#original sotry

[schrijverr]

This post scratched at something in my brain and wouldn't let me go, so I wrote a lill something, hope that's okay :D

tw: child death, unreality

~~

My Tombstone in the Yard

My tombstone tells me to rest in peace, but they do not let me. It says ‘Here lies Kathrine Marie Brown’ but I do not lie there. It tells every wanderer that I was taken before my time, but I have not been taken by death. They have taken me.

Naturally they do not say that they have taken me, but I know that they have, for I should be there, yet I am here. Here where I no longer belong. Here snatched away from that sweet oblivion that death had brought me.

I have been forcefully reborn and now dwell amongst the living one more. However, my home no longer feels like home and my family has lost their familiar touch.

There are stacks of books in my daddy’s study where he used to be so pristine. The rug before the fire has been replaced and the new one feels like hidden secrets. Curtains are drawn, candles burn all day and we no longer go to Church on Sunday.

The man wearing the face of my daddy has forbade me from playing outside, sitting in the usual chair by the fire as he smokes his pipe and watches as I sit next to the dollhouse I begged to get for Christmas the year that I died.

His eyes scare me and I want to hide in my mommy’s skirts, but I am afraid to so. The woman who is there doesn’t feel like my mommy. My mommy smelled of rosemary, but she smells like the sticky sweetness of rotting fruit.

I want to go outside, go seek out my friends and play again. They keep saying how glad they are to have their little girl back, but I am not allowed to be me anymore and they are no longer them.

The house is dark and our neighbors now watchmen we need to avoid, so no one will know that I have come back.

I don’t understand. They wanted me back. They wanted our lives back. They wanted to be a family again. So why aren’t we? Why have they turned into strangers? Why have they changed my home and changed themselves? Why are we locked in our own home like criminals?

What was the point of disturbing my peaceful slumber, when you are only pulling me back to a world I no longer know and no longer fit in?

When I stand in front of my window at night – the only time I will not be dragged away – I can see my tombstone there in our yard. It stands there, marking my final resting place, because my parents couldn’t bear to part with me.

That tombstone tells me to rest in peace, but I cannot. It says that I lie there, but I don’t. I lie in my bed again, its once plush sheets now pushing me into the mattress and chaining me down. It tells me that I was taken, but I did not feel taken by that sweet oblivion. I feel taken now. Taken far away from where I was at peace or from the people that I knew.

Fake-daddy asks why I don’t want to play with my dolls and I want to scream that I never want to play again. That I want to go into the yard and dig until I find my casket again and see if I can finally rest there.

But I don’t scream. I stay quiet.

The whole house is quiet all of the time now. It never used to be quiet. Mommy played the piano and daddy laughed as we danced together. Outside birds sang their sweet songs and open windows let in the bustle of the village.

Now it’s dark and the people in the house with me never seemed to have known the joys of song and dance at all. Birds have abandoned us and thick curtains ensure that nothing enters, no sound nor gaze.

I don’t know this world anymore, I don’t know these people. I am scared. Scared to play and scared to speak up. I play by their rules and call them daddy and mommy. Sometimes they smile and it’s almost like it used to be, but most of the time they stare, like they expect me to be someone else.

Last night I heard them whisper about how I have changed. The woman in my mommy’s skin told the impostor daddy that I was so quiet now and he replied with recounting that I didn’t want to play with my dolls.

And if they were my mommy and daddy, I would have crawled out from my hiding place on the stairs and assured them I was okay, before asking for a hug.

However, they are not my mommy or my daddy and I do not want a hug from them. I do not want to be loud in this strange new quiet place with those tense quiet people and I do not want to play with my dolls when all the stories I want to play involve them finally getting some rest, which only makes the strangers stare at me again.

I wish that I was able to be myself again, I wish that I could be loud and happy. I wish that life called to me, like death now seems to do. I wish I had my mommy and daddy back and we could be happy again.

But I can’t, they have taken that from me.

So, instead I sit there wishing that I could leave, that I didn’t feel trapped by their watchful eyes, surrounded by their stifling silence. Wishing that my window could open and the smashing of glass didn’t make a sound.

Wishing that my tombstone wasn’t in the yard, where you can see from the house, so that I could go out and dig. Dig until I found that peaceful place again. That the dirt wouldn’t show on my white nightgown and I didn’t have to fear what those fakes would do to me if they knew.

I never had to be afraid of mommy or daddy. They always smiled and hugged me so. They made me feel welcome and warm, while these two feel cold and tainted, as if they did something they cannot run from.

I’m scared.

I want to go home.

They say that I am home and when I look outside at night, it does seem like all that I have always known, but these halls don’t feel the same. Something terrible happened here and no one in these walls can escape it, including me.

The fake mommy tucks me in at night, as she has done ever since I woke up in the basement, though I’m not allowed to go there anymore.

She puts a strand of hair behind my ear and smiles tenderly. For a moment I can almost fool myself into thinking she is my mommy, but then the smile fades and an intense sadness seems to overcome her as she wonders why I don’t ask her for a story.

I always asked mommy for a story, begged her every night to tell me once more about the princess in the tower or the knight upon his horse. But I don’t want to ask her that. She doesn’t tell the stories right, they’re less thrilling and her voice cracks.

So I shake my head and tell her that I do not want her to tell me a story that I don’t like how she tells them and watch her recoil as if hit. They will probably be whispering about me again tonight, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Maybe if they whisper enough, they decide that they don’t want me and they’ll go to torment another girl with their little play pretend and I can go back to my casket and finally go back to sleep.

Once she is gone, I climb out of bed to gaze at my tombstone again.

It’s not that I wanted to be dead, to be ‘taken before my time.’ I wanted to grow up and own my own house with the fancy plates mommy only let me eat off at Christmas time. I wanted to play with my friends and finally find where the creek ends.

But I no longer want that now. I am not meant to be here, I can feel it in my bones. This house is no longer made for me and my parents are gone. I do not want to live without them, these past few weeks have shown me that. I cannot bear to be in a world that looks so much like mine, but misses the life mommy and daddy used to bring.

Instead I dream of where I slept, under my tombstone in the yard. I dream of that oblivion where I didn’t know what it was like to be alive, just like I hadn’t known what it was like to be dead.

This morning I am called into what used to be the room of my mommy and daddy. I haven’t been here since they took me, but entering it now, I know that it isn’t right.

Mommy never wore her robes in their room and daddy shaved every day. Their bed would feel warm and cozy, like I could crawl in there with them, but now the sheets seem new, replaced like mine had been after I stained them when I was sick.

The love that once hung here has blackened and I dawdle at the foot of the bed, hoping that they will let me go.

However, the people in the bed wave for me to join them, telling me that they’ve made tea. Their voices are all wrong, like something is squeezing their throats and my feet are begging me to run away, but daddy always caught me when we were playing monster and I don’t want to find out if this impostor is better at playing that part.

So, I cautiously climb between them, very unlike my usual scramble to cozy up with them on those pillows, which are now also tainted with that rotten smell that hangs around mommy.

The man puts his arm around me and pulls me close like daddy used to do, handing me my own little cup of tea. It’s almost a perfect replica of how my Sunday mornings used to be before we got ready for Church, but the smell of the tea that wafts into my face is all wrong and mommy isn’t sighing about how we really should get up.

I am tense once more, in the strange yet familiar bed and force the tea down my throat, trying to ignore those pain filled eyes that watch me.

It is only when I have finished my tea that I realize that both of them are crying. I have heard them cry a lot, but I have never seen it. I have only seen my real mommy and daddy cry, back when I was sick, after the doctor came by.

Yet here I am with both of them crying and I can’t do anything but watch. My body feels heavy, cup slipping from my grasp.

It is caught by the man, who uses the movement to cradle me in his arms, my eyes looking up at his as tears continue to fall down, hitting my face. He holds me so tenderly, as if I am his newborn, but there is anguish in his eyes that I do not understand.

He wanted me here, did he not? He took me from where I was at peace to force me into a pantomime of what I had left behind. Yet here he is, crying over me.

At once, he suddenly looks a lot like my daddy used to look as I held me every night, fever wrecking my body. But there is something missing in him, as if something had been taken from him that cannot be returned. Something that cannot be healed. Something that has changed him permanently.

Maybe, I think, though it is far away through the haze that has overtaken me, there used to be something that animated him, just like something used to animate me. Maybe there used to be something that brought both of us to life and maybe that something has been taken from us.

“Daddy?” I ask, my voice weak and my senses fading. Daddy chokes on a sob and another head leans over me as a warm hand clasps mine. Vaguely I can smell rosemary, buried under rotting fruit. I remember that smell. “Mommy?”

If they speak, I do not hear, for I fade away into the oblivion I had known before I was reborn and I forget what it was like to live, just like I had not known what it was like to die.

My tombstone tells me to rest in peace and this time they let me. It says ‘Here lies Kathrine Marie Brown’ and in the ground below, my casket holds my decaying body. It tells every wanderer that I was taken before my time and taken I was.

However, I was not alone. Death takes something from all of us, something that cannot be returned. So, I lay there in the yard, under my tombstone and above me my parents mourn and the house feels a little emptier.

~~

u can also read this on ao3 and give it some love there if u liked it

Came back wrong? How about came back right, except that the world you came back to is wrong. Came back just like waking up from a long nap only to find that the people who love you broke themselves into shards and bloody bargains to get you back.

There are new stains that nobody will explain, hidden beneath the rug in the upstairs hallway. Your mother's left eye is clouded and strange. The cat no longer goes near your brother. There's a sharp-edged shadow now, under your lover's smile.

Everybody says you must be remembering wrong, but your sense of smell is just as good as ever. The closet that used to smell like cedar and cinnamon smells like sulfur, now, and nobody will tell you why.

[infizero-draws]

have a look at my freaks! ok thanks

[parackalism]

spits hm out

[antrereliagossipmaze]

I need to make another poster of them!

My main 3 : Kai, Rin and Lili

[a-muffin]

Updated two out of three of the Callahan triplets. Kielo is still in redesign hell rn

The main goal was to make their outfits comply to a dress code, since not much else was wrong with them.

Bad things happen to them ofc :3

[krist3a]

ampersand except they r LITTLE!!!

[vaicomcas]

Realized David Bowie's Rock and Roll Suicide is actually the theme song for my Godstiel/Crowley "truth behind 7x01" WIP.

You're too old to lose it, too young to choose it And the clock waits so patiently on your song You walk past the café, but you don't eat When you've lived too long Oh, no, no, no, you're a rock 'n' roll suicide

Chev's brakes are snarling As you stumble across the road But the day breaks instead, so you hurry home Don't let the sun blast your shadow Don't let the milk float, ride your mind They're so natural, religiously unkind

Oh no, love, you're not alone You're watching yourself, but you're too unfair You got your head all tangled up But if I could only make you care

Oh no, love, you're not alone No matter what or who you've been No matter when or where you've seen All the knives seem to lacerate your brain I've had my share, I'll help you with the pain You're not alone

[lucia666101]

Shattered Vows: Seeking Redemption

this is for fun and im sorry if i spell things wrong :)

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there was this women in new york city she has a husband and he was not a good man he hit her slap her and she cryed every night in the bathroom so he would not hear her crying. but oone night he hread her cry and banged on the door.

"OPEN THE DOOR YOU BITCH" he banged on the door more and made a dent in the door and yelled more "OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR" h/n yelled

you cryed more and more from him yelling and banging but you finally got the courage to say somthing.

"i will but please stop yelling please" y/n said

you walk to the door and opened and saw him standing there looking really angry.

"i'm sorry i did open it faster" y/n said as she wiped her tears.

"its fine but why are you cry" he went to grab her chin to look her in the eye. you flinched a bit as he grab you "look i want to talk to you... please" h/n said.

you stand there in socked but you shake your head yes and walk to the bedroom.

"s-so what did you want to talk about h/n" y/n asked

h/n sat on the chair he always sits in and looks down to the ground and starts to speak "i sorry for the thing i have down to you and i know that sorry will not fix it but i just thought i should say..... i want to see if we can start over... but you prob-" h/n was interrupted by y/n.

"yes i would love to start over" y/n gets up and comes over to h/n and hugs him "oh sorry are you ok with me touching you like that" y/n said.

h/n hugs her back and says "no its fine if you hug me i think it may help with our relationship" h/n smile and look at her and kissed her on the cheek.

y/n kiss him on the cheek too and hugs him more with a smile on her face. "we should go to bed right it getting late" y/n said

h/n shake his head and picks her up and carrys her to the bedroom and put her in the bed. he takes off his shrit and goes in to the bed and lay next to her and grab her and held her close. they go to bed but you wake up in the middle of the night and get up and went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. h/n wakes up and noticed that you were not in bed and got up and walk to the kitchen to see if you were there and you were.

"what are you doing up in the middle of the night" h/n asked. he walks up to you and looks at what you are doing.

"i'm getting a glass of water because.. i had a nightmare and woke up and was scared so i was getting a glass of water" y/n said

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a/n: this is all that im going to do because its getting late and i need too do the rest when im on my pc and not on my laptop. sorry if i don't update fast im on summer break and hang out with my friends. :D got the title recommendation by one of my friends.

[hypothesis-hobbyist]

Me @ every single fucking website rn

[epic-sorcerer]

How gay people were actually precived in medival times

Ok so even after years of obsessive research, it sitll took me until recently to finally grasp a medival point of view on homosexuality. I’m assuming I’m not alone in my not understanding of it so I figured I might as well break it down for my fellow Merlin fans.

So basically, there was no consept of heterosexuality and homosexuality. There was only “female attraction” or “male attraction.” If a man possessed the same sexual attraction as a woman would, he would have a female attribute.

For this reason, they were considered “hermaphrodites.”

Unfortunately I’m going to have to keep saying this word, because modern ones jsut don’t make sense here. But please know that it is widely considered a slur among intersex people and originates from a Greek myth where hermaphrodite gets his body murjed with a woman who wants to rape him. So. Don’t call people that, please.

Anyways. Hermaphrodites were considered a medical condition and had to pick a gender to be, as they couldn’t simply exist as a third gender. This of course carried a lot of shame amongst the people who were concidered hermaphrodites. The gender was often chosen based on what sex characteristics were most prominent.

So, assuming the only “female traits” a male has is his homosexuality, they would likely stay as a man unless they really did not want to be. And even then, they would have to do it in secret because any deviation from their strict idea of gender was considered a threat to society. Witch is why hermaphrodites had to live as one male *or* female in the first place

I think this puts in to a lot of perspective on how I write Arthur especially. I originally would write Arthur as feeling very emasculated by being queer from a perspective of toxic masculinity.

But looking at it now, is that not gender dysphoria? Of course he doesn’t want to have female sex characteristics. When I’m a guy, I don’t either!

I’ve done lots of research and sighlent lurking on intersex spaces for a while now just because. But I think now I’ll start using that knolage to my advantage to my writing because it’s more realistic. I think murjing my experience as a queer person and intersex people’s experiences would make the sotry make a whole lot more sense.

I would recommend anyone to simply just follow the #intersex tag. But yk….if you’re not intersex you should probably stay silent unless you have a question or something. They get talked over a lot.

I am thankful that I have a direct tie from my hyoerfixation to intersex because while I have done my own research without it, it’s still difficult to do just about anything if it’s not about Merlin. Perhaps some other people reading this struggle in the same way.

I hoped this helped you guys, here’s my main source that really helped me. And you can ask me questions if you’d like.

[infizero-draws]

MY FIRST EVER ZINE "SHARING SOTRIES" IS HERE!!! 💚 i made this for a class and now i am sharing it with all of you!! behold my beautiful oc freaks

i believe it's best experienced in pdf format, which you can view here. i also included a video of me going through one of the physical copies so you can see how it looks irl!

this took a LOT of time and effort and is probably like the best thing i've ever made artistically. its not even close man. anyways hope you enjoyed ^_^ i usually dont say this but rbs greatlyyyy appreciated <3

[bluxhi]

OMG-

YOU ARE SO SMART THE POSSIBILITIES LMAO

Something interesting I noticed during my rewatch of Steve Saga—

The first seven episodes of SS (the ones that were lost media until reuploaded) are actually REALLY interesting for a few reasons

It shows Steves transforming into other colors and having the ability to change. Sabre had come in contact with a Green Steve, but angered him enough to a point where it turned completely Red.

It reminds us how much power Sabre has over the Steves. Changing the gamemode controls their behavior towards them, and Sabre had the ability to change from peaceful to hard over and over and over to the point where Steves became nearly permanently aggressive, even in peaceful mode. Sabre has the ability to manipulate their very wills/minds. Imagine what he could have done with people like Nightmare or Void.

The main reason— During those first seven episodes, Sabre switches servers twice. (possibly 3 times) He visits multiple worlds before he comes to the one where he summons Blue Steve, where the series truly kicks off. Think about that, whole other WORLDS with Steves. If you put it into a lore perspective and acknowledge that the main SS server has history prior to Sabre's appearance, than like,,,,,,,,,, imagine the lore to that

These worlds could have their own histories, their own people and kings and villains and heroes and ??? And Sabre was there for only a short moment before disappearing into the next server. He left his mark with experimentation and a few blocks and then he was gone

Do the steves of those worlds still speak of the strange figure that was seen?????? Is Sabre some feared folktale passed down around campfires and in bedtime stories!!!!?????!! What if Sabre had stayed, where would his story go, orrugjjaou I am, need a moment to think about thsi,,,,

[vor-leser]

Perhaps im a fool but in ur pre-monkey benny post theres like, text from a book (?) That i dont remember reading in the original short sotry (i could be wrong, memory is shit)... is it from smth else?

NO YOU ARE TOTALLY RIGHT! a lot of my art is based on the official game manual backstories, if you are a new fan its totally worth checking out! :D

All of the character backstories are explained past document page 238, i found out about this through a tumblr post lol but now thinking about it, it is kind of obscureeee

heres the link if anyone wants to take a look:

I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream: The Official Strategy Guide (Secrets of the Games Series) : Mel Odom : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

[clazberryk]

Tav's Nightmare Chapter 2

I have completed the mini sotry of Tav's nightmare. You cna read it here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57464338/chapters/146246566

I hope you enjoy it or atleast get something from it. This was a cathartic process for me, and it understand that it may not be an easy read ,but i do very much beleive in ehaling through writing. Anyway Chapter Two of Tav's Nightmare.

You can find chapter one here: https://www.tumblr.com/clazberryk/756289632937951232/tavs-nightmare?source=share

Chapter 2: Searching Light

Astarion felt a lightness in their bed, it started slowing just creeping into his trance, not really taking a notice, but then as he became more aware he noticed the weight of his partner was absent, and that caused him to awaken fully. He reached out to her side of the bed and only felt the cold sheets Gone a while then, I knew I should not have tranced.

“Darling?” He called out into the room, there was no answer, from her. He looked around Shadowheart was still asleep in her bunk, so was much of their party, Karlach was just rousing from her sleep, she looked around the room and her eyes landed on him.

“Where’s Tav?” Concluding that one member of their party was missing.

“I was thinking the same thing, I awoke, and she was not here” Astarion stood, aware that he was topless, he reached for his white shirt, the poet shirt, that he did not particularly like but it had strange sentiment values for him, but because their washing had not been done yet, he was only down to two camp shirts his original one from the beginning and a black one, which he was saving for tonight. He reached into his pack and pulled the black top out, giving it a shake to remove any wrinkles. He quickly pulled it over his shoulders, and turned to Karlach, she had moved to the centre of the room, siting in one of the chairs in the sunken area, stroking Scratches ear, as the dog had awoken when there was movement in the room.

Astarion silently crossed the room, aware that their companions where still sleeping, and joined the dog and Tiefling. It still amazed Astarion that Karlach was touching, she was able to communicate, she was able to hug people. It was a phenomenon that Astarion was still trying to wrap his head around. He had issues with touch, and he was working through them, but was still able to initiate touch if he wanted. He still was not comfortable with unwanted touch, but he found he was craving or missing Tavi’s light touches. The everyday touches, a hand on his arm, a squeeze of his hand, a stroke of his cheek, the way her little hands grasped his shirt or rested on his ribs when he initiated their kisses. He no longer felt the ripple of repulsion even in there more intimate touches, when they were spending stolen secret moments, when the kisses where more heated or when hands roamed, with permission. He smiled a soft smile which quickly turned into a frown. Tavi never went anywhere without informing someone in the group.

“I know she is struggling, and she is a very private person. Taking on everyone else’s problems without acknowledging her own, but still to disappear in the night” Astarion looked at Karlach in surprise, he knew she was observant but had not realised how observant. He knew of some of Taveleigha’s struggles but not all that went on in that little head of hers. He also knew that Taveleigha was her worst company. Head never quiet, it was one of the many reasons why he thought she threw herself into helping Karlach, Shadowheart, Wyll and even himself. Those were issues she could help with. They were tangible things she could eliminate if needed.

They had only been in Lowers Gate for 3 weeks and in those 3 weeks they had managed to take on Cazador and removed Wyll from his contract with Mizora. And before that in Rivington they had helped several people in the city, found Dribbles the clown, helped a post office clerk and showed up that Elephont, Valeria, how much of a sycophant she was but allocating that she had the wrong killer for the Ilmater head, what was his name again? I really should pay more attention.

“Hey FANGS!” Karlach raised her voice, and Astarion snapped back to the present.

“Do you mind, I really do not want to wake the whole party” However it was too late Gale, and Shadowheart where waking, their telltale increased heart rates from being rudely pulled from slumber, it was only a matter of time the rest of their companions awoke from the noise in the room. Halsin would be next, and he would need access to the fire to start making breakfast. Even though they had a dumbwaiter the party still chose to only use it if they were low on camp supplies and because Taveleigha was a scrounger and looter it meant they were rarely low on food supplies.

“Where’s Tavi?” Their resident Cleric asked, and both Karlach and Astarion looked up at her as Shadowheart padded across to the sofa’s they were lounging against.

“That, my dear friend is what we were just talking about. I awoke and she was not here” Astarion smiled, rising to his feet, and started pacing. The longer the time went on the more restless he was becoming. He just wanted to go out and look for her but without any idea of where she was or where she had gone, he could not just go running around Baldur’s Gate.

“You do not think she was taken, do you?” Gale had joined them and that was a thought that he really did not want to have. Thank you very much Gale! If he was being honest that was the first thought once he awoken but he had pushed it down, he would be no good if he was a mess, or angry or scared, no help if what was propelling him forward was his irrational emotions, but were they irrational if they did not know where Tavi was?

“I can, I think, I can do locate person, if that would help?” Shadowheart offered “But it only works if the person is within a thousand feet” She mumbled, starting to question her own ability, Astarion noticed the doubt in Shadowheart’s face, and before she could rescind her thought…

“Please,” Astarion did not want the doubt to build.

Shadowheart smiled and moved to her area in The Elfsong, and started preparing the spell, Astarion could tell she was nervous by the slight tremor in her hands, and he was probably not helping by hovering, but it was Tavi, and he knew everyone in this room cared and loved Tavi as much as he did. Shadowheart knew this as well, so Astarion kept quiet of his annoyance of how long this was taking. He watched as her hands moved in melodic movements, she was whispering something, but he could not focus as everyone else in the room had awoken and was conversing quietly with each other, so even his vampiric hearing it was hard to hear her litany. After eleven painstakingly slow minutes Shadowheart sighed and looked surprised.

“She’s above us” The room was surprised, and then Astarion chuckled, the building tension snapped.

“The roof. We did not think of the roof, we just went to worse case” He shook his head and started for the ladder. Expecting to see Tavi curled up in the throw pillows that were collected on the roof, so that any member of their party could watch the sunrise or sunset in comfort. He and Tavi had certainly done it multiple times over the past several weeks, he smiled to himself as the group started to form a line to follow him. Yep, loved by their group.

He lifted the latch to the roof and found Tavi at the edge, only dressed in his shirt which was too big for her and stopped at her mid-thigh, she looked ravishing, and the pride he felt of seeing her in his clothes took him by surprise. At least she was moderately covered. She was looking at the ground, her bare feet slightly dangling over the edge, only by her delicate toes. How did someone of elvish blood be so small and delicate, as a breed Elves were delicate in nature, but they were not often small, usually taller than most humans and leaner. Taveleigha was small and soft, he often would describe her as pocket sized. Usually taking their enemies by surprise with her capability, as they often made a snap decision deciding she was an easy target, or no threat at all. Secretly he loved that she often proved them wrong. He climbed the remaining distance out onto the roof, blinking at Karlach, a silent conversation between them, him asking her for a moment before everyone clambered after him. She nodded and stopped, but stayed where she was, denying anyone else trying to get up.

Astarion turned to Tavi, she had not acknowledged his presence only staring at the path at the entrance of the tavern. As he got closer, he smelt her tears and the soft smile on his face fell, something was wrong.

“Tavi, my love?” He was gentle, careful, he did not want to scare her, she was too close to the edge, her toes flirting with it. Why were there no rails up here? He stepped closer, and she still did not react.

“Tavi?” He said more firmly, ice was starting to form around his recently thawed heart, he recognised that feeling it was fear, but not for him, it was for her.

“Did you know there is more than 6000 suicide deaths a year in Baldur’s gate?” That is not what he was expecting.

“Tavi” he moved closer, and he saw her tense so he stopped, she still did not turn to him only tilting her head to the left, he could see part of her face, her long brown hair falling around it in sleep heavy tendrils.

“What do you think their families do, once a person has taken their life?” She continued, as if he had not said her name “Do they mourn? Do they continue on? Do they forget?” She was just droning on, no inflection, no enunciation just whatever came to her head she voiced.

This scared him, he had seen Taveleigha angry, he had seen her sad, passionate, happy, rebellious even seen her crying, but he had never seen this, even at the beginning of their adventure she had at least been determined, but this was devoid of anything, there was nothing and it scared him. He glanced at the roof hatch and had seen that Karlach was now on the roof stopping the others. She must have heard, if he could not coax her from the edge, Karlach could grab her and pull her inside. The Tiefling was certainly stronger than him.

“Darling…” She interrupted him,

“I was going to be a mother” This stopped him short, he did not expect this, he pictured a younger version of Taveleigha running about, the same long brown curly hair, the soulful expressive brown eyes, a little smiling elf, Taveleigha chasing after the child. It was beautiful, but she said going to be a mother. What happened?

“I was so happy, starting to feel little movements, little nudges, I did not have much just a small home, a partner, who I thought loved me, and I was going to be a mother” There was pain now, Astarion did not say anything, honestly what do you say to that. There was nothing he could say. It was a pain he would never experience, but he also knew with their elven ancestry it was a pain a lot of lineages went through. He could only imagine with her mixed blood it would prove to be harder. “I was picking colours, and decorations for the nursery, I was at least the semblance of happy after my mother…. I was going to understand my own mothers love, because I was going to become one” he slowly stepped closer, she kept staring at the ground, passed her feet, but she did not flinch or move away, so he took his chance. His footsteps as light as a feather. He was grateful for his skills. For once he was happy to be the rogue. Get her away from the edge. Away from the edge. Away. Away. Away.

“There was so much pain, I had never felt pain like that before, it was constant, never-ending, it was a pain that left you a shell of a person. It scoped everything you where, are, out and leaves you hollow” She stuttered, he could only imagine. Please, to whatever gods that can hear me please tell me nothing terrible happened.

“Nothing terrible happened, I wasn’t attacked” it was as if she could hear his thoughts “it just happened.” She gritted her teeth, anger coming into her words “I happened. I could not keep my baby safe.”

“My love, these things happen, there is no rhyme or reason.”

“They do not just happen!” She turned to him; this was good. Anger I can work with this. “Everything I touch turns to dust!” She took a step towards him, but he stayed.

“Everyone dies around me, or leaves” Another step, yes, yes come to me my love.

“My mother!” Another step

“My sister” Another step

“My father left” Another step, a faltering step but a step, nonetheless.

“My ex” Another step, she was in reaching distance now. Away from that edge. How had he not noticed all this pain, all her pain. Was he too consumed with his desperation to defeat Cazador he had neglected that Taveleigha was a person? He knew she had demons, everyone did, but he did not realise how deep they had their claws in her. How personal they were to her, and how wrong they were about her. He was unsure how he could help but help he would. He would not abandon her, he would turn that vile internal voice away, showing her how very wrong it was.

“My….” She stuttered then, faltering, gasping for breath, her whole body was gasping, shuddering, flinching at every word she said “my….” Another falter, a stumble, he reached out to catch her as she fell, she gasped, the sobs came then, harder, and faster than he had ever seen or heard from anyone. She cried harder than he did when he felt the relief from killing Cazador. Her whole body shook with the sobs, he fought back tears himself, tucking her head into his chest, he felt her ragged breaths on his neck, and he held the back of his head, lending her the strength she had leant him so many times over the past several months.

They were all guilty of abandoning their de facto leader, to wrapped up in their own bullshit to even notice what was directly in front of them. They had to do better. He had to do better. Astarion glanced at Karlach, and he was thankful that she stared at the ground, down the hatch, he knew everyone had heard, she was giving them as much privacy as she could, but still close should anything happen.

No one should have to go through the pain Tavi had gone through, no one. He would not even wish this for his worst enemy, and to think she was shouldering this all by herself and everyone else’s problems. Maddening woman! She grasped at him, desperate for a life raft, and he only held her tighter kissing the crown of her head. He gathered her in his arms and picked her up, she did not fight only clung to him harder as he made his way to the roof latch. That is when he noticed their predicament. He would not be able to carry her down the ladder, he also did not want to relinquish his hold on her, fearing that if he did, she would snap or break and continue what he knew in his heart of hearts what she was originally going to do. Luckily Karlach was already handing him a scroll, one of Dimension door, he could use that to get back into the room. To hells with what people thought, they could get another one. He maneuvered Tavi in his arms slightly and whispered the incantation and they both disappeared and reappeared in the room in a swirl of white a blue light. He gently placed her on their bed and watched as she just curled in on herself. She was sniffling now, thankfully.

Halsin and Karlach were ushering people out of the room.

“We will be back later. Going downstairs for breakfast. Take the day. We will sort Gales research out. Look after her” Karlach smiled at the vampire, who weakly smiled back, realising that Karlach was fast becoming his best friend. What a novelty.

Once Taveleigha calmed down and was able to communicate with ease, she told him about her past, and the demons in her, her life before they all were thrust into the adventuring party trying to save the world. A world that did not seem to want any of them in it.

“Well, I am glad that you were swept up by the nautiloid. A world without you in it, is unfathomable” Astarion whispered, she was curled up in his lap, her legs bent over his crossed legs, her head pressed against his neck, gently pressing small kisses to the skin, she laughed a hollow laugh, and he sighed. She truly did not know her own worth. Those claws deeper than what he originally thought. He moved so that she was on the bed and smiled slightly when she a noise of complaint lodged at the back of her throat. He sat in front of her both crossed legged, and he gathered her face in his hands, wiping away the tear stains from her cheeks, he tilted her head up, he was going to look in her eyes when he said this.

“I would not lie about this, darling. The thought of you in this world and going through what you went through, hurts. I cannot fathom it. I cannot fathom how someone so strong can think so little of themselves. That you got to that point, and nobody noticed” He glanced at the bedding, but surely, he was guilty of that as well, because he had not noticed “I am sorry I was not more observant” He stared into her eyes, seeing the disbelief, seeing the bewilderment. He sighed, and he looked away, barely missing the guilt from his sigh “No, no guilt” He squared his shoulder, building up the confidence.

“I. Love. You.” He enunciated each word, his stare unwavering, each word punctuated with a gentle squeeze of his fingers, she gasped, pure shock in her eyes in her face and he had to smile, his perfectly roguish smile that he saved for her.

“I love you too” she whispered, it was watery, wet, and so utterly perfect, he descended his lips onto her, and she sighed, breathing in the very presence of him, and he of her. It was just the two of them. Against The Brain. Against Baldur’s Gate. Against The Emperor.

The two of them against the world and they loved each other.

[madmarchhare]

The Monk and the Traveller Ch.1

I have posted a few semi-contiguous snippest of this sotry before, but I wanted to post some of the early chapters as I am going through to proof-read them. Hope you all enjoy.

The story is set in 1908, specifically in Northern Japan.

The sun shone pleasantly overhead, marking the status of midday as it glowed over a forest path, narrow and surrounded by Japanese pines and Siberian Dwarf pines and ground cover, peppered with vibrant flowers. The path was wild, nearly consumed by the wildlife around it. A man walked down the path, holding a khakkhara[1], using it to assist his every other step though he seemed to lack a limp. He wore a kāṣāya, a Buddhist monks robes, which was near black in colour, though bleached a paler colour from sunlight, along with a pair of wooden sandals and black socks, and a paddy hat on top of his head, shielding it from the blistering sun. He was somewhat short, around 5’6” with sloping shoulders and a thin frame, his hands thin but worked, marked by ancient chill banes on his fingers and knuckles. His face was long, somewhat drawn and broken up by a wispy moustache on his top lip. Wise yet temperamental eyes watching the world around him as he advanced forward in a slow but firm gate. He walked on a for a long while, occasionally hearing the echoes of animal calls or watching the shadows of birds as they flew overhead.

“Ah, hello my good sir,” a boisterous voice called out behind the monk, making the man spin his head around to search for the origin. He saw a giant of a man, at least compared to himself, standing over 6’ tall, and broad shouldered. He wore a khaki coloured safari jacket over an open collared white shirt underneath, and trousers that matched the jacket, tucked into a pair of rugged pale boots, the colour of dry mud. His face was mostly obscured by a large maple coloured beard, topped by a thick moustache underneath a thick nose. His eyes were vibrant, full of an unrestrained energy under a pair of thin eyebrows. His brow was large, capped under a pale brown pinned slouch hat, vent holes around the crown. He strode over to the smaller man, a wide smile on his face as he did, the monk noticing a trio of foxes strung at his hip off his belt, and a copper pheasant hung loosely in his right hand.

“Do I know you?” the monk replied sourly, displeased by the interruption as he looked up at the man before him.

“No I don’t believe so,” the man replied jovially as he came abreast to the monk, the latter only now noticing the clear Japanese the Englishman was speaking but pushed past it through his irritation.

“Then why did you call out to me?” he again chided, glancing at the high-quality rifle that gleamed in the sun on his back as well as the two revolvers holstered on the opposite side of his belt.

“Do I need a reason to greet someone?” the man replied pleasantly, getting a sour look in response, not that he seemed to care, “besides, we seem to be going to the same place! Why not have a conversation as we go?” the man continued on boldly, the monk grumbling at the rhetorical question, having a few answers to it.

“… Why do you have so many foxes?” the man asked, deciding to try and satiate his curiosity if he was stuck with the conversation.

“One of the people from the town ahead needed someone to clear a few out, they’ve been going after chickens and the like for a while. I was passing through and offered to help, I spotted the pheasant when I was looking for some more foxes,” he replied happily, lifting up the bird when he mentioned it.

“Why do you have them with you then?” the monk asked, looking up at the man confusedly.

“To see if the man wants the pelts or the meat. If not I skin them and cook the meat to have later,” he responded informatively, the brace the foxes were tied in clinking slightly as he marched forward.

“So you’re a hunter then?” the monk asked, already sure of the answer the Englishman would give in return.

“Among other things yes,” the man replied brusquely, smiling down at the man as they continued down the path. The monk glanced at him from the side, having received a slightly different answer than he had expected. “I just came down form up north, I was doing some hunting in Hokkaido and Sakhalin, oh, Karafuto to you,” he continued, correcting the name of the Island to the Japanese name. The monk looked back up the hunter, curious as he listened to the man though still begrudging in his presence. “What about you, why do you walk this road of yours?” the man asked pleasantly, leaning down slightly to eye-level of the monk, making the latter jump slightly.

He looked at him annoyed, but quickly settled himself, still wearing the unpleasant expression he had throughout. “I am on a spiritual journey, I aim to absolve myself of wants and reach enlightenment,” he replied snappily, expecting a slight dismissal from the foreigner.

“Ah, so you are on an asceitic journey then!” the man replied, making the monk balk(?) in response, surprised that the other man knew the term. “A noble cause, though I could not uphold it myself. I am too fond of the articles of life,” he called back as the monk fell back slightly, still surprised by the foreigner, “a man’s got to have a few vices after all!” he declared with a grand finality, chuckling slightly to himself as he continued on ahead of the other man. He looked at the advancing man, seeing a rucksack on his back next to his rifle, along with an expense pouch[2] at his hip, pushed out of the way of the foxes. He opened his mouth to ask how he knew it, when the man cut him off, “ah, here were are,” pointing out the town in the distance, the pair having walked quickly. He continued forward at his usual pace, smiling comfortably as the monk followed after him with a curious look attempting to press his sour expression from his face, though failing in the end.

They came into the town, the buildings all made of wood, with various eves and gabled rooves, signs strung up around various business, people moving around the streets, pulling carts, hefting merchandise or chatting to themselves as young children played in the street. The taller man received a few looks as he strode through, some disapproving from older men, punctuated by fascinated stares from a few children. But these soon ebbed away, the crowd having mostly seen the man before when he had passed through the first time. The monk was much less fussed over, most attention he received coming from the Englishman’s slipstream, though a few people bowed to him respectfully as he passed, which he returned.

The taller man came to a stop, turning around to the other, “I’m afraid we’ll have to part here, as I need to take these foxes to the man to see if he wants them,” he declared apologetically, smiling nonetheless, “I suppose you have somewhere to stay, regardless,” he added, straightening back up, the monk looking surprised in response.

“Of course, a monk can always count on the peoples hospitality,” he declared grandly, a slight bite of overconfidence nicking at his words. The taller man smiled at him warmly in response, a note of cheek lying hidden in it, thrusting out his hand to grab the monk’s, shaking it firmly.

“Well, then this shall be farewell! I wish you may be well and happy!” releasing the monk’s hand as he finished then striding off in the direction of a number of rice paddies off in the distance. The man watched him go, slightly bewildered at the whirlwind of a man but pushed him from his mind, turning away to continue on his own.

He walked over to  a shop. The front display left open as a young woman, slightly taller than himself, and dressed in a plain light blue yukata[3], a white obi[4] tied around her waist, swept outside on the shop patio. The shop was rather unspecific in its sales, displaying everything from sweets and food to calendars, the latter advertising the European date of 1908, the 41st year of Meiji reign[5]. The monk walked over to the stall, bowing to the girl as he came close, working a pleasant smile on his face, the slim woman bowing politely back, gripping the broom as she smiled kindly at him. “Good afternoon young miss,” the monk replied, his voice clear as he looked up to her.

“Good afternoon, [Mr. Priest],” she returned, a note of cheek in her voice as she did.

“Ah, I am but a humble monk on a journey of enlightenment,” speaking grandly as he placed a hand over his chest, looking solemnly up at the sky.

“Humble you are,” the woman responded, and amused expression on her face as she looked down at the man from the patio. The man smiled back pleasantly, adjusting his hat with one hand.

“And as I am on a journey, I wished to ask an honourable person such as yourself if you would lodge me for the night,”

“Oh. No,” the woman responded quickly, before the monk could finish, waiving her hand dismissively as she smiled down at the man, who wore a surprised expression in response.

“What?” he replied, pausing for a moment as his mouth hung open in surprise, before pressing a smile back onto his face. “May I ask why?” he added, his eyebrow twitching from nerves as he asked.

“We’ve got no room to spare,” the girl replied pleasantly still smiling down at the monk, “besides, father doesn’t appreciate freeloaders!” she added happily, the relation in question walking out from the shop behind her to place a box of fruit on a stand, wearing a pair of glasses bound his face by two loops of thread round each ear, a scar coming down above one eye as a medal was pinned onto his yukata, glancing over to the pair with partial disinterest.

The monk bristled slightly as the veteran looked at him, the light turning the lenses opaque, and smiled nervously as he rubbed the back of his head. “I see, I apologise for the disturbance then, I shall ask somewhere else,” he responded genially, holding his hand perpendicular to his chest to offer them a prayer as he left, a nervous smile on his face as he felt the gaze of the veteran, who looked at the fleeing holy man with bemused confusion as his daughter smiled cheekily as he fled. The monk walked quickly away from the store, assuring himself that the next place would let him stay.

After about five hours, he was sat on a bench slouching as he stared at the ground, his steepled hands pressing into the bridge of his nose, a look of despair on his face. “How can no one have a single free room?” he asked himself weakly, pressing his face into his palm as he tilted his head back, groaning. By this is point it was beginning to get dark, the light slowly dimming with the descending sun. He knew that it would probably be warm enough to sleep outside, but had been hoping to sleep on a mat as he was near a town. To say nothing of an aversion to being rained on during the night. He pulled his hand from his face, feeling his hat shift on top of his head slightly as he stared up further into the sky. He had heard some of the towns people talking about an inn on the other side of town, so he decided to try there.

“Hopefully the owner is charitable, or a patron will be kind,” they muttered weakly to themselves, his sandals clacking on the packed dirt of the street as he walked forward, watched by a number of stray cats. The inn was the largest building in town, a sign over the entrance stating the owners name proudly: ‘Surogasu Inn’. He pushed open the front door, the light from inside making him wince as he let the door fall closed behind him as he stepped into the lobby. The room was well lit, incandescent bulbs hung from the walls, likely the only ones in the town. The floor was made of wooden planks until a certain point, where it transitioned to tatami[6] mats, a few shoes placed into racks nearby. The clerk was stood behind the counter at the side of the room, made from polished wood and black iron, reading from a novel, the back of his hand obscuring the title. The monk stepped over to the clerk, a wide faced, broad shouldered man wearing an impassive expression as he read.

“How may I help you?” the clerk asked somewhat gruffly though sounding polite nonetheless as he asked, placing his book upside down on the counter, the pages against the wood.

“Hello my good sir, I am journeying to find enlightenment, while aiding those around me on this journey as best I can. I was wondering if you would offer me a room for the night, so I may rest and continue my journey?” the monk spealed out, his face pressed into a Cheshire cat smile, his hands pressed together as he bowed slightly to the man.

“That’ll be 20 ¥ for one night,” the clerk replied pleasantly, though his face not quite reflecting it. The monk looked at him deadpan for a moment before giving a light laugh.

“Ah, I had assumed that, through grace of charity you would grant me a room,” he replied, looking across at the man encouragingly, attempting to coax the gift from him.

“No,” the man replied simply, “rooms are for those who pay,” staring boredly at the man, cocking his head to the side to press his point.

The monk gave a nervous smile back, his eye twitching slightly as he held onto his staff. “Ah, but I am a man of faith! I am sure that if you get your master, or the owner of this place they will attest how foolish it would be for me to pay,” the monk replied, a conman’s tone meshing in his voice as he spoke, letting his staff fall into the crux of his arm as he placed the hand that had held it to his chest, gesturing widely with the other.

The clerk’s countenance shift into one of agitation, turning over to the holy man furiously, straightening up. “I am the owner,” he responded firmly, “and I fail to see how it would be ‘foolish’ to make you pay,” leaning over the counter to peer down at the other man.

“Well, ah, I had not wished to tell you an bring you alarm… But a dreadful spirit haunts this place. I have come here to dispel it, allowing it to pass on, simply in return for a room for the night,” he retorted, throwing out the theatrics, his staff clinking as he shifted it, the rings bound at its head clacking together. The owner looked at him deadpan, walking back away from the counter, then out from behind it, walking slowly around to the monk.

He looked down at the holy man, wearing a neutral expression, before grabbing him by his robe and hefting him up into the air. “First you try to get a room for free then you say my Inn is haunted?!” he roared, shaking him violently, the man’s staff rattling loudly because of it.

“Sir, please! Anger will only aggravate the spirit!” the monk cried back, forcing a confident look on his face, the owner’s twisting further from fury.

“That is it, I am throwing you out!” her declared, dragging him towards the door.

“Wh-I am trying to- I shall place a curse on you, you miserly bastard!” the monk blabbered back, stammering as he was dragged by the bigger man.

“Your presence is curse enough!” he retorted, flinging him closer to the door as the both squabbled, the smaller man smacking at him like a furious cat.

“What’s going on?” a voice suddenly boomed out from behind them, along with the sound of firm footsteps on the matted floor. Both the other two men turned around to the voice, the monk still held in the clerks’ grip, who himself was shoving one hand against his face, trying to push himself away. They saw across from them the man the monk had met on the walk, now in an unbuttoned white suit, his tie tucked into his light blue striped shirt with a mandarin collar.

“Oh, just an unruly guest, sir,” the master declared, “please don’t worry!” smiling at the man as the foreigner himself inspected the bundle the two had tied themselves into.

He spotted the monk and smiled at him, “ah, my good chap you’re here! Though, I did not expect a monk would be unruly!” he called, strutting closer as he put an arm behind his back smiling warmly to the both of them.  

“I had simply wanted to dispel the spirits haunting this place, and only asked a room the night in return,” he narrated back his half-honesty just as the owner shook him by the robe again.

“No, you just wanted to scrounge a free room of me you mad monk!” the owner cried back, the two devolving into a shouting match as the taller man watched, smiling jovially as he gave a light chuckle.

“If this is a matter of money, I am can simply pay for his room!” he declared, coming up closer to the man, placing his hand on the owners shoulder, the man looking up at him surprised. “That would solve the matter, yes, Surogasu-San?”[7] he asked, already expecting his answer as he towered over the pair.

“Uh, yes of course,” Surogasu replied, having been caught off step as he let go of the monk, who fell to the floor, landing on all fours. The Englishman placed the money into the owners hand, not bothering to ask the cost nor for the change as he walked over to the other man.

“I suppose I both got to wish you good fortune and enact it, eh? my good chap!” the man declared with great relish, Surogasu behind him doing a double take between the money he had been given and its previous owner before silently gripping it and going behind the counter.

“Yes, I suppose you did,” the monk replied, somewhat coldly though trying to be appreciative.

The taller man wrapped his arm around the holy man’s shoulder, pulling him close, the smaller man in question stiffening up as he did. “As I paid for your room, the least you can give me is your name!” he declared kindly, striding forward and dragging the man in tow.

The monk managed to wrestle himself free, not that the other man was exerting much to encapture him. “… Nekomata, Nekomata Cherry. But call me Cherry if you must,” Cherry responded after a moment, adjusting his clothes. “And your name?” he asked the taller man, who smiled back in response.

“Elisah Collier,” he replied, moving to grab Cherry’s hand and shaking it vigorously, practically bouncing the man on the mat, “call me Collier,” he finished, releasing his hands as he turned. “The farmer I shot those foxes for only wanted two, so I kept the last one and the pheasant as well! Come have them with me, I fried the meat with some fresh fruit and herbs! You’ll love it!” he rambled on as he marched forward, Surogasu coming up aside of Cherry to politely hand him his room key and nod to him warmly.

“I hope you enjoy your stay, Nerkomata-Sama[8], a monk of your calibre is most welcome,” he stated, bowing to him slightly as he offered a prayer. Cherry, looked down at him confusedly until the other man raised up and walked back to the counter, accompanied by the sound of rattling coins which somewhat explained his change in demeanour. “I would recommend your catch up to your benefactor, he walks quickly,” the man added, making Cherry realise and hurry after the man, not wanting to make poor on a favour.

[1] Sometimes called a Pewter Staff in English, it is a metal staff topped with multiple metal rings. It is traditionally carried by Buddhist monks in East Asia.

[2] A small satchel ,often worn by a shoulder strap where loose ammunition or ammunition packets are placed for ease of access.

[3] A lighter, summery version of a kimono, made from soft lightweight material such as cotton and fastened with a sash[obi].

[4] A sash used to fasten together a kimono. For women, it is usually decorative with a separate piece of fabric actually fasting it underneath the obi.

[5] Referring to the reign of Emperor Mutushito, commonly known as Emperor Meiji.

[6] Flooring made of rice straw with cloth edging, typically in a 2:1 size ratio. A staple of Japanese home design, previously used as flooring in every room in Japanese homes, though now more typically reserved for a single room in the home.

[7] A Japanese honorific equivalent to Mr. or Mrs.

[8] A Japanese honorific used when addressing lords, gods or customers.

[juliendesclefs]

69th Marle Does Things - In the Final! [Look under the cut hehe]

Hi everyone!

This 69th Marle Does Things is quite a special! It's dedicated to the boss and fight that gave me the tase into final bosses that you know!

It's the final boss of Mario and Luigi Bowser's Inside Sotry: Dark Bowser!

So, the two team up to defeat Bower!

The Koopa King is in for quite a hard fight! He's even... In the Final!

And Marle Clef de Nuit's stats are here too! [Dark Bowser has his original stats hehe]

Hope you like it!