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haadeswrites · 3 years

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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.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #cult au #tw: religious themes #tw: dubcon #tw: blood #tw: minor character death #tw: abuse #hades.dark #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader

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teawaffles · 3 years

Text

It Happened One Night: Chapter 2

The country house Mycroft had introduced them to was a little smaller than the nobles’ mansions they’d been to thus far, but it was an elegant villa, one which exuded a sense of history.

Its exterior was built in the Gothic style, with stone foundations. Planted in the vast gardens was a sea of flora in exquisite colour schemes, delighting the eye of any onlooker. [1]

Of course, the interior didn’t disappoint either: it was richly decorated, with intricately crafted furniture in every room; and hanging from the walls were portraits of the mansion’s owners, as well as landscapes painted by renowned artists. As Sherlock and company were here as guests, they were restricted in the number of rooms allowed for use, but the sheer number of luxury items that greeted them was still far greater than what any ordinary person could ever hope to obtain.

Their lives had literally been turned around.

Turned around…… and yet.

“——Booored……”

In the room he had picked himself, Sherlock looked out the window, gazing at the tranquil garden flooded with gentle sunlight.

It had been three days since they’d moved in, and Sherlock had already grown weary of this lavish lifestyle.

He only took care of the plants in the garden insomuch that they wouldn’t wither, but otherwise he had no interest in the flowers themselves. Moreover, he had already tired of gazing upon the decorations and furniture and paintings in the house. The underground wine cellar aroused some interest, but as an invited guest, helping himself to the liquor as he pleased was evidently a breach of etiquette.

In the end, there wasn’t much to do in this mansion.

As John had suggested, requests from clients were reaching him by mail in the meantime, but they had all been simple cases, solvable just by reading the letters. Couldn’t one difficult case come in sometime? Sherlock sighed heavily as he wrote down the solutions in his replies.

His boredom was plain as day. John, who was seated across him, spoke up in a soft voice.

“Sherlock. We just got tangled up in a big incident a while back, so isn’t it a good thing to take a break for once?”

“Y’know, John, just one day of rest is enough for me. If I don’t get the right level of stimulation, my brain will get all mouldy.”

“What an absurd……”

Just then, the door opened.

“Sherlock, John-kun, I’ve made some tea.”

Miss Hudson walked in bearing a silver tray. On top of it were some nicely baked biscuits, and black tea in teacups with simple designs. As they’d been given permission to use the kitchens, she had been devoting her spare time to baking.

“Thank you, Miss Hudson.”

“Thanks—”

The two of them each took a biscuit from the tray on the table, and munched on it.

“How is it? I’m quite proud of them myself,” she asked.

John nodded in satisfaction.

“It’s very delicious. Right, Sherlock?”

“Oh, it’s good, yeah,” he replied, deadpan.

Miss Hudson shook her head sadly.

“……Well now. If you’re this bored, why don’t you head down to one of the nearby villages? Seeing as there’s such fine weather too.”

Sherlock sent his gaze out the window yet again.

“That’s true……. And if an interesting case pops up, it would be just my luck.”

“Don’t say something so troubling — we’ve worked hard for this peace and quiet.”

John was familiar with Sherlock’s character, but this level of addiction to his work was nothing short of astounding. Miss Hudson, clearly worried by the detective’s words, placed a hand on John’s shoulder.

“John-kun, with Sherlock in this state, I’m worried he’ll get up to no good. Just in case, could you tag along with him?”

“Certainly; leave it to me. It’ll also be a perfect opportunity to get some exercise.”

“What’re you both taking me for……?” Sherlock grumbled — he’d been half-joking, and was surprised to find his words being taken seriously.

Then, with Miss Hudson taking care of the house, the two men set off.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

The Cotswolds was a region 200 kilometres west of London, renowned for its rustic charm, with its rolling hills carpeted in verdant grass.

From where they were, they could see flocks of white sheep and tiny villages dotting the vast green landscape. The village buildings were constructed from limestone: in the northeast of the Cotswolds, it was the colour of honey; in the central region, it was golden-yellow; in the southwest, it turned white instead.

Walking along a path which cut through some pastures, Sherlock and John arrived at the village nearest to the mansion.

A small stream meandered through the village, and built along it was a series of stone houses. It looked right out of a picture book.

Their hearts healed by the idyllic scene before them, the two men headed to the centre of the village, in a bid to find some boredom-busting information. There, they found a two-storey inn. When he noticed that a section of the first floor had been converted into a pub, Sherlock broke into a grin.

“Oi, John. Let’s have a pint to pass the time.”

John shot him a dubious look.

“Sherlock. Drinking during the day isn’t something I approve of.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a vacation anyway — why not let loose for a bit?”

“And who was it who said he’d had enough of resting just now……?”

This was a fine example of what it meant to do an about-turn.

But it wasn’t the first time Sherlock had done something on a whim. John reluctantly followed him into the inn.

As expected for a country pub in the daytime, there were only a handful of customers seated quietly inside — it was nothing like the bustle of the city. At the counter was a tall man, who looked like he was running the business alone.

The two men sat at the bar. Sherlock ordered beer, while John chose some light snacks. As their orders were served up, Sherlock took a swig, then directed a question to the owner.

“Hey. Isn’t there anything interesting going on around here?”

At this vague question, the pub owner rubbed his chin.

“Anything interesting, huh. Well there is, but it’s a family matter. Are you two tourists?”

John spoke up. “No, it’s complicated…… For various reasons, we’re staying in the residence of a nearby landowner for the time being.”

“Hmm, so you’re a close friend of this noble?”

“That’s not it either…… This man here is the detective Sherlock Holmes, and I’m his assistant.”

“Ah, I’ve heard of you. So you’re that Holmes. Must’ve been tough comin’ all the way out here.”

It seemed he had little interest in celebrities: hearing Sherlock’s name didn’t stir up much of a reaction.

Sherlock stared into his beer glass.

“By the way, you said something just now about a ‘family matter’?”

It seemed he had remembered what the owner said earlier, about there being something interesting. Then, the owner’s voice turned slightly cheery.

“Actually, my daughter’s in London now, and she’s getting married. She’s bringing her fiancé here the evening after tomorrow. I’ve met him just once before, but he’s a solid chap. I was kinda worried she’d get on with some weird fellow, so I’m relieved.”

“Congratulations — you must be proud.”

At John’s words, the owner rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Thanks. I’m also planning a wedding celebration that night, with some friends from the nearby villages.”

Sherlock hummed in reply. It wasn’t clear if he was interested or not.

“But the second floor is used as an inn, right? Wouldn’t the noise invite complaints?”

“Not to worry: there’s only one person staying upstairs now, and I’ve already gotten his agreement. Anyway, it’s pretty rare for outsiders to come to a small village like this. I still run the inn for formality’s sake, but most of my income comes from this pub.”

“But there is one person here.”

“Yeah, a guy who just arrived a while ago. It seems he’s an obscure painter; he said he wanted a quiet place to concentrate on his art and stimulate his creativity, so he’s rented a room for around ten days.”

That number startled John.

“That’s quite a long stay.”

“The rooms are all empty anyway, so I don’t mind at all. Also, instead of an atelier, well…… can you see it from here?”

The owner pointed at something beyond the window. A little ways from the inn, at the end of a patch of exposed, blackened earth, stood a small shed.

When the two men caught sight of the shed and nodded, the pub owner continued.

“It was originally a stable, but got remodelled into a storage shed. This guy said it was easy to concentrate there, so he moved lots of bulky luggage into the shed via carriage, and now he spends most of his day cooped up inside.”

“Something seems off. What happened to his original belongings?”

“There weren’t many to begin with, so now they’ve been moved to an empty room on the second floor. The others in the village don’t really like him, but he pays his bills on time, so I’ve nothing to say to that. And there weren’t many things in the shed in the first place, so he’s not causing me any trouble.”

Just as the owner finished speaking, the shed door opened, and they saw a man walk out alone.

Sherlock spoke up.

“Is, that the artist?”

“Yeah, his name is Rheos. I think he’s from around France.” [2]

Rheos was a pale, lanky young man dressed in awfully shabby clothes: he truly looked like an artist detached from reality. His shoulder-length hair hid most of his features, but his quick steps revealed the strength in his legs. He was carrying a large, dirty case under his arm.

“…………”

Sherlock stared with inscrutable eyes as he tried to figure out where Rheos was going, but quickly turned back to the barkeep.

“So, is he using this place as a base, and travelling around the area to paint landscapes?”

The owner shook his head.

“I thought so too at first, but apparently he practises by referencing works from famous artists.”

“Hmm, you said earlier that he always coops himself up in that shed. I thought he’d go out during the day if he’s painting scenery.”

“He’s an odd one, that’s for sure. But anyway, I’m the one who took him in, and he hasn’t caused any problems so far. I say it’s up to him where and how he wants to paint. ——By the way, Mr Detective—”

He leaned over to Sherlock a little.

“What is it?”

“From your detective work, I’m sure you’ve seen many strange cases, now haven’t you? If you’re willing, why not tell us about one or two at the dinner party?”

The owner broke into a wide grin, but on the contrary, Sherlock’s face twitched. To be honest, it was simply awkward to attend a complete stranger’s wedding party. Hence he decided to gently turn down the offer.

“……Umm, thank you for the invitation, but——”

“——Hmm? How about it? It’s my precious daughter’s wedding, y’know. I’ll do anything to make things even a little more exciting.”

However, contrary to his expectations, the pub owner seemed adamant that Sherlock regale the guests with stories from his detective work. The strength of his insistence had flustered Sherlock for a moment, but eventually, he clapped his partner’s shoulder beside him.

“In that case, John here can go. After all, he’s witnessed many of the strange things I’ve encountered up close.”

“Huh? What’re you saying, Sherlock!?”

Realising that he was being offered up instead, John panicked. As much as he wanted to congratulate the happy couple on their marriage, he didn’t want to be sent out to speak before a whole bunch of strangers.

“You’re always complaining about this and that — only now do you appreciate me? It’s not fair!”

“No need to be humble. I can personally guarantee your ability as a storyteller.”

“No, hold on just a——”

“——Oh, so you’ll be speaking in place of him, eh?”

Unfortunately for John, the owner had now set his sights on him.

“U-Uh, I……”

John put both hands before him in an effort to convey that he wouldn’t be joining the party, but in the face of the pub owner’s blinding smile, he realised all resistance would only be futile.

“Alright. I shall attend……”

“Thank you. As a further token of my thanks, have some slightly more expensive beer on the house.”

Now in a great mood, the owner took two bottles of beer from the shelves behind him.

Having been forced into speaking in public about their cases — a fine mess indeed — John was downright depressed. Sherlock patted him on the shoulder.

“Sorry. If I were to talk instead, it would just sound like I’m bragging. Do you want to get some practice in while you can?” suggested Sherlock, with a half-smile.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

John shot him a reproachful glare.

Footnotes:

[1] To give you a sense of how the house might look like, here are some examples of Victorian Gothic houses: The Guardian

[2] Rheos (pronounced ray-oh-s) is honestly my best guess at his name… (In the book it’s written as レオス). Rheos is also a real name!

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #forbidden games

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mermaider00 · 5 years

Note

Do you think you could write a little something in that human ventor au

Oh yes yes! This snippet is from my human!Ventor AU where Lotor moves to a beach town to escape his family and meets a sweet and quirky girl named Ven’tar. Enjoy

-------------------------------------------------

The island was hot, humid, and sunny. It was like that all year and the only season that really mattered was hurricane season, but that consistency was a breath of fresh air to Lotor. Hot, humid, and sunny - with the occasional rain and wind storms - was easier to manage than four seasons in the city. Four seasons at home. Four seasons with his strict father and his distant mother and the life they’d tried to mold for him since the day he entered the world as a quiet baby. Packing his bags and leaving it all behind was the best decision he’d ever made. The four seasons in the city had given him loneliness, depression, paranoia, and nightmares.

The island had set him free.

It had taken him some time to adjust to island life, to begin again with the vast inheritance he’d taken from Zarkon Daibazaal, but at thirty-three years old, Lotor Sincline thought it was time to take what was his as he left his family forever and changed his last name. Quintessence Island was his new home now, though it had been a rough start in a brand new world where no one knew who he was. He’d used his money to buy a house on the beach and open Oriande Books, which did surprisingly well on an island that catered to vacationers all year round. He met new people when the locals had been very curious about the handsome new resident of their island, had adjusted to the weather, made connections. Lived his life with peace now, as peaceful as the rolling waves of the sea that were right outside his front door a short walk away from town.

Lotor steered his dark blue jeep, the salty air whipping through his long hair the color of gray stone he’d inherited from his mother. He’d tied it back into a braid for fear of terrible knots from the openness of his vehicle, but it felt good to fly through the air, to see the ocean on his left. To drive to a home that belonged solely to him. Acxa was manning the shop so he could head back to the big house and work on the paperwork end of book selling in his office. The sky was bright blue, the road was clear. A group of surfers were running towards the waves on the beach.

His foot went to the brake when he noticed a moving black creature right in the middle of the road.

Lotor stopped the jeep, put it in park. No one was around on the roads, and if they needed to pass him, they simply would without a care. It was more important to slow everyone down anyway until he removed the animal from the street. Someone close to him now wouldn’t appreciate it if he left the poor thing to get run over by a careless driver. With boots crunching on the asphalt, Lotor approached the squirmy black bundle. He stopped, looked down.

A kitten, he saw. A very tiny, black kitten left all alone on the street.

Instantly he bent to pick it up. He checked it for fleas, for burns from the hot road. A boy kitten, he noticed as well. Lotor cradled him to his chest, then looked around for a mother cat. He even waited a moment or two as the kitten mewed against him.

“Well,” he said to the tiny fur ball that was digging its tiny claws into his white shirt. “I can’t just leave you here. The evil gulls might take you.”

The kitten let out a meep.

Lotor smiled, though he was unsure about caring for such a small kitten who looked young enough that it might still need its mother. His legs were so tiny, he hadn’t made it fully across the street. Holding him close, Lotor climbed back into the jeep. Instantly he reached for his cell phone. He didn’t know how to take care of a kitten, and his home was closer than the local vet clinic.

He called the best person he knew to tell him what he should do. And she answered on the second ring.

“Hi, handsome,” she said.

His smile was immediate. “I found a cat, Ven. A kitten. He was in the middle of the road.”

He heard a very audible gasp through the phone. “Is he okay? Let me talk to him.”

Lotor shook his head. She said the strangest things sometimes. “Who gave you your job at the zoo? He can’t talk to you, Ven’tar, he’s a cat. A tiny one.”

“What’s he saying?”

“He’s...” Lotor looked down in his lap, trying to keep the kitten in the cradle of his shirt. “Meeping.”

“Meeping,” she repeated, and he could picture her nodding. “My shift is almost up. I’ll stop by the store to get him a few things and then I’ll meet you at your place.”

“No, Ven, I can’t keep him, don’t buy him things--”

He sighed. She’d already disconnected.

Ven’tar Quinn, the quirkiest woman he’d ever met in his life. A local of the island who worked at Kompassia Zoo tending to the animals, and his first real friend. More than friends? Lotor wondered as he remembered the night of his first hurricane and how she’d come to help board up his house and ride out the storm with him. The power had gone out and there were candles and darkness and they had been bored and she had been lovely...

Ven didn’t talk about that night, or the next morning when she’d stretched out in his bed as naked as the day she’d been born. He figured it had been a one time thing. Maybe it was.

Or maybe it wasn’t, he thought as he pulled up to his big house.

It wasn’t long until he heard her feet scampering up to his door, letting herself inside in her flip flops and her breezy green sundress and a couple of shopping bags in her hands. Her oddly cut black hair was tousled from the sea breeze and her green eyes were wild as they searched for a little lost kitten.

“Oh, precious baby. Sweet, sweet precious baby,” she cooed as she scooped him up from the small blanket Lotor had set him on. Ven had a way with animals that would never cease to amaze him, and already the kitten was softly purring against her. “Who left you in the street? Who? Lotor defended you, didn’t he? He kept you safe, he’s a good cat daddy already, isn’t he?”

He sighed. “Hello, Ven’tar.”

“He doesn’t have fleas,” Ven said, more to herself than to him as she inspected the kitten’s belly and black fur. “His paws looked a little burned, but some good recovery time in a comfy house will heal them right up. I think he’d old enough to try a little tuna I brought for him. He’s hungry,” she said to Lotor, meeting his blue eyes. “Can you fix him something while I love on him some more? He’s been through a lot.”

Ven’tar loved animals more than she liked people, but it seemed he’d become the one exception to that rule. Knowing she was now lost to the kitten, Lotor spooned out a little tuna in the kitchen, filled a small bowl with some cold water. Every now and then he would glance over at Ven, at the way the skirt of her sundress swished around her thighs, or the delicate way her hands cradled the black kitten. He was a man who had run away from all his previous connections, had wanted nothing more than to live a very quiet and relationship-free life on an island where he could be alone and do what he wanted.

But he liked having her around. He really liked... her. A lot. She was like a rainbow. Colorful and lovely and promising. Colors after a bad storm.

“You might want to take him to the clinic tomorrow, just to get him all checked out,” Ven said, placing the kitten on the floor along with the bowls of food and water Lotor set down. “I think he looks good though. A little young to be without his mama, but we can make it work. He’ll need a name,” she added with a grin as she looked up at him.

“I’m not naming him because I’m not keeping him,” Lotor told her, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t think this meeting was destiny? You don’t think you were meant to find him because you two were meant to be together? In another reality, Lotor, this little guy could’ve been your childhood pet. In space.”

“I highly doubt that. My father despised cats. And your imagination is something else.”

Ven tilted her head and lifted one black brow. “Of all the people in this town, you were the one to spot him on the street. He would be dead if it wasn’t for you. That makes you his hero. He’s going to repay you with a lifetime of companionship.”

“He’s going to repay me by pissing all over my house and keeping me up all night when he wants to play. If you want to give him a home, take him back to your place.”

Of course she knew he didn’t mean for his words to come off as cruel. Lotor Sincline had an issue with attaching himself to others, especially by the heart. She had almost had to force her way into friendship when she’d discovered he’d had no one. Lotor had called out to her, just as this little kitten eating away called out to Lotor for safety.

“You know I can’t keep him in my studio apartment, those heathens who own the place won’t allow pets. You have a big house that’s just crying out for a handsome black cat to watch over it. A handsome cat for a handsome man.”

He eyed her and pointed one long finger at her. “Don’t try to sweet talk me, Quinn.”

Ven only giggled, then gently took his hand so she could kiss the tip of the finger he held up. “I could help you take care of him, you know. That means I would be over a lot more. And I just happen to find kitten rescuers very attractive.”

Lotor remained still when she stepped up to him, when she wrapped his arm around her waist and especially when she took his face in her hands and leaned up to softly peck his mouth. She’d painted her nails purple and her lips tasted like cherries.

More than just friends, he decided.

One bat of her long black lashes over her beautiful green eyes had him melting, though he tried hard not to show it.

“Are you trying to seduce me into keeping this cat?” he asked her.

She innocently lifted a shoulder. Her smile was like a ray of the sun. “Yeah,” she answered simply.

With his hand on her waist and her arms around his neck, Lotor glanced down at the little black kitten. Maybe he really could train him to be a guard cat, to keep strangers away. And maybe it would be nice to have another living thing in this house with him when he was all alone, someone who wouldn’t bother him.

Cats were... pleasing.

“My mother used to have a cat, before she met my father,” he said softly. Usually he didn’t speak of his family life, not even to the therapist he’d had since he was a boy. But everything came easily with Ven’tar. “His name was Kova. I think... his name should be Kova.”

“Kova,” Ven repeated with a big smile. “I love it. I guess I’ll have to spend the night now. To help you look after him.”

Lotor pulled her against him and murmured, “I guess you will.” And kissed her again.

#lotor #ven'tar #ventor #vld

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writeforself · 5 years

Text

Hearts of Wolves [1/4]

Brasidas x Reader

A/N: This one is going to be slow, development and writing process both.

Standing by the Adrestia, at a small harbour in Korinthia, you usher Phoibe onto the ship. You are appointed with the grand task by your step sister, Kassandra, to escort Phoibe safely back to Athens, despite the protest of Phoibe’s, as well as your unfamiliarity with this city you once fought against.

Across the gulf, there stands the legendary Salamis, and beyond lies the great city of Athens. Not long ago you visited Athens for the first time, along with your newly acquainted step sister. It was a troubled time for both of you, so you weren’t in the mood to savour the grandeur of the city. You actually spent the whole time at the Piraeus, gazing at the great wall, and a glimpse of acropolis, from the ship far away.

“I wonder where pater is now.”

After the confrontation between Kassandra and your step-pater, Nikolaos the Wolf of Sparta, he disappeared. As the special guard of his, you witnessed the whole event and asked to travel with Kassandra. Hated to face your step brother Stentor alone, you left Megaris as well, with Kassandra, without a trace. It had been a while since then, sometimes you muse about the reaction Stentor might have. Never were the two of you close, yet after all he had done a decent job being a brother, before pater appointed you.

The roaring waves of the sea, hitting the dock perpetually with a hypnotising rhythm; you ponder on the decisions you had made. Leaving Sparta behind was easy for you; if the story they told were true, you probably weren’t even a Spartan. Nevertheless, there is something you think about when you are on the sea, or in the land afar. A person actually; an acquaintance to be more precise.

“ [Y/N] can I take the helm?” A voice breaks your thought, it is Phoibe. “Sure, why don’t you ask Barnabas to help you get to know Adrestia more first?”

With a squeak of excitement, she runs off like a wind and boards the ship. From a distance, you could see Barnabas standing at the far end of the ship, holding a bowl of wine as always, and being frightened by the sudden energy that Phoibe pours onto him. Yet they soon recognise each other as kindred spirits.

“By the gods.” You hear a familiar voice coming from behind, but out of cautious, you keep your hand closely by the dagger which was hidden carefully around your waist. You have heard he is stationed in Korinth, but you didn’t expect to meet him. You didn’t even anticipate him to remember you. Turning around, you meet with his amber eyes, bright as the chariot of Helios. “It is you!”

“Captain Brasidas,” As soon as you meet his eyes, you shift your gaze to the ground, as if you are bowing out of courteous. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Although you have only met in a brief occasion, his voice left a profound imprint in your mind. He looks much the same as if he is walking out of your memory. Enchanted by his presence you can barely maintain your poise. His hair and beard stand firmly despite the warm sea wind, but the short braid dangling behind evokes a gentle smile on your face. Yet you do not understand the reason behind your delight.

“The ghost child of the wolf.” He quickly draws close to you and gives you a pat on the back, which soon turns into a cordial embrace.The strength he possess transforms into friendliness and livens up your spirits. “Great to meet you again.”

The ghost child, the name that people gave you back in Sparta. They never said that in front of you, only whisper into the winds. Perhaps it was because you were never really around; moving across the fields and hills like a phantom, appearing out of nowhere. They barely approved you existence because of your background and the eccentric bow you carried around. Perhaps it was the reason Nikolaos assigned you as his special guard, to protect him out of conspirators’ sight. He’s gone now, no one left to protect.

Meeting his gaze once more brings nostalgia. The day you met him was a sunny one like today.

***

Before you were appointed as the special guard, you spent your time wandering around the forests and mountains of Lakonia, running across the field like Atlanta. Although each excursion only exchanged scolding from Nikolaos, and scoffing from Stentor, you would always set out for another exploration.

From time to time you had been told of your background again and again--found in the forest outside of Lakonia with the bow by another Spartan general, and was taken under Nikolaos wing after that general died on battlefield. Nikolaos was a great pater; you were fortunate enough to be adopted in a fretful time like that. As for Sparta, they took you in but never as one of their own.

So there you were. Concealed yourself from the eyes of people, yet eager to appreciate this land you were supposed to call home. Across the meadows, down the creeks, along the hills, up to the peaks, all over Lakonia. Stilly, you would crouch in the bushes, watching others undertook the relentless trainings, seeing some of them being torn apart by the ruthless wolves, which always made you run back home and fall into silence for days. Yet if there’s one thing you realized growing up in Sparta, that is it’s better to be torn apart by wolves, than by men.

Sometimes you dwelled on the stories you overheard, about the family Nikolaos once had. A family torn apart with his own hands. You never bothered to ask, because you could see the torment resting deep in his eyes. Like a wolf, too proud to expose his agony, he concealed it deep inside. Sometimes you two would sit beside the bonfire, watching the logs cracked and dismantled; like two injured wolves seeking consolation. He used to say he took you in because he saw himself in you, which you could never grasp with such idea.

One time you reached the border of the city, resting upon the hills near the statues of Castor and Pollux, looking at the vast forest lying far away, which extended beyond horizon. To the east across the glittering sea, along the rocky coastline nestled another colossal forest. Sometimes you muse about the location you were found; Was it on the land of golden crops? Or was it on the land of healing?

You tread further down the hill. The breeze soared up along the elevation; for a moment you felt like an eagle gliding high along the peaks, through the land and across the sea, traversing aimlessly in this boundless world.

“The ghost child of the wolf.” Pulled back from the reverie, you raised your bow to the source of the voice promptly. Despite being taught to act without hesitation, you were grateful you haven’t always been an obedient type. “It’s an honour.”

Not the word you expected to hear from a man being pointed by an arrow. He approached eagerly; after a gracious nod he reached out for a handshake, which did not receive an immediate response. Instead, you withdrew the arrow and took a step back.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” He gave up on the handshake, and placed behind him with grace. Beside Nikolaos, you’ve never seen a man acts in such solemnity. “Plus, I don’t think we’re acquainted.”

Unlike the aggression you usually encountered, his reaction was refreshing, which ignited your curiosity. An unfamiliar sentiment rose inside your bosom, when you saw he bursted into a soft laughter.

“My apology.” He laughed, still sustaining the elegance he possessed. “My name is Brasidas. I have heard a lot about you.” “I’m sure you do.”

You lowered your guard when he introduced himself because you had heard about his outstanding performance during training. But decided to ignore him, you threw the bow back on your back, then made your way further down the slope, and found a perfect spot near the cliff, to luxuriate in the sensational view of the bay and the Aegean Sea. Islands scattered across the azure serenity. Usually you were alone to relish this tranquility.

“Nikolaos said great things about you.” He chose to join in. You were astounded by how peaceful you felt about his presence, a stimulating contentment, without alienation.

“He does?” Before you could protest, he had already settled comfortably next to you. Peeking at this expression with the corner of your eye, you waited for his answer.

“Yes, a cub with great potential he said.” Not like others’, treating you like an exotic beast, his stare is gentle and genuine. He looked straight ahead, at the coastline, at the cliffs, or at the immeasurable blue, before turning back to you. “What are you doing here?” “Pondering,” Picking up a tiny stone, you threw it off the cliff. “Alone.”

“I’m sorry if you feel bothered.” You saw him turned away, his gaze shifting on the ground. “I just happen to see you here. And want to meet you in person after hearing so much from Nikolaos.”

“Don’t worry.” A subtle smile naturally came upon your lips, which was uncommon for you in the face of a stranger. “It’s an unusual path for a hike though, predators are common in this part.” “It is. But I see you are already familiar with this part.” He replied. “Yes, I come here a lot. I’ve been to every corner in Lakonia, but I like here the best.”

The snowy mountain peaks, the furthest south of Peloponnese, the streams running across the land then into the sea, nothing can compare with the hills that leads to another strange yet familiar landscape.

“The view is quite extraordinary.” He said, stretching his legs in front of him, glancing at the sky. “Yet I feel like you didn’t come here for the view.” “Nikolaos is not lying, your intuition is impressive.” He chuckled. “Why are you here then?” Your tone remained flat. “Guess I will need a hand. Come.”

He jumped up from his seat in such agility as if the wind just lifted him up like a bird ascending. Without a second utterance he walked toward north, down the slope, en route to the forest where Lakonia meets with Arkadia.

And you follow behind, with indecision in mind.

tbc...

#brasidas x reader #brasidas #ac oddysey #Assassin's Creed #assassin's creed odyssey #assassin's creed imagine

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paperthinbitch · 4 years

Text

Dreaming in the year 3000- A dystopian short story

Whilst driving home, I realise I’m tired again. Working 2 jobs, studying, cooking, keeping fit, and maintaining good hygiene is a chore. I guess not much has changed since the 2000s. Atleast that’s what I’ve learned as part of my 2 year degree in historical architecture. I’m looking specifically at how humans tackled climate change 1000 years ago in their building designs. It’s boring stuff. Thank goodness taking a long break isn’t as taboo now as it was back then.

The reason I say ‘a long break’ is because that��s what I think I need. I don’t think it will be cured by a regular sleep. It’s time to go to the CoCoon agian. I’ve been to the CoCoon once before, and though I didn’t dream, my stasis left me feeling my so refreshed. A year flew by but i don’t regret it. I needed that time away. My parents don’t understand, it’s hard to keep going. I might pay extra to dream during my stasis this time. Perhaps I’ll get an upgrade to a pod where I stand. They work your muscles in those pods whilst you’re out using tiny electrodes to stop your arms and legs feeling gooey like they do when you get up from the landscape pods.

The receptionist greets me and confirms my reservation details at the entrance to the CoCoon warehouse. The words ‘So good you could rest for Millennia’ on the walls behind.

“So you’ve booked the dream package for 5 months, is that right?

‘Yes.’ I say

‘And you’re ok with the rent price of the portrait orientation pods being subject to a possible 1.15% increase in price during the duration of your stay?’

‘I wasn’t aware of that but I guess it’s fine.’

‘And since you’ve selected the dream package you will be chipped. You’ve already signed and returned the consent from but will you just confirm now that you are still okay to go through with it?’

‘Yeah, that’s fine. It will come of after i wake up right?

‘Yeah, it will fall off by itself in as soon as you wake up. Don’t worry about the wound, it’ll heal right up in a week or two.’

‘Okay.’

‘Great, I’ll just grab your pod key and instruction manual.’ She drifts of into the back office and emerges a few seconds later with the key and pod information. She gestures for me to follow her. We walk into a vast warehouse filled as tightly as possible in what seems like hundreds of thousands of stasis pods. People silently preserved in their little rentals for as little as a day, and as long as a decade.

‘Your pod is on the 7th floor’ A glass lift in summoned, inside a 3ft greeter-robot meets us.

‘You okay, Artie?’ Says the receptionist ‘long day?’

Artie lets through a snigger, ‘I’m not complaining miss Rebecca, as long as they keep charging me I keep working’

Rebecca smiles as our floor approaches, and the lift doors ping open. ‘I’ll see you at the robo rights rally’

‘Okay Miss Robin, here we are. Now you were under our standard package the last time. Your consciousness was shut down and you were not aware you were in stasis. The The upgrade to the dream package offers the luxury being aware. This gives you the ability of being able exit your stasis earlier than your release date. Your unique safe word is written in your instruction manual.’

‘Snikerdoodle467891?’

‘Yes. It is also written in a hidden location inside your dream home’

‘Behind the self-portrait oil painting in the studio?’

‘Yes. Bear in mind you will incur a 10% charge if you choose to use your safe word and wake up early. Another 5% if you leave your pod. You have to inform us if you leave and state how long you will be away. You will be charged the full price of your stay if you do not return to complete your stay. If we can not collect payment we have the right to track via your chip and force payment.’

‘Okay’

‘Great, I’ll leave you to it’ As Rebecca helps me hook up to the stasis machine, I ask her about the robo rights rally she’s attending. She tells me she finds it important as a 22 year old to make a difference so long as you have the willpower and energy. I tell her I’m the same age but I’m all willpower-ed out. She laughs. She tells me she sees all kind of people coming by with the same issue. Some younger than us, many older.

‘It’s okay though’ she reassures me’ it can get like that sometimes.’ She tells me she feels tired too but has yet to jump into a pod herself.

‘Why haven’t you?’ I ask her and she begins to close the door.

‘I guess I just want to use every minute of my youth to make a difference’ she says smiling faintly. ‘See you later, Miss Robin.’

I inject the stasis drug into my arm and sink back into the biosynthetic leather cushioning. My vision hazes as my eyes forcebly close. The electrodes at the back of my neck force my mind to craft the dream I’ve chosen.

A big detached house in the hills by a 2019 Amalfi Coast. Orchards of mango, apple, pomegranate and clementine trees surround it’s garden.

My garden, turkish roses creeping up the fences and filling the air with sweet fragrance.

I begin to remember a special request I made. A swing, which I find tucked away in the corner of my garden, with the fantastic view of the dusk orange sea as sunset draws in. As I sit I hear the voices of men below preparing to close their stalls for the day. Some bellowing out the final prices of their perfectly seee smelling clementines.

A cold sea breeze blows through rustling past the leaves of the orchard trees and I feel I shiver up my spine as I begin to wander whether to head inside, or stay and watch the sunset.

‘Here’

Starteled, i jump and turn to find Ken. Another special request. He had signed a consent form for use of his character before he too went into stasis a month prior. He made me sign one for him too. He draps a woollen scarf around me and drops to his knees in front me. He kisses my hands, and he kisses my forehead.

‘Welcome home’

#sleep deprived #while you were sleeping #stasis #dreaming #stargate atlantis #future #short story #dystopia #year 3000 #amalfi coast #sunset #2019 #dont we all need a break sometimes

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morrpriestess · 5 years

Text

A Story

So, here’s a very long channeling of sorts!

Sometimes, one can travel dimensions through art and imagery. Entering the dream realm in order to heal or repair. To fix some truths and to just observe. Let it be.

Really I just wanted something different :)

Here’s a little visit. A journey through my subconscious. It’s quite long. But this is pretty much what I do. To be honest. I doubt there’s anybody who’ll read this. But if you do, I hope you enjoy it as much as I have...

I was there, just laying under the sun and shadows in a petit hammock. A desert, a beach. I don’t know at this point honestly. So dry and so serene, yet in my mind it is so fresh; vibrant waters and blue waves.

Am I the only one to see it? Does anybody else see it?

Until now it’s only me. And it is perhaps after all, only because it is me, and I haven’t asked anyone yet. Who’s fault is that? No one’s. Just me and the sea…

Just the sea and me, didn’t you mean?

Well, no. Maybe. Hey, at least they rime together!

True… love you!

Me too!

And from afar I can see my mother and Di, they’re picking up algae to eat and to cook. But well, I don’t know if they see it. For all I know, those could be plants and such. I don’t think they see it. They just stare at it with a serious classical ‘resting bitch face.’ who am I to judge though, mine probably looks like that too.

So still.

And yet behind me, I see my two cousins, I & D, fighting with swords in front of St and Ro, each quietly rooting for their respective sons. An amicable match. And suddenly think... I’m lucky I’m a girl…

Let’s go see the fight! I go and stand up, I’m bored and even so yet, I have the option to return, so I’ll gladly take it once again later, to keep seeing the beautiful, floating vast blue, neon sea. This time at night. I get excited just thinking about it!

I’m glad I’ve become more cheerful...

Anyways, back to the friendly fight, just clashing swords. Hermione’s watching and she doesn’t care, she rolls her eyes playfully and goes away. Ale is watching from afar with some really cool sunglasses, pretty much just taking care of us, not listening though. My father is far from here and suddenly approaches me. He tells me that I should fight. And so, as many times before, I chose to humor him. I’m no good at this! I blush, but even so among my shy nature, I manage to look secure, to look confident or at the very least rescuable. Laughing, and making some jokes here and there, making a silly remark about how I’ll win without a doubt.

One laughs while the other feels the need to tell me how wrong I was in a very indignated way, but even so, I feel respect from both of them… hmm, funny. I thought that they underestimated me, or just didn’t take me seriously?

Who am I to them and to the men in my family?

As I grab my sword, as I get handed one I see the crystals within it. It is green, emerald green, I blow at it, and it appears to have encrusted lilac gems. Platinum black, green, lilac. Then crystalline. I still wonder…

Do they see it?

One’s sword is bright, baby blue with some lilac, holographic-like highlights, and the other one is more modest, wooden, with sharp metal, silver edges. Stylish and holy in another level.

And doesn’t that make you feel selfish? Show-offy?

Bad?

I believe that the only selfish in me is you judging me. Am I not enough for me?

I’m just what I need, and I’ve always been. And if you don’t see that, if you don’t feel that, then probably the one who’s being selfish is you. Why not be sufficient with yourself. Instead of wanting me to be, what you’ve never been?

Let me love me.

Let me need me.

Let me love you.

And let me be needed as well as need.

I’m a child and I’m old. Both of them need more than an adult does in the physical world. And that’s okay, that’s fine. Adults need help on the other side. And that’s fine.

I feel oddly proud… vibrant baby blue, wooden with sharp edges. I then remembered that I’m the eldest of us all. Behind me, I can feel and see, both Se & So, a bit far away in a wheel swing. Just healing each other’s wounds and making each other laugh. Kids. I’m glad. Se is among the girls and I’m among the guys. Interesting. Funny! I smile. It fills me with joy and energy! Though grandpa is at the beach, just looking at the sky, trying to feel his legs until falling asleep.

And while I’m distracted and dazed, both cousins try to take me out first. The swords go right through me as if I were a ghost. Suddenly they don’t see me, perhaps taking this a little bit too seriously. I laugh whole-heartedly. With an amicable insult and cocky, playful bravado I pretend to attack. Both feeling very paranoid as I sing and dance. They both know that the true battle is about to start.

And so, as expected, one lashes out to hit me and I dodge laughing, then again screaming. I tell him: let's take I out first. And he surprisingly believes me! I push him and attempt to take his sword.

St protests at the injustice and Ro laughs at it. My dad nods negative…

And I don’t care.

I feel free. My ‘victim’ pushes me back and tries to hit me more intensely. He’s angry but he’s making an effort to have fun. Which means that he’s going to win for my own safety probably.

The other one stabs him in the back and gets stabbed right back. And funnily enough, I win!

Or, well, I guess I did win. In a rather strange way. But hey, once a winner, always a winner!

As everyone else just boos and complains, leaves to do something else, perhaps and hopefully more productive, my cousins just stare at me and hate me for a little while. While I shrug at them and commence to walk away, I won't admit it, but maybe a little bit hurt. No one back there said something nice or good about what I did or how I ‘won’, I was the only one making the jokes! How unfair!

… But then again, how sad! Can’t anyone be children and play?

Suddenly both of my cousins hug me and thank me. For what? I don’t know. I smile as they make some acknowledging, temperamental comments. And while they may sound hateful…

“You… you sneaky bitch!”

“YOU ALWAYS DO THAT GODDAMMIT, YOU!”

“Shut up Michelle, why are you laughing? What are you laughing at?”

They’re still hugging me warmly and fondly.

They’re just mad about something else.

They all are probably…

They see grandma and they stand by her in order to depart together a little bit later. She says hi to me, I say hi back. She gives me a kiss and then says she’s sorry, and that she’s trying, with that playful voice of hers and a sheepish smile. I tell her, no worries, I love her.

She then laughs and tells me that she keeps being happy because of me. Even if we don’t talk much, even if we don’t see each other much. She says that she relates to me and that I gave her faith to live with. And that’s she’s sorry for not being capable of admitting it. The same goes for my other grandma.

I say no worries.

No worries!

I understand…

Mom and Di keep searching through the algae and their vines, I approach them after my cousins' departure with K.

They said it was all okay. All while inspecting the vine’s red, tiny, bean-like fruits as I say that they should try them. Soon though, they told me they could not see them.

“Well, then taste them!”

We have other senses, after all...

They grab the bean, without knowing they had it. I told them once again to taste it.

“Yuck! It’s too bitter!”

“Oh god, no! How horrible!”

Yeah, I understand. Just taste it, I’m sure you’ll take a liking to it eventually. It goes great with other platters! And their juice is sweet and intense. Like life. I guess it is what it is. Or maybe they just haven’t tasted enough berries and they miss their home.

I’ve been missing me as well. In real life, where’s my optimism? That grasp in reality?

Then it came, it is pretty easy actually…

It is there when I’m not there. When I’m too busy being myself to care.

Oh, I see!

Great!

Se is right! Life IS amazing!

I smile at my mom and my dear sister, who probably hates me as much as I hate her. I don’t!

She also gives me a hug, a Pisces one. Warm water and fresh movement. A union. Maybe mother doesn’t notice, but we both understand what we’re here for together within each other. A team along with other sister. A team of three. Forever together as that, sisters.

Three

Mom, you’re very lucky. As three is a holy number, a trinity is in to save. Animals, people and life. Death, limbo & life. And none of us are those. We just understand each other as those archetypes do so as well.

But I think you knew that as well, didn’t you? We all know everything and yet nothing.

Mom, I think that it is important for you to notice this.

We all notice this and at the same time not…

This is me not talking, but me just being. No words, no materials. Just manifestation, mom.

You’re lucky, mom. You’re blessed.

And thanks to that, we’re blessed as well.

Hermione suddenly appears and greets us, Diane and I, with a laugh and a hug.

Ever seen the card of the Three of Wands? Three of Cups? Three of Swords? Three of pentacles?

She then tells us that she’s been waiting for us to guide her to a nearby island. A bunny island. We say goodbye to you with a huge smile, a hug, and a kiss. As you try to decipher the mysteries of it all. Your don, your gift. Your life… ever heard about Atlantis?

Violins and guitars?

Okay, okay, I’ll let you be. Let go see something funny!

Be not scared! Be content and be curious!

Be you mom! Love you mom!

Love you a lot!

As I love my sisters & myself.

My father too, as well as my cousins who say hi to me from apart.

As I love the rain and it’s tears.

As I love the earth and how it receives me without doubt and with honor and duty.

The earth also tells you that it loves you too!

And that perhaps you haven’t noticed yet or at least lately. So she’ll wait for you as long as you have to. She’s old, and it’s not it’s first rodeo!

How funny is that?

Kind of like Mother Aughra from The Dark Crystal!

This is also for everyone, who has any doubts.

Just enjoy it!

Just enjoy it

Then I sit here once again, In Ale’s living room. Watching everybody with their own stuff and same old customs. Oh well, perhaps someday we’ll all see and make-up with each other. Because sometimes saying sorry wholeheartedly, even when we don’t know what we’re sorry for is all it takes, to be free and move on. With love for each other, and as a team.

…

Night comes, mom is better, dad is better. They’re both walking among the beach, telling each other stories from their respective worlds, as my sisters and So make an improvised party around the wood fire I and D made (both pretty irritable, but they’re just angry. Though D finally gives up and hugs So and Se. Playing with my sisters and talking to them.) Around them, My uncles and aunts reunite, laughing and joking along the sky. Grandma retiring for the night, though hilariously shouting grandpa’s name.

“You better not be sleeping at the beach again!”

“I’m here, I’m here! Let’s go to sleep then. Gosh!”

They both bid me a goodnight kiss.

“Well, I guess there’s nothing missing.”

My checklist is done, I guess. If not I suppose dad will take care of it. Though perhaps with a more harsh, mandatory, fist. But well, I guess it’s what it is, he’s just angry.

And I say that I love you. As I finally, happy, arrive at my little, petit hammock to see the night’s beautiful stars, the night’s beautiful lights, the beach.

Fresh breeze.

I breathe.

Falling asleep, interested and excited, for the new day and the new night.

- With love, for my family.

#dream #dream visit #realm #realms #family #withlove #readings #paid report reading #article #dreamtravel

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c-is-for-circinate · 7 years

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Ok yeah we’re gonna record thoughts and feelings about P5 as we go, because I know me, and when I’m all done I’m going to want to go back to my recorded opinions about the early stages of the game and roll around in my own ignorance.

Spoilers for the first couple of hours of gameplay (up to the establishment of the Magician social link). Do not spoil me beyond that in replies/reblogs so help me god.

This is Persona does Leverage and I am so excited.

Once upon a time, there was a meek and unremarkable boy living a meek life in an unremarkable town. He never knew, because nobody had ever told him, that there was a badass living deep in his own heart. It never came up. He didn’t get into trouble, not once, not ever. He believed in justice and the system that looks out for the weak and the meek and frightened women being forced into cars by drunk, powerful men.

(once upon a time, there was a boy, and he was a fool)

Nothing in Tokyo feels real. The alleys are crowded, narrow, full of people. The subway is a labyrinth. This rented room, this garret apartment, full of rust and accumulated junk, this forgotten storage room, isn’t part of any world where people live. You walk through school and everybody whispers--did you hear about the new boy. He’s a violent criminal. He’s a gang kingpin. He carries a knife everywhere he goes, and he’ll kill you as soon as look at you if you piss him off. That can’t be you. That has nothing to do with your real life (your town, your parents, your school--none of that is yours any more. Now you get this.) The castle of magic and shadows is no more impossible and unreal a dream than this new school and this new life that’s supposed to be yours now anyway.

The protag is, at heart, deep in his core, a believer in those with power using it to protect those in need. Not necessarily a believer that they do, now, any more--but they should. That’s how the world is supposed to work. You can’t just do nothing. He’s got power of his own, now.

It turns out that the protag does carry a knife everywhere he goes, in the metaverse. Apparently he’s a thief now. Apparently the part all the way down in his core that’s been shouting so loud since he first heard the muffled sounds of a woman calling for help in the distance on a dark night is raging full of strength and magic. Apparently he can do things, can fight, can rage, and nothing is stopping him, and look, nothing about this world where he lives in now matches anything he’s ever lived in the past sixteen and a half years of his life. So now he’s a phantom thief and a rebel, and he has power the likes of which shocks even the talking cat, and everybody at school says they hear he carries a knife everywhere, and if one materializes in his hand when he finds himself in a cape and a mask in the world of the mind--he’s doing this now. Apparently this is the person he’s going to be in this strange new impossible dream-world. Okay. Guess we’re doing this. Sure.

This is a story about bonds and rebellion. This is a story about being trapped. It’s about justice and what’s fair, yes, but more than anything this is going to be a story about structures of power--not just about the individuals who hold it, but about the castles and palaces and empires they build around them, about silence and complacency, hierarchies and systems and all of the layers that smother and trap people in place.

The protagonist is here to break those chains, don’t you know, to tear down the castle walls and break the palaces, to fell the kings and punish the emperors. The protagonist is here to learn to rebel and break through those empires, one by one, but he’s still in chains to his own fate. He’s doomed by the blade of his own revolution.

You don’t have social links. Your relationships are not forging bonds. Your relationships are the wings and the tools you’re meant to use to break free and break yourself out. Your friends and acquaintances are collaborators. They steps and allies and tools to use. (We will love them, because this is a Persona game and that’s how it works, but--will we love them more than we use them?)

(“You were sold out by one of your own,” they said, remember?)

(Captain William Kidd was imprisoned and questioned and probably tortured and never gave up any of his backers, his allies, the various rich men in England who financed his piracy and who kept their heads down and their hands hidden, right up through Kidd’s execution. Carmen loved her man and then left him from another, and he cried fury and betrayal and cut her down then and there on the opera stage. These children are so fucked.)

It’s not ‘Persona goes darker and edgier’, because it’s not actually darker than the epic isolation depression despair of Persona 3. It’s maybe a little grittier.

Persona 3 was a wash of murky green and blue and darkness, existence and fear and loneliness and despair. Persona 3 was the kind of depression that’s all emotion and numb emptiness, and everything is either as vast as the entirety of human existence, or tiny and personal and super-individual, with all the scope jumbled and knocked askew and nothing in between. It was not brighter and it was not kinder, but the light was very different.

This is grittier in the way of a high contrast photograph in hyper-sharp focus, black and white edges on every individual blade of grass. This is not the endless sea of despair. This is every goddamn day that you wake up and figure out how to grind your way through to tomorrow. This is a world where people connect all the time, for all the good it does them. This is a world where rape is real, and abuse is named, and the suicide attempts are not metaphors. The enemy is not the abstract wash of numb depression and existential despair--it’s real, and it’s concrete, and it’s so very, very complex that dismantling it feels next to impossible. And we’re taking it on anyway.

(Your personas are human, every one of them so far, not counting the shades of stories and human unconscious the protag’s started picking up from the wayside. Characters from novels and plays and actual humans who actually lived, not even 400 years ago, not in myth or legend but actual recorded history. There’s a little myth and a little magic about them all, but they’re human human human at the core, and they didn’t fight gods or take their blessing, they fought other men, and sometimes won.)

And look, high-contrast ultra-sharpness doesn’t necessarily mean more realistic. You were rescued from the magical castle by a talking cat. Nobody has blue hair unless they dyed it that way, but you slip through shadows with the billow of your coat behind you like a cape, and all the visuals are sharp and stylized with shadows and angles and black and white and red all over. This is half Victorian romantic crime fiction, with your tiny garret above the cafe in the city where you were sent for disgracing the family in public, and half pulpy graphic novel, the pre-superhero kind. This is still very much genre.

This is Persona-does-Leverage. There are genre conventions and I expect them to be followed--and look, I have seen all of Leverage and I have seen it all three to five times through. If the story begins with your hero shoved none-too-gently into a cell by a couple of officers who don’t mind putting a knee in his gut, a fist to his jaw, his ribs, a few new bruises and a little blood for their troubles. If the questioning starts with, “you were sold out by one of your own.” If that’s how the story begins, and then we slide back through the days(weeks months year) to the very beginning of this disaster--

then that cell is exactly where our protagonist wants to be, and we are teetering on the edge of the grand reveal as every last thing falls into place.

I want it to get to that point very badly. That’s the happy ending this genre tells me we ought to get, for all we’ll probably need to battle some dire deity of corruption and despair even after that point anyway. I like that story.

And here’s what else I like: it means that somewhere over the course of the year, the Phantom Thieves become a group that can plan intricately together, that can grift a con where they turn on each other and trust each other to play their own sides. It means that they can send their leader deliberately into the jaws of something dangerous and painful all alone. They know he can take it. They respect him for that.

Of course he can take it. Look, this is a story with characters who wear their bruises and their knee braces and their scars every goddamn day. Injuries from metaverse battles are probably going to magically heal themselves overnight, but this is a story where all of the characters are going to have scars before they even start.

Honestly I am so excited to see this group take shape. I am so excited for these furious, broken rebel children and their revolution.

They don’t use their own names, their own clothes, their own faces when they fight. They are not SEES, who never had time to be anyone but themselves, and to hell with anyone who cares, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. (SEES could barely tolerate each other sometimes, tried to kill each other, but found a way to grab on as tight and iron as they possibly could, bonds so hard to make and the only thing that could save their lives.) They are so incredibly far from the IT, who fought and set themselves to always always being exactly themselves, one way or another. (The Investigation Team loved each other chaotically and brightly and openly, tripping over each other like puppies and fighting for each other like wolves.) I cannot wait to see them.

Did you notice, did you notice, the first persona summoning--it’s not just a discovery, it’s a contract. These kids are making a contract with their own inner heart of rebellion. They’re making deals with themselves in exchange for power. They have lost everything they loved, one by one--their goals, their place in the world, the people they care about, even control over their own bodies. They have lost the things that they once thought made them who they were, and they make this deal, and they become somebody else. Skull. Panther. Mona. The Joker. They remake themselves anew.

And that is going to mean so much for their relationships with each other! I can only guess how that’s going to play out and I can’t wait.

I continue to have more and more thoughts, but it’s very late and I need to go to bed very, very badly. More of this tomorrow after the Epic Grind. We’ll see if I change my mind about any of it just yet.

#C plays persona 5 #I don't even know how much of that made sense by this point I am so dead tired right now #it's been a weird week #tomorrow will be better

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