like a wolf had hidden itself amidst the sheep.

Previous || Next

[evangeline-of-montfort]

ash garden (iii)

chapters 1 & 2 read it here on ao3

The bison, freed from Atara’s control, whip around in wild fear. They charge blindly, knocking raiders aside like bowling pins. I see a blur of black as Tana evades one with lethal grace. She ducks to the left and spins around again, pulling the trigger and taking the beast in the heart. It collapses, a two thousand pound deadweight, and I can practically feel the ground shudder.

“Those are a protected species,” Davidson gripes under his breath. 

Despite the circumstances, I smile. “Given that they’re trying to kill us—” Someone raises a gun, and I make a fist, squeezing his weapon into a crumpled ball—“I don’t think they give two shits about bison.” 

“You have a point,” he concedes. 

A raider takes advantage of our brief distraction to attack. Davidson reacts before I do, tossing a shield in front of himself like a grenade in a blinding flash of blue light. She slams into it with a sickening crunch. 

He staggers back a pace from the effort, and I move to catch him. “Are you okay?” 

Davidson throws out his hands. A flickering glow appears between them before blinking out again. “Ability exhaustion. I’m out.” 

“I can cover us,” I say, widening my focus. Every bit of metal in the vicinity sings in my perception. My ability envelopes us like a protective bubble, sending enemy bullets flying back towards their owners. 

He smiles grimly and draws a gun from his belt. “In that case, we’re about to see how good of a shot I still am.” 

We wreck havoc together, covering each other as we push forward. The premier’s aim is steady and unerring. Every time he pulls the trigger, a raider goes down. I’ve never encountered a better shot, barring my Samos cousins.

“I used to be one of the best snipers in the Nortan army,” Davidson says as I wave away another round of bullets. “Not proud of it, but the skill does come in handy.”

A greeny thrusts out her arms, and a tree erupts from the ground a hair from my face. Vines snake from the branches, as fast and agile as a pit viper. 

With a burst of concentration, I rip a gun out of a raider’s hand, turning it into a dual set of blades. The vines rip at my skin and hair, regrowing as soon as I cut them. It feels like I’m fighting an entire forest. Everywhere I turn, there’s another one, writhing in my vision until all I see is a blanket of verdant green. 

A gunshot rings out, and the vines wilt instantly without the power of a greenwarden. 

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun,” Davidson says. The raider topples over behind him, dead before she hits the ground.

“There’s plenty to go around,” I point out, sidestepping the tree. “As I recall, you seem to be the one that keeps saving my life.”

His easy manner disappears, and he looks me square in the eyes. “I consider that a duty, Evangeline. That’s why I’m here.”

Warmth blooms in my chest like a firework. Over the years, I’d worked closely enough with the premier to know that he’s fiercely protective of the people he loves. I’d just never stopped to consider that I had somehow become one of those people. 

The last two raiders back into the cover of a pine tree. One is a stoneskin, pebbles and earth sloughing off her rocky flesh. The other is a blood healer, probably a member of the former House Blonos. His face is unnaturally smooth, skin stretched tightly around his skull like a morph suit. I’ve never fought a Blonos son before, and Lord Arven didn’t have much to say about them in Theory. I wonder how hard they are to kill—or  if they can be killed. 

Before either of us can attack, the Nortans take us by surprise, and they both lunge at Davidson—the weaker target, with his abilities exhausted. He fires reflexively, taking the stoneskin in the shoulder, but she brushes it off with a snarl. 

Blonos is on him before he can do anything else, landing a kick to the gut. The premier gasps, doubling over. The gun clatters from his hand. 

The feeling that erupts in the pit of my stomach is similar to my reaction at seeing Tolly in danger. Red-hot anger surges in me like a torrent, and I unleash the energy with a shout. 

Guns and bullets shred under my wrath like paper. With another burst of willpower, I create a whirlwind of shrapnel, sending it swirling around the Nortans in gales of copper, gusts of steel.

The stoneskin falls under my onslaught, bleeding from countless wounds, dozens of projectiles buried like splinters in her gray skin. I swallow a bolt of nausea and look away. It’s not the worst way I’ve killed someone, but it’s pretty close.

Blonos heals just as quickly as he bleeds. A million cuts open on his too-perfect skin, here one second and gone the next. He curls his lip, utterly unaffected by the maelstrom. “Is that the worst you can do?” 

I sneer in response, but I can feel my energy waning already. A metal tornado is not sustainable for long periods of time. 

Blue energy flickers suddenly between Davidson’s hands. It’s weak, a shadow of his usual power, but it’s definitely  there . Then it flickers one last time and disappears.

Blonos turns to him, his expression still dripping with contempt. The last cuts on his face close over as my whirlwind slows and stops, metal projectiles dropping harmlessly to the ground. “My, how the mighty have fallen. Is this what Montfort is? Runaway Silver daughters and–”

He doesn’t get any further before I spear him in the chest. The lance goes through him like a knife through butter, in and out before he can blink. It’s a clean shot to the heart—one of the only ways to kill a blood healer. 

A part of me thinks of Corvium, of how my brother killed Mare’s the same exact way. Some scars never fade. 

Blonos falls slowly, as if through water. His frame seems to shrivel as his skin wrinkles and his hair turns gray, decades of anti-aging reversed in a single second. When his body finally hits the earth, it is surprisingly quiet, even somber. 

The silence that follows is almost deafening. 

It’s over. We’re alive. 

We’re alive. I take a deep breath, the first in what feels like hours. 

There was a time today when I thought that I wouldn’t be going home to Elane. That perhaps my intended fate was inescapable, and I would end up tethered to a throne after all. Relief washes over me—waves and waves of it, cold and sweet. 

“Thank you for showing up,” I manage to say, turning to Davidson. “And for that last distraction.” 

“Least I could do.” He frowns at the back of his hands. The tiny shield flickers more violently between them before blinking out again. “I pushed myself a little hard with the bison.” 

“The other option would’ve been dying, if you prefer that,” I remind him. “Now, let’s head back, before Elane and Carmadon go–”

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. A sixth sense, honed over years of arena battles and courtly intrigue, tells me to stop. Something is wrong.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of movement—a shadow ghosting from the trees—and a glint of white as the sun flashes off her teeth, bared in a triumphant smile. 

Tana Iral draws a dagger from her belt and throws, moving so fast my eyes can’t follow her movement. But I was trained in a hard school, trained to be faster than even the silks of House Iral. I barely blink as I push outwards with my ability. 

I’ve done this so many times that I see it in my head without even trying. The tiny resistance as I stop the blade in midair and turn it back. The shocked look on Iral’s face as her own knife sinks into her chest and she crumples to the ground.

But that isn’t what happens.

In fact, nothing happens. My ability meets nothing, and the blade keeps coming. 

Time hangs suspended—half a second stretching for an eternity—as I freeze, too surprised to react. I don’t understand. This isn’t physically possible.

Sunlight gleams through the dagger: not off, through, and I want to scream. Tana’s wolfish smile makes sense now. The dagger is glass. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. 

My mind flashes to Elane, Ptolemus, Carm and Davidson, even Mare and Cal—everyone I thought I would have more time with. Everyone I thought I could make amends with. I’m so sorry. 

And then the moment ends, the blip in time brushed over. Someone—Davidson  —shoves me hard to the side, out of the way of impending doom. I hit the dirt and roll, springing to my feet in anticipation of a fight, but Tana has disappeared into the gathering darkness. Coward. 

“Thanks for the save,” I gasp, turning to him. “I thought I was–” 

My heart stutters midbeat. 

Davidson staggers, clutching his stomach. Scarlet seeps through his fingers, as red and inexorable as the dawn. 

He pushed me out of the way and took the knife himself. Shielding me even without his ability. 

“No.” I run to him, lowering him to the ground as his knees buckle and his legs give out. “No, no, no.” This is not happening. 

This cannot be happening. 

“I’ll get you to Carmadon,” I hear myself saying. “We’ll find a medic. Skin healers—they can fix this. They can fix anything. Do you hear me?”

Even in this state, his composure doesn’t fail. When he speaks, his voice is calm and measured. “Yes, Evangeline… I hear you.” For a second, if I close my eyes, I can pretend that everything is alright; that I am nineteen again, and the premier is chiding me for an impulsive decision. 

But I have to open them again eventually, and I come face-to-face with cold reality—Davidson slumped on the ground, crimson still seeping through his shirt. My hands curl uselessly at my sides. I was raised on a battlefield with skin healers in the wings, ready to treat anything. I don’t know what to do in this situation. 

Maybe there’s nothing I can do, and that’s the worst truth of all. 

The long shadows and mountain air chill me to the bone as I kneel at his side, my knees digging into the freezing earth, but I refuse to move. “They—they can fix anything,” I repeat again, robotically, but this time even I can hear the denial in my voice. 

Davidson shakes his head, his gold eyes piercing me to the bone. “Not… this,” he rasps, and blood flecks his lips. I don’t want to think about the way the glass probably shattered and cut up his insides. “There’s no way back, Evangeline.” 

My brain refuses to comprehend his words. Dane Davidson was—no,  is —a visionary, rebel, fighter, and leader. A man who escaped from Norta’s Silver boot to crush kingdoms to dust. He couldn’t possibly be brought low by an assassin’s dagger. 

He couldn’t possibly be brought low saving me.

I’m not worth that. 

He grips my hand with surprising strength. His breaths come shallower, and his chest rattles as he fights for life. Despite my denials, I’ve seen enough battlefield deaths to know what will happen next.

The inevitable.  

I swallow, surprised to feel tears streaking down my face. Tears I never wept after the death of my father, five years ago on that cursed bridge in Archeon. 

But I cry them now. Davidson was the father of a country, an entire dream made reality. And more than that, he gave me advice, mentorship, a new life in Montfort. He was more of a father to me than the man who married my mother.

His life prevented the death of millions, and now, because of me, it’s about to end. 

“Why?” I find myself asking. “Why did you just… trade your life for mine?” 

“You are worth it—worth dying for. We have more important things… to talk about.” He clutches at the collar of his shirt with trembling fingers, and for a second I think he’s struggling for air. Then Davidson produces a thin chain, and my breath catches when I see what’s on the end. 

The ring glints in the waning sunlight, still untarnished after decades. It is identical to the one his husband wears: silver for the color of Carm’s blood, gold for Davidson’s burning gaze.

“Give this to Carmadon,” the premier whispers, Something in my chest shatters at the way he says his husband’s name, the way he pores slowly over each syllable. Carmadon. Car-ma-don, like he doesn’t want to let it go. “Tell him I am sorry. He—he will understand.” 

I can only find it in me to nod wordlessly. My vision blurs as Davidson’s fingers slacken, still holding the ring, clasping it to his chest as it rises and falls. “ I am sorry,” I manage to stutter. “I should’ve done more—should’ve—”

“Rage and guilt destroy lives brighter than yours,” he interrupts with surprising force, suddenly gripping my fingers. His hands are callused, still warm, and I take this feeling, this moment, and bury it deep in my chest. Willing myself to never forget it. “You hold your emotions too tight, Evangeline. Please, don’t let this be the case with me.” 

“Still giving advice, still trying to better someone else,” I say quietly, but I know he’s right. Ice-cold anger already whispers through my veins, trying to eclipse the sorrow in my heart. Anger at Iral, anger at the Silver Secession, anger at myself most of all. “Some things never change.”

His voice is getting softer, but it is no less assured. I should’ve known a flame like Davidson’s would burn until the end. “That is who I always have been. My entire life. I’m… content with that.”

“That is good,” I whisper. Every other word that has ever existed fails me. They don’t come close to describing the gravity of this moment. There’s nothing else to say.

“But now,” Davidson breathes, “I am done. But you—” He squeezes my hand again, weakly, and with an awful finality—“carry on. Have strength, Evangeline.”

The rise and fall of his chest slows and stops.

I kneel there, my hands still gripping his, my chest hollowed of all emotion as I keep vigil in the bitter cold. 

The sun dips below the mountains, gold fading to scarlet fading to deep blue.

I do not move again until the scarlet returns in the east.  

~~~

taglist: @freaky-freiday @evangelineartemiasamos @farleydiana @fuvkingmagnus @folkoftheair @lilyharvord @scarletbarrow @gansey-just-gansey @glossy-vanilla

[songsofbloodandfire]

Travail

(Warnings about labor and delivery ahead.)

Labor came not in a hurried mess, but with a quiet restlessness. Sana woke that morning feeling unsettled, unable to stay resting like most of those surrounding her would have liked. She fussed around the house, doing the little things she could here and there. Anything to help ease the discomfort of restlessness. 

She could feel something wasn't normal, something had her one edge and it wasn't until part way through the day she recognized the little signs for what they were. Six years was a long time but she could remember the same sense of unease and discomfort from her first son. And it brought a wave a fear with it. She was ready to have her body back but labor had been hard on her the first time. Hearing of Zareen's close brush after complications delivering her own twins had Sana even more anxious about her own impending delivery. 

The pain of the first true contraction took her hard and sudden, stealing her breath and forcing her to stop misstep. Everything narrowed to that moment in time. Each breath. Each heartbeat. Even the ever present ebb and flow of aether gave her something to focus on, to cling to as she allowed her body to ride out the pain. 

Though she was calm as she spoke, she felt anything but. "The twins are coming." 

Those four simple words held a weight to them as they were the heralds of lives about to be irrevocably changed. The fact that the two young souls she carried had no concept of the change and controlled chaos they were about to unleash was not lost on A'sana. 

Each new set of contractions brought more pain but they also brought more reassurance. So many had surrounded her, to aid as they could and comfort her when that was all to be had. Her mates, her brothers and sisters, her family all rose to the occasion. Even Brem's parents had come to welcome their newest grandchildren. 

Each took their turns keeping Sana distracted and as relaxed as possible. Dunrai entertained her with stories from the Dazkar, of Nhaama and Azim and of the land she had only seen bits and pieces of. Zareen sang with her, her sister’s beautiful voice carrying over the linkshell, there in mind and spirit but my physically as she recovered from the births of her own daughters. Her mates worried and fussed but added to the love and support that surrounded her. 

Labor hadn't been kind to Sana the first time around and she had hoped this time would be different. Hours passed and her progress was slow and difficult. Each little bit of ground made was done so with great effort. It wasn't until the labor had progressed late into the morning of the next day that Dunrai had truly begun to show any signs of real anxiety over the slow progress and Sana's growing exhaustion. Though he hid it, that anxiety made her worry though it was distant in her fatigued state. 

Everything came in waves. The little tension of her muscles before the pain would come, the release and then the ebb of exhaustion. At first she had been responsive and alert after each contraction but it had grown to the point where Sana felt as if she was in a trance, barely connected to her body let alone the waking world when the contractions freed her.

Herbs helped ease some of the pain and quicken the labor but it didn't help ease the exhaustion that complicated the already difficult labor. It was a fight to rally enough to push, to keep herself connected so she could bring her sons into the world. 

When the first came, it took her a few moments to realize the quiet at first. The almost unnerving silence stirred her some from the daze of exhaustion, adrenaline and endorphins. While she couldn’t see what was happening, the few others present in the room could. Sana’s water had never broken and the first of the twins, a perfect if small little boy, had been born still cocooned within the protective hold of those waters. The odd moment of silence was broken as the delayed waters fell to the floor, moments later the breathy wail of the little boy following. Tiny and perfectly formed, the green haired little boy was settled on Sana’s chest, and for a moment everything narrowed to him for her. Nothing else existed for a moment. Not her exhaustion. Not the continued pain of contractions as her body readied for the second child. Not even the voices of the others. The beautiful little boy with ears a touch to big for him, a stub of a tail and soft patches of dark scales had her entire attention as a soft, happy sob left her. Even as she began to process the birth of the first twin, he was taken to be cleaned and tended so she could focus on the still no going birth. She wanted to call out, wanting to beg for him to be brought back, but between exhaustion and the pain of contraction, she couldn’t find her voice. All that came was a hoarse, broken cry as her body struggled to give birth to the second twin. Minutes passed and once again she’d fallen back into the rhythm of drifting weightlessly in trance in between the waves of pain and exhaustion. Only distantly was she aware something wasn’t right. Labor had taken too much of a toll and had stalled with the second twin. What little strength she could rally again wasn’t enough without help. The soulstone at her wrist was hot against her skin, formless voices whispering to her, encouraging her even as those physically present murmured words of encouragement. It took everything she had to help push with Dunrai’s gentle and skilled hands helping guide the second child into the world. Silence followed his arrival as it had his brother’s but Sana was too far gone to focus on it. The second boy, like the first, was still cradled in the waters that had carried him all these months. Rare enough for it to happen once, but for both twins to be born in a shroud was even rarer. An omen, but of what was to be seen. Sana floated in the odd space between waking and the yawning void that threatened to take her, only barely aware enough to mumble in response to questions about her own state of being. Was she ok? Was she in pain? Anything to try and pull her back to reality. The last thing she was aware of was her father’s voice in that void. I’m proud of you, ibina...my daughter.

It took time for Sana to come around, coaxed and helped along with things to help bolster her flagging strength. She was fine. Worn from the hours of travailing but safe and sound and in need of a true rest, but not before she’d had a chance to properly meet both of the twins she’d held within her for so long. Small and perfect, they had been cleaned and quieted while she had been tended to. The green haired elder boy and the red haired younger boy. They seemed so tiny in her arms despite how big they’d felt when she’d been carrying them in her womb in the days previously. She wept, not in sorrow, but in happiness. Tiny and perfect, untouched by the fears and worries that came from the warnings given about her failing tribe. They were perfect. She carried that thought with her as they were taken away after a short time so she could rest. There would be time to bond with them further, to celebrate in her own way the beauty of their living. For now, she carried the happiness and relief of her perfect children into the abyss of sleep to rest and prepare to start her life as a mother surrounded by the love of her family. 

(A special thanks to @talesfromthegameff14 @eyesofsteelandsky @dunrai-ffxiv, @ala-mhinyan @yzareenxiv , Delesta and Arden for being patient with me through the rp process of Sana being pregnant. I love you all and look for to more rp adventures with you all!)

[fanofawesomethings]

A House Built For Two

This was a commission piece for @bixbitesmeepmorps‘ favorite gemsonas.

If you want a commission fic of your very own, message me and I will tell you my prices and restrictions.

Steven navigated the thick brush of the forest with ease. At first the unfamiliar landscape seemed intimidating—Steven had never even heard of Wheat Town—but the skyscraper of a mountain was the perfect guide. Stepping off the warp pad he knew immediately where to go just by seeing the tip of the mountain and the floating Gem spaceship next to it. Although it was a long walk from the nearest warp pad which was on the other side of Wheat Town, which he and his group had to pass through.    

“It’s not much farther now,” said Steven. He led Connie, Peridot and Lapis into the forest.

           “You know, I could have just flown us there,” said Lapis who frankly had enough of walking when she knew she could be flying.

           “I have to agree with Lapis on this one, Steven, it was a long walk from the warp pad,” said Connie. She didn’t have Rose’s Sword today. It was Sunday and usually Sundays were her resting days; according to her mother, the doctor, resting days were essential for heavy exercising.

           “I for one don’t mind the journey as long as the payoff…pays off. Get it?” Peridot joked, pausing for effect.

           None of them laugh, except for Steven who gave Peridot a small chuckle to which she took it as her joke being successful. She gave herself a pat on the back, literally. Steven could just about see the entrance to Bixbite and Onyx’s cave in the distance.

           “So you said these two Gems lived on Earth as long as the Crystal Gems? Why didn’t you invite them to live at the temple?” Connie asked.

           “Or the barn? We could always use more roommates,” said Peridot.

           “Well actually only one of them has been on Earth the longest. Bixbite says she was there during the Gem War and Onyx was there too but she got poofed and spent the rest of the time in her Gem,” Steven explained.

           “I’m not sure this, how do you know you can trust these two, Steven?” Lapis asked.

           “Yes, I had only fragmented information on the experimental Bixbite Gems, and none of them were the kind of information that’s assuring,” said Peridot.

           “Just wait and see guys, they love the Earth as much as you—” said Steven.

           An explosion! An enormous burst of sound and force that shook the ground and every leaf on the trees above them. Connie rushed to the nearest cover, grabbing Steven and Peridot too; Lapis followed. She held the two close to her body until the rumbling ceased, but the quake passed when a beam of light split the sky in two. Covering them in its shadow, the magenta geyser pierced the clouds and continued onwards, higher than they could see, until it vanished shortly after. The origin came from the cave.

           “Bixbite! Onyx!” Steven cried.

           Roaring rockslides that sounded like a stampede of buffalos stopped their hurry. Lapis summoned the water from her Gem to wrap around everyone and lift them and her high into the trees. The limestone boulders slashed every tree they didn’t knock down with their rampaging force, crushing a dainty little flower into nothing in a second which made Peridot thankful Lapis pulled her up. Steven couldn’t see the cave through the trees and he became more worried the longer they waited for the rockslide to pass. When everything was still Steven and the others rushed into the clearing and found a wall of rocks blocking their path. On the other side the entrance to the cave was gone, for a moment.

           A black fist punched through the debris. Onyx furiously ripped open the blockade until the cave entrance was freed. Her back and her hair were covered with limestone dust; she arched her hand so Bixbite—who held the bubbled Plume Agate—could safely escape. But the second Onyx pulled her arm down the cave collapsed inside like a folded chair. Nothing was left.

           Everything outside was shattered as though an earthquake shook the entire mountain. Bixbite looked out in horror at what her beam—what she had done. The bed of flowers she loved so much because they always greeted her when she came out of the cave was buried. A hole in the side of the mountain where the beam escaped was sealed by the pile of debris that collected inside. Her cave was gone.

           “My home,” Bixbite sobbed.

           “D-Don’t cry, Bix, it wasn’t your fault—it was mine! I shouldn’t have—I—!” Onyx was flustered.

           “Bixbite! Onyx!” Steven called out. With his floating powers, he cleared the gap faster then the rest. “Are you guys okay?”

           “You’re that human kid again,” said Onyx who truthfully still didn’t know Steven’s name.

           “We’re alright, Steven,” Bixbite sniffled. “But our home is gone!”

           “I’m so sorry, what happened?” He asked.

           Onyx and Bixbite stiffened into statues suddenly. They exchanged nervous looks to each other, waiting for the other to explain first but neither did. Their cheeks blushed brightly. Luckily for them, Connie tapped on Steven’s shoulder.

           “Are these the new Gems?” Connie asked.

           “Oh yeah! Bixbite, Onyx, I know this isn’t the time but I wanted to introduce you to some of my other friends,” Steven began. “This is Connie, she’s a human.”

           “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my name is Connie Maheswaran,” said Connie, bowing politely. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

           “And these two are Lapis and Peri—” Steven stopped when he couldn’t see Peridot.

           The little Green Gem quickly hid behind the folds of Lapis’ long dress. Only the tip of her massive hair poked out while she peeked at Bixbite through the thin texture of the dress. Lapis pulled her dress back and Peridot was exposed, startled. She looked at Bixbite with apprehension while Bixbite looked at the Peridot with slight confusion—the only Peridots Bixbite had ever seen were comparably taller than the Gem that stood at nearly the same height as Steven. Peridot mumbled nervously under her breath.

           “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Bixbite,” she said.

           “Be careful, Steven. From what I could piece together Bixbites were intended to suck up energy like your Earth Vampires. You can’t have my neck!” Peridot squealed.

           “Peridot, Vampires aren’t real,” said Steven.

           “But their lineage has been to several species of bats has been proven real,” remarked Connie. Peridot crouched behind Steven for cover.

           “Steven, I thought all Peridots were taller,” whispered Bixbite, but she heard it.

           “I’ll have you know that while I have lost a significant range of height since the loss of my limb enhancers I am still as much of a Peridot as any others on this or any planet,” said Peridot with her nose held high in triumph. But she shed a tear over the fond memory of her beloved enhancements.

           A thick cloud of tension blew over them from Onyx and Lapis. Bixbite and the others suddenly found themselves excluded. The blue Gem and the black Gem glared at the other; Onyx frown apprehensively at the sight of her and Lapis scowled back in response to be glared at. Both their fingers seemed to itch for their weapons.

           “A Lapis? Terraforming could really do a number on our mountain,” said Onyx.

           “I don’t do that anymore,” said Lapis with a condescending tone. “Are you one of those mindless Gem soldiers who does whatever she’s told?”

           Onyx clenched her fist as her anger finally boiled to the surface. “Well no one’s giving me orders not to crush you.”

           “Onyx!”

“Lapis.”

Bixbite and Steven pushed their friends apart, which proved difficult for both given Onyx and Lapis’ strong, if not stubborn, resolve not to be moved.

“Onyx, she’s one of Steven’s friends,” said Bixbite as she pushed against Onyx’s chest with all her might.

“Lapis’ are dangerous, Bix, they have more power than a hundred soldiers,” said Onyx.

“But she’s Steven’s friend so she can’t be all bad. Plus she lives on Earth too.”

Onyx wasn’t convinced in the slightest. She looked at Lapis as though she was a time bomb, a steady degree of both caution and fear. It was merely a bluff that she challenged the blue Gem; truthfully, Onyx didn’t know what she would have done if the Gem accepted her challenge. Lapis gave her a bored look and scuffed away. Suddenly Onyx didn’t care about her slim chances of winning anymore.

“A lot of structural damage has been inflicted here. No doubt the Bixbite’s powers were the cause of it; she is the only one capable,” observed Peridot with her keen eyes. Bixbite sobbed, ashamed. “However I’m sensing a more serious problem. The integrity of the mountain may have been damaged from the attack. If another blast like that were to happen, the entire mountain could give way.”

Bixbite and Onyx were stunned, unsettled. It was the last thing they wanted to hear, and hearing their worst fears might come true an impending flood of tears started to form on Bixbite’s eyes. The sob to outshine the others was coming.

“Um—um—we can help!” Steven cried out to prevent Bixbite from releasing her tears.

“Yeah we’ll help you rebuild!” Connie scrambled to join in too.

“A bigger house than before!” Steven added.

“Ten times bigger!” Connie added.

“What?” Peridot barked.

Bixbite’s eyes brightened, wide open. “Really? You guys would build us a new home?”            The pure joy brightening Bixbite’s eyes into blinding lights was too much for Peridot to look passed. She looked to Steven and Connie who smiled back at her. Being so weak-willed, Peridot nodded.

“Don’t do us any favors,” said Onyx, towards Lapis.

“Psst, I was going to help anyway,” crossed Lapis. A cool splash of mist touched their faces as she flapped her wings. Showing her disinterest wasn’t subtle with Lapis; she sat with a relaxed position on top of a tree. “Tell when we’re leaving, Steven.”

Steven and Peridot could only smile awkwardly because they couldn’t explain. Onyx’s distaste of her hadn’t stopped growing, to the point where Bixbite didn’t know whether she could control it or not.

“M-Minus Lapis, Steven and the Crystal Temps will make you a new home in a heartbeat!” Connie proclaimed with confidence.

“Yeah!” Steven cheered with the same level of panic to change the subject. Bixbite couldn’t hold her excitement, though she was unclear what a heartbeat was.

When clearing the rumble away proved too much for the group composed of people without physical strength, except Onyx, Steven led Bixbite and the others into the forest, to a clearing they passed on their way. The opening was spacious with equal distance from the mountain to the entrance to the forest. But it was not without obstacles; moss-covered stones protruded from the ground like rounded teeth. Connie and Steven looked at each other excitedly, together looking passed the rocks at the potential the clearing displayed.

“Alright everyone, listen up! First things first: Bixbite and Onyx just for today would you like to be considered temporary Crystal Temps?” Connie asked. Steven too wanted to hear their response.

“What’s a Crystal Temp?” Onyx asked Bixbite.

“It sounds like a funny name,” responded Bixbite who seemed a little like her usual cheerful self than before.

“It means you can be one of us,” said Connie.

“But you should realize I am the absolute, unquestioned Crystal Temp leader. I mean I am the only one who is considered a Crystal Gem,” Peridot gloated.

“We’re all Crystal Gems, Peridot,” said Steven.

“If that’s the case then count me as a Crystal Temp. No way I’m being a Crystal Gem,” grunted Onyx, folding her arms without budging to her declaration.

“I think I should be a Crystal Temp too,” said Bixbite. Not wanted to anger Onyx any more, Bixbite also didn’t fully understand the entire difference between the two classifications, knowing very little about the Crystal Gems and they part they played in the Gem War. But what she did know was she probably shouldn’t be one.

“Oh okay, well we should get started,” said Steven. “Seeing as we have all these trees around, why don’t we make a log cabin like the olden days?”

“We’ll need to knock down some trees, if that’s okay with you, Bixbite,” said Connie.

“If it’s what we need to make a new home, its fine. Onyx, why don’t you knock down some of the trees since you’re so big and strong,” said Bixbite as a way to put a smile back on Onyx’s face, which it did.

Bixbite knew Onyx well. She cracked her knuckles, her arms, and her neck in preparation. And with an audience watching, that included Bixbite, Onyx felt a compulsory need to show off a little. Onyx slammed her fingers into the bark, an audible shockwave sent a shiver down the audience’s spines. A huge grinned spread from ear to ear; she lifted the tree off its root and threw it over her shoulder, with the same pull of strength. Bixbite and the others ran away from the running shadow, hiding safely behind the other trees while the one in the air landed. Onyx immediately moved to the next one down the line, grunting mightily even though she didn’t need to. Bixbite couldn’t take her eyes off Onyx, and the muscles that bulged beneath her massive arms whenever she was about to toss another tree; she wiped the drool off the side of her mouth.            “A-Anyway! Peridot, you should draw up the plans for a log cabin,” said Connie, blushing because she saw the enamored look Bixbite had.

“That is a lowly use of my skills. And I don’t even have any papers or crayons to draw up any schematics!” She whined.

Another tree smashed on the ground, extremely close to them. Steven plucked out one of the branches.

“Here you can use this to draw the plans on the dirt,” he said. “Think of it as a Meep Morp.”

Suddenly Peridot’s eyes twinkled and she swiped the stick from Steven. Looking at it like it was a magnificent paintbrush, Peridot sat, cross-legged, and started scratching the sharp point on the soft soil. Just for fun, the little green Gem grew the odd shape of her head on the dirt.

“Eyahehehehehe,” Peridot giggled to herself.

“What’s a Meep Morp?” Bixbite inquired.

“’What’s a Meep Morp’?! It’s when you make something from the objects your given. It’s so primitive yet extremely fun!”

“Oh I know what you’re talking about! I like making stuff too with the things my human friend gives me. But I call them Booc Cheen.”

“What a weird name,” said Peridot.

           From the tree top Lapis didn’t need her keen Gem hearing to hear them in the clearing. She could always hear her roommate’s voice from a large distance. The mention of Meep Morps attracted her interest. Hearing Bixbite admit to a shared love of making crafts stirred Lapis. In the heat of the moment between her and the Onyx, Lapis never even noticed Bixbite. She stared at the magenta Gem becoming introduced to every part of her. Lapis smiled when she noticed Bixbite had a visor like Peridot. But her interest wasn’t long lasting; Lapis yawned and went back to watching the clouds swim above her.

           Onyx uprooted twenty more trees before Steven and the others forced her to stop. Not that Bixbite was opposed to the idea of watching her for the entire day, especially given the unspoken incident that led to the cave’s destruction. Peridot mentality measured each trunk of tree while Steven, Connie and Bixbite trimmed the branches and leaves off the downed trees. Onyx sat in the sidelines, resting, waiting until her name would be called again. Once the trunks were nude, Peridot inspected the crop.

           “Yes well it seems I have hit a snag on my calculations. Before I can accurately produce a structurally sound blueprint, all of these trees have to be the same height. I counted ten to fifteen that aren’t the same size,” said Peridot.

           “Aww beans, and without your mother’s sword we can’t trim them down to size. I knew I shouldn’t have let my dad borrow it,” griped Connie.

           “Oh, oh, I can do something!” Bixbite jumped because she was thrilled to be of use.

           Bixbite breathed to quell her enthusiasm and concentrate. The full range of her powers was still leagues beyond her reach, but her arms managed to reach to scrape the edges of the mysterious power she held. Her gemstone glowed as she took another deep breath. A beam of magenta from the middle of her palms struck the ground with continuously surging energy. Steven, Connie and Peridot were stunned speechless by its brilliance. Pride animated Onyx as she looked on to the face of her friend whose smile outshined the beam of energy, making her smile with love. Lapis also took notice. Slowly, Bixbite moved the beam towards the tree; the ground was split along the way. Contact with the bark singed the bark and as Bixbite pushed the beam slice a chunk off the bottom of the tree. Both pieces were smoking.

           “Whoa! Bixbite you’re like a living laser!” Connie clapped her hands.

           “That was amazing. Maybe you should swing by the barn sometime; I could really use you as a blowtorch for some of the projects I have in mind. I planned to encase the entire barn in sheet metal to see if I can make it float,” said Peridot.

           “That would be an awesome idea,” said Steven.

           “What’s a blowtorch?” Bixbite asked.

           Back up above, Lapis was on the edge of the tree she sat on, without realizing she had. The blinding magenta light hadn’t left her eyes. Her inner voice yearned to see it again. But when she realized how much her body had stirred and how badly her mind wanted to see Bixbite use her power again, Lapis rushed to get off the tree. Bixbite heard the leaves rustling as she jumped off.

           “Bixbite’s power may be effective but it is incredibly slow. If we want to get this cottage built in the next century we’ll need something faster,” advised Peridot.

           “I have something for that,” said Onyx, volunteering for the first time. She reached behind her neck and pulled her claws on both hands.

           Onyx swiped and a large part of the bark was sliced off with a clean, splinter-free cut. She tossed her black hair over her shoulder to further show off her appearance and while the rest of the audience cheered for her, Onyx didn’t receive the admiration from the person she tried to impress. Bixbite ran back into the forest by the time Onyx saw she was gone. Onyx was disappointed.

           Lapis’ feet gently touched the leaves on the ground. Their brittle texture scratched the soles of her feet. A fat fly buzzed uncomfortably close to Lapis’ ear and she swatted it away, only to hear the annoying insect close to her ear again. There wasn’t a puddle for miles. The heat of the day and the glare from the sun kept taking Lapis out of a calm state of mind. It was then that Lapis decided she disliked the forest.

           “Lapis?” Bixbite spoke from behind a tree.

           She was startled, too busy loathing the entirety of the forest. “Oh its you…uh…” Lapis couldn’t remember her name.

           “It’s Bixbite, and you Lapis Lazuli the rebel from Homeworld.”

           “Huh? Why would you call me that?” Lapis snapped.

           “I—Steven told me.”

           Lapis didn’t mind it so much if Steven was the one who said it, although she never thought herself to be a rebel.

           “Do you want to join us? You can help decorate the inside once it’s done,” said Bixbite.

           “I don’t think so, there’s no way I’m helping that brute. Besides, Peridot is the one who’s always adding stuff to the barn so she’s probably a better choice than me.”

           “But I’d like everyone to be there. I don’t know if you want to be friends, but I’d really like to get to know you too.”

           Lapis blushed, but she didn’t let it show. The magenta Gem’s words were too earnest and pure for her to dismiss as a ploy, and even more difficult to scuff at. She held her head to the ground with intensity in her eyes as if she was anger with the forest floor but she was too embarrassed to look Bixbite in the eye.

           “I—like your—visor,” said Lapis.

           Bixbite touched the glass over her eyes as if she was startled by its existence by Lapis’ compliment.

           She smiled. “Thank you. You know a while back I met another Bixbite, but she didn’t have a visor, so I’ve been wondering if it was something special my makers gave me. I’d like to think so.”

           “I wasn’t up to date on information about Gems other than myself when I was in Homeworld. I never heard of Bixbites, just what Peridot and Steven told me. Did you really not know your purpose?”

           Bixbite’s expression weakened into a somber note. “For a couple hundreds of years. I didn’t know who I was meant or where I belonged. But after so many years here I decided I belong on Earth. Is that how you felt when you came here?”

           “I didn’t want to come here, I had orders to,” grunted Lapis, turning away. When the memories began to swell in her mind she squeezed her eyes to shut them out.

Bixbite didn’t notice Lapis’ response because of how well Lapis kept herself hidden. The tips of her fingers dug into her arm to keep from showing her shaking. But Bixbite could only hear the awkward silence between them. She searched for something to two of them could do to break tension, unaware of how badly Lapis needed to take her mind away from things. There wasn’t a cave to give her a tour of, but another solution came to mind.

“Do you want to see my Booc Cheens?” Bixbite asked.

Lapis was brought back to the forest, seconds from returning to the Gem War. “What? Oh, you mean your Meep Morps?”

“I guess you call them that too. Come on.” Bixbite took Lapis’ hand and ran with her. “Just keep this a secret from Onyx, okay?”

Warmth. Bixbite’ hand stopped Lapis from protesting or pulling away. Stunned, it surprised Lapis by warm Bixbite was. The long tail dancing in the air with her running slapped Lapis, and of course she was annoyed by it, for a moment. Citrus. Lapis’ noise was tickled by the mellow aroma inside the magenta locks. With Bixbite looking forward, the blue Gem took a deep breath of the smell, and felt at peace. The memories were returning to the pit of her mind—something Lapis thought was only possible when she was around Steven or Lapis. It was safety she felt.

As Bixbite without a care towards her secret lair, her Gem reacted. It passed a fluffy sensation to her.

The proposed hidden cave was all the way on the other side of the mountain facing the valley. Behind an unsubtly placed pile of branches and rocks, that was meant to keep the cave a secret but rather made it stand out more against the blank limestone rocks, the hidden lair sat adjacent to the Bixbite and Onyx’s cave. Bixbite pushed away the camouflage and stood at the doorway to let Lapis go in first, courteous. Lapis wouldn’t budge until Bixbite entered first.

“Tada!” Bixbite unveiled.

           The Booc Cheens turned out to be piles of various, random things stacked on top of each other. Bent spoons and forks, broken cups, old folders, and empty boxes; anything Bixbite got a hold of whenever she visited Jason or Wheat Town she put together in a heap at the very back. Despite odd pattern choices like a cup being balanced on a fork, every stack was perfectly balanced and even when Bixbite and Lapis moved about in the cave the Booc Cheens weren’t disturbed. Lapis counted thirty-four piles.

           ���There’s so much, more than I have,” observed Lapis.

           “My human friend Jason gives me things from his home. But I keep it a secret from Onyx because she doesn’t like human things,” said Bixbite. “Wait wait wait! Look!”

           Bixbite pulled Lapis to a bright pink, porcelain teacup in the middle that had figurines of various women stacked from inside out. At the very top sat a lady wearing a bright pink flannel shirt and a long head of pink hair.

           “A little human gave me these. He didn’t say anything but he was nice enough to give me them. Aren’t they adorable?” Bixbite chirped like a happy bird. “My favorite is the one on the top.”

           “Y-Yeah it’s nice,” said Lapis, unable to keep up with Bixbite’s excitement, “but is this all you make?”

           “What do you mean? This is how I’ve always made them. How do you make Booc Cheens?”

           “First of all, I call them Meep Morps and I…”

           Lapis look around at what she had to work with, which was plenty. From the heap she took a discarded inhaler, an empty tin can, and a plastic rose that had its stem broken. The process for Meep Morp making wasn’t one that needed much thought. She didn’t see a picture of what she wanted in her mind like an artist, there wasn’t an idea like a writer; rather she let her body run on its own. She ripped off the top half of the can. Puzzled by the bottom half, she dropped the inhaler inside. But when it came time for the rose, Lapis actually put thought, dipping the broken stem into the mouth of the inhaler to hold it balanced.

           “I made it. And afterwards you think of something for it. This reminds me of the time I came to this cave,” said Lapis in a tone devoid of pride for her creation.

           Bixbite gasped behind her hands. She swiped it from Lapis to admire its questionable beauty up close.

           “It’s so pretty! I love it so much! You’re amazing, Lapis!”

           Lapis blushed. Bixbite skipped around the cave holding the object up like a precious treasure, giggling nonstop. Seeing how happy Bixbite was about her Meep Morp, Lapis smiled.

           “Hey,” said Bixbite suddenly.

           “Wh-What?” Lapis was startled.

           “You have a nice smile.”

            Bixbite was too powerful, leaving Lapis speechless and paralyzed. For a moment Lapis could only see herself and Bixbite, floating in a void, together. That moment ended abruptly when a cry ruptured the valley.

           “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!” It was Onyx’s voice tearing through the peace like a mallet through wet paper.

           Bixbite ran to the entrance, but hearing the echoes she sighed with relief.

           “Oh, Onyx is just mad, that’s all. I should probably check on her,” said Bixbite. “If you want you could stay with my Beec—I mean Meep Morps.”

           Lapis hadn’t recovered when Bixbite left. The blue gemstone on her back caused her face to feel flushed. What’s more hearing her say Meep Morps sent Lapis deep into unintelligible thought. She awoke to find herself alone in the cave without realizing how much time had passed. Lapis leaned against the wall and slid all the way down while she conversed with herself.

           “She liked my smile? She liked my Meep Morp? Psst, what a dork,” giggled Lapis.

           Bixbite’s face when she held the Meep Morp gave Lapis warmth in her Gem. All of a sudden an overpowering obligation to see that same face again came over her. Making another Meep Morp to give her was the first thing she thought of, before something more important came to mind. Lapis ran outside, first to check if she was indeed alone; what she intended do was something she didn’t want any of her friends, and Bixbite, to see.

           Lapis raised her arms out in front of her chest. The limestone rumbled under her feet as her Gem sent a silent commanded to the soil, a command that was followed within seconds. Small, slowly ascending trails of clear water slithered out from the earth and collected into a glowing sphere in front of her. She balled her hands into fists and the trails of water pulled more out from a buried lake deep inside the Earth’s crust, at a faster rate. Lapis could feel how much water was left, seeing the lake half empty in her head, and then she stopped harvesting. The giant sphere of water was at its peak; Lapis uncoiled it with a rope of water that she guided into the mountain side. It soaked through the hard rock.

              The screaming didn’t have the same volume as when it was first heard, but once Bixbite returned to the clearing she discovered that Onyx was shouted with just as much intensity to compensate. She saw logs scattered all over, one as in a tree and another was planted in the ground, scribbles all over the ground, and Onyx and Peridot confronting each other.

           “What the heck does five point seven meters mean anyway?!” Onyx barked.

           “It’s symmetrically perfect measurements. Not that a clod like you would understand the sophistication of perfect blueprint crafting!” Peridot squeaked to the Gem who was twice her size, maybe bigger.

           “No one understands that gibberish!”

           “All you had to do was do the heavy lifting but you couldn’t even do that!”

           “Because you kept saying the same stupid thing! It didn’t make any sense!”

           “It was stupid! It was smart!”

           “It sounds like clod talk to me!”

           “How dare you use my word against me, you fiend!”

           Steven and Connie were at a safe distance, not even trying to keep them apart or risk getting caught in the middle of the storm. Bixbite slipped sneakily passed them.

           “What happened?” She asked Connie and Steven.

           “I-It’s a long story,” said Steven. He preferred not to relive it by saying it out loud.

           “I’m sorry, Bixbite, your home might take a little longer,” said Connie.

           “That’s alright, just as long as—”

“Raaaah! STEEEEEVEEEEEN!” Peridot scurried away on all fours quickly behind Steven for protection. Onyx, whose single step forward spooked Peridot, snickered. “I-If I h-had some metal the foot would be on the other foot!”

           “Uh Peridot, the expression is the ‘shoe would be on the other foot’,” corrected Connie.

           Onyx flexed to show the full capabilities of her assets. She also flaunted her talons. “Any time, any place, Peridot!” She smirked.

           Peridot started to regret her initial challenge. Desperate, she crawled over to Bixbite and used her as additional protection. Bixbite petted the small Gem as though she were one of her animals; and Peridot surprisingly liked the gentle touch. Onyx couldn’t keep her intimidation up when Bixbite gave her a look of sympathy she felt for the little Peridot; Onyx withdrew her weapons—talons and her flexing muscles.

           Suddenly a rumble caught them all by surprise. It was followed by a booming stampede of noise. Another landslide! Bixbite and Onyx were the first to rush back into the forest with the others following closely behind. A few feet into the forest and Bixbite nearly tripped over one boulder of several that were inexplicably moved far from the mountainside. They hurried, dodging the rubble. At the end of their haste they were greeted back to the mountain by the entrance to their cave.

           “The cave!” Onyx shouted.

           “Our home!” Bixbite cried.

           They hurried up. The entire area outside the jagged entrance was free of all boulders, maybe even the dust that had been underneath. The two ran inside and found to a cave that was empty and dark as they had left it—just like it was to their liking.

           “It’s back! Everything! Our cave is okay!” Bixbite jumped in place merrily, breaking out into tears.

           “But what happened?” Onyx inquired.

           “Whoa! Maybe another landslide clearing everything out,” suggested Connie.

           “That must’ve been a very rocky landslide,” Steven joked. That time everyone laughed at the joke.

           A shadow passed over their heads. Lapis landed behind them, looking as bored as normal as if nothing happened while she was alone. She watched her step and flicked a speck of limestone dust off her dress.

           “Does this mean we can go now?” Lapis asked.

           “Yeah, does this mean you can go now?” Onyx repeated.

           “Well since you guys have you old home back, there’s not really a need to build that new one, huh?” Steven said. He turned to Connie. “We should probably go now before it gets dark.”

           “Yeah, I sort left some homework on my desk I need to finish,” said Connie. “I guess we’ll come by and visit another time. Is that alright, Bixbite, Onyx?”

           Bixbite immediately agreed but she waited on her friend to speak. Onyx glared at Lapis and Peridot, but as she passed over Steven she gave a sigh, admitting to herself how much he meant to Bixbite.

           “Fine,” said Onyx. Bixbite was so happy she wrapped her arms around Onyx and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

           “Come back, any time, Lapis. We can make more Meep Morps together!” Bixbite squeaked. Lapis blushed while Onyx showed her distaste openly.

           As Steven and the others waved back at them until they were gone from sight, Bixbite turned to look at her old cave to make certain it was really there. It was. She took a step in, filling her lungs with the familiar sent, but stopping short before entering. Her foot recoiled touching something cold and wet. A small puddle of water, hidden behind a rock, was a new addition to the cave that Bixbite didn’t remember seeing before. She didn’t know the significance it had