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bardandbear · 10 months

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So I wanted to yell a little into the void about my Tav's backstory...

Black sheep doesn't begin to cover it. I'm the deformed, malshapen aberration on the otherwise perfect family tree. It's a wonder they didn't take me out back and put me out of my misery. It would have been kinder. They don't do kindness.

Born in Neverwinter in 1460 DR, Morgwynn is the second eldest child of Gahelion Belaine - a high elf wizard - and Sorene Belaine - a half drow, half tiefling sorcerer. The Belaine family is an old, elven bloodline obsessed with one thing: magic. Gahelion married Sorene out of an admiration for her sorcerous bloodline, something he was desperate to pass on to his children to outdo his own siblings.

The couple were overjoyed in fact, to have born a tiefling child from Sorene's lineage, until it quickly became apparent that Morgwynn seemed to lack any innate magical talent beyond her infernal cantrips. Her older brother Galamor was showing his magical aptitude before he could walk, and it was a hope that her magicks would eventually manifest themselves that saved her from the worst of the disdain in her younger years.

Once it became apparent that magic did not flow in her veins however, the coldness became outright resentment. She was treated poorly by her parents and siblings both, even the youngest being taught their parents' cruelty without understanding it. Denied food, water, clean clothes and human contact, Morgwynn tried desperately for years to earn the approval of her parents before bitterness and despair set in.

After lashing out more and more in her teen years despite the futility of it, Morgwynn gets sent far away from the family estate to Baldur's Gate where she is enrolled and promptly fails at wizard college, before being sent to bard college as a last resort. While she's better at it: the charming, the talking, the politics, she still can't spin a tune or capture the magic of song whatsoever, and it's largely pity and sweet talking that keeps her from failing her last chance.

She does make 'friends' however, and gets drunk on the attention she'd been starved of, no matter where it came from. Falling into every indulgence of the flesh and alcohol that she can get her hands on, she eventually happens upon a succubus while out with friends and becomes obsessed with the power and confidence she exudes - she's everything Morgwynn isn't. After months of trying to impress her she eventually offers the succubus a deal - her soul's eternal service in exchange for warlock powers and a night of passion.

The plan is flawless, for a time. Morgwynn can finally call upon the magic that had never answered her, and the gnawing pit of emptiness inside her is quieter. But it comes crashing down when the bard college finds out she's cheating by using warlock magic, and she's expelled. She is disowned by her family in the same day, and left to drift - even after selling her soul she's still not enough. She spent a decade buried in bad relationships and liquor to try and feel anything, and probably would have died that way if she hadn't been plucked for a mindflayer's experiment.

The oblivion of ceremorphosis wasn't something that Morgwynn necessarily feared, she almost welcomed it, but she'd always been too stubborn to surrender quietly. So instead, she does what she's always done best: survive out of spite.

#morgwynn #bg3 tav #bg3 oc #she's a genuinely broken person dealing with things in the worst way possible #shortly after this she discovers murder and it's all downhill from there #trying to fill the emptiness with power and magic and sex and violence and always finding it isn't enough #truly a terrifying prospect for her enemies because she doesn't want power for anything ambitious #she doesn't have grand plans #she just wants to feel better #or feel anything

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genocidershodan · 3 years

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I have so many stories in my head. Some of them malshapen and half formed, others I have been thinking about and building on for literal decades. I try to write them, to sit down and work on them, if only a little bit every day. But when I finally try to force myself to, it feels like my entire being rebels against it, like some kind of irrational phobia takes a hold of me.

I don’t know how much more time I have left in my life. My mother’s passing earlier this year was a reminder that none of us know when our ticket is up.

I’m so afraid that no one will ever get to know all these people living in my head and their stories. And if that happens my life would have been nothing more than a worthless waste of time.

#thoughts #diary post #writing

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sadsweetunfinished · 5 years

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The irritating thing about gender dysphoria is that it’s insidious. It burrows and undermines and slowly tears away at you until at last suddenly feel like you’re going to fall apart. Small feelings of jealous there, a episode of discomfort here, all builds till you feel like a malshapen monster trapped in your own body. Every part that’s wrong becomes clear. Your shoulders and chest? Too wide. Your arms? Too broad. Your hips are too narrow, your voice too deep. Your face is a mocking representation of the pain you’re in, every angleabd ridge a glaring difference then what should be there. Your Adam’s apple becomes a tumour on your throat, suffocating every breathe and damning every word that is felt and spoken.

But the worst for me has to be my genitals. The sure amount of pure WRONG in that area is soul crushing. And it’s not just the outside that’s wrong. Because of this... thing in between your legs you can never carry children. You can never have a period. You can never feel complete. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want kids. It doesn’t matter that you know periods are painful, irritating and nothing fun. You’ve had those things stripped away from you without a chance or choice. Things that could make you feel more right, more womanly, are gone. They were never there and they can never be there and that’s horrible.

As well sexual enjoyment becomes an issue. There’s a problem that forms there. One where your brain and your heart wants one thing, wants to feel and be touched in a certain way on certain places but that’s cruelty stopped by reality. It can make a girl cry. All this pain from everywhere just builds and builds. Normal movements become sources of discomfort because they bring notice to the areas that just aren’t right. Looking at yourself becomes something loathesome. Dysphoria can ruin anything. But it’s especially good at hurting trans woman.

#dysphoria #mtf #trans girl #trans #dysphoric #im not saying that trans men have it better im just venting over my situation #trans woman #gender dysphoria

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mochibuni · 6 years

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He doesn't remember much since the accident. Fragments of colors, feelings, smells. Later he would dream in movement; a slight smile, pressing onigiri together with bigger hands, a back dressed in starched white shielding his face. Even later it would be in sound; a slip of laughter, this is how we press them my little one, and a shrill command of Protect Our Son cracking through the air.

But for now at the age of six he only remembers fragments, and some he is unsure if he remembers or remembers because he is told. But he knows he had a family, he knows he had a home. When he is well enough his social worker takes him to the places where his parents rest currently and where they used to.

Inside their room he's given a moment to be alone. He's relieved to relax his face, drawing up his frown into a blank stare. He knows he had a family, he knows that this was their home, but he doesn't feel he had a family and he doesn't feel that this was his home.

He wanders through the room deciding he at least ought to care. The bed looks freshly made with neat corners, dripping in a butter yellow. A malshapen plush bunny rests on the pillows. His brow furrows, the image sitting on the edge of something, but unable to place it he moves on.

Curiously he slides open the closet, might as well commit he decides, and inside is an array of fabrics and colors. Odd graphic shirts with mosquito coils, pink button downs, purple trousers, and a vast array of blazers. He fingers an olive green one and the smell hits him. Clean, but also peppery. It stings his eyes.

After a long while the social worker quietly raps at the door, "Mamoru-kun?" she calls pushing herself into the room.

She finds him nestled in a pile, limbs curled around shirts, pants, and blazers, fast asleep. Mamoru knows he had a family and this was his home.

#mochi talks about sailor moon #sailor moon

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thatothercosplayer · 6 years

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?̯̥̤ͅ??̩̗̺͓͍ͅ?̯̞͎̩̮̤͈?̪?͖̙̺̫̯͖?̻̙͔͔͚?̲̲̻̖?̫̰̮͍̰,̳̖ ?̪?͇̣̺̖̺ͅ:̻?̜̬ͅ?͓̺̹̫

The skeleton rested its bony hands on its hips. “Honestly, your majesty. I’ve never seen you so spaced out before! Come, quickly!” It looked around shiftily. “We must return post-haste! You never know when danger shall approach!”

The skeleton turned to run, and Keiko rubbed her temples. “Wait, wait, wait- at least give me your name?” She asked.

The skeleton paused, skull pivoting on its neck to look behind it. “Oh! I’m terribly sorry! I wasn’t under the impression you needed a refresher!” It let out, the rest of the body turning to face Keiko. “I’m Napoleon! Napoleon Bone-a-part!”

Keiko stared.

“Get it? Because...I’m a skeleton?” Napoleon wore its best goofy grin.

“....hah.” Keiko looked away. “I’ve got another question. How’d you find me?”

“Well, you know, it was chance,” Napoleon began. “But I mean, I kind of saw the gate open in the sky, so I had assumed you’d just decided to leave for some reason and then come back.”

She furrowed her brows. “Alright. Then...if you serve me, why are you all the way out here?”

The skeleton paused.

“...you know, that’s a good question. I’d say I’m racking my brain, but, well...” Napoleon knocked on its skull. “I don’t have one!”

She blew a bang out of her eyes, cocking her lips to the side. “Tch.” Looking out on the horizon, Keiko could feel this...this...nagging feeling. Like she was being drawn somewhere. It was calling to her, almost.

Pushing Napoleon aside, she shoved her hands in her pockets. “Alright, you. Let’s go. You better not get under my skin.”

“Well, I can’t fathom how I’d do that, seeing as you already have a skeleton!” Napoleon joked. Keiko groaned in response. “Look. I’m already, like...thiiiis close to laying you out flat. So if you would maybe dial back the puns, that’d be great.”

Napoleon nodded. “...so, what you’re saying is...” The skeleton tapped its chin. “...you have a bone to pick with me?”

Keiko’s eye twitched.

Napoleon leaned over, taking off its foot and opening its jaw. It then proceeded to lodge its foot in its mouth.

Taking a deep breath, Keiko held it for a moment before exhaling. “....ANYWAYS...we’ve got a while to go. So don’t try me.”

---

The journey was long and mostly uneventful. As they drew closer to their destination, Keiko felt the tugging within her grow stronger. It was becoming unbearable. Finally, they reached their destination- it was a twisted, malshapen, blackened castle surrounded by rivers of lava.

“Subtle,” Keiko said out loud as she went up to the front gate. There were two guards on either side, who were gigantic, super-ripped minotaur dudes. They both had big-ass spears. They wore black and white armor, which was tipped with spikes on the shoulders. A belt of skulls adorned their waists.

“Like, hold on, man,” the minotaur on the left said, leaning its spear out to stop Keiko. “The boss lady, like...hasn’t left. So who are you?”

Napoleon ran up. “This is the Kaiser! Can’t you tell?” The skeleton gestured at her.

“Shut it, you grommet,” the minotaur on the right stated. “You’re just, like, a little drop in the pond, man. So shut up, or I’ll like...break your bones! Yeah!”

Napoleon saluted. “No bones about it! I’ll shut up!”

Keiko narrowed her eyes. “Wait, wait. So...you’re minotaurs working in this hellscape for someone else...and you have...surfer accents? Alright, fuck it, whatever, I just won’t even think about it. My name is Keiko, I fell down here, now take me to whoever is in charge so I can leave or whatever.”

The minotaurs looked at each other, before nodding. They both jutted their spears at the woman.

“You’re under arrest, Keiko,” the left minotaur said. “We’re gonna like, take you to the most bodacious one.”

There was no response from Keiko.

“...oh, right. We’re taking you to the boss lady,” the left minotaur repeated.

“Aaaah, okay.” Keiko put her hands up, and allowed herself to be escorted inside.

Napoleon...Napoleon got left outside.

“Man...boned again!”

---

The interior of the castle was monochrome, save for its inhabitants. The architecture had no logic or reason to it; it merely was. Endless flights of stairs spiraled and crisscrossed, going upside down and backwards. Windows and doors hung in the air or rested at the end of the random flights of steps.

Keiko didn’t even try to memorize the way she was being taken. She was just along for the ride at this point.

At last, she was brought to two great doors.

“Your royal badassness! We’ve got, like...well, you should just see this,” the left minotaur stated.

“Bring them in, Frank,” a familiar voice called out.

The double doors were thrown wide open to reveal, sitting at the end of a great hall on a throne...a woman who looked exactly like Keiko. She wore ebony armor, with with ivory embellishments here and there.

The minotaurs brought Keiko down to the throne, before tossing her at the woman’s feet.

The stranger leaned forwards in her throne, grinning. “Well, well...what do we have here? Me?”

#Keiko #plot point

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literateandliving · 5 years

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I chose love

And there it begun

A spot of damp

Ominous, malshapen and bruised

So sudden, as damp tends to be

And yet so much a product of simple

Complacency.

Drawing across a planetary sweep I had cast in typical throws of idealism.

Creeping into the corners of the sky’s of our eyes.

This microcosmic world has had its rosy summer, perhaps? It’s hard to tell with damp, where it might possibly end.

I screw my…

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marlaluster · 6 years

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The devil is going crazy attacking still, it was trying to alert me to that I'm supposed to have some fat on my back n that it's supposed to meet up w my boobs n look big n malshapen like I'm too bad looking I guess to show my body. .....

It often has these plans it tries tell me about for my body. It keeps pressing I'm supposed to be doing something wrong n less than to somebody. "... I am not doing okay to do what I'm doing here. It's not going to work out," the devil said. But it's been going further crazy since I was looking at trying to go to Australia. Just a second ago as i was writing here it was pressing i was supposed to feel less than to a white woman it was putting in my mind. It keeps pressing this persona. It keeps attacking n pressing stuff as im writing here. It keeps this persona, I'm supposed to be someone unattractive. It's very irritating it's pressing that. It's trying to put Chris out of my awareness. The thing is going TOTALLY INSANE!!!!!!! "I don't know what to do. I have to stop," the devil said. A break here n some above. "I am actually not okay to keep attacking the fuck out of this person," the devil said. A break here. The devil keeps obsessing w a white woman n trying to show a white woman in my mind if it seems, well just now someone was seeming to be about to say something about the violence used here to address issues n the devil put a white woman forth w Brown hair. It keeps obsessing w the same image. It is going so crazy attacking. It just was inaudibly asking about making me sweaty, i think. I just heard a fire truck outside. But the devil was pressing some vague image of fat on my back n then a minute later I could feel itvwas supposed to be apparently related to this spot on my back. And it keeps pressing senses of stuff like who I'm supposed to ve. It has been attacking EXTREMELY EXTREMELY BAD. It is going so crazy. It's so horrible. It's been going crazy today like nonstop after a point. It is making me have a headache.

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