#OR PERHAPS ITS BECAUSE THE TWINS WERE GIVEN SOMEWHAT OF A CHOICE TO JOIN THE FATUI WHEN CHILDE WASNT

[pwurrz]

every day i fight for my life on twitter as stupid people who would fail even the simplest media literacy test slander and bastardize childe’s character

[semischarmed]

Projection

Have I ever told you about how the astral plane works? So, here’s a little secret about me. I’ve been dabbling the past few years a little in lucid dreaming. Well, it turns out I have a knack for it, and it’s amazing, I can go around doing whatever I want. I climbed Mount Everest, flew through the skies, visited Paris. The possibilities are literally endless. And, me being me, I like to go around in these dreams trying different ways at possessing people.

Of course, since it’s still a dream at the end of the day, the experience is somewhat detached. As fucking hot as it is, flooding my dream self inside my hot neighbor, or phasing into that cute barista at the Starbucks down the street, I always wake up to a sense of disappointment. There’s only so much the brain can make up. I’m not particularly smart or imaginative either, so it honestly feels like half my energy is spent just trying to maintain that dream.

So that led me to try other means. Of course, the next logical step was astral projection. Unlike a dream, when you project, you yourself are experiencing the world- the real world. I wanted to try my hand at projecting into people.

I found a book online that detailed specific steps on how to achieve this. I think this was where the trouble began. In addition to being a great lucid dreamer, I was apparently an astral projection savant. The book mentioned it could take months before I could manifest my full body outside the physical plane, and years before I could untether and explore the world. It took me two days before I was able to leave my own body and jump inside people.

All things considered, astral projection is a bit of a dead end. I thought I’d be able to jump inside people, control them, live as them, fuck as them, the works. Well, the human body is resilient. It knows what soul belongs in it, so there’s not much to do inside someone, you can’t really influence what they do, and people seem to pick up on the odd sensation of someone else being in the room with them, so even when I do jump inside someone masturbating or fucking, half of them stop on the spot. Still, when you’re in someone who’s a little more fearless, you feel their body as them, and, let me just say, it’s hot being inside someone when they masturbate. It’s like feeling your own hand do the deed, but you feel it as them. You feel every muscle, every feeling, every thought. The hot ones kind of suck at it, but the afterglow is pure bliss.

This book gives one strange rule on projection though: Twins, especially identical ones, are unique. They hold a special bond. “Do not project into a twin.” Given this ominous warning and my curiosity, and given how much of an expert I already was at this whole projecting thing, I had no choice but to try.

———

The first time I projected into a twin, was magical. Of course, I knew immediately who I wanted to test this on. The hot twins who lived down the street who were especially close. They seemed to have different people over all the time so at the very least, they were active. I had my sights on one particular twin: Chase. Goddamn what a specimen.

I decided to go into a sleeping Chase as a trial run during one of my late nights. The twins apparently slept on the same bed, which was a bit weird but was perhaps a testament to to their closeness. I thought it was kind of cute. Like with all projection, the body resists the intrusion and I have to claw my way into him. Easy enough.

Chase’s twin Caleb immediately stirred with eyes closed in confusion- “Chase... are you there?” The slumbering Chase did not respond. Upon closer inspection, I caught sight of Caleb’s slumbering form talking to the spirit of Chase that he took inside himself. Oh shit does this mean what I think it means? Then I decided to move inside Chase’s body while his form followed my spirit’s commands. I knew it.

The first thing I did once I realized I had full control of Chase, of course, was to start playing with this new dick. In my excitement, I was immediately drawn back into my own form, awoken by my raging hard-on. Damn it! Fucking tease. I decided to finish beating it out, with Chase’s hot bod on my mind and a resolve from then on to get better at this projecting thing and stay longer inside him.

I made a fascinating discovery that day- a discovery that had probably prompted that ominous message in the first place. Twins are already naturally connected in spirit, so when you astral project into a twin, you can displace them and the owner’s spirit actually has a welcome place to go.

———

The second time I projected into a twin, I went into the wrong one. Equally unfortunate  was that they seemed to have just had a fight, sitting in and angry silence before going to their respective rooms. I really should have done more research as far as who lived where because the person’s back that I slammed into was none other than Caleb. Likewise, it was apparently possible for twins to resist the displacement. This one was a fighter. The first thing I try to do in his body is flow into each limb and untether him. This proved to be fruitless, as he was easily able to fend off my attacks, kicking me right out of his body. I wasn’t one to lose a challenge so I again attempted a different route this time, concentrating all of me into his mind- control the mind and the body follows. Failure again. My final route was perhaps the cruelest, I expanded and positioned my soul to encompass all of him and began an all out barrage for control of his bod. Back and forth, my spirit squeezed in and out into him from all sides until he could no longer defend himself.

Finally, his soul submitted and I felt an emptying motion, accompanied by a quick shout from the other room. “H-What the fuck!” Chase barged in, visibly shaking, hands on his head in a mix of pain and confusion. He looked at me intently with an emotion I could not attribute. In response I gave a quick smirk and flipped him off with his own body before stating “Caleb, you’re pretty cute too. You like this? This is mine now.” As I start doing poses with his body, the emotion of my temporary twin became clear. Desire.

I stripped shirtless and began doing push-ups with his body, easily clearing 70 before finally breaking a sweat. I stood up and raised my Caleb arms, imbuing the room with his scent. Caleb looked on from Chase’s body with silent intent.

I then used Caleb’s nose to sniff his own armpits, used his own tongue to lick it clean, used his own mouth to flash him a demented smile. “Caleb, you taste very good, just like your hot brother,” I stated “-cmon, join meeee Chase... let’s do something sacrilegious” I ended with a wink. Of course, my fucking body woke up again, just when it was getting good. In the process, Chase also fell unconscious, as the real Caleb returned to himself. As I felt the last of my spirit be pulled back, and the waking world return, I caught the troubling sight of Caleb, back inside his own body, furiously masturbating over the events that had transpired.

——-

The third time I projected into a twin, he fell into depravity with me. Truth be told, I was again making a beeline right for Chase because, come on, look this face. Just as I was about to claim that tight ass, I felt myself get dragged into Caleb. A-fucking-gain. This time felt different though- he was still in the body with me. That in itself wasn’t too odd, given our fight from last time, but even  stranger this time around was that his body was willing. It readily welcomed my soul. His form followed my spirit’s every move, yet I still felt his soul present, compliant. I decided to do what I meant to do in Chase and began masturbating. At the end of the day, they were twins after all, Caleb was still fucking hot to cum through, and I was not one to miss an opportunity.

“Well I think today’s little trip is gonna be a two-for one” I said with his voice as I finished. I then purged myself from Caleb’s physical form and headed straight for Chase until I felt a part of my current body pull me back. My spectral form attempted to claw myself back towards Chase, but Caleb’s pull had been too strong. He wasn’t letting me go. My spirit recoiled and slammed right back into his and I felt a part of myself stain Caleb. “I didn’t say you could leave,” he commanded, forcing me to watch as he began to rub our body with his warm seed. Hot. We both brought some of it up to our shared mouth, taking in all that we had just completed. “If you want, I’ll let you go so you can go inside that asshole Chase”, he states, “Make him dirty like me...or I’ll have to”. That last line definitely threw me off. Though I meant to to investigate further, I again felt the pull of the waking world from my own body. He moaned a quick “thank you” before passing out.

The return trip to myself equally odd. The human body naturally resists a little before accepting a spirit, even when it’s the owner of that body but somehow mine accepted me with no push back. Something was off.

Still, being inside these twins was fucking hot and I was not going to let a few unfounded fears stop me. I set plans for my return trip to them.

———

The fourth time I projected into a twin was also the most impactful. I once again aimed for Chase, but immediately ran into a confusing sight...

Standing before me was Chase, or rather, Chase’s body, unconscious in frozen discomfort. As far as his soul, however, I could see its form convulsing and contorting in pain. I then catch sight of the cause of that pain- Caleb’s spectral form was somehow deep inside Chase’s filling into him. It’s like watching an infection in real-time.

I stood, or rather hovered, in silence at the bizarre display I had witnessed. Evidently, that was a mistake, because before I aimed to leave this terrifying sight and head back, I notice Chase’s unconscious form raise its head, turn right at me and give me a toothy, wicked smile. “I can see you”. Chase’s body licks its lips. “You probably didn’t know this but independent little Chase over here has been planning on leaving for a while now. Said we should split. Move to a different cities. Live out our own.” Chase’s body opens it’s eyes and starts walking to Caleb’s slumbering form. He leans over and starts making out with the unconscious Caleb. “Oh Caleb” he moans “Don’t worry. I’m never gonna leave you” Chase’s lips gently pry open Caleb’s and he snakes his tongue inside. Parts of Caleb’s cheek puff up and back down as Chase’s tongue explores every crevice. He sucks a little before letting out a satisfied sigh “so...so that’s what I taste like,” he says breathlessly.

Chase then starts playing with himself right next to his twin’s sleeping form and I couldn’t help but get a bit aroused. “You always were the hotter twin” Chase says to himself as he continues tracing his own calloused hands all over. His attention moves to the unconscious Caleb, who he stops first to ponder for a moment before beginning to pump. He then positions Chase’s mouth over his original body to expertly deepthroat his own dick. This stirs the Caleb body to life, and he makes them both finish on each other off.

With both bodies, Caleb finishes licking himself clean. “Since it’s all me over here, this is technically just masturbating” he says confidently, as if to justify the disturbing sight I just witnessed. Caleb then positions Chase’s sweaty body behind his and has Chase wrap his sweaty biceps into an embrace from behind. “Like I said bro [moan], I’m never leaving you”. Two amused pairs of eyes then look directly at me. “You’re never leaving us either right? We have to thank you somehow for this,” they say, gesturing at their incestuous selves. I am immediately creeped out. After thinking for a few seconds, they chime in unison “Welcome to the family! We have a present for you”. With that, Caleb drops unconscious. That was signal enough for me, giving me shock I need to head straight back for my body.

Of course, by the time I get there, I instead see my own self, sitting naked, eyes rolled back and moaning as he maneuvers my hands all over. I see him continue to explore me, twisting my nipples, which, fuck that feels good, masturbating me, using my own body to maneuver in ways I never did before. With Caleb inside, my body moves with a confidence I never had. The experience is surreal. The sheer pleasure more or less stuns my soul on the spot. When my physical body finishes cumming, Caleb brings our hands to scoop it up and, oddly, it tasted different- slightly salty, slightly sweet, slightly Caleb. He sniffs our armpit and, again, the scent was rank, putrid, and nothing I’ve ever created. What was coming out of my body was undeniably Caleb.

“Mmmmmm... property of Caleb now” he says with my voice, as he rubs my Caleb-smelling sweat all over. Admittedly this was kind of hot. With an assured stride that I didn’t know my body could perform, Caleb opens my door, greeted by a Chase carrying his own unconscious twin. Caleb brings my body to his own and starts defiling himself. He turns his own body around and starts fucking it with my penis. Fuck that also feels good. With each pump, his own body starts to animate, ever so slightly. When he finally cums, my physical form falls unconscious and Caleb stirs awake. I take this as my chance to get back inside me. Success.. and god with Caleb smeared all over me, I smell disgustingly good.

“You’ll never leave me, right?” The body in front of me questioned. I’m a bit taken aback and try to stammer out a response “Uh...-“ before I could finish, Chase penetrates me from behind. “That would be a no” He whispers before giving my ear a playful bite. Why did he have to be so cute. This whole series of events was something straight out of my dreams. Despite this, my self preservation instincts kick into overdrive. Whatever this is, however good this feels, I need to get out. Fast.

As if he could read my mind, Caleb’s body smiles as he makes his twin use his rough fingers to gently grab my hair and pull me back. He leans Chase over to give me a deep, sensual kiss. “Oh well, Chase isn’t here anymore. Caleb took me, all of me. We’ve always had a deep connection... but he wanted more-I trusted him and he used that love to get inside me, pervert my soul... he’s in so deep inside me now that Caleb is all that’s left.” He wipes his sweaty face all over mine and continues making out. He then starts gyrating his hips, pushing more of himself inside my body as the Caleb body does the opposite and swallows more of my still-hardened rod with his ass. I feel the throbbing almost impossibly deep inside me from Chase’s dick as they proceed. “Thank you for this” they moan in unison.

They continue humping me from both sides, locking me in a paralyzed bliss. “We wanted to give you something special for keeping us close” they say. Then I felt it in my soul. Caleb. He pulls my spirit out and with his twin souls begin to fuck me in the astral plane. The feeling is indescribable. Nirvana. Bliss. Ecstasy. Enveloped by and merged to Caleb and Chase’s spectral forms, completion. This could be me. This could be us forever.

Then reality snaps back and I am floating alone. I finally regain my composure I try to head back to my unconscious, smiling body. No dice. “Occupied” it says with a chuckle. I head for Chase’s instead, “mmmm getting close” it moans. My body grins wider and motions to the unconscious Caleb. He spits with both bodies at his own motionless form. “Go ahead, take you new place, Caleb”. With no other option, I fill into the empty Caleb shell.

Chase and my body then start fucking each other. Hard. Messy. He’s doing more things with my body that I didn’t even know was possible, and as the original owner of my body, and the current inhabitant of Caleb’s, I feel both motions amplified. Im sure he feels the same.

As Chase, he turns my body around, and again rams his thick dick inside. My body involuntarily gasps, which causes me to gasp inside of Caleb. He forces a wicked, dirty smile out of my body’s face as he plunges ever deeper. He slips Chase’s sweaty abs onto my body’s back, wraps tone, sweaty Chase biceps over mine into an armlock from behind and takes plump Chase lips into a quick peck on my body’s cheek. My body then sags unconscious. Despite the sight, the smell throughout the sweaty combination was undeniably just Caleb’s.

Chase’s eyes flutter and his body trembles as Caleb repossessed his twin’s body with the extra soul he stuffed mine with. With double the soul inside, Chase exudes double the vitality and in that sweaty embrace, Caleb again gyrated his twin’s body into mine as he fills it with double the seed- double the soul. “T-thank you for the house warming present. I’ll take real good care of you-you’ll take real good care of us” he moans, as Chase’s body now goes unconscious as well. Dread fills me.

Aside from the odd cases with twins, human bodies know who their masters are. The act of imbuing a soul into a different body is, in and of itself, unnatural. So it was at this point that my empty body starts involuntarily writhing, trying to escape. I see tears well in my closed eyes, still unconscious from effort. Of course, as Caleb, I motion to protect myself from whatever was going to occur next and set to pull my unconscious form off the Chase embrace. Before I could pull my body out of the entrapment, it shoots awake, face swinging upward to face me. Bright white eyes shoot open. Behind my skin I see a force pushing deep inside, stretching it unnaturally. The visage of Chase appears, beneath my flesh, wearing my face like a mask. Though it’s Chase’s spirit he melds, the smile growing is undeniably Caleb. When it all settles, eyes roll back into place. Instead of my normal eyes, Chase’s pale blue orbs appear in their place. The crooked smile grows to a laugh on my body, teeth looking odd, until I realize it was Chase’s own molars poking through my own mouth. He takes shallow breaths and smears more sweat around himself, and though I can’t place if it was my own body’s sweat or Chase’s, the smell emanating is fully Caleb. Bones crack, skin shivers and stretch and contract and construct and I feel, from my own soul, a massive wave of nausea.

If astral projection into another is, in itself, an unnatural act, astral displacement, astral merging was another layer of corruption entirely, it was unholy. He was changing something in me, fundamentally. Wave after wave of Chase’s flesh bleed into my body from Caleb’s onslaught. My nausea shifts into a unique pain, a pain of the soul, originating from where he stuffed my physical form full of Chase’s seed-Caleb’s seed, mixing and amalgamating us into a wholly new being. Musculature appears in place of the frame of my body’s previous shape as more and more of it is twisted and contorted. Then, perhaps in one last push of defiance, my body screams involuntarily, and I, in Caleb, scream.

“So you’ll never leave me, like he planned to” Caleb says, with a mix of my voice and his, as he rams the last, massive part of himself into my body. My physical form’s face contorts in discomfort one last time before Caleb settles it into satisfaction. “Look at us” he states as he runs vascular new hands over my body’s new face and then uses that new face to give me a seductive wink. “We’re cute as a button”. The transformation was complete- my old self no longer recognizable in the new brother he had created.

The change, of course, had hit my soul as well. From inside Caleb I screamed...convulsed...shook... moaned... you know, the works. When that last bit of Caleb dug inside my spirit and changed me, I truly felt him, felt my twin, felt his love. I’ll be a better Chase for him than Chase ever was. Our souls are bonded for life. I am a part of Caleb now, and he is a part of me. Everyone experiences it differently, but we’re all grateful after to have Caleb inside us, to be a part of something greater. I like to think I have the extra privilege of being his twin, new and improved, wearing his old body’s skin while he wears and controls mine. And sometimes, with his permission, I get to play around inside the others. Sometimes we switch and he lets me jump inside Chase, like I’m doing now. The only body off limits is my old one. I like to think that makes me special, it’s the only body Caleb keeps his soul in 100 percent of the time. It’s proof of our special connection. And he wears the new me so well, better than I ever could anyways.

And, well, that takes us to today doesn’t it? Why even tell you all of this? Caleb likes you. I like you. We like you. And we think it’s time to expand the family again. You got some good traits to work with- we’ll get a lot use out of that bod, after a few adjustments. You’re probably feeling a little sleepy now. Sorry, guilty, that was me. Oh this thick Chase dick you feel inching deeper inside your ass? Yep, obviously also me. But, cmon future bro, dig deeper, listen with your body. What else are you feeling? Do you feel our love, throbbing in you? Do you something else, leaking inside? Do you feel these calloused Chase hands pulling you ever deeper into us? Do you feel him? Do you feel Caleb already worming himself into you? Good. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you. You’re gonna love us. We’re gonna be fucking hot together after we’re done with you. Welcome Home.

—End —

Wanted to explore something a little different with this one. Hope y'all like it!

[wallwriterstuff]

Her Reflection ||Marcus Volturi x Reader||

Warnings: Angst city central, descriptions of grief and depression

Words: 2741

Taglist: @royalvolturisblog @thelastemzy ​ @ferb13 ​ @raindancer2004 ​ @a-avaunce @broskibowser ​ @alecvolturiswifeforever ​ @college-is-coming @perfectcolortreestudent @volturidoll13 ​ @vamp-army

Summary:

A request for @like-rain-or-confetti

Marcus is resolute in his grief, so much so he has refused Corin’s gift many a time. When you show up, he can’t help but realise that perhaps his centuries of suffering were enough, that the contentment you offer is far more permanent than Corin’s. Maybe,  just maybe...Didyme sent you to him to give him one last chance at the happiness she loved to spread about.

You were a wonderful find.

Aro had been delighted to see you in his thoughts. He had been forced to leave the safety of Volterra for a business trip, the accounts of their business front needing attention every few decades to keep up the ruse of a modern, evolving company with changing leadership and new blood in its crew. The journey to Rome had been uneventful until they found the rogue little newborn tearing holes in a small residential area they had had to pass through. Demetri had quickly found the little fiend and as Aro took his face in his grasp, the images had raced through his mind, the regret he hadn’t taken your offer to help him strongly resonating through his body as it was mercilessly torn apart.

“Oh…Demetri…find this one.” He had murmured. Demetri did, and you had been amongst the guard now for eleven months. It had been a surprise to Marcus when you showed up with his brother as you didn’t seem to fit the Guard’s image – he wasn’t sure you knew how to be intimidating. It was clear you hadn’t come of your own volition, you were far too intelligent to be deceived into thinking Aro’s offer to join was real and clearly saw you actually had no choice at all, but still you came with a gracious smile, like you’d rather be nowhere else. After so many centuries of living and travelling as nomad you had confessed to Marcus a place to settle was nice, and despite so much time on your own you had a warm and welcoming nature that just drew the others to you.

It was all too easy to find your place when your place seemed to be everywhere and anywhere. As bitter and cautious as they were, even the twins seemed to warm to you rapidly after a few discussions. Marcus was mildly intrigued at first, but he didn’t really see enough of you to form any solid opinion on you. He only knew what he had heard, and what he had heard was that you were helpful and kind, quick to soothe pain and anger in others even if it festered in yourself. It sounded so awfully familiar to him that the raw ache in his chest, one that had never really gone away, throbbed so badly he was forced to turn his face to avoid your visage when you entered the room. Still, your voice was sugar sweet, melodic and soothing, it was a balm somehow to that pain. Months later he couldn’t say he was rid of it, he never would be rid of the pain he was sure, but it had dimmed somewhat.

His intrigue had turned to infatuation quickly when he finally let himself cast a glance at you. You were attractive to him, very pleasing to the eye though not in an exaggerated way. What made you beautiful was your personality, and it was what brought so many to your side in their efforts to win themselves a chance at capturing your affections. You turned down one after the next, the bonds you chose to make with the rest of the Guard purely founded on friendship and nothing more. Even when you grew those you coveted most it never came close to anything romantic and he was somewhat glad of that. He didn’t want to be the reason you never knew happiness, but he couldn’t help but wish that perhaps you might find it in him. There were other complications with that of course, because how could you ever give yourself to someone so broken? Was he even capable of love? How did you find happiness in someone devoid of it? He had felt it once before and this was so similar…

You had shown up more and more in the throne room, guarding them as they read. If you ever noticed his stare you didn’t say or make it obvious, but you did catch his eye once or twice and the smile you gave him warmed him inside. It had felt awful the first few times because how could he betray Didyme like that? How was it right, how was it fair, that he might get to feel any semblance of joy after his mate had gone unavenged? Was it even possible to fall in love again? Perhaps the centuries had worn away that original bond, but even that felt like a disservice to Didyme’s love, her kindness. It was enduring in ways that nothing else was. Then it hit him, you reminded him of her. The bond he could form with you was not so different to the one he had shared with her, you were too similar for it not to be.

Didyme’s gift had been happiness, the aura so inviting she had infected everyone around her with it, and while you didn’t share that gift you shared that personality. Marcus understood then, why the colour had returned to the halls as he walked them, why the sunshine seemed warmer on his skin as he passed by windows. It was you. Yet more complications came with that revelation because he was growing ever more restless (in his own lethargic way) and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hide it. How did he tell you he had grown to love you for the very same reasons he had loved her? It was like looking at her reflection distorted in a mirror, a different face and different person but the same kind of heart. You had different passions and opinions and a slightly lethal edge to your physical prowess that he found gave him comfort, for it reminded him you were not her and you were able to defend yourself in ways she hadn’t been able to, but it also finally gave him the courage to admit that yes, he did love you, he did love you and he loved you because though you were like her you were not her.

Marcus didn’t want you to think about Didyme though when you spoke to him, he didn’t want you to see yourself as a replacement for a great, epic love. Unbeknownst to him, you had enquired about the sad king the moment you arrived. Marcus’s entire being radiated such grief and pain that it had been impossible not to ask about him, and given your easy to talk to nature (and the fear of what would happen to you if you unknowingly stuck your foot in your mouth) many a guard had happily told you the reasons for his depression.

“Didyme was beautiful.”

“Didyme was always so kind.”

“She made a whole room light up when she walked into it.”

“It was the greatest love story our kind have ever seen.”

Every statement had only made your heart hurt for the man more and more. His pain was so palpable, but his interest was also obvious. For a man so broken by the loss of such a momentous love it was surprising to say the least, but you also weren’t complaining. You had no desire to see anyone feel like he did, to be so trapped in darkness, and you had made it your mission to make the throne room feel a little lighter whenever you walked into it. Marcus was rather attractive in his own way, even with the corners of his mouth pulled down and his eyes so devoid of light. You were sure with a real smile he would look radiant as his eternal youth dictated he should. The day you got to see that first wisp of a smile was the day you became more determined to see it more often. Most people had gotten so used to overlooking Marcus unless he was called upon that you were able to share subtle looks and smiles from across the room with nobody really noticing – you smiled so often it wasn’t an unusual thing to see.

It was getting close to an important anniversary, important in Marcus’s mind anyway. You had been with the Guard for almost a year and people had started to notice the effects on the quiet King. Marcus had taken to wandering the halls more often than before, enjoying the library and the music room. The Gardens would be off-limits for a while yet, the tree planted in Didyme’s honour still blooming strong every year due to Aro’s careful upkeep and too much for his heart, his eyes. It was while admiring a painting in the hall that he came across you.

“Surely, after the length of your stay with us, you have seen this piece before?” his voice was soft, a slight rasp from the disuse and lack of satisfaction in his life that had lasted so long it was difficult to get rid of it. He felt like a schoolboy when you smiled at him, and for once he embraced the feeling rather than trying to shun it.

“I have, still it amazes me.” You confessed.

“There are larger pieces.” He mused.

“Size does not guarantee quality.” Your response was accompanied by a cheeky smile that made his own lips twitch upward, that ghost of a smile upon on his lips making you sigh contentedly. Twice in one day? It must have been vampire Christmas. For a while, you stood in silence and contemplated the painting before you. It was a simple piece of artwork, the Tuscan countryside interrupted by a quaint little cottage.

“What do you see?” Marcus asked you quietly. Head tilting, you hummed thoughtfully.

“I see peace.” You voice was decisive and he couldn’t help but frown. Peace? He had studied art a lot over the centuries and he had to admit, he had never once looked at this piece twice as something he could profoundly evaluate. It was a field, it was a cottage, it was…something that felt very literal in what it was.

“Peace?” he questioned.

You hummed. “The colours are so warm, and the hills just keep rolling. This landscape stretches forever, an endless path of golden light. There is always something to look forward to ahead but so much beauty around that cottage that you would be equally as happy to stay in that moment. To be able to see the beauty in what’s around us…that is the key to peace to me.”

Marcus could only stare at the painting, trying to see what you saw. He had seen nothing but grey for so long that the warm colours still felt faded. He couldn’t really remember what true peace felt like until he became brave enough to stand beside you. You radiated it. You were so content in life it was impossible not to feel the peace of mind you carried with you everywhere you went.

“What do you see?” you asked him. He didn’t dare stare into those wine-red eyes, sure his words would flee him. Marcus cleared his throat slightly, contemplating what to say. The truth was, he hadn’t seen anything in art ever since he began to study it. He had never seen metaphors or symbolism. Art had the potential to be beautiful and breath-taking but he had lost his ability to see it, until recently. There was…something, he realised, the more he stared at it.

“I see a cottage,” he said slowly, “But it is plain. Plain yet…surrounded by warmth. Isolated, and yet beautiful…it is…it feels as though, it could be home.” There was a deafening silence after he spoke, his words carrying more weight than he had first realised, weight you clearly felt. Marcus had lived in darkness, in agony and despair, in shadows, but with you there was light, joy, and beauty. He could live that way again if you allowed him the chance to. He could find that beautiful home in you. His hand was slow, reaching for yours. For a while the tip of his little finger touching the side of your hand was all he felt, not brave enough to go any further but so desperate to. When your fingers twitched, curling around his own to link your pinkies and hold his hand loosely, he knew instinctually that you wouldn’t let go. You would help him take that last step into the light. He didn’t need to be afraid.

“Master-“

“Marcus,” he amended softly, “I wish for you to call me Marcus.”

You nodded. “Marcus, then.”

A startled little laugh escaped him, because Didyme had once said the exact same thing to him. Unknowingly, you had replicated their very first exchange. Surprised red eyes stared up at him – you had never heard him laugh before. He seemed just as shocked since he wasn’t sure he was capable of such a sound anymore.

“You…you are so like her.” he sighed wistfully. In an ideal world she would be here, but…wasn’t this ideal? A second chance was unheard of amongst their kind and he was desperate to grasp it with both hands, but he feared holding too tight and shattering the hope he was unknowingly placing in you.

"Her? I...oh...Marcus..." you trailed off. Marcus finally met your eyes, the depth of sadness in his expression something you knew now you would never be able to fully alleviate, but you could meet him in the sea of his despair and keep him afloat, couldn’t you? This kind man deserved better.

“Forgive me. I had no wish to startle you, but you remind me so much of…of Didyme.” He whispered. Your expression softened, but there was no pity there, no sympathy, only gratitude. His honesty was applaudable and the courage it must have taken to say her name, that he felt safe enough to attempt such a feat with you of all people…you were grateful. Grateful to share this quiet moment with a man you had come to greatly admire, grateful to be held in such high esteem by him.

“That makes me truly happy to hear.” you confessed. Marcus frowned, looking confused.

“It does?” he questioned. You smiled, giving your interlocked fingers the slightest squeeze. Marcus slid his palm against your own, fully taking hold of your hand now he was more confident his affections were not about to be rejected.

“The day I arrived you looked so sad. I asked around, not wanting to say anything I shouldn’t and upset you further. The tales I heard, the descriptions I was given…it is an honour to think I might remind you of her in even the smallest of ways.” Your reassurance was like a warm blanket. Feeling cocooned and safe, he lifted your intertwined hands to brush the lightest of kisses against your knuckles. The tender gesture would have made you blush if you still had the ability.

“She was truly a miracle in my life, yet for all the ways you remind me of her, you seem to have just as many differences between you two,” he murmured, “I confess…I admire the reflection of her I see in you, but I love the little things that mark you as separate from her. It felt wrong to do so, yet I could not help it.” Pursing your lips, you tried to calm your racing thoughts as Marcus watched you for any hint of reaction. He had been open and honest, taken a brave step, and he needed you to meet him halfway lest he retreat back into the shadows. Living in hope was no foreign thing for you and you didn’t just meet him halfway, you anchored him in that hope so he might never retreat again.

“It would be a privilege to help you remember what it is like to be loved.” You assured him. Marcus gave you another small smile. Over time, those smiles grew and grew until they crinkled his eyes at the corners. Some days he laughed. On one rare occasion you had gotten him to dance with you in the music room to the record playing on the gramophone. Bit by bit the light returned to his eyes until he beamed so brightly when he saw you that it was obvious to everyone the Marcus they had once known had been partially revived. Grief was a constant companion but it no longer crippled him, and in the safety of your embrace Marcus felt so far from the shadows he was certain for the first time in centuries that he was finally free of them.

[miracle-sham]

Amidst the Howls of Death, Your Divinity Gives Me Breath.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 2: Protection} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

| Marinette, Jason, Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian are all unfortunately familiar with how danger lurks around every corner in places like these. But perhaps their instincts can be ignored for just one evening of rest? |

| Or a Priestess, a Gunslinger, and his family, walk into a creepy inn. |

| Word Count: 2,789. |

| Warnings/Tags: Swearing/Explicit Language, Mild Gothic Horror, Implied/Referenced Background/Minor Character Death, Pretend Character Death, Fantasy & Magic Au, Romantic Fluff, Sharing a Room/Bed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Kissing. |

———

| A/N: Another fic with a playlist, so check it out if you're curious to the songs I listened to when writing this! And have look in the end notes if you want to read a short descrip of what inspired this piece! |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics or a specific Au, then feel free to send me a dm and or ask! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

As soon as Marinette, Jason, and his family had entered the ramshackle hamlet, they all could tell without a doubt that there was something not quite... right about the place.

Even in the dying light of the day, it was obvious that every window and door were boarded up. A few even had stone or iron bars nailed or soldered across any and all potential points of entry—chimneys included. Some buildings were half-collapsed beneath the weight of their own rotting timbers, others looked unnaturally clean and newly constructed, most however were somewhere between the two extremes. But regardless of how new or decrepit the buildings appeared, each and every single one had at least some form of large scratching or claw marks gouged into the wood and stonework.

The first thing the Wayne family and Marinette had all agreed upon, was acquiring rooms for the night from the only inn in the hamlet. One of the nicer buildings albeit, but just as foreboding in its own sense due to the deeper and more extensive scratch and claw marks along the exterior.

Inside, the innkeeper was undoubtedly strange, eyeing them each with an odd look in his eyes, and an empty grin. Giving him an off-putting appearance that certainly wasn't helped by his slow and methodical cleaning of kitchen knives, from just behind the bar.

Wheezing, the innkeeper tilted his head to one side, staring the family of six down. Voice like gravel, he rasped. “Tread carefully 'round these parts, travellers. There's been tales of your kind vanishing in the dark, followed by the howls.”

“Our kind? What do you mean by our kind?” Dick questioned sharply, narrowing his eyes and subtly curling his hands into fists by his sides—hidden by his deep blue cloak.

“The howls? What howls?” Tim asked curiously, a few seconds after Dick, eyes twinkling with the thrill of a mystery to unravel.

The innkeeper chuckled. “Curious lot, aren't you. I'm afraid that won't do you any good 'ere.”

“Is that a threat?” Bruce rumbled, adjusting his pose ever so slightly to put himself between his four sons plus pseudo-daughter in law, and the innkeeper. So that should anything happen, he would be first in the line of fire instead.

“Not if you pay for rooms tonight, stay quiet, and watch yourselves from straying in the dark.” The innkeeper replied, still grinning emptily as his chuckled subsided.

Tim ducked around Bruce's side to stare at the innkeeper. “You didn't answer our other questions! What do you mean by our kind and why did the previous travellers disappear followed by howls! How did you know that the howls follow disappearances?”

The innkeeper pulled out a whetstone and began sharpening the knives without looking, as his gaze snapped to Tim. “I only answer questions from paying customers, boy.”

“Father! I do not wish to stay somewhere as suspicious as this contemptible establishment.” Damian hissed, keeping his voice low as to avoid the hearing of the innkeeper, and tugged on the edge of Bruce's black cloak.

Jason edged a hand towards the hilt of one of his flintlocks. He leaned closer to Marinette to whisper in her ear. “For once, sweet priestess, I'm with the demon spawn, I don't want to stay here any longer than strictly necessary. This wretched fucking place reeks of ancient necrotic magic.” He wrinkled his nose before adding, “and not your goddess' other half's kind of ancient necrotic magic.”

Marinette frowned, glancing around the inn with ill ease. “I can feel what you mean, my dear knight. Whatever is causing the necrotic magic is definitely not holy by any means. But as far as I can tell, the magic was stronger outside, it's almost muted somewhat in here.”

“Forgive me, sweet priestess, but that doesn't ease my nerves at all.” Jason scoffed.

She rolled her eyes with a quiet snort of laughter, “I wasn't trying to, my dear red hooded knight.” She steeled herself slightly, mirth fading, “though what I am suggesting, is that we purchase rooms for the night. Whatever the source of the magic, we're most likely safer in here than out there. There are no claw marks on the inside after all.”

“For the record, I hate when you're right about these things, my holiness.” He growled, glancing around to confirm her statement.

“You say that as if I hate it any less than you.” Marinette countered, “now let's go intervene before another impending scuffle gets us kicked out of what is possibly our only safe shelter for the eve.”

“And miss out on free entertainment? I cannot believe you.” Jason snickered.

She shoved him good-naturedly before striding past Bruce and up to the counter, imposing in her own right even in comparison to the rest of the family. She cleared her throat to draw attention to herself and stared down the innkeeper with all the sharpness of a storming sea upon rocks. “You will answer all our questions if we purchase rooms, correct?”

The innkeeper squinted at Marinette. “Aye, girl.”

She pursed her lips then nodded. “How much for lodgings then?”

“We've got a room with a double bed, three with a single, and two twin rooms.” The innkeeper responded, empty grin curling into something more twisted, “The singles are a gold each per night, the rest are two gold each per night.”

“That pricing is outrageous!” Damian scowled.

Narrowing her eyes, she ignored Damian and hummed. “I see,” she glanced back at Jason and raised an eyebrow.

He nodded in return.

“Then I will purchase the room with the double bed.” She stated, plucking two gold coins from her purse and placing them upon the bar counter.

The innkeeper nodded, sliding two keys over to her. “Excellent choice, my lady, your room is on the left at the very end of the corridor upstairs.”

Jason prickled at the addressing title given to her, gripping the hilt of the gun he had reached for with whitening knuckles.

Marinette picked up the keys and stared coolly at the innkeeper before taking a few deliberate steps back until she was once more beside Jason. There, she handed him one of the keys.

Silence permeated the room for a minute as the rest of the family communicated through glances and facial movements alone.

Bruce sighed, breaking the stalemate, and placed four gold coins on the counter as well. “We'll take two singles and a twin as well.”

The innkeeper chuckled, passing four more keys over. “Wise decisions, Traveller. The twin room is the last door on the right along the corridor upstairs, and the two singles are the first two doors on both sides.”

“Now answer our questions,” Dick demanded.

The innkeeper glowered at Dick. “What I meant by your kind, was that you're the kind of folk who trouble follows. The travellers that poke their noses where they don't belong. And as for the howls, I wouldn't know. I've never seen what makes it because I stay inside where it is safe. Those who don't stay inside... well their screams, remaining bloody streaks, and disappearances are evidence enough for me.”

Marinette grimaced. “I am going to retire to the room now.”

Jason startled at her words and stared at her concern. “I'll, uh, join you. If you don't mind.”

“You don't have to for my sake.” She responded.

“It would ease my conscience if you weren't to go up alone.” He grit out.

She bowed her head for a second, “then your company would be most appreciated.” She began to make her way towards the stairs up to the rooms.

Before she reached the first step, the innkeeper called out. “My apologies, my holy lady, I did not intend to discuss such gruesome conversations before you that would offend your delicate holy constitution.”

“I appreciate your concern, however, I think you will find it was not my delicate holy constitution that was offended, as much as it was the wish for some privacy after a long and tedious journey. Thank you very much.” She spat in response, voice as acetic as an alchemist's corrosive acid.

The innkeeper raised his hands in a placating manner. “My sincerest apologies then, my lady.”

Marinette took that as a cue to continue upstairs, with Jason on her heels.

Once they reached the door, Jason snarled. “How dare that fucking bastard call you his lady, I'm going to put a bullet through his fucking skull.”

She sighed and went up onto her tiptoes so that she could place a kiss on his lips. “Perhaps wait until after we sort out the cause of the ancient necrotic magic plaguing this place. Though I'd like to rip his tongue out his mouth before you get to have your fun.”

Jason unwound marginally beneath the kiss, his fury was still palpable, however. “Hmm, I would like to watch you do that, my love.”

“Of course you would. Now, let's enjoy some much-needed privacy together. As much as I adore your family, there is only so much time spent travelling I can spend with them without wanting some peace and quiet to cherish you, my knight.” She remarked, opening the door with the key in the meantime.

———

Lounging upon the double bed, Marinette hummed as she gently carded her fingers through Jason's hair—his head resting on her lap and a soft smile gracing his face as he gazed up at her.

She paused her humming, face creases in mild displeasure, as a loose lock of her hair fell across her face. After a few half-hearted attempts to blow it out of the way, she closed her eyes and sighed—fingers twitching to a stop.

Jason raised an eyebrow and reached a hand up to her face, cupping her cheek for a few moments before tucking the loose lock of her hair back behind her ear. “Something on your mind, sweet priestess?”

“Ah. No, not really, no. I was just…” She sighs, lips twisting with faint distress, her earlier mask of determination faltering in the privacy of their room. “I'm worried about you. About this place. It's not safe and I'm worried if we fight anything here, whether it be the cause of the howls, a godforsaken Akuma, or even those creepy fanatics again, you're not going to make it—survive another close call.” She inhaled sharply. “I dread to think that should it come to it, the resurrection rituals won't work for you any longer.” Tears springing to her eyes as she voiced her doubts.

Jason frowned, “Oh,” He fumbled for words, shifting himself up into a sitting position so he could properly cup both sides of her face, and pull her into a gentle kiss on the lips. Pulling back, he took a deep breath, “oh, my holiness. Oh, my love. As long as I've been by your side, you've never let me fall, and your goddess and her pantheon don't seem like they'll let me die anytime before you. Not after the deal we struck, and I promise you, my priestess, that I don't intend on ever breaking that deal.”

“I know my knight, I know.” Marinette mumbled, tugging Jason into a tight hug as soon as he pulled away from the kiss, “but will there be a choice? Have you not forgotten your revival sickness we've yet to find or create a cure for? And not to mention the rumours about what has happened to the others who were also brought back by that awful Lich!”

Grimacing, he idly rubbed the back of his neck. “How could I fucking forget, I've hurt everyone I care about, especially you, thanks to that…”

She hummed once more. “And yet, none of us blame you for that, my love.”

“You should.” He argued weakly.

“I will never!” She retorted.

Their conversation lulled as they relished in the other's embrace.

Minutes passed before Marinette pulled away from the hug. She huffed, fingers twitching and nose scrunching up. “Jason, my red hooded knight, and love of my life.”

Jason squinted at her, “Yes…?”

“Wou— Can— What if I—.” She frowned, searching for her words, before settling on words she knew by ritual. “It would ease my mind if you were to be bestowed with some form of protection magic. Would you accept such a blessing from me?”

He remained silent for a few moments. “Of course I would, sweet priestess. I trust you, and I trust your goddess and her pantheon.” He closed his eyes and glanced away. “But shouldn't you save that magic for yourself, or when we're out in the fucking fray.”

“My powers will replenish come dawn, and the protection will last until then. I'd rather be certain in knowing you'll be safe whilst we sleep here.” Marinette answered, leaning forwards to cup his face in her hands.

Jason opened his eyes and looked back over at Marinette. “Alright,” he reluctantly conceded, “but only if it can also be applied to you.”

She stared at him then rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips twitching upwards in amusement. “I shouldn't have expected any answer but that from you. Luckily I've still got enough divine power to cast those two protection wards on the both of us.”

“Good!” He grinned cheekily.

Rolling her shoulders, Marinette mentally went over the incantations that would be used in this specific warding. She locked eyes with Jason and tilted her head to the side, “you first my knight.”

Squinting at her suspiciously for a few seconds, he eventually relented and shrugged. “As long as you've got enough divinity to protect yourself after, my holiness.”

“I will, trust me.” She responded, closing her eyes for a brief second before muttering the ancient celestial words of the language of the guardians. Her eyes filled with holy light, glowing like two sparkling suns. Whilst her hair began to shimmer and float as though underwater in sun-dappled waves. Swiftly she made an elegant hand gesture as continued to murmur the incantations. The shimmer in her hair and glow of her eyes flared for a split second as her words and hand gestures crescendoed, before flickering out like a snuffed candle.

As the golden radiance faded from Marinette, a similar golden glow began to settle around Jason. That too faded but a split second after appearing.

“Your powers never cease to amaze me, my holiness,” Jason murmured, staring at where the soft golden glow had radiated around him. Carefully he moved to hold her hands in his own so that he could press gentle kisses to them.

She giggled, blushing profusely. Although a smirk formed on her lips at his words. “Oh? Then where was this adoration of yours, my knight, when I magically mended those noble finery clothes of yours that were so unfortunately ripped just the night before we were to attend a masquerade, hmm?”

“Hey! Fucking–! Argh!” Jason sputtered for a second and then twisted around to grab a pillow from the bed, throwing it at Marinette. “Just cast the fucking protection ward on yourself!”

Marinette cackled as she fell back against the bedding from the impact of the pillow. She dramatically threw an arm over her face and cried out in mock distress, “oh no, oh dear! It would seem I have been most verily betrayed by mine own knight who was sworn to protect me, and yet! Here I lay, bloodied and betrayed! The world is fading from my grasp, I see the light of my goddess and her pantheon beckoning! Oh, whatever shall I do?”

“It would seem my last assassination attempt failed, sweetest priestess. Fear not! I shan't fail you again.” He declared equally as theatrically, grabbing the other pillow and throwing it at her as well.

“Ah! I have perished. What a shame, I am unable to cast that protection ward on myself now. Oh no!” Marinette continued, flopping onto her side and sticking out her tongue in mock death.

Jason snorted, “My assassination may have succeeded, but I cannot live with myself in this world without my love any longer. With this knife,” He stole back one of the pillows, “I shall perish besides the light of my life! Bleh.”

He flopped against the bedding beside her, a few seconds passed before the two of them burst into more laughter.

A few more moments passed before he elbowed her lightly. “Come on, your turn!”

Marinette wheezed and waved a hand, muttering the incantations between breaths. The radiance glowed around her, eyes and hair glimmering as they did before. Then as she reached the end of the incantations once more, it all faded away again. “Happy?”

“Indubitably, my love.” He responded.

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Good!”

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Fun fact: this was supposed to be longer but I wasn't happy with how the last part was going and so I cut it. So if people enjoy this one, well I'll just have to finish the follow-up piece to this fic, won't I. Ironically the part that was cut got more into the gothic horror and the main reason behind the title but I decided to focus on the romantic fluff as the end point instead. Flowed a little bit better. |

| This piece was inspired by a d&d campaign i joined for a few sessions. It was set in a creepy little hamlet with an incredibly creepy innkeeper who forced our party into signing a contract before we could spend outrageous amounts on gold just for a single night's stay. And uh turned out the dude was a demon we just sold our souls to, and then all but one of the party ended up leaving the inn to try our chances against the horrifying plague-like monsters outside, aka the whole reason we brought rooms in the first place! |

| Also feel free to send me any asks or comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[themuzzleofnemesis]

2-Memory of the Forest; Scene 10

The Muzzle of Nemesis, pages 83-89

It had been a very long time since I had last visited this village.

The village of Yatski. To the old me this place, established just to the north of the Millennium Tree Forest, was little more than a path between the forest and Aceid. That hadn’t changed even now. …Or it shouldn’t have.

There wasn’t anything good on the menu in the bar I was at, but I couldn’t stand my hunger any longer. I wolfed down some food that I’d ordered offhand.

--Earlier today I had entered into the Millennium Tree Forest alone. It had been eleven years, but it had still once been my home. Ordinarily there was no way that I could get lost in there.

But…It was no longer the forest that I remembered. I had anticipated that it wouldn’t be very well upkept given that the Held devotees and woodcutters had left, but it seemed an even greater change than that had enfolded the forest.

Its trees were withered, it was filled with ferocious beasts that shouldn’t have been there, dotted with bottomless bogs—how could it have transformed so much in so little time?

The house that I had spent my youth in had already been torn down. Built in its place was a theater called “Evils Theater”.

There was currently a rumor that the late Gallerian Marlon’s legacy lay sleeping there, but that was meaningless to me.

My reason for entering the forest was to search for the former head of the Tasan Party, who had since separated from the movement. Evidently he had gone missing after heading for the forest seeking a sword that was a family heirloom.

His attachment towards that sword had always been somewhat abnormal. He must have reasoned that it was currently in the theater, given that Gallerian once stole it from him.

If the former head of the Tasan Party…Gammon Octo…was still alive, then perhaps he was in that theater—with that in mind, I’d tried to enter “Evils Theater”.

…Ultimately, it didn’t go that well. I was attacked by a woman in a red dress and the twins who served her, just barely managing to escape back here—

They had certainly looked like people, but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind they weren’t “human”.

The reason why they have come to call this place “Evil’s Forest”—I suppose I could gather that just by feeling it on my skin.

I had no choice but to give up on Gammon. It’s hard to imagine he’s safe and sound in a forest with such monsters running rampant inside it.

I would just have to do things on my own from here on out, without relying on him. …As the new head of the Tasan Party.

The sun had already set. I considered staying at an inn here in the village, but Aceid wasn’t all that far. It seemed a better idea to leave the village right away, when thinking on how things would be from tomorrow on. My time off ended today.

I paid my bill and left the bar.

Right when I tried to get into a carriage waiting for customers, someone grabbed my arm.

I swiftly knocked the hand away and looked over.

“Did I startle you, miss? I apologize—You are Lady Nemesis Sudou, the head of the Tasan Party, are you not?”

There was a short old man there. He was dressed neatly enough, but I also didn’t get the feeling that his clothes were of good make.

“What do you want? I’m in a hurry.”

“My master has said that he wishes to meet with you.”

“I don’t know anyone in this village. If he has some business you can come to Tasan headquarters tomorrow and tell me then.”

“…Nikolay Tolle.”

“--!?”

“That is my master’s name. He said that you would surely meet with him once I told you—”

“—Where is he now?”

“He is in a mansion on the outskirts of the village. It is not that far from here, so we can go on foot. I will show you the way.”

I could scarcely believe it…hearing that name, in this village.

.

Nikolay was lying in bed.

According to the servant who had led me here, a heart disease that he’d struggled with for many years had taken a turn for the worse, and he didn’t have much time left.

“Oh my, if it isn’t Nemesis…It’s quite chilly today.”

Nikolay seemed far more elderly than before as he weakly spoke to me.

“I’d had no idea you were living in Yatski village.”

“I couldn’t stay in the forest like I was. I had earned your mother’s wrath.”

“Was that…because of me?”

“Indeed. I hadn’t fulfilled my role.”

And there Nikolay began to cough painfully.

His servant standing nearby had him drink some medicine, and finally he settled down.

“Nemesis…you’ve grown up splendidly. I heard the other day that you were promoted to the head of the Tasan Party.”

“—A lot’s happened since I saw you last. My friends in Zeus were all killed in prison, and only I survived. Then I wound up working for Bruno. As a member of PN’s hidden face…’Pere Noel’.”

“But eventually you betrayed Pere Noel…Then you started a civil war, and became a hero to the people.”

“You’re well informed.”

“I check the news on the radio every day…As I did in the past.”

Nikolay must have learned of the S.S. Titanis sinking via the radio, back then. And then he had soon realized that Mr. Ziz and I were the culprits.

“Nikolay…There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Why you betrayed me that day—You said that it was because you couldn’t allow my crime to go unpunished, but I get the feeling it was more than that.”

“Oh?”

“I had the chance to learn more about you after joining Pere Noel. …Your real name is ‘Hanma Baldured’. You were originally the director of the Dark Star Bureau, and you took bribes to declare many criminals innocent—the opposite of what you told me.”

“You are correct. I was the same sort of man as Gallerian Marlon, who you killed.”

“I can’t imagine that a man like you would sell out me and my friends just out of a guilty conscience.”

“…I’ve gotten forgetful as I get older. I don’t remember what I was thinking eleven years before.”

“…”

“…Maybe I was afraid of you. Even so I didn’t have the courage to strike you down myself—so I thought I would leave you to the law…or rather, to his judgment. Maybe I thought that was the most just thing I could do, at the time.”

A breeze blew in from the window.

Nikolay looked to be shivering from the cold, so I moved to close it.

“Thank you—And, I’m sorry. I had no idea that such a thing would happen to you and your friends before the trial was conducted.”

“Jorm Zusco—He killed my friends when he was trying to escape from prison. I’ve confirmed that Jorm himself died just the other day.”

“Did you kill him?”

“I wanted to, but no. He took his own life before I could find him. So revenge is impossible to me now.”

“…If it’s revenge you want, you can still achieve it.” Nikolay slowly sat up. “Me. You can get your revenge indirectly by killing me. I’m the one who caused you to get forced into prison, after all.”

Nikolay’s eyes seemed as though he was looking right through me.

It was true that there were times I had wanted to kill him. As revenge for my dead friends—but now that my gaze was upon him as he was now, I couldn’t help but hesitate.

“…It wouldn’t mean anything. You don’t have much longer to live anyway.”

“That depends on how you—and I, feel about it.”

“I don’t hate you anym—”

“Don’t say anything further. There are some things you need to set to rights to move forward. …Have you got a gun on you?”

“…Yeah.”

I pulled out my revolver.

My “Naga Custom .44”…I made a rule of using this gun any time I killed someone for revenge.

Despite my taking out a gun, the servant showed no fear, only standing rooted to the spot.

“Don’t mind him watching. I have known Hodr—my servant—for quite some time. He understands everything. Even if you kill me he won’t try to have you indicted for it. And there’s little risk of anyone else hearing the gunshot at the outskirts of the village like this.”

So then—he wanted to be killed by me, rather than dying by illness.

Then I would have to answer that.

For revenge.

And to repay him for looking out for me when I was young.

I pointed the muzzle of my gun at Nikolay.

“It seems your doubts have vanished, Nemesis. You look at peace now. But if I were to ask for one luxury…I’d have been happy for you to shed at least a single tear on my behalf.”

“…I’ve already resolved to never again cry while shooting someone.”

.

I pulled the trigger.

And then it was over.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[recentanimenews]

Golden Kamuy is the Best Harem Anime in Years!

We’ve talked in the past about what type of genre Golden Kamuy falls into, how it uses historical information to fill in its realistic setting and presenting authentic food culture and recipes, and even how authentic it is at representing judo. Now that the second season has left us with a whole bunch of unanswered questions and plenty of time to think about them. While we wait for news of season three, it’s time to address the elephant in the room: Golden Kamuy isn’t receiving the love it deserves for being the best harem anime in years! It might be easy to miss when you get too caught up in all this talk about Ainu gold and cooking and people shooting at each other, but if you weren’t paying attention, don’t you worry. We’ll tell you all about how Lt. Tsurumi is the harem protagonist to end all harem protagonists, and his gaggle of adoring followers!

Your first question is probably: “Wow, how did I not see it before?” And we forgive you for not realizing how amazing and handsome Lt. Tsurumi is. From his charming demeanor to his dashing looks (complimented by his headplate!), Lt. Tsurumi is a total package. It’s difficult at first to understand the devotion of the 7th Division if you don’t realize that they’re all in love with the man in charge, and Tsurumi dotes on his followers with equal measures of love and discipline. A harem anime protagonist is usually weak-willed and unwilling to admit their joy at being the center of so many cute boys' and girls' attentions, taking ages to make a decision about which of their suitors to settle down with, if they ever make a choice at all! But Lt. Tsurumi surpasses them all with his decisive and strong-willed ability to make choices, making the 7th Division a welcoming and warm home for everyone willing to follow him and achieve his dream of seeing Hokkaido (and eventually Japan) united under his control as a military force to be reckoned with.

When we first meet Lt. Tsurumi, we only see him from the perspective of Sugimoto, a man who is unfamiliar with who Tsurumi really is. He comes across as a cold and calculating killer, a ruthless person willing to do anything and everything to achieve his goal. As the series goes on, we find that Lt. Tsurumi is indeed ruthless, but much of that comes from his love for his followers and his willingness to do what he can to help give them purpose and success in life. As the war that gave them purpose and united all of them is over, Tsurumi feels it is his duty to ensure that all of his men continue to feel useful, needed, and most of all respected by a government that seems all too willing to ignore them now that they're not immediately needed. Tsurumi’s band of soldiers might seem odd or quirky at first, but that’s simply because Tsurumi has allowed them to blossom and show their amazing, unique personalities aside from just being faceless soldiers in uniform! After the death of General Hanazawa, the 7th Division were treated as outcasts and forgotten by the Japanese government, given no recognition or medals for their service; Tsurumi, seeing the unjust nature of such actions, made sure that the 7th Division would rise to greatness, welcoming any who would serve to his side.

But to be the head of a harem anime, you obviously need a harem of eccentric, archetypical characters who are all fighting each other for the affection and attention of the main character. Golden Kamuy is no slouch in this department, as the soldiers of the 7th really fill out all the roles you’d expect! Each member is unique, and even competitive, in their interest in the man at the center of the action. Not only that, but some characters end up in Lt. Tsurumi’s orbit by coincidence, finding him simply irresistible (as you should), joining in on the fun themselves. First on the list is Tsukishima Hajime, who makes his appearance in season 2. Tsukishima is the “straight man” character of Golden Kamuy’s weirdness, to the point that he fulfills that role both in his harem role and outside of it. Tsukishima is the most “normal” of the 7th Division, simply carrying out the orders given to him by Tsurumi and ensuring that others do as well. Tsukishima might be the oddest of the whole bunch, simply because none of the weirdness going on around him seems to phase him; if Tsurumi wants it, Tsukishima will make sure he gets it, even if it involves skinning people, working with a man who makes clothes out of corpses, or simply just dealing with the rest of the 7th’s weirdos!

At the opposite spectrum of Tsukishima is Nikaidou Kouhei. The Kouhei twins started Golden Kamuy as eccentric soldiers, but following the death of his twin and his betrayal of Tsurumi, Nikaidou has spent much of season 2 obsessed with killing Sugimoto, and becoming less and less in touch with reality. A violent and dangerous man with nothing to lose, he’s the most rambunctious of Tsurumi’s followers, as he barely seems interested in anything but killing Sugimoto at all costs, and acts more like a crazed hunting dog than he does a human being. In some regards, he may not even care much about Tsurumi at all, but Tsurumi seems to be the only person who can (somewhat) control him, and he even brings him gifts, like his fancy new leg! Although Nikaidou’s fate is up in the air at the end of season 2, he’s certainly the “wild one” when it comes to the harem for sure.

Somewhere in the middle of the pack is Koito Otonoshin from Satsuma. Koito is the easily-flustered type, as any time he’s in Tsurumi’s presence, he finds himself unable to stop speaking in Satsuma dialect, and at such a speed that it's hard for anyone except the ever-tolerant Tsukishima to keep up with. Koito also finds himself regularly indisposed at the idea of failing his beloved Tsurumi, fainting in odd and uncomfortable-looking poses at the mere thought of disappointing him. No matter how many times Tsurumi tells Koito that he can’t understand him, the hyperactive man simply speaks faster! Koito is certainly the overly-proper and easily-flustered harem member, the one who can barely exist in the same room as their target of affection, and easily wilting at any direct contact or even attention from them, and the dismay felt at possibly disappointing their beau driving them to extreme measures; after all, not many people would leap onto a propeller plane and swordfight to the death on its frame simply because they didn’t want to disappoint someone!

Koito isn’t the only one that’s hopelessly devoted with Tsurumi, though, because season 2 latecomer Usami really takes the cake for being almost obsessed with pleasing Tsurumi, nearly costing him his life in the process! Although not much is known about Usami (not even his full name!), he nearly dies horrifically in Abashiri prison to simply remark that he’s upset because Tsurumi will be mad at him. Usami even takes his punishment in pride, as Tsurumi initially draws two running man figures onto Usami’s distinctive birthmarks… which, as the Golden Kamuy extra Douga episodes show, became permanent tattoos at Usami’s request! Usami seems the type of harem character who would do anything for their beloved, even sacrificing their own life, and the unusual-looking man certainly makes an impression in his few appearances. Quite a few of the other 7th Division members that meet unfortunate ends or appear singularly seem to share similar zeal for Tsurumi’s attention and approval, but Usami really takes the cake in some regards.

Of course, not every person in a harem has to be seemingly lost in love; in fact, some members might even look for some distance, either because they become disillusioned, or simply because they realize they need to better themselves before they can worry about pursuing love. Ogata Hyakunosuke is certainly the former, revealing himself to be a snake, simply going with whatever will get him the result he desires personally, and abandoning Tsurumi when he’s no longer convenient. Ogata is pretty selfish, so it isn’t surprising that he’d fall out of the harem, but even he found himself once attracted to Tsurumi’s sphere of influence for his help in taking care of Ogata’s “family business,” let’s say! On the other end of the spectrum, Tanigaki Genjirou found himself engaging in a journey of self-discovery away from the 7th, trying to right the wrongs of his past and the ghosts of his Matagi upbringing through his interactions with Huci and the Ainu. Tsurumi welcomes Tanigaki back happily at the end of season 2, unlike Ogata, meaning that Tsurumi seems to be quite willing to accept that sometimes, you just have to let things go before you know what they mean to you!

Not every member of the harem is a 7th Division member... or totally sane. Rounding out the cast, and taking the yandere spot quite easily, is the misunderstood fashionista Edogai Yasaku. Although his fake skins will live on with Tsurumi, the poor taxidermist met his end while trying to bring his beloved Tsurumi his hard work. Edogai devotes himself entirely to Tsurumi, even going so far as to create a replica of him to help ease the pain of being separated! Edogai certainly was an odd character, but it’s easy to see his love for Tsurumi drove him to come out of his own shell and find some purpose in helping Tsurumi on his quest. Of all of the members in his harem, Tsurumi seemed most interested in Edogai’s unique personality and skills, perhaps seeing something of a kindred spirit in him, bonding over their use of tanning techniques; many of the other members of the harem, save perhaps Tsukishima, would certainly have been jealous of the close bonds that Edogai and Tsurumi seemed to share!

    And there you have it: Tsurumi and his harem, proving that not only is Tsurumi a great harem protagonist, but that he has the harem roster depth to go toe-to-toe with most other harem show staples! Although we’ll have to wait to see how the Tsurumi harem will grow or change in the third season (Sugimoto and Tsurumi are now brain damage buddies after all!), suffice to say it’s an easy call about who the greatest harem anime protagonist of 2018 is: Lt. Tsurumi, we love you!

What’s your favorite thing about Lt. Tsurumi? Have a particular Tsurumi harem member you like the most? Let us know in the comments!

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Nicole is a features and a social video script writer for Crunchyroll. Known for punching dudes in Yakuza games on her Twitch channel while professing her love for Majima. She also has a blog, Figuratively Speaking. Follow her on Twitter: @ellyberries

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com

[michellelarina]

Supermarket Tribal

In a land of pissed-off shoppers, is peace even possible?

9.05am

My regular supermarket has changed things around again.

I hate that.

It seems a somewhat tone deaf thing to do in the middle of a pandemic, and as I hurry along what used to be the condiment section, clutching my basket, I see my own emotions echoed in the eyes of the masked shoppers around me; confused, angry, frustrated.

We don’t have time for this.

Cowboys and Kisses is playing as I find washing powder where the activated almonds used to be. I hear myself sigh in that irritated, overloud way I’ve always contributed to crotchety old ladies. Further up the aisle, where the fabric softeners are, an elderly gentleman in a biscuit-brown cardigan pulls out a bottle of Sunny Glow Softener, and his face creases around his mask.

‘This is shit,’ he says.

The words are soft; inner frustration spilling out of his lips. But then he says it louder, almost shouting, and as he does he throws the bottle down the aisle.

‘This is shit!’

I find myself watching, fascinated, as the bottle skids across the blindingly white floor. From somewhere in the next aisle I hear a wail.

‘Where the fudge are the biscuits!’

There’s a few giggles. I think it’s because of the word fudge. My feet quicken as I set off once again. I just want to pay for my groceries and leave.

The next aisle is where I normally get tomato paste. Instead I find greeting cards, and feel my mind slipping.

9.15am

I can’t find anything! I’m only halfway though my shopping list. I want to leave but somewhere between frozen foods and garden supplies I feel myself pulled into a circle of spectators who are watching a tiny old lady berate a store manager. Her finger is pointing at him severely.

‘I think its very bad timing, young man, to do this while we’re all trying to get our shopping done as quickly as we can these days . . .’

Nod. Murmurs of agreement. I hear my voice join the others. The manager is sweating slightly under the bright lights.

‘I’m sorry you feel that way, and I’m happy to help you find the paper serviettes . . .’

‘That’s not the point!’ says a woman who’s joggling a plump baby on her hip. ‘I’m trying to do my weekly shop with a kid, and you’ve swapped everything around!’

‘All I want to do is make a slow cooker casserole, but I can’t find anything!’ says another woman, and promptly bursts into tears. ‘I just want to go home!’

‘If you all take a minute to look at the signs . . .’

‘The signs are useless!’ says a man, stepping forward. He looks like a farmer in his town clothes, perhaps sent in by the wife to pick up some groceries while he’s paying bills. Our city is a regional one, surrounded by wheat belts and sheep. The farmer is angry, calloused hands bunched into fists. ‘You’ve made dog’s breakfast of this. I’ve been in here for half a bloody hour!’

More nods. More voices joining in. And then someone says, ‘You can’t keep doing this! We already spend our money here. Why do you always need more of it?’

I never knew who said it. That quiet voice. Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

‘If you just give me a moment, I’ll find some floor staff to assist you . . .’

But then someone else says it. ‘Why do always you need more?’

I find myself repeating it, along with half the people around me.

The manager takes a step back as it becomes a soft chant.

As one, we take a step forward.

9.23am

The manager puts up a good fight but eventually goes down, arms flailing, mouth open in shock as the old lady whacks him with her walking stick, saying, ‘Its just not good enough, young man!’

He’s curled up in a ball now, begging for his life. Security is coming. I put down my basket and pick up the heaviest thing in it; a tin of Corinthian chocolate wafers. They weren’t on my list, but I was looking for tea towels, and they were there, and I was so tired . . .

As I pulled them from a shelf a worn-out looking mother of twin boys who seemed to be trying to kill each other in her shopping cart whispered, ‘Don’t you see? That’s how they get you.’

The middle-aged man beside me has a can of peas and carrots in each hand. The security guards, two men in vests, hesitate.

Someone hurls a jar of Olay Regenerist Night Cream at the tallest one, and it catches him above the eye. He collapses, boneless, and we’re running now, hurling packaged meat and tinned puddings and scented candles, animal-like screams coming from our mouths as the second guard turns and runs.

9.28am

The surviving security guard has locked the doors and is calling the police. He’s saying it’s not okay to beat up store managers and kill security guards with night cream. But as he makes his speech, his thumbs hooked into his belt, the woman with the still-fighting twins lifts them out of her shopping cart and shoves them at him.

‘Attack!’ she screams, and the twins hurls themselves at the guard’s ankles. Teeth snap. The security guard is dancing around, eyes bulging as he screams.

‘Get them off me! For the love of god, get them off me!’

We don’t.

The twins are wrapped around his legs. He stumbles and falls to the floor. One boy immediately latches onto his ear with tiny teeth. Blood flows and we watch with shiny, embittered eyes. Someone has wrapped a blue and white tea towel around a broom handle. They light it with a Bic lighter and lift it high as police cars scream into the carpark, sirens wailing above the security guard’s cries.

9.48am

The manager is being spit-roasted in the meat section.

Many have surround him in a circle, swaying and chanting, but I find the smell overpowering, so when someone suggests serving him with mint sauce I volunteer to go find some.

The condiment section has been taken over by a handful of shoppers that stop me from entering. But their leader, a sweaty man with chilli sauce smeared across his cheeks, is willing to trade. They want coleslaw, he says. And three hot roast chickens.

Three is a ridiculous number. I point out how many people are locked in here, and he relents.

‘One, then,’ he grunts. ‘But we want cola. And barbecue shapes.’

I make my way back as Cruel Summer begins to play overhead.

The meat section was taken over by those of us who first turned on the staff. The two women behind the counter quickly surrendered and were seemingly eager to become part of our tribe, but unbeknown to me, while I was searching the land for mint sauce, they rebelled and split up into their own sub-tribe. They are now in control of all the roast chickens.

I approach. They’re defensive, hostile. Susan, the older one, tells me they’ll trade for weapons.

‘There’s only two of us,’ she says, as the other woman, Barb, nods in agreement. ‘We need to be able to defend ourselves.’

I hear someone shout, ‘Where’s the bloody mint sauce?’ I know my position in the meat section is tenuous, so I agree.

10.02am

Kitchen utensils have been claimed by an all-male warrior clan.

They’ve scarred themselves with a Wiltshire Staysharp. A slow burning fire fuelled by cardboard packaging heats the blade red hot, and each man draws it across their chest three times.

Those who refuse the ritual are banished to the barren land of plasticware, further up the aisle. They’re mostly younger and weaker males, their future bleak.

Over the fire looms a vaguely human-shaped effigy made from barbecue tongs lashed together with plastic ties. Jamie Oliver’s face peers out from the cover of a recipe book that’s placed on the head of this figure. I watch, fascinated, as their newest member draws the blade across his skin while the others chant, ‘Blood is life! Life is blood!’

I roll my eyes. Jamie Oliver’s smile seems to grow wider.

The farmer is their leader. He looks down at me as I ask for a knife or two.

‘No woman shall wield the weapons of steel!’ he bellows, and from behind him his clan chant, ‘No woman! No woman!’

I try to explain how offensive that is. He doesn’t listen. His arms are crossed over his bare chest, blood dripping. But as he turns away, one of the younger men takes pity on me. He slips me a small paring knife and a recipe book.

‘May our great god Jamieoliver bestow his benevolence upon you, woman,’ he says. It’s the most kindness I’ll get from these cavemen, so I nod my thanks and leave.

10.12am

The rotisserie warriors aren’t happy with me.

One paring knife to defend themselves is pretty poor, given their numbers. Their hostility towards me grows, and I have no choice. I offer to join them. I never belonged in the meat section anyway.

They anoint my forehead with hot chicken juice. It burns, but I try not to flinch. I promise to uphold our territory, with my life if necessary. I’m handed a hot chicken, nestled inside its little plastic carry-bag, and begin my journey.

10.17am

I trade the recipe book for a box of barbeque shapes.

I don’t know why the people of savoury biscuits would want a recipe book. Maybe its because they’re distracted; they’re at war with the other half of the aisle, the tribe that rule over assorted creams and scotch fingers and caramel crowns. I can hear the warring factions taunt each other loudly as I continue my journey.

The smoke mart has been taken over by teenagers. They’re lanky and feral, demanding chips and cola from those who wish to trade. They’re being watched over by the mothers who have created a sanctuary in the baby aisle. Their children play with each other while the women sit in a circle, breastfeeding and talking earnestly about the politics of the surrounding lands and the possibility of creating a yoga retreat.

In party supplies there’s a celebration that is said to never end. The people of this land pop streamers at each other while dancing to the non-stop music. They don’t seem to eat or drink, and whenever a Kylie song comes on they go slightly bananas. They seem oblivious to everything else as balloons fill the air, but I’m told that if you wander too close they will try and pull you in.

I skirt around the snacks aisle, even though it makes my journey longer. The people there are twitchy and half-crazed. I see a man spread-eagled on the floor, making a liquorice angel. His lips are ringed in chocolate, his eyes glazed, lost in Sugarland.

In the soft drink section everyone is begging for Cola. Someone from the distant electrical tribe hands over a kettle and a toaster for a single 1.25ml bottle. She clutches it to her chest as it’s handed over, and when I get too close to her, she growls.

The leader is short but ferocious. Muscles like MMA fighter. Spiky hair.

‘What do you want?’ she asks.

‘Cola.’

‘One chicken.’

‘What?’

‘I know who you are, rotisserie woman.’

‘I can offer you a quarter pack . . .’

‘No trade.’

‘But a whole one is ridiculous . . .’

‘No trade!’ she screams, and suddenly her crew are behind her. They’ve made armour out of drink cartons, their cardboard-clad shapes hostile.

What could I do? I gave her my chicken.

10.25am

The people of condiments are restless. The leader snatches my offerings and glares at me.

‘Where is the fowl you promised?’

‘I had to trade it, for that,’ I said, nodding at the plastic bottle in his hands. ‘My journey has been long. I could use a meal and rest before I start back . . .’

‘There’s no food in these lands,’ he said, and I suddenly notice that his people are packing jars and squeeze bottles into shopping bags.

‘We are joining the peoples of the great meat section,’ he says, watching me. ‘They’ve agreed we will be a stronger tribe together. Here . . .’ He shoves a jar of mint sauce at me. ‘I would have gone with applesauce,’ he adds, shrugging. ‘But whatever.’

I leave them to pack and prepare for their long journey.

As I pass the biscuit aisle a man in a hoodie whispers a promise of chocolate and sweetness. I keep my gaze steady, and my feet don’t slow. On my travels I have seen what people will do for a tim tam, and I will not go down that road.

When I finally reach the great plains of the meat section I’m exhausted. The mint sauce is grabbed out of my hands.

The manager is being carved and served up on paper serviettes.

10.28am

My homeland has been depleted. Many chickens have been traded for water and coleslaw and lunch rolls. But that’s not all that’s troubling my clanswomen.

There is talk of war.

10.30am

The coming battle is over the bathrooms.

They’re being guarded by a tribe of warriors in store uniforms. They call themselves Staff.

They have nothing but pure hate for us. They talk of how our people once murdered their leader in cold blood, back in ancient times. They refuse all talks of peace and trade.

They are strong in numbers, so invasion will only be possible if enough tribes join together.

The warrior clan are on board, of course, as is the meat section and the condiment crew. The party people don’t even hear the request; they’re too busy throwing glitter into the air and singing along to Black Velvet, and the mothers are putting babies down for naps and firmly shushing anyone that approaches.

We of the rotisserie chickens have no choice other than to join. We are too few in numbers to be truly independent, though we’ve been joined by a fourth. Janet is from the meat section. She became disenfranchised when she suggested they start wrapping the cold cuts and rationing them. Instead, they decided to trade almost a third of their supplies for cheese and olives, and are gorging on antipasto.

‘But what about tomorrow?’ she says. ‘What about the future?’

So we shall fight.

10.40am

The people of Staff were ready for us.

They’re armed with toilet brushes and bleach. The clash is ferocious, chaotic, and unbelievably loud. I’m knocked to the white floor, the smell of bleach heavy in the air. Over the screams I can hear Cowboys and Kisses, yet again. Am I going mad? I get to my feet and run forward, armed only with sharpened chicken bones.

Suddenly a roll of toilet paper is thrown into the air. We stop as one and stare as it unravels in slow motion — a streaming white banner that floats gently to the floor.

Surrender.

The war is over.

We decide not to take prisoners, because we all really need the loo. We line up, bloodied and bruised. Some are weeping.

Suddenly a procession of people appear from health and haircare. They glide towards us, silent, their faces serene, their hair long and glossy. In their hands are band aids and bandages, aspirin and medicated creams. They start to bandage our wounds, tend to our sprains.

We’re suspicious. What do you want? We ask. Who side are you on?

‘We take no sides,’ they say, their words little more than sighs. ‘We wish only to heal.’

It’s been a long, hard morning. Will we ever make sense out of this chaos?

11.05am

We’ve had our first death.

It’s from the small, strange tribe of people that protect all the peanuts. Driven mad by thirst, they went to war with the water people. But there were too few of them , and after they were driven back one of them promptly died of salt poisoning.

We wrapped his body in a blue cotton throw, and the cold, sombre people of frozen foods allowed us to place his body gently in a freezer.

Strangely, it has bought a kind of peace to our lands. We know now that we need to get along, to live in tolerance of one another, if we are to survive. We may be many lands, but we are just one supermarket, after all.

Trade has become easier and more reasonable. Children are allowed to play outside their borders, though adults must seek a clan leader’s permission to enter any land they’re not from. The mothers have lectured the teenagers about sharing and water is distributed fairly, though I can’t say the same for soft drink. Those people are still jerks.

Our one law is that anyone caught stealing will have a hand ceremoniously removed by the warrior clan leader. This was argued against by the elfin creatures of heath and haircare, but in the end even they saw that trust must be built.

As for my small tribe . . . our stocks are low and we know the end is coming. Janet has started dating someone in ice cream. She says the marriage will secure her future. Perhaps she is right, but I have a strong streak of independence and won’t marry, even for choc mint. Perhaps I will join health and haircare — they’ve set up a small salon and are offering a free cut and shampoo to anyone that wants to become one of them.

12.09pm

Janet has done a runner, taking our last precious chicken with her, as dowry.

We are more sad and betrayed than angry, though if I ever catch her alone I’ll use the paring knife without remorse.

Reluctantly we part ways, and I find myself cast adrift in this new world. I set off, looking for a home.

12.14pm

The elder of health and haircare rejects me.

‘You are from those that eat the flesh of animal,’ they sigh. I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman. Their hair is so long it brushes the floor. Their skin in translucent, glowing.

‘But I’m just trying to survive.’

‘We live on vitamins, and the light from above that shines on us perpetually. We spend our days trading peacefully with the people from beauty and cosmetics. We help anyone who is in need of pampering, expecting no reward.’ A delicate eyebrow arches. ‘You would not fit in, you — who battles over bathrooms and wields the knife.’

‘Just give me a chance, please! I don’t want to be on my own out there.’

But its no use. The elder offers me a small packet. ‘Take this peppermint conditioner sample. If you can tame the split ends of your heart as well as those in your hair, you may return.’

‘But . . .’

‘Goodbye, traveller,’ the being sighs, and drifts back to the others.

12.26pm

I’ve been caught up in a small skirmish between pasta and bakery.

I can’t tell if its tomato sauce or blood that’s running across the floor. I don’t even know how the battle started, except that it had something to do with breadsticks. I try to run, but someone hits me with a solid cob loaf. I see the floor coming, but I don’t remember hitting it.

4.35pm

When I come to, the battle is over.

I’m in a deserted no-man’s land, somewhere between bakery and pet food. The floor is smeared with red, the air heavy with the scent of parmesan. Overhead a light flickers, making me disorientated. When I sit up and check my watch I’m horrified by how long I’ve been unconscious.

The land is silent, and eerily still.

Suddenly a tiny service dog bolts out of the pet food aisle, teeth bared and tags jingling. Behind it a group of people are hollering at me and making shooing gestures. Something is wrong with them, but I can’t place it as I stagger to my feet.

The dog is still charging. The people jump up and down, urging the creature on. With horror I register the sounds they’re making; hoots and grunts and strange clicks. There are no words. Their clothes are rags. Their feet are bare.

I’m so dazed the creature is almost upon me before I run.

My surroundings are frighteningly unfamiliar. Aisles twist and curve strangely. Shelves are empty. Some have toppled to the floor. Both hair and healthcare and beauty and cosmetics are completely abandoned, and as I run along a path littered with empty shampoo bottles and broken hairbrushes, I hear a voice whisper from the bright lights above me.

‘We have fled the flesh-bodies, traveller. This land has fallen to ruin.’

I stumble over abandoned Country Style magazines. I catch glimpses of the others; faces that peer from behind cereal box camouflage, figures that sink behind the carcasses of checkouts. Something calls out from wilderness, a long, drawn-out sound that is both mournful and savage.

I keep running long after the snarls behind me have faded, looking for refuge.

5pm

A special-ops team crashes through the doors, hurling teargas cannisters and shouting.

I was asleep under a row of shopping carts, living in the outlands to avoid the violent primitives, and they don’t see me.

From the haze of gas comes startled yips and grunts. In the distance I glimpse wild-looking figures, scattering. I wander out of doors that have been forced open, only to be body-slammed by four police officers in full riot gear.

The pavement rises up to meet my face. I breathe in concrete and cigarette butts and fresh air. The smell of outside. Memories are rushing back, of a younger me, parking my car and pulling shopping bags out of the boot. I’m hauled to my feet and with wonder I see the sky. I’d forgotten its blue. I’d forgotten the sweet, soft brightness of natural light.

I begin sobbing with relief. Someone is saying, ‘What’s your name? Do you know?’

I don’t. I just know I’ve survived. I’ve gotten out of the supermarket.

*Certain events in this retelling may be slightly exaggerated.

If you liked reading this, and I hope you did, please consider buying me a coffee.

[nebula-starlight]

Corrupt (Part 6 - Naris)

To say that Narssia felt entirely like herself the next morning when she woke was a lie. What was normal after months of internal torment and being stuck with an insane dead spirit hellbent on vengeance? She was, however, met with a splitting headache when she first opened her eyes, finding herself gently propped up against a padded wall with a soft blanket covering her. There was no one in the room when she woke but she soon heard Mark’s voice pleasantly coming from downstairs.

She originally wasn’t going to move, groaning as she lifted a hand to shield her sensitive eyes from the sunlight coming in from the two large windows off to the right of her. Her stomach, however, had other plans as it grumbled the second she smelled the aroma of food cooking. He must have known she was waking up. 

Reluctantly getting off the floor, she hissed as she bent to retrieve the fallen blanket and her fingers brushed lightly against her chest. Confused, she lifted her shirt up to see an angry red scar that she didn’t remember having before. Injuries weren’t something she normally worried herself over but this one was new. What exactly had happened last night after she excused herself during the midst of talking with Mark?

She paled, tracing the wound mindlessly as broken fragments of the evening before pierced through her subconscious. Void had taken her over with surprising ease and gone after Mark. And, yet, she obviously hadn’t been successful… Narssia shook her head, letting the fabric fall back over her newest mark of possession. Why was it that she had ended up with a psychopath literally stuck in her head? What evil had she done in life to deserve such a fate?

Trying to ignore what she had seen, Narssia quickly retrieved the blanket and folded it neatly before going downstairs. She felt calmer, able to breathe easier now than she had in months. No longer was her mind abuzz with vicious remarks from the parasite she’d come to know as Void. She just needed to get used to having the quietness she had longed for back… How strange it was after so long. Normally the spirit would already be off screeching in her ear about something. Maybe that’s why she started to sleep in later and later. Hoping she could somehow drown out the static-ladened snarls.  

“No,” she softly huffed, trying to pull herself away from such depressing thoughts.

She did wonder if Void had an accent prior to her corruption but, then again, she never got much out of the spirit that wasn’t an angry commentary on whatever she was currently doing. Perhaps it was for the best that she not know.

As she entered the kitchen, she spotted Mark standing over by the stove. Narssia hesitated, internally debating on whether to speak or not but before she could decide, he noticed her.

“You’re up earlier than I thought. Well, come on in then. I’m just about done with this last batch.”

Curiosity drove her to walk over to the island bar in the middle of the floor where he had already stacked several fluffy golden pancakes on two plates. Taking one of them, she looked around anxiously, trying not to stare at the knife rack next to him that had one missing. Void had taken it the night before when she tried to kill him. It was strange that she hadn’t seen the blade upstairs though.

“I’m sorry for last night… for whatever she did. I- I can’t control her. Void does what she wants and I’m just pulled along for the ride.”

Mark looked up from the frying pan, expression softening in sympathy. “You did nothing wrong. I’m fine and you’re here now so don’t worry about it.”

She offered him a smile, still unsure of what she was to do now. It was so strange to have nothing but her own thoughts in her head. Liberating perhaps but also unnerving not knowing when Void could come back. If she knew anything about the spirit, she fully expected it would be agony for her the very minute she returned.

Taking a seat, she picked at her food mindlessly with a fork, unable to get rid of the image of the scar. Void had left that, hadn’t she? A warning that she wasn’t gone despite the peaceful silence Narssia currently enjoyed. Would she ever be free of her unwelcome passenger? It had taken months, after all, for the insane glitch to worm her way into her head. Small things at first, mostly second guessing herself as she helped to heal a wounded dragon, but eventually she heard the sickening voice with its raspy hissing. She hated to think about it but reaching out to Geer had helped, at least in the beginning. The more she fought back though, the worse she felt as her scales became brittle and her performance as a healer was brought into question. Soon enough she was released from her work, quickly becoming isolated in her small house as even the tiniest amount of light sent her into a panic. The letters she received from her dear friend had given her the courage to meet with him but she fell silent on their way back to her home shortly after seeing the shadow that lurked behind him with its crimson eyes. Even Void had taken notice, hissing in her ear that there wasn’t much time left before she joined him and became nothing more than a hollow vessel.

A hand suddenly came down on her shoulder and she immediately reacted, jerking away from the touch before spinning around as she sank into a low crouch and bared her teeth. The sound she was met with, however, threatened to tear away the bravery she’d acted upon as a low ringing filled the air. Her gaze lifted in timid curiosity, finding the color fading from the air as a being similar to Mark but all together different stood in his place with a hand still outstretched.

“My, my, aren’t you jumpy this morning?” He commented as he glanced back at her out of the corner of his eye. Moments later, he turned slightly to better see her, hand retreating behind his back as the faint shimmer of twin red and blue auras briefly spread outwards from his form.

She shrank back, fear creeping in as the scenario reminded her far too much of meeting the spirit inhabiting Geer for the first time. He’d just barely gotten her inside after Void had relinquished her initial control when he stopped, lifting a suddenly trembling paw to his chest before turning away. Concerned, she’d tried to ask what was wrong despite how exhausted she was but he growled that he was fine - only it wasn’t his voice. The vocals were lower, bringing in a distinct rumble that Geer himself never had.

Perhaps it was because she wasn’t thinking straight after the trauma she’d endured but she lashed out at him, lunging forward as her claws tore across his snout. He’d said nothing, only parrying her blows once she started using her tail as well. Soon she was panting for breath, weaving slightly between far weaker attacks. The beast had known of her exhausted state, she realized seconds before he sidestepped another attempt at a lunge and wrapped his tail gently around her neck.

Narssia blinked, breaking away from the terror-filled memory and coming back to her senses as she backed up against the doorframe. This darker version of Mark hadn’t moved particularly much since his initial appearance, only watching her retreat with the tiniest smirk before she accidentally made eye contact.

“You certainly do have a lot of demons inside that pretty little head, don’t you?” He muttered softly, moving toward her with deliberately slow steps as his shoes clicked against the hardwood floor. “A lifetime of mistakes and yet the biggest one, in your eyes at least, was accepting that parasitic glitch.”

Dark paused for a moment, stopping in front of her as she timidly glanced up. Every instinct in her, dragon or otherwise, was screaming for her to run but she was paralyzed by her fright. Instead, she stared into the black irises that studied her curiously.

“I’ll admit that I see now why she was so quick to defend you. For her petite size, she certainly has a temper - unlike what I’ve seen from you. Such a shame really, I thought you’d prove more useful to me in discovering her secrets. You are her vessel, are you not?”

Something struck a chord within her at the remark and she growled, staggering to her feet even though he was a good foot taller than her. Using the frame behind her to keep her balance, she finally broke her silence since his arrival.

“Where is she? Don’t play dumb either, demon. I can read enough of her memories to know she met you last night. It doesn’t take much to put the rest of the pieces together after I wake up feeling empty and yet decidedly free of her poisonous influence.”

Dark chuckled, the sound a low rumble that threw her panic back into overdrive. She wasn’t crazy… It was just that everything about her current situation reminded her so much of Nether. Even his voice echoed with the same influence - a trait the spirit had used to craft his illusions no doubt.

“She’s fine, for now. However I need you to pass along a message on my behalf.” Narssia’s gaze narrowed in suspicion, shifting uneasily on her feet. “I would naturally do it myself but given how Mark ignores my presence I have little choice but to entrust you. Do tell him that there’s another demon loose now, if you’d be so kind.”

“A-Another?” She hadn’t meant to stutter but the thought of another being similar to Nether or even this darker Mark was terrifying to consider.  

Dark nodded in affirmation, lifting her chin up with the lightest of touches as his other hand dug into the wooden frame. Despite the slight cracking she heard behind her, there was no fear in her eyes as she waited with baited breath to see what he would say next.

“Relax, he isn’t like myself. More unpredictable, somewhat spastic at times… Truthfully he reminds me of your other half.”

She hissed in a mixture of surprise and pain, hand going to her chest as the scar burned. What horror could come about by those two meeting? Having one unstable psychopath was enough but to know now that a second had appeared…

“Of- Of course.” She hesitated, biting her lower lip as she let go of the split doorframe behind her and tried to ignore the throbbing gash. “Please, don’t…”

Dark tilted his head, barely hearing the low whimper but nonetheless determined to coax the reserved plea out of her. “Do speak up, child. I don’t particularly like to keep my prisoners waiting for too long.”

Narssia drew back, noticing the sudden reappearance of his aura as the constant ringing noise that had persisted during their encounter rose in volume. As much as she hated to ask, she had to know if Void was alright. Sure she might detest the corrupt spirit who took over her life but she had become a part of her during the months that followed.

“I asked you earlier where Void was and you didn’t answer me. Tell me where the darker half of my soul is!” Her hands shook, anger replacing any fear she might of had towards the demon. When he didn’t respond, she snarled, lifting up the front of her shirt to show the injury as the skin around it now appeared discolored and bruised. “I demand an explanation, demon. This isn’t a normal wound. Sure Void has thrown her injuries off on me before but this one in particular was meant for Mark. Hell, she even tried to kill him last night with a knife that now, surprisingly, I can’t find.”

The demon took a step back with a soft hum, collecting his hands behind him once more as he rolled his neck with an audible crack. “I’m certain it’s up there. She didn’t have a weapon when she arrived in my domain… Although I can assure you that you needn’t worry about her.”

“All this because she went after Mark? It seems excessive.” She muttered, letting her shirt flutter back down over the injury before advancing as Dark retreated a couple more steps.

“Only one deserves to hurt him and that, child, isn’t her. Now then, I’m afraid I must take my leave. Do inform Mark of what we discussed, won’t you?”