#chanting 'cringe is dead' while shaking and crying

[alligaytorswamp]

this is my self insert for kinich ^_^

[shadowofwar-goober]

The Shaman and the Bard Ch. 18- A Small Distraction

None of them enjoyed the lessons the Mystics forced them through. They weren't taught how to explore their given nature or abilities but they managed to find their own ways of doing so, even if it were uncomfortable at times.

xxx

The Mystics were obsessed with necromancy and raising the dead. Hûra couldn’t stand their chants, the feeling of something being forcibly torn away from… something or somewhere, the ultimate end where a cold and blue body begins to twitch and shake off its death stiffness… Hûra could never look at the gasping or convulsing bodies for long. 

Disturbed

Trapped

Agony 

Hûra didn’t care to be reprimanded. How could they do this…? Couldn’t they feel this sadness, this pain, this… He didn’t even know how to articulate all the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. Why was he forced to learn… this? Hûra has no interest in necromancy! He doesn’t know if he even has a talent for raising the dead! He hoped not… Why can’t he just have his bones? This feels like torture, both on his part and the part of the unfortunate dead that are bound to this mortal plane once more, against their will… 

His brothers seemed to share a similar sentiment. Skoth was more vocal about this than Hûra was, to his surprise. Hûra didn’t know that the Feral boy had a connection to the otherside like that… Then again, he never really had the opportunity to ask. Skoth was visibly upset as he joined the three of them, eyes inflamed and tears threatening to fall down his cold cheeks as he angrily threw himself in between the lot of them. 

“-can’t do it no more, lads… I fuckin’ CAN’T-!” Skoth covered his face with the palms of his hands and sucked in a harsh breath. 

Hûra was still taken aback by how easily his brothers bridge the gap between their persons but it was by no means a bad thing. Mogg patted Skoth on the arm and Fûbar pulled his sleeve out from underneath his shortest brother’s body. Hûra awkwardly reached for him but hesitated several times. What if it’s not okay to-? Mogg noticed his struggle and grabbed his wrist with his other hand and placed his hand on Skoth’s leg. Hûra awkwardly patted his leg as his brother struggled to calm his raging emotions. 

“‘s the lesson again, right? Or was it the water?” They all cringed a little, even Fûbar. The water- Hûra found himself shivering uncontrollably in spite of finding the cold winds on their own not nearly as biting as they were months ago. Was it months ago…? Skoth’s voice was muffled under his hands as he spoke. 

“-sson…” Ah. 

It was no surprise. The day they started their lessons Skoth hated it. But when they realized that he had a gift for communing with the dead in spite of his best efforts to hide it? He’s been miserable daily ever since. 

They know he has the gift but his refusal to work with them has all his instructors on the verge of either killing him, themselves, for ‘wasting the gift their Lord bestowed upon him’ or ‘reeducating him’, which was something the four of them had never heard of but scared them all (Skoth especially) enough that he now puts in the bare minimum effort to his studies so that their tudors and elders won’t grow weary of him. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it…” Skoth removed his hands from his face and hugged himself. No one pointed out that he was crying and only Mogg nodded in agreement. 

“‘s all good, brother. We understand.” 

They did. Training with the Mystics was miserable for them all but Skoth had it the worst. The four of them sat in melancholy for a while, uncertain of how to break the silence. Hûra’s crows sat on a nearby tree and looked down at the four pups, some croaking softly while most sat in silence. Skoth looked up at them, glad to see beasts in this forsaken place but also feeling nostalgic and homesick. 

He missed the warmth of Nurnen… 

The silence shifted from strained and awkward to something more comfortable. Skoth was on the verge of tears but no longer having any expectations on his shoulders allowed him to finally calm the disgust and pain that seized his entire being whenever he was forced into what he would call ‘blasphemous lesson’. If any Mystic heard him say such a thing, none of the boys would doubt that he would be executed or worse... But there was truth in it. They all knew it- could feel it, even if they all didn’t possess such a gift as Skoth’s. 

“Mmm… Maybe Hûra or Mogg could teach us something interesting?” This was Fûbar’s go to attempt to distract them all from whatever was upsetting them. Let’s learn something we actually want to learn. Hûra and Mogg both nodded, with Mogg gesturing to Hûra and giving him the go ahead to start. 

“O-Oh! Yes.. Let’s see…” 

He has shown them a few things, told them when he first realized he was different from his other littermates, and how his gifts began to manifest… Hûra removed the patchwork sack that contained his favourite set of hell hawk bones from his side and carefully opened them. Skoth sat up and leaned over to look in the little pouch. He’s seen the bones before, but he struggled to recognize the worth that Hûra saw in them. 

“Why them?” It took Hûra a moment to tear his eyes away from the little greyish-black bones that resided within. He blinked, then furrowed his brows.

“Why not them?” He was as surprised as Skoth by his answer. It felt so natural, yet hearing it sounded so odd. Hûra didn’t know how else to answer that question. Why not them? He didn’t know if it could have been anything else… Skoth pondered on this for a moment before he shrugged. 

“Fair ‘nough, I suppose.” He wasn’t displeased with this answer. Skoth understood as well as the rest of them that sometimes there is no satisfying answer. He didn’t always know why he thought the things he thought or did the things that he did and he wouldn’t expect his brothers to know this about himself or themselves, either. 

“It was like a pull… “ Hûra shrugged too, but he continued on anyway.

“Like my body moved on its own…” He felt the bones move in the back, bumping and moving against one another, his fingers itching to cast them out and onto the rocky ground.

“...but it wasn’t bad. It felt… right. Like it was going to happen no matter what, but it wasn’t scary.” Hûra didn’t know if it made any sense to them, but it did to him. Mogg nodded, as did Skoth. Fûbar hummed thoughtfully as Hûra’s grip on the sack tightened. 

“Yeah, I think I get it… Sort of…” Skoth murmured under his breath. He was focused on Hûra’s hands. Skoth didn’t know why but there was something about the way Hûra moved his fingers that was eye-catching… He was delicate but purposeful in his movements. He was like the elders but Skoth didn’t feel sick whenever he watched him… 

“C’mon! Don’t leave us waiting! Give us a reading!” Mogg encouraged him, shifting in place excitedly as he started at his hands. Mogg raised an eyebrow in surprise as Hûra handed him the sack.

“Cast them.” He took it with a funny look on his face. This was a first. Hûra hasn’t asked any of them to do this before! Mogg wasn’t bothered by it but he was curious. 

“Yeah? How do I-?” He lost track of what he was going to say as he looked back up at Hûra. 

He can be so intense at times… It was almost creepy how Hûra could go from his usual, attentive self to nearly unaware of his surroundings, much like how Fûbar typically is. Almost creepy… but not quite. Hûra was focused to a degree that Mogg was intimately familiar with. He once thought he was a freak for it, but upon learning that others experienced it too, Mogg was relieved to find out that he wasn’t alone. 

“There is no wrong way… You simply…” Hûra gestured for him to dump the bones out. 

O-kay… 

Mogg did what he’s seen Hûra do so many times before. He jostled them in the pouch a few times before tipping over its contents. Mogg didn’t pour it all out at once, a little nervous that he would damage the thin bones in some way, but Hûra didn’t reprimand him so he figured he was doing okay. 

They clattered to the ground and landed every which way. How does he see anything in this…? Mogg was torn between looking at the bones and Hûra’s face. 

They’re so small… He didn’t realize how tiny and delicate those hawks were, given how nasty their attitudes usually are. They almost appeared to be hollow, like a bird’s, with how they clattered so lightly against the ground. Which way is the right way to look at them? Mogg couldn’t help but to wonder. 

Hûra’s pupils dilated from their usual constricted slits the moment that Mogg had casted them onto the ground. Time slowed for him in the brief moment it took them to find their final resting place. He couldn’t hear their clattering, only the quiet sound of his breath, of his heart, calm and at peace… 

His brothers looked at him, then between themselves. Should they speak? They could break his concentration… Though-

“Uh-” Skoth was about to ask him what he saw, but Hûra drawing in a slow, deep breath caught his tongue between his teeth.

“Fluttering, a flock

Spooked and scattered

Some leading, others not

Following, blinded by blinding

Rivers of heat, never cooling

In the depths where

A dreamless slumber lies

Waiting for a call

Lulling it from 

Slumber under the Earth…” 

Hûra pulled away as if offended by something. His eyes came back into focus and his hands immediately went to his face. The crude markings on his face- ones that his brothers always knew him to have- were smeared and smudged by his palms as they went to his temples. Skoth and Mogg were at a loss for words, simply sitting back as they looked at the bones then back at their brother’s distressed expression. Hûra blinked once, then twice then-

“I… feel ill…” He quickly stood and stumbled away, hand over his mouth and his stomach clutched. Before either could get up, Fûbar was already standing and at Hûra’’s side. Mogg and Skoth quickly followed.

“What is it, Hûra?” It was unusual for Fûbar to sound so concerned… Hûra didn’t like it. He simply shook his head and swallowed his sick. 

“N-Noth- Nothing. I… suppose I was simply unprepared…” He tried to laugh but it came out more as a cough than a chuckle. None of his brother’s believed him. Mogg frowned as Skoth anxiously picked at his broken nails. 

“Was… that all, brother?” Hûra’s eyes nearly went wide, but he managed to keep his face neutral. 

“Yes… it was. I apologize, sometimes things aren’t clear.” There was no need to apologize for such a thing. Hûra knew this and he knew that they were not judging him, rather, they were concerned for his sake.

“No need, brother… No need…” 

Again, tension settled between the four of them. It wasn’t Hûra’s intention to cause discomfort between them, but he couldn’t fight the unease that had settled within him. The guilt…

“Is it only me that occasionally becomes ill from this? How embarrassing…” Hûra finally managed a laugh. Mogg shrugged a little and chuckled too. 

“Nah, I do too… But only some of the time.” Fûbar nodded. 

“I don’t get sick but I do become disquieted when I am disturbed.” Skoth scoffed. 

“And you know I get pissed when I’m forced to do what I don’t wanna do.” Hûra smiled a little. 

The burden was shifted from his shoulders. Again the air was cleared and they returned to where they were seated. Hûra didn’t wait before he quickly disrupted the bones’ positions as he scooped them back into the patchwork sack he had sewn for them. He didn’t like what he saw and instead of questioning him again, his brothers let it go. Hûra tried to push it from his mind but it wouldn’t leave him in peace.

Even long after they had rejoined the clan during the evening’s dinner and they had settled in for the night, what he saw left him in a state so severe that even the draught that he was given nightly did nothing to soothe the churning of his stomach or the twisting of his thoughts. 

Hûra didn’t understand what he saw. The black soot of Orodruin was unmistakable, even to he that has never been to the region of Gorgoroth. The heat of the mountain’s fire was intense, as was the dread that blanketed the scene. Hûra didn’t understand what was there but it wasn’t the source of his uncertainty and his discomfort.

No, it was two uruks that caught his attention. One with black hair and unusual eyes, the other a red head that didn’t belong… The thought alone of those two in peril had Hûra’s heart seizing and his stomach dropping to his feet, though he didn’t even recognize who they even were… 

This vision continued to haunt him long after the casting had taken place. It didn’t occupy the entirety of his mind nor did it consume him, but Hûra’s mind would occasionally wander back to that scene and fear would seize him all over again. He never dared to share this with anyone, even his own brothers. There was no fear of rejection or judgement, but to Hûra, it felt wrong to share, even if he couldn’t place why…

The days continued on as did their lessons. Interest in his abilities grew but he was never tutored for them, specifically. He was given a name, not a title but nonetheless a word for what he was. Osteomancer… It was the only thing his elders have given him that gave him a sense of pride and belonging, like he was finally being seen for what he was and not for what they wanted him to be. 

If they wouldn’t tutor him then he would teach himself. But Hûra knew that he wasn’t alone. In spite of that reading, he continued to explore his capabilities with his brothers, just as they did the same with him. It gave them all something to look forward to throughout their long days of dreadful chants and ice cold waters that chilled them to the bone. 

Together they made life not only bearable but something to look forward to. It might not be much to others but for the four of them it was more than they ever had…

@space-arsonist, @boozy-dwarf, @sinick, @elvenmoans, @dirtymeanuruk

[dinosaurtsukki]

all aboard the mystery machine | (feat. the gym 3 squad and y/n)

this was inspired by a post by @kenchiko which was the ‘being in a friend group with gym three squad’ which i like to read when i’m sad. anyway, they all dressed up as the mystery gang and i thought it was so cute i decided to headcanon it. (thank u kenchiko i love ur tsukki stuff but i’m too shy to interact with u *waves*)

it was the day of electric spookaloos aka halloween and you and kuroo were hyped af 

mostly because you could play ‘this is halloween’ on loudspeaker with less weird stares than usual

and kuroo’s all about gROuP CosTUmeS 

previously the five of you had dressed up as the power rangers (which you switched for m&m’s because the helmets were too hard to make), the breakfast club, and the teen titans and now the five of you were going to top it off with…

‘the mystery gang from scooby doo!’ kuroo mentioned in your groupchat

no one noticed it except for bokuto who haha-reacted and then it resurfaced three days before halloween

kuroo and akaashi are the only ones who went all out with their costumes

kuroo has a blonde wig for his fred costume and akaashi also got a wig and made a dress for his daphne costume

bokuto ordered a cloth scooby doo mask online and forgot to order the rest of the body so he looks like inosuke from kny except his head is scooby doo

you and tsukki went to the dollar store on the day itself and just bought shirts for your velma and shaggy costumes

kuroo: you couldn’t even bother to get an orange sweater?

tsukki: it was fifty cents more expensive also i’m the blonde one so i should be fred

kuroo: well you didn’t binge-watch scooby doo all night and got only one hour of sleep so you had to sip akaashi’s pumpkin spiced latte before getting kicked by the owner of said latte

bokuto worked on spray painting kuroo’s pick-up truck to look like the mystery machine 

but the painting didn’t work out and only half of the letters are legible so you’re all piled into a pick-up truck that says ‘THE  Y T RY    AC  NE’ on the side

but you’re off to the only halloween party you were invited to !!

and you blast ‘this is halloween’ on loudspeaker while dancing in the backseat

except on the way tsukki gets a call from his boss (he works at a museum) abt some missing artifacts

you: why did he call you, don’t you just deliver coffee?

tsukki: *kicks you*

you: *kicks back and accidentally kicks bokuto*

bokuto, behind his mask: :’( 

kuroo: missing artifacts??? museum???? 

tsukki: nO–

kuroo: SOUNDS LIKE A JOB FOR THE MYSTERY GANG *drives to museum before anyone can say anything*

akaashi: this is the only party we’ve been cool enough to be invited to this year and we’re going to spend it in mcdonalds again after this is over

bokuto: wE’RE GOING TO MCDONALDS IF WE’RE COOL ENOUGH?

akaashi: nO

anyway you, kuroo, and bokuto are excited for this ~~mystery~~

the five of you are miraculously able to sneak past the guards and enter through the back because the mystery gang gave you their blessing to break and enter almost any building on halloween night

kuroo, immediately getting into fred jones mode: alright let’s split up gang! daphne and i will check the upper floors while velma, shaggy, and scooby, you take the basement

bokuto: ruh-roh!·         

you: splitting up is a surefire way for someone to get killed but go off, i guess?

kuroo: also, if anyone curses, they owe a quarter in the swear jar

akaashi: you can only use things like jinkies, jeepers, jiminy, or zoinks

tsukishima: i’m not fucking doing that

kuroo: that’s a quarter

anyway, you’re with bokuto and tsukishima so what could go wrong?

everything

and it all starts when you guys go downstairs into a basement full of creepy artifacts and find a mysterious, glowing amulet

you: i don’t think we should touch that

bokuto, who can barely hear anything in his decapitated scooby mask: TOUCH IT!

tsukki doesn’t care enough to hold him back and bokuto touches the amulet

the basement shakes, the ground beneath you trembles, the amulet grows brighter and pale green apparition appears in front of you. its danny phantom a hooded figure with glowing eyes

ghost: YOU HAVE AWAKENED THE GHOST OF THE AMULET OF ETERNAL SUFFERING

tsukki: …a song by Fall Out Boy

you: *trying hard not to laugh but also scared shitless* …jinkies

bokuto: ruh-roh?

tsukki: huh, i guess someone rigged a hologram here as a prank. nice one

ghost: I KNOW NOT OF THIS PRANK YOU SPEAK OF. YOU HAVE BROUGHT ETERNAL SUFFERING ONTO YOURSELVES, MORTALS

you: i mean, i work at customer service so…

tsukki: nice one *high fives you*

ghost: YOU HAVE– *stops when he actually sees bokuto* WHAT ABOMINATION IS THIS?

tsukki: mean, that’s just y/n

you: *kicks him*

meanwhile kuroo and akaashi are sleuthing it up upstairs

kuroo: *having a staring contest with one of the paintings displayed*

akaashi: what are you doing?

kuroo: you know how painting’s eyes tend to follow the main character in cartoons?

akaashi:,,,kuroo that’s a painting of an apple

kuroo: i could have sworn i saw some red eyes 

akaashi: i don’t think anyone would be blazing it in a museum. come on, let’s check the next room

while walking past a row of suits of armor, one of the displays turns its head (but no one notices it yet shhhhh)

back at the basement

the ghost is wreaking havoc: chairs are thrown against the wall, vases are cracked, the faint smell of sulphur is in the air. you and bokuto are fucking terrified and look more like shaggy and scooby despite your shitty cosplays. tsukishima doesn’t believe in anything that’s going on

tsukki: man, these guys here are really putting effort into this prank

you: TSUKKI I DON’T THINK THIS IS A PRANK 

ghost: *starts chanting in some unknown, ancient language*

tsukki: ah, nice touch. you watch lord of the rings?

you: tSUKKI NO-

bokuto: don’t worry! i’ll exorcise this spirit with my bible knowledge!

you and tsukki: MANGA MESSIAH IS NOT THE BIBLE

akaashi: *shivers* i just had the strangest feeling that bokuto called manga messiah the bible again

kuroo: zoinks! sounds like him

akaashi: *trying not to cringe* anyway, they’re probably not doing anything right now

the basement, atm: just a complete fucking mess

the walls have started bleeding but somehow y’all are still a-okay

that’s because tsukki’s so salty he’s basically a salt circle with 10m radius but you didn’t hear that from me

and he STILL DOESN’T BELIEVE THAT A REAL ASS GHOST IS HAUNTING THEM 

the ghost is also tired at this point 

also bokuto is really fucking scared but decides to end things ONCE and FOR ALL

he stands up from under the desk and just tackles the ghost like a football player

he didn’t think that he’d pass through the ghost

but seeing a buff dude with a scooby doo head is enough to scare mr. blood-dripping-from-the-walls shitless, especially when he fucking passes through him

ghost: *disappears back into the amulet*

you: and you still don’t believe that’s real??? 

tsukki: ghosts aren’t real

you: *ready to throw hands*

bokuto: I DID IT! I FOUGHT A GHOST!

you pocket the amulet because you can send it to your enemies 

meanwhile: upstairs

kuroo: man, i’d give anything to be chased by a scooby-doo villain dressed in a suit of armor 

a suit of armor: *starts chasing them*

akaashi, in his best daphne voice: jeepers! we better get out of here! 

kuroo, crying out how perfectly akaashi emulated daphne: let’s split up gang!

they don’t split up tho that would be dumb

*cue classic scooby doo chase scene with the music*

and then as they round a corner they run into you, tsukki, and bokuto fresh from the basement and you all fall into a heap

tsukki: *sees the suit of armor running towards then* ah fuck, what now?

kuroo: laNGUAGE *hands him the swear jar*

akaashi: NOT THE TIME

you: GET HIM BOKUTO!” 

bokuto stands up and once again tackles the knight and this time he doesn’t pass through

it takes five (5) of you to tie up this one (1) guy 

kuroo: oh my god, i’m ready

you: ready for what?

bokuto: the final unveiling

kuroo: now let’s see who’s behind all this! *rips off the helmet which tears off like a mask don’t ask me why but apparently that happens*

and it’s…Bokuto!!

everyone: *gasps and turns to Bokuto who FINALLY removes the scooby doo mask*

tsukki: *gasp* you’re the creepy british dude who keeps trying to buying our local artifacts to display at The British Museum!

akaashi: neo-imperialism is real

bokuto in the suit of armor: guys help!! he kidnapped me!!

all of you (except tsukki because he’s so done at this point) tackle mr. british villain who you thought was bokuto

finally the right person has been tied up

kuroo: your days of stealing artifacts are over!

british villain (let’s say he looks like jude law or something): and i would have gotten away with it…

kuroo: *grabbing your arm* oh my god! he’s gonna say it! he’s gonna say it!

british villain/jude law: …if it weren’t for you fUCKERS!

*dead silence*

kuroo tries to hand him the swear jar but akaashi puts his hand down

you: can we call the police? 

akaashi: *gags* fuck the police 

you: he’s white, british, and a man. they won’t do anything to him

akaashi: exactly

tsukki: hey, you still have that amulet from earlier, right?

you: the CURSED amulet with the GHOST inside?

akaashi: the what now? 

tsukki: yeah, maybe leave it with this guy? and then he’ll get pranked

at this point you’re too tired to argue with mister ghosts-aren’t-real so you leave the amulet with jude law and the five of you get out of the museum and pile into the mystery machine

akaashi: do you think the party’s still going?

you: we could hang out in mcdonalds again like last year

but otw to mcdonalds kuroo’s phone rings and he picks up

kuroo: hello? b-bokuto?

bokuto, over the phone: guys where are you??? the party started hours ago and my headless scooby-doo onesie is hard to get out of and i need to pee !!

akaashi: but…

you all turn to look at ‘bokuto’ sitting between you and tsukki in the backseat. he removes his mask.

it’s…jude law !! 

*cue ending music*

[atinytokki]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐥𝐥

Chapter 10: Crossroads Pt. 1 

(Warnings: Violence and blood)

The morning sunshine that filtered through the trees was much softer than the light that blazed through the porthole of Yunho’s room back on the ATEEZ.

Still, he found himself wishing he was waking up in his own comfortable hammock instead of this massive net that dug into his sides and made his neck prick with aches and pains.

As Yunho carefully shifted to stretch his leg, a soft groan from next to him reminded him to check Eden’s wound.

“Is he awake?” Jongho’s whisper from across the net startled him but he shook his head in response.

“I don’t think so. His pulse is so weak.”

It made Yunho bite his lip with worry. Blood had soaked the netting underneath Eden and dripped onto the ground far below. He wondered if it would attract more predators.

“There’s... nothing we can do...” Jongho hiccuped, tears freely rolling down his cheeks.

His gaze was locked on Eden’s face, pale as a sheet with a layer of sweat covering it. The older pirate was unmoving and barely breathed.

So much blood had been lost, it was a fool’s hope to think that he might survive, even if help arrived this instant.

“Eden? Eden, please, just stay with us a little longer,” Yunho shook him gently, paling at how lifeless he was. The bandages had soaked through with blood, even as he rushed to clamp his hand down on the wound.

There was no telling how long he had left.

“I’m sorry, so sorry...” 

Eden’s tired mumbles went on until his eyes twitched open, a faraway look deep within them. “I’m sorry for hiding the truth...”

“What’s he talking about?” Jongho wondered aloud, freeing his limbs from their positions and trying to move closer.

Yunho could only shake his head helplessly. “No idea.”

“It’s alright, Eden,” he directed his words at the fading pirate. “W-We forgive you.”

Jongho was shaking Mingi awake and scrubbing at his face. He wasn’t sure why exactly he was crying so hard. He barely knew Eden, it wasn’t as if he was a particularly sentimental type. 

Mingi stirred from his sleep and quickly pieced together what was happening.

“How do we explain this to Hongjoong?” He said quietly after a few moments had gone by and Eden had fallen unconscious again.

Yunho swallowed his fear and met his gaze, eyes shining with worry nonetheless. 

“Oh, not you lot again.”

An annoyed voice from far below broke their melancholy spell. It was the woman they had come here in search of, crossing her arms and glowering up at them. She looked exactly the same as she always did, beautiful and ageless, with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “What are you doing up there?”

Jongho spluttered and craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the witch. “Well, excuse me, but—”

“Thank the heavens,” Yunho cut him off, gripping the net with one hand and clutching Eden with his other. “We really need your help.”

... 

Wooyoung bit back the instinct to complain as he hoisted San’s unconscious form onto his back for the trek to the old seaside carpentry shop.

He and Yeosang had confirmed that the old couple’s house was above it, just as San said it would be, and the least dangerous way to get San there was to knock him out and carry him with them.

So Wooyoung kept his grunts to a minimum and led the way up the dirt path.

He and Yeosang were again elected to be the spokesmen for the little group, and with a deep breath, Yeosang drew up to his full height and knocked to the door.

Whatever this was, it had better work.

“Just a moment! I’ll be right there.”

The voice of a young woman floated down from the second story and Wooyoung’s shoulders relaxed. This must be his sister.

The door squeaked open to reveal a bright-eyed lady probably around their age, who immediately took on an expression of horror at the sight of a sleeping San draped across Wooyoung’s back.

“Oh my, is he alright? Can I help at all? Would you like to bring him inside?”

Her rush of concern had Wooyoung wishing he had a quicker tongue or at least a backup plan and then throwing a questioning glance back at Hongjoong.

Hongjoong tilted his head.

It was almost imperceptible, but to Wooyoung, it was a clear order.

Don’t bring him inside. There’s too much at risk.

Wooyoung cleared his throat and smiled at her before taking a slight step back.

“Actually, I’ll stay out here with him. The, uh, the sea air will... benefit his health.”

It was a poor excuse and Wooyoung had to strain to keep the cringe off his face but the woman nodded seriously and opened the door wider for the others.

Yeosang smoothly took over the talking. “You must be surprised to have a group of strangers turn up like this on your doorstep! We don’t mean to intrude, but San has always talked about going back to see his sister and—“

“Sister?”

Yeosang faltered at the pure cluelessness in her voice. Had they come to the wrong house?

“You’re San’s sister, aren’t you?” Seonghwa asked quietly.

For a moment, recognition washed over her face and then she smiled, leading them upstairs to a living room area and motioning for them to sit while she explained.

“Oh! No, no I’m not. I’m the new owner of this shop, I’ve been planning to turn it into a bookstore actually. But I was warned by the old couple who lived here prior that a certain Choi San might drop by one day. None of you would happen to be him, would you?”

Yeosang’s mouth opened and closed until Seonghwa swooped in again to save him. “Pardon me, but, was there a young woman with this old couple? Did she move off the island too?”

The lady took a seat and a thoughtful frown formed on her face, brows pinched together as she tried to remember.

“No, actually... there was a young lady but...” Here she looked up at them and shook her head. “That lady died. Her death was the reason they sold this place.”

Yeosang felt a chill wash over him.

San’s sister was dead then.

He exchanged a warning glance with Seonghwa and Hongjoong both before politely smiling and getting to his feet.

The young woman started after them, stuttering something about offering them tea, but Yeosang gracefully cut her off.

“My apologies, we really don’t want to bother you,” he turned on his most charming smile and bowed as the others exited behind him. “The person we were looking for seems to be gone.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, sincerity shining in her eyes as she bowed back and showed them to the door. “Feel free to come back if you need anything at all.”

The moment the door was shut, Yeosang couldn’t hold back his sigh.

Wooyoung had been waiting, and quickly stood, pulling up a semi-conscious San who had been laying on the grass next to him. “Finished already?” 

Seonghwa cleared his throat and answered him even as his eyes lingered on San.

“We have some bad news.”

...

The temple looked exactly as Mingi remembered it.

Reddish-orange wood beams masterfully assembled into a high pagoda, a bright beacon that stood out in contrast to the surrounding foliage, and the majestic waterfall that stole their glances to the cliffside. It was as breathtaking as it was when they had been there last, a group of six.

Nothing about this place had changed, but Mingi felt as if he were different.

“How have you been?” He asked awkwardly, clearing his throat when the woman didn’t seem to hear him.

“Well, as good as can be expected. One of my cats was killed last night.”

Jongho blinked as he realised what the mystic was hinting at.

“So the jaguars are yours?”

She turned around and smiled at him. “They protect the island, yes.”

“You have magical powers,” Mingi scoffed, mostly to himself. “What do you need guardian beasts for?”

The woman’s smile fell and she ascended the steps gracefully, ushering them in. “My eyes are often elsewhere,” she said simply.

She gestured to a sofa in the main room and went about gathering things from the adjacent pantries while Yunho laid Eden down as gently as he could, trying not to jostle his leg. He listened for the shallow breaths he had come to recognise and exhaled with relief when they came on schedule.

“I’ve been following the proceedings of the royal family from my watchtower,” the woman mentioned. “I didn’t know of your arrival here, so I apologise for the hasty actions of my cats. Although, to be fair, it’s been a long time since anyone has taken the eastern path.” Here, she stuck her head back out to smirk at Mingi.

“Why are you here, boys?” She finally asked, returning to them with all her medical herbs and supplies.

Mingi and Yunho glanced at each other, thinking the same thing. Where do we even start?

“You remember San?”

The mystic hummed in agreement, even as she whispered some chant and rubbed an unfamiliar substance into Eden’s wound. He didn’t stir from his slumber.

“Well,” Jongho took over the explaining. “He’s possessed and we need your help banishing the demon.” He went to hand her his little book of incantations but it was waved away while she continued to sprinkle a mysterious powder over the wound.

“He showed no interest in dark magic when I saw him last, as a new officer on your ship,” she responded, still somewhat distracted with Eden. “What happened?”

Jongho sighed and turned the small book over in his hands. “He got mixed up with Babylon’s spellbook and summoned the demon accidentally.”

“I’m surprised you don’t already know about this,” Yunho mumbled. “What with your crystal ball and your prophecies and your watchtower and everything...”

“Demons are exceptional at disguise,” she tossed back over her shoulder as she stirred various wild plants and substances into a jar. “I knew Babylon was stirring up trouble, I didn’t know about this particular development.”

“There’s a chant in here,” Jongho explained, bringing forth the book again. “None of us can read it so we thought to ask you...”

“Why didn’t you simply bring him here?” She interjected.

Mingi sighed. That would have been the preferred alternative, but this was their best chance, he had to keep reminding himself.

“The demon was threatening to kill him,” he said softly. “San bought us some time by setting out for Namhae. They’ll arrive in about a week and a half.”

The mystic halted her stirring and sighed, mumbling something to herself. “I’ll search for him later,” she decided, transferring the contents of the jar into a mug and motioning for Yunho to prop Eden up. “Make sure he drinks all of this. He’s been on death’s doorstep for a few hours now. It’s a miracle death hasn’t come to collect him yet.”

Yunho nodded and watched her bandage the leg wound with clean cloth. “There are rooms for you to rest in through there,” the woman pointed out past a balcony to an upper wing of the temple. “Rest while I gather my resources. What you ask of me is no simple magic trick.”

All three of them nodded and graciously thanked her before following her directions, Yunho keeping an eye on Eden should he regain enough consciousness to drink his medicine.

There was a balcony with a view to the waterfall, and its misty spray was sweetly scented in a way that reminded them of their island in the east. An unclaimed utopia they could lose themselves in.

Jongho sunk into one of the plush beds that waited for them, his long, uncomfortable night in the net catching up with him. Still, something was on his mind.

“Why does it feel like we’re sacrificing San for Eden?”

Mingi looked up from where he was emptying his bag. He had found it hard to ignore the same thought, but sighed and resumed unpacking. “We’re still days ahead of the ATEEZ, don’t worry.”

“And besides,” Yunho smiled over at him. “We can trust the mystic. She’ll do what she can for both of them.”

The trio quickly learned that time worked differently on the island. A few hours’ nap lasted until sunset, and Mingi was startled to have slept the entire day away in what felt like no time at all, but the woman reassured them when she entered with plates of food that it was normal to have to adjust to the fleeting notion of time. 

Still, it made him anxious to know what had been discovered about San while he was out like a light.

“It was easy to find San due to the concentration of mystical energy around him,” she reported, settling in a chair and watching Eden intently. He still hadn’t woken. “But I can’t cast a spell on him if he’s not in one place.”

Yunho froze in the middle of chewing his bite of fish. “You... what?”

“He’s currently in motion,” she tried to explain, sighing at the difficulty of it. “Sending a spell to someone while he sails... it could go terribly wrong. It has in the past.”

“So this was pointless then?” Jongho moaned, the bread fisted in his hand looking decidedly less appetising.

“No, there is still something I can do,” the woman smiled at him and tilted her head towards her watchtower. “I’ll call up the incantations now, remotely, and when the time is right they will come into effect.”

Yunho scoffed at this. “When the time is right?”

“Yunho, is it? Clearly you know nothing of the rules of sorcery. Rarely are solutions so simple,” she shook her head with amusement. “I need the cooperation of whatever part of San is left. This spell locks onto human emotion, and if San regains enough control over his emotions to activate it, the demon will be banished from him.”

Silence stretched over them. Somewhere deep down, they all knew it would come back to San.

He had summoned the demon, and it was his responsibility to drive it out.

But Yunho would not let this trip be in vain. “San’s emotional enough, that’s for sure,” Yunho smirked, trying to raise their spirits with a pinch of optimism. “He’ll present the right opportunity soon.”

But this meant they had to wait. And waiting was not something they were good at.

It was a week and a half of flipping through books that didn’t make much sense to them, watching Eden sleep and waiting for him to wake (the mystic said he had to be convinced), exploring the immediate area of the island but pointedly avoiding the “cats”, and sleeping off as much time as possible.

Time was swinging over their heads as anxiety pounded into them.

Every day, the mystic checked San’s position, and every day the answer was the same; at sea. No development. It was a blessing and a curse.

Until one morning, when the mystic shook them awake and summoned them to her watchtower. The crystal ball pulsed on the table in front of her.

“I’ve found him. He was sleeping soundly for awhile but has last awoken. Now his soul is... it’s in agony.”

Mingi spluttered at the choice of words. “What? Agony?”

“He is experiencing extreme sadness, the strength of which is temporarily overpowering the evil entity in his body,” the woman returned like it was obvious.

“You can overpower a demon with negative emotions, too?” Jongho whispered, fascinated, before quieting again so the woman could continue.

“If both of us try hard enough,” the mystic promised, eyes glazing over as she prepared to begin. “Yes.”

...

San didn’t know what to expect, but it was not this.

Wooyoung’s face appeared, separating the fog in his mind, and his lips were moving. The sound reached San but he blocked out the rest of it because he did not want to know what followed those heartbreaking words.

More heads popped up, Yeosang’s concerned eyes and Seonghwa’s pained expression, but San couldn’t focus over the ringing in his head.

Someone was screaming and it sounded like the voice of the demon, but when he paused he noticed his voice was raw.

It flashed white hot and then burned him, a molten pain that ripped his insides apart. He was separating the demon from himself.

A new voice came to him, whispering in his head, and he was tempted to throw it out too but he hadn’t heard this one before and it was a friendly, encouraging presence.

I’m with you, she said. Keep fighting, you’re almost there.

When he opened his eyes again, Hongjoong was in front of him, pulling him off the main road and into a cluster of trees. His eyes darted around, afraid someone would hear screams and be curious.

“It’s... I’m almost...” San choked on his words, inhaling sharply at another pain in his head. “He’s almost gone.”

He didn’t see their reaction to this declaration, eyes rolling back in his head as the fight in his mind intensified.

The demon was being snuffed out, his resistance weakening and his assets spread thin. 

His trembling voice promised everything San could ever ask for if he only let him live, let him stay. Simultaneously, San could feel him trying to jump out and into someone else even as his presence was ground to dust.

San clung on to whoever’s hand was in his and remained firm. The blackness drained from his veins as he hammered down again and again on the demon. He wasn’t banishing it, he was destroying it.

Aided by a sudden surge of energy, the help of an outside spell being granted to him, he swung his blade down on it one last time, the agony of its dying scream escaping through his own mouth and the pain rendering him unconscious.

Yeosang rubbed his arm until he awoke.

Tears were on his face, and they flowed freely as he grasped each of them in a hug. Save for his own sobs and the gentle ambiance of the seaside, things were quiet. San had never been so grateful for the quiet in all his life.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Seonghwa whispered into his ear as he held him tightly, blindfold cast into the wind without a care.

San could only nod against him and cry harder. He had missed everyone, more than he could bear.

“Drinks are on me,” Hongjoong said with a bright smile as he pulled away. The road back to the inn was quiet but bursting with joy. San was among them again— mind, body and soul. The serene contentment that had settled over them would not be disturbed. Not for now, at least.

It was one thing at a time when they pulled up their chairs around the table they had claimed in the corner of the pub. San was famished, probably thanks to the demon stealing any of his enjoyment out of the food he had consumed while possessed. 

When he slowed down enough to look around at the faces of the people around him, it gave him pause.

“Everything alright?” Wooyoung prompted carefully. He kept looking at him like he was afraid he might get struck by lightning suddenly. That probably wasn’t going away any time soon.

“Yes, I was just remembering,” San responded after a moment. “Drinking together after your promotion. We were wasted but you told us your story, and I told you mine.” It seemed like ages ago now.

His face fell as he let the loss of his noona wash over him again.

“Haneul... she’s really gone, isn’t she?”

Yeosang met his eyes and hummed in response. “I’m so sorry for your loss. The woman living there says your grandparents moved away. Maybe we can track them down somehow at least...”

San’s eyes misted over and he gazed forlornly into his cup. “I think I’ve known for a while, deep down. She was marked for death ever since I was a child, but... but why couldn’t she have waited for me? I got the money for her medicine now, maybe she would have survived.”

Seonghwa rubbed his back tenderly as soon as tears began to roll down his cheeks again. “It wasn’t your fault,” he soothed him. “You did everything you could, San.”

Everyone at the table agreed.

When San crawled into bed and Yeosang and Wooyoung both crawled in with him, he finally let the floodgates of his emotions open.

A small smile remained on his face as he drifted off. It was a messy outpour of feelings, but he hadn’t felt anything in so long, he would allow himself this night. 

...

It was nearing midnight, but Yunho felt compelled to open his eyes.

It wasn’t because of San. The mystic had assured the trio that he had won his battle and vanquished the demon, so that couldn’t be it.

“It’s Eden,” her voice floated to him from the other side of the room as he rose and groped for a robe to cover himself with. She was so calming somehow that she hadn’t startled him by answering his silent question, but she beckoned him over just as urgently as she’d awoken him. “He’s awake.”

“What took him so long?” Jongho whispered as he rose.

“Eden is still young in body, but his soul is old and wearied. I think part of him wanted to keep sleeping.”

“Why now, then?” Mingi asked, scratching the back of his head. The three approached Eden’s bed quietly but full of anticipation.

The mystic turned to him and smiled. There was a twinkle in her eye, even through the blue veil of midnight.

“Your presence gives him hope.”

With that, she swept away to mix another drink for her patient, and the boys directed their attention on Eden.

His face contorted with pain as his eyes blinked open. Yunho rushed to offer him the drink, and Eden relaxed as he sipped it and strength gradually returned to him.

“We made it?” He finally croaked out.

Jongho chuckled and slapped Mingi on the back, a little harder than he was bracing himself for. “Mingi saved you,” he explained. “And defeated the beast.”

Mingi blushed at the praise and Eden’s eyes on him. “It didn’t do much for you in the end. We were stuck in a net the whole night.”

“I remember,” Eden hummed softly as it came back to him. “How long have I been out?”

“Just over a week,” Yunho sighed. “Although it doesn’t feel like it. Time passes strangely in this place.”

Eden nodded. He had visited before and the hazy blend of days was no surprise to him.

“When we came with Hongjoong-hyung we barely stayed a couple of hours,” Mingi pointed out.

“San? Is he...?”

“Taken care of,” Jongho told him quickly. “The demon was destroyed and he’s himself again. We were only waiting on you.”

A flash of guilt passed over his face and he sunk lower into the cushions. “You did well,” he finally said, a heaviness to his voice. His eyelids drooped lethargically and in a moment he was asleep again.

A universal sigh was released as Eden stilled and returned to his dreams. They had never even broached the subject of whether he would be able to walk again, but there was some comfort in the fact that he was alive and with them.

Fireflies glowed in the air outside the balcony and Yunho peeked behind the shade to watch them float, sailing up and down invisible waves of their own.

While it was this peaceful, Yunho couldn’t help but wonder what was on the horizon.

...

Just like usual, Hongjoong was half asleep on the floor with a hand on his gun concealed by his pillow.

Something twinged in the back of his mind, tickling his senses and sending him bolt upright. Immediately he conducted a headcount.

San, Wooyoung, and Yeosang were all tangled up in a mess of limbs, squeezing onto a single bed having fallen asleep holding each other.

Hongjoong didn’t resist the small smile that appeared on his face as he watched them breathe deeply, lost to the world but safe in slumber.

Then he looked for Seonghwa.

His bed was empty. 

Silently, Hongjoong stood and approached it, just to be sure. The blankets were all disheveled, as if they had just been thrown off for a trip to the outhouse or a midnight snack.

Seonghwa’s bag was still there, leaned against a small table. So he intended to return.

But his gun was missing.

Hongjoong didn’t want to pry, not when it came to Seonghwa’s brother and his complicated heritage. But he had taken his gun and gone alone. Which meant he might need help.

He holstered his own gun and crept downstairs to see a single attendant waiting, half-asleep, at the desk for late night travellers. 

“Did a member of my company leave just now?” He asked, approaching the desk and suppressing his smirk at the way the man started awake and stared at him in surprise.

“Oh, y-yes, a young man your age. He took a room key and said he would be back.”

Hongjoong had figured as much, so he nodded and retreated back upstairs to wake the others.

What was Seonghwa thinking, sneaking off to meet the crown prince when he knew the others would support him and come if he asked?

Hongjoong didn’t get a chance to consider it any further before half a dozen bullets blasted through the window, shattering it with a deafening bang and tearing holes in the curtains.

Hongjoong pressed his back to the door and drew his weapon. A few more steps and he would’ve been riddled with holes himself.

With a whirlwind speed, Wooyoung tumbled out of bed and drew up next to the window, out of sight of their unseen enemies, but close enough to return fire.

Hongjoong mirrored him on the other side of the window, but not before checking that San and Yeosang were alright.

They had dove off the other side of the bed and hurriedly loaded their own guns.

“How many?” San called, poking his head up over the bed. It was impossible to tell who was even firing at them through the mess of cloth and glass that was the window.

Wooyoung grabbed the bottom of the tattered curtains and yanked, pulling down the entire rod and leaning out of the way of the bullets that shot through, embedding themselves in the wall.

He swivelled and returned fire. Both shots missed, but they hadn’t been meant for anyone in particular. He turned back around once he had seen what he had to.

“Fifteen.”

San blanched. “Who sold us out?”

“I paid all the dock hands off,” Yeosang insisted. “It can’t have been any of them.” 

“I don’t think you paid them enough, Yeosang,” San quipped, vaulting over the bed and joining Wooyoung.

The sudden motion was detected and another wave of ammunition was fired through the hole that was the window.

Yeosang leaned out from behind the bed and fired three rounds blind in quick succession. Judging from the screams, at least one hit its mark.

“Well done,” Hongjoong praised, impressed that Yeosang’s marksmanship had improved so much. 

“Seonghwa?” Yeosang asked haltingly as soon as he had surveyed the room fully.

“He just left the building,” Hongjoong reported, taking aim at the right flank of men he could see from his vantage point and firing. “I asked the innkeeper.”

“Seonghwa...” Yeosang repeated, a lilt of realisation in his voice. “It was him, he must have been seen leaving the inn. Why else would they choose now to attack us?”

Hongjoong jumped to deny it, but he had a point. The Admiral would never have waited to pounce. The moment he knew they were in his grasp, he would catch them. They had enough of of a history that he knew not to play with them.

A bullet grazed Wooyoung’s ear while he reloaded and he sunk lower with a gasp. That was too close.

“We can’t take them, Captain,” he asserted. “There are too many and we’re sitting ducks.”

Hongjoong knew he was right, but he returned fire and took out three of them consecutively before addressing it.

“San, do you still carry Babylon’s spellbook pages?”

San fumbled through his pockets until he felt the edges of parchment in his fingers.

Slowly, he nodded. He had promised himself never to use them again, but he had no choice but to grasp them and flinch at the familiarity.

“Is there anything in there that might help us?”

“You’re going to call for help,” Yeosang realised, ducking when a volley of fire sent a particularly large glass shard his direction.

“Yes, I can do it,” San confirmed, leaning over Wooyoung to take out the soldier who grazed him. “Not in the middle of this racket, though.”

“Then run,” Hongjoong ordered. “Get out of town, and get it done. We’ll cover you.”

San bit his lip and glanced at the other two, who nodded him on without hesitation.

This was the only option.

So San holstered his gun while Hongjoong and Wooyoung unleashed fire on the men below and swiftly crossed the window, moving so quickly he was barely a visible flash before he was gone.

“Don’t get shot!” He yelled back, closing the door behind him.

...

The crown prince’s temporary residence was at the highest point on the island, but it was only a short walk from the inn.

Seonghwa didn’t question his luck when the entrance was only guarded by a chatty pair of men who didn’t notice the shadow slipping past them, but he kept his footfalls silent and his senses alert when he reached Junhee’s bedroom.

He had done his fair share of stealthy break-ins as a teenager.

A curtain separated the sleeping prince from the rest of the world.

Seonghwa silently slid the door shut behind him and cleared his throat quietly. He didn’t want Junhee panicking and summoning the guards on him.

This adventure would be ended quickly if that happened.

“I’ve come home, hyung,” he whispered.

The curtain swung open suddenly and Junhee gaped at him. “What is the meaning of this? Guards—“

“No, wait!” Seonghwa leapt forward and covered the prince’s mouth before he could say any more. “Listen to me first.”

Junhee threw him off and backed up into the curtain. “You’re addressing the crown prince,” he sputtered. “Show the proper respect.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Seonghwa sighed, hands raised placatingly. “But you’ve been looking for me, haven’t you?”

Junhee’s brow furrowed and his hand stopped where it had been reaching for his sword. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s me,” Seonghwa whispered, surprised at how the words choked him. He hadn’t practiced but then again, this wasn’t the kind of conversation you could practice for. “It’s your little brother.”

Junhee’s face darkened. “You think you’re the first to come claiming to have been stolen from the palace? You’re lying.”

“I’m not, I swear,” Seonghwa pleaded with him, falling to his knees to show he meant no harm at all. “Why do you choose this moment not to see what you’ve been looking for, when it’s right in front of you?”

“I followed his trail,” Junhee said bitterly, tears gathering in his eyes. He backed away even more, as if scared of the person who knelt in front of him. “He died at sea, on a merchant’s ship.”

“No, he survived,” Seonghwa cried, reaching out his hand. “He’s right here in front of you.”

Something shone in Junhee’s eyes. Something that said he wanted to believe it.

“Show me,” he said.

Seonghwa swallowed. He had been stolen at five. There was hardly any knowledge only he could have of his brother or the royal family. He had grown up a commoner with his nurse for his mother.

And then he remembered something she had told him.

“You gave me this scar, hyung,” he gasped, pushing up his hair for the fine line on his forehead to be visible. “You crept into my room when I was an infant, dropped me accidentally, and only three people know. The nurse who stole me, and the two of us.”

Junhee sunk to his knees and took Seonghwa’s face in his hands. He only briefly glanced at the scar, lingering instead on his little brother’s eyes.

“It is you,” he whispered. “It really is.”

Junhee knew what it was like to not be believed, but he had clung to the truth. And that truth had returned to him, crying tears of joy as he entered his arms.

The reunion was interrupted by gunfire.

The brothers pulled back in surprise and Seonghwa stood and went to the window. 

“What’s going on?” Junhee muttered, wiping his tears. “Has a fight broken out?”

Seonghwa didn’t even have to look. He knew who it was and his stomach dropped at the flashes of light coming from its direction.

“The inn.”

...

Taglist: @serendipityunho @celestial-yunho @nightynightnyx 

A/N: Yay!! I’m done with another term at university :) which means more frequent updates (hopefully) for you guys. This volume is wrapping up, but I have another (at least) in the works and plenty of other stories for you to check out if you so desire. Also I hope the two timelines weren’t too confusing for you. They’ve merged into one now, so everything is happening in succession. Don’t forget to reblog and comment if you enjoyed <3

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[mai-takeda]

The Voyage Part II ft Mai Takeda and Asande Stormborn

“Fire!” Asande barked and the cannons of The Stormdancer leapt to life. Their echoing rounds streaking through the air. Asande watched with a miniscule tug at the corner of her lifts. She felt the rush of the moment, the blood running it’s course through the pathways of her body. She stood near the rail starboard while her other mages positioned themselves in similar fashion. 

The plan was nothing that her crew didn’t already hold familiarity with. Unlike The Black Orchid which loomed closer in their visage, The Stormdancer utilized it’s mages in defense of the ship while allowing artillery and bowman to manage the offensive front. She began to take the crystal in hand and pull at the aether within herself. She knew the other mages would be doing the same in expectation of what was to come.

Mai watched it from the middle of the ship. She had a hand curled around the hilt of her katana sheathed on her hip. On the opposite hilt she had sitting in it’s holder one of the chakram she obtained from the island they visited earlier. Kami please give me strength, she thought. Her hand grew more pale the harder she clutched the hilt. A handful of others stood with her, shoulder to shoulder in the way the Master at Arms had directed. Meanwhile she felt herself cringe inwardly at the booming sounds of the canon fire. Her skin felt like it tingled with the use of magic suddenly being hurled to and from the sparing ships. Her pink lips continued to move in a silent prayer though the whispered words for the safety of those around her and not herself. 

Asande braced herself feeling The Stormdancer’s violent shutter upon being struck when a spell from The Black Orchid got through their defense. 

“Tighten up or I’ll send yer arse to bottom of this watery pit my damned self! They tryin’ to slow our girl!” Asande yelled while preparing the next spell and eyeing the distances of the two vessels. “Prepare to receive these watery fucks!” she exclaimed with the excitement riding her words. “They want a boardin’!”  

An arrow arched over her head from The Black Orchid and there was a cry behind her telling tale of a member of the crew being struck. She ignored it. There was no time for that now. The Black Orchid meant to board The Stormdancer, using it’s superior speed to close the distance. Only moments passed before Asande’s assessment proved to be true. Ropes were loosed with grapples and soon men and women began pouring toward The Stormdancer from The Black Orchid. Many fell in their attempts with arrows in their torso’s or struck with the fierceness of a spell that hurled them back from which they came. Most went to the narrowed space between the two vessels and in the watery depths. 

“Repel the bastards!” the Master at Arms yelled at the line which Mai stood.

Mai pulled the sword of the Takeda free. The crew bellowed and gave war cries as the entire line surged forward to meet the boarders. Mai was silent, eyes intent, moving forward with the rest of the crew. Immediately a curved blade came screaming toward her head. Guided by her reflexes, her sword arm leaped upward, parried the strike and continued her forward progress barreling into the sturdy man to push him off balance and create space. Before he could recover she swung her sword toward his head. The edge making a line toward his neck when at the final moment she turned the blade flat side and lifted her swing so the flat of the blade struck the man in the temple sending him staggering sideways.

He began straightening after shaking his head from the strike when a rapier exploded from his chest. A booted foot planted on his back, shoved him forward toward the planks of the boat and Asande stood there with her bloodied rapier.

“No time for that shite!” she barked at Mai. “Ye strike then ye strike true! Yer life or his. No other fuckin’ way! Ye understand, Mai?”

Before Asande could get an answer she was rushed by another pirate and began letting her rapier dance with his sword. All around the sounds of battle filled the air along with cries of pain from the dead or dying. From the wounded and the maimed. The canons no longer rung and the magic was more precise and consolidated with mages trying to keep harm from either ship.

Mai understood Asande words and had no time for inner reflection before she faced off with another. Parry, thrust, back step, parry again. Mai found herself pressed by the opponent trying to impale her upon the broadsword. He gave another thrust but she leaped swiftly back creating a larger gap while barely avoiding another crewmate. The man looked to charge at Mai once more and she charged toward him in return. The thrusting strike she expected came. Quickly, she stepped inside the strike and brought her sword upwards into his abdomen and digging up into his body cavity. Her eyes widened feeling the penetration of her blade and the look in the man’s face. Immediately she blinked it away, jumped backwards to pull the blade free and moved on to not allow her mind to dwell on the second life she had taken in her years.

“Yer a fuckin’ bastard with salt water in yer damn head,” Asande accused while parrying another strike. “Nothin’ on The Dancer worth yer damned life!”

The Black Orchid’s captain, a sturdy highlander himself, came on again to press attack. His blade flashing and seeking a weak spot in Asande’s defenses. She deftly parried and moved in and out of range of his strikes while her eyes darted. She could hear her Boatswain’s voice joining the others upon the decks repelling the boarders. A sense of tension loosened in her. It was a matter of time and she knew it.

“What are ye after?” she demanded just as her blade’s point creased a line of blood along the side of his face. 

The Black Orchid captain cursed with a free hand going to the cut. “You! The gil on yer head is too much to pass, Stormborn! Too much!”

And he came again. She lowered herself toward the planks below her then pushed off the balls of her feet propelling herself into the air performing a backwards arc. Her feet came down and she waved her sword before her.

“Ye lost. Listen around ye. Nothin’ more ye can do to change what is happenin’ other than to toss that twig in yer hand to the planks and yield. Yer not even good enough with that damned thing to bother me.”

“To the abyss wit you!” the man yelled and began to charge.

Asande, giving him a bored expression turned her rapier point downward, reached inside herself and allowed a ball of aether to pour free at the forward motion of her arms in his direction. It struck him squarely in the chest and threw his body backwards colliding with others in the midst of a dying battle. Crewman from The Black Orchid seeing this finally paused enough to look around. The Stormdancer crew had surrounded the boarders and some were even know giving final strokes to the dying. Their weapons began clattering to the planks after Asande’s eyes turned upon them. 

“Least ye bastards are smarter than this one,” she said stalking toward the opposing captain and leaving the other crew to her Quartermaster to sort. “I didn’t put enough to kill ye,” she said standing over the opposing captain who appeared dazed.

Mai came up to Asande’s side pointedly ignoring her own katana that she held in her right hand. It was lowered and she knew what dripped down it’s edges and point. It was something she didn’t want to see but she knew she would have to face. Instead she focused on the exchange between Asande and this other captain. She came to stand beside her friend who was now slapping the other captain roughly in the face attempting to rouse him. She heard Asande’s words.

“Who is seekin’ my bloody damned head bastard! Who?” 

Mai thought to stop Asande for a moment in case the woman knocked whatever sense was left in the man out but he began speaking. Mumbling really. She leaned closer to hear his words.

“Coldren” the captain mumbled. “It-it was Coldren.”

To this Mai eyed Asande. She heard the other woman gasp and step backwards upon hearing the name. Everything in the other woman seemed to stiffen and before Mai could stop her, Asande gave a thrust of her rapier and sunk it into the man’s chest directly into his heart. 

Mai’s eyes widened. “Asande! H-He was defenseless!” 

Asande didn’t bother looking at Mai. The name she heard continued to play out in her mind. It continued like a chant that held no end. When Mai’s words came to her, she still did not look at the small raen. 

“He made the choice comin’ after me fer coin so let the waters swallow him,” Asande said with a tinge of indifference. “And doin’ it for Coldren no fuckin’ less.” She bent over to wipe her sword on the dead man’s tunic before straightening up and speaking loudly. “May no man nor woman think of comin’ for me and mine again for Coldren! This will be the result!” She jerked a pointing finger at the dead captain. “Ye who wish to join my crew can if my crew accept ye. If not, we shall send ya back to the Orchid after disablin’ yer sails and renderin’ any live mages unconscious. Ye will be able to live another day but not on our trail. My crew will sort ya.” 

And with that Asande turned and stalked away. 

Mai watched the retreating back of her friend, turned her eyes back to the dead captain and then Asande once more.

“Who is Coldren?” she asked herself softly. “And why did she react like that?”

Continuing to watch Asande who began disappearing toward the captain’s quarters Mai shook herself. A sudden throb raged along her side and her eyes jerked toward it along with her free left hand. There was an opening in her toga where a blade had caught her. Blood trickled ran from the cut, seeped through her fingers and with the adrenaline no longer pulsing through her she began to stagger. Pain infused her, weakness lunged for her and she could feel her knees buckling. 

“Oh,” was the only thing she said before darkness took her and she fell to the deck.

Written by myself and @zhauric who plays Asande Stormborn! Hope you all enjoy!

[fanfic-scribbles]

13. Mirror

A/N: Almost late, whew. I had a hard time writing this one, at first. I started much later than I wanted, but once I got going…I didn’t ‘stop’ so much as I imagined I would. I thought this would be, like, 300 words by the skin of my teeth.

Words: 1995. Oops.

Warnings: Nothing, really. Language, mile gore (nothing detailed though).

“Seriously? Like ‘mirror mirror on the wall who’s the fairest of them all’?”

“Was that mirror even evil?” Dean asks and you shrug.

“Can you two focus?” Sam asks. Dean rolls his eyes back onto the road and you grumble and lean over Sam’s shoulder. You don’t actually read the screen because you know Sam’s just gonna rattle it off for you. It’s just as well; the sun is too bright and glaring and the font is tiny. You rest your head on the seat and shut your eyes.

“Deaths have been picking up in the last couple of years, all following this mirror,” Sam says. “One of the more recent victims, Mrs. Sandra Doyle, apparently told her sister she had seen some other woman when she looked into it. A day later, Sandra and her husband were found dead.”

“So like ‘Bloody Mary’?” Dean asks.

You snort. “Bloody Mary isn’t real.”

“Not the historic one. That we’ve found.” Sam smiles with his voice. “But we did get a ghost that once– hey; are you sleeping?”

“Yes, I often talk in full sentences when I sleep.” You crack open one eye to glare at Sam. “The sun’s bright. I’m listening.”

“Ah, it’s okay Sammy. Our little killer’s just daydreaming about pretty blue eyes and what an angel knows what to do with a tie,” Dean says and clicks his tongue.

You think of the myriad ways you can respond to that. Since Cas isn’t here and has been forbidden from popping into the car without prior warning, you go with: “My, my; is that competition I hear?”

“Nah; we decided we’re better off as friends.” Dean’s green eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror and he winks. “You go get ‘im, tiger.”

“Ugh!” You smack the back of his head lightly. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Hey, hey, no hitting the driver.” Dean smirks and your stomach sinks at the promise of embarrassment in his tone. “I don’t care how cranky you are that you’re not gettin’ any.”

“Oh my God, Dean!”

“Anyways!” Sam says loudly over your righteous fuming and Dean’s infuriating laughter. You’re silent and Dean uses that time to otherwise nonverbally gloat. Sam shakes his head. “But seriously, mutilated victims with no other way of entry or not, there’s one thing that doesn’t add up to this being a ghost: there’s always a robbery to go along with the murders.”

“What?” you ask.

“Then how is this even our thing? Psycho burglar?” Dean asks but Sam shakes his head.

“There’s too much about these murders that isn’t humanly possible. But what would a ghost need with money and jewelry?” Sam asks rhetorically. “I figure Dean and I will play FBI and go down to the station and see the bodies. You, take these.” He hands back a pile of print-outs and you start going through them. “In there is the address for the most recent crime scene; it should still be closed off. Take the EMF reader with you and look around for anything strange.”

“All right; we have a plan!” Dean says. “If things go well, by tomorrow we’ll be smashing Cinderella’s evil mirror.”

“Snow White,” you and Sam say in unison.

Dean huffs and grumbles, “Who even cares. Freakin’ nerds.”

“You okay?”

You pant and nod and struggle to sit up. Because you’re you, and the Winchesters still have the shittiest luck in any plane of existence, nothing has gone well. It was a ghost. And a witch. Thankfully, Cas is here, helping you up, and the witch is–

Sam and Dean and you all cry out when you’re thrown away from each other. You feel a little pressure but you slip out from under it, grab your gun, and get back on your feet to see Sam and Dean, suspended and pinned to the wall behind the witch who, while battered and bruised, is now holding a knife at Cas’s throat. It’s not an angel blade and Cas looks like he’s going to smite her where she stands, but you still don’t know where the mirror is.

Cas, let her think she’s won for a second, you pray quickly. Cas blinks, but slowly raises his hands as if surrendering. Dean and Sam look confused but they shut their mouths. You swallow hard, and with your gun still pointed right at her, you force your hands to shake just enough to be noticeable. You can still kill her if necessary, but you need to be convincing.

“Oh, a baby hunter.” She laughs. “How cute. Put the gun down sweetheart, or I’ll slit his throat before moving onto the other ones.”

“I– I can’t!” you say, adding a waver to your voice that makes you sound pathetic and desperate. Sam and Dean force themselves neutral and you’re grateful for it. The last thing you need is Dean making this harder.

“Well, okay then.” She shrugs. “But with the way you’re shaking you’re more likely to hit the giant idiots behind me, or the one in front of me. Keep that in mind.”

You shake your head. You swallow hard again, making sure it’s visible. “Why– why are you doing this? Killing entire families…it can’t really just be for money, can it?”

“What can I say? Spell casting is an expensive hobby,” she says. You’re tempted to roll your eyes. Because there are a few noticeable touch-ups on Samantha’s body that probably weren’t cheap either. And yes, Samantha, because she definitely isn’t young enough to be Sabrina.

“I bet spell ingredients for a hex bag to protect yourself from a murderous ghost are pretty damn pricey,” Sam says.

“Oh honey. I don’t need protection,” the witch says. She narrows her eyes at you and her smile is chillingly wicked. It’s kind of all you can do not to just shoot her in the face. “You came looking for the mirror, right? Well be careful what you wish for, because you’re about to find it. Go to the desk and look behind it.”

You hesitate and she presses the dagger to draw a line of blood. Cas stiffens appropriately and you gasp– legitimately, on instinct. You know Cas is fine, probably doesn’t even feel it, but the sight of him being ‘hurt’ gets you at a gut level. You back up, gun in hand, and do as she says. Bingo, you think as you lean the mirror against the desk and pull away the sheet covering it.

The ghost appears immediately within it and you jerk back a few steps. Dean calls your name, and Cas’s. Cas repeats your name in your head but you’re on high alert now and ‘pray’ a quick, Cas, I’ve got this!

You take aim.

“Are you seriously going to shoot a ghost?” the witch laughs mockingly.

The ghost is a sad, angry thing; she looks young but has long gray hair that waves like it’s being blown by a slow-motion wind. She approaches you with jerky motions, but your eyes travel to a button on her shoulder. At first it seems no different from the one on her other shoulder, but then it glints in the light and in that moment you can tell it doesn’t belong.

You fire and shatter it. The ghost stops. The witch chokes in a breath. The ghost now looks less angry– more confused. You breathe a sigh of relief and relax. “What- what have you done?!” Samantha screams.

“Okay Cas,” you say, dropping all pretense and looking at the hag with as much contempt as you can. The witch, enraged, slices right across Cas’s throat and shoves him forward.

Though you cringe at the sight of Cas with such a gruesome injury, you take no small amount of satisfaction when the witch gapes at him not falling, and the way her eyes widen when he turns back to her. “What are you?!” she gasps and stumbles back.

“Let me show you,” Cas says lowly and holds his hand towards her, going to smite. The ghost suddenly appears next to him and grabs his wrist. He stops and looks at her, and they both stare silently for a moment. Cas lowers his arm and nods his head at the witch.

“No!” she screams and starts chanting. You figure she’s trying to trap the ghost back in the mirror so you do the only thing you can– you grab it and throw it as hard as you can to the floor. The glass smashes to pieces.

“NO!” the witch howls and that’s the last thing she ever says before the spirit gets her hooks into her. You turn away and wince at the sounds that will stay with you forever, but you don’t really regret what you did. Fucked up as it is.

Cas stands next to you and you feel better for his presence, even if he’s only barely touching his hand to your arm. You wait until the noise has ceased and turn to see the ghost, her last victim, and Sam and Dean holding out weapons at her and inching away. The ghost slowly turns back to face you and Cas and she looks tired, with a sad smile.

“No reaper will come to collect you, I’m afraid,” Cas says to her. “You can go on your own, or we can help you along. I recommend letting go, though. You are free now.”

She waits a moment and then nods. She aims a smile at you, and then…glows, and fades into nothing.

You release a breath, as do Sam and Dean. “Good job,” Sam says and ruffles your hair.

“Yeah. We are still torching that mirror,” Dean says, looking at the mess on the floor. “Pick up the pieces and put it on the base; Sam and I are gonna check for hex bags so we can burn it all at once.”

“Gotcha,” you say and kneel down as they leave the room. It isn’t a big job, as everything is contained in mostly one area. As you pick up a large shard that had gotten turned over mirror side up, though, your breath catches in your throat.

In it you can see Cas behind you, looking elsewhere, but stretching out from behind him, curving around you is…you squint. It’s getting fuzzy but that is definitely his wing. And it is, without a doubt his wing, around you. Around you. You feel giddy and test it by moving forward and holy shit it moves with you. You quickly set the piece with the others and resist the urge to look again. It’s probably a coincidence. Hell, the mirror might not even necessarily show the truth. That thought depresses you –you remember a flash of something from the night you were poisoned and it’d be nice to see it when you’re not dying– but you stow the image away as simple wishful thinking.

Later that night you’re all sitting or leaning on Baby’s hood and watching the witch’s implements burn. Including the mirror. Sam comments absently, “I wonder how she trapped the ghost in there. We found the spell work for controlling spirits but nothing mentioned how to place a ghost like that.”

“She put an enchantment on the mirror itself,” Cas says. “I noticed one of the spells on it was to reveal things that cannot normally be seen by the human eye.”

You perk up, a shadow of black feathers crossing your mind. “Really?”

Cas nods solemnly. “It is good that it has been destroyed.”

You find you can’t fully agree with him, but you smile nonetheless. You think of the way that wing curved around you –protective– and the feeling that Cas gave you by his ‘mere presence’ when the ghost was finishing her business with the witch. Was that his wing too? His wings? Singular or plural, you can’t help but have a little hope. Maybe this thing with Cas is a little less one-sided than you thought.

[planarchaosproject]

Planar Chaos: Chapter Twenty-Five

 A Kind of Understanding

Brock finally returned to Lisandra's lonely archives with Kyari's hydra in tow. The elf from Shandalar was waiting for him, tapping her foot in irritation which caused the end of her long, brown braid to swish like the tail of an angry cat. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Brock asked, dismounting the large spider construct that made his expedition possible. "Like what?" Kyari replied. "You look like my mo..." he trailed off, catching himself. "Like Tamiyo when she's disappointed." The Soratami planeswalker may have helped to take care of him, but she couldn't ever be considered a mother. "Just go." Kyari rolled her eyes. "You could thank me, at least," Brock said indignantly. He planted his feet squarely on the ground and stood there waiting for an apology or expression of gratitude. "Why?" Kyari barked. "You're the one who lost it in the first place. I didn't ask to get captured. It was your responsibility, after all, to take care of the hydra if anything happened to me. You promised. But I see just how seriously you take your promises. I see what care means to you." "I kept my promise, Kyari. I got it back for you. Why can't anything ever be simple with you?" "The world is not black and white, Brock," she said, brushing past him. The speed of her passing caused his yellow and blue robes to rustle. "It seems to me that all your mentors understood that, so why can't you?" How could he tell her? How could he explain the feelings he got about certain things, certain people? It was nothing so simple as being able to judge a man's soul. They were vague premonitions about things to come. Everything was so muddy that all he wanted was some clarity. What were these obfuscated catastrophes, was there a way he could avert them? Brock didn't know. He never really knew. He heaved a sigh. It was becoming more and more apparent that he would have to seek out Master Narset, his foster mother, or both. But would Tamiyo even want to see him after the way he'd treated her? What if she had too many children to have any time for him anymore? When he'd first planeswalked, he remembered she finally had an infant of her own and was expecting another. Her husband, Genku, had been so happy. Brock shook his head. He'd cross that bridge when he arrived. For now, he decided to wander through the archives in search of Marthel. He understood Kyari in a way Brock never really could. He might be able to help. After several minutes wandering, he heard the sound of uncontrollable sobbing. Worried that it might be Kyari or Sa'Raah, he rushed towards the noise only to stop dead in his tracks. The Voidcaller was sitting in what appeared to be a half-completed book fort, not unlike the ones small children would make in Ojutai's monasteries. The dragonlord had long been fascinated with this aspect of humanity. Dragons on Tarkir did not have anything resembling play, nor did they have a youth. Brock took note of the miniature spider automatons scattered around the fort. Seven littered the ground. The eighth was lifeless in the Voidcaller's shaking hands. Her focus seemed to be entirely on this one. "No," she gasped between sobs. "Come back. Please. I'm not bad. I didn't mean to..." Brock had never seen her so vulnerable, not even when her chest was split open. Part of him realized that if he wanted to avert untold suffering, this was his chance. They were alone, certainly nobody was anywhere close or they would have heard the sobbing. The other part of him, the part he typically tended to disregard, told him that violence might not be the way to prevent disaster. She was obviously upset over the broken spider in her hands, and could she really be upset over something so minuscule if she were truly evil? Well of course she could, Brock told himself. The Voidcaller was unpredictable, unstable, and always the wrong trigger away from destroying the world she happened to be on at the time. Whether she actually had that power or not had never occurred to him, and likely never would. The sobbing began to subside when Ashleigh realized she was being watched. Between sniffles, she managed to croak out "Are you here to kill me for breaking the spider? Even you have to admit that's overkill." Brock just blinked in confusion by way of a response. "I didn't mean to do it. A little bit of static, and it must have fried the little guy's circuits. I can't fix it. Can you?" She held out the spider to Brock, a pleading look on her face. From this angle she almost looked like a child, all big, green eyes and quivering lips. "I'm afraid none of us here are any good at artifice, except maybe Marthel. But he's not very good at anything in particular." "He's good at learning," Ashleigh replied, turning her gaze back to the spider. She stroked the gem implanted in its head. "He can learn to do anything. I'm stuck stealing other people's knowledge. What good is all this power if I can't use it to do anything useful?" "Tell me about it," Brock said, unaware the words had left his mouth. "You probably get it, right?" Ashleigh began. "You were raised with a completely different race, never fitting in or anything. You always knew you were different." Brock felt a twinge in his chest at the accuracy of her assessment. "And it's like, when I was just a random cultist, I at least belonged somewhere. But now, knowing what I know and doing what I can do, I can't really go anywhere. And the voices don't help. They just yell and scream and chatter and whisper all at once and it drives me insane. I don't want to be crazy. I want to be normal so I can go and do things with everyone else but I just can't without it pushing me out of the crazy tree, onto the crazy carriage, and over the crazy cliff. Do you know what it's like never being able to get a moment's peace and quiet? Of course not. You're a monk. I've tried all that meditation stuff and trust me, whatever happened to me when Maralen reversed the Great Aurora, it's permanent. No amount of deep breaths or chanting works. Abby kind of works, but I can't be with it all the time, because what about when I have to sleep? I'm not a vampire like Lissy or Vilhelm and I can't subsist on the dew of a single ginko leaf and the energy of the universe like you can. And then everyone thinks I'm bad because I get a little overexcited and forget about things like safety and private property and the value of sapient life." "See, that doesn't make people think you're evil. It just makes you evil," Brock replied. This caused Ashleigh to burst into tears again. "I know," she sobbed. "And I want to fix it but I can't." Did she really? Could Brock even trust this display? He searched his feelings and they hadn't changed. Untold destruction would come at the hands of the Voidcaller and her pet abomination. He needed to find a way to ensure that it never came to pass. "Why am I not surprised that you're making my girlfriend cry?" Brock turned to see Odom leaning against a tower of books behind him. "C'mon, man, I thought we'd sat down and talked about this." "Your judgment is clouded by emotion, Odom," Brock responded. "Oh, like yours isn't? You go all Johnny Storm and flame on whenever you get upset. The only person I've never seen you get hostile with is Kyari." "That's a blatant lie." "You're right. The whole library heard your little exchange earlier." Odom strode past Brock and knelt down in front of the book fort. "Let me see it, Ash." She reluctantly handed over the broken spider. "I'm not very good at artifice, but creating life forms is something I have experience in. Maybe I can apply those same principles to get this little guy working again." Odom scrutinized the limp metal joints and popped open the head to look inside. "Fair warning, I might explode again." This comment elicited a giggle from Ashleigh. After a few tweaks, the eight spiders whizzed back to life and Odom wiped a disproportionate amount of sweat from his brow for the amount of time that had passed. "For the record, both of you have no idea how stressful that was." Brock merely rolled his eyes and walked away. He still couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was being too harsh on the Voidcaller, though.

0000000

"Listen, Rhyne, you and I need to come to an understanding." Vilhelm crouched in front of the wild man's cage. "Why is that?" Rhyne absentmindedly picked at his fingernails, a favorite pastime of his when bored. "In order to continue on this expedition and have a shot of getting out of here, you need to come out of that cage. In order to do that, you need to prove you aren't dangerous. That means no more cannibalism talk." "So I can't kill and eat those delicious looking morsels out there?" He waggled his eyebrows and grinned menacingly at Lisandra and Sa'Raah. Both of them cringed visibly. "I want the dragon-girl dead too, as does Rinok, but now is not the best time. There is a time for your appetites to be satiated, but that isn't now. You need patience." Rhyne scoffed at the vampire. "Have you seen what patience has done to the wilds of Jund? I have many fond memories of that plane, and the irrevocable disruption of the food chain isn't something I'm happy with. There's not enough ferocity. You can't really achieve the levels of fitness that existed before." "And I'm sure all your women and wine and devouring of humanoid flesh is going to keep you fit as a fiddle. But we need these people right now. We need them so we can continue with the plan." "Never been a fan of plans. I let the chips fall where they may and if I'm infinitely rewarded, then so be it." Vilhelm pressed on the bridge of his nose. "I need you to work with us, here. I promise it'll be worth your while." Rhyne spit a piece of fingernail out of his mouth. "I've never eaten death-drinker before, so for your sake it had better be."