#Lucky SeaSalt

[captaincalian]

Thank ye sincerely for this artwork, Supa!

It be a very kind gift!

All of these sudden gifts of fanart for me have sparked some light back into me ol’ weary eyes while I’ve been facin’ rough storms within. I’m glad ye mateys are supportive and curious about my original works and hope to post more of the story of the L.S.S. crew.

Thank ye sincerely. Sail On! 🦇✨🏴‍☠️

[seasaltmemories]

Respectfully, I am hesitant to believe that all circles are so hostile towards recommendations, aside from it being a staple of my friend-group for someone to infodump about their latest obscure obsession, I believe if you find/know others interested in weird countercultural art, then they'll probably be happy to exchange some recs

Yeah that can be hard depending on your social setting, but one thing I haven't seen anyone bring up is that we live in an unprecedented age of information. Like while they're might be less local radio these days, we have sites like bandcamp which host hundreds of artists, even our corporate mainstream option in Spotify contains way more options than any one station.

As someone whose main media interests tend to land on foreign works not native to my country, do you know how insane it is I can search up thousands of shows and comics all by going to just one website? I don't have to scourge secondhand stores or rely on mailing lists just to see the most successful and commercial releases. I can read a failed yet daring drama that never made it past 20 chapters just any evening I feel like it. Even unlicensed works are often available bc of fan-groups with no incentive but to freely share their passion for the medium

I think corporate interests are very invested in making it seem like there are no options. If people are convinced that that there is no use searching outside the Algorithm, then they are more likely to be funneled wherever corporate interest make the most money.

It is easy to hear stories of past cult classics and wonder if we'll ever have those again. But even those he have still paint an incomplete picture of the landscape. Rocky Horror Picture Show wasn't the only independent queer cinema of the 1970s. So even if my fave band is never going to become a chart-topper, that doesn't mean its only option is the disappear off the face of the earth. If you want media less tied to corporate interest, then that means you might have to be the one venturing off the beaten path to find the offbeat and strange.

But considering I can randomly discover an entire youtube channel dedicated to untranslated horror eroge games, then I'm sure there is someone already in whatever niche you want to explore, getting the scope of things.

maybe it's just because i spend my time scrounging around libraries and itch.io and such but i'm often bewildered whenever people talk about everything becoming the same or death of art or everyone being afraid to Get Weird with It. i promise people are still out there getting weird with it. the hegemonic mainstream art remains hegemonic and mainstream like usual. counterculture remains counterculture. as usual. interesting and somewhat off-putting zines cost a little more but the cost of living is pretty high right now, and i don't particularly mind giving an independent artist a few more bucks for their work

[quishyorgannet]

꧁𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 Kingdom꧂

〖Hello I'm Mack I'm the main manager and creator of this page〗

⟬ We also have Meatza as the 2nd manager. Don't be scared to ask questions, he usually answers ⟭

⫷ Our 3rd manager is Centipede. He helps keep the place clean of the unwanted⫸

𓊈4th manager is Null! He helps me with finding pictures for videos,sorting them, and using them.𓊉

◥ The 5th manager is feathers! He's the scout and explores the lands. He also helps me know who is around and alerts me if anything happens ◤

☑︎ most of my interest are:..

Dragon ball z (mostly Frieza), Dragons, Figures, Pyramid head, Tokidoki unicorno, Littlest pet shop, Webkinz, Roblox (don't expect any post tho), Pokemon, Animal figures, Collecting, Godzilla (ShinGodzilla), Plushies, Jellyfish, Sometimes dinosaurs, Sometimes horses, Httyd, Lioden, Adopt me...

And many many more don't be scared to ask

⚠︎⚠️ keep in mind that I am autistic and I run this post ⚠︎⚠️

DNI: mean people, rude people, racist and ableist Idiots, p3dos, proship and anyone else within those lines

┆I know how people act around me, so don't try anything slick with me. I will delete anything you say to me and block you. So you can kindly fuck off if what in doing makes you mad┆

◄some songs that I like►

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

❤🧡💛💚💙💜(I will only give 1 warning)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

(Will be updating)

!𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬!

Fire heart, gravity, Sisu, perfect cell, SeaSalt, princess diamond, peapod, Dead hook, pupcake, light fury (plush), The mini furies, bacon, petrie, draclin, grindal, stage 0, Necrotomiguad, Darby, зомби, frieza (poster), frieza (plush), Golden friezas, Flower, Pyramid Head, stagnant flesh, ? (Bone marrow), Razor, Sardine, Ivy, Tree willow, suglite, bonez, The Continued, ShinGodzilla, Frieza (glow), sterling, gilda, торт , Peaches De Second, Rufus, plant man, starman, She pisses when she farts, Poundcake, Slinky, Duck, Tapejara, Bunny, Obsidian, Ice Lolly, Mr.Peanut butter, Sliverfish, cherry, little foot, fancy, Mr Peacock, Ms peafowl, itsy, miltank, Sunday, violet, money Neko, lucky, HoneyWaluntShrimp, Heat man, giratina

♡ !𝙶𝚘𝚍𝚜 & 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜! ♡

Moonie, cheesecake, Meatza, centipede, prince cheese(dead) , Gravity, Junebug, люблю , Golden Frieza, Skitterrina, baby sisu, Bleu Cheese, The Hungry, Null, Feathers

⚠️𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍/𝚓𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍/killed⚠️

The man in your dreams, Grogar, evil Mack(dead), the hybrids(killed),

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑅𝑢𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑠♛┈⛧┈┈•༶

♕𝑄𝑢𝑒𝑒𝑛(s)♕: Mack/Ruthie, Joy ( @joytheskeleton )

♛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔(s)♛: (none)

♔𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒/𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠♔: (none)

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

What we produce:

Sugar, spice, marijuana, cotton, computers, gold, meat, medicine, weapons, chocolate, salt

[aurorabayaesthetic]

The results are in!

Thank you guys for sending us your votes for the Halloween Costume Contest! Here are the prizes and winners for each category!

WINNERS:

best costume:

1st - Mack Montgomery as Slenderman (@mackmontgomery)

2nd - Sebi Torres as Frank N' Furter (@sebitorres)

3rd - Amira Devi as Princess Aurora (@sweetascandyamira)

best couple:

1st - Darcy Anthony as Pitbull and Jameson Cassidy as Pitbull's Security (@darcyxanthonyx & @jamesonxcassidy)

2nd - Rina Cicero as Shego and Phoebe Keller as Kim Possible (@phoebekeller & @rinaxcicero)

3rd - Caroline Jayme as Cinderella and Denver Scott as Prince Charming (@carriejayme & @denverxscott)

most creative:

1st - Edie Tello as Billy the Puppet (@edietello)

2nd - Cricket Campbell as Mia Thermopolis (@cricketcampbell)

3rd - Sully Shaw as Loch Ness Monster (@sullivanxshaw)

sexiest costume:

1st - Bradley Banner as Poison Ivy (@bradley-banner)

2nd - Imani Linh as Kida (@xoimani)

3rd - Priya Desai as a Vampire (@priyaxdesai)

funniest costume:

1st - Noah Atwood as Cocaine Bear (@noah-atwood)

2nd - Lorelai Lewis as Lucky Lewis (@lorelailewis)

3rd - Nate Danish as The Rock (@natexdanish)

PRIZES:

1st place - $250 each! along with that, each winner will get a free weekend stay at the penthouse suite in the Seascape Hotel! Room service of course included.

2nd place- $150 each and a free three-course meal for two at Neptune

3rd place- $100 each and a free spa day at Seasalt Spa

All winners will also get a voucher for a free night of drinks at Sharky's

[angelinecarax]

tagged by both @archaiclumina and @shroudkeeper

14 Prompts

☽✧☾ Animal: This is a tough question to start with - Angeline is such an animal fan it's hard to pick just one for her (I was EXTREMELY mount motivated my first time through the msq so that translates to Angeline being just as intense about her menagerie). Considering her origins as a dungeons and dragons paladin and her special connection to her steed, Cinnamon, she is above all a horse girl.

☽✧☾ Color: Angeline prefers sunrise colors - rose golds and pinks and pale blues and pale yellows. I put her in moonlight tones, too - silvery pearlescent and light.

☽✧☾ Song: What I consider to be Angeline's 'core song' is Billie Holiday's 'Pennies from Heaven'. I grew up listening to jazz - in many ways its my 'first' genre, the one I feel the most at home in, and Billie Holiday was one of my father's favorite singers. It's a short song, but here's the second half:

Trade them for a package of Sunshine and flowers If you want the things you love You must have showers So when you hear it thunder Don't run under a tree There'll be pennies from heaven For you and me!

The italicized pair of lines is where the core of how I built Angeline's determination from!

☽✧☾ Number: Seven - she's always found it lucky, it reminds her of her mothers (all seven of them), and its the number she tends to go with instinctually!

☽✧☾ Day or Night: Transitional periods make her feel the safest, dawn and dusk.

☽✧☾ Plant: Silver lilies - she refuses to admit its because of a book series she was obsessed with as a child, the Order of the Silver Lily, that she's especially fond of them. But alas! hee hee

☽✧☾ Smell: Light scents, seasalt and citrus and getting lightly sunbaked

☽✧☾ Gemstone: Moonstone. An instinctual draw. (though when she is the Warrior of Light, her eyes take on a similar quality after becoming Light poisoned. She finds them far less appealling after that)

☽✧☾ Season: Hee hee hee hee, would it be too obvious to say summer? Once Angeline leaves Sharlayan and experiences a Limsan Lominsan summer, she never can move home permanently again!

☽✧☾ Place: …. AND she still sees a particular fountain outside her mothers' estate in her dreams and wakes up crying. It had long been her special courtyard, a refuge.

☽✧☾ Food: Sweets! Tea! Vacation drinks! She's not particularly fussy, though the cuter and or smaller and or more colorful, the nicer.

☽✧☾ Eorzean Deity: Menphina! Her patron deity (though more like encouraging older sister figure than any serious religious beliefs).

☽✧☾ Eorzean Element(s): The elements that came easiest to her have been Light and Wind.

☽✧☾ Drink: A Loooooong Sharlayan Iced Tea!

✦✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✦

thank you so so much for the double tag - this was really helpful to work out for her!!

since it took me a bit, I'm going to tag people I am reasonably certain haven't been tagged - and I want to see your associations! @secretspaceprincess @duperderedere @generaltacticus @thatoldstandby @a-sleepy-dragon and YOU!!!!! for real I mean it, please tag yourself if you want to it's really nice

[crplpunkklavier]

whatever

i could probably do a pretty good gavin hair twist at this point. my hair is still a bit shorter but not by much, and ive figured out how to coax my curls into whatever direction i want. but. at what cost.

[lvckyarizona]

GENERAL INFORMATION.

Name: Arizona Ponce

Nickname(s): Ari, Airhead

Age: Twenty-nine (29)

Gender: Cis-man

Sexuality: Homosexual

Nationality: Dual Spanish and American citizen

Mother tongue(s): Spanish, Italian, and English

Birthday: February 24th

Job: Masseuse at Seasalt Spa

Neighborhood: Ocean Crest Apartments

BIOGRAPHY.

tw: grooming, age difference, emotional abuse, drug abuse, depression, divorce mention

Alternative means of escape were etched into the very genetics of Arizona Ponce. Before his conception, his parents—Mateo Ponce and Elena Giordani—escaped from their home countries of Spain and Italy to flee from the constrictions of organized religion. They found each other within the ranks of a carnival travelling across the greater European continent before expanding to more global pursuits. Elena's skill in tarot reading made her attraction among the most popular while Mateo served as an organizer for the various tents. They danced around each other for years long before they ever settled into one another.

The couple had six children before Arizona was born and two after, creating a family of eleven in hopes of having the means to further staff the carnival that had offered them safe haven. Each child was gifted in their own ways, from juggling to sword-swallowing. Angelo, the eldest, left the family when he was nineteen to pursue a life more grounded in what he deemed reality and this decision was met with disdain from their parents. Arizona at the time was only five years old. It was hard to explain to someone so young that their brother, the man that was looked up to by all of his younger siblings and family, would never see them again. This was the first heartbreak.

Despite this, Arizona and his siblings grew up fiercely loyal to one another. He had developed a gift for palm reading and interpreting tarot, a feat he was singular in amongst his generation, and he was given space within his mother's tent at the age of thirteen. Under his mother's watchful eye and the alias “Lucky”, he established himself as a mainstay at the carnival. 

People followed after the wandering troupe just to see how truly magical such a young clairvoyant was. Arizona found a myriad of regulars. Some came to be read before every big event in their lives. Others showed their faces just to share how accurate the interpretations were. It was a blessing to be considered playing a part in the biographies of some of the most interesting people the boy had ever met, getting a glimpse into the lives of those who would make magnificent change to the world around them no matter the size or scope.

One man in particular was amongst the former group. Arizona had never learned his real name; he likened him to George Clooney due to the man's incredible charm and greying hair. George's first reading came about when the young man was freshly fifteen. He had foreseen a messy divorce with the man's wife—this came to pass. Then, Arizona met the man again in six months only to see a loss in George's career—This too came to pass. The misfortunes continued and for three years, Arizona had grown quite fond of George. The feelings were mutual in every regard, though much of those feelings were far from okay. George had never acted on any of those feelings until Arizona was of age but it was grooming nonetheless.

Being the supposed only positive thing in George's life made a shift into romance easy. There was comfort in knowing that Arizona could provide a light in the man's otherwise dark life but he was foolish to believe himself capable of casting a net and hoping to catch only beautiful things. George was more than what he seemed in the readings years prior. He was downtrodden and objectifying, pitiful. He made Arizona believe that he was the only person who could save him and this led Arizona to escape with him from the carnival, abandoning his family with nothing more than an apology note.

From there, the once bright world lost its color. Arizona settled into a rhythmic life with George in California. They shared a home together but there were signs of problems all around. None of the mail ever had the same name. They had to pretend to be father and son out in public. Neither had any real employment. It was because of this that Arizona turned to sex work. He had his looks and men seemed to really enjoy that, returning to the alias of “Lucky” yet again. Lucky was scouted, one day, on the street by an amateur porn site and the rest was history.

Several adult films, a handful of messy breakups with George, and a drug-induced haze later, Arizona was left feeling empty. He isolated himself from everyone because of it, avoiding the potentially shameful glances from his family and friends he'd come to know along the way. One particularly bad night ended with Arizona checking himself into a rehabilitation facility. Somewhere in the cloudiness, he determined that he needed help.

Recovery was and is a long process, but it taught Arizona how to be more comfortable in his skin without thinking of himself as an object. He worked tirelessly to feel whole again. It took years before he was able to view himself as carefree as he'd been in his youth but when that feeling finally arrived, he embraced it wholeheartedly. He found new outlets for his feelings, developed a love of massage therapy to appease his deep-rooted need for physical intimacy and desire to please, and left San Francisco for good to seek new horizons. He settled in Aurora Bay for now, a stop along the way to rediscovering his love of life.

TLDR;

Arizona grew up in a traveling carnival with a bunch of siblings and two loving parents, working as a fortune teller and palm reader. He left his home to pursue a relationship with a man he didn't really know, made some foolish mistakes, did adult films, and recovered while learning how to be a massage therapist. Now he lives in Aurora Bay.

HEADCANONS. 

Arizona was homeschooled and is considered a high school graduate, but he's far from considered academically gifted. Many people have made jokes at his expense as to whether he knows how to read (he does)

He is the definition of a Himbo™. Very stupid, very friendly, very pretty

He prefers going by Ari if he feels comfortable enough around someone…and usually “comfortable enough” just means after about five seconds because he falls in platonic love so quickly. Arizona has a habit of giving people either bedroom eyes or longing eyes and will hang on a person’s every word

If there’s any way to get on Arizona’s bad side forever, no one has found it yet. He just loves people, from the grumpiest of grumps to the sunniest of sunshine people

He will do literally anything for a Klondike bar

…or a $5 bill and an I.O.U

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

Roommate (?)

Friends

Siblings

Anyone really. Just come message me!

@aurorabayaesthetic

[minusgangtime]

Meow!~

-seasalt

"You two are really lucky. You're safe now and the Chaos Council is gone!~"

[gatheredfates]

fourteen associations ✧˖°. (koret)

I'm going to be honest, I'm sure this meme wants you to pick one thing... but I refuse to do that.

Tagged by: @allyennah, @foxlin-fantasia & @cindernet-explorer (thank you!)

ANIMAL. Kor was based heavily off the motif of the wolf and lamb! She was the wolf and her sister was the lamb. Though I have kept aspects of this in XIV - namely her ship being called the Wolfsbane; the mention of jaws, claws and mangey animals - these days I tend to associate her more with deep sea creatures; octopi, jellyfish, anglerfish and other abyssal animals.

COLOURS. Dark blues, navy blues and deep reds. The latter is more her association with Firelight Trading Company, but is still good to mention.

SONGS. My top three are Atlantic, QUIXOTE and Lacrymosa!

NUMBER. 13. She's not always considered herself a lucky person.

DAY OR NIGHT. This is so hard. I'm torn between those deep, dark nights where the world is still and quiet or the first bleed of red that occurs at dusk and dawn.

PLANTS. Seaweed, kelp, coral.

SCENTS. Wood, seasalt, coffee.

GEMSTONES. Aquamarine, lapis lazuli, etc.

SEASON. Winter.

PLACES. La Noscea, open bodies of water, deep oceans.

FOOD. Dark chocolate,

EORZEAN DEITY. Llymlaen (they have a tense relationship)

EORZEAN ELEMENT. Water.

DRINKS. Black coffee, red wine, rum and coke and mead.

Tagging: I think most people have done this already! I also plan on doing it a few more times for different characters so, if you want to do it, feel free to say I tagged you.

[seasaltmemories]

On a scale of Kyousougiga to Penguindrum, how interwoven into the narrative is the weird incest subtext in your surreal, fantastical family drama from the early 2010s?

[captaincalian]

Oh My Goth!!!

Thank ye very much for this beautiful gift, Ace!

Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day to ye, too, matey!

Thank ye! 🦇✨🏴‍☠️

[sleeepingpill1110]

I made KH stickers for sale at Comic Square  (Thailand) on 10 Mar 2019 

I have plans to sell by international shipping if someone is interested enough

[keyartyui]

Inktober 2018 | Day 9 | Precious

[inke-ri]

AHHHHH OH IT'S THEM

omg I love this so much

Roxas fiddling with Xion's cloak, and the ice cream, and how absolutely FLUFFY Axel's hair looks in your style

this is my new favorite thing I love it so much

little doodle of the Sea Salt Trio in their matchy club jackets

(because @inkerii wanted to see more KH characters and I have been half-assedly playing Days lately)

[haadeswrites]

Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it. 

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child. 

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well. 

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call. 

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse. 

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’ 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined. 

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her. 

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?” 

And your traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.” 

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?” 

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression. 

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet… 

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following. 

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading. 

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home. 

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions. 

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain. 

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him. 

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi. 

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part. 

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours. 

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea. 

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well. 

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for. 

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to. 

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight. 

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him. 

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight. 

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?�� Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion. 

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering. 

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms. 

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night. 

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?” 

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be. 

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach. 

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves. 

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach. 

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head. 

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river. 

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn. 

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired. 

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north. 

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night. 

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore… 

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it? 

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.” 

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island. 

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment. 

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage. 

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside. 

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side. 

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly. 

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head. 

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first. 

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable. 

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out. 

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes. 

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.  

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise. 

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually. 

Time slows. 

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at. 

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally– 

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound. 

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips. 

It wasn’t him. It was never him. 

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

“Iwa.” 

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care. 

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though. 

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch. 

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. 

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again. 

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to. 

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you. 

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter. 

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most. 

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood. 

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!” 

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks. 

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

[starlessea]

"Don’t Cry”

A/N This started off as a drabble, but I got carried away and it turned into a one-shot. I’m really happy with how this one turned out! Based on number #39 from this prompt list for @phoenixblack89​

Summary: Daryl hates seeing your tears. He’d much rather see you smiling, instead.

Masterlist

Buy Me A Coffee

Atlanta High School.

You’d graduated a long while back — so long ago now that you’d forgotten the feeling of walking its halls, and having your shoes squeak against the cheap wooden planks.

You could see the rows of lockers you’d chatted by daily, and the one in particular where you’d shared your first kiss with a boy whose name you couldn’t remember. The doors of the classrooms seemed familiar, as did the posters on the walls which were the same as they’d been when you attended — something about washing your hands and remembering to vote for class president.

It was as though time stood still.

And, in this very moment, there was nothing you wished for more.

Daryl’s hand was warm on your cheek, and his thumb gentle as he drew faint circles over your skin. You leaned into his touch, the same way you’d done with that boy against your locker — not even a few feet away.

But this was different.

This was Daryl.

Your lips quivered, trembling like a leaf stuck in the wind. Your hands felt numb as they pressed against him, so hard that you thought they would bruise. But all you could hear were those damn lockers — their doors slamming open and closed as they caught in the draft.

Like a sarcastic fucking applause.

Daryl tilted your head up, gently guiding your gaze from his collar to his face, where your eyes caught his. And your breath died in your throat, before bubbling into a sob that rang out in the air like the Atlanta High School bell.

He was smiling.

“Don’t cry,” he said — in the most calm, accepting tone you’d ever heard a person speak. It lacked all of his usual bite, the gruffness you’d come to know and associate with the man.

It sounded foreign.

Maybe that was why, despite his words, the tears poured over anyway, and settled on your cheeks where he swiped them away with a flick of his thumb.

“I wan’-” he started, but paused for a second to grimace from the pain. “I wanna remember ya smilin’.”

You choked on another watery cry, shaking your head away from his gentle hold, as you returned your focus to his wound.

The bite on his collarbone was deep, gushing blood quicker than you could soak it up with the tattered remnants of your jacket. His skin was a stark, vermillion red, as were your hands, as was the floor, as were those fucking lockers where you’d smeared his blood as you tried to carry him to safety.

Everything was red, red, red.

You pressed more firmly, soaking it up with fluttering hands that burnt from the sheer heat of his skin. He felt like a match having been set alight — burning brilliantly beneath your palms as you tried your best to quell the flames.

Daryl rested his hand over yours, engulfing it. “Listen to me, ” he rasped — and you panicked at how much more weak his voice was sounding — “there’s flares in my rucksack.”

He glanced over your shoulder, at the abandoned bag sitting near your feet. It was stuffed with supplies from the school — all of which were now completely useless, and nowhere near worth his goddamn life.

Sweat beaded on his skin, and collected in the dips of his collar — like little pools of salt water.

He squeezed your hand. “Ya gotta get to the roof an’ flag down Rick,” he told you, his smile dropping from his face as he became much more serious. “He’ll come for ya.”

Your hands stilled over the wound for a second, easing their pressure as you took in the man’s words. Then he flashed those eyes at you, which begged for you not to argue.

But you did.

You kicked out your leg behind you, sending that backpack sliding across those cheap wooden planks, and making it thud against a locker. You didn’t need the flares.

You just needed Daryl.

“I can’t-” you yelled, but your voice split, and the man quickly hushed you before it got too loud. After all, the dead had you surrounded. “I’m not leaving you behind,” you spluttered.

Your tone was frantic, panicked, desperate.

You could feel his heartbeat pounding underneath your palms, where you pressed down against it. It was as though you held his heart in your hands — and he’d probably argue that you always had.

Daryl shook his head smally, careful not to disturb the bite further. “An’ ya can’t take me with ya,” he replied.

No, you thought, you would carry him out if it killed you, you would fight your way through, and get him to the infirmary, and you could-

“I ain’t gonna make it, baby girl,” he whispered, “‘m sorry.”

And you broke.

Suddenly, you were aware of the flickering overhead lights that made his skin look so clammy, so sickly. You were conscious of the blood smear trail he’d left behind — that vibrant scarlet which reminded you of a burning sunset — and the pounding at the doors, and the feet squeaking on those floorboards like the lunchtime rush between classes.

“You will!” you yelled, not at all caring about how loud you’d gotten. “You have to, Daryl,” you cried, pleadingly.

His hand felt so warm that it made yours seem cold. It felt like you were the one dying — your heart shattering each time he took a wheezed breath, or flinched in pain.

“How am I-” you asked, but by now your voice had tapered off to a mere whisper. You shook your head. There was no question about it. “I can’t go on without you,” you told him.

You could hear the blood rushing to your ears as your breaths got away from you — too shallow and too sparse. Daryl looked worse each passing minute, his olive skin now a translucent grey.

He took both of your hands in his, making you drop your jacket, as blood seeped through the material of his shirt. You tried to fight against him, eyeing the trail of red as it ran along his collar like a stream, but he kept a hold of your wrists firmly — with the little strength he had left.

“Ya can,” he growled — the grit to his voice causing you to instantly still — “an’ ya will.”

And he flashed those eyes at you again, but this time they had his usual spark behind them.

“Yer the damn strongest woman I e’er met,” he went on, letting his grip loosen on your wrists ever so slightly, “‘m jus’ happy a dumb ol’ redneck like me got to spend a couple good years with ya.”

Then, he smiled.

“It was fun.”

He let your hands drop out of his, no longer having any fight left. But instead, you used them to clamber onto his lap, wrapping them around his torso as you buried your head deep into his chest — his warm, red chest.

“Please don’t talk like that!” you cried, your words muffled by his clothes and lost to his skin.“I’m not going anywhere! I want to stay with you-”

“Nah, that ain’t happenin’,” he snapped — but his hand remained light on your head, gently stroking your hair in his attempts to calm you. “I swear to god, I’ll haunt yer ass if ya dare pull somethin’ tha’ stupid.”

But you grabbed onto his shirt until your knuckles flashed white, bunching up the material in your fists like you couldn’t bear to part with it. It smelt like him — underneath the coppery scent of fresh blood.

Slowly, he tried to coax you out, but you could feel the way his hands shook, and it only made everything worse. Those hands had always been strong — had always been the ones to pick you up and set you back on your feet every time you fell.

“Look a’ me,” he pleaded, his voice croaky. He tilted your chin up again, in the same way he did every time he went to kiss you — and it made your heart hurt, because no kiss followed. “C’mon now, don’ cry,” he whispered, his breath much too hot against your skin, “‘m here.”

“But you won’t be,” you wailed, the words startling you as they crept out from your mouth.

You hadn’t wanted to admit them.

“But I am now,” Daryl replied, just as quick. “So please jus’ smile for me, would ya?”

His hand fell down to your waist, before rubbing small circles in the small of your back — just how he did every morning to wake you up.

You couldn’t do it, but you needed to do it.

For Daryl.

You uncurled yourself from his chest, and wiped away the fresh tears with your shirt, blinking away the rest. You moved in his lap until you were face to face, trying not to catch a glimpse of his wound which continued to pour red.

Then, you finally smiled back at him.

It was wobbly, and forced, but it was wide — and full of love.

“Atta girl,” he choked back, his voice breaking for the first time.

You couldn’t tell whether his glassy eyes were from the fever, or the pain, or from you, but you bit your lip either way.

Don’t cry, you told yourself, and watched as he did.

“Yer so goddamn beautiful,” he mumbled, raising his thumb to the corner of your lips. It was as callous as always, but at this moment it only felt soft. “I was one lucky son o’ a bitch,” he declared, with a warm smile.

You raised your hands in return, cupping his face and feeling his beard tickle over your palms — thinking back to the times you complained at how unkempt it was. His forehead dropped down onto yours, and the heat from his skin radiated outwards, setting you ablaze as you touched.

“I love you, Dixon,” you confessed, as though it were the first time and not the last. “Now and always.”

The overhead lights hummed as they flickered like camera flashes, and the pounding at the door became more incessant.

So, you drowned everything out with a press of your lips to his — as Daryl tilted your head up in the way he always did, and gave you one final kiss which tasted like seasalt and copper. It was underneath the locker where you’d had your first kiss, but now it marked your last one with the man you loved most in this world.

“Me too,” Daryl whispered, as you broke apart. He glanced over your shoulder once again, at the discarded backpack across the hall. “Now get outta here before they break through.”

You stumbled to your feet violently, needing a strong, stark shock to actually be enough to pull you away from the man for good.

And you didn’t look back.

You couldn’t. If you so much as caught a glimpse of those angel wings or heard as little as a breath escape his mouth, you wouldn’t have left.

And that would’ve killed Daryl in more ways than one.

So, you retrieved the backpack, and opened the fire escape door a few feet away, before slipping behind it, and sliding down to your knees.

The concrete cut your skin open, and once again you were confronted with red.

A cry escaped you, which morphed into a wail as you clutched your chest and tried to fix the bleeding happening inside it — the red that you couldn’t see.

But a shout startled you, and ceased your sobs as soon as they sounded.

“Don’ cry!” Daryl’s voice yelled, muffled by the metal door but still strong, and guttural, and fierce. “I can hear ya!”

So, you picked yourself back up, and set yourself on your feet in the same way he’d taught you how — and you ran for the roof, flare in hand.

Atlanta High School always had the best rooftop view.

The sunset stretched out in the distance, one of brilliant vermillion, and warm, copper orange. The balcony was the same as you remembered, with high metal railings to keep students from jumping, or getting too close to that view.

This roof had been the place where you’d yelled about hating this place, this town, this state — and had cried out to the sky about wishing to anywhere but here.

But now you didn’t want to leave.

Because your everything was right here.

You held the flare in your hand, wondering what colours it would burst and illuminate the sky — whilst praying it would be anything other than red.

You let off the flare, and a single gunshot followed.

End.

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A/N Blame Jess and Shannon for the increase in angst.

But I’m glad to be getting more comfortable with writing it!

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