#let me just present to you the idea: graves with some silver at his temples and maybe in his beard. you're welcome

[vaguely-concerned]

okay so I’ve been idly thinking about where graves and tf might eventually settle down if they ever had enough of running around dodging the law and bounty hunters at every turn (it’s important to have a pension plan *hollow millennial laughter*) and I’ve come up with something like this: 

- bilgewater, demacia and the freljord are all right out. I’m thinking they’re just too well known in bilgewater -- the whole town did come out to watch them get sunk to the bottom of the ocean and while it is by far my favourite region on runeterra it ain’t no place for old men lol. demacia is no good to anyone connected to magic and also is just... so boring lord almighty, and the freljord is a miserable icy wasteland even for people who grew up there (I say this as a scandinavian) 

- noxus, piltover and zaun are ‘maybe but probably not’s. noxus might be the most likely, just because it’s so darn big that it must be possible to find somewhere out of the way to lie low, but in all these places they’re uh super wanted dead or alive style. piltover’s a stuffy capitalist nightmare so I can’t see them lasting long there, and zaun gives you (magic?) lung cancer with every breath for free, no good

targon is also here because like I guess? but I can’t for the life of me give a shit about that place and I can’t imagine what the hell they’d be doing up there with the demigods and the goatherds     

- which leaves my two most likely candidates: shurima and ionia! they don’t seem to have operated in ionia much if at all and it’s usually pretty chill there, so that should be a safe-ish bet for them, but I guess it all depends on how the new noxian invasion is going to work out eventually. shurima is a similar story -- maybe somewhere along the coast? (which would technically be noxian territory in quite a few places but like very in the outskirts. man noxus is like a mintplant it gets fuckng everywhere) azir is apparently doing some stuff to bring life back to the desert there as well; I have no idea what kind of time frames that works on but it might be a factor down the line. 

(alternatively considering their sort of nomadic backgrounds and how they might not vibe with thinking of ‘home’ as one specific place exactly: they keep travelling from place to place except mostly where no one actively wants to kill them, maybe with the runeterran equivalent of a camper van because that would be hilarious)  

I suppose a more apt question would be whether they’d ever mellow out enough with age and successful heists to manage to actually settle down and find other interests to occupy their time, without the urge to do something huge and flashy and illegal getting the better of them haha. I sort of want them to pull off a job that’s so wildly, cosmically big that anything else they could try really does seem like peanuts in comparison and then they idk use some of their ill-gotten gains to have a little farm or a nice place by the sea or something and be the weird but cool gay uncles to the kids in the nearby village    

[save-the-spiral]

Fingerprint of Midas, Trace My Reflection

Dialogue of parent’s crystal and Gortez’ monologue are direct from Pirate101. I based the end fight off of my own experiences solo-ing this dungeon. Warnings for graphic depictions of violence and blood.

(read it on Ao3!)

Darling Alexander Dove was a young captain of just seventeen when he earned what little was left of the legendary Captain Gunn’s treasure. The meager pile atop a volcano was followed by a very contrite Ratbeard. As first adventures go, it was pretty damn good, especially with the freedom he now had to explore the Skull Island Skyways.

Avery gave him another task as a reward- to present a treaty to the Monquistan governor of Puerto Mico, an almost adorably small city of white limestone, full of stuck up little idiots. Alexander was only held back from punting them off their little dollhouse town by Bonnie Anne, his right hand, and a pretty good straight man for his ideas, considering she was a lesbian.

Now, leaving the ancient ruins, and entering the ex-monquistan governor Gortez’ realm, Alexander was excited yet again. His crew followed him as he walked across the village of wild monquistans and rebellious water moles. The thrill of battle was humming in his veins, ready to be set loose, perfect plans coming together and adapting. The exciting conclusion for another adventure.

How would this end? An exciting chase for treasure, for the golden monkey? More volcano battles, more crew mates gained, even if it is to the chagrin of the ever serious and practical Sarah Steele, his fellow Swashbuckler?

Alexander was challenged to fight the greatest warrior of the Valley by the wild monquistan leader, one on one. His crew looked at him funny. Lucky Jack Russel, a friend of his parents’, even offered to take his place, as if he stood a better chance just by raw muscle.

While many other captains would be insulted, Alexander knew what he presented himself as. He was young, barely growing a beard, and rather childish at times. He liked having fun, he liked sparkly, pretty clothes, especially in pink and black, his flag’s colors. He liked to drink his fair share of yum, liked to do daring things, and anyone who looked at him easily assumed he was a vain, vapid idiot. And, to be fair, they weren’t completely wrong. 

But Alexander was a swashbuckler, learning from the best of Skull Island. He was the favorite of Avery, and had some of the finest up and coming pirates in his crew. He had a silver tongue, according to Bonnie Anne, even if he always preferred gold aesthetically.

Ordaz was large, sure. The huge warrior held intimidation in spades, throwing around barrels of dynamite as soon as Alexander hid himself from sight. The blinding squeeze of feathers and scales for one moment, and then even in broad daylight no one could spot him. It was easy to wait, watching as Ordaz worked himself up into an exhausting rage.

Then came Alexander's first and final strike, blades held aloft as he kicked off of a barrier of sandbags, knocking the large man down, and keeping him there. The gleaming black void of the warriors eyes, and the pulse he could feel rioting against his blades, reverberating up into his fingers, was invigorating. When the wild monquistan stared at him, startled at the sight of the first human to pass the trial, Alexander just smirked, twirling his shorter blade of the pair, and shrugged.

“Big guy must’ve been tired, it is quite hot out, y’know.” Alexander drawled in his Skull Island accent, plain in comparison to the soft musical rolls of the Monquistans’ speech.

His crew stayed in the small town as he went and got spider eggs, trying to prove himself a provider akin to Gortez in order to please the small taskmaster. This, too, was simple. After all, his cloaking abilities were not limited to battle, and the spiders crawling the area were not exactly attentative to their broods.

He returned easily, nose scrunched as he complained about the spider webs on his boots and stuck in his hair, causing Bonnie Anne to scoff and roll her eyes. He tossed a few extra eggs to Fan Flanders, who grinned a cute froggy smile in thanks for the snack, and gave the rest to the monquistan, eyebrows raised as the little ex-conquistador tried not to act flustered.

“Go into the Cave of Many Voices, and touch the glowing stones. Return to me when you have heard the spirit voices.” He ordered as a final task before finally meeting Gortez.

“Does it matter if my crew joins me this time?” Alexander was getting bored of being alone. 

“It shouldn’t” The monkey frowned.

With another cavalier shrug, Alexander led his crew up to a cave entrance. Bonnie Anne and Sarah Steele flanked him, Ratbeard and Subodai behind them, Jack Russel and Fan Flanders trailing. Old Scratch was left on the ship, keeping The Bronze Hunter from being ransacked by cowards who would rather steal than fight for their prize.

The cave was far more spacious than Alexander would have guessed. Smooth, well trodden stone was under their feet, large glowing magenta crystals jutting out of every wall, down from the ceiling as well. A large bouquet of crystals stood out in the middle of the chamber, small offerings of feathers and bananas at the crystals’ base. 

“Not exactly my color, but I’ll take it.” Alexander muttered, causing Bonnie Anne to huff and roll her eyes, Sarah and Fan snickering. “Stay back y’all, some amazing spirit listenin’ is about to go on, don’t want anyone caught in the crossfire.”

Bonnie Anne snorted this time. “Yes Captain.” She said, nudging him with an elbow before stepping back, nodding at the rest of the crew to do the same.

Alexander walked up close to the largest crystal, wider than him, scraping the stone ceiling. He saw his own reflection, a slightly stubbly young man, obvious Mooshu features, pierced ears, long black hair. The golden buttons on his coat and boots shone in the light emanating from the crystals, the blades at his hips sending small beams of purple light onto the walls.

He casually took off his gloves, stuffing them on the inside of his jacket pocket. He examined his nails, painted black and slightly chipped, for a moment, before continuing on.

Alexander placed his palms flat against the large crystal, head bowed, and was startled to hear an echoing, familiar voice.

“Son… hear me!” Rang out in the small cavern, feminine, with a hint of a rural Mooshu accent.

When Alexander looked back up, his reflection showed a strange, flickering vision of his mother. Her soft, round cheeks, the crows feet around her eyes, the intricate braid cluttered with small charms from her husband, her crimson tricorne with a deep black feather, all the same as the day she left, seven years ago.

A masculine voice, thick with emotion and a strong Grizzleheim trader’s accent, joined the first voice.

“Find us! Find our grave! We are waiting for you!” 

The reflections showed a different person, taller, closer to Alexander’s height, with his nose, and long braided blonde hair, bright, mischievous eyes, now full of sorrow, tears streaking into the bushy beard that Alexander would complain about because of how it itches during hugs. Alexander leaned closer to the crystal, stunned.

“I’d know those voices anywhere.” Jack Russel mutters, not helping at all, just wanting to say something, anything.

“Shining city…” The voices of his parents warbled, echoing strangely again, “El Dorado! The Key to El Dorado! Find us! We are waiting… Go to the-”

The crystals dimmed, the reflections leaving without Alexander noticing- as if they hadn’t been there in the first place- and his hands fell to his sides, cold as ice. His soft features turned harsh, his usually smirking mouth twisting into a sneer, the tan skin of his face wrinkling in the same flash of a moment where his left hand moved, punching at the flat crystalline face of the gem.

“CAPTAIN!” Bonnie Anne dragged him back, her taller frame taking advantage as she yanked him off his now kicking feet, heavy heels digging into her stocking covered shins, before Jack Russel darted in front of Alexander, hands on the young captain’s shoulders. 

“Captain. Captain- we have a job to do. You can’t let this stop you, you can’t-”

Alexander continued swearing and snarling, hands curling into fists.

Bonnie Anne stepped back, leaving room as she dropped him on his ass.

“Now is not the time to act like a fucking child, Dove. Don’t start acting like those stupid monquistans and go rogue on us.” Bonnie Anne’s accent sunk into her tirade, and though Alexander had years of experience understanding Bonnie Anne, he really knew he was in deep shit when she called him Dove. 

Not Captain, not Alexander, but Dove, the little boy she met on the streets, the brat who couldn’t even hold a knife right.

Alexander stopped, hands scraped and bruised now, his knuckles purple with potential breaks. He carded his right hand through his hair, letting the tie come loose so he could fix it into some semblance of order as he calmed himself.

“Sorry Annie.” Alexander’s voice was hoarse now.

Bonnie Anne motioned the rest of the crew out of the cave, kneeling down and leaning on the sturdy Scaramanga musket Alexander fetched for her months ago, the black walnut, dark steel, and gold bands all gleaming with her meticulous weapon maintenance. Her pointed face of russet and white fur faced him, dark and clever eyes piercing him to the bone as always.

“It’s been years since you’ve lost it like that, Alexander.” Bonnie’s matter-of-fact tone cut him down even more.

“It’s also been years since I’ve heard my parents’ voices, Bonnie Anne.” 

“I know better than anyone else, but Alexander, you can’t just break down like that. Not while we’re in the middle of a mission, especially not if lives are on the line. Imagine if that happened mid-battle, if you couldn’t direct us? The thing that separates us from every other amateur crew is direction is you, and your brilliant mind.” She poked his temple, careful of her short claws, and then held his hands. “You lead us, Alexander. You aren’t just an orphan street rat, not anymore, and I'm not either. We will find your parents. We’ll figure out this whole El Dorado thing, but not today. Today we bring Gortez to Puerto Mico, whether he wants to go or not.”

Alexander nodded, and roughly dragged on his pink gloves. 

“There’s my captain.” Bonnie Anne grinned, small, sharp teeth on display, and Alexander hyped himself up internally, until he could smirk just like always.

“Onward, Right Hand Bonnie Anne.” He finally said, his Rs rough, enunciated like a proper pirate.

“Aye aye, Captain Alexander.” She stood, offering a hand, which he grabbed, letting her pull him back onto his feet. 

They shared a nod, a resolve, and continued on. No one else in the crew spoke as they walked back to the monquistan giving the trials. The pair of Monquistans at the gate simply looked at Alexander and opened the gate, not even having to speak a word. The gate, a simple construction of reeds and long grass, whistled faintly as it opened, an ominous, low tone. 

Fan, Jack Russel, and Subodai rested at the foot of the stairs, following Alexander’s earlier laid plans. A four person battle, just Alexander, Sarah, Bonnie Anne, and Ratbeard.

The gold of the temple’s head shone in the sunlight, clean and resplendent against dirtied, carved stone. Vines played at being tripwires, cracked steps and damp moss added to the hazards as they climbed ever upwards, stopping only once they reached the top, staring deep into the shadowed entrance, shielded now from the hot jungle sun. 

It was no wonder this island drove these men mad, Alexander thought.

The jungle breathed humidity into your lungs as if you had just been saved from drowning. The bugs chittered and watched for weakness like vultures. The flowers were sickly sweet with death, be it a poison of touch, fragrance, or taste. The indigenous to this land were rightfully angry, knowing the island better than any conquistador. The Isle of Doom was a frightful place, it stared at you from every shadow and when it struck it was with an inhuman intelligence.

Alexander led the way into Gortez’ home, hands at his hips, fingers twitching with the urge to clutch his blades like a child would a teddy bear.

The dim lighting was annoying, and made it harder to get a proper layout of the large chamber. Alexander squinted and adjusted his tricorne hat, his gaze caught by the large figure in the room. The Gorilla was draped in pieces of Monquistan finery and armor, as well as painted with abstract yellow lines in his dark fur.

“Gortez, I take it?” Alexander called out, only to be ignored. That sent a sharp blade of anger through his mind, but he still smiled. After all, those who ignored Darling Alexander Dove one day learn to regret it.

“You’re here. Are you an assassin? No. I’ll tell you what you are. You’re an organ grinder, sent by circus clowns, to make me do a dance. I refuse.” Gortez’ deep timbre rumbled around the spacious room, from his roost atop a pedestal, lounging on a pile of treasure. The gorilla shifted, before speaking again.

“Those simpering fools at home, those tamed lapdogs- they’ve no right to judge me. They have no idea what I’ve found here. They’d refuse to see it. Look around you. The creatures that built these temples shattered mountains to raise their perfect pyramids. They drew gold down from the stars. They lived like Titans, and now they’re gone. But the trees remain. The jungle beat them- it will destroy us all, unless we become one with it.”

Gortez leaned forward, as if he were a mere inch away and not meters of distance, as well as a throne. His golden attire gleamed in the light, his form basking in the sun from the skylight above him. Already Alexander’s mind whirled with possibilities as Gortez continued his dramatics.

“The trees spoke to me and showed me the way. When I saw this place, shining gold burning like fire, I knew who I was. I found the Gold Monkey.” Gortez smiled now, tusklike teeth spreading his face unnaturally wide, unsettling, by how Bonnie Anne and Sarah both grumbled behind Alexander. 

“The fools in Puerto Mico think the Gold Monkey is another priceless toy for them to steal. They are wrong- the Gold Monkey is me!” The wild man began to work himself up into a fervor, eyes shining with a feral intelligence, his smile ever widening. “They want to stop me- but they are too good to make the trip themselves. Cowards! I will send them an answer- your broken bones! Children!”

At his last, sharp bark of words, more small Monquistans came to attention, prepared for battle. 

Alexander led his small crew to the front left corner as he moved away from the entrance, mind racing as the battle began a. He used a skill his trainer taught him, crossing his blades, readying himself to take a shot if it was intended for his allies. Sarah, as he always planned, cloaked herself in the shadows. Ratbeard moved forward, putting himself between the small group of Monquistans and the crew. Bonnie Anne loaded a round into her musket, growling faintly.

As Gortez watched on, like an Aquilan emperor of old at a gladiator game, Ratbeard yelled, swarmed by Gortez’ ‘children’.

“You bleedin’ coward! Gonna stay up on your throne?!” His gruff voice echoed, as well as a grunt of pain as he took another shot from the small crossbow carrying monkeys.

“The mechanisms-” Bonnie Anne started.

“-Like the troggie temple.” Alexander nodded, then cloaked himself in shadows, directing Sarah to the back left mechanism, Ratbeard to the one right of the door, and Bonnie Anne to the one in their starting corner, as he cloaked himself to sneak around the tall pedestal, to take the farthest carved totem.

Bonnie Anne backed up from the fray, taking a potshot at one of the small spearmen before using the butt of her Scaramanga to jolt the mechanism, making it spin and clunk. 

Sarah Steele raced under the cover of her shadows, hugging the wall, and when she reached the mechanism she sheathed her swords for a moment, turning her back and pushing with her shoulder until she too heard a satisfying clunk.

Alexander took longer getting to his place, constantly turning to look at the others, to ensure their safety. However, he too got to his mechanism, and he kicked it viciously, only to turn around at yet another cry of pain from Ratbeard.

Ratbeard pushed through the small crowd of Monquistans, kicking and cursing them and slashing with his large sword, pulling no punches for the annoying buggers. His rough slash sent his own mechanism clunking into place, but as he turned to fight again, the gang of monkeys began to overwhelm him.

Alexander gestured Ratbeard towards him, frantically preparing a small healing spell, from his privateer-made amulet, stolen from the Maria Celestia, a ghost infested ship, months ago. 

The mechanisms finally clicked and aligned, all of them revealing carved statues carrying reflective plates. The reflection sent beams of harsh sunlight towards Gortez, burning him with the intensity, causing him to finally move with the pain of it all.

Gortez himself jumped from his mighty throne, down to fight alongside his children. His large one-handed battleaxe sliced deadly arcs through the air, with all the grace of a prima ballerina. He was still trained from childhood to become a conqueror and murderer, and will never forget those lessons, paid in blood thousandfold. His massive, muscled body rippled with his rage as he pounded his chest, directing his rage towards those closest to him, the now gathered Sarah Steele and Bonnie Anne standing strong next to each other.

“I trained my warriors to set villages on fire, but the Bishops won’t let them throw bananas because it is unseemly!” Gortez roared, living to his reputation of a warrior poet once again.

As Gortez made yet another journey where the path would only be eased with the viscera of his enemies, Alexander tried to get within range of Ratbeard, to heal him. But he was far too late, and Ratbeard passed out at his feet, unconscious from multiple wounds, which turned the remaining children of Gortez’ anger to Alexander.

With a helpless shrug, Alexander hopped over a majority of the Monquistans, to their impotent rage. As he neared Gortez and his remaining crew members, he watched the gorilla fight back, and was astounded.

Gortez was a large man, but moved easily, slamming the flat side of his axe into Bonnie Anne’s chest, pushing her back, before turning to Sarah Steele, and slashing at her until she fell down, unconscious.</p>

<p>With a growl, Bonnie Anne shot Gortez point blank, the sparks of her musket blinding him, allowing Alexander to sneak behind him. As Gortez turned towards the new sound he swung, hitting Alexander and causing many of his golden buttons to go flying to the stone floor as the axe cleaved from side to side. In return, Alexander stabbed him in the belly, flipping off of the mountain of a man before stabbing him with both blades yet again, blood flying and painting his pink coat red as he raked downwards, fur and skin flying until he hit the floor again, and kicked off of the gorilla, leaving his monkey children to tend to him now that the battle was decidedly won.

Bonnie Anne supported Ratbeard on her shoulder, and Alexander helped Sarah Steele, with her much more lithe and lighter body. A musketeer used to carrying a mini cannon is much better suited to carrying Ratbeard, rather than Alexander’s much more acrobatic trained muscles.

Gortez stood near the entrance, woozy and leaning against it. “Do not take my children- just me. You only wish to bring me to justice, right?” 

Alexander nodded, still scowling.

One of the feather adorned Monquistans approached him, his crossbow unstrung and on his back now. 

“Let me join your crew, captain. I will prove helpful, and my loyalty is undying.”

“Let’s not hope so, we do have a witchdoctor in our numbers.” Bonnie Anne’s snout wrinkled with the thought of an undead monkey, and the smell accompanying that.

“You’re on the crew.” Alexander said curtly, Sarah Steele coming to, and slowly standing on her own at his side. “But, little man, if you ever betray my crew, I will make this jungle seem like a haven of mercy.”

The crazed Monquistan nodded, eyes reverent, still glazed with something, either a true malady of the mind, or a hallucinogenic substance, like Alexander privately hypothesized, to Bonnie Anne's never ending amusement.

“Welcome to the crew of the Darling Captain Alexander Dove, Monquistan.” Bonnie Anne said, smiling now. “You’re in for a wild ride.”

[therealcalicali]

An Inconvenient Wife

Imagine: Your life getting turned upside-down when the Gods see fit to use you as a source of diversion.

Pairing:  Ivar x Reader and Reader x OC

Warning: Pure Angst

This is a gift for @tephi101

___________________

"I cannot believe this is happening." You vented as your husband Grimwald placed your combs inside a leather satchel. "That man is a monster! I swear on my father's grave, I'll kill him in his sleep. I’ll......I’ll gut him and leave him drowning in his own blood."

After tying the strings of the bag, your husband looked at you with great sorrow in his eyes. Always the introverted sort, he remained quiet. Although just as angry as you were, he was actually more heartbroken than anything else. 

Simply put, Grimwald was beside himself with a pain that he couldn't put it into words. Meanwhile, you were busily cursing the King in your mind.

"How dare that cripple treat everyone like his possessions? Isn't it enough that he is King and a self-proclaimed God?" You thought. “His stupid mother cursed us all when she didn’t leave him to die!”

"Y/N, please don't say such things aloud." Grimwald pleaded before placing a hand on your knee. "Someone could overhear and report back to him."

"So let them! Why should I bite my tongue about that bastard?"

"You have every right to feel as you do but I'm begging you to hide your disdain. Trust me. I am working on our escape from Kattegat but we can't do that if you're dead. Remember, the King is known for his impulsive nature."

"Then that makes two of us. Let us see which one will win out in the end!"

"Y/N----"

Scrambling to your feet, you hastily made your way out of the humble cabin. You needed fresh air quickly before you either collapsed or went mad. This was your life and you had no desire to leave any of it behind.

________________________

Taking a seat on a tree stump, you noticed that after many cloudy days, the sun had finally shown itself. But you couldn't find joy in it because this was indeed the worst day of your life.

When it was announced that King Ivar was to take a second wife, you had found it amusing. The madman really thought he deserved not one but two women at his side. It was hilarious in your eyes. But other than gossiping about it with friends, you didn't really dwell on the matter.

Never would you have guessed that his decision would ultimately impact your life directly. But as your father always said, the Gods were ironically cruel.

A few months prior, you were happily assisting Grimwald in his jewelry shop when the King and Queen entered. Apparently, they were spending the day purchasing gifts to celebrate their third year of marriage. They browsed a while and after Freydis tried on a few rings, the King became belligerent.

Despite Grimwald being one of the most talented craftsmen around, Ivar scoffed at the collection. Going so far as to call the pieces "simplistic" in their design. He made more rude remarks before your temper eventually got the best of you.

Before you could stop yourself, you told the King to take his business elsewhere if he was so inclined. You also added that many wealthy patrons loved your husband's work so he was a liar with bad taste. 

Was King Ivar ever furious! 

The entire shop fell deathly silent as he stared you down as if he was going to kill you on the spot. Then, to everyone's surprise, he smirked before demanding that you to defend your statements. 

More than happy to oblige, you praised Grimwald's work and spoke highly of all he had accomplished over the years. 

Oddly enough, the Queen seemed amused and watched with great interest as you conversed with her husband. In the end, Ivar allowed Freydis to finish her shopping. 

Little did you know that the chance meeting would have far reaching implications.

_________________________

King Ivar visited the shop numerous times afterward. Sometimes with the Queen in tow, but generally, he came alone. Strangely enough, he would go out of his way to engage you in conversation as he browsed. Most of the time, intentionally saying things to get under your skin. Naturally, you responded with your usual bluntness causing Grimwald to raise a brow often.

But that was the extent of it all.

It was a relief when the visits eventually stopped after some time. But then, one day, a messenger arrived at your home. To your horror, the man announced that King Ivar had chosen you to be his second wife. You were so hysterical, you unsheathed Grimwald's sword and chased the poor man off your property.

But despite all your loathing and rantings, the day had arrived. The King himself would soon arrive to escort you to his home.

"There you are." Grimwald said as he walked over.

He took a seat on the ground beside you and remained silent for some time. Eventually, he produced a blue velvet pouch from his tunic and placed it in your hand.

"What is it?" You asked.

"It's something I have secretly been working on. Go on. Take a look."

You opened the velvet pouch to reveal a leather necklace with a silver war-hammer pendant. The pendant itself was encrusted with an onyx stone and lovely pearl.

"It's so…..beautiful. I can't believe you actually used my idea."

"You should know by now that I’m a man of many surprises. Anyhow, let me put it on for you."

Grimwald stood and went behind you. After you handed him the necklace, he secured it in place before pressing his lips to your bare shoulder. You promptly turned to look at him, your eyes already welled with tears. Placing your hands on his cheeks, you studied every feature of your husband's face. From his intense eyes to the birthmark upon his temple - you admired it all.

Suddenly, someone cleared their throat. When the two of you turned around, you were confused at seeing the Queen and some of her guards.

"Pardon the intrusion." Freydis said cheerfully. "Unfortunately, the King is indisposed so I have come to escort you instead. It's actually a blessing in disguise. The two of us can get better acquainted before you are formally presented."

Your teeth clenched as you fought the urge to split her head open with the nearby axe. 

She behaved as if she was unable to see your misery. Before you could even get a word out, Ivar's men descended like locust. Some set about taking your possessions to the horse drawn wagon while others began forcing you toward the Queens carriage.

They were so pushy that you actually had to break free in order to embrace Grimwald one last time. As you held him close, you whispered that you loved him more than anything in the world. In response, he promised to secure passage out of Kattegat as soon as possible. 

When you kissed him, the guards swiftly pulled you away. Within seconds, you found yourself tossed into the Queen's carriage and headed to your new home.

_________________________

Your head ached the entire journey. After all, holding in one's rage had a detrimental effect on the body. As for Queen Freydis, she was either unaware of your mood or simply ignoring it. She spent the ride educating you about Ivar's preferences and annoyances. Predictably, his list of annoyances was quite long.

After what seemed like hours, the procession ultimately arrived in front of the massive estate.

The sun was already waning when you were led indoors by a horde of awaiting servants. After you were given an uncomfortably warm bath, you were dressed in an extravagant gown. It was deep red in color with meticulous embroidery and a ridiculous amount of embellishments. 

Most likely something chosen by the King himself.

When one of the Thralls tried to remove your leather necklace in order to replace it with an expensive one, you refused. There was nothing in the world that would part you from Grimwald's gift. Giving in, the women led you toward the Great Hall where Ivar awaited. 

________________________

Other than the Queen, who was sat beside King Ivar, the only other people present in the Great Hall were guards.

"Please, don't stand so far away." Freydis beckoned. "There is no need to be to be afraid. After all, this is now your home."

"No, it isn't. You snapped. "I do not wish to be here."

Ivar's brow furrowed and he looked at you in a peculiar manner. However, he kept partaking of his mead.

"I understand that this must be difficult for you. We have uprooted you from your normal life." Freydis began with genuine sympathy. "But in time, you will get accustomed to this new life as well."

"With all due respect, my Queen, I will never like it here. I love my husband and I have no desire to replace him with anyone. King or otherwise."

"I expected you to say that." Freydis confessed. "But you should know that Ivar did not select you on his own. I had an ominous dream after our first meeting. So, in order to make sure that I had interpreted it correctly, I went to the Oracle. He also confirmed my thoughts. Afterward, I kept the revelations to myself. It was only a short time later that my husband told me of his intentions to take you for a bride. So you see, you were destined to be here."

You were growing tired of her attempts to convince you to comply. Queen Freydis may have enjoyed being the wife of Ivar the 'Boneless' but you had no desire for that title. As handsome as he was, you disliked him greatly. Not just because of the wars he had waged against his brothers but the tales of his infamous blood-lust.

"Enough of this talk." Ivar interrupted. He then passed his horn to a Thrall before looking at you again. "Y/N, come to me."

Hesitantly, you made your way up the five small steps and stood before the throne. With a smile, he looked you over before commenting that he truly liked the color red against your complexion. The compliment only made you angrier, however, you bit your lip to keep from speaking.

"I know it will take time for you to get accustomed such a drastic change. But it will happen." Ivar said as he took your hand in his. When you felt the roughness of his palms, you wanted to pull away. But instead of being so brazen, you focused your attention on a distant wall. "We just need spend more time together. That is why you will accompany me on the upcoming raids."

"What?" You exclaimed, your neck snapping in his direction. "Take Queen Freydis. After all, she is your adoring wife."

"As you will be, soon enough." He mocked. "And while we are on this subject, there is one rule you need to understand. My decisions are never to be questioned. Understand?"

"I won't go! I………I’ll...….I'll jump off the boat."

Ivar's serious expression quickly turned into a smile. Even worse, he actually chucked.

You had hoped that your insolence would cause him to have a change of heart. But in actuality, he found it much to his liking. In his eyes, you were a bit like Freydis. However, you were far more spirited and volatile than she was, and that enthralled him completely.

Pulling you to his lap, Ivar forced you took look at him. When you noticed the taunt in his eyes, you scowled.

"My King…" You pleaded. "I think it would be best if you found another to take as a wife. You see, I can never love nor care for you. It will never happen."

"And why is that?"

"My heart belongs to my husband. As strange as it may sound, I would never trade him for all the crowns or coin in the world."

"Is that so?" Ivar inquired as he held you closer. He then glanced at Freydis before giving you his attention again. "Tell me Y/N, do you not appreciate the fact that he still lives? Or are you so stubborn that you would prefer to see him dead?"

You stared at him, stunned by the thinly veiled threat. 

The very thought of something happening to Grimwald because of your actions left you speechless. Tears fell as you realized that Ivar was not only cruel but highly manipulative. As for Ivar, he smirked and pressed his lips to your cheek, pleased by your silence.

In all honesty, everything was a game to the young King. And in that moment, he took pleasure in outwitting you. The vows had not even been exchanged and already, you felt hopelessly trapped. Could you really escape Kattegat as you and Grimwald had thought?

Only time would tell.

_____________________________

[therkalexander]

The Good Counselor - Chapter 3

Seventy years have passed since Elysion was created, and Persephone’s efforts to conceive a child with Hades have been in vain.  But a secret rite on Samothrace might bend the Fates and give them all that they have ever dreamed of, or pave a path of untold suffering.

**partial chapter** 

Please visit The Good Counselor on AO3 to read in full.

Chapter 3

The ether rushed around her in a twist of silver and crimson and she emerged in the great atrium of her villa in Thesprotia. It had been abandoned for generations when Persephone had found it, and was said to be filled with the ghosts of the extinguished House of Aeolus.

Persephone knew better.

If any spirits remained, she would have wrenched them from this world already. She herself had sentenced three of that wicked family to Tartarus,  Sisyphus chief among them.

Willows overhung the entire house, shielding it from the main road that led to the sea. It was modest, a short ways from the city of Cichyrus. A copse of bedraggled cypresses marked the path leading to the entrance, and thistles grew thick around the door. To the idly  passing eyes of the outside world, this place was as uninhabited as it was foreboding.

But inside, it was paradise. Roses climbed the walls of the atrium garden and crocus blanketed the floor, growing through every crack in its deteriorating mosaic. A pomegranate tree— planted by Aidoneus on his first visit to their home in the world above— grew in the very center, shading a large oak stump beneath it. It was here that she found him turning a fruit over in his palm. It hadn’t come from this tree— it was only starting to blossom. This fruit came from the lands below,  from their sacred grove at the entrance to Elysion. He set it down and stood.

Persephone picked up her skirts and rushed to him. He gripped her waist and she felt her feet tilt off the ground as he lifted her level with his face. Their lips met, and she sighed, melting into him. His joy and eagerness flooded into her, mellowed by tenderness and spiked with lust, warmed with relief.

And a metallic undertone of trepidation.

She eased back. “Is something troubling you?”

“No.  Not yet,” he said, setting her down. “Did you take care of it?”

“He’s gone. His court is dispersed, and Minthe is by her mother’s side.” He scowled at the mention of her name. Placing the remains of the annihilated nymph by her mother’s grave had been Persephone’s idea. Hades had been less forgiving when they’d discussed it. “How is everything back home?”

“Empty as ever when you aren’t there, sweet one. How was this year’s planting?”

“The same as ever.” She hooked her arm into his and leaned in as they walked the walled garden paths. She quivered at the contact. It had been two months since her fingers had been upon his skin. She could feel his pulse and the warmth of his flesh. He smelled of raw earth, of cypress, and the cool waters— everything she missed about Chthonia. The Underworld. Her true home. Persephone glanced up and caught  him chewing the inside of his lip. His mind was distant, but she knew he would eventually reveal where. She let him ruminate while she spoke. “A bit less grain to sow this year, though. She was so anxious last harvest, it affected everything.”

“Your mother needs to stop worrying after her paramour.”

“I’ve told her as much. But can you even call Triptolemus that anymore? They share the Telesterion, but more as friends than lovers. They haven’t shared a bed since—”

“I regret mentioning it,” he muttered hastily.

“Ah.” She fidgeted. “Hermes may have picked up Minoan.”

“What?”

“Unless you told him that Bellerophon broke his family’s curse and was granted a place in Elysion.”

Aidoneus gritted his teeth. “Damn him and his meddling…”

“I knew it! I knew he was lying. He denied reading your last letter to me, but how else would he know?”

“I’ll have a word with him.”

“What if that’s not the extent of it? What if he tells them about this place?”

“He won’t. I made him swear on the Styx.”

Persephone turned to him. “If the mortals know that you— that we spend time here, there will be endless interruptions. They’ll stop sowing crops. Some will leave, and the rest will build a gaudy temple. And the favors and quests of the rustic gods and hemitheoi—”

“They’ll do no such thing because Hermes will keep his mouth shut.”

“Will he?”

“He will. He takes Stygian oaths seriously.”

“How will we send letters and parcels to each other now?” A shiver rolled through her as he cupped her face with his hand.

“Perhaps I should hand-deliver them.” Aidon leaned down and gave her the lightest, slowest of kisses. His dark eyes locked onto hers as he pulled back. “Though there’s something else I’m intent on giving you presently.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She threw her arms around his neck and collided with him, kissing him gracelessly in return, their teeth clicking together. He chuckled low and traced her spine with his fingertips.

“Eager, are we?”

“Come,” Persephone whispered. “Let me show you what I’ve been up to this season.”

Aidoneus picked up the half pomegranate and followed her up the stairs. “A full season of sowing and still you found the time?”

“Barely enough. I vanished just after Thesmophoria to spend a few hours here alone, and I think Mother is starting to suspect—”

Aidon kissed away the name. The last person he wanted to think about right now was Demeter. He inhaled Persephone’s scent of roses and lilac, larkspur and irises. “This is my time with you. And no one else. Not Hermes, not your mother…”

Not Orpheus? Her voice rang through his head.

Aidon stopped. Did she knew where he had been? That he had spoken to the hymnist?

“His name was in your mind. Were you thinking about what Eumolpus said? Do you think…”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed again, sweet one,” he interrupted sharply. “I can’t bear it. Not after last time.”

She nodded.

He needed to distract her, or his visit to Samothrace would come pouring out unbidden. And going further down that road would only raise her hopes fruitlessly. Especially if she knew he was motivated enough to speak to Orpheus himself. “I practiced a flower while I waited for you.”

Persephone smiled. “You did?”

Their hieros gamos had not only created Elysion, but— to their mutual delight— had conferred upon each other some of their unique talents. Persephone had even called up iron from the earth seven winters ago. “Watch, sweet one.”

Aidoneus concentrated on the ground before him, and felt the beating warm life rush through him, from his feet upward. Each time he tried it he marveled. This must be what she had felt throughout her lifetime each time she created a new living thing. At first he’d worried that he would taint life itself if he tried to imitate her— that his efforts would result in a blight simply because of who he was. But they were the Gods of the Earth, he remembered, one and the same, infinitely bound and part of each other. He closed his eyes, feeling the telltale pulse in first his abdomen and rising through his chest as a bulb grew, opened, and split the ground. The stalk shot upright, bursting at the tip into a purple iris. He heard clapping and opened his eyes. Persephone exhaled softly, her hand gripping her hips. “My favorite part,” she said, “is feeling it move through you.”

“‘It’?”

“The earth, everything I have ever called up in— it’s hard to give it a name. More of a feeling. But it moves so… differently through you.”

“And you can sense every bit of… it.” He already knew the answer.

Of course I can, her voice rang, stronger this time. She turned and started strolling through the palace, showing him a centuries-old tapestry she’d found in the collapsed storage room, the vibrant ochres and deep blues sealed away and saved from the ravages of sun and wind. She picked up her skirts and climbed the stairs to the gynaikeion, giving him a glimpse of her ankles and mud stained feet. Aidon followed, listening to her describe how she’d made  it into a place fit for them to sleep, to make love…

“Aidon?”

He smiled. “I was distracted. Forgive me.”

She  bit coyly at her lip. “It’s similar, but just a single room. I thought black fleeces would work, but they’re hard to find in the world above. Used for sacrifices too often to…”

“To me.”

“So they seldom sell them to anyone but priests. It took me a bit of searching, but I eventually found what I needed.”

“How?”

“An agora in Locri. They were guarded at first, especially since I’m a woman. But no one asked questions after the gold came out. I suppose it helps when your husband is the richest being in the cosmos,” she said.

Aidon laughed. He looked up, and instead of the familiar dome patterned with stars, this flat ceiling was covered with tiny jasmine blooms— their growth carefully trained and arranged to reflect the summer sky. One vine wound toward the center, marking the tail of the Scorpion, and another the bow of the Lyre.

The Lyre… had she chosen this grouping of stars for a reason? He pushed it from his wandering mind. Aidon wanted to peel Persephone’s clothes off and press skin to skin, to seat himself as deeply within her as he could. But he also wanted to give her due respect as she showed him the work she’d done  since they last met here.

This, he realized, was why he was creating these nervous distractions. But her breath was hitching, and he could feel her skin warming and prickling every time she glanced at him, could feel the flutter in her abdomen as though it were his own, and hear the slight tremble in her voice. His wife was being coy. Stalling. She wanted him to make the first move, the first touch. He would torture her a moment longer.

As Persephone drew closer to the fleece covered divan, his gaze rested on her hips, the pins that held her peplos taut over her skin, and the ornate girdle he had timidly left as a gift in her chamber on the fifth day he’d known her. How different it was now. Her back was turned. He plucked a seed from the pomegranate and held it under his tongue. He was as impatient for her touch as she was for his.

Aidoneus flicked his wrist, and fibulae scattered to all corners of the room. The girdle fell muffled in the heap of fabric, and Persephone gave startled gasp. He chuckled, ambling toward her as the rest of the peplum slinked from her breasts, her only adornment the flowery crown she wore in the spring and summer. Her blue-grey eyes were wide with shock and her hands instinctively covered her breasts and mons.

“It is good to know,” he said, stepping free of his own clothes, “that after all these years I can still surprise you.”

“I-I…” The blush creeping up her neck told him all he needed to know.

One piece of cloth remained, the only one not held by pins. Aidon reached behind and untied his loincloth by hand and let it drop to the floor. He gripped the half pomegranate in one hand and lifted the crown from her head with the other, then casually tossed the woven flowers aside. Aidon could feel the heat of her even through the half a pace between them. Her heels and chin lifted up so she was level with him, her eyes were lidded and her lips neared his. She relished in his guttural groan as she brushed her hand up his hip, his stomach and chest. “You’ll have to put that down.”

“Oh, will I?” He smiled and lifted the ripe fruit between them.

“What else do you plan to do with it?” She took a step back.

“Kiss me, wife, and find out.”

* * * * * *

Author's Note: Due to site Terms of Service and FOSTA-SESTA, I am no longer able to publish unabridged mature content here. To read the full scene, please continue reading The Good Counselor on AO3.

[oneshul]

This Thanksgiving, Thank God You’re American: The Tale of Asser Levy, New Amsterdam Jew, 1654

Sholom Aleichem, Stranger! My name is Asser, Asser Levy, of—so many places! First Spain, then Holland; Brazil after, and now, America. And you know, something about you made me take you for a Jew. Keep your voice down; Governor Pieter Stuyvesant’s spies are everywhere—not unlike the Inquisition, which I, and belike yourself, escaped. Never mind: come inside—the winds blow coldly across Mannahatta Bay at this time of year, and my missus will prepare a cup of hot tea to warm your bones—(shouts) Gertruida, my dear! Tea, for our guest!

How did I know that you are Jewish? I will tell you this: my old father, God rest his soul, would tell me from an early age that we Jews appear—different from other folk. Not that I wish any harm to the gentiles, regardless of what they may think of me. And, to speak truth, my gentile neighbors and I have worked together to build this little piece of Holland, here in the New World. I consider most of them to be friends. Ha! (laughs bitterly) Even those who denigrate our kind for being usurers and blasphemers of their Saviour’s Name, are first at my door when I butcher a cow or goat, and my dear wife, Gertruida, cooks her famous stew. The delicious smell permeates the neighborhood!

There are, indeed, dangers: plague, Indians, and even nature, which plots against us, especially in the winter. I cannot remember such a cold, or so much snow, in Old Holland, let alone in Spain. We huddle together beneath bearskin blankets and wait for spring to arrive.

How is life here? The Dutch people are fair enough: some better, some worse than others. I have found that most Jew-hatred stems from ignorance, and fight it by being, simply, the best human being I can be. It seems to work—that, as well as there simply not being very many of us here. That fool (whispering), Governor Stuyvesant, only grudgingly accepted our twenty-four Jews to enter his colony. It’s not his—it’s the property of the Dutch West Indian Company! After the French captain tossed us off the ship like trash, after the riskiest voyage of our lives, we huddled on the dock like water rats. Imagine: first, escaping Brazil when the Portuguese Navy—with those devil-priests of the Inquisition undoubtedly on board—suddenly appeared in Pernambuco Bay.

We narrowly escaped, on a French ship, the Sint Catrina, whose thieving captain, one Jaques de la Mothe, thought we were rich—are not all Jews rich? He was disappointed in our poverty, and we were disappointed in his seamanship—my little boy Solomon could have escaped the pirates that attacked us, but de la Mothe panicked and ran up a white flag. We losteverything! Still, I thank God that we are all alive and well, except Isaac Carmiel, who was so fearful of the pirates, that he leapt overboard and was eaten by sharks. No great loss: he was a drunkard and cheated at dice;he defamed the Name of God.

As for Stuyvesant—pah! (spits on the ground) I have met Jew-haters before, but he is paramount. He first refused to let us Jews into the colony—does he think that Europeans are flocking to this icy, godforsaken place? He wrote to the Board of Directors of the West Indian Company—and so did we. Luckily, the Company ordered him to allow us entrance—there are a number of Jews on the Board, and still more own shares in the Company. Ha! Still, Stuyvesant has spurned our every petition for equality—he refuses to let us build our own houses, construct a synagogue, open various shops—I am a skilled butcher; my friend Jacob Barsimson is a baker—or even join the town guard, despite the ongoing danger of Indian attack.

The first time that Jacob and I presented his Governorship with a petition, Peg-leg Peter presented his most frightening mien—he is a tall man, of muscular build—well, he has been a soldier for most of his life. He roared at us, shook his fists, and whacked his silver-headed walking-stick on his desk—so hard, we were surprised it did not break. Of course, he knew nothing about what he was speaking—stuff and nonsense about how we were all on welfare. We waited for him to take a breath, and then explained, politely, that, as former Spanish subjects and current Dutch burgher-citizens, we are entitled to the same civil rights as any other Dutchman. Never mind: another letter to the Board, another petition to the Court—it all builds our position here in New Amsterdam, little by little. Not to be disloyal, but (whispering) my friend Chaim Henriques saw a small sloop with the British Union Jack scouting our coast, just t’other day—we suspect that the English may be planning to take over our little colony, and soon.

Must you leave so soon, Stranger? Ah, you are headed north, to Massachusetts? Is that a good idea? After all, neither Puritans nor Pilgrims are, despite their love of Scripture, particularly fond of us folks who wrote it. Sit, stay a while! I have a little jug of rum in the cupboard for emergencies, and, with the snow falling outside, this seems as good an emergency as any—Sit! Gertruida—fetch those wooden cups, and join us for a nip of toddy!

Nothing like rum for thickening the blood. A question? About me? Ah, but Friend, I am but a simple butcher, an American—dare I say it?—who happens to be Jewish. Why do I fight so hard against that petty tyrant, that old Peg-Leg (He teases up his hair to cover his Royal Baldness, too, he does; my Gertruida does laundry for his missus, and they talk), that rotten excuse for a Governor? Because I want—I want—(drinks) to see our people free. Yes: free, in this New World. There is room here enow for Jews, Christians, agnostic, atheists—yes, and Blacks and Indians, too! All free. You ask, and I answer: that is all I want, and I will spend my life fighting for it. Drink, Stranger—l’chaim!

Asser Levy, among the first twenty-four Jews to enter the New World, never hesitated to fight for his rights as an immigrant to New Amsterdam. An Ashkenazi, rather than a Sephardic Jew, he tirelessly petitioned the governor to allow the Jews to participate in the Town Guard, rather than pay the “Jew Tax” customary in Europe. This succeeded, but Jews were not allowed to run for public office until Francis Salvador of SC in 1775, who later died in the Revolution. The Jews never did get their synagogue during Levy’s lifetime; Cong. Shearith Israel (The Remnant of Israel) was not built until 1730, long after Levy’s passing. (A Jewish Cemetery was founded in 1756, however; death was a near and frequent visitor, regardless of religion.) Levy did, eventually, get his butcher shop, on the understanding that he was not allowed to dispatch pigs. He is buried in an unknown grave, but both a public school and a public park in NYC bear his name.

Rabbi David Hartley Mark is from New York City’s Lower East Side. He attended Yeshiva University, the City University of NY Graduate Center for English Literature, and received semicha at the Academy for Jewish Religion. He currently teaches English at Everglades University in Boca Raton, FL, and has a Shabbat pulpit at Temple Sholom of Pompano Beach. His literary tastes run to Isaac Bashevis Singer, Stephen King, King David, Kohelet, Christopher Marlowe, and the Harlem Renaissance.

[edogawatranslations]

999: Alterna (1) - Part 3, Chapters 6-7

Table of Contents | Previous: Part 3, Chapters 4-5

Chapter 6

Lotus stepped back into the room. “What happened? Why are you yelling?”

“It’s nothing,” I said, holding back my anger and recovering my breath. “Did you find anything?”

“No. I thought that maybe this key would be able to open one of the other doors, but none of them would budge.”

I had expected as much, but my shoulders sank in disappointment upon hearing the news.

“What about the door at the end of the hall?” I asked.

“I haven’t checked there yet. I thought we should all be together if we were going to go through it.”

“I’ve had enough of this room,” Santa said while standing up. “Let’s get a move on and head through that door.”

“No, not yet. We still need to find June,” I said, balling my fist up.

“But she’s not here. She could be on the other side of that door.”

“How would she get there without a key? Also-”

I only took my eyes off her for a few seconds. During that time, I was standing in the hallway. It would have been impossible for her to have gone through the door.

“June’s not here. You’re wasting your time looking for her.” Santa bent down and started fixing his shoelaces.

“You-”

“Well, I told you to listen to me. Since you didn’t actually figure out the hidden image in the picture, I’m not obliged to tell you... But whatever. I’ll talk. She disappeared somewhere.”

“Where?” I asked, repressing my anger.

Santa took his index finger and pointed above his head.

“...?”

“To the other world.”

I finally lost my patience. My whole world turned red, and before I realized it, I had socked Santa in the face.

He flew over the sofa he was sitting on and struck the wall. Something fell out of his pocket on impact. It bounced on the carpet and rolled over to where I stood.

“Junpei, calm down!” Lotus shouted.

“I’m sorry... I’m okay... I’m okay now.”

While catching my breath, I picked up the small object at my feet. It was a piece of silver crafted in the shape of a four-leaf clover. It was about the size of a pea, but it was exquisitely made down to the fine details. The letter <R> was engraved on the back.

“Give it back. Keep your hands off of what’s not yours.”

Suddenly, the silver was snatched out of my fingers. I looked up and saw Santa standing there.

“Though I guess I could send it as a present to June in heaven.”

“You asshole, if you keep fucking around like this...”

“I’m not fucking around.” Santa rubbed his right cheek and started smirking. “You get it, right? There’s no way in hell someone could just up and disappear from a closed space like this unless they were a ghost. So June was a ghost.”

“That’s enough. You-”

I was prepared to send Santa flying once again, but Lotus pinned my arms back from behind. I tried channeling energy into my upper body to shake her off, but I wasn’t able to make any headway. She was stronger than she looked.

“Lotus, let go of me!”

“And what do you think doing that will accomplish? We need to find June, and fast.”

“But this bastard...”

This bastard was the only one I couldn’t forgive.

“You ever hear the story of the ghost who appeared on the Titanic?” Santa spat on the carpet. His saliva was stained red with blood. The inside of his mouth must’ve gotten cut. Serves him right.

“I’ve had enough of your shitty stories.”

“You two realize that this is the Titanic, right?”

“What do you think you’re saying?” Lotus replied. “Sure, the big staircase looks like the one in the film... But that ship sank around 100 years ago!”

“Apparently there was a mummy loaded onto the Titanic that was swiped from a pyramid,” Santa continued, ignoring Lotus. “Ya see, that mummy had somewhat of a shady history. People associated with it met their unfortunate ends one after another.”

“Are you saying that the mummy caused the Titanic to sink?”

“That’s enough,” I interrupted. “Lotus, there’s no point in listening to this guy’s bullshit stories. He’s just enjoying fucking around with us.”

“There were a few passengers on the Titanic who reported seeing a ghost the night before the ship sank. Might’ve been the spirit of the mummy roaming around.”

“Shut up!”

“That mummy was the princess of the Temple of Amon-Ra, and she was quite a beauty. Much like June...”

“Shut the fuck up! June’s not a ghost, and there’s no way in hell she’s a mummy!”

If I had to listen to any more of Santa’s drivel, I’d end up beating him half to death. I kicked the floor and stormed out of the room.

“Where are you? June!” I shouted while running down the hallway. “June! Please! Answer me!”

I jiggled all of the doorknobs as I ran past the doors. But none of them would open.

“...Kanny!” I shouted her name over and over. I reached the numbered door at the end of the hallway and fell to my knees, fatigued. “Damn it... Where did you go?”

Unable to repress my exploding emotions, I pounded the ground with all my might.

“...Maybe she was taken away by Zero.” Lotus said hesitantly from behind me. I didn’t know when she had gotten there.

“How? I was standing right outside the room!” I screamed. My throat had gotten cut somewhere, so the taste of blood permeated my mouth.

“What if there was a hidden door inside the room? Zero could have used it to take June.”

I opened my eyes wide and stared at Lotus. Her suggestion wasn’t impossible. “Then let’s look for that door and-”

“That won’t do us any good. Even if we did find a door, it would probably be locked.”

“We won’t know unless we try, you know?”

“Junpei, calm down. We don’t have much time left. There’s no point in wasting one or two hours looking for a hidden door. We need to move more efficiently.”

“Efficiently...? What are you suggesting?”

“You won’t get a reply by yelling at the top of your lungs. June’s not around here anymore. So we shouldn’t waste any more time here - we need to continue through the next door. Maybe there’s some sort of clue beyond it.”

While listening to Lotus, I regained my composure. If Zero had taken June, then there must have been some meaning behind it. She wasn’t about to be in grave danger, was she? Maybe it was safer for her than continuing to play this game. I realized it might be better for us to continue moving forward, and if we did end up concluding that Akane was still in this area, we could always come back.

“...Alright. Let’s get going.” I stood up.

What was I thinking? It wouldn’t have been so bad to die here? I had no use for such cowardly thoughts right now. Even if death was the only fate that awaited us, I didn’t want to be killed knowing nothing at all. I wanted to at least discover the reason for us being here before my death.

I walked back down the hallway I had run through earlier and reached the door at the very end.

“We’re going,” Lotus said. She inserted the red key she had found behind the large frame into the keyhole and turned it to the left.

Another trumpet sound effect echoed out, and the monitor above the door handle started displaying the same text from earlier.

~Question! What is the name of this ship?~

I pressed the <ANSWER> button below the text with my index finger. The screen flashed and now displayed a keyboard. At the same time, a skull symbol appeared on the bracelet on my left wrist, and the familiar beeping sound started once again.

“What? What’s happening?” Lotus asked frantically. Her bracelet also had the same flashing red skull.

I looked back up at the monitor.

[79]... [78]... [77]...

A countdown had started on the top right of the screen. As I stared at it, the numbers kept getting smaller. The time limit must have been the same as when we had passed through the numbered door - 81 seconds.

“It’s okay. It should stop once we input the correct answer.”

With a trembling hand, I guided my index finger to the <T> key. Taking care to avoid spelling the word incorrectly, I typed in <TITANIC> and pressed the enter key.

A buzz rang out and the word <ERROR> covered the screen.

“Wait... Why?!” Lotus shouted, her expression turning grim. “What about that big staircase then? Everything about it screams the Titanic!”

I shot a glance at the top right of the monitor. Less than 60 seconds remained.

“What are we going to do?” Lotus asked, shaking my body violently.

“Hey, the fuck is goin’ on?” Santa rushed out of Room 93 in a panic, as he must have finally noticed the bracelet activating. His right cheek where I had punched him was red and swollen.

“Shut up! I can’t focus.” I turned back to the keyboard and tried inputting <OLYMPIC> this time.

“Olympic? What’s that?” Lotus asked.

“It was a ship built the same time as the Titanic - a sister ship with the exact same interior and exterior design.”

Please work!

Filled with hope, I pressed the enter key.

But the cruel buzzer sounded out, and the word <ERROR> once again covered the screen.

“Shit!” I vented out my shame and anger on the door. Unlike when I had hit Santa earlier, my fist now grew numb with pain. “Why isn’t it right?”

We were down to less than 40 seconds. This was the end. I was out of ideas.

“Were there any other ships like the Titanic?” Lotus yelled.

“Well...” I suddenly looked up.

“The Titanic was the second of three sister ships. All three were completely alike, inside and out.”

Wasn’t that what I had said to Akane?

...Three sister ships?

Which meant that other than the Olympic, there was another ship that was identical to the Titanic.

Think. If you know that there were three sister ships, then you must know the name of the-

The interval between each beep was getting shorter. Less than 20 seconds left.

“Enough. Move over.” Unable to wait around, Santa grabbed my arm.

“Wait, give me a second!” I shook off his hand and started nimbly hammering away at the keyboard. I typed in <BRITANNIC> and hit the enter key.

Without thinking, I closed my eyes. But there was no buzzer. I nervously checked the monitor and saw the word <OK> lighting up on the screen. The beeping from our bracelets had stopped.

The sound of the lock disengaging echoed out from the door.

“Yay!” Lotus practically leapt at me. “How did you know that?”

“Well...”

I avoided giving a direct answer. After all, I didn’t know myself. I was more surprised than anyone. I hadn’t even heard of the Britannic before. How did I know such a thing?

...No, wondering about that could wait. We had to look for Akane.

“Let’s go.” Putting a strong grip on the door handle, I forcefully pushed the door open.

Chapter 7

We entered a wide hallway.

The air felt colder than before. I didn’t know if we were getting closer to the exit, or if the air conditioning was simply stronger here.

All of the doors lining the left and right sides of the hallway were locked, and we ended up entering through the only one we could open. Just as Lotus said, Zero had us in the palm of his hand, which didn’t make me feel at ease. But since there was only one way forward, there was no point in complaining.

I carefully stepped through the door and checked the inside of the room. There was a large refrigerator and gas range, and counters with neatly organized tableware. I could tell immediately that I was standing in a kitchen.

“Oh.” Lotus’s shoulders drooped in disappointment.

“You expectin’ something else?” Santa laughed scornfully as he entered the room after us.

“Well, of course!” Lotus raised her voice, her eyes glaring at Santa. “An exit out of here, for starters.”

“As if we’d be able to escape so easily,” I muttered to myself, before shouting at the top of my voice, “June!”

However, the only reply came from an echo off of the walls, with no response from Akane herself. I opened every cabinet and drawer in sight, but there wasn’t anywhere for a person to hide.

“Junpei, over here,” Lotus said, standing in front of a door further inside the room.

The door, which was painted green, clearly stood out from everything else. A familiar monitor was installed above the doorknob.

“Not again...” Quite frankly, I was fed up. I didn’t want to experience that kind of tension ever again.

Lotus grabbed the doorknob and tried turning it, but it simply rattled and showed no sign of opening. “No good. We need another key.”

I stepped closer to the door and touched the screen. As expected, a new question appeared.

~Question! What is the scaaaary disease that connects the nine of you together?~

“Angel Fever,” I said without hesitation.

“Huh? What did you just say?” Lotus asked in response.

Now that I thought about it, I had been so distraught over Akane’s disappearance that I completely forgot to confirm with the others.

“June and I were discussing a few things earlier in Room 92. Why did Zero gather the nine of us here? And what is the connection between us?”

“And? Did you figure it out?”

“While we were talking, there was something we realized by coincidence... Both June and I had been hospitalized at some point with Angel Fever. June nine years ago, and I a month ago.”

The color in her face changed ever so slightly.

“...Well, that happens, right?” Lotus shrugged. “After all, there was an Angel Fever epidemic nine years ago. Up until now, there have been almost 10,000 people who caught the disease. That’s just a coincidence-”

“Both of us reached Stage 3.”

Lotus raised her eyebrows and gazed at me with a stiff expression.

“It was extremely rare for patients with the disease to reach Stage 3. Probably not even 100 cases. Many of those individuals must have died too, so isn’t it natural to think that the number of people alive who had reached Stage 3 is much lower than that? And it just so happens that two of us are on this ship. Do you really think it’s a coincidence?’

Lotus continued staring at me and didn’t try to respond. Looking carefully, I noticed that her lips were trembling slightly. I didn’t even need to ask. She must have realized now.

“It’s not only me and June. Clover also mentioned that she had Angel Fever in the past, although I don’t know what stage.” I looked over to Santa, who was crouching and peeking inside the refrigerator, and continued. “Santa, have you had it too?”

Santa looked over with an annoyed expression. “What?”

“You’ve also had Angel Fever in the past, right?”

“Yeah.” Santa nodded as he scratched his neck. “Nine years ago, when it spread like wildfire. I caught it from my little sis.”

From his uncooperative attitude with the group, I had him pegged as an only child, so it surprised me to hear that he had a younger sister.

“What stage?”

“Dunno.”

“Were you hospitalized?”

“Maybe for about two weeks?”

“Then you had Stage 3.” All of my doubt cemented into certainty. “As I suspected. What connects the nine of us is-”

“Wait,” Santa interrupted, pulling out wrapped sausages from the refrigerator. “You think I can eat this?” He brought his nose closer to it and grimaced. “Ugh, nevermind. It’s totally rotten.”

If I paid him any more attention, I would’ve wanted to punch him again. I didn’t want to needlessly hurt my fist, so I ignored him and turned back around to Lotus.

“Lotus, you-”

“Hate to ruin your genius deduction here, Sherlock. But aren’t you forgetting something important?” Santa tossed the bag of sausages away and started walking towards me. “The vast majority of those diagnosed with Angel Fever were children. It’s only in super rare cases that anyone over 20 like you got infected. Wasn’t there no one over 25 who caught the disease?” Santa said, shooting a glance over to Lotus. “The disease was first diagnosed twelve years ago. There’s no way auntie over here was younger than 25 back then.”

“Could you quit calling me ‘auntie’?” After raising her voice, Lotus sulked against the wall of frying pans. She crossed her arms and continued, “But he’s right. I’ve never had Angel Fever.”

Next: Part 3, Chapters 8-9

[djerinyes]

If Only I can See You at the End [1]

Daejun was a night owl more than anything else, so it was normal for him to be up reading in the small hours of the morning. What was abnormal about that particular day was that other people were up too, and decided to knock on his door. Anxious voices could be heard through the walls, though what exactly they were saying, he had no idea. So, he made his way to the door, making sure his beloved self-defense baseball bat was leaning just out of sight, and opened it up.  

At first glance, he thought they were a pair of new patients needed some kind of emergency session; they were clinging onto each other, rain streaking through the grime on their cheeks and an elated, almost giddy expression holding firm. The taller one had soft brown eyes that looked more suited for a dog than a human, with mud-clumped black hair speckled in grey and the beginning of worry lines on his face. The shorter looked sharper, with almond-shaped eyes and more prominent wrinkles, a dull silver spreading from his temple and mixing with charcoal brown. Both men had sharp, diamond-shaped jaws like a pit viper, similar to the one on Daejun. The way they stood, the looks in their eyes, were familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. They were dressed in matching suits, one blue and one brown, looking like they’d just come from a funeral.

When they saw who opened the door, their faces shifted, barely perceptible in the older of the two, but the younger’s eyes widened, lips curling up almost like he was looking to be recognized and greeted. When Daejun didn’t reciprocate, he sucked in a breath and looked at his feet. There was a beat of awkward silence.

“Come inside and use my shower,” he offered, and they did, the taller one with the young face disappearing into the bathroom armed with fresh towels and a spare set of pajamas. The other one gratefully accepted a bathrobe. Usually Daejun was careful about who he let into his house in the middle of the night, but this didn’t feel like a home invasion.

“You’re a generous man,” the stranger said, smiling with a mouth full of dirt, “and we’re thankful for it. I’m Daeseong.”

“That’s funny.” I had a brother named Daeseong, he nearly said, but bit his tongue. “It’s funny that you turn up on my doorstep in the middle of the night covered in mud. Are you werewolves?”

Daeseong shook his head, sounding mildly uncomfortable. “No. We were dead.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I’m as confused as you are. All I know is, I woke up buried in the cemetery. By the time I clawed my way out, there was a whole crowd of people who had risen! Lucky for me, I caught that idiot before he could run off without me,” here, a finger was jabbed at the door of the bathroom, where the second man was still showering, “and we managed to sneak out here. Our older brother used to live here, so we thought… We really don’t mean to disturb you. I don’t know what to do.”

Their story didn’t add up. Weird things happened all the time in this town, but the dead rising was something he’d reserve judgement on. Still, he was a little curious, if these two were planning some elaborate robbery, he was going to enjoy it to the fullest.

“You’re looking out for him?” He waited for a nod of confirmation. “You can stay here tonight.”

Daeseong’s face lit up, sliding into a gummy smile wrenched at his gut, but he couldn’t help but return it. Maybe it was just the shared name and a bunch of projected behaviors, but he was impossibly similar to the middle Jung. It was too suspicious. This had to be a con.

The shower door clicked open, and the younger came padding out, water dripping from his hair to the collar of his fresh grey shirt. “Is Jun letting us stay?”

Jun. Did he just call him Jun? As in, the nickname his siblings had used when they were too little to pronounce Daejun? He hadn’t told either of the strangers his full name, let alone a nickname for it. Anger coiled in his belly like a snake, and he thought about reaching for the bat. That was something reserved for his brothers and no other living being. Anyone who violated it would end up in a grave.

And anyways, how did the two know these things about him? He didn’t think he had that many enemies in this world, but maybe they were here for the other him. If that was the case, he’d probably have to move and change his name.

He went very still, trying to find the answer by looking at them, really looking, from head to toe, but all he saw was two men borrowing his clothes, fear showing in the set of their shoulders.  

“Daehwan, shut up!”

So they were stealing the names of both his boys. They were definitely going to die.

“Look at him and tell me I’m wrong! He looks just like Jun, but younger! Remember how he looked thirty years ago, when he mailed us that Christmas photo?”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, just shut up! He’s going to throw us out if we make trouble for him!”

“Is not! He wouldn’t do that to his own flesh and blood!”

“But he might not even know who we are! And even if he does, things change after people die!”

Okay, so maybe he’d wait to kill until they’d explained themselves. Despite all evidence to the contrary, the way they were talking made him think that maybe he knew them after all. But he still wasn’t happy that they weren’t being up front with why they were here.

Daejun snapped his fingers. “Both of you, shut up. Daeseong is right, I will kick you out if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on. I don’t like being lied to.”

Both guests went quiet for a beat, startled, then Daehwan giggled. “Listen to that tone! He’s definitely Jun, even if he doesn’t know us.”

“We didn’t mean to lie, but we didn’t know what else to do.” Daeseong hung his head, managing to fake being sorry, though the youngest didn’t even try to hide his glee. “Daejun- our older brother- lived this house here, but he’d never open the door if we came around trying to find him. He was still here when we, um, passed away, but I don’t know where he is now. When we rose, we thought he’d still be here, so we came right over, but saw you through the window instead of him.”

“Seong thought you were his kid, and he’d been hiding you from us, or we’d been dead a long enough that some poor woman had your baby. But I told him, there’s not enough variation in your face for you to be a son, it had to be the real you! Just, a lot younger than you were when we last saw you,” Daehwan interjected. “So we were just going to wait and see. But I’m right, aren’t I? You’re Daejun?”

Ah. They thought he was theirs. He opened his mouth to correct them, but couldn’t bring himself to. These weren’t his real siblings, they were a version that he’d never had a hand in raising, he knew nothing about them, and yet, the naked, hopeful looks they were directing at him made it impossible to say so. And he was cut off from the real ones with no hope of ever contacting them again, so why shouldn’t he find some peace with those in front of him?

“Yes,” he said slowly, trying to think up some lie that would be believable about why he looked so young and didn’t remember them that was more believable than ‘I’m an immortal Erinyes from another dimension and not the brother you remember but I want to pretend I am!’ Nothing came to mind.

But it didn’t matter, because they were too busy grinning like they’d won the lottery to ask more questions, smiles identical to the ones he knew from his childhood. Maybe they wanted to act like he was their version of Daejun too. He spread his arms, beckoning them in for a hug, and they nearly bowled him over in their eagerness to be physically close again.

Muscle memory was a funny thing. Even without the other-dimensional thing, they’d been separated for decades, and thus hadn’t exactly kept up on hugging and other cuddle-like activities, and yet, they all fit together in the exact same way they had before. He remembered the two of them trying to get out of it once Hwan reached the age of eight, but told them every time they protested that it was to stay healthy, like going for a run, or playing games outside to keep in shape, but it helped the brain instead of the body. But once he left home, the physical closeness obviously stopped.

Hwan was on his right, curling up his legs so he could press his face into the juncture between Daejun’s shoulder and neck, an arm stretching around back to grab the material of his shirt. Seong had his arms folded up like he was trying to create a barrier between them, though the eldest knew it was just because he got cold in any other position, cheek smooshing into his chest. Even though they weren’t his, they curled up like his had, all warm, quiet, and peaceful. Daejun wrapped his arms around both of their heads, curling protectively around their crowns, with tears bleeding silently down his nose.

He’d missed this. For years, he hadn’t thought about just how much he loved being around them, but now that he was able to do it again, he felt sick with how right it was. It like he was suddenly alive again, like he had something to protect and be present for, and he didn’t need to live off spite or be dead inside, which was something he’d given up on when their father returned from war. For a minute, he allowed them to be near him, pressing their heads to his chest and thanking the universe for delivering them to him once more, even if it was under pretty strange circumstances.

“Jun,” said Daehwan in a faint voice, “you’re choking me.”

Daeseong made a strangled noise in agreement, and Daejun pushed them away. “You two got fat, that’s why my arms are too tight. Seong, you’re still filthy! Go take a shower. I’ll cook something for us to eat while you do, and Hwan can help out.”

As it turned out, neither brother had an apatite no matter how much he nagged, so he made up the guest room for them and was, predictably, suckered into sleeping there with them. Worrying about why they were back, and what price they’d paid to get here, or what awful things would probably be waiting for them in the future could wait until morning.